Rogenna Brewer - Mitzi's Marine

Lucky hesitated.

“I’m fine,” Bruce said. “Just tell them I’m tired after a long first day and that early flight.”

It wasn’t far from the truth and at least got his brother moving in the right direction. Lightening Cait’s load by carting the baby and the diaper bag to the exit, Lucky shook his head at something his wife said.

Bruce hated pity more than anything. But coming from a guy who’d traded his motorcycle for a minivan, what an insult.

He knew it wasn’t going to be easy seeing her with another man. He just hadn’t known it was going to be this hard.

The Englewood High School coach had taken off his uniform jacket sometime during the game and looked like the real deal with his loosened tie and rolled-up sleeves, sweating out the win with his team. Bruce refused to look away as the other man put his arms around Mitzi.

A touch here. A brush there. Enough already.

The couple exchanged a few words and a casual kiss, which put the pink in her cheeks. Estrada sent Bruce a look on his way to the locker room, intended to keep Bruce in line.

Finally the crowd dwindled down to two.

The tap of her heels echoed as she crossed the court. She was wearing her service dress blue uniform tonight—a dark navy blue skirt and suit jacket with gold buttons worn over a white blouse with a black neck tab.

The same uniform she’d worn to Freddie’s funeral. After which she’d rushed straight to Bruce’s hospital room. He’d been groggy from surgery and that long flight out of Germany.

It was his hand she’d been holding then.

She’d had such a sad smile.

Now look at her. A spring in her step.

And a promotion.

The gold on her left sleeve identified her as a chief petty officer. He knew she carried her white gloves and black-and-white combination cap in her left hand, keeping the right hand free to salute—even though the Navy and Marine Corps did not salute uncovered. And that the overcoat draped over her arm hid two gold stripes, one for every four years of service.

She wore her dark brown hair braided and pinned.

He liked it when she took those braids down. She couldn’t wear it that way in uniform, and out of uniform a ponytail was her default hairstyle.

Except in the bedroom.

Knowing that he couldn’t have her didn’t stop him from wanting her.

She stopped at the foot of his bleachers. “Do you need help getting down?” What made that question worse was the sincerity in her voice.

“I’m not a cat stuck up in a tree. You don’t have to call the fire department, Chief.”

“Allow me to rephrase my question, Calhoun,” she said with equal sarcasm. “Are you coming down? Or am I coming up?”

“Suit yourself.”

She tossed her overcoat, her hat and everything else she carried onto the bench at the bottom. Then she removed her pumps to carry them as she climbed the bleachers in her prim and proper uniform skirt. He leaned back on his elbows and stretched out his good leg as she made her way toward him.

The bleachers were steep and she was afraid of heights. “How’d you ever climb aboard a Seahawk?”

“They’re on the ground when I get in.”

But helicopters weren’t designed to stay on the ground. She had to jump out over water to do her job. And at some point she had to get herself and her casualties back into that hovering helo. There was a lot to admire about a woman who wasn’t afraid to conquer her fears.

When he wasn’t pissed off at her.

“WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?” Bruce asked once she’d reached the top. Mitzi sat next to him, so close they were almost touching. He shifted forward uncomfortably.

“I’m sorry.” She dangled her black pumps out over knees pressed firmly together.

“We spent the entire day in each other’s company. And you never once thought to say, ‘Calhoun, you might want to polish up your brass and head over to the high school tonight.’”

“I said I’m sorry.” The color Dan had put in her cheeks turned to an angry red.

“I’m wearing sweats—”

“It’s not always about you, Calhoun.”

“Then what is it about?” He held her clear blue gaze until she was the one who had to look away first. It was about something more complicated than he could put into words. But it wasn’t like her not to have a few choice ones for him if she was that mad. “He was my best friend, Mitz—”

“He was my brother.” Her uniform jacket hummed. She heaved a weary sigh. “I’m glad you found your way here. I should have told you.”

“That a cell phone in your pocket? Or are you just happy to see me?”

She frowned as she reached into her pocket and pulled out her BlackBerry. “It’s Dan,” she said, checking the number.

“By all means.” Bruce waved her to answer it. The guy had just headed to the locker room a few minutes ago. Had he even left the building yet?

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