LITMIR.BIZ

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he acknowledged.

      Challenge resonated in that single word.

      “A chief is the Navy equivalent of a Marine Corps gunnery sergeant,” she reminded him. In case he thought that extra stripe on his sleeve meant he outranked her. “Gunny.”

      “For the record, Zahn, I still have date of rank on you.” He’d graduated from high school and enlisted in the Marine Corps two years before she’d joined the Navy.

      He’d always been at least one pay grade ahead of her. But she’d exceeded all her recruiting quotas, and one of the perks for superior performance was advancement.

      “Okay, then…” Just because they were no longer friends didn’t mean she wanted to make an enemy of him. “Now that that’s settled… Still take your coffee black?”

      “Black’s fine.”

      “I like cream and sugar. You’ll find the coffee mess and everything you need right over there.” She nodded in the general direction of the alcove that led to the back of the building. “Feel free to help yourself,” she said, in case her message needed a little reinforcement.

      Do not expect me to wait on you.

      Waiting on him held a whole other meaning for her.

      “Like I said, Chief, can I get you a cup of coffee?”

      “Thank you, yes,” she responded with a saccharine-sweet smile. She’d make it through today the way she’d made it through any other. By faking it. Turning her attention to the papers piled on her desk, Mitzi struggled to keep her composure.

      She’d gotten really good at faking it.

      “And Gunny…” She looked up as he started to walk away, noticed the hitch in his step and hesitated. He turned. It was nothing short of a miracle to see him walking again. “Please don’t touch anything on my desk,” she said, forcing herself not to get caught up in the drama of their shared past. “We have a no-poaching policy in this office.”

      He stared at her as if she’d been the one caught rifling his desk instead of the other way around. “Isn’t it time we called a truce?”

      “A truce?”

      “We’re going to be working together.” He gestured toward the empty desk on the opposite side of the room. Just as she’d suspected. He wasn’t here for her. Would it have made a difference?

      Maybe. Maybe not.

      They’d been the best of friends once. More than friends. Now they were…what? Not friends. Not enemies.

      He wanted a truce. There was a time when she’d wanted nothing more than to surrender to those hazel-green eyes.

      “Bruce Calhoun, Gunnery Sergeant, USMC.” He offered his hand. “Marine Corps recruiter, at your service.”

      She heard the self-reproach behind his words.

      For Calhoun there’d be nothing worse than riding out his career behind a desk. For her she’d like nothing better. She’d gotten used to the idea of being home again.

      The telephone rang.

      Taking a deep breath, Mitzi ignored his outstretched hand and picked up the phone. “Navy Recruiting, Englewood Station. Chief Zahn speaking.” She covered the mouthpiece. “Cream and sugar.”

      CREAM AND SUGAR. As if he needed the reminder.

      Dumping two packets into the paper cup, Bruce studied Mitzi while she talked on the telephone. She might not outrank him, but she’d outmaneuvered him.

      All of five foot nothing—if he hadn’t seen her in action it would’ve been hard to believe she rescued guys like him for a living.

      California. BUD/S training. A lifetime ago.

      Before Iraq.

      Before he’d decided he wasn’t worth saving.

      If there’d been a spark of something left for him in those columbine-blue eyes, he’d have been here long before now. But there wasn’t anything left. Not that he could blame her. He wasn’t here to compare her eyes to the state flower.

      Bruce scowled at the cup in his hand. He’d reached a new low in his ten-year military career, stirring cream and sugar into coffee with a swizzle stick.

      His commanding officer had recommended recruiting school as a way to keep his mind active while his injured body went through the rigors of a long rehabilitation at Balboa—the Naval Medical Center in San Diego.

      Recommendations, requests…mere suggestions from a superior were the same as an order to a Marine. And orders were meant to be obeyed without question.

      When voluntold, he did his job—whether that job involved pushing himself to the limit in some war-torn Middle Eastern country or pushing a pencil in his own hometown.

      But this was by far his toughest assignment to date. It was clear she didn’t want him here any more than he wanted to be here. Did she blame him for her brother’s death? As he blamed himself?

      The door opened and Bruce looked up to see the United States Army stride in. Tall and fit. Desert cammies and combat boots. The guy looked as if he’d walked off one of those Army recruiting posters next door. He carried a drink tray with two large cups of McDonald’s coffee.

      Bruce instantly recognized the enemy for who and what he was and put down the coffee he’d been stirring.

      “Cream and sugar,” Army announced, leaning in for a kiss just as Mitzi hung up the phone.

      She pulled back with a quick glance in Bruce’s direction. With that less-than-subtle rejection, the other man noticed Bruce tucked into the alcove.

      “Didn’t see you standing there,” he apologized. “You must be the new Marine recruiter.” He took two steps in Bruce’s direction and held out his hand. “First Sergeant Daniel Estrada, 10th Mountain Division.”

      Just his luck they were all the same enlisted pay grade. Though Bruce doubted Mitzi had given this guy the same speech she’d given him.

      “Calhoun,” Bruce said, refusing to meet the other man halfway. “And you must be the new boyfriend.”

      Nice Guy Estrada had already bridged the gap and was in the middle of a firm handshake. He stopped short of an over-the-shoulder double take at the photo on Mitzi’s desk and the man he was shaking hands with as realization dawned. His smile became tight. Forced. “Nice to meet you,” Estrada lied smoothly.

      “Dan teaches JROTC at the high school.”

      Bruce grunted in acknowledgment. His own four years in Junior Reserve Officers Training Corps had earned him a couple extra stripes out of boot camp.

      “He also coaches the boys’ basketball team,” she added after an awkward silence. “Bruce is Keith’s brother,” she said to Estrada.

      Half brother. But that was neither here nor there.

      They were brothers. They had the same mother, but Keith’s father was Bruce’s paternal uncle. Yeah, a real blended—as in blurred—family.

      “Calhoun, of course—I should have realized,” Estrada said. “Bright kid. Bright future. Couple of college scouts interested.”

      “Bruce played basketball in high school,” Mitzi said. She could stop trying to cement a bond. That was never going to happen.

      “Still play?” Estrada asked.

      “Not in a long time.” Bored by the subject, Bruce checked his watch. “Excuse me, I was just heading out for a haircut.” He picked up his hat from the chair and nodded to her on his way to the door.

      As if her kissing another man had no effect on him whatsoever, he added his blessing. “Carry on.”

      “YOU

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