knew he was army.”
She stopped dancing and glared at Joe. “Hey, just whose side are you on?”
He smiled and put his arm around her shoulders. “Yours, Queen B. Always yours. Look, the waitress has Ryan’s birthday cupcake ready.” He turned and motioned Clay over. “Come on, we have to help embarrass the son of a bitch.”
The Mexican bar and grill, an unofficial Coastie hangout, was known for staff who took delight in singing bawdy sailing songs for any and all celebrations. Caitlyn had called ahead to arrange the party. Part payback for the one Ryan gave her on her birthday, and more importantly, to get Clay out of the funk he’d been in.
Stillman’s hearty laugh rose above the off-key singers and her chest tightened. He looked over and caught her staring. She angled her head up and gave him her best
Mona Lisa
smile. Dr. Butt Head wasn’t going to know what hit him.
Caitlyn slipped her arm around Joe’s waist and ignored his surprised chuckle. While she had no intention of using her crew to make Stillman jealous, she did want him to know they were her family. Unlike the army, the battles her crew fought rarely involved guns, but the specter of death rode them hard on every mission. The bonds they forged were as tight, and unbreakable as any of those Black Hawk crews developed.
Catcalls, whistles and loud clapping accompanied the final birthday refrain from the singing waitstaff. Ryan’s face matched the booth’s red vinyl when Caitlyn, Joe and Clay joined him. Stillman stood, then slid in next to Caitlyn, sandwiching her between him and Ryan while Joe and Clay sat across from them.
“Just how old are you?” he asked, leaning against Caitlyn from shoulder to knee to see Ryan on her far side, scattering her thoughts like rain in the wash of
Fly Baby
’s rotor.
“He’s the old man of the crew now,” Joe said as their waitress set bowls of fried ice cream in front of each of them.
“Hey, only thirty-one,” Ryan clarified between bites of dessert.
Stillman’s body tensed against Caitlyn.
She turned in time to catch a questioning look aimed at her. Great, would he think she was too young for him?
Stillman shifted again, this time running a length of her hair between his fingers before tucking it behind her ear. “So, you’re what, twenty-nine or thirty?”
She could only nod, her voice suddenly gone at his touch. A girl could float for hours in the warm blue of his eyes.
Caitlyn heard Clay’s laugh but blood thundered through her ears under Stillman’s intense appraisal. Her crew’s presence, along with the clink and buzz of restaurant noises faded, her body and brain convinced she and Stillman were alone.
Ryan snapped his fingers in front of her face and she jumped.
“Army, what rank are you?” he asked, pressing against her like an overbearing big brother.
Maybe she shouldn’t encourage such close family feelings. She poked her elbow in Ryan’s ribs, smiled at his muffled grunt and almost missed Stillman’s quiet reply of, “Colonel.”
She sat up. Either he was a lot older than he looked, or he was very good at his job.
“Full bird?” Joe asked, then whistled when Stillman nodded.
A cold fist squeezed Caitlyn’s stomach. Army promotions only came early for one reason. War experience. Violent, often deadly, and decidedly heroic.
She set her dessert spoon on the table and crossed her arms over her stomach. Problem was, after Johnny died, she’d vowed never to love another hero. That most definitely included a sexy doctor who apparently flew army Black Hawks for fun.
“Well, I can see you’re hard at work with your
volunteer
activities,” a decidedly sarcastic female voice said from the end of their table.
Stillman froze then swore softly under his breath. Caitlyn looked past him into the frosted gray eyes of a sophisticated-looking blonde. Mid-to late-thirties, the woman was impeccably dressed in a raw silk sheath the peach of a tropical sunset. Her expression,
She stopped dancing and glared at Joe. “Hey, just whose side are you on?”
He smiled and put his arm around her shoulders. “Yours, Queen B. Always yours. Look, the waitress has Ryan’s birthday cupcake ready.” He turned and motioned Clay over. “Come on, we have to help embarrass the son of a bitch.”
The Mexican bar and grill, an unofficial Coastie hangout, was known for staff who took delight in singing bawdy sailing songs for any and all celebrations. Caitlyn had called ahead to arrange the party. Part payback for the one Ryan gave her on her birthday, and more importantly, to get Clay out of the funk he’d been in.
Stillman’s hearty laugh rose above the off-key singers and her chest tightened. He looked over and caught her staring. She angled her head up and gave him her best
Mona Lisa
smile. Dr. Butt Head wasn’t going to know what hit him.
Caitlyn slipped her arm around Joe’s waist and ignored his surprised chuckle. While she had no intention of using her crew to make Stillman jealous, she did want him to know they were her family. Unlike the army, the battles her crew fought rarely involved guns, but the specter of death rode them hard on every mission. The bonds they forged were as tight, and unbreakable as any of those Black Hawk crews developed.
Catcalls, whistles and loud clapping accompanied the final birthday refrain from the singing waitstaff. Ryan’s face matched the booth’s red vinyl when Caitlyn, Joe and Clay joined him. Stillman stood, then slid in next to Caitlyn, sandwiching her between him and Ryan while Joe and Clay sat across from them.
“Just how old are you?” he asked, leaning against Caitlyn from shoulder to knee to see Ryan on her far side, scattering her thoughts like rain in the wash of
Fly Baby
’s rotor.
“He’s the old man of the crew now,” Joe said as their waitress set bowls of fried ice cream in front of each of them.
“Hey, only thirty-one,” Ryan clarified between bites of dessert.
Stillman’s body tensed against Caitlyn.
She turned in time to catch a questioning look aimed at her. Great, would he think she was too young for him?
Stillman shifted again, this time running a length of her hair between his fingers before tucking it behind her ear. “So, you’re what, twenty-nine or thirty?”
She could only nod, her voice suddenly gone at his touch. A girl could float for hours in the warm blue of his eyes.
Caitlyn heard Clay’s laugh but blood thundered through her ears under Stillman’s intense appraisal. Her crew’s presence, along with the clink and buzz of restaurant noises faded, her body and brain convinced she and Stillman were alone.
Ryan snapped his fingers in front of her face and she jumped.
“Army, what rank are you?” he asked, pressing against her like an overbearing big brother.
Maybe she shouldn’t encourage such close family feelings. She poked her elbow in Ryan’s ribs, smiled at his muffled grunt and almost missed Stillman’s quiet reply of, “Colonel.”
She sat up. Either he was a lot older than he looked, or he was very good at his job.
“Full bird?” Joe asked, then whistled when Stillman nodded.
A cold fist squeezed Caitlyn’s stomach. Army promotions only came early for one reason. War experience. Violent, often deadly, and decidedly heroic.
She set her dessert spoon on the table and crossed her arms over her stomach. Problem was, after Johnny died, she’d vowed never to love another hero. That most definitely included a sexy doctor who apparently flew army Black Hawks for fun.
“Well, I can see you’re hard at work with your
volunteer
activities,” a decidedly sarcastic female voice said from the end of their table.
Stillman froze then swore softly under his breath. Caitlyn looked past him into the frosted gray eyes of a sophisticated-looking blonde. Mid-to late-thirties, the woman was impeccably dressed in a raw silk sheath the peach of a tropical sunset. Her expression,
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