Navy Orders. Geri Krotow
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embarrassed? This was new.
“I was in the war, and since I’ve been back a lot of vets have, ah—” he glanced past the trooper, to the vista of the Strait of Juan de Fuca “—I’ve seen a lot of vets with PTSD. I acted on instinct when I saw Ro on the bridge, in these winds, at this hour.”
“That true, miss?” The trooper deferred to Ro.
“Yes, yes. Miles is my work friend. He’s a good man, Officer, and wouldn’t ever do anything to hurt me.” She looked the trooper straight in the eye. No matter how much Miles drove her to distraction with his steady, determined attempts to date her, she knew he’d never act on anything other than honorable motives.
“Okay. I got a call from a concerned driver who saw you both take a tumble, and I had to ascertain that it wasn’t assault or a suicide attempt.” He paused, a slow grin overtaking his face. “Since you were just throwing away an engagement ring, we’re fine. I won’t write you a citation for littering, but toss the next ring into the trash can, all right?”
Ro smiled at him.
“No worries—there won’t be another ring.” Not for a very long time.
* * *
“GET IN BEFORE we cause an accident out here.” His booming voice brought more goose bumps to her arms than the Whidbey wind ever could.
She skirted behind his red Ford F-150 pickup truck. Sure enough, the morning commuters were already lining up behind him. Most were headed to Naval Air Station Whidbey Island, where they would put in a full day’s work for their country. They were going to start honking their horns at any moment.
Her fists ached to punch the tailgate, kick the tires. Instead, she pulled the passenger door open and slid into the leather seat.
She slammed the door shut, as much as one could slam such a heavy piece of metal, and turned to glare at Miles.
“Just drive to the pull-off and let me out so the traffic can get by.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I didn’t ask for your help, Warrant.”
Light-headedness wasn’t familiar to Ro but sitting next to Miles Mikowski made her feel as though the air had been sucked out of the truck’s cab. The leather interior of the huge vehicle was roomy, even by American standards. Except when the likes of Miles took up the driver’s side. His long, lean yet muscular physique filled every inch. He had to be at least six feet four inches tall. Whenever she stood near him, which wasn’t often, he towered over her five feet six inches, normally a respectable height for a woman.
“You didn’t ask in words but being out on this bridge in these winds is begging for help, Roanna. Then to see you stopped at the high point like that.” He slapped the dashboard.
Guilt licked up her stomach and to her neck. Nausea threatened to overtake her anger. She had really frightened him. Miles, the man who’d already been through hell and back in the war.
“I know you like to run in the mornings but maybe you should check the weather report before you run onto the bridge in near-gale-force winds.”
His frequent use of her given name instead of her rank irked her. They were both officers, so of course it was okay to address each other by first name. Miles always addressed her as “Lieutenant Commander Brandywine” in public. Privately he used her name but only when he asked her out. And she’d always refused.
It’s not that he uses your first name. It’s how he says it.
The way her name sounded on his lips made her think of sex. Her awareness of him annoyed her, to say the least....
“I’m not an idiot, Miles. I’ve lived here long enough to know I need to be careful. I’m on my way into the base, anyway. I’ve finished my run. I was cooling down.” He stayed silent. “My car’s right over here in the parking lot.”
You’re starting a new chapter today. Be nice.
“I didn’t realize you live off-island.” She referred to the fact that he was driving toward Whidbey.
“I don’t.”
No other explanations. She squirmed. What he did in his personal time was his business.
“Don’t worry, I’m not courting anyone else, Roanna.” He shot her a quick grin, an attempt at a return to their normal banter, while he waited for the car in front of him to inch forward. “I had to get up early to deliver a dog to a rescue group in Anacortes. It was the only time the volunteer could take delivery and get her out to Spokane today.”
“You work with a dog rescue?” Chagrin struck her as soon as she said the words. She’d heard he’d lost his working dog in the war.
“When I can.”
Miles swung off the right side of the highway and pulled into the small parking lot that heralded the start of Deception Pass Park. She didn’t miss how easily he maneuvered the big truck among the smaller, more practical cars. Apparently EOD training included massive vehicle handling.
Her gaze went from his hands on the wheel to his legs. Clad in workout pants his prosthetic leg wasn’t visible. But she’d seen him running in shorts on the naval air station jogging path, and working out in the gym. He had a titanium prosthetic for running and a more conventional one for his uniform.
“Looks like you’re going to work out, too.”
“Yup, every morning before I report to the wing. If I don’t keep my muscles in shape I’ll lose them.” His left hand rested on the top of the steering wheel while he leaned on his right arm, which was way too close to her on the center divider of the cab. She could even make out the fine blond-tinged hairs that covered parts of his hand and fingers.
“Hmm.” She wanted to tell him that his obvious strength of character impressed the hell out of her, but that might make him think she cared. Or that she’d reconsidered his previous invitations to go out for a meal or cup of coffee together.
Not happening.
“Thanks for the ride.”
“Sure.”
She swallowed. “No, I mean it. You didn’t have to stop, didn’t have to give a damn. But you did. And I don’t have to be such a pain in the ass to you all the time.”
Now she had his attention. Bright sparks danced in his blue irises.
“So now, after almost a year, after I’ve made a fool of myself, you’re willing to be nice to me?”
“I’m sorry for the times I was rude, Miles. Truly.”
Before he made more out of this than necessary she pushed open the door, slid down from the high seat and got out of the truck. She was careful to appear casual as she shut the door and headed for her car. She noted that he waited until she was safely inside her car before he pulled out of the parking lot.
The drive into the base wasn’t going to be long enough to get his brilliant blue eyes and shy smile out of her mind.
Miles’s confident demeanor had pricked her bubble of I-don’t-need-a-man denial since the moment she’d met him the better part of a year ago. They’d first come face-to-face when her mother’s cat had decided to run up a tree. Miles had expertly scaled the tree and saved the cat. Unwittingly he’d also saved Roanna from her mother’s emotional fallout. It would have been pure hell if Henry the Eighth, Mom’s cat, had perished.
A week later he’d walked into the wing staff meeting as the new weapons officer and she’d been forced to acknowledge that he had an above-average physique. When she’d discovered he was an amputee she’d been in even more awe of his physical prowess, given the fact that he’d climbed such a huge tree.
But when he’d asked her out on a date she’d reeled in her drawbridge. No man was going to cross the moat she’d built around herself,