does seem odd, Ms. Tyler.”
“Call me Libby. I can’t stand marine formality. It just drives me crazy.”
“All right…Libby.” He liked her friendliness in this world of ceremony and protocol. She was tall—at least five-nine or -ten—and medium boned. Dan had always wondered why the advertising industry touted women who were little more than skin sagged over tiny skeletons. Libby probably weighed around a hundred and thirty or forty pounds, and on her tall frame it looked good. Damned good. She was curved and firm, a testament to her demanding physical job. Her shoulders were thrown back, her chin held proudly. He supposed it was riding that had given her such an elegant carriage.
“This is crazy. The colonel doesn’t care about what I’ve seen. He’s just dumped me on you. I’m sure he’s hoping I’ll just let it go.”
“Whoa, slow down.” Dan turned around and took two boxes off the leather chair in front of his desk. “Here, have a seat.” He went around his gray metal desk and removed several more boxes from his chair, a metal contraption that was unmercifully squeaky when he sat down. Fumbling for a pen from the pocket of his shirt, he finally found one, then hunted for the Investigation Report form that had to be filled out. It took nearly five minutes of rummaging through desk drawers to find what he wanted. He noticed Libby sat fretfully, crossing her legs first one way, then the other.
“Are you always in a hurry?” he teased, laying the forms on his desk.”
“Not usually.” Libby forced a smile as he arranged the items he’d need to take her report. Dan Ramsey was around thirty, she guessed, with dark, walnut brown hair cut military short. And he must be a good two inches over six feet tall. Like the man she’d seen in the hall, Ramsey was powerfully built, with an aura of latent power swirling around him. He must be part of the brig-chasing team, too, she guessed. She’d noticed that brig chasers were a lot like recon marines—set apart from other marines. There was a special look to them. A bearing, perhaps. Libby couldn’t put her finger on it, but Ramsey had it.
She liked his square face and intense blue eyes, which danced with obvious amusement. She just hoped he wasn’t laughing at her.
When Ramsey looked up from the form, Libby added, “I have to teach a class of nine year olds in about half an hour, that’s why I’m antsy.”
“I see….” Patiently, Dan filled out the required information at the top of the form. Like it or not, things only got done when forms were filled out properly.
“You’re Libby Tyler, riding instructor? Correct?”
“Yes.” Even though Libby had sworn she’d never be interested in a marine again, she found herself continuing to absorb Dan Ramsey. The summer uniform he wore, consisting of a short-sleeved shirt and trousers, looked good on him. He was broad shouldered, his arms darkly tanned, with a fine carpeting of dark hair across his forearms. His hands were large and callused, indicating he was a field officer who really didn’t want to be in an office. What attracted her to him? Was it his features? Those alert eyes that seem to look into her soul with ease? That hawklike nose? Or perhaps his mouth? Unexpectedly she wondered what it would be like to kiss him. The thought nearly unseated her. There was no way on earth she was ever going to be interested in a marine again. Not ever.
Squirming all the more in response to her unbidden thoughts, Libby saw him lift his head momentarily from the paperwork.
“Are you like a little schoolgirl who can’t sit still for two minutes?” Dan asked, baiting her.
Libby smiled broadly. “How’d you guess? I drove my teachers crazy in school. They thought I was hyperactive, but I wasn’t. I just hate sitting around. I’d rather be outside.” Why on earth was she telling him this? she wondered distractedly, even as she noticed the warmth that settled in his gaze at her admission.
“That’s why you’re a riding instructor and not stuck behind a desk like I am.”
She smiled at his insight. “You don’t belong behind a desk, either,” she guessed.
“Good observation,” Dan commented dryly. “But orders are orders.”
“Are you an attorney?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Oh, good….”
“Did you think the colonel threw you a curve and sent you to some poor schmuck who didn’t know anything?”
Libby had the good grace to blush. She lowered her lashes. “He wasn’t very happy when I interrupted him without an appointment,” she admitted. “I thought he might not take my complaint seriously.” Looking up and meeting his interested gaze, Libby offered, “You’re not too shabby in the observation department yourself.”
“It’s my job.”
“No, it’s a definite skill. Sometimes a talent.”
Dan smiled. “We agree.” He had only half an hour to spend with this woman. Suddenly he wanted a lot more. Conversation seemed highly personal between them, which struck him as unusual. For the first time in two years, Dan realized he felt lighter, happier, as if the heaviness he’d carried in his heart for so long had dissipated at Libby Tyler’s unexpected and sunny entrance into his life. Well, maybe she wasn’t exactly like sunshine, he amended. More like a hot thoroughbred racehorse being asked to stand quietly in a stall when all she wanted to do was run.
“Okay, let’s get on with this report. Please understand it’s going to take me a while to move on this investigation.”
“No problem,” Libby assured him. He cares. The discovery, and accompanying emotion, flowed through her like a warm spring wind after a very cold winter. But the undeniable concern showed in Dan’s eyes, in the tilt of his head when he looked up at her. Libby swallowed convulsively. Her pulse seemed to be jagging through her, she realized with dismay. No man since Brad had ever set her heart to skittering this way before.
“So what’s the problem?”
Libby leaned forward, her hands resting on her thighs. “Captain, someone’s been using five horses from the stable. They’re riding them at night, after the stable’s shut down. No one except dependents who board horses there are allowed to ride after hours. But these are owned by the Marine Corps’ Special Services branch. The horses are ridden by off duty marines who can’t ride worth beans, and they’re exhausted at the end of the day. They’re not available for evening rides.”
“What time does the stable close?” Dan asked, struggling to act official when all he wanted to do was stare across the desk at Libby like a lovesick kid. She was so alive, so vital in a way he’d never seen in a woman.
“Nineteen-hundred hours,” Libby responded, offering the military terminology for 7:00 p.m.
“Five or seven days a week?”
Libby liked Dan’s attention to detail, and she felt a bit more reassured that he might actually be able to solve the mystery. “Seven days a week. The marines can go out on trail rides, in groups of twenty-five, with an instructor during the day. All kinds of riding activities are going on all day long. After that, the stable is available only to those who own horses here on base. And everything is shut down by 2100.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“For
