Swallowing his irritation, T-Mac continued. “We all agreed that relationships were doomed to failure as long as we were doing the jobs we do. No woman will be satisfied being on a part-time status, what with us shipping out as often as we do to fight some battle nobody else wants.”
“Then I found Marly,” Pitbull said. “She can stand on her own two feet. And we get along pretty well.” He smiled, his rugged face softening. “She’s even getting me to like flying in crop dusters. And she’s found a charter company in Virginia that wants her to pilot for them. She won’t be waiting around for me to come home. Hell, we’ll be lucky to be home at the same time.”
“Exactly,” T-Mac said. “And how’s that going to work for you? You won’t see each other.”
Pitbull frowned. “We’ll find time.” His frown turned upside down. “And when we do...yup.” He nodded. “We’ll find time. I’m not ready to give up on her, and I don’t think she’ll give up on me.”
“The point you’re missing, T-Mac, is that we found women who can stand on their own,” Harm said. “They don’t need us any more than we need them. We want to be together. And that makes all the difference.”
“Uh-huh.” T-Mac knew they wouldn’t listen. His five friends were so besotted by their women, they couldn’t see past the rose-colored glasses to reality. He might as well save his breath.
“Guys.” Buck stared around the table at everyone but T-Mac and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “We’ve got to get T-Mac laid. He’s strung way too tight. He’s likely to blow a gasket soon.”
“What’s the use?” T-Mac pushed to his feet. “We’re headed home in four days. Let’s not screw anything up between now and then.”
“What could possibly go wrong?” Buck asked with a grin and then ducked as everyone else threw their napkins and food at him.
Pitbull snorted. “Thanks for jinxing us, dirtbag.”
“You guys can hang around talking about your women you’ll rarely see. I’m going for a run.” T-Mac walked out of the chow hall to the laughter of his friends.
“Gotta get him a girl,” Buck said.
As T-Mac rounded the corner of one of the stacks of shipping containers that had been outfitted to become sleeping quarters, a hard object landed at his feet.
He jumped back, his heart racing, his first thought Grenade! Then a hair missile barreled toward him, all four legs moving like a blur.
T-Mac braced himself for impact.
The black-faced, sable German shepherd skidded to a stop, pushing up a cloud of dust in the process. He grabbed the object in his teeth and raced back the way he’d come.
“Agar, heel!” a female voice commanded.
The animal stopped immediately at the female soldier’s side, dropped the hard rubber object on the ground and stared up at the woman as if eagerly awaiting the next command.
“Good dog.” She patted him on the head and then glanced up. “Sorry. I didn’t know you were there until after I’d thrown his KONG.” Her hand continued to stroke the dog’s head.
T-Mac stared at the woman, who was wearing camouflage pants, boots and a desert-tan T-shirt. Her hair was pulled back in a bun that had long since lost its shape. Coppery red strands danced in the breeze. She returned his stare with a direct green-eyed gaze. “If you’re afraid of Agar, I’ll hold him while you pass.” She cocked an auburn eyebrow.
“What?” T-Mac shook his head. “I’m not afraid of the dog. Just startled.”
“Then don’t let us keep you.” She snapped the lead on the dog’s collar and straightened.
Curiosity made T-Mac ask, “You’re new at Camp Lemonnier?”
She shrugged. “I’ve been here a week, if you consider that new.”
He laughed. “I do. And I just got back to camp, or I’m sure I’d have seen you.” There weren’t too many good-looking redheaded females in the world, much less in Djibouti. “Hi, I’m Petty Officer Trace McGuire. My friends call me T-Mac.” He took a step forward, slowly so as not to alert the dog, and held out his hand.
She clasped it in a firm grip. “Specialist Kinsley Anderson.” She glanced down at the dog. “And this is Sergeant Agar.”
T-Mac dropped to one knee in front of the German shepherd and held out his hand.
Agar placed a paw in his palm.
With a chuckle, T-Mac shook the dog’s paw and then stood. “He’s very well trained. What’s his mission?”
“Bomb sniffing.”
“Bomb sniffing?” T-Mac glanced again at the woman. He hadn’t really thought about females on the front line. But with the army graduating females from Ranger School, it was a natural progression.
“Well, I hope you don’t have to put that skill to use anytime soon.”
Her eyes narrowed and she lifted her chin. “We came here to do a job. I’m not afraid.”
Having seen his share of action and lost members of his team to gunfire and explosions, T-Mac didn’t wish any of it on anyone. But a person had to live through the horrors of war to truly understand how terrible it was. He couldn’t begin to explain it to the shiny new specialist who’d probably never been shot at or stood next to a man who’d been blown away by an IED.
And he had no business chatting up a female soldier when fraternization was strictly forbidden on deployment. Especially since it could lead to nothing and he and his team would be shipping out in four sleeps and a wakeup. “Well, it was nice to meet you.”
“Same,” she said, then grabbed the KONG and took off with Agar in the opposite direction.
As T-Mac continued on toward his quarters, he couldn’t help sighing. He’d never considered dating a redhead, but something about Specialist Anderson made him reconsider. Perhaps it was the way her coppery hair seemed out of control, or the light dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Or maybe it was the way she absently, or automatically, stroked the dog’s head, showing it affection without having to think about it. Either way, she was off-limits and he was leaving. Once again he reminded himself, Don’t get involved.
KINSLEY HURRIED PAST the navy guy. She’d spent the past two hours working with Agar, keeping his skills fresh and helping him burn off energy. Now it was her turn.
Though she’d been in the country for a week, she and Agar had been tasked only with inspecting vehicles entering Camp Lemonnier. Thankfully, they hadn’t found any carrying explosives. Training sessions were a must, or Agar might forget what he was looking for and Kinsley might not pick up on the behavior Agar displayed when he sensed he’d found something.
Meanwhile, her male counterpart had gone out on missions with the Special Operations Forces into more hostile environments, working ahead of the teams to clear their routes of IEDs.
Kinsley
