Rescue Me (25 page)

“You must not have been chewed out by the Sergeant Major lately, or you wouldn't be so chill,” Calvin said, trudging ahead along the metal grating.
Clang. Clang.
“Just keep your head low. It'll go a lot easier for you if you don't make a big deal out of things now. Low-key. Walk down the ramp. Hand over the dog to his new family. Come party with us. There's a keg with your name written on it. A babe, too, if you play it right, a military groupie ready to give a soldier a warm, lap dance welcome home.”

He winced. Hand over the dog then party as if this was no big deal? Except it was more than that. Facing the family of his fallen commander. Facing the Colonel's daughter. Sierra.

Low-key.

Keep it low-key.

His hand slid down to scratch Trooper's head, bristly fur clean and flea-free thanks to the under-the-table care from the veterinarian at their forward operating base—FOB. Mike flipped Trooper's ear back in place, then patted. He wasn't sure who it calmed more, him or the dog.

Mutt at his side, he stepped from the belly of the plane and into the blinding afternoon sunlight. U.S. of A. soil. Fort Campbell. The Army post sprawled along the border of Tennessee and Kentucky. The scent of fresh-mown hay rode the breeze, blanketing the smell of jet fuel just enough that Mike could shove thoughts of war to the back of his brain.

He'd made it home alive. Adrenaline evaporated from him like water steaming off the hot tarmac. His arms dropped to his side. His duffel slid from his fingers as he breathed in the scent of wheat and barley so thick it was damn near an intoxicating brewery of aromatherapy.

Soldiers jostled by, bumping his shoulders, but his boots stayed rooted, his body weighted by an exhaustion a year in the making. Then the world tilted. His arms jerked.

Trooper yanked free.

Crap.

His guitar strap slipped. Mike regained his footing, but too late. Trooper shot forward toward the roped off area of bystanders. Toward families. The band. Official post personnel.

Media.

Trooper's full-grown size, powered by puppy energy and a lack of sense, turned the mutt into a speeding, barking missile. Mike jockeyed from foot to foot, gauging which way to go. Was the dog headed for the big grill puffing burger-scented smoke into the wind? Trooper's nose definitely lifted to catch a whiff of something as he plowed forward.

The overgrown pup knocked over a tuba stand. Uniformed band members skittered to the side just as the massive brass instrument toppled and “The Star-Spangled Banner” warbled to a premature end.

Calvin jogged alongside him mumbling, “Sergeant Major's gonna be pissed.”

Screw it. Low-key was clearly out of the question now. Mike hitched up his bag, which conveniently knocked his guitar in place again, and charged forward. He shouldered sideways past the orderly line of soldiers.

“Trooper, come,” Mike ordered.

And the dog ignored the command.

Of course.

Trooper could sniff out an intruder in the dead of night. The mutt could dodge land mines to fetch a ball. But at heart, he was still a puppy accustomed to free roam of his world.

Mike picked up speed, boots pounding as he raced toward the loping mutt. He didn't think Trooper would hurt anyone. The dog hadn't shown feral tendencies since those first few weeks at the camp. But one false move from this dog—already on shaky ground with his entry to the U.S.—and it would be all over. His promise to the Colonel would be broken in the worst way possible.

Where the hell was Trooper going? Mike scanned the crowd of faces. Women with babies on their hips and in strollers. Men, too. Families as well as some hoochied-up girlfriends. A sea of waving flags and signs.

Welcome Home.

Love My Soldier.

People and signs parted like the Red Sea as fifty-five pounds of dog dodged and wove. Mike could only follow until the masses veed open to reveal . . .

The very family he'd been sent to meet. The McDaniel clan. Except his eyes homed in on the one that had drawn him from the first time he'd seen her at a platoon baseball game cheering in the stands.

Sierra. The daughter of his mentor. Off-limits. Untouchable. And total Kryptonite to a man who'd spent twelve long months dreaming of her citrusy scent to escape the pungent stench of war.

Mike had all of three seconds to soak up the sight of her blond hair shining so brightly in the sun he could almost smell lemons. Three seconds before . . .

Trooper leapt into the air and knocked Sierra flat on her back.

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