21 Marine Salute: 21 Always a Marine Tales (116 page)

Talking out loud to yourself doesn’t make you any less crazy
.

Her emotions see-sawed between euphoria and depression. In clinical terms, she wasn’t coping well despite all her good intentions and plans. During the weeks leading up to the trip, while negotiating her security clearance and arrangements with the congressman’s office and the military liaison, she’d been so focused on getting to the base and being able to make the dinner, she hadn’t really given any thought to what it would be like to be there.

Where Robbie died.

Bracing her hands on the edge of the cold steel sink, she bowed her head.

Get it together. You knew it would be hard and that it would take everything to make this work
.

But even the mental pep talk couldn’t defuse the gut-churning anxiety ripping her inside out.

Breathing deeply, she concentrated on getting her erratic heart rate under control and the need to sob out of her throat. The clogging sensation choked her and she couldn’t think past the next ten seconds if she focused on her loss.

“So it’s not about loss, it’s about being thankful for being here,” she told her reflection sternly. Unfortunately, the blonde woman gazing back at her with too-wide, red-rimmed green eyes didn’t look like she believed the words at all. “Suck it up, princess.”

In for a count of four, out for a count of four
. She flexed her grip on the hard metal and, bit by bit, the drowning sensation receded.
I can do this
. She could knock on the wall, summon the captain back, and head over to the mess. The food would not cook itself.

Rinsing the last of her tears away with a splash of cold water, she brushed her hair out and braided it, then dressed in a fresh T-shirt and jeans. She’d have to put the flak jacket back on—
how do they wear the beastly things and run miles at a time?
—and the helmet before she made her way to the kitchens.

Or did she?

Padding over to the wall, she knocked on it once and fished a pair of socks out of her duffel. She’d barely perched on the edge of the cot when the captain knocked on her door.

“Come in.” She tugged one of the socks on. She hadn’t bothered to lock the door when he left her earlier. He entered, all geared up.

I wonder if he has to sleep that way?

“You’re not ready?” He didn’t walk all the way in, but waited in the hall.

“No—I just realized I don’t know where the mess is and whether I needed my flak and stuff for that trip, or not.”

“Always.” Clipped and stern, his expression brooked no arguments. “If you’re not in
here
, I want you geared up.”

Chewing her lip, she pulled on her boots. They were old army surplus and very comfortable, but steel-toed to protect her feet in the uncertain terrain. “Um.” She squinted at him. “You want me to cook in all of that?” Between the heat of the ovens and the work, the gear would add to her overall discomfort.

“If you’re not in
here
,” he repeated, slowly. “I want you geared up.”

“Okay, so that’s a yes.” She sighed, dreading the way the head protection would mess her hair.
Like I need to be worrying about that right now?

“Ma’am, this isn’t a safe place. At no point should you feel safe enough to take your helmet off outside or in, unless you’re in here, which is still not one-hundred percent secure.” He eyed her, caution and wariness marring his gaze. “It only takes once—one misstep, one moment of comfort, and a stray bullet.”

Apprehension wrapped icy fingers around her spine. It only took once for Robbie, too. She couldn’t imagine his work in the field left him any less geared up—in fact, he likely had more. The gear hadn’t protected him.

“Okay, duly noted. If you don’t mind giving me another minute?” She picked up the heavy jacket and swung it on. Her back protested almost immediately.

“Not at all.” Walking a couple of steps closer, he brushed her hands aside, buckled up the jacket, and fixed the buttons before grabbing her helmet and offering it to her. “Always let us double check that you have everything in place. The Kevlar in the vest can stop a bullet, but not the force of it. You’d still take a hell of a bruise.”

He adjusted the collar and buttoned it together. The urge to make a gurgling sound bubbled up. The poor captain seemed to be doing his level best to protect her and she struggled not to descend into juvenile antics.

“Your throat always needs to be covered, too,” he admonished, and waited for her to buckle her helmet before retreating. “Ready?”

“Sir, yes, sir.” Okay, a little juvenile, but he had that one coming.

He grinned, and her heart stuttered at the absolute beauty in his raw, masculine face. The smile softened the blunt edges and turned darkly handsome into downright sexy. A second shiver chased up her spine, but had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the forbidden.

“Good.”
Did his voice just drop into the low, husky range?
He glanced both ways down the hall and motioned for her to follow. Wiping her sweat-slicked palms against her jeans, she wanted to groan. If she didn’t get off the mad little see-saw, it would be a thoroughly unpleasant trip for all involved. Lagging behind him, she wanted to keep her distance, but Charlie had other ideas.

Stopping, he frowned at her. “When I move, you move, unless I tell you otherwise, and you need to be here.” He pointed to the space right behind him. “On me, at all times.”

She wanted to be on him, all right. The thought practically tingled on her tongue, and she bit down to keep from blurting it out. Waiting until she closed the gap between them, he started walking again. Instead of going outside, he led her through a maze of corridors. The building was at times finished and unfinished—like a cobbled-together mobile home, only the cement walls were far sturdier than manufactured materials.

At a set of double doors, they encountered another brace of Marines, the three men nearly identical in their heavy gear and helmets. They flanked her, keeping her in the center of their square and pushed their way outside.

Noise surrounded them. The shouts of some who still played basketball on their makeshift court, the salutes of enlisted to the captain as he strode past, motorized vehicles coming and going, and the crackling of thunder in the distance. She halted and frowned up at the blue sky.

Where is the thunder coming from?

“Jana.” Charlie’s voice snapped through her reverie. He waited three feet ahead of her, and she was in the open.

“Sorry,” she muttered and hurried after him. “I heard thunder.”

“It’s not thunder.” He scowled and picked up the pace.

Another boom of it rolled across the sky, and she glanced to the walled barricade of the base. Were they under attack? None of the men around her seemed especially concerned, so she forced her gaze ahead. They entered a lower, flatter building that backed right into a hill—or was it a small mountain? Her limited grasp of the terrain made it hard to judge. Afghanistan’s mountain regions had lots of caves and formations ideal for hiding terrorists and, apparently, for helping the Marines protect their kitchens.

Inside, they lost the escort of three and wound through a wide-open dining area toward the kitchen and the familiar sound of pots clanging, laughter, and—if her ears weren’t mistaken—music.

“Sergeant Hall.” The captain called out a greeting as he held one of the swinging doors open for Jana.

Most of the men and women working on various tasks halted and delivered swift, even salutes to the captain before returning to their cooking, save for a tall, skinny redhead with a hard face and a nose that looked like it had been broken one too many times and remained permanently crooked.

None of them were in flak jackets or helmets. The temperature inside the kitchens was about fifteen degrees hotter than anywhere else she’d been and, despite her shower, sweat dripped down her back.

“Sergeant Hall, this is Jana Grimaldi.” Charlie’s introduction dragged her attention back to the tall sergeant. He wiped his hands on a towel and nodded a greeting.

“Ma’am.”

“Sergeant.”

If Charlie stayed in the kitchen the whole time, she suspected he’d make her stay in the gear, but if he left her to work—maybe she could wrangle at least getting rid of the helmet.

“Your food arrived, ma’am, and we’ve got it in the cold storage for now. We’re finishing prep for the evening meal, and then we can talk turkey for tomorrow.”

The kitchen had three large ovens and a dozen open burners for stovetop cooking.

“If you have a place for me, I can start putting together the breads and pies.” The meat wouldn’t need that much in the way of prep. “Or even peel potatoes, if you were able to get them.” She’d had enough trouble securing the cargo space for what food she’d been able to bring—everything else had to be obtained locally.

“Corporal Duncan obtained about eighty pounds worth.” The sergeant’s pride echoed in his voice. They were feeding about two hundred and thirty-one souls, so eighty pounds wouldn’t go far, but it definitely gave them somewhere to start.

“Then put me to work, Sergeant. I want to make this the best Thanksgiving meal we can manage.” She glanced at Charlie and blinked at his frown. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s fine. You’re going to be here a while?” He seemed to be weighing her answer before she even gave it.

“We have several turkeys, roasts to get cooking and some brisket that will need most of the night. I brought flour and supplies to make bread and some pie crusts, and Hernandez will be put out if I don’t make him at least one pumpkin pie. I don’t think I’ll be leaving the kitchen anytime soon.” After all, she’d come to Afghanistan for a reason—to cook.

To his credit, the sergeant didn’t laugh.

“All right, I’m going to take care of a few things. Sergeant, when she’s ready to return to her quarters, call me. She does not leave the premises without a full escort and my notification. Clear?”

“Sir, yes, sir.” The sergeant saluted, his jaw set in a firm line. Jana didn’t doubt for a second that Hall would do exactly as instructed.

“Thank you, Charlie.” She smiled.

“You’re welcome.” He appeared to want to say more, but shook his head and left her. With his absence, the conversation rose in volume and someone turned the music up.

Christmas carols filtered through the air. The simple addition of the music reminded her of home and she glanced at Hall. “Put me to work, Sergeant, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all, ma’am.” He led her around the table and past stoves, where food prep for the evening meal continued, to an empty table. “I’ll get your flour and supplies. Oven three over there is for you. It’s a little temperamental, so have McIntosh or Cortez kick it if it won’t fire up.” He pointed to the two Marines. “We’re a little low on aprons, but we’ve got plenty of gloves.” He indicated the shelf over the sink. “Soap and water, there.” He included the fat, double-bellied sinks. “And you’ll find some pans in the cabinet below your table. Shout out if you need anything.”

Cortez carried one of her crates over and set it down. “Supply officer brought eggs in for you yesterday, ma’am. Six dozen and they’re in the fridge. Do you need those?”

“Yes, please.” She reached up to unbuckle her helmet. “All good to take this off here?”

The men exchanged a glance, but Hall nodded. “No windows back here. You should be clear. If you need to get some air, everything back on.”

Oh, that meant she could lose the flak jacket, too. Stripping out of the gear, she tried not to wave her arms around, but she cooled immediately.
Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer
came on, and Jana glanced around her. All the Marines worked diligently.

This is why I came
.

Humming the tune, she went to fetch the eggs. She couldn’t wait to make her bread.

***

Leaving her proved to be the difficult, bothering Charlie more than he cared to admit. Surrounded by a dozen highly trained Marines in a secure area, she should be fine.

But I don’t like it.

And that thought plagued him through the round of his duties. He checked in with the commander, took reports, looked over intel, and handled one disciplinary action, but the entire time, his mind wandered back to their blonde guest. The attraction he understood—the gorgeous woman possessed a sense of humor, and a sexy smile he couldn’t quite erase from his mental screen. It’d been months since he’d been with a woman, any woman. So the attraction, he comprehended. The nascent worry, the gut-churning concern? Not normal.

She’s here for less than forty-eight hours. Focus on the job at hand and put the rest out with the garbage
.

Unfortunately, the mental chiding failed to have any real effect on his reactions. He found his gaze regularly tracking to the mess hall, and the kitchen beyond it. By his mealtime, he practically vibrated with the need to check on her. He might as well be a green recruit. Bypassing his customary table, he beelined for the kitchen.

Music filtered through the doors each time they opened. Most of the Marines served themselves—only officers received trays or fully-loaded plates. Simple, straightforward, bland-as-dish-water meals kept the bellies of the soldiers full and their minds sharp—but desire for grub didn’t drive him. Mouthwatering fresh bread smells battled the meaty temptation of her slow-cooking brisket.

He heard her before he saw her. She sang along to
Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree
, her low, husky tone making the song far sexier than it should be. Or maybe the bump and shake of her denim-clad hips as she danced her way back and forth from the oven had more to do with it.

“Captain.” Hall greeted him with a snappy salute. Charlie waved him back to work. They had plenty to do without his distraction. Torn between admiring the view and admonishing Jana for disregarding his instructions to leave her helmet and flak jacket in place, he settled for navigating through the other cooks to check out her work. Pies lined the shelves above her—apple, pumpkin, and cherry from the scent. Breads joined the pies and—between the music, the hum of activity, and the scents—it transported him home to his father and brothers while Naomi and their mother busily assaulted their senses with a home-cooked meal.