Mitzi's Marine

by Rogenna Brewer

  How could he ask her forgiveness when he couldn’t forgive himself? But he wanted it so badly.

  “It wasn’t your fault, Calhoun,” she said, giving it unconditionally.

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I know you,” she said. “Do you want to know my second thought after I thanked God you were alive?”

  Of course he did.

  “How fast I could get to your bedside.”

  Her gaze dropped to his mouth.

  Which suddenly felt dry.

  That would have been quite a come-on if her weepy eyes hadn’t been telling him sex was the furthest thing from her mind. “A kiss is such a silly thing to cry about, don’t you think?” she asked.

  He agreed. “No crying, Chief.” He wiped away her free-falling tears. “Tears freeze.”

  She choked back a laugh. At least she was laughing.

  “Promise me I won’t lose you, too?” In that moment he would have promised her anything. But what he should have done was kiss her to keep those next words from passing her lips. “That no matter what happens, Calhoun, we will always be friends.”

  Friends? Why did she think he kept pushing her away? He couldn’t be friends. He couldn’t be near her without wanting her.

  He took her hand that brushed his cheek—her left hand—and planted a kiss where his ring would have been, had she still loved him. Had he allowed himself to love her. She fell asleep in his arms without realizing he never made that promise.

  When the snow started to fall again, he carried her inside.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  IT TOOK MITZI THREE DAYS in bed to get over her cold and a week to catch up on the two days of work she’d missed. Dan had sent her a bouquet of flowers and a balloon with get-well wishes. She was looking forward to their ski weekend in Vail.

  Bruce had a crate of oranges delivered to her door.

  Since her return to work he’d kept a professional, polite distance. And every day since she’d drawn up the enlistment papers for Keith Calhoun was another day spent waiting for the proverbial other boot to drop.

  True to her word, Mitzi hadn’t said anything to any member of the Calhoun family about Heather’s pregnancy or Keith’s enlistment. Keith was of legal age and he would have to find the courage to tell them himself.

  Her biggest fear was that he wouldn’t find the courage before Bruce found out. Either way, she was the bad guy. Not just because she’d enlisted his brother, but because she didn’t confide in him. On paper it looked even worse because she needed Keith in her last-quarter stats to meet her recruiting quota.

  That’s not why she’d done it, though. And Keith’s threats to join the Army, while upsetting to Bruce, had little to no effect on her. Not even Heather’s pregnancy had been a factor. She hoped Keith and Heather didn’t get married. At least not so young. And not just for the sake of the baby.

  Keith had won her over with his paper on Iwo Jima. And she saw what Bruce didn’t—a Marine. Not just a Marine—a Navy Corpsman who served with the Corps. The guy everyone called Doc.

  The guy who ran toward you when you fell. The guy who covered you with his own body while you were down. And the guy who picked up a gun if he had to.

  That’s why she’d been willing to open that back door into the Marine Corps for him and enlist Keith in the Navy. Not that Bruce would understand.

  Aside from Keith Calhoun, Mitzi had several prospective recruits in various stages of enlistment to keep her busy through the holidays to the end of the year.

  Things started to settle down that Wednesday afternoon the week of Thanksgiving. She hoped to leave early enough for a quick trip to the grocery store before going home. Otherwise she’d get caught up in the crowd of last-minute turkey shoppers.

  Around three o’clock, she’d just finished with her last appointment of the day when Angela walked in. The young single mom nodded to Mitzi, but went straight to Calhoun’s desk and handed him what must have been a marriage license.

  Angela appeared none the worse for her venture. And no one was more surprised about that than Mitzi. “So you met Hatch?” Mitzi asked when Calhoun excused himself to photocopy Angela’s documents.

  “Yes.”

  “How was he?”

  “Fine,” she said, sticking to one-word answers that did nothing to satisfy Mitzi’s curiosity.

  Hatch had been a Navy SEAL before he’d lost an eye and his peripheral vision. Which meant he could no longer do the job he’d trained for and loved. That more than losing his eye was what had made him bitter. But it was his burn scars most people couldn’t get past.

  “You’re offside, Chief,” Bruce warned.

  Behind enemy lines.

  If he only knew how right he was.

  She gave Calhoun a measured look, which he ignored.

  To Angela he said, “The Navy’s still open to you, Angela. If you’d rather—”

  “No.” She cut him off with a shake of her head. “I’m here to join the Marines.”

  Calhoun shrugged in apology to Mitzi. That he’d even offered Angela a choice was nice, but not necessary. She was his recruit. He’d put in the extra effort. And he’d earned her loyalty.

  “So tell me what your interests are and we’ll see what kind of jobs the Marine Corps has to offer you….” He finished up a half hour later with “Are you looking to leave before Christmas?” Boot camp was thirteen weeks in Parris Island, South Carolina.

  “Oh, wow,” Angela said, “I hadn’t even thought about that.” Clearly she was worried about her young son over the holidays.

  “After Christmas,” Calhoun said.

  Angela stood to go as Keith Calhoun walked in, followed by Lucky Calhoun carrying his son, Chance, bundled up against the cooler weather. Keith held the door for Angela as she passed the brothers on her way out.

  Mitzi braced herself for the inevitable confrontation with Bruce.

  She’d become accustomed to seeing Keith after school as he continued to work out with the other DEPers. But she’d canceled her DEP classes and physical training for the rest of the week because of Thanksgiving.

  As far as she knew, Lucky Calhoun had never stopped by just for a visit. Mitzi stood. She didn’t want to be sitting behind her desk for this.

  “Favor to ask,” Lucky said to both her and Bruce.

  “What’s that?” Bruce asked.

  Don’t hate me forever.

  “Can I make your office an official drop-off location for the Corps’ Toys for Tots campaign? Seems I volunteered to chair our local chapter this year.”

  She was so relieved, she answered for both of them. “Absolutely.” Not that Bruce would object to collecting new toys for less fortunate youngsters at Christmas.

  “You have that big empty loft upstairs, right?” Lucky asked. “I could really use the free storage.”

  “It’s yours,” Mitzi said. The upstairs loft had been a ballet studio at one time. It had as much square footage as both recruiting offices, plus outside access via fire stairs. Or inside via the back hall stairs that ran between both offices.

  “Thank you, Mitzi,” Lucky said.

  “You might want to ask my dad about barrels, too.”

  “Already done,” he said. “Cait baked a couple extra pies for tomorrow at the bowling alley, too.”

  “Do you want me to pick them up?” she offered. By keeping Lucky engaged in rather benign conversation there was no chance for confrontation.

  “We’ll deliver,” Lucky said. “Bruce, wanna help me unload the barrels? Here.” He handed Chance to Keith. “Watch your nephew.”

  Bruce slapped his hat on his head and Lucky and Bruce headed outside.

  Keith looked terrified.

  And much too young to be an expectant father.

  “May I?” Mitzi asked, taking the toddler from him.

  LUCKY RAISED THE DOOR of the rental truck. Bruce reached in and grabbed two empty barrels. This wasn’t a two-man chore, so he knew something was up. “You couldn’t get
Keith to do this for you?”

  “I could have,” Lucky said, “but that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Keith’s under enough pressure without you adding to it.”

  “What on earth does a high school kid know about stress and pressure?”

  “Why don’t you ask him?”

  “Is Keith in some kind of trouble?”

  Lucky remained silent.

  “Drugs?” That didn’t sound like Keith. “Girl trouble?”

  There was a barely perceptible tightening around his brother’s mouth.

  “How deep?”

  “’Bout as deep as you can get.”

  Bruce cursed under his breath. “He’s not joining up to run away, is he?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Said the man who enlisted in the Corps at seventeen. If I recall, you needed Uncle John to sign off on that enlistment.”

  “Keith’s eighteen. He doesn’t need anyone’s permission.”

  “Am I the only one who cares that the kid is intent on blowing off college?”

  “Bruce,” Lucky said, “if he wants to go to college, he’ll go to college. If he doesn’t, he won’t. It’s his life.”

  “The Marine Corps will still be here four years from now—after he graduates college.”

  “Yeah, but will Keith? From what I hear it may already be too late.” Lucky shot a glance toward the recruiting offices.

  Bruce followed his gaze. The Army/Air Force side was already dark. He knew for a fact Mike was out of town all week, back east with his girlfriend and her family.

  Lucky slapped Bruce on the shoulder. “What are your teens and twenties for if not to make a few mistakes? I made my share. Now I’m running Big Luke’s motorcycle dealership. Designing my own custom bikes. Married to Cait. I have a healthy, happy son. Another on the way. Did you ever think I’d settle down and become a weekend warrior?”

  Bruce sat on the bumper next to his brother. Crossing his arms, he stretched his feet out in front of him. “Ever feel guilty?”

  “Why, because I married Little Luke’s widow?”

  “If Luke hadn’t died, would you be this happy?”

  “My life would be different, that’s for sure. But Cait and I try not to look at it that way. Her having loved her first husband doesn’t take anything away from our marriage. And our love for each other doesn’t dishonor Luke’s memory in any way.”

  “Sometimes I feel like I don’t deserve to be happy.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “I screwed up.”

  “We all screw up.”

  “Yeah, but I hurt the people I care about most.”

  “Live a good life, Bruce. That’s how we honor those who served and went before us.”

  “I THOUGHT YOU DIDN’T want kids,” Calhoun said, taking down one of the bar aprons from a hook on the wall and tying it around his trim waist. It wasn’t often that she got to see him out of uniform, but today he was dressed casually in a navy-blue-and-white pinstripe button-down shirt and jeans.

  Mitzi had him peeling potatoes in the bar’s small but well-appointed stainless steel kitchen. He’d showed up on her doorstep at 0600 sharp to help cart everything that wasn’t already there over in the Hummer.

  And he hadn’t let up on the subject of kids since he’d seen her holding his nephew Chance yesterday. It was her own fault, really. For Keith’s sake, she’d been trying to get Bruce used to the idea that he’d have a niece or another nephew soon.

  “I never said I didn’t want kids.”

  “I’m pretty sure you did,” he said. “At least not with me.” He didn’t sound angry or bitter. Just matter-of-fact. But that wasn’t the way she remembered their one and only conversation about kids.

  “I thought we’d decided together that it was difficult enough for us to find time together. And that a family wouldn’t be in anyone’s best interest.”

  This subject was becoming painful.

  What did it matter now?

  They were at different work stations with their backs to each other and Mitzi stopped chopping celery to turn and look at him. “I want kids,” she admitted.

  He stopped peeling. “Does Estrada? Do you see yourself having kids with him, I mean?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, leaning back against the counter and stuffing her hands into the angled pockets of her apron. “We’re not there yet.”

  She had on a frilly black-and-white apron in a paisley print with striped accents that was fancier and more feminine than the plain white V-neck and jeans she wore with a comfortable pair of flats. “I can’t see myself having kids.” He went back to peeling potatoes. “Not yet, anyway.”

  She started chopping again. “Yeah, well, that’s why they invented birth control.” She was glad his back was to her so he couldn’t see the emotions that played across her face.

  “Ouch!” When she glanced over her shoulder, he was sucking on his finger.

  She crossed to his work station near the sink and ran the cold water. “I was wondering how long until you peeled your finger.”

  “It’s just a nick.”

  “Stick it under the faucet and I’ll get a Band-Aid,” she said, heading to the wall-mounted first aid kit.

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Let me see.” She turned off the water. His finger was still bleeding. Nothing, my ass. But it wasn’t deep. She applied pressure with a clean dish towel.

  They stood facing each other in awkward silence while she held his finger. After peeking at his still-bleeding finger, she replaced the towel and reapplied pressure.

  “Freddie put the idea in my head,” he confessed. “That doesn’t make it a bad idea. He wanted to be an uncle, did you know that?”

  She felt as if her heart would leap out of her chest. But just because Freddie and Bruce had discussed kids didn’t mean she should get all tangled up in the idea. “I didn’t know that,” she confessed.

  He brushed the hair from her eyes with his free hand. “I liked what we had,” he said, tilting her chin. She could hear the desire in his voice and felt herself responding to it. She’d never stopped wanting him. But now she also had feelings for Dan. This was so complicated. How could she be attracted to two men at the same time?

  Besides, Bruce wouldn’t want her once he knew she’d enlisted his brother against his express wishes.

  “Bleeding’s stopped,” she said as casually as she could. She let go of Calhoun’s finger and handed him the Band-Aid and antibiotic ointment.

  “Hi,” Dan said, walking into the kitchen. Thank God, she thought. “Brought my apron.” He held up a BBQ apron that read: Kiss the Cook. “Where do you want me?”

  She smiled at his innuendo as he wrapped his arms around her and gave her a kiss. He seemed to angle them slightly…toward Bruce? She must be imagining that.

  “Bruce could use some help peeling potatoes.” She handed him a second peeler and gave him a small shove. “Not counting family and friends, we usually get around fifty drop-in guests, give or take.” She lifted two more ten-pound bags from the rack under the sink to the counter.

  “I suppose you want kids,” Bruce said to Dan. Mitzi abruptly turned and glared at Calhoun.

  “Yeah,” Dan admitted, looking between her and Bruce.

  “How many?” Bruce asked.

  “Well, not fifty,” Dan said, eyeing them.

  Mitzi was still laughing when she went to check on the turkeys. The large commercial rotisserie meant they could roast half a dozen at a time and kept the double oven free for heating side dishes and pies.

  Her dad had been cooking around the clock, starting the day before. Another half dozen roasted turkeys were in the walk-in refrigerator, waiting to be reheated just before they were served.

  They went by the pound-per-person rule. Slightly smaller birds fit in the rotisserie better, cooked faster and ensured they had enough drumsticks to go around.

  Her dad had been doing this for several years now—he had his rou
tine down pat. He’d gone home for a shower and a change and a quick nap when she and Bruce had arrived shortly after six o’clock.

  He was back now, along with Nora Jean and Audrey and a couple of the bowling alley’s other employees. Mitzi left Audrey in charge of the stuffing and showed Nora Jean where the linens were kept, then left her to organize tablecloths and centerpieces. They used paper plates, paper napkins and plastic wear for convenience, but she liked to make it look nice.

  There were a number of tables in the bar, and the built-in tables behind each lane. Bruce and Dan finished peeling potatoes much faster than she’d expected—highly competitive as they both were—and while she set the pots to boil the two were setting up folding tables and folding chairs running the length of the bowling alley. Did they have to turn that into a race, too?

  The two pool tables would be covered with plywood and draped with tablecloths and the buffet set up there.

  When Lucky and Cait dropped in with pies, Bruce stopped racing Dan to bounce his nephew on his knee. But he kept one eye on the other man’s progress, Mitzi noticed.

  It was afternoon before Mitzi knew it.

  Henry arrived early. As with most of their guests, he preferred to come into the bowling alley through the back alley door. Her father kept it propped open, inviting in anyone who happened to wander by.

  “This is my favorite day of the year,” Henry commented as he rolled by her with a loaded plate in his lap.

  THIS HAD TO BE his least favorite day of the year, Bruce decided. No, that wasn’t true.

  He was just exhausted. He’d stayed for clean up.

  But so had Dan.

  Mitzi had walked the schoolteacher to his car ten minutes ago and she still wasn’t back. Bruce tied off the garbage bag with an extra oomph to the knot. He picked up the three others he’d tied and headed to the Dumpster.

  It turned out Dan had parked out back.

  But then, Bruce knew that.

  It was dark, just after six o’clock. Dan was parked in the shadows, leaning against his dark SUV. Bruce could see by the couple’s silhouette that they weren’t touching, but they were awfully close to touching.