Countdown. Lindsay McKenna

If anything, Joe seemed less tense toward her. Was it because she’d been able to match the plaster cast to a horse’s hoof? Unsure, she followed him back to the parking lot.

      “We’ll take my Chevy Blazer,” he said, pointing to a polished black vehicle.

      The car fitted Joe’s personality, Annie decided as she climbed into its spacious interior. Despite its off-road and recreational abilities, the vehicle was scrupulously clean, with no dust visible on the dashboard, no marks on the carpets. As she adjusted the safety belt, Joe turned the key, and the Blazer emitted a throaty roar. Indeed, the vehicle did emulate Joe, Annie thought with a secret smile. Because Joe seemed to be in a better mood and more relaxed than usual, she decided she might broach those defensive walls of his.

      “You said you lived in National City. How close is it to San Diego?”

      Joe guided the large vehicle out of the parking lot and onto the main road that would lead them to the chow hall. “It’s about ten miles south of San Diego,” he responded noncommittally.

      “You were born there?”

      “Yes.”

      “A city slicker?” she teased, hoping he wouldn’t take her comment the wrong way.

      “Compared to you, yes.”

      “Did you like living in the city?” she asked, peering at him.

      With a twisted grimace, Joe said, “As a kid growing up, I didn’t mind it. After I joined the corps and began to realize that everything wasn’t made of glass, concrete and steel, I felt differently.”

      “Oh?”

      “I kind of like the outdoors.”

      Annie ran her hand along the door. “This Blazer suggests someone who might camp, hike or fish a lot.”

      “Fish,” Joe admitted, again struck by Annie’s unsettling ability to see beneath his surface. Just how much did she know about him?

      “What kind of fishing?” Annie persisted.

      “Fly-fishing for trout.”

      She smiled. “Ohh…”

      He briefly glanced at her, taken by the warmth dancing in her cinnamon eyes.

      Absorbing his interest, she smiled and murmured, “I might have known you would go for the toughest fishing in the world. Fly-fishing takes a lot of delicacy and timing.”

      “And I don’t look like I have either one?”

      Feeling heat flooding up her neck into her face, Annie avoided his amused look. “I didn’t say that.”

      “A city slicker who can fly-fish. Pretty unique, isn’t it?”

      “Yes.”

      “Do you fish?”

      “Not many fish on the desert where I grew up,” she returned wryly, meeting and matching his first smile. When Joe’s compressed mouth lifted at the corners, his entire demeanor changed—if but for a brief, heart-pounding moment. All the tension he usually carried in his face seemed to melt away, leaving a miraculously vulnerable man before her. The discovery dissolved Annie’s fears. Joe Donnally wasn’t an unfeeling man after all.

      Joe realized Annie was blushing. The shyness in her was evident as she quickly looked away to stare out the window. Suddenly, he ached to know more about her.

      “You said you grew up in New Mexico?”

      “Yes. My parents live the old-fashioned way, in a hogan made of logs and mud, with no electricity.”

      “Sounds like my worst camping nightmare.”

      Laughing, Annie thrilled to the change in Joe. Perhaps he was adjusting to her, finding out that she wasn’t like the tough legend that generally preceded her from base to base—and she was, after all, just a human being like everyone else. “I’m glad I had that kind of upbringing. It helps me feel comfortable when I’m out tracking where there are no modern amenities. My partners are often unhappy, but I can pretty easily adjust to the demands of the terrain.”

      Joe felt some of his happiness evaporate. “Captain Ramsey says you’re like a bloodhound. Once you’re on a trail, you won’t ever let up.”

      “So far,” Annie said, relaxing against the seat. “It’s kind of precarious to try to maintain a perfect record of recapturing prisoners.”

      “Why?”

      She shrugged and said, “I’m not perfect. Not by a long shot.”

      “Could have fooled me,” Joe said dryly. He saw the hurt come into her eyes and instantly was sorry. “It’s the captain,” he added. “He thinks you walk on water. He was really excited about getting you to Reed.”

      “Captain Ramsey worries me,” Annie said quietly. “I don’t want to disappoint him, and I’m afraid I’m bound to someday.”

      “He’s not going to mark you down on your personnel record the one time you can’t find a prisoner,” Joe soothed. “He’s not that kind of officer.” He pulled into the parking lot of the chow hall. Because it was 1300, no lines of marines trailed from the huge, two-story building. A green lawn, manicured shrubs and even a few palm trees graced the area, giving it the out-of-place look of an oasis in the yellow desert that surrounded it. He parked and shut off the engine.

      “Reed has got some of the best navy chow you’ll ever eat. Come on, I’ll show you the ropes.”

      This time, Annie noticed as they walked side by side toward the chow hall, Joe shortened his stride for her sake. Had he done it consciously? Uncertain, she took in the bright yellow marigolds interspersed with red geraniums that lined the sidewalk, displaying the Marine Corps colors of crimson and gold. It was gung-ho landscaping and Annie smiled. Of course, just seeing flowers in bloom on the desert was a gift.

      By the time they got through the line and sat down at a table opposite each other, Annie was starving. She marveled at how much Joe was eating, but then, marines in general led a highly active physical life.

      Joe tried to concentrate on his food, but he couldn’t help looking up once in a while. Annie ate delicately and without the hurry he did. Trying not to stare at her lips, or the graceful way she used the flatware, he forced himself to mind his own business. He noticed that she ate much less than he did. She had selected a huge salad with dressing, one pork chop and a baked potato, while he had loaded up with three pork chops and a huge mountain of mashed potatoes and gravy—and no salad.

      For dessert Annie settled for a cup of steaming black coffee. The military tended to make its coffee strong, and she liked it that way. As Joe dug into a slice of cherry pie, she decided to try again to penetrate his defenses.

      “Do you live on or off the base?” she inquired, taking a sip of coffee.

      “Off,” he answered between bites of pie, then surprised her by asking, “How about you? Are you staying at the barracks or are you going to rent off base?”

      “Off, like you. I’ve rented a small apartment south of Oceanside. It’s near the marsh and I can see a lot of ducks and great blue herons.”

      With a shrug, Joe said, “My apartment’s almost in the middle of town.”

      “Once a city slicker always a city slicker,” she teased.

      Joe smiled a little and watched as she wrapped her long, expressive fingers around the heavy white mug of coffee. “In some ways, I guess I always will be,” he admitted.