Unmasking The Maverick. Teresa Southwick

for a moment. “Since then folks have learned to separate service to country from politics. Hopefully that will never happen again. Some make the ultimate sacrifice. Others live with physical disabilities.”

      Something in her expression said she knew about that. “Your husband?”

      “He lost a leg—above the knee.”

      “Sorry to hear that, ma’am.”

      “Stop calling me that. ‘Ma’am’ makes me feel like I lived through the Revolutionary War. Edna, Ed or Eddie will do.”

      “Yes, ma—” He saw her glare and stopped. “Eddie.”

      “Good choice.” She grinned. “And don’t be feeling sorry for J.T. He’s taken it in stride, if you’ll pardon the pun. He’s one tough marine. The few—”

      “The proud. The Marines,” he finished.

      “Oorah.”

      He closed up the blender base. “There’s no real obvious sign of trouble. I tightened a few loose wires and made sure the rest was shipshape. Let’s plug it in and see.”

      “Sure do hope you’re as good as Luke claims.”

      “Here goes.” He saw her cross her fingers.

      He plugged in the blender and with one last look at her he pushed a button. The thing came to life and the woman smiled her appreciation.

      “Looks like you’re back in the protein shake business,” he told her. “Hope your husband is happy, too.”

      “He’d rather have his bacon, eggs and fried potatoes. But we have a deal. A healthy breakfast earns a scoop of ice cream after dinner.”

      “Seems fair.”

      “He doesn’t think so but we both know who the commanding officer is.”

      “Skipper.” Brendan saluted. “Only an idiot would mix it up in a skirmish like that.”

      “Speaking of idiots...” There was a gleam in her eyes. “What woman did you ask to dinner?”

      He froze. “What?”

      “You were mumbling to yourself about it when I came in.”

      “You heard that?” he asked.

      “It’s a popular misconception that all old people are hard of hearing. For the record, there’s nothing wrong with my ears. You apparently are having second thoughts about asking a woman to dinner. So I’d like to know what woman we’re talking about and I can tell you whether or not you’re right about being an idiot.”

      He already knew he was. He momentarily toyed with the idea of saying we weren’t talking about anything, but something told him Eddie Halstead would have a big problem with that response.

      “I fixed a tractor at the Rusty Bucket Ranch earlier today and—”

      “Fiona O’Reilly.” It took her all of a second and a half to put it together.

      “How did you know?”

      “You don’t seem the type to hit on a married woman. Her sisters, Fallon and Brenna, are. To Jamie Stockton and Travis Dalton respectively.” She nodded firmly. “Since Fiona is the last single O’Reilly daughter and lives on the Rusty Bucket Ranch, she must be the woman in question.”

      “You’re not wrong.”

      “And you’re not an idiot,” she said. “Why would you think so? She’s beautiful, smart and dependable.”

      “It’s complicated.”

      “Bravo Sierra,” she snapped, using marine slang for BS. “That just means you don’t want to talk about it.”

      She was dead-on about that. “Look, if it’s all the same to you—”

      “Eddie Halstead.” Luke walked in and gave the older woman a big hug. “I saw your car outside and had to come and say hello.”

      “Good to see you, Luke.” She glanced at Brendan. “You were right about him. He fixed my blender.”

      “So, J.T. will be back in the business of drinking his breakfast,” the rancher guessed.

      “A shake is healthier than bacon and eggs,” she said stubbornly. “Especially if he’s going to keep up with his chores.”

      “Eva would agree with that.”

      “And my stubborn man isn’t getting any younger. He’s got arthritis in his hands and one good leg. These days, climbing on a ladder is like a combat mission.” She looked from Brendan to Luke. “He’s pretty handy but I don’t like him on a ladder. Ladder fall figures increase with age and physical condition. The man is sixty-eight years old, although you wouldn’t know it to look at him. Don’t tell him I said that. The point is, he’s too old to be on a ladder even if he had two good legs. Gonna make putting up Halloween decorations a challenge this year.”

      “I’d be happy to help out.” Brendan looked at her. “Say the word and I’ll swing by.”

      “Come to think of it,” she said as she tapped her lip. “The refrigerator is making a funny noise.”

      “Make a list,” he said.

      “I would sure appreciate it. The thing is, J.T.’s proud, if you get my drift.”

      “Sure do,” Brendan said. “But if he gives you any trouble, just tell him it’s one marine helping out a brother.”

      “I don’t want to take up your time,” she said.

      “He’s got plenty to spare,” Luke interjected.

      “Seems so,” Eddie said. “He just fixed the O’Reilly’s tractor and instead of taking money he’s taking Fiona out to dinner.”

      “Well, well.” Luke grinned. “All because of a house call.”

      “Marines work fast,” the older woman said.

      Luke snapped his fingers. “I just had an idea. You could expand the repair shop and go mobile with it. For the things people can’t drop off.”

      “Now why would I want to do that?” Brendan asked.

      “Because making money is a good thing,” Eddie said. “Unless you ask all of your customers to dinner. Then you’re flirting with a negative cash flow.”

      “Understood,” Brendan told her. “But that’s not what I meant. I don’t want to make long-term plans.”

      “How’s that?” she asked.

      “Because I’m only here temporarily.”

      “Why?” she asked. “You have somewhere better to be?”

      That’s what he was here to figure out.

      * * *

      No matter how many times she reminded herself that Brendan wasn’t staying permanently, Fiona couldn’t tamp down her excitement to see him. Telling herself this wasn’t a date didn’t help, either. For some reason it was how he was taking payment for fixing the tractor.

      And that was where her thought process went off the rails. He wouldn’t accept money but wanted to take her to dinner. Maybe he wanted more than that, but she didn’t think so. If that didn’t go to a girl’s head, she was the Queen of England. The logical conclusion was that he wanted to see her. Alone. Without family.

      And she was stoked.

      She’d even bought a new dress—a hunter green, long-sleeved knit that minimized her curves even as it hugged them. A contradiction that paralleled the coming social occasion she refused to call a date. The dress’s hem teased the top of her new low-heeled, knee-high black leather boots. They were a splurge, but when she got paid