The Daddy Salute. Maureen Child

      And maybe that was a good thing. He didn’t like complications. And starting up an affair with a woman who lived right across the hall from him would definitely be complicated.

      Then again, he thought with another quick look up and down her small, but curvy body, she just might be worth it.

      She cleared her throat, and he blinked.

      “Thank you…?” she said pointedly. “And goodbye…?”

      “Right,” Brian said, nodding. But before he left, there was one thing he wanted to know. Moving a bit closer, he leaned both elbows on the faux butcher-block countertop, locked his gaze with hers and asked, “What exactly is it you don’t like about me?”

      She looked startled by the question. Sliding her hands into the back pockets of her tight, faded jeans, she cocked her head to one side and said, “I never said I didn’t like you.”

      “You didn’t have to,” he assured her.

      She took a deep breath and sighed it out. “I don’t even know you.”

      He gave her a small smile. “We could fix that.”

      “No, thanks.” A quick shake of her head emphasized that statement.

      “See what I mean?”

      She frowned at him. “Now I’ve got a question for you, Sergeant Haley.”

      “Gunnery Sergeant,” he corrected her.

      “Whatever.”

      “Shoot.”

      Both of her eyebrows lifted, and she pursed her lips as if she was actually considering doing just that. A look like that could give a man pause.

      After a long moment she asked, “Why are you trying so hard to make me like you?”

      “I’m not trying to—”

      “You replaced the fixture in the hallway,” she said, interrupting his futile attempts to deny her accusation.

      Brian had to defend that one. “The landlord wasn’t going to do it anytime soon, and that hallway was like the black hole of Calcutta at night.”

      “Uh-huh,” she said, and pulled her hands free of her pockets only to fold her arms across her chest. One foot started tapping against the kitchen floor.

      He glanced at it, shrugged and said, “I guess I’m just a small-town kind of guy. Helpful, neighborly.”

      She smirked at him. “You told me you were from Chicago.”

      “My neighborhood was small.”

      She shook her head in exasperation. “You fixed my doorbell without being asked.”

      “Faulty wiring can cause a fire.” He smiled again. No response. So shoot him for being a nice guy.

      “Heck, you even washed my car yesterday.”

      “It was no trouble. I was washing mine, and yours looked as though it could use a bath.” Actually, in his opinion her dented, ancient, VW Bug looked as if it needed burying, but now didn’t seem the time to say so.

      “That’s not the point.”

      “What is the point, Kathy?” he asked, straightening up from the counter and looking down into brown eyes that had haunted more than a few of his dreams lately. “We’re the only two renters in this building younger than sixty. Why can’t we be sociable?”

      She ignored the latter question and answered the former with a question of her own. “The point is, I don’t get it,” she snapped. “I’ve made it fairly obvious that I’m not interested, but you keep trying. Why?”

      He’d asked himself that question often in the past four weeks, and he’d yet to come up with an answer. So instead of admitting that, he asked a question of his own.

      “Is there any reason we can’t be friends?”

      She smiled and shook her head. “Boy, you’re stubborn.”

      “Marines don’t surrender without a fight.”

      “There’s always a first time.”

      “You haven’t know many marines, have you?” he asked.

      “You’re my first.”

      Now, he liked the sound of that.

      Before he could say so, though, she stepped past him, and their arms brushed. Another lightninglike flash of heat shot through him, just as it had earlier today. She felt it, too. He saw it in her eyes, heard it in her soft intake of breath.

      He reached out and laid one hand on her forearm. The heat sizzled between them until she took his hand and lifted it off.

      Looking into her eyes, he whispered, “There’s something between us, Kathy. You feel it, too.”

      “The only thing between us is that hallway.”

      “Pretending it isn’t there won’t make it go away.”

      “Wanna bet?” she quipped, then walked to the open front door and stood beside it, clearly waiting for him to leave.

      Ah, well, he thought. He headed for the doorway. As he stepped into the hall separating their apartments, he turned and laid one hand flat on the door before she could shut him out.

      “I’m curious about something,” he said, letting his gaze slide over her features.

      “What’s that?” She stood half-behind the door, using it as a shield.

      “Is it all men you don’t trust?” he asked, and waited a beat before adding, “Or is it just me?”

      One dark-brown eyebrow lifted slightly as she said, “It’s all men, Sergeant Haley…”

      Well, good, he thought.

      Then she added, “And especially you.”

      Swell.

      “I’m a very trustworthy guy,” he argued.

      “And I should take your word for that, I suppose.”

      “You could call my mother,” he offered with a grin.

      Her lips twitched, but she shook her head. “Thanks. I’ll pass. Now, good night.”

      Kathy closed the door and instinctively turned the lock. The snick it made as it clicked into place seemed overly loud to her in the sudden stillness. Then, going up on her toes, she put one eye to the peephole.

      Brian backed up and stared right at her, as if he knew she was watching him. Winking, he said just loudly enough to be heard, “If you change your mind, my mom’s number is 555-7230.”

      Two

      The phone rang as soon as Brian entered his apartment. His mind still focusing on Kathy Tate, he crossed the room and absently noticed that the vertical blinds on the front windows were opened. Sunlight speared between the slats, laying prisonlike bars of pale-golden light across the floor. He shook that thought off, snatched up the receiver and said, “Hello?”

      “Hi, Bri,” a throaty, female voice purred into his ear.

      “Dana.” He tried not to wince. Even his mother hadn’t called him “Bri” since he was eight years old. But, he reminded himself firmly, he hadn’t objected to the nickname when he first started dating Dana Cavanaugh.

      “I was wondering,” she went on, snapping Brian’s attention back where she wanted it, “if you’d like to come have dinner at my place tonight.”

      He glanced over his shoulder at the closed door that led to the hallway, and beyond that to Kathy’s apartment. “Dinner?” he asked in an obvious-to-anyone-but-Dana stall. Idly he drew his fingertips