Sergeant Darling. Bonnie Gardner

classes. After a while, he’d just quit trying.

      And after he’d defied his parents and joined the air force instead of going on to graduate school at eighteen, he’d spent so much of his time learning how to be a good sergeant and trying to be a “regular guy” that dating hadn’t been a priority. Now at twenty-eight, he wished he’d had as much training in that particular area as he’d had in all things air force. Unfortunately, no book taught that particular skill. Not in any useful way, anyway. Although, the tired old line he’d heard in the movies had seemed to put a tiny dent in Nurse Pritchard’s armor.

      “Fire away, ma’am,” he said, flinching as he felt the swipe from the alcohol wipe and steeled himself for the jab of the needle. He was a combat controller. He was tough. He could handle one small needle.

      It was worse than he’d expected. Ray bit back a groan of pain as the serum went in. Damn. He’d thought he was prepared for it, but this was nowhere close to what he’d expected. He couldn’t help wondering if Prickly Pritchard got her thrills out of inflicting pain.

      “Pull ’em up, Sergeant Darling, I’m finished,” Nurse Pritchard said, her tone all business. “You’ll be sore, but you’ll live. You can go.”

      Ray half expected her to slap him on his butt, but thankfully, she didn’t. Figuring now wasn’t the best time to try anything with her, Ray pulled up his trousers and made a rapid exit.

      He wasn’t really beating a hasty retreat. He’d been summoned by his commanding officer, for what he didn’t know, and he didn’t have time to hang around and trade shots with Pritchard, even if he thought he’d gotten in a couple of points with that twitch of a smile. She’d already won anyway, he thought with a wry smile, and resisted the urge to rub his rump, as he strode away.

      “YOU KNOW, that one’s pretty cute, Patsy,” Senior Airman Nancy Oakley, the receptionist, commented to Nurse Pritchard as she stepped into the waiting room to call her next patient. “If I didn’t have my own personal sweetie, I might give him a run for his money,” she continued, patting her pregnant stomach.

      “I’m sure Andy would love to hear that,” Patsy said with a smile. Nancy was right, though. Sergeant Darling was as cute as his name. No, he wasn’t cute, he was downright gorgeous. “And you know my rule about not getting involved with men that come through the clinic, so that leaves both of us out,” she added as she considered the man who’d just left the examination room.

      The sergeant certainly qualified as tall, dark and handsome, in spite of the thick plastic government issue glasses he wore. The guys called them B.C., for birth control, because they were so darned ugly. But even with the glasses, or maybe in spite of them, Ray Darling could turn heads. And if Ray Darling could turn hers, he could turn anyone’s.

      “You know, he’d really look great if he’d take off the glasses,” Nancy said, handing Patsy the file for her next patient.

      Patsy laughed. “Funny, I was just thinking the same thing. But then the glasses work for him. They make him look smart and kind instead of dangerous like some of the other guys he works with. And I think he really is different from those macho bruisers in the special operations squadron. He’s always so quiet and polite when he comes into the clinic.”

      “Yeah, I like that tongue-tied, shy-with-girls kind’a thing,” Nancy said. “And the glasses do nothing to disguise that square jaw.”

      “So true,” Patsy agreed, thinking less about Sergeant Darling’s jaw than his broad back, narrow waist and well-shaped buns, which she’d seen at close quarters. And if Sergeant Darling’s little quip was any indication, he’d started getting over his shyness. And she rather liked that.

      Not that it made much difference.

      She didn’t have to worry about Sergeant Darling or any of the other men assigned to Hurlburt Field making passes at her. She’d rebuffed so many advances from men who came through the clinic that only the worst egomaniacs kept asking. Sometimes she wished the others would persist, too.

      Patsy drew in a deep breath, or maybe it was a sigh. Today, because of her brief exchange with Sergeant Darling, was one of those times.

      RED BERET IN HAND, Ray rapped on the jamb of Colonel John Harbeson’s open office door before stepping inside. “You wanted to see me, sir?” he asked when the colonel looked up.

      Harbeson beckoned Ray inside. “No, Radar,” he clarified, then he smiled. “Actually, my wife wants to speak to you.”

      Ray winced at the nickname he hated, but he wasn’t about to correct his commanding officer, and it sure beat “Darling,” which some of the guys had tried to tack onto him when he’d been new to combat control. It was his name, but still…

      Once inside, he could see that the colonel wasn’t alone. He hadn’t noticed Mrs. Harbeson sitting on the long couch that took up most of the wall just inside the door. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said as he folded his beret and stuck it into one of the many pockets on the legs of his uniform. “I didn’t see you there.”

      He couldn’t imagine what she could possibly want to see him about. “What can I do for you, ma’am?”

      “Please, Radar, call me Marianne. I’m not your commanding officer,” she said, gesturing for Ray to sit beside her. “John is.”

      “Yes, m—I mean, Mrs. H—I mean, Marianne.” That had been hard. Mrs. Harbeson was closer to the age of his mother than any of his friends. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather stand.” To reinforce his statement, Ray settled into the parade rest stance, infinitely more comfortable than sitting would have been today. After all, he’d just had an injection in his keister.

      “Suit yourself,” Mrs. Harbeson said. “I suppose you’re wondering what I could possibly want from you.”

      Ray nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

      Mrs. Harbeson arched a well-shaped eyebrow at the ma’am, but she didn’t correct him again. “I have a favor to ask of you.”

      Ray blinked. “Yes, ma’am. What can I do for you?”

      She raised her hands in a gesture of surrender. “I give up.”

      “Ma’am?”

      “Call me anything you want, Radar. Just don’t call me sir.”

      “No, ma’am.” Ray wished Mrs. Harbeson would just get on with it.

      Smiling, she said, “My women’s club is holding a bachelor auction to raise money for an addition to the enlisted widows’ home, and I was hoping that you’d agree to be one of the bachelors we could auction off.”

      “Excuse me?”

      He could not have heard her right. She wanted him to be auctioned off? No, that was not possible. Why would anyone want to spend good money on him? Even for charity. He was, now, and always had been, a quiet, smart guy. Not quite a geek, but close enough. Hell, he even wore glasses. He’d heard about the kinds of guys they used for those charity things. They were celebrities, hunks. Hell, they knew the right things to say in those kinds of situations. They knew how to talk to women. He was more comfortable programming a computer.

      “You heard me, Radar. I want you to be one of our eligible bachelors. You are eligible, aren’t you? You haven’t gotten engaged or married since we chatted at the Christmas party last year, have you? You aren’t going out with anyone special?”

      “No, ma’am,” Ray said, still shocked by the woman’s request. “Are you sure you want me?” There had been quite a marriage boom in his squadron recently, and Ray supposed that Mrs. Harbeson had been forced to scrape pretty close to the bottom of the proverbial barrel. Why else would she be asking him to participate?

      Mrs. Harbeson’s request had him sweating suddenly, and Ray wiped his damp hands on the legs of his BDU—his battle dress uniform. He was sweating because he was actually seriously considering accepting. Maybe the shot he’d had earlier