The Captain's Baby Bargain

Yet she’d flash on the memory of those few hours in Gabe’s arms at the craziest moments. In the middle of a boring staff meeting. Or in her office, while staring sightlessly at some report. More than once she got all mopey, even teary-eyed.

She had to remind herself that she’d lived through separations and a final bust-up before. She’d live through this one, too.

* * *

An unexpected visit from Dingo in early June raised her spirits. He was passing through Phoenix on his way to Tuscon. Some kind of business meeting, she gathered, although Dingo tended to be as vague about his life after the military as he’d been while wearing a uniform. They agreed to meet at one of her favorite Mexican restaurants just a few miles from Luke’s main gate.

A call from the Staff Judge Advocate working the spill claims delayed Swish, so she got to the restaurant fifteen minutes late. She waved off the hostess with the explanation that she was meeting someone, took a half-dozen steps into the popular eatery and stopped dead.

Good grief! Was that Dingo in a charcoal-gray worsted suit and red power tie? The military cop whose lethal security forces had protected Swish and her team five or six years back, when they’d been ferried into a highly classified location to lay down a runway for the air assault to follow? He’d been Captain Andrews, then. Captain Blake Andrews. His face smeared with camo paint, his weapon at the ready, he’d looked as tough and scary as they came.

He still looked tough. And, yes, a little scary, but so damned handsome. Swish could certainly understand why Chelsea Howard had latched onto him. She was no slouch herself in the looks department. The two of them, Swish mused, made a striking couple.

Returning his wave, she wove her way through the tables. Her sand-colored BDUs caught more than a few glances. They also generated a good number of smiling nods. Americans in general—and the folks in the various communities surrounding Luke AFB, in particular—took pride in their military, which only added to the pride Swish herself took in the uniform she wore. And that led to the question she posed to Dingo when he commented on the ripple her appearance had stirred.

“Do you miss it?” she asked curiously.

“The uniform? Or knowing you’re a small part of something big and really important?”

“Either. Both.”

“Sometimes. But there are other ways to serve the public.”

He didn’t mention Gabe. Or the fact that his buddy was now mayor of Small Town, America. He didn’t have to. But she was half relieved, half disappointed when he aimed the conversation toward another mutual acquaintance.

“I stopped by to see Cowboy and Alex last week.”

Swish accepted the menu the waiter handed her and waved off anything but water. As much as she would’ve loved an icy margarita, she didn’t drink while on duty. “I haven’t talked to either of them since the Bash. How’re they doing?”

“Good. Alex’s stomach is in the overripe watermelon range now.” He paused, gave her an assessing stare. “Cowboy said he’d talked to Gabe.”

And there it was.

“Supposedly,” Dingo said, “Gabe’s deep-sixed his half-formed plan to get married again.”

Her reaction was instant and visceral. A brief flicker of sadness for her ex. A surge of guilty relief. And stupid, irrational, completely selfish joy. She wallowed its incandescent glow for several moments before guilt pushed front and center again.

“Did Cowboy say why he called it off?”

“No.”

Dingo knew, though. Or guessed. She saw the speculation in the look he leveled at her. To deflect it, she waited until the server took their order, then turned the tables.

“What about you and your oh-so-delectable Vegas showgirl? Last I heard, you and Ms. Chelsea were heading right for hot and heavy.”

“We’re there. Or we were.”

The slow tide of red that darkened his cheeks surprised Swish. In all the years she’d known Blake Andrews, she’d never seen him flustered or fidgety. Until now. He shifted in his seat. Crossed his knee. Uncrossed it again. Returned her gaze with a scowl.

“That woman has me wrapped six ways to Sunday. Every time I think I’ve got a handle on her, she goes off in a totally different direction. Like the last time I flew into Vegas to see her.”

His tone vectored toward petulant. Fascinated, Swish watched his facial expressions follow the same downward trajectory.

“I bought a ticket for the show at the Wynn. Paid top dollar for a VIP seat, right up front. I was going to surprise her with dinner and...well...whatever afterward.”

“From the sound of it, I’m guessing ‘whatever’ didn’t happen.”

“The show didn’t happen! Or Chelsea’s part in it, anyway. Took me three calls and a face-to-face with the production supervisor before I found out she damned near drowned in her last appearance. He fired her. So what does she do?” he demanded fiercely.

“I can’t even begin to imagine.”

Swish couldn’t. She really couldn’t. She’d met the flamboyant, long-legged dancer for the first time at this year’s Badger Bash, a mere three weeks ago.

Three weeks since she’d driven home in the early dawn. Three weeks since she’d spotted Ole Blue across a deserted intersection. Three weeks since she’d come to the bitter realization that she still loved her husband. Ex-husband, dammit. Ex!

“She goes to work at Treasure Island, that’s what happened!”

“I hear they have a great magic show,” she commented, scrambling to catch up.

“They do, except Chelsea’s not in it. She’s one of the outdoor pirates who swarm the English warship. She swings across the lagoon on a damned rope. Every hour on the hour.”

“Not a great gig for a dancer,” Swish agreed weakly.

“Ya think?” He leaned forward, his gray eyes shooting ice chips. “The fool woman can’t swim.”

“So why do they keep hiring her for these aquatic gigs?”

“She’s got friends. Lots of friends.”

“Well...”

“Well nothing. She’s an idiot, as I tried to point out last time we were together.”

“Uh-oh.”

Last, Swish bet, being the operative word. Dingo confirmed that with a frustrated slap of his menu on the colorful tile table.

“Uh-oh is right. She axed me, just like Gabe axed his almost-fiancée.”

And me, Swish wanted to add. He axed me, too. She couldn’t put all the blame for their last split on him. Still...

“Enough about Chelsea and me,” Dingo said, recovering his customary cool. “What’s going on with you?”

“Not much, aside from a massive fuel spill, an around-the-clock recovery effort and feeling totally wiped most of the time.”

“Wiped? Captain Superwoman? What happened to the inexhaustible energy that made the rest of us groan and beg for relief while you were just getting wound up?”

“Guess I just don’t wind as tight as I used to.”