A Marine of Plenty (4 page)

Noise surrounded them. The shouts of some who still played basketball on their makeshift court, the salutes of enlisted to the captain as he strode past, motorized vehicles coming and going, and the crackling of thunder in the distance. She halted and frowned up at the blue sky.

Where is the thunder coming from?

“Jana.” Charlie’s voice snapped through her reverie. He waited three feet ahead of her, and she was in the open.

“Sorry,” she muttered and hurried after him. “I heard thunder.”

“It’s not thunder.” He scowled and picked up the pace.

Another boom of it rolled across the sky, and she glanced to the walled barricade of the base. Were they under attack? None of the men around her seemed especially concerned, so she forced her gaze ahead. They entered a lower, flatter building that backed right into a hill—or was it a small mountain? Her limited grasp of the terrain made it hard to judge. Afghanistan’s mountain regions had lots of caves and formations ideal for hiding terrorists and, apparently, for helping the Marines protect their kitchens.

Inside, they lost the escort of three and wound through a wide-open dining area toward the kitchen and the familiar sound of pots clanging, laughter, and—if her ears weren’t mistaken—music.

“Sergeant Hall.” The captain called out a greeting as he held one of the swinging doors open for Jana.

Most of the men and women working on various tasks halted and delivered swift, even salutes to the captain before returning to their cooking, save for a tall, skinny redhead with a hard face and a nose that looked like it had been broken one too many times and remained permanently crooked.

None of them were in flak jackets or helmets. The temperature inside the kitchens was about fifteen degrees hotter than anywhere else she’d been and, despite her shower, sweat dripped down her back.

“Sergeant Hall, this is Jana Grimaldi.” Charlie’s introduction dragged her attention back to the tall sergeant. He wiped his hands on a towel and nodded a greeting.

“Ma’am.”

“Sergeant.”

If Charlie stayed in the kitchen the whole time, she suspected he’d make her stay in the gear, but if he left her to work—maybe she could wrangle at least getting rid of the helmet.

“Your food arrived, ma’am, and we’ve got it in the cold storage for now. We’re finishing prep for the evening meal, and then we can talk turkey for tomorrow.”

The kitchen had three large ovens and a dozen open burners for stovetop cooking.

“If you have a place for me, I can start putting together the breads and pies.” The meat wouldn’t need that much in the way of prep. “Or even peel potatoes, if you were able to get them.” She’d had enough trouble securing the cargo space for what food she’d been able to bring—everything else had to be obtained locally.

“Corporal Duncan obtained about eighty pounds worth.” The sergeant’s pride echoed in his voice. They were feeding about two hundred and thirty-one souls, so eighty pounds wouldn’t go far, but it definitely gave them somewhere to start.

“Then put me to work, Sergeant. I want to make this the best Thanksgiving meal we can manage.” She glanced at Charlie and blinked at his frown. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s fine. You’re going to be here a while?” He seemed to be weighing her answer before she even gave it.

“We have several turkeys, roasts to get cooking and some brisket that will need most of the night. I brought flour and supplies to make bread and some pie crusts, and Hernandez will be put out if I don’t make him at least one pumpkin pie. I don’t think I’ll be leaving the kitchen anytime soon.” After all, she’d come to Afghanistan for a reason—to cook.

To his credit, the sergeant didn’t laugh.

“All right, I’m going to take care of a few things. Sergeant, when she’s ready to return to her quarters, call me. She does not leave the premises without a full escort and my notification. Clear?”

“Sir, yes, sir.” The sergeant saluted, his jaw set in a firm line. Jana didn’t doubt for a second that Hall would do exactly as instructed.

“Thank you, Charlie.” She smiled.

“You’re welcome.” He appeared to want to say more, but shook his head and left her. With his absence, the conversation rose in volume and someone turned the music up.

Christmas carols filtered through the air. The simple addition of the music reminded her of home and she glanced at Hall. “Put me to work, Sergeant, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all, ma’am.” He led her around the table and past stoves, where food prep for the evening meal continued, to an empty table. “I’ll get your flour and supplies. Oven three over there is for you. It’s a little temperamental, so have McIntosh or Cortez kick it if it won’t fire up.” He pointed to the two Marines. “We’re a little low on aprons, but we’ve got plenty of gloves.” He indicated the shelf over the sink. “Soap and water, there.” He included the fat, double-bellied sinks. “And you’ll find some pans in the cabinet below your table. Shout out if you need anything.”

Cortez carried one of her crates over and set it down. “Supply officer brought eggs in for you yesterday, ma’am. Six dozen and they’re in the fridge. Do you need those?”

“Yes, please.” She reached up to unbuckle her helmet. “All good to take this off here?”

The men exchanged a glance, but Hall nodded. “No windows back here. You should be clear. If you need to get some air, everything back on.”

Oh, that meant she could lose the flak jacket, too. Stripping out of the gear, she tried not to wave her arms around, but she cooled immediately.
Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer
came on, and Jana glanced around her. All the Marines worked diligently.

This is why I came
.

Humming the tune, she went to fetch the eggs. She couldn’t wait to make her bread.

***

Leaving her proved to be the difficult, bothering Charlie more than he cared to admit. Surrounded by a dozen highly trained Marines in a secure area, she should be fine.

But I don’t like it.

And that thought plagued him through the round of his duties. He checked in with the commander, took reports, looked over intel, and handled one disciplinary action, but the entire time, his mind wandered back to their blonde guest. The attraction he understood—the gorgeous woman possessed a sense of humor, and a sexy smile he couldn’t quite erase from his mental screen. It’d been months since he’d been with a woman, any woman. So the attraction, he comprehended. The nascent worry, the gut-churning concern? Not normal.

She’s here for less than forty-eight hours. Focus on the job at hand and put the rest out with the garbage
.

Unfortunately, the mental chiding failed to have any real effect on his reactions. He found his gaze regularly tracking to the mess hall, and the kitchen beyond it. By his mealtime, he practically vibrated with the need to check on her. He might as well be a green recruit. Bypassing his customary table, he beelined for the kitchen.

Music filtered through the doors each time they opened. Most of the Marines served themselves—only officers received trays or fully-loaded plates. Simple, straightforward, bland-as-dish-water meals kept the bellies of the soldiers full and their minds sharp—but desire for grub didn’t drive him. Mouthwatering fresh bread smells battled the meaty temptation of her slow-cooking brisket.

He heard her before he saw her. She sang along to
Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree
, her low, husky tone making the song far sexier than it should be. Or maybe the bump and shake of her denim-clad hips as she danced her way back and forth from the oven had more to do with it.

“Captain.” Hall greeted him with a snappy salute. Charlie waved him back to work. They had plenty to do without his distraction. Torn between admiring the view and admonishing Jana for disregarding his instructions to leave her helmet and flak jacket in place, he settled for navigating through the other cooks to check out her work. Pies lined the shelves above her—apple, pumpkin, and cherry from the scent. Breads joined the pies and—between the music, the hum of activity, and the scents—it transported him home to his father and brothers while Naomi and their mother busily assaulted their senses with a home-cooked meal.

She bent over the oven, jeans stretched taut across her sweet ass giving him an eyeful. Forcing his gaze upward, he caught another Marine admiring her and, with a frown, sent the man back to work. Judging by her cheerful disposition as she danced back to her claimed workstation, she was having a good time.

The lyrics and smile faltered when she noticed him. Guilt slid through her cheerful expression. “I know, I took it off.”

“It’s okay.” Not really. He hated that she hadn’t left them on, but practicality told him the kitchen listed as a safe zone and it was hot—too hot for the helmet. Not when sweat curled the wisps of hair escaping from her braid against her forehead and neck. He didn’t like the way her expression fell or the guilt tightening the lines around her eyes.

“But I agreed—” she argued.

“Did you get permission before you removed them?” He folded his arms. If she wanted to plead her case, he’d allow it. From her e-mails, he knew she enjoyed making her point.

“Sergeant Hall said it was okay.”

The aforementioned sergeant gave him a quick nod of assent.

“Then it’s okay. Safety first and it’s hot in here, so you were in more danger of heat exhaustion with it on. Makes sense.”

A sudden cheer lit her face, and his heart donkey-kicked his ribs. Nothing about this woman was as it should be. A civilian in a war zone, a mourning sister fixing Thanksgiving dinner, a protectee who filled him with primal lust and need—yeah, not at all what it should be.

“Phew. I worried since I promised to follow all the rules.” She added the bread pan to the shelf and set her oven mitts aside. Blowing a puff of breath upward in a vain effort to cool her forehead, she glanced around. “What do you think? These guys really know what they’re doing. We’re almost done with all the desserts and breads. I just put in the last ten loaves and five more pies. The brisket is cooking, then we’ll start the turkeys late tonight, so they can slow roast all night long….”

His body reacted to the last three words, but he managed a nod. “It looks fantastic.” She looked even better than the food. “Do you have time for a break?”

“Um….” She glanced around for Sergeant Hall. “Sergeant? Can you keep an eye on the bread? Everything needs to come out in about thirty minutes.”

“We got this. Go take a break, ma’am.” His immediate agreement brought another smile to Jana’s face.

“Thank you. I’ll be back to tackle turkeys when the evening meal is done. I also promised to put together those muffins for the breakfast call tomorrow.”

Charlie frowned. Did she plan on spending her entire night in the kitchen? She hesitated and reached for her gear.

“It’s fine.” He shook his head. “Carry it with you, but we’re still in a secure spot.” The room had high windows, with shutters that let it light, but obscured a view and his table was far from the main doors. Not perfect, but it would have to do.

Gratitude curved her mouth and warmed her eyes. “Well, for that you get to sample the peach cobbler I made earlier. We won’t have enough for tomorrow, so Sergeant Hall recommended giving it to the officers for tonight’s meal.”

“Did he now? Generous.” He guided her from the kitchen and into the bustling mess. Fortunately, the officers he usually ate with had already finished their meals, so he had Jana all to himself. Ignoring the internal fist pump of glee, he pulled a chair out for her and waited until she settled before sitting. A private delivered two trays and, apparently, the cobbler wasn’t all Hall had arranged for the officers to have—fresh, doughy rolls accompanied stew for the evening menu.

Jana offered him her cobbler. “You want extra?”

He lifted his brows. “Should I be worried the cook doesn’t want to eat her own dessert?”

A warm pink suffused her cheeks and she chuckled. “Actually, I don’t tend to eat a lot when I get a good binge meal prep going. I think it’s smelling all the food and sampling now and again—it fills me up—not to mention I don’t really need the added calories. If I ate some of everything I fixed, I’d be big as a barn.”

Bullshit
.

But he kept a lid on the thought. She possessed an exquisite body, with generous hips and a lush, curvaceous ass. If anything, he thought she could stand to gain a few pounds. “Well, why don’t we eat first and if you still don’t want your cobbler, we’ll discuss it then.”

“Fair enough.” She slid the little bowl back into place and glanced around the room. “Thank you, again.”

“For?” He tore a roll in half and dipped it into the stew. He’d had the cook’s stew a few times and her version added new flavor to the normally bland fare. Charlie cared less about the food than the company.

“For being interested.”

The candor in her response shocked him. Stuffing the gravy-soaked roll into his mouth, he bought some time to consider his reply. She couldn’t possibly be thanking him for his sexual interest. She cradled her coffee cup and sipped the black brew without benefit of sugar or cream. She had to be related to a Marine to swallow the sludge without a grimace.

“Finals week.”

The non sequitur threw him. He unscrewed the cap on his water bottle. “I’m sorry, what?” He wanted sleep and even if it eluded him, he preferred to not be jittery.

“You stared at me drinking the coffee like I should hate it, but this is no worse than what I drink during finals week. I double brew—pour one pot of coffee through twice so it’s super strong and could burn through your stomach like battery acid.” She lifted an arm and flexed. “Okay, maybe just super awake. Then I can cram and pass my tests.”

God, she’s young
.

The thought troubled him. She couldn’t be more than twenty-two, if that. He didn’t recall if he’d read her age in the file he’d received or the orders or she’d mentioned it to him in one of their half-dozen e-mail exchanges. Younger than he by seven or more years, but not even cold reality took away from her appeal. She really was a breath of fresh air in the hot, dusty desert.