Free Anything But Sweet by Candis Terry

opened her eyes and blinked. When she leaned forward, a whiff of sweet perfume
     tickled his nose.
    “I should probably warn you that I was brought up by a military father,” she said.
     “And I have a brother following in his footsteps. So unless you have a military assault
     rifle tucked in your pocket, how about we call a truce for the five and a half weeks
     I’m here.”
    “In our family we fight until someone cries uncle.”
    “I’m not much of a fighter.”
    Yeah. He got that. Soft eyes. Soft skin. Rhinestones on her sandals. Fancy Pants was
     a total girly girl. Probably more the kiss-and-make-up type.
    He exhaled a long hard breath.
    And the problem with that?
    Nothing.
    Kissing and making up had always been one of his favorite pastimes.
    “Tell you what. I’ll keep my weapon in my pocket”—he gave her low-cut sundress a
     long once-over—“if you put away your tools.”
    She laughed. “Mr. Wilder, you do have the funniest way of turning a phrase.”
    Funny?
    Him?
    Now there was something he’d never been called.
    She stood, reached down, and lifted Bear’s food bowl with a little shake. Reno wondered
     if she knew he could see straight down the top of her little sundress.
    Not that he minded.
    He’d already seen the woman in a tight skirt and blouse, and tight shorts and T-shirt.
     He knew how she was built. And as much as she irritated the hell out of him, she was
     damn fine to look at.
    “Here, Bear,” she sang out. “Dinnertime.”
    Reno watched in surprise as his dog came trotting up onto the veranda, with the poodle
     in tow. “So that’s where he’s been. Your dog is a bad influence.”
    She laughed and gave both dogs a pat on the head while they both ate from the bowl.
     “Isn’t that nice that he’s sharing with her?”
    “She’s pushy,” Reno grumbled. “And he’s too polite to push aside those silly pom-poms.”
    “Pumpkin’s not pushy. She’s a free spirit.”
    Reno took a pull of beer—licked a lingering drop from his lip. Her eyes tracked his
     every move. “Like you?”
    That got him a laugh. “Hardly. The general would never have allowed something so . . .
     frivolous.”
    “The general ?” He lifted the beer for another drink. “Literally? Or is that a nickname?”
    “Literally.”
    “What branch?”
    From the table between them, she picked up a matchbook and lit the candle in the center.
     The flame flickered behind the red glass, and shadows danced. “Marines.”
    “Jesus.” His bottle banged on the arm of the chair. “Don’t tell me your father is
     Lieutenant General Thomas Brooks.”
    “The one and only.”
    “No shit?” He leaned forward. “How’d you survive that growing up?”
    She shrugged a slender shoulder. “He wasn’t home much. The military is his life.”
    “And that left you out in the cold?”
    “My brother and I. Maybe you know him too. Lt. Nicholas Brooks? Second Battalion,
     Alpha Company?”
    “ Quick Nick? ” Reno chuckled. “I know him well. He’s a good man.”
    Charli smiled. “He’s a great brother.”
    “I take it he’s still in?”
    “Pretty sure he’s a lifer.” An expression of concern shrouded her pretty face. “I
     worry about him every day. I’m the big sister. It’s always been my job to look after
     him, especially after our mother died.”
    A pang of familiarity jabbed his heart. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
    She gave him a direct look. “As I am yours.”
    Ah, so his mother was talking to strangers again. He wondered if Charli meant the
     loss of his father, his brother, or the love of his life. Then again, it didn’t really
     matter. All three were devastating. And none were open for discussion. “Thank you.”
    He leaned back in the chair, drained the bottle of beer, and gave her comment and
     concern careful consideration. “Your brother will make it home,” he said, confident
     the statement was true.
    “Safe and in one piece, I hope.”
    “I’d count on that if I were you.