What Part of Marine Don't You Understand - By Heather Long Page 0,11
believe it, he clenches his fists and demands to know why his friend did something so stupid, now they’re both stuck. His buddy tells him, ‘but I’ve been down here before and I know how to get out.’”
Matt’s heart rate slowed.
“I’ve been in this hole, Matt. I’m down here for as long as you need me to be and we’ll walk out together, okay?”
“I like this girl.” He blurted the words out before he could think too hard about it.
“Yeah?” A smile rolled through the single syllable.
“Yeah. She’s—her name is Naomi. She’s a songwriter. I keep running into her practicing and we’ve hung out.”
“Okay.” He didn’t push, he didn’t prod, only waited.
“Damon sent a lunch over and I wanted to take it with me today, you know—surprise her with it.” He pushed past the hesitation. “Am I insane?”
“Because you want to take her lunch?”
“No, I want a whole lot more than lunch.”
“But you’re just taking her lunch, so that’s not crazy, and if she keeps going to the same spot to practice, you’re not bugging her. Is this Sparks? Congressman Sparks sister?”
Her last name was Sparks, but he hadn’t drawn the connection to any political figures. “Maybe? I don’t really keep up on that stuff.”
“Jazz mentioned her. She’s been doing some fact finding for her brother while she’s here. He’s one of our bigger supporters. Look—take her lunch. Eat food. Talk about the weather. It’s okay to enjoy yourself.”
Really?
Logan added, “I know it doesn’t seem like that and you’re probably feeling guilty for enjoying yourself. But you don’t have to. In fact—let’s make this an order. Go spend a couple of hours and forget everything but having a good time.”
Oddly enough, that helped. “Yes, sir.”
“You good now?”
“I think so.” More than a little. His breathing relaxed and the shake in his hand eased. The thought of the sandwiches made his stomach growl. “Thanks, Logan.”
“Like I said—I’m in the hole. We’ll go when you’re ready, it’s right this way….”
“Yes, sir.”
He hung up and looked at Jethro. “Let’s do this.”
The dog bounded up and raced for the door. This time, Matt didn’t slow. He clipped the leash on his collar and grabbed the basket. Hopefully she would be hungry.
He sure as hell was.
***
Naomi worked through another series of bridges and chords. The blank sheet music and pencil sat ignored next to her. She couldn’t really focus on composition when she looked at the trail every other minute. Every day she sat there and Matt showed up with his dog. They chatted for a few minutes and then he threw the stick while she played.
And today he’s not here…and I’m not writing. Music and the arts were not a career path her father encouraged. In her particular situation, Naomi agreed with him. Whether by accident or design, over half the songs she scored and wrote focused on life in the service—or the family life of someone in the service.
As if with a will of their own, her fingers switched chords to Toby Keith’s, “Made in America.” She loved the song, and the meaning behind it. Closing her eyes, she played the music and hummed along until she got to the red, white, and blue and the Semper Fi on his arm—raising her voice, she sang about King James and Uncle Sam.
Throwing her arm up after the last chord, she clenched her fist and exulted in the feeling of the song’s message. Quiet applause brought her back down to Earth. Matt stood there, in T-shirt and jeans rather than his usual running gear. He held a basket in his right hand and Jethro’s leash in the other.
Her face warmed. “Hey.”
“Hey. Don’t suppose you know ‘Courtesy of the Red, White, and Blue’?”
Grinning, she adjusted the guitar and started playing the fitting tribute to soldiers. Matt closed the distance and sat down to listen. His head bobbed in time to the rhythm and he joined her in the bridge.
“Brought to you, courtesy of the red, white, and blue.”
She loved the guitar movements, slowing the chords as she warned of what happened when you rattled the big dog’s cage, because they would put boot to ass for messing with the U.S. of A. Matt’s grin grew, but deeper shadows clouded his beautiful blue eyes. He sang with her, but he wasn’t in the moment until Jethro rubbed his head against his shoulder. His gaze cleared and he exhaled a strangled laugh on the last note.
“Damn. You’re good.”
The vehemence of the compliment floored her. “Thank you.” She bit