What Part of Marine Don't You Understand - By Heather Long Page 0,7

her. Her father caught her staring at a particularly green batch doing pushups one day and forbade her to go anywhere near the training fields after that. He didn’t buy that her very healthy interest in members of the opposite sex was natural or that having four older brothers discouraged potential suitors.

The music changed with her mood and took on an upbeat, almost folksy quality and she giggled. Four older brothers had been bad enough, four older Marines made it that much worse. She hadn’t gone on a real date—one that hadn’t included an older brother lurking somewhere in the vicinity—until college. She majored in music and minored in psychology. Somewhere along the way, she dropped the psych and focused on music full time.

Slowing the tempo, she found a particular chord she liked and repeated it three or four times before she wrote it down. The song crystallized and she paused to title the music sheet.

Growing Up Marine

Perfect.

It took another hour to work out all the notes, bridges, and changes. But she had her first song. She’d just shaded in the last note when the sound of a clearing throat interrupted her. A man stood in the shade a few feet away, a beautiful black Labrador sitting patiently at his side.

Oh, God. How long have they been there?

Undeterred, she grinned. “Hello.”

“Good morning.” Blond hair, high and tight, broad shoulders stretching his Marine green shirt, and dark sweatpants hiding his legs—yeah, everything about him said Marine—including the perfect posture despite the respectable tree he could be leaning against. “Sorry for the intrusion.”

“I’m sitting in the middle of a park, basically next to a running trail. Not the best place for privacy if that’s what I was looking for.” She set the guitar aside and rose up on her knees. “Hello, puppy, are you friendly?”

The man chuckled. “He’s very friendly. Go on, Jethro, go say hello.”

The Labrador bounded over. His sun-warmed coat was soft beneath her fingers, and he bestowed a slurping kiss on her cheek before returning to his owner.

“What a great name for a dog—tell me you named him after Mark Harmon’s character—please….”

“Sorry ma’am, wish that I could. But he already had his name when I got him.” He shrugged his shoulders and gave her an apologetic smile. “You’re new here?”

“Well, yes and no. I’m spending a few weeks here as a favor to my brother and—for inspiration.” And maybe, just maybe, that crazy service will come through.

“Inspiration?” He nodded to her guitar.

“Guilty.” Rising, she dusted the grass off of her jeans. Her legs protested after languishing cross-wise for the last little while, but she ignored the pins and needles. “I’m recording an album in a few weeks and I’m putting together a song list.”

“Never really thought about the people who write music—just thought—well—I guess I don’t know what I thought.” A smile warmed his faint grimace. “Sorry.”

“I never knew people wrote them either. I remember listening to all these great songs on the radio when I was a kid and thinking I want to sing like they do. So I would buy their tapes and CDs and practice. I really liked the ones that came with the lyrics. Then I could see the words and sing along. I think I memorized every one and then sometime around third or fourth grade, I’m at this school in Germany, and the teacher told me if I liked music so much I should write my own. I stared at her and was like, ‘you can write music?’”

Laughing, Naomi threw her hands up. “She goes off on this German diatribe and then says, ‘where do you think music comes from silly girl?’ and I have no idea where it would have come from, but after that I wanted to write my own. Drove my father nuts until he agreed to lessons and well—now here I am.” Babbling like an absolute idiot and this man has a deer in the headlights look. Shut. Up. But, he really has the prettiest blue eyes.

“Is it hard?”

She drew a blank. “Is what hard?”

“Writing music?” He unclipped the dog’s leash and strung it around his neck. Picking up a stick, he threw it and the dog streaked after it.

“Yes. And no. It’s hard to get the notes on the paper the way I hear it in my head. Sometimes I just have to escape away from all distractions, and play until I hear it so clearly I can write it down.” Wow, you just can’t shut up, can