In Search of a Hero

Chapter 9: Feint and Parry

He found her standing at the window, looking through the lace curtains to the street outside. The sun hadn't yet fallen but the easterly view and the roof over the deep porch meant the room was already in shadows. She'd switched on a small brass table lamp, which diffused soft light from a pleated glass shade, painted from underneath with large cabbage roses in pink and yellow. She didn't seem to hear the padding of his footsteps, focused instead on a group of young girls jumping rope together across the street. The sound of their laughter filled the light breeze.

Booth took advantage of Brennan's preoccupation to study her unobserved, hoping to add more to what few details she had revealed about herself during dinner. Sturdy leather shoes, meant for the rigors of travel more than style. A soft blouse with little cap sleeves, tucked neatly into the trim waistband of the grass-stained skirt that brushed her knees. Dark hair, its fire subdued by the dim light, caught in a tidy net at the nape of her neck. The effect was one of femininity, tightly controlled.

It was intriguing. And irresistible. And he resented it.

He coughed quietly behind one hand and smiled when she spun around immediately.

"Captain Booth."

"Just Booth is fine."

He joined her at the window, deliberately placing his wide, solid frame closer to her than was perhaps gentlemanly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her chin tilt higher in reaction to his nearness, but she didn't shift away. He bit the inside of one cheek to hide a smile and nodded toward the scene outside.

"Cute kids, huh. That's Gloria Burman jumping now. Her father is fighting in Italy. Janice and Judith Talley are holding the ropes. Their father died last year at Guadalcanal. The little redhead waiting her turn is Shirley Boyle. Her big brother joined up at the same time as Jared. Not sure where he is now."

There was a wariness hidden in the depths of her eyes when Brennan's gaze slid to his. "Your point is that other men are off fighting in the war, and you're not."

Booth met her bluntness with his own. "I'm well enough now to be with my squad. That's where I belong. Instead, they're trotting me out like . . ."

When his mouth closed around the rest of the sentence, Brennan turned to face him squarely. Her arm brushed his, a brief touch of creamy silk against hard sinew. "You've made it more than obvious that you don't want this assignment, Captain. I'd like to point out that I didn't ask for it either, nor did I have anything to do with your forced participation. We all have a role to play in the war and at least temporarily, this is ours. You can accept that or not, but the next seven weeks will be easier for both of us if we're not at loggerheads."

Booth stared into a face that held nothing but straight-forward honesty. The bare facts as she'd relayed them were impossible to argue with but part of him, the stubborn, angry soldier that still felt mistreated and misused, clung to feelings of resentment. The instinct to continue the battle, to fight until the other side gave in and he got his way slammed headlong into another truth with which he was all too familiar: when it came to moving men around the world like chess pieces on a table, the Army always won. He sighed heavily as a burst of laughter from the children playing outside drifted in with a ripple of lace curtains. He tore his gaze away from Brennan and glanced over as the Talley sisters, happy and giggling, exchanged places at the rope with the other girls, finding a moment of joy despite the loss of their father. Suddenly ashamed of the dogged inflexibility he'd shown thus far to the woman at his side, Booth finally let go of the rancor and antipathy, and held out his hand.

"I'm sorry, Doc. You're right. We all have a part to play and right now, like it or not, this is mine. Truce?"

Brennan was gracious as her slender fingers curled around his. "Truce."