Page 9 of Shane

Yeah, that’ll never happen.He shot her a terse look that was half-annoyance, half-angry disbelief over his shoulder. Stewart’s secretary was a pretty thing, but flighty as hell, and her babysitting his dogs while he fucked up his one shot at joining The TEAM would only add to the shitty way this morning was headed. Downhill, damn it.

“No, thanks. They should’ve stayed in the truck.”Where they belong.But no, they’d wiggled out of their harnesses. That was how they’d gotten free, clever girls. All they’d had to do then was squeeze out the window he’d left partially open for them, and here they were. Happy as hell to see him. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Stop right there, Mr. Hayes,” the secretary ordered with a titch of stern authority in her voice. “Bring those adorable dogs inside like I said. Please. I’ll be glad to watch them while you successfully handle your interview. Mark just got in, and you’re precisely what he’s looking for. Hurry up! You don’t have time to waste. He’s waiting for you. Chop, chop!”

Damn, she was bossy. Shane turned to tell her no. Flat no. This day had already gone to hell. With that blast of her coffee, he’d lost the edge a good impression could’ve made. Imposing his dogs on her was the dumbest idea ever.

By then, she was thumping her way over to him with plenty of attitude and noise. Well, guess what? If this was a test of wills, she’d lose. Until her lips curled into a genuine smile, and the sparkle in her coffee-brown eyes challenged the golden light of the sunbeams breaking through the plate-glass windows behind him.

“I… I…” He started to shut her down, to tell her he didn’t need anyone’s help, least of all hers. Especiallynothers. But the stubborn rebuttal his brain came up with got stuck in his throat, and, shit. “I don’t know your name,” came out instead of,‘You’ve already helped more than enough.’

Her hand came forward. “Let’s start over, shall we?” she asked demurely. “Good morning, Mr. Shane Hayes. I’m Everlee Yeager, formerly Lieutenant Yeager, Chief of Security Forces at Joint Base Elmendorf-Richardson in Anchorage, Alaska. It’s very nice to meet you. May I please get a decent cup of coffee for you before you head in for your interview? And for your information, I’m not Mr. Stewart’s secretary. That would be Paige; she’s on leave. I’m only filling in for her until I’m cleared for active duty.” She waggled her booted foot at him. “As you already know, I can be a bit of a klutz.”

Shane nodded, aware that the palm his fingers were wrapped around was much smaller and definitely more slender. Feminine. Soft and tender. But firm. LT Yeager’s grip was quite solid in fact. She might be more than he’d first assumed because she was giving back as good as she was getting. Her eye contact was impressively direct, and judging by her grip, she truly believed she was in charge.

He tipped his head to her, just once, released her fingers, and let her think whatever she wanted. In the end, it wouldn’t matter. Once Stewart kicked him out, he’d never see her again. “Good morning, Ms. Yeager. Pleased to meet you. Any relation to Chuck?”

“Ha!” And just that fast, she ditched the polish and changed back to the energetic spitfire he’d first met. “I wish I were related to America’s number one Flying Ace, but no, darn it. I’m not even a distant relative. I did get to meet Brigadier General Chuck Yeager at Air Command Staff College, though. Bright, charming man, a hero our nation should be damned proud of.”

The warm glow on this woman’s face increased along with the sincerity in her wide-open smile. Her lips were lush and pink and wet, damn it. No lipstick, only the barest hint of make-up, and none of that charcoal-smudged crap most women did to their eyes. Her copper-colored hair was cut short and framed her oval face perfectly. Didn’t they call that a pixie style? Her lashes were clean ebony feathers over clear skin the color of that mocha latte thing she’d spit on him. Not Spanish, though. But definitely some other enchanting country mingled with her European white.

“Agreed,” Shane replied hoarsely.

When the phone on the desk behind her rang, Ms. Yeager released his hand. “Listen, while you go meet Mark, I’ll handle your dogs. Tell me their names, so I can make friends.”

Shane hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“I love dogs, and Paige keeps treats in her desk for our four-legged visitors. Come on, give. Now please, what are these cute babies’ names?”

Of course, Molly’s and Dolly’s bodies waggled like they’d just found their new best friend.

The phone kept ringing, but Ms. Yeager seemed more interested in him and his dogs. Which actually said something about her, that people who were live and in-person were her first priority. She’d chosen to let the phone system handle the incoming call instead of putting him on hold and making him wait on her caller like some insignificant lackey. She’d put him first. Shane liked that small nuance to this klutzy woman with big, brown eyes.

“Molly and Dolly. They’re two-year-old littermates and trained service dogs, but they can still be a handful. Are you—?”

“Sure? Yes, positive. Go, go, go.” Ms. Yeager shooed him toward the hallway at the left side of her desk—her left, his right—and headed for the entry. “I’ll let your girls in. Mark’s office is second on the right. His door’s always open. He’s waiting for you. Hurry!”

While Ms. Yeager thumped around him to open the door, Shane obeyed. She was good for her word since neither Molly nor Dolly tracked him inside like they usually did once they spotted him. He gave them one quick backward glance and saw that they were both busy impressing LT Yeager, umm, Everlee, wagging their tails and sitting like good girls, while she cooed and baby talked at them.

Shane hurried. The hallway he entered was brightly lit with recessed overhead lighting. Plush, red carpet covered the floor. Four rosewood office doors on each side, but only the second was open. The brass name-plate on the first closed door declared:Alex Stewart.

A chill raced up Shane’s spine as he passed it, and his inner chicken-shit was glad for the temporary reprieve. That closed door meant Stewart was either already occupied or he wasn’t in for the day. Either way, it gave Shane time to ask Mr. Houston when would be the best time to set up a face-to-face meeting with the guy. Later. Tomorrow, maybe. Next week? Next month?Next year?

Yeah, no. Shane refused to accept any job offer provided he’d even get one, until he’d had his chance with Stewart. No sense being hired only to get fired the same day. Before he stepped into Mark’s view, he ran a hand over the still damp, coffee stain down his front, sucked in a deep breath, and ventured into Mr. Houston’s office looking like the loser he was. Damn it.

“You must be Shane Hayes,” Mark said from behind his desk, his arm outstretched over it and his hand reaching out like a friend. “Good to meet you.”

Shane swallowed hard, feeling like a liar and a betrayer all wrapped up into one nervous mess of shit. At least, Mr. Houston was kind enough not to draw attention to the coffee stain. “Good to meet you too, sir,” he replied, returning the handshake. “Appreciate you taking the time to meet me.”

“Sure, no problem. And it’s Mark, not sir. We don’t do titles here, and we’re always looking for a few good men, a few good gals, too. I see you’ve met Everlee.” The man was pleasant, dark-haired, and built like a beast. Dressed like he was, all in black, he could’ve passed for a nightclub bouncer. Or a Marine. And he eyed the coffee stain on Shane’s shirt with a teasing smile instead of sharp disapproval.

“Ah, yeah. She’s a pistol.”

“You have no idea.” Mark gestured to the wooden chair alongside his desk.

Shane had done his homework. Mark hailed from Ohio, had served honorably in the Corps, and was one of the first men Stewart had lured away from active duty when he’d started his business. That either said something about Houston or Stewart. Or it said a helluva lot about Shane, since he was the one still looking for decent work.

“Before we begin…” He cleared his throat. “Would it be possible to speak with Mr. Stewart first? Prior to our interview? I should’ve made that clear when you called, and I’m sorry I didn’t. But I’ve had time to think, and if it’s at all possible—”

---