Page 46 of Wag More Bark Less

The man twisted his face in distrust. “Who are you again?”

“Sorry, Maggie Holland. I’m just passing through. But when I heard there was a Legion meeting, I couldn’t resist dropping in.”

“Who in your family served?” the other man asked, understandably skeptical of my attendance.

“I did.”

“What branch?”

“Army.”

“Still in?”

“No, I’ve been separated for about a decade. But I’ve done a lot of work off and on with active duty and veterans since I got out. I’d be happy to help you submit your claim.”

I braced for the rejection. These men didn’t know me. Sure, Walter could vouch for me, but I was still overstepping. But if there was even a sliver of a chance I could help, I felt compelled to try.

“I don’t have a computer,” the man with the injured knee said.

“Not a problem. I do.”

He took a slow sip from his beer can, then set it back on the bar. “Why would you want to help me?”

“Why not?” Finally at the front of the line, I quickly ordered Walter his beer. Once I had it in hand, I added, “I can come by the Legion Hall anytime tomorrow. If you want my help, all you need to bring is your DD-214, and I’ll walk you through the rest.” I could tell he was still on the fence, and I didn’t want to push him off the wrong side. “Just let me know at the end of the meeting.”

I turned and nearly face-planted into a wall of cedar-scented flannel. A firm hand caught me by the back of my arm, steadying me. An electrical current from the point of contact shot up my arm, and my pulse went wonky.

“You okay?” It was impossible to look at Luke Mason and not notice his towering height, but standing toe-to-toe with him, it felt as though those light blue eyes were looking down at me from another time zone.

“I’m good, but I might need to get Walter a new beer.” I looked down at the sealed can, my forehead grazing his chest. The roar of chatter around us dulled to a low hum, or maybe it was the way Luke’s body seemed to cocoon around me, creating a bubble for just the two of us. This close proximity was a hazard to my sanity, and yet, I didn’t move. I didn’t want to move. I wanted everyone else to leave.

“I’ll take that one,” Luke offered.

“I’d wait a bit to open it,” I said, handing over the can. His fingertips grazed mine, leaving behind a trail of heat. Maybe I was the one who was hot and cold. One minute I was determined to avoid him at all costs, and the next I was fighting the urge to crawl under his shirt to get closer to him.

You’re not well.

“Let me get you a new one,” Luke offered.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“It’s the least I can do.” He placed his hand on my shoulder, urging me to turn back toward the bar.

All this light touching was scrambling my brain, and it took an embarrassing amount of concentration to put one foot in front of the other without tripping over them.

What the hell was wrong with me? Was I so starved for physical contact with a man that my bones practically turned to liquid at the slightest touch? I wouldn’t survive an orgasm from this man. Of that I was certain.

“Chief, you made it,” an older man in a striped button-up shirt said, joining us and popping our invisible bubble. As though a volume knob had been turned up, the roar of conversation grew louder once again.

A woman wearing a T-shirt with the words #TeamDarius and a pair of bloody fangs on the front looped her hand through the man’s arm. Despite the T-shirt, she wore several layers of necklaces, all different materials, colors, and designs.

“I’m so glad I’m not the only woman in this sausage fest,” she said to me, starting a separate conversation from the men. “I’m Dylann Mercer. This here’s my husband, Frank.”

Frank nodded, but otherwise continued talking to Luke about power tools and logistics.

“I’m Maggie Holland,” I said, shaking her hand. She wore a ring on every finger and bracelets that clinked together. “What branch were you in?”

“Air Force. Served during Nam.” She looked back at Frank. “That’s how I met this one.”