Chapter 4
Chapter 4
H e put a pin in the map and had to take it back out again because he had no idea what he’d marked or why.
Blast Juniper Dunbar.
The woman was like a brain worm, constantly wriggling to mind when he tried to think of other things. He was supposed to be plotting rebel target sites on a map. Instead he stared vaguely, pin in hand, poking uselessly in and out of the map. Like a squirmy child who can’t sit still and focus. Worse, like an idiot lovestruck soldier.
Not love, annoyance, he assured himself. The woman worked his ever loving last nerve and it was so aggravating that she got to him that it got to him even more, doubling down on the annoyance.
“Sir.”
The sergeant’s interruption startled John, causing his hand to slip and jab his thumb with the pin. He expelled a word and popped his thumb in his mouth, sucking off the drop of blood. When he regarded his sergeant, the man was already in a flop sweat, terrified John would once again dropkick him through the tent flap. In his current mood, it was a worthwhile fear.
“S-sorry,” the man stuttered and then, remembering John hated that fear stammer, cleared his throat and took a breath. “Pardon the interruption, sir. Someone here to see you.”
John’s brain scrambled, trying to think who on earth would visit this remote location. “Brass?” Had the higher ups come with a new directive?
The sergeant cleared his throat again. “It’s, uh, Juniper, sir.”
John’s eyes narrowed on him, not enjoying the familiarity of her name on his lips. “Please show Miss Dunbar in.”
“Yes, sir,” the man replied, genuflecting his way backwards through the flap.
A moment later he reappeared with Juniper, who looked and smelled fresh and pretty, despite the oppressive heat. John caught a whiff of something clean, tropical, and sweet. Did she bathe in the river like the locals? That was definitely unsafe, what with all the crocodiles and enemy combatants wandering around. But he couldn’t otherwise account for her fresh and spotless demeanor, unless she’d found some way to magic indoor plumbing the way she’d found a way to bake.
He realized, belatedly, that he had been staring stock still while he made his inspection and had these thoughts, his gaze fastened on Juniper, some might say hungrily. And his sergeant was there, privy to everything. With a nod, he dismissed the man.
“Actually, he can stay, if it’s okay,” Juniper interrupted, resting her hand gently on the man’s forearm. “It concerns him, too.”
John focused on that hand on that arm. Why was she touching him? Was she making a play for all the men in the camp? That would explain what had them all so addled in her presence, in addition to the fact that she was the only woman for miles. His eyes narrowed on the sergeant who took a step away from Juniper and gulped so loudly John could hear it from across the room. Where did the army get these gutless boys?
“May I?” Juniper asked, reaching for the chair across from his desk.
John indicated the chair with a flourish and everyone sat, Juniper and the sergeant on one side, him on the other. He had the idea she was waiting for him to speak, so of course he didn’t. He folded his hands and waited her out.
She folded her hands, too, no doubt mimicking him, and dimpled a beaming smile. “So, Major Caruthers.”
It was somewhat startling to hear her call him that, but he didn’t let on. He’d developed a good poker face by the time he entered kindergarten. His father hadn’t liked any form of whining or crying. John had learned early to hold it inside and reveal nothing. The army had only enhanced that skill. “Miss Dunbar,” he said, tone remote and civil.
She leaned forward and flattened her palm on the table. “My mother was famous for her pecan pie.”
That was unexpected, but John didn’t show it. He well remembered her mother’s pie. Pecan had been his favorite, the treat she made him every year on his birthday.
Juniper tipped her head to study him, more than a hint of amusement in her features. “Have you ever had pecan pie, Major Caruthers?”
“A time or two,” John said, certain she remembered it was his favorite. The woman was like an elephant; she seemingly never forgot anything. Beside her his sergeant shifted, as if shocked by the bombshell revelation that his commanding officer enjoyed pie. His men had probably never seen him eat pie, but not because he didn’t like it. More because he was picky about it. Army pie could hardly be considered such. He’d rather do without than spoil his memories and taste buds with rotten pie.
“I recently came into possession of a large amount of native cashews,” Juniper declared.
“That does not surprise me at all, Miss Dunbar. I definitely think nuts when I think of you,” John said.
“Now Major Caruthers,” she chastised, knocking the desk between them. “You are going to cause me to renege on my fun surprise.”
“I shudder to ask what ‘fun surprise’ you might be referring to,” John said.
“For some reason, I’ve been thinking a whole lot about home and those pecan pies my mama used to make for special occasions, and there wasn’t anything for it until I tried to recreate one, using what I had on hand. I think cashews are a fair substitution, and I came to seek an expert opinion.”
“You baked a pie,” he said slowly.
She shook her head.
“No?” he pressed. The woman’s mind wasn’t natural. It was like it worked in riddles and everything had to be unwound.
“I baked four pies,” she said. “Tell me, how many men are in this camp?”
The sergeant opened his mouth to answer, but John barked, “That’s classified.”
“Oh,” Juniper said, once again amused. “I can see why. You wouldn’t want anyone to bake poison pies, take out the whole platoon. Battalion? Brigade? Unit? Team? Squad?”
“You’re quite the walking thesaurus, Miss Dunbar.”
“I had a good teacher, Major Caruthers.”
“One who was a bit too lax on discipline, in my estimation,” he said.
“I had a strict one until I was eight. When he disappeared, I traded up,” she said.
He knew she meant her father had taught her fulltime after he graduated and left for the army, and yet the way she said it made him wonder if there had been some other boy or man to take his place. Someone else she spent all her waking hours with. As much as he tried not to let it, the thought left a sour taste in his mouth. Of course he hadn’t wanted Juniper to be his constant tagalong and sidekick back then. But neither did he want her to be anyone else’s. Juniper had been the family pet; there was something special about being her chosen someone. It had made the rest of the family, and even people in town, look at him like he was something exceptional for being her choice.
“I brought the pies, in case you were wondering,” she said when he didn’t reply.
“I wasn’t, but now I am. How did you get four pies here?”
“I tied them in a bundle and carried them on my back like a little papoose.”
“You walked three miles through the jungle with pie on your back?” the sergeant said, sounding a little too awed for John’s tastes.
“And where are these alleged pies right now?” John asked. If his mouth now watered, it was because it was lunchtime, not because all he could think of was pie, the sort her mother used to make. If John had one weakness, and to be clear he did not, but if he did, it would be pie. Somehow he thought Juniper knew and was using it against him.
“I left them with the men.”
John and his sergeant traded glances. “They’ll destroy them,” the sergeant said, sounding wounded. The men were like a horde of locusts when it came to food, devouring everything in their path. Those pies wouldn’t be safe with them. Fistfights could break out. “Permission to go and check, sir?”
John gave him a nod and watched as the man flew out of his chair so fast it was like watching an ejection seat on a fighter jet.
“Oh, no,” Juniper said, hand to her cheek. “They’ll probably eat them all. Shoot, it’s probably too late and you won’t get any. Oh, well. It’s not like you’re a big fan of sweets or pie in particular. Are you, Bear?” She tipped her head and regarded him, equal parts insolent and adorable.
“You know I am,” he ground out. Blast her and her ways, making him yearn for pie and then taking it away.
She gasped and covered her mouth. “Oh, that’s right. You were always partial to Mama’s pie. I can’t say I did hers justice, but hopefully I came close.”
“It’s rather a moot point now, isn’t it, Juniper?” he asked, resisting the urge to kick the desk. I want pie! That was now the new number one refrain running through his brain which, despite the letdown of not being able to get any, was still better than the previous refrain of JuniperJuniperJuniper that had been playing since he first stepped into her tent.
“You look a little miffed, Major. Are you miffed? I mean, surely a high and mighty officer such as yourself doesn’t get put out over a little thing like pie. Does he?”
“Woman, you are poking at a thing you’d best leave alone, if you know what’s good for you,” John warned.
She laughed, a Juniper burble of delight that at some other time might have made him smile. Now, hungry and cranky as he was, it made him see red. “You’re assuming I have any idea what’s good for me.”
Before he could respond to that, she reached into a bag at her feet, deposited an entire pie on the desk before him, and leaned forward to whisper in his ear. “A good southern girl always bakes a secret fifth pie for the people who are most special.” She straightened and tossed him a little wink and a little wave. “Goodbye, Major Caruthers. I do hope it will be an extra good day.”
John didn’t say a word as she exited his tent. He sat still for exactly thirty seconds, until he was certain she was well and truly away, then reached into his drawer, pulled out a fork, and ate his pie straight from the tin.