Damn Bitsy, making a scene in her restaurant. Gwen didn’t need that crazy woman disturbing her customers. Aunt Suze and Uncle James had built a wonderful reputation and it wasn’t going to hell under Gwen’s watch.

Why hadn’t she caught onto what was happening sooner? She was normally hyper-vigilant, always aware of everything happening around her. She’d been trained to be that way, and just because she no longer wore a uniform and was stationed in the sand box, it didn’t mean she could let her guard down.

She’d been distracted by the handsome-as-a-model man in the Guardian polo shirt that hugged his well-developed biceps and stretched loosely over defined pecs. Throw a set of tan camouflage on that body, and he’d look like any of the special operations soldiers, sailors, and Marines who quietly filled the back corner of the mess tent at the secret U.S. Special Operations Command camp in Afghanistan. There was something about the way they walked, with a cocky confidence, yet quiet, always observing and assessing demeanor. To be honest, Quin was hot, too. Both the men were her type. Nonetheless, there was something about the man with red hair that clicked the on switch to her girl parts. When he’d smiled up at her, her accelerator moved from turtle mode to rabbit.

It had been months since a man had touched her body in the good way. She’d had her butt pinched and groped several times since arriving in Dallas, although there hadn’t been time for sex. Her tingling nipples and the heat between her legs screamed that she should take time. Toys were fine for a quick fix, but there was nothing like the touch of a man’s hands, fingers, moving—

“Ma’am, Miss Bitsy, is it?” Quin’s words jolted Gwen to the brightly dressed woman wielding a gun beside her.

Damn, that new Guardian guy could send her off the planet of reality.

Without a second thought, Gwen grabbed the gun from Bitsy and shoved it back into the woman’s over-sized purse. “Put that thing away before your hurt someone.” Turning to face the woman who was a decade older than Gwen, she explained, “You need to get ahold of Bill about this, not these good men.” She jerked her thumb toward Quin and the hot new guy.

Bitsy whipped her head side to side. “I can’t. He’s in jail.” She stabbed a perfectly manicured nail toward the table of police who were watching intently. “They won’t let me see him.”

The chief cleared his throat, gaining the attention of everyone listening—which was the entire restaurant except for the frantic mother who was packing up her two kids as fast as she could. “Ms. Stanton, as my offi—”

Bitsy whirled to face the highest-ranking policeman in the Dallas-Fort Worth area. “Stanley, thank goodness you’re here. I knew if I could talk to you, you’d straighten this whole mess out, and get my Bill out of that awful place.”

“Bitsy, I need you to calm down.” The chief slowly lowered his open hands as though pushing the tension in the room toward the floor. “You have to take this matter up with your husband—”

“But, he’s—” She started to interrupt, but the chief cut her off.

“No, Bill isn’t in jail,” the man in blue adorned with lots of gold stripes insisted. “He posted bail the next morning and has been out for days.”

The shock on Bitsy’s face said it all.

“I take it Bill didn’t come home.” The chief drew in a long breath then sighed. “Bitsy, I’ve known you all your life. Your dad being one of my good friends and all…so I’ve got to tell you, Bill used your house as collateral for the bond. If he’s not at home, you may need a lawyer, fast. Call your daddy, now.”

Suddenly looking every one of her forty years, Bitsy’s face drooped and went pale under layers of perfect makeup. She started to collapse.

Gwen leaped behind the falling woman and grabbed under her arms before she hit the floor. The new Guardian guy hurriedly shoved his empty chair under Bitsy’s butt.

One of Gwen’s best servers came running up with a worn backpack. Without looking at it, she unfastened the buckles of the large green first aid kit and grabbed the smelling salts. She knew where everything was located and how to use it, from splints to sutures. She’d used this kit on a battlefield and in a front-line, makeshift hospital.

Bitsy’s hands tried to bat away the small smelly tube Gwen waved under the sagging woman’s nose. She pulled it away as soon as Bitsy jerked up and opened her eyes.

“Eww. What is that vile smell?” Bitsy looked at Gwen as though she’d farted.

“You fainted, Bitsy.” Gwen closed up the kit and nodded for Jacki to return thebag to its designated spot. To her waitress she quietly said, “Tell the mother with the two kids that lunch is on us. See if you can help her, and apologize for me, will you please?”

“Sure thing, Gwen.” Jacki headed straight for the family.

When Gwen turned her attention back to Bitsy, the woman stood straight as a board. She smoothed her bright dress over her thighs then stared at Gwen. “You have completely embarrassed me in front of all these people.”

Gwen’s mouth dropped. “I have embarrassed you?”

Bitsy wrangled the gigantic handbag’s straps over her shoulder and huffed. “Yes. I will never come to this restaurant again.” She spun on high-heeled sandals. Head held high, she strode toward the door.

“Works for me.” Gwen turned her gaze to the men who stood towering over her, blue uniforms to her left, and gray and black to her right. She pulled up all five-foot five-inches of her body, straightened her back, and smiled. “Gentlemen, thank you for handling that little interruption without bloodshed.” She purposely looked at the unsecured holsters, then moved her gaze over the men. “If all y’all will sit back down, I’ll grab some fresh coffee and warm yours right up.”

As she turned, strong fingers wrapped around her wrist, but the grasp wasn’t tight.

She froze.

Her training instructed her to use her circular motion to bring her free fist to the assailant’s jaw, pull him into her body, and bring her knee up to his groin. While he was bent over, she should use her other knee to smash into his face at the same time she brought her stiffened straight hand down on his neck.

But she couldn’t do that.

Ignoring every muscle memory, Gwen slowly turned. Her face was six inches from the muscled pecs she’d admired not ten minutes ago. She looked up, past a recently shaved chin, over lips that could do wonderful things to her body, and into blue and green eyes surrounded by light reddish eyelashes.

“Are you all right?” The Guardian employee held her gaze.

She felt a slight pressure on her wrist’s pulse point. He was checking her heartbeat. Yes, it was racing a little, but not at NASCAR speeds. This incident was nothing compared to what she’d been through in an Afghani operating room, or in a medical chopper after picking up a wounded warrior.

Gwen pasted on her best no-worries smile. “I’m fine, but thank you for your concern.” She extracted her wrist. “I’ll get that coffee for you. Just have a seat.”

Rubbing her wrist where the man had touched her, trying to erase the tingling that lingered, she fled to the machine behind the counter to grab two pots, one loaded and the other decaf.

An hour later, Gwen escaped to the tiny office and collapsed into the cracked naugahyde chair. Before she kicked her sore feet onto the edge of the abused wooden desk, she glanced through the two-way mirror at the nearly empty dining room. The staff was good. One of the waitresses was right behind the bus boy, spraying and wiping off tables, bench seats, and chairs, while Jacki swept up a crumbly mess left by a toddler.

“Quite a day.” The cook leaned on the doorjamb.

“That’s an understatement, Luis.” Gwen leaned her head toward the kitchen. “You good out there?”

“Yeah. Cody is in and prepping for supper. He’s covering the grill while I take a break. I just finished cleaning up lunch.” Her head cook slouched in the worn chair across the desk that was older than both of them put together. “You’re doing a good job, Gwen. You know that, right? Suze and Jim would be proud of the way you handled that uppity bitch today.”

She glanced toward the dining room again and hoped she wasn’t screwing up too bad. This was her aunt and uncle’s sole income and had been for all their years of married life. “I hope so.” She turned to face Luis. “With all the crap happening here in Dallas these days, I was afraid people wouldn’t want to eat in the same place as the police. But to tell you the truth, I don’t care anymore. I was so glad to have that wall of blue behind me when Bitsy pulled out that stupid pink gun.” Gwen shook her head. “First responders like those cops, and the firefighters and paramedics from the station down the street—they’re the bread and butter of this diner. Can you believe the chief of police ate here today?”

“Yeah. He comes in now and then.” Luis leaned way back and checked the kitchen staff. “Suze told me he used come in every night and get the special. Twenty-so years ago, this was his beat. His men still look out for us today. I haven’t had to get out Little Louis in a year.”

Gwen smiled at his reference to the Louisville Slugger he kept under the front counter. He hadn’t mentioned the Baretta .45 caliber that was next to it though. That was her source of protection.

Young voices caught her attention, and she looked at the clock. When had it gotten to be so late? She watched as Jacki showed several plaid-clad girls from the nearby Catholic school to a corner table. Minutes later, a group of teenaged boys in jeans and t-shirts occupied a nearby table.

Luis smiled. “I remember those days back in Puerto Rico.”

“I thought you were too busy playing baseball to chase skirts,” Gwen chided.

“There’s always time for the pursuing pretty little things when you’re that age.” He admitted with a shrug, “But I played a lot of ball. Knew it was my ticket out of there.”

Luis had been recruited straight to the minors from high school by the Texas Rangers. He’d played a year for the Frisco Rough Riders then got bumped up to the Round Rock Express before getting called to the big show. On his first hit, in front of a crowd of thousands, he slid into second base and his shin bone shattered when the baseman fell on him. His rising star sank so fast it hit bottom before he’d sweated through his first jersey.

Obviously changing the subject, Luis asked, “Have you heard from Suze and Jim lately?”

“Yeah, I got a brief email asking about the diner.” She rolled her eyes. She’d taken the job to help her middle-aged aunt and uncle so they could take their first vacation in twenty-seven years. They’d failed mention that their trip to Alaska was in a motorhome and would take three months. At least it got her mother off her ass. Gwen really hadn’t done much since returning from Afghanistan, except eat and cat nap. And work out.

She was at a crossroads in her life. After everything she’d done as an Army nurse, she wasn’t sure she wanted to go back into that career. Overseas, she’d been given so much more responsibility and latitude in decision-making than she’d ever be allowed in a stateside hospital. Returning to an operating room where there were so many rules, personalities, and the concern was more about money and protecting the hospital and surgeon from a lawsuit than the long-term well-being of patient…well, it might not be the right place for her anymore. That restrictive work environment had no appeal now. She still had plenty of time to decide on what to do with her life. She was expected to run this diner for at least another six to eight weeks.

Gwen smiled. “Suze has become the queen of Facebook and posted a dozen pictures of Bald Eagles tearing up a McDonald’s bag of burgers as a family of tourists cowered against their car. Suze said they were from Alabama.”

“I saw that, too.” Luis checked the kitchen once again. “An Eagle is a lot bigger than I ever thought.”

“I guess they are all over the place up there.” She glanced to Luis. “You saw they’re in Vancouver, Canada, right?”

“Yeah.” The corner of Luis’s mouth kicked up. “Suze said in her email to me that they’re taking the AlCan Highway to Alaska and bitched about how many motorhome parts they were told they needed to carry because it’s so desolate out there. Thank God James is a handyman. He’s fixed these old stoves a dozen times.”

“Let’s just hope that translates over to mechanics on their motorhome.”