Each time he’d followed Ashley and said something no-doubt inappropriate or rude, Jim had expected her to turn around and lay into the guy.
But she didn’t. And she didn’t. And she didn’t again.
The whistle blew, and the woman took off—faster than almost everyone else.
She had runner’s legs—long and muscular. She looked and acted like a powder puff pushover, but in fact, she was strong.
Jim powered up his electric dirt bike and surged ahead to catch up with her. “Hey, Ashley,” he called, and she turned to look at him, her blue eyes shaded beneath her Red Sox cap. “Remember to pace yourself. Gonna be a long day.”
She nodded—so serious—and kept running.
***
Jim saw right away that Ashley hated her time at the shooting range. She tried to duck out of it, using her negotiating skills as an attorney to attempt to “opt out,” but Jim hardened his heart and didn’t let her do it.
So as he’d watched, she’d closed her eyes and she’d fired her weapon. She did about as well as could be expected—considering that she’d closed her eyes as she’d fired her weapon.
The O-course was a fiasco for her, too. She had little-to-no upper body strength, and most of the obstacles required strong arms and shoulders. But her brother Clark and his friend Kenneth had stepped up—helping her along.
They were the only ones out of the other twenty-five campers who hadn’t just blown past Ashley.
She’d killed it, however, on the pop calc quiz that the campers had been hit with immediately after lunch. She wasn’t lying when she said she had math skills.
By 1600, they were done. The campers had free time to clean up before dinner as Jim headed into Dunk’s office to help create the teams.
Thomas King and Lucky O’Donlon were already in there. Lucky was sprawled on the big leather sofa, while Thomas sat in a hard-backed chair. He rose as Jim came in, clearly offering him the seat.
“Jeez, King, I’m not your eighty-year-old grandpa,” Jim said, but then realized that, yeah, maybe he was, since the only other places to sit were that too-soft sofa—with his knees at their current level of agony, he’d need a forklift to pull him out of there—or the chair on castors behind Dunk’s desk. And no way was he taking Dunk’s seat.
“Of course not, sir,” Thomas said smoothly. “I was saving it for you, due to yourtemporaryissues. See, with these arm rests…?”
Jim would be able to push himself back to his feet without embarrassing himself. “Thanks, man,” he murmured as he took Thomas’s seat.
“De nada, sir,” Thomas murmured back. “I got you. Your being here is saving my ass.”
From whoever that girl was, who’d obviously taken one look at the young SEAL with his handsome face, his BUD/S-hardened muscles, his ramrod straight posture, and his brilliant leader’s mind combined with the empathic compassion of a hospital corpsman… Whoever she was, the girl was no fool.
But then Rio Rosetti came in, with Dunk right behind him. As always, Rio was talking up a storm.
“He’s an asshole, is what he is, Senior,” he was earnestly telling Dunk. “And if he ends up onmyteam, I cannot guarantee he’ll survive the session.”
“Let me guess,” Thomas said dryly. “We’re talking about Bull Edison.”
“We are,” Dunk admitted.
Even Lucky made a face. “I say we rotate him and his idiot friend, what’s his name, Tom?”
“Todd,” Jim said in unison with Thomas and Rio.
“That’s not a bad idea,” Dunk said as he perched on the edge of his desk. “Tag-team ’em. We can all handle Bull and Todd for a few days at a time.”
Jim spoke up. “I’ll take ’em.”
They all turned and looked at him. Even Thomas couldn’t hide his surprise.
Jim shrugged. “I actually want them. Along with Ashley, Clark, and Kenneth. Five person team. The rest of you get six.”
Dunk laughed his surprise. “Man, I know you’re fucking nuts, but do you have to prove it so early in the session…? I mean, I was expecting some serious crazy from you, but not until around day three…”
