by Lori Leger
“Not for trick or treat, but for a costume party with our Mardi Gras Krewe. You know, the one I invited you to a couple of weeks ago and suggested you bring a date?”
“Oh…I remember now. So what’s your costume?”
“It’s a surprise, and don’t change the subject. Who’d you ask?” Sarah’s tone indicated she was more than a little curious.
“Nobody.”
Her brow furrowed severely. “Why not? What are you waiting for? Don’t you know it takes time to plan for these things…to buy costumes and make-up and such?”
“Sarah—”
“—You can’t pop this on a girl at the last minute, Mitch.”
“I have a job now, sis. I’ll have to work at Red’s club that night. Incidentally, the club has its own costume party. I hear Red goes all out and gives big cash prizes and everything.”
“Oh.” Sarah seemed to contemplate his comeback. “Does Meagan have to work that night?”
“Yes, Sarah. She and I are on the same schedule.” He shook his head. “You should be going as some kind of pushy Goddess of Matchmaking.”
“Excuse me?” Sarah stood there, with her hands on her hips.
“Babe, come on. It’s not like you’re attempting any show of subtlety.” Tanner gave his wife a kiss to smooth her ruffled feathers. “Give the guy a break. Two months ago he was in Afghanistan.”
“Thanks bro.” Mitch raised his right arm for a quick fist-bump with his brother-in-law.
Tanner gave him a nod. “I’ve got your back, man. I keep telling her you’re entitled to plan out the rest of your life without any interference from your sister.” He aimed a look at his wife, just before he smoothed it over with another quick kiss on her lips.
Sarah snorted and rolled her eyes. “Well, excuse the heck out of me for wanting to see you settled and happy.”
Mitch set his squirming nieces down on the floor before looping an arm around his diminutive sister’s shoulder. “I am happy. As for settled, I want that too, sis, but I have some things to work out first. You forcing the issue won’t help matters, I can promise you that.”
She stopped and faced him, studying…what…he didn’t know. Whatever she saw there seemed to appease her curiosity. Thankfully, she changed the subject.
Unfortunately, it didn’t come soon enough for Mitch. Mention of Meagan had opened the floodgates of thoughts about her.
After their shared illness, they had both, somewhat remarkably, recovered enough to show up for work that night. By the end of their shift, Meagan had been dragging so badly, she’d regretted not calling in sick. He’d been a mass of confusion, torn between wanting to hover around her to make sure she was okay, and wanting to get as far away from her as possible.
The entire incident had made him do the one thing he’d never done in his twenty years as a Marine. That was to doubt himself. He worried now, as never before, that he’d come back from his years serving his country, bearing scars from old wounds, both mental and physical.
He had to wonder. What if? What if, he had the type of scars that lay dormant for years? What if something forced them to the surface one day and he snapped?
He’d heard stories over the years. Some Jarhead made it home, only to go ballistic over fireworks during the neighborhood July 4th block party. After twenty years in the Corps, the last ten in the ‘armpit of the Middle East’ as Tex called Afghanistan; he’d seen some serious shit. Shit that no normal person should have to see, but that Marines see on a regular basis—men blown in half, their limbs severed, or torn off. Faces swam before him, faces burned beyond recognition to match the rest of their bodies. Faces of Marines, still breathing, still alive enough to feel the excruciating pain, until that blissful shot of morphine put them under for their final trip home. Pain…suffering…fighting…death. Or not. Some men made it out alive, but never really lived again.
No. He could not, would not subject Meagan, or any other woman to that. It was far too risky, too dangerous, as he well knew. He’d contacted someone at the VA hospital already, had set the wheels in motion for a thorough psyche evaluation. He had to know if he was a danger before, not after, he drug anyone else into his life of doubt and uncertainty.
****
Three days. Three long days without talking, really talking, to Mitch. They’d finished out the last of their three-day hitch and by the end of the shift, all Meagan had wanted was to sleep off her exhaustion. She hadn’t heard a peep from him during the two days off, and she couldn’t even imagine what ideas were swimming around in that head of his.
She put the finishing touch to her make-up, heavy black eyeliner and several layers of mascara, and stood back to view the results in the full-length mirror. “Not bad, Meagan. Maybe this will flip the Jarhead’s switch.”
A trip to the local Goodwill store had rewarded her with the perfect costume for very little money. She’d lucked out and found a sexy GI costume—a one-piece spandex romper in a desert camouflage pattern that fit like a glove, along with a matching military style cap. Further searching had uncovered a couple of faux leather ammo belts complete with fake rounds. She looped one low on her hips. The second fit around one thigh like a garter. She completed the look with black diamond thigh highs and a pair of black lace-up knee boots borrowed from Niki.
“You look pwitty, Mama!” Buck spoke from behind her in breathless admiration. She stepped aside to see her son’s reflection and grinned down at him. “You think so?”
His little head bobbed up and down happily. “Yep. You awe the pwittiest mama…evah!” He threw his arms out for emphasis. “Awe you gonna weah that when you bwing me twick or tweating?”
Niki’s laughter cut through the child’s innocent question. “Yeah, Meagan. Are you gonna wear that for trick or treating on Thursday night?” She leaned against the doorjamb, wearing a pair of Daisy Duke cutoffs, a long sleeved shirt, its tails tied high at the waist with the sleeves rolled up, and her favorite pair of heeled, brown suede, harness boots.
Meagan threw a smirk in Niki’s direction before kneeling before her son. “I think I’ll wear something a little more regular mommy when I take you trick or treating, sweetie. It’s supposed to be cool and this may not be warm enough.”
“Humph…I bet that get up will be plenty hot enough for a certain recently retired Master Sergeant; that is, unless the fool is too much of a blockhead to notice.”
Meagan stood and shot her friend a meaningful look. “Oh he’ll notice…I’ll make darn sure of that.” She looped her purse over her shoulder, grabbed Buck’s hand and his backpack before heading toward the kitchen door. She called back to Niki at the door, “You want me to swing back by to pick you up after I drop him off at Mr. Daniel and Ms. Leah LeBlanc’s house?”
“Sure, if you think you have time to. I figure that by the end of tonight, I’ll need a designated driver. That is, unless you plan on catching a ride home with someone else after tonight.”
Meagan turned and gave Niki a wink. “I’ll let you know, but it’s not a problem. Red will have plenty of sober drivers on hand for tonight. I’ll be back,” she intoned, a la Schwarzenegger.
****
Red stuck his head out the front door and closed it with a low whistle. “Tonight is showing all the signs of a full house and a ball buster busy night, Mitch. Stay on your toes buddy, and please, if anyone tries to bring in anything that looks remotely like a weapon, please check it out. If it ain’t flimsy and plastic, it stays outside.”
“Sure thing, boss, and uh, that’s a damn fine costume, by the way.” He nodded at Red, dressed as a biker, covered in studded black leather riding gear.
Red lifted the edges of the vest, decked out in chains. “Nice, huh? Tiffany picked it out for me. I don’t mind telling you, though. Once I saw her costume I had a few second thoughts about it.”
Mitch laughed as the lady in question joined them, looking every inch the buxom biker babe in Harley Davidson attire.
“Hey, I gave you a choice, s
o I don’t want to hear any complaints!” Tiffany passed a hand down her husband’s leather covered back, ending with a pat on his leather-covered butt. “You could have been Han Solo.”
Red nodded at Mitch. “I really wanted to be Han, but she said only if she could dress like Leia as a slave…you know…in that skimpy little outfit when she’s chained to Jabba the Hutt?”
“Oh, yeah…I know exactly what you’re talking about. That’s what Leia was wearing during my first wet dre—”
“—Mine too!” Red interjected. “So you know why I had to say no to that one.”
“Uh, yeah. I’d have turned that down too,” Mitch agreed.
Tiffany shook her head. “It’s just a costume.”
Mitch gave his head an adamant shake. “I hate to disagree with you, but no, it’s not.”
“It’s like…every guy’s fantasy, babe. I mean… Princess Leia in that flimsy get up and chains is a universal turn on for guys.”
“Oh, that can’t be true,” she said, turning to Mitch for help.
He sucked in his breath and nodded. “Yep. It’s true.”
She threw up her hands in disgust as she stormed off muttering something about all men being pigs.
A quick glance over at Red showed him shrugging in agreement with his wife.
Mitch checked his watch. A quarter until opening and Meagan wasn’t here yet. Thoughts of her, along with the recent Princess Leia comments, had his overactive imagination in hyper-drive, developing mental snapshots of her in that costume, complete with chains. He groaned, and adjusted himself to accommodate the tightness in his groin area.
That would have to be the single hottest thing on earth.
The familiar click and thud of the back door opening had him turning toward the sound—and slammed him with a sudden change of opinion.
“Oh…shh…iiiit…” He hadn’t meant to speak the words, but somehow, he had. More disturbing had been the sound of his voice—more like a territorial growl of warning than anything else. Nothing could have prepared him for the sight of Meagan wearing some kind of clingy, tight-fitting, curve-hugging, camouflage costume that somebody must have poured her into.
He stood there, frozen and torn between wanting to run from the place, throw up his hands in surrender and bow to her every whim, or throw a blanket over her. She was hot—and soon every guy in this place would see her looking that way. As usual, the blood rushing to his groin area overrode all trace of common sense when it came to this woman. Within seconds, he’d approached her, stopping to appreciate her accessories, gone unnoticed before now. Black thigh highs, laced knee boots with tall blocked heels, and a military styled cap over her lustrous dark locks.
“What the hell are you wearing?”
Meagan turned, looking as though she’d just noticed him standing there, but he knew that was a load of bullshit. She’d homed in on his location, targeted his ass from the second she’d stepped through that doorway.
“Oh, hey!” she said, sounding innocent, as she observed his version of real desert camies. “You’re a Marine, and so am I. Imagine that!”
“Yeah, imagine that,” he said, tense, tightlipped, and not the least bit amused.
“I don’t guess you had to go scrounging for that get up like I did, though, huh?” Her chuckle sounded easy, unrehearsed.
“Just my foot-locker.”
She tossed her backpack under the bar and adjusted her suit’s zipper, lowering it a bit. He supposed it was in order to show even more of her cleavage than she already was. His breath caught in his throat as she leaned over, practically spilling out of the damn thing, in order to adjust a fake ammo belt she wore around her upper thigh…over those damn sexy, diamond-patterned stockings.
“Every time I visit one of those Goodwill stores, I find something that saves me a ton of money.”
“Seems like you could have let a little of that blood money go to buy a decent costume, or at least one that fits properly.”
She straightened, flinging her thick hair back and adjusting her hat. “That’s my emergency fund. Costumes don’t count as emergencies. And what do you mean, anyway? This fits perfectly, although, if I’d had time I could have taken it in a little around the hips. What do you think?” She turned around to show him her ass. “It should fit a little snugger around the butt, don’t you think?”
He choked back a reply, did an immediate about face and headed out through the door for some cool air. The line to get in had already begun to form, reaching halfway down the city block. From what he’d heard, Red’s costume party was the place to be the weekend before Halloween, and the length of the line attested to that fact.
After checking his watch once more, he got the okay from Red and began letting customers in, one or two at a time, but only after checking for weapons.
“Oh, Mr. Marine, you want to check me out?” a frisky kitty cat purred in his ear.
“You’re good,” he said, giving her a gentle shove through the door to where Janice Cuevas was waiting to take her money.
“How about me? You want to check me for concealed weapons, partner?”
He paused at the familiar voice, realizing he hadn’t even been paying attention to anyone’s face. “Hey, Niki. How you doing tonight?”
“I’m okay. How about you? Got any after-shocks from that bug y’all picked up?”
“I’ve got an after-shock all right, but it ain’t from that,” he grumbled.
“Have you seen Meg, yet?” she asked, standing off to the side, he supposed to check out his reaction to her roommate’s costume.
“Yup.” He had excellent peripheral vision…could see her grinning…waiting for him to reveal something she could run back to Meagan with. Well damin if he’d give her a thing.
“What’d you think? Cute, huh?” she goaded.
He checked the next mob couple’s ‘toy’ weapons. “Sorry, you can’t bring this one in,” he apologized to the guy. “It’s made of metal and looks too damn close to the real thing. Just go bring it to your car and I’ll let you right back in. Nice job, by the way, and here, this one’s okay.”
He lifted one shoulder, hoping to make Niki believe he couldn’t care less. “It’s a costume.”
He breathed a sigh of relief when she finally left, looking somewhat disappointed in his response. Hey, if Meagan wanted to dress like a ‘soldier’, albeit a hot, sexy as hell soldier who’d been dipped in a bucket of camo paint, she had every right to do so. He wiped his forehead. Shit, just thinking about her in that get up, had him sweating bullets. Bullets. He had to admit, that garter thing with the rounds had been a nice touch, even though there was no such thing in the real Marines. Never the less, it was a hell of a nice touch. He wiped at his forehead again.
“Hey man, how many times are you gonna look at that thing?”
The question brought him back to the present. He looked across at the couple in front of him, realizing he’d been daydreaming. “Sorry, man. Here you go.” He handed the cowboy back his cheaply made plastic Colt 45.
Get your mind back on your business, Marine.
Ten minutes later, the queue to get in the club had finally minimized enough for Mitch to catch his breath, when another familiar voice caught his attention.
“Look! It’s a Jarhead. You’d think after twenty years he’d be sick of wearing those desert camies.”
He looked up at Tex, accompanied by the prettiest little zombie he’d ever seen. “Is that you, Haley?”
“Yep! Don’t pay any attention to him, Mitch. I love seeing you like that. It kind of reminds me of Ben.”
“Ben? Oh you mean Lance Corporal Bonin! You mean you’re dating someone who’s not around to cater to your every need?” The answer was obvious from the way her face lit up.
“We saw each other every day before he had to go back!” She used her hand to fan herself. “Oh, God, he’s such a nice guy.”
“Yeah?” Mitch laughed. “Nice guys aren’t usually the ones that make girls like you fa
n themselves.”
“Well, yeah, but,” she leaned in closer so Tex wouldn’t hear. “He’s hot, too!”
“I don’t know about all that, but he does seem like a nice guy. Don’t you think, big brother?” He shook Tex’s hand.
Tex gave a reluctant shrug. “I guess.”
Mitch gave his buddy the once over. “And what about you? You’d think after thirty-eight years of being East Texas trash, you could think of something different to wear.
“Oh, this?” Tex waved his hands at his normal cowboy attire. He unfolded a black knee length jacket and slipped it on over his black shirt. After a slight adjustment to his collar, he waved his hand again.
“And just who are you supposed to be? Doc Holliday?” Mitch said.
“Really? You don’t see it? Not even with the neatly trimmed beard, the dimples, the blue eyes, and the brilliantly handsome smile?” Tex smoothed his hand over his blondish brown mustache and goatee and looked down at his sister. “He doesn’t see it, kid. How can that be?”
Haley grinned adoringly up at her big brother. “Put on the hat and turn around, Matty.”
Tex set a large black Stetson, it’s rim curled excessively, upon his head. He made a slight adjustment at the back of the hat and turned, flipping a long, blondish ponytail that reached the middle of his broad shoulders.
Mitchell’s brow furrowed a moment before a wide grin covered his face. “I’ll be damned. Semper Fi, Mr. Trace Adkins!”
“Genius! The man’s a genius!” Tex hooted.
Haley jumped up and down excitedly, clapping her hands. “He looks just like him, doesn’t he?”
“I guess so,” Mitch nodded, then motioned to a group of three young women, all dressed as sexy Disney princesses. “What do y’all think, ladies?”
Cinderella nodded vigorously, pointing her glass slipper prop at Tex. “He sure does.”
Snow White and her framed photo of the dwarves agreed, as did Belle and her stuffed Beast.
Tex/Trace tipped his hat at the women and extended both of his arms. “Ladies, allow me to accompany the three of you inside.” They wasted no time in latching onto him as he escorted them through the entrance. He stopped and tossed a backward glance at Mitch. “Hey bro, what can I say? Other than…wait for it…Ladies Love Country Boys!”
