The Soldier's Twin Surprise. Judy Duarte

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      “Just spending some alone time?” he asked.

      She didn’t see a need to reveal that she was staying by herself this weekend, although she was pretty damn good at defending herself—with a gun or in hand-to-hand combat. “I have two vacation days left,, so I rented that bungalow behind me.”

      “That makes us neighbors.” Bullet nodded toward his friends, who’d stopped playing and now stood with their hands on their hips, talking to two other women who’d just arrived. “We’re staying in the house next door.”

      She’d already come to that conclusion, but she didn’t comment.

      “We’re going to be grilling brats and hot dogs,” Bullet added. “And we’ve got plenty of beer on ice. Sodas, too. We even have a bottle of vodka and some OJ. You’re welcome to join us.”

      Erica looked at his buddies, her gaze returning to Bullet, her attraction growing by leaps and bounds.

      “Just so you know,” he added, “my friends and I are nice guys. Trustworthy and honorable. Especially Poncho. His day job is driving a squad car down Wexler’s main drag, keeping the residents safe.”

      One of them was a police officer? She hadn’t expected that.

      Erica was usually skeptical of flirtatious men, but something told her Bullet was honest. And that she’d be safe with the three Texas tourists.

      So in spite of her plan to spend the rest of the day and evening alone, she agreed to join them.

      “We’ll be starting the grill soon,” Bullet said. “How does an ice-cold beer sound?”

      Every bit of common sense she’d ever had prompted her to say that she’d reconsidered, that she was going to pass on the barbecue after all. She wasn’t especially fond of hot dogs. But the loneliness and grief were getting to her, so she felt compelled to say, “Sure. Why not?”

      “I’ll bring a beer over to you,” he said. “Unless you’d prefer a soda or mixed drink? I could make you a screwdriver.”

      “Actually, the beer is fine.”

      “You got it.” Then he turned and walked away, gracing her with a view of his broad shoulders and swim trunks that rode low on narrow hips and outlined a great pair of glutes. Dang. The guy had a heart-stopping swagger.

      Moments later, after she’d shoved the novel into her tote bag and brushed out her hair, he returned with two ice-cold longnecks and handed one to her. She looked at the label. It was the Longboard Island Lager, made by the Kona Brewing Company. Apparently, these guys wanted the whole Hawaii experience.

      “Mind if I sit here?” he asked.

      “Go ahead.” She moved the ice chest, making room for him to sit beside her on the towel.

      Instead, he chose the sand. She appreciated the humble move. She hated it when men tried to push boundaries. And the fact that Bullet seemed a bit shy and cordial was a bit of a turn-on.

      Who was she kidding? It was more than a little alluring.

      She took a long, refreshing drink. It had taken her a while to get used to the taste of beer, but after some time in the Army, she’d come to enjoy it after a hard day in the field.

      “Tell me something,” she said. “Honestly. Is Poncho really a cop?”

      “Yep. In fact, he was just promoted to detective.”

      “I suppose he looks more like an authority figure in his uniform.”

      Bullet laughed. “I don’t blame you for being surprised. Poncho used to be the rowdy one who led me and Duck astray, but once he turned twenty-one, he shocked the entire town, if not the high school, by joining the Wexler Police Department.”

      “And Duck?” she asked. “Is he in law enforcement, too?”

      “No, he’d rather be a lawbreaker.”

      “Seriously?”

      Bullet chuckled. “Maybe back in our high school days, but not so much anymore. Actually, he’s a rodeo cowboy. And a good one.”

      She tended to be skeptical by nature, especially of men she’d just met, but Duck had a soft Texas twang and a lanky, muscular build. Of course, looks could be deceiving. Yet something in Bullet’s eyes suggested he wasn’t giving her a line of bull.

      “What about you?” she asked, more curious about Bullet than the others.

      He didn’t answer right away, then offered her a charming smile that dimpled his lightly bristled cheeks and made him appear both rugged and boyish at the same time. “Let’s just say that I can outride, out rope and outshoot both of them.”

      That surprised her, although she wasn’t sure why it would. And he’d admitted that he was a better cowboy than the others, which just might be true. At least he hadn’t bragged about the number of silver belt buckles he’d won in the rodeo.

      Erica had pretty much outgrown the type of guys she’d known as a teenager back in Jeffersville. Nevertheless, she found Bullet far more attractive than she should.

      “How long will you be in Hawaii?” Bullet asked. Erica wasn’t about to reveal too many personal details with a guy she’d just met, no matter how hunky he was or how trustworthy she thought he might be. But then again, she didn’t see any reason not to be somewhat honest. If she kept the story simple, he wouldn’t have enough information about her to find her again—if he turned out to be a jerk. He didn’t need to know that she was stationed in Honolulu for the time being.

      “Actually,” she said, “I just flew in from Houston.” It was the truth, of course. And it supported her comment about having two days left of her vacation. But she’d actually just returned from bereavement leave.

      Several weeks ago, she’d gotten an early-morning call from the Texas hospital where her parents had been taken after the accident. Her father had suffered a massive coronary while driving home from church. The car had crashed through a guardrail and rolled down an embankment. He was pronounced dead on arrival, and her mom died from her injuries a few hours later.

      Erica sucked in a deep breath and slowly blew it out. It had been a long month, a sad and lonely one. She’d gone to Texas to bury the parents who’d adopted her.

      But the worst was past. She had two days left of her leave before she had to report to duty at Schofield Barracks, so she’d rented the bungalow through Airbnb, where she hoped the warm sun, the soft tropical breeze and the sound of waves lapping on the sand would provide a healing balm.

      She and Bullet sat there awhile, both caught up in their own thoughts. Or so it seemed.

      “What’s your name?” he asked.

      She could have told him anything at that point—Jennifer, Heather, Alexis. She’d heard that it was a game some women played. They’d create fake careers and backgrounds, too. But Erica wouldn’t go that far. Instead, since he and his friends referred to each other with nicknames, she’d offer him one, too. The one her twin sister had given her years ago. “My name is Rickie.”

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