9
Major Emily Beale sat with Mark and Colonel Michael Gibson of Delta Force, her usual breakfast partners. But she wasn’t paying attention. The two of them were, as so often happened, trading fish stories. One turned into a Montana boy when his parents took over a ranch while he was at West Point, and the other Oregon born and bred. They shared the same staples: high mountain streams, lakes that were a three-day horse ride in, and debates over pan-fried versus grilled on a green maple twig directly over the fire.
Mark had taught her to fish, and for a city girl, she’d discovered camping suited her nicely. But she’d rather lie on the bank nearby and read a good book while Mark strode hip-deep into freezing water.
She let them talk, let her body eat, paying attention to her steak and eggs
