“Ready to rock, Swede?”

“And roll. Why would you put on makeup before this bitch of a test?”

Janis fluttered her long, lush lashes. “So these poor guys’ll have something pretty to look at when they stumble over the finish line. Seeing as I’ll be there first.”

“You are pretty damn fast.”

“Small but mighty. Did you check out the rookies?”

“Not yet.”

“Six of our kind in there. Maybe we’ll add enough women for a nice little sewing circle. Or a book club.”

Rowan laughed. “And after, we’ll have a bake sale.”

“Cupcakes. Cupcakes are my weakness. It’s such pretty country.” Janis leaned forward a little to get a clearer view out the window. “I always miss it when I’m gone, always wonder what I’m doing living in the city doing physical therapy on country club types with tennis elbow.”

She blew out a breath. “Then by July I’ll be wondering what I’m doing out here, strung out on no sleep, hurting everywhere, when I could be taking my lunch break at the pool.”

“It’s a long way from Missoula to San Diego.”

“Damn right. You don’t have that pull-tug. You live here. For most of us, this is coming home. Until we finish the season and go home, then that feels like home. It can cross up the circuits.”

She rolled her warm brown eyes toward Rowan as the van stopped. “Here we go again.”

Rowan climbed out of the van, drew in the air. It smelled good, fresh and new. Spring, the kind with green and wildflowers and balmy breezes, wouldn’t be far off now. She scouted the flags marking the course as the base manager, Michael Little Bear, laid out requirements.

His long black braid streamed down his bright red jacket. Rowan knew there’d be a roll of Life Savers in the pocket, a substitute for the Marlboros he’d quit over the winter.

L.B. and his family lived a stone’s throw from the base, and his wife worked for Rowan’s father.