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and sat down to work.
    After ten minutes of Dude trying to get the tape removed, without either hurting her, or prematurely triggering the bomb, Cheyenne said urgently, “Promise me something.”
    Dude didn’t look up but replied immediately and honestly, “Anything.”
    “If you can’t get this thing off, you’ll get the hell out of here.”
    Dude did look up at that. “Sorry, Shy, I can’t promise that, anything but that. Ask me to take you out for dinner, ask me to come to your house and rake up your leaves in the fall, hell, ask me to kiss you, I’ll agree with no complaints. But leave you? Not gonna happen.”
    Cheyenne started a bit at the nickname he’d used. No one had ever shortened her name before. It felt intimate. She liked it, but now wasn’t the time or the place to acknowledge it. She ignored his other words, figuring they were said to make a point in the heat of the moment. “You don’t know me,” Cheyenne continued desperately. “You don’t owe me anything, I’m a nobody. Look at you, you’re gorgeous, and you’re an honest-to-God hero, I know you are, you should not give up your life for mine. I’m just not worth it.”
    Cheyenne took a deep breath and babbled on, not giving Faulkner a chance to say anything. “I don’t have any close family, I’m not married, no one will miss me. I just know that you have loved ones who’d be mad as hell if you got killed. Look at you, you survived one bomb already, don’t let this one kill you, I couldn’t stand it.” Cheyenne’s voice trailed off.
    Dude didn’t stop fiddling with the tape or with the bomb after her passionate speech, he just kept his head down and continued with what he’d been doing. Cheyenne shifted nervously, if he was pissed she’d mentioned his hand, too bad, maybe it would make him leave.
    “How do you figure I’ve survived one bomb already?” Dude asked, not addressing her other points. They weren’t worth him giving them the light of day. But he was honestly curious as to her train of thought and how she’d figured out he’d survived an explosion in the past. Dude also figured it’d distract her and let him keep working. She was pretty persistent, something he usually admired, but right now he wanted her concentrated on something else. 
    “Well, um, your hand…I figured since you’re here now trying to get this damn bomb off of me and you said you were a bomb…order…whatever…and well…I just thought…” Cheyenne trailed off, not sure what she even really wanted to say.
    “Well, you’re right. I do do this for a living. I’m a bomb ordnance technician in the Navy, among other things. I can’t say I’m a hero, but I have a whole team of men that depend on me being good at my job. And, hon, I am good at my job. Damn good. The bomb that took three of my fingers notwithstanding, I know what I’m doing. I’ll be damned if those yahoos get the best of me.”
    Cheyenne was silent for a moment, but couldn’t stay that way. This was too important. “Please, Faulkner…”
    Dude cut her off, not letting her finish her thought. “Hush, you’re ruining my concentration,” he told her not harshly, and not truthfully. He was one hundred percent focused on the bomb in front of him. Dude was sweating now and he was just getting past all the tape to the actual bomb underneath. He could see Cheyenne’s hands now, and he had access to the bottom switch, just where she’d told him it was. Dude was in luck, it looked like a fairly simple switch, but he couldn’t be certain. He wouldn’t put Cheyenne’s life, or his own, at risk on a hunch. He needed to uncover a bit more of the bomb itself to be sure.
    Dude was impressed with Cheyenne. He knew she was scared to death, but she was holding herself together. He didn’t know too many people, soldiers included, that would’ve done what she did…try to get everyone else out of harm’s way. He told her so as he continued to work.
    Cheyenne shook her head.