Excerpt of Haunted Hula-ween by Sally J. Smith

Standing and looking out at the swaying stalks of the nearby cane field was a tall, broad‑shouldered figure in a traditional feather cloak. At his side, a six‑or seven‑foot spear was propped on the ground, tip up. His back was to me, but the posture was unmistakable. That military bearing, the way his weight settled on his heels, the loose, yet ready carriage of his hips, which were girded in a dark brown kapa loincloth.

Hubba. Hubba.

He was shirtless under the cloak, and even in the dim light, I saw the dark ink of the tattoo on his left bicep. The medevac unit insignia. DUSTOFF.

Rick. Oh, baby. He looked good. Heck, he looked hot!

After the lust subsided, a wave of affection hit me. He’d gone all out. He must have felt bad about the stress that Julie and I were under and decided to surprise us by actually participating in the theme himself.

I crept up behind him, the noise of the crowd covering my approach.

Reaching out, I gave his very firm booty a solid, appreciative pat.

“Nice spear you’ve got there. Koa wood, I hope,” I purred near his ear. “I hope you’re saving some energy for the after‑party.”

The warrior stiffened. Slowly, he turned around.

Not Rick.

I stepped back, my hand sliding off his rear end.