Chapter 16
Lance was ready to crawl up the walls.
It had been a week, and he hadn’t heard from Kaci.
He deployed in just over two weeks.
She’d probably written him off. And he shouldn’t care. But the woman who had taken him out to show off her potato gun wasn’t the same woman who had bought Pony a new keg.
And the difference was that Lance had almost crashed a plane he’d promised her was safe.
She’d asked for space. He could give her space.
But he needed to know she was okay.
Sunday morning, he hit the pavement in his neighborhood for a long run in the crisp November morning. And while he put the miles behind him, he made up his mind.
He’d given her plenty of space. If she never wanted to see him again after today, he’d accept that. Probably he should be grateful. But first, he’d go make sure she was doing okay.
So he could deploy with a clear conscience.
Not have anything back home distracting him.
He turned the last corner of his run, took in the sight of a perky, obnoxious blonde sipping out of a paper coffee cup on his stoop, and his heart skipped a beat.
She was in her college football best—jeans, a giant Ole Miss sweatshirt swallowing her chest, and Converse sneakers that had danglies on the laces that he suspected would be classic Rebel gear. When she spotted him, she held up a second coffee cup.
She’d brought him a peace offering.
“Didn’t think you’d be up so early,” she called when he hit the edge of his property.
“Disappointed?” he asked.
“You know it. Nothing I like more than subjecting unsuspecting males to my charming presence before the sun’s up.”
Felt good to smile at her sassiness. He wiped his forehead and took a seat next to her on the stoop. “How you been?”
“Just peachy. Beating off men with a stick, turning down promotions at work, making the news for my philanthropic work. The usual.”
He reached his sweaty arms around her, pulled her to his damp chest, and squeezed her in a hug. “Missed me, huh?”
“Get off, you stinky mess!” She swatted at him, but there was no vinegar in it.
Actually—“Did you just sniff me?”
“That’s disgusting. Why would I do that?”
“You did. You sniffed me.”
“Just to make sure that was you and not something that died.”
But she did it again.
She leaned into his space, and she sniffed.
Her pupils dilated, and unless he was way off the mark, she was squeezing her thighs together.
He grinned to himself and took a swig of the lukewarm coffee she’d brought.
She still liked him.
“Your roommate home?” she asked.
“Probably.”
She sniffed. “Could’ve gotten a dog instead.”
“Yeah, but dogs are easy. Getting a Juice Box is good training.”
“For what?”
His grin dropped off, and a stray leaf floating over the street was suddenly interesting. “My commander’s hinting he wants me to apply for a position as an instructor pilot in the training squadron.”
“Here?”
He nodded and told himself that was neither panic nor hope he heard in her voice.
They didn’t have the kind of relationship where she cared one way or another what he did.
“You want to?” she asked.
“I’d love to get out of the South, but the idea of being an IP isn’t entirely repulsive.
” He couldn’t pinpoint when it happened, but sometime in the past week, the thought of staying here, stable for a few years, pushing arrogant bucks like Juice Box and molding them into not just great pilots, but great officers, had become less appalling and more appealing.
He loved his Herc. If he were being honest, he loved mentoring Juice Box too. Inspiring pilots the way Kaci inspired her students—that was worthwhile.
And possibly the idea of seeing a little more of Kaci—recreationally, of course, not as anything serious—wasn’t entirely revolting either.
He still wanted to see the rest of the country and the world, but he wasn’t even thirty yet. He had time. “If I’d been married when my commander suggested being an IP, I would’ve jumped at the opportunity,” he confessed.
“Old ball and chain would’ve wanted you here more often, huh?”
“I would’ve wanted to be here.”
She nudged his shoulder. “Lance Wheeler, you’re a big ol’ softie.”
“You know that moment when your life falls to shit and you realize all you have left is your career?”
“Every day, sugar.”
He took another sip of coffee. Smart man wouldn’t have touched that with a ten-foot pole. “Rough week?”
“I live with me. Pretty much a guarantee everything’s harder than it should be.”
He couldn’t help an amused snort. “Might try going easier on yourself.”
“Or not going so far out of my way to be right all the time,” she grumbled.
“Or wrong,” he teased.
She humored him with a half-smile. “Or wrong.”
“Lot to be said for people who don’t half-ass anything.” The woman made him want to pull her into his arms and just hold her. Take care of her. Let him carry her troubles for her for a while.
As if she’d let him.
“You doing okay?” he said instead.
“I’m sorry.”
“For bringing coffee?”
“For being a drama queen last weekend when you took such good care of both of us to help me.”
She was making that little muscle in his chest do things it wasn’t supposed to do for a woman.
He wrapped an arm around her and pressed a kiss to her hair. “You’re forgiven.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
She leaned into him and rested her arm on his thigh. “And I’m sorry I called you a pumpkin-chucking cheater.”
“Also forgiven. You want to go see my catapult?”
She shook her head.
“Who are you, and what have you done with Kaci?”
“I stuffed her in a duffel bag and threatened not to let her touch my potato gun ever again if she didn’t quit being mean to people who are nice to her.”
“You’re not mean.”
“Ain’t nice either.”
He didn’t want her to be nice. And he had a feeling she wouldn’t have been asked to speak at a conference in Germany if she’d spent the past ten or fifteen years being nice.
“Who needs nice? You’re interesting. Colorful.
And those girls in your Physics Club would probably call you smart and inspiring and encouraging.
And speaking of those girls—you paid them the prize money yourself, didn’t you? ”
She patted his knee. “Didn’t come for a pep talk, but it’s sweet of you anyway. You free on Saturday?”
She had.
She’d given her Physics Club kids the equivalent of the prize money from the pumpkin-chucking contest. He’d suspected it since the day the squadron stole her car, but she’d basically just confirmed it by avoiding the question.
This woman was something else.
“No plans that I know of,” he said.
“Good. Meet me at my place at ten. I’m treating you to a date. And don’t go arguing. We both know I’ll win, but you’ll waste a bunch of breath in the meantime.” She paused. “Please.”
He smothered another grin. “Sure.”
She leaned back and eyeballed him. “You’re not fixin’ to argue?”
“Like you said. I’d just be wasting my breath.”
Plus, a date planned by Kaci?
No telling what she’d come up with, but he knew one thing. It wouldn’t be boring. Or ordinary.
Kaci was sipping her third latte of the morning after getting back from Lance’s house. Miss Higgs was snuggled in the corner of the couch. Tara came out of her bedroom in yellow pajama pants and a T-shirt proclaiming her one of the few, the proud, the weird.
She collapsed beside Kaci and smothered a yawn. “You made me a bagel. You didn’t have to do that.”
“I got a problem.”
Tara picked up the plate and sniffed the bagel.
“You’re pregnant. Don’t worry. I have a plan.
We’ll rent a house and raise it together and never tell anyone until he accidentally stumbles across us one day and realizes the baby has his eyes.
And that’s when things will get murky, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. ”
“Sugar, you’ve been writing again, haven’t you?”
“One of my redneck fairy-tale guys just found out he has a secret baby, and everything clicked right before I got out of bed for how I need to handle it.” She waved the bagel at Kaci’s stomach. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”
“Worse. You sure you should be taking accounting classes? Doesn’t seem to fit you.”
“Desperate times.” Tara gripped her hand. “He didn’t give you an STD, did he?”
“Not that bad.”
“Oh, Kaci…you fell in love with him, didn’t you?”
“It’s not love. More like strong friendship. With more attachment on my end than his.” The coffee rolled through her stomach like sour milk, and her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
From the caffeine?
Or from seeing Lance again?
“I thought staying away from him would straighten me out,” Kaci said.
“You need to stay away from that man permanently.”
“I promised him a date.”
“Break it.”
“My momma would skin my hide and then hang it out to dry like yesterday’s laundry. Boudreaux women do not break dates.”
Plus, if she broke the date, she wouldn’t see Lance again.
The way his eyes danced when he was trying not to laugh at her. The way he rolled with all of her punches. The way he smelled after a run.
Good gravy in heaven, she’d never liked the smell of sweat, but on him, she’d barely held back from jumping in his lap and riding him.
Which was another thing her momma would’ve skinned her hide for.
“He’s military. Strike one,” Tara said. “He’s a pilot.
Strike two. And he just got out of a three-year relationship with a woman who practically dumped him at the altar.
He’s out. If you’re developing feelings for him, seeing him more won’t make them go away.
He could’ve killed you in that plane last weekend. You haven’t forgotten that, have you?”
“We didn’t die, did we?” she whispered, though her heart shuddered and her fingers went temporarily tingly.