Chapter 39
Kentucky to England was a long eight hours. Once Beale and Dilya had stopped asking all of their hard questions, they’d left the two of them alone.
Abby wanted to talk to Ethan and Sam but both her copilot and her crew chief were crashed out. Almost everyone was. They’d been rousted before noon, the middle of their night, and done three hours of hard work in the bitter cold.
She and Derek moved a row farther away from the chill rising along the folded stairs but remained well clear of the others.
“Talk about something. Anything.” She couldn’t sleep.
Abby knew she should but couldn’t. There were too many unanswered questions on every front—both professional and personal.
She was worn out by thinking about the former with too little information and didn’t exactly want to jump into the latter, also with too little information.
“Well, let me see.” It was nice of Derek to not ask about what. “The first girl I ever kissed—”
“That’s where you start?”
“If we’re going to get to know each other, there are probably stories worth telling, leastwise that’s how I figure it.”
Abby leaned her head back against the worn seat and closed her eyes. It’s not as if the cabin had any windows to distract her except for the tiny circular inspection port in the door. She flapped a hand to indicate her submission to his lack of logic.
“—was a total fiasco. Her papa caught me at it and whupped my behind good enough you can probably still see the handprints on my behind.”
“On your— How old were you?”
“I was seven if I was a day. The saucy minx who’d enticed me out behind the shed was six and cute as a newborn calf.”
“You grew up on a farm?”
“Nah, I grew up in town. Tight squeeze getting behind the garden shed. We probably shouldn’t have giggled so loud as her papa was just inside working on a broken lawn mower. What was yours?”
Abby was surprised to notice that she’d rested her hand on his forearm in sympathy. Even through the warm coat and thick shirt, she could feel the shape of his muscles. Derek had a very solid feel to him.
“Well, I’ve bared my deepest darkest secret. Your turn to give, girl from Downeast.”
“My cousin Ricky. On a lobster boat. We were both nine, I think.”
“Was he a good kisser?”
“At nine, how would we know?”
“Your papa catch you at it?”
“No, but a good-sized wave did. Knocked us both breathless against the side of the cabin. Chipped his tooth.” She opened her mouth and tapped one tooth in from her right upper incisor. “Did it with the top of my head. Still has the chip as far as I know.”
“You marked him for life.”
“Yep. He never recovered. Married and two kids, but I’m the one who marked him.”
They talked of high school sports and Spec Ops Forces testing. Somewhere around favorite foods she felt herself drifting off. When Derek offered his shoulder, leaning against him seemed the most natural thing in the world.