16. Mavericks
SIXTEEN
MAVERICKS
Holt
“Hey Jules, met any famous people?”
“Jules, what’s it like in space?”
The kids couldn’t care less about me, having swarmed Jules the moment we got off the four-wheeler at the pond.
Jules had been ready to climb back on Bess and “make horse riding her bitch,” but the vision of Jules flying off Bess like a rag doll had me steering her away from the horses. She may be ready, but I’m not.
Finally, their bodies exhausted from swimming, if not their mouths, the boys are ready to try their hand at catching their lunch.
And it’s a great day for fishing. A great day for anything, really. Part of me wonders if my newfound optimism has less to do with the weather and more to do with the woman holding court to a bunch of pre-teens around a glorified swimming hole.
Jules, fishing pole in hand, motions for one of the younger kids to get her some bait. The military command in her is present even around kids. “I’ve met the president.”
“Really?”
She shrugs. “Yeah, he was all right, but his wife was much cooler.” She gives the boys a knowing look. “Women are the cooler gender. Remember that.”
A few boys snicker while others look confused.
With a smirk, she ups the ante. “I also met Brad Pitt and Matt Damon.”
“Whoa, really?”
“What’re they like?”
“Did they have a whole entourage?”
“Did they bring their wives?”
Younger kids, poles or worms in their hands, bounce on their tiptoes in the soft shoreline. Even the older kids, usually too cool to show enthusiasm, perk up, waiting for the answers.
I think about what Jules mentioned, about doing this more full-time, and the idea makes me happy. But it also makes me remember my dad walking away from the ranch and his responsibilities at the suggestion of a woman. My mom.
“They didn’t come at the same time, a few years apart.
They were researching their roles for upcoming movies.
” She grins at the older guys, who turn pink on sight.
“And unfortunately no, no wives.” The kid comes back with the worm and Jules hunkers down on her haunches to watch him bait the hook.
When he’s done, Jules eyes him. “Good job, kid.”
He turns fire engine red. It should make me feel better that I’m not the only one who blushes around Jules, but then that would lump me with pre-teens, so it doesn’t.
A kid with glasses that remind me of my soon-to-be sister-in-law speaks up. “What about the Big Bang cast? One of their characters became an astronaut. Did you meet them?”
Jules stands, her long legs, clad in low slung, loose jeans which are tucked into her ever present motorcycle boots, straightening. She hands off the newly baited pole to one of the youngest kids. “Nah, that was all Mike Massamino. He’s hilarious. You guys would like him.”
“Do you think he would? Meet us, you mean?”
“Why not? You guys are great.”
Twenty-some bird-like chests puff up.
“I’ll make a call, see if I can set up a tour.
Mike started working in DC mostly as a public speaker and consultant.
But I’ll try and schedule it for when he’s in town.
” She grabs another pole and gestures to another kid to bait it.
“I can walk you through the ISS simulator, see if I can get the engineering directorate to show you how Robonaut works, and the new Mars lander.” Again she hands off the baited hook.
Under the guise of making sure everyone can bait a hook, I’m pretty sure Jules masterminded a way not to touch the worms.
“Here, Ms. Starr.” I grab a pole from the tall bucket between us. “Let me hold a pole for you to bait.”
Not missing a beat, she simply raises an arched brow at me.
“And deprive these men of a chance to show me what they’ve learned out here on the West Ranch?
” At the thought of not being able to impress their new hero, all the kids glare at me.
“Never.” She snatches the pole from me and gestures to another kid to get a worm from the bucket.
The evil smirk she throws my way when she squats down to watch the kid bait the line tells me to do better next time.
The kid with the newly baited pole looks up at her from under blond bangs. “Have you ever almost died?”
The question gut punches me, and I try and hide my reaction by bending down into the bait bucket set up along the shore.
Instead of laughing it off, like I thought she would, Jules quiets and her smile fades.
“In the Air Force, my planes have taken hits. I even had to eject once over enemy territory. So I guess you could say yeah, I’ve almost died.
” Her gaze fixates somewhere on the other side of the pond.
“A lot of my friends weren’t as lucky. A lot of them never came back from deployment.
” Lips, moments ago lifted in a smile, turn down.
“And I’ve witnessed friends get shot down over seas.
” She blinks a few times, coming back to the present.
Every kid’s eyes stay glued to Jules, standing at the edge of the tall grass before the embankment, the usual youthful chatterboxes now quiet. A slight breeze skims the water, ripples emerging from where frogs jump and minnows swim.
The same kid, pole in hand, too young to understand the finality of death, pipes up, “What about going into space? That’s dangerous too, isn’t it?”
A smile, this one looking more forced than before, spreads across her face.
“Yeah, you could say that. There is a lot unknown about space. And even what is known can be dangerous. Equipment failure, human error, that kind of thing.” She ruffles the blond kid’s head.
“That’s why we need people like you guys to grow up and be engineers, scientists, maybe even astronauts to help us out. ”
A bigger kid scoffs. “You think we could work at NASA?”
“Yeah, why not?”
Jules’ genuine look of confusion makes the kid pause. “Well, I mean, we’re poor . We don’t have money for fancy schools and all that.”
A shrug. “So? Neither did I.”
“You didn’t?”
“Nope. My father didn’t think women needed to go to a fancy college. He wouldn’t pay for it.”
“Are you serious?”
Her lips purse in a wry grin as she nods. “Yeah, you could say my dad is a bit of a throwback. He said he’d allow me to go to community college and get my teaching or nursing degree.”
Knowing from our conversation just minutes ago that these memories aren’t as lighthearted as she’s making them, my hands curl into fists. But Jules just winks at the kid.
“I answered him by accepting a full scholarship to Embry-Riddle Aeronautical University, a college he didn’t even know I’d applied to.”
“Wow.”
She pulls the kid in for a brief side hug before pushing him away, playfully messing with his hair. The small gesture of comfort tells me the kid’s question got to her more than she’s letting on.
If today has taught me anything, it’s that there is a lot more to this woman than what you see.
“You may not have money, but you’ve each got a brain.” Jules looks each kid in the face, her expression more serious than before. “Use it.”
And they all nod solemnly. These kids who constantly get told they’re no good, that they won’t amount to much, whose home lives are broken and neighborhoods unsafe, they all nod at her command. Some of them probably have an urge to salute and aren’t sure why.
I won’t be surprised if next week they start pulling in better grades at school.
All the poles baited and handed out, Jules brushes off her hands on her jeans. Hands that managed not to get worm guts on them during the entire process. “Now.” She puts her hands on her hips, looking over her new crew. “Who’s gonna catch the biggest fish?”
Everyone’s hand goes up. Including mine.
Jules
Holt’s been quiet since our feelings talk. I’m not sure if he’s annoyed that I’ve commandeered his motley crew of pre-adolescents or if he’s mulling over what we talked about.
Though, quiet or talkative, the man still looks fine. I never thought much of cowboys looking prim and proper, but the way Holt tucks in his shirts, buckles his belt and stands with perfect posture, he’s like the Pollyanna of cowboys.
Rowdy Yates, indeed.
“Holt, my line is stuck!” An older kid pulls back on his pole, making it bend.
Holt makes his way over to where the kid is standing and patiently helps him untangle the line.
He’s good with these kids. Really good. And it’s obvious they respect the hell out of him.
The program he created has sign-up sheets for kids who want to take a trip to the West Ranch.
The kids learn how to ride, how to fish and how to enjoy a day without having to worry about getting bullied at school, beat up at home, or drug dealers pushing them out of their local parks.
Holt pays for the bus and gas. Serves them all lunch. All the kids have to do is show up.
“Ms. Starr, look at this one!”
A small fish, no bigger than the palm of my hand, dangles from TJ’s pole. The kid isn’t much bigger than it either. I was shocked as shit when he said he was ten. Kid needs some protein shakes.
“That’s a beaut, TJ. Way to go. I think that puts you in the running for biggest fish.”
“Cool!” He jumps, the toes of his bare feet sinking into the wet sand at the edge of the pond.
And I wasn’t lying. That would put him in the running. I haven’t seen such small fish since I watched Finding Nemo on some rare off-time during my last stint on the International Space Station.
What? Don’t mock me— Finding Nemo is legit awesome.
A shadow falls over me. Tilting my head back, I look up to see Holt standing there, sunlight creating a halo around him, hands on his mighty fine hips.
“You actually going to fish or just lay here all day, space cadet?”
I frown at his frown. “Hey, I’m supervising.”
“Yeah, she’s supervising, Mr. West.” TJ takes up my fight. Such a cute kid. His shirt, at least two sizes too big, has a stretched-out neck. I should get him a NASA one. Get the crew to sign it or something.
I glance at the pile of worn-out sneakers all the kids left in the grass before diving into the water. Scuffed, ripped and dirty. I should get the kids some new shoes too. Jackie is always going on about Chuck Taylors. Maybe the kids would like those.
“You heard the man, Mr. West.” I drop my head back a bit more, bumping his shins. “Now be a dear, will you, and get me some lemonade.”
His serious face gives way to a grin, though I can tell he’s trying to fight it. “Be a dear, huh?”
I shrug and lift my head back up to watch the kids. They’re spread out along the shoreline, some standing, others with their butts in the dirt, each with a fishing pole in their hands and a smile on their face.
I can see why Holt loves these days. He didn’t actually say that, but it’s easy to see with how relaxed his shoulders are, how much more quickly he is to grin and laugh. More so than I ever saw him as he worked the ranch.
He loves these boys.
That reminds me. “Hey, why are there only boys here?”
The kid to the left of TJ, Brian, I think, scoffs. “Why would girls want to come here? They’d get dirty.”
That has me sitting up straighter. “Um, say what now?”
Seeming to catch on that I’m not happy with Brian’s answer, all the kids lower their poles, eyes bouncing between Brian and me.
I can’t tell if my focused attention has him turning red, or if he’s been in the sun too long. Doesn’t Holt provide sunscreen? I’m going to have to talk to him about that. Sunscreen and new shoes. Make a list.
“Well, you know.” He shrugs. “Girls don’t like getting dirty.” He looks around at his friends, all of which avoid his gaze. “Right?”
“Wrong, kiddo.” I gesture to my prone body, propped up by my elbows in the dirt. “I’m a prime example.”
Not wanting to look like a fool in front of his friends, Brian doubles down. “Yeah, but you’re just lying there. You didn’t bait a fishing pole or fish or anything. Girls just don’t like that stuff. Or they can’t do it.”
My eyes narrow on my new nemesis. All chatter ceases. Holt is still fighting his grin but losing the battle spectacularly.
“TJ?” I ask, eyes still on Brian.
My buddy straightens, his baggy T-shirt shifting on his small shoulders. “Yes, Ms. Starr?”
“Hand me that pole, will ya?”
My new bud scrambles over, pole in hand. Before I take it, my back pocket buzzes. Without thinking, I slide my phone out and open the screen.
Jesus.
“Ms. Starr, you okay?” TJ’s frowning at me, pole outstretched.
“What is it?” Holt comes up behind me and I quickly shield my phone from his view.
“Nothing.” If you call a gif of the Columbia shuttle exploding upon reentry nothing.
It’s one of every astronaut’s worst fears.
The whole country mourned the loss of those heroes.
And this sick fuck is using it to scare me.
How dare this asshole dishonor their memory?
My hand tightens around my phone until I think the screen might crack.
“You don’t look so good.”
“Hmm?” I blink, focusing on TJ. The kid’s concern has my hand relaxing.
“See, told ya.” Brian crosses his arms looking pleased with himself. “Girls don’t like to get dirty.”
Narrowing my eyes on the kid, I place my stalker in a box and shut the lid tight. Doing what I’ve learned to do in the service. Compartmentalize.
“Shut it, Brian.” I shove my phone back in my pocket and grab the pole. “Let’s do this.”
I ignore Holt’s look. I’m not sure if it’s due to the fact that I very obviously hid my phone from him, or because I told one of his kids to shut it, but either way, I’m ignoring him and focusing on the task at hand. Much better than focusing on the escalating threats saved on my phone.
Straightening my shoulders, I give them all my best PR smile. “Let me show you boys how this fishing thing is done.”