Epilogue
EPILOGUE
Jules
As I predicted, Commander Chip Whipple went down spectacularly.
Three days after the NBL incident, he got taken down by Tom, a sixty-eight-year-old Dairy Queen store manager. Dairy Queen… Chip Whipple… I’m sure there are a lot of jokes there, but honestly, I’m too over it to care.
A teenage girl named Meg, who was buying an ice cream at the time, identified Whipple to the manager.
Whipple had been outside pumping gas, no doubt trying to get out of town.
While Meg called the police, Tom grabbed his shotgun from behind the counter (as one does in Texas) and held Whipple at bay until the cops arrived.
Evidently, Meg is a big space nut who has been following my career, as well as Jackie’s, for some time.
When Jackie saw the girl on the news, she jump-clapped, recognizing her from some incident when I’d been in space.
Meg is now the proud recipient of a shit-ton of NASA swag and a VIP tour pass for whenever she wants.
Though I would’ve liked to take down Whipple myself, I’m comforted by the fact that he was taken out by a teenage girl and a geriatric badass with a shotgun.
Plus, the whole thing was caught on the Dairy Queen’s security camera, which is now saved in a video file on my phone to watch whenever I need a giggle.
And I need a giggle. The past three days were torture. Everyone kept me on lockdown at Jackie’s with security surrounding the perimeter like it was Fort Knox.
Day one was okay, because I spent most of that time humping Holt in the guest room.
But then we needed to eat and stuff, which led to socializing with everyone, which I couldn’t do with alcohol because Doc said it might make me more susceptible to the bends (what happens if you surface too fast and/or don’t get enough oxygen while scuba diving) after my emergency rescue from the pool.
All of which made me stir crazy enough to threaten to shank Holt in the balls when he wanted me to stay inside one more day, just to be safe.
Yes, I know. I’m an astronaut who spends months aboard the International Space Station without even a hint of cabin fever. But I c hoose to do that. I did not choose to be under lockdown because some asshole wanted to blame me for his misfortunes.
Besides, I miss my cow.
“You sure Tucker has been feeding Cookie the gourmet feed I sent?” I pull my phone out of my jacket pocket. Trish, accompanied by Ian, had gotten all my stuff from the trailer yesterday. Ian looked pissed when they came back, so I’m not sure what all went down. Short stack is his problem now.
“Yes, babe.” Holt releases his truck’s gear shift and squeezes my leg. “I promise. He has been following your very explicit instructions to the letter.”
“Well. He better.” I am finally free of lockdown and Holt and I are heading to the ranch.
NASA tried doing the whole mandatory vacation thing, and I didn’t fight them for once.
My best friend is getting married, I have a pet cow to take care of, and I’m enjoying having a boyfriend for the first time.
Work doesn’t seem too pressing at the moment.
But don’t worry, I’m still going to be the youngest commander ever. So I’m still a badass.
Now I’m just a more well-rounded badass.
I click through my phone, opening up the file I want. A minute in, I’m laughing.
“You’re watching the Whipple take-down again, aren’t you?”
“Yep. Never gets old.” Both Whipple and his girl Susan are in custody, and though Susan probably won’t get time as she swears she didn’t know about the threats or Whipple’s NBL plan, she’ll never work in journalism again. Plus I got a restraining order against her. I’m good with that.
But Whipple? That man is going down. Not only is the evidence of him stalking me damning, but he also trespassed and fucked with federal property. Dude’s going away for a long time.
The video feed ends and I open an internet browser. “We need to get a goat.”
There’s a beat of silence. “A goat?”
“Yes. A goat.” I glance up from my screen, blinking into the sun streaming across from his side of the car. “I hear they’re great companion animals. I think Cookie would like a companion.” I go back to searching Texas goat farms.
“A companion.”
“You’re doing the repeat thing again.” I add organic to the search parameters because I bet organic goats are happier. No one wants a Debbie-downer goat. Cookie needs a happy companion.
“You’re doing the not making sense thing again.” Holt exits the highway, turning down the road that will take us to the ranch.
I shoot him a death glare.
Holt’s nostrils flare and his lips twitch. “I don’t understand why we don’t just let Cookie wander around with the rest of the cattle.”
I pretend I don’t see him trying not to laugh at me. Because if I did, I’d have to junk punch him, and I have very explicit, very detailed plans for his junk once we get to the ranch. We have a newly renovated house to christen. An island countertop that won’t leave splinters.
“Because, Holt, Cookie isn’t cattle. She is a domesticated pet with specific needs and dietary regulations that will help her maintain a glossy coat and her sharp mental acuity.”
He bites his lip.
Whatever. Let him laugh. My cow is a fucking genius. She is the Jackie Darling Lee of bovines.
Though, come to think of it, when I mentioned that to Jackie she didn’t seem too impressed.
We sit in comfortable silence until we reach the ranch gates. Where a black Escalade is parked.
“Why is there security here?” Even I can hear the unhappy tone in my voice.
“Calm down.”
“No women, or person for that matter, ever calmed down when someone told them to.” I turn to face him fully in the car. “In fact, it only does the opposite.”
Holt slows to a stop by the car, raising his hands in defeat. “Noted. I just wanted a moment to explain that they aren’t here for you. Since we didn’t know when Whipple would get caught, I had them on retainer, and now they’re going to make sure the ranch is safe from journalists for the wedding.”
“Oh. Okay.” I settle back in my seat and pull up the Whipple take-down video again.
Holt lowers his window, and the security guy waves him through.
I’m so engrossed in my vengeance viewing that I miss the bus parked next to the barn. But no sooner do I step out of the truck than I’m made aware of who else is here.
“Miss Starr! Miss Starr!”
Surprised, I look up in time to brace for an onslaught of hugs and pats on the back.
I find myself blinking, trying to clear the dust that must’ve started my eyes watering. “Boys?” I clear my throat. “What’re you doing here?”
The ragtag band of boys from Holt’s charity program has me surrounded. All of them smiling. All of them wearing NASA T-shirts.
“All right, now.” Holt rounds the truck. “Give the lady some breathing room.”
“Holt invited us!” TJ’s arms stay wrapped around my waist. “We’re going to have a barbecue and campout with s’mores and everything!”
“Really?”
Holt shrugs, a sheepish look on his face. “Yeah, I uh, thought it would be a nice homecoming present.” Before I can respond, he points in the direction of the pond. “Who wants to swim before the barbecue?”
“Me!” “Me!” “I do!” All the kids scramble across the drive, kicking up dust, laughing as they run.
I lean against the truck, arms across my chest. “Homecoming?”
Holt lifts his hat and runs his hand through his hair. “You know, since you’re home now. Here. At the ranch.”
My cowboy blushes like a virgin bride, and I couldn’t find him sexier.
“Home at the ranch.” I nod, a smile stretching across my face. “Yeah, I could get used to that.”
Holt’s own smile takes a devilish turn. He takes two steps forward, bracketing his arms on either side of me before kissing me long and hard. “Fuck yeah you will, space cowgirl.”