Page 103 of Space Cowgirl: Houston, All Systems Go
Yes, I know. I’m an astronaut who spends months aboard the International Space Station without even a hint of cabin fever. But I chooseto 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 make 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.
