Page 57 of Space Cowgirl: Houston, All Systems Go
I laugh, thankful for Holt’s light tone. “I know, right?”
Holt’s hand rests on my hip and heat that has nothing to do with the sun washes over me. “So what did the general want you to do?”
“Teacher or nurse.” My lips twist to the side. “Respectable occupations for women.”
“You’re kidding me, right?”
“Why such indignation? I thought that would be right up your alley. You know, little lady waiting at home for her man to be done with a hard day’s work on the ranch.”
His hand leaves my hip to rub the back of his neck. “Ah...”
Regretting teasing him, I plow on. “The general has a very 1950s American idea on how life should be. You might be Rowdy Yates, but my father is basically Mr. Cleaver in a uniform.” I frown, thinking of my childhood. “I take that back; he wasn’t nearly as parental as Mr. Cleaver.” I laugh, but it doesn’t sound very cheerful. “The general could never understand why his little girl wouldn’t wear dresses, swore like a sailor and wanted to not only play with the boys, but kick all their asses.”
His hand resettles on my hip, and the warmth dissipates the coldness my memories had stirred up. “Once you went into the Air Force, did things change? I mean, as a military man, how could he not be proud of your service?”
Another hollow laugh. “Oh, he managed it. The day I accepted my scholarship and joined AROTC was the last day we spoke.”
“What about your mom?”
“She calls every so often, reminding me of all their disappointments.” Jesus, I’m spiraling. Once you open the gate to feelings, they all want to come out.
“You’re an astronaut. How can they be disappointed?”
Putting a lid on it, I muster up a smirk. “The Starrs are an obstinate bunch, cowboy.”
Thankfully, he laughs. “Ain’t that the truth.”
“Hey.” I backhand his shoulder, but I do it smiling. “Anyway, I’m not sure what I wanted when I was younger, but I can honestly say I love what I do now. I can’t wait to get up in the morning and see what new research we’re conducting, or international agreements we’re making, or suiting up and training in simulators.” Raising my arms, I circle his neck. His hand grips my hip a bit harder. “Being in space… well, there’s nothing like it. I was born for it.”
A slow, lazy smile lifts his lips. Lips that traced all the contours of my body last night. I shiver.
“But you know, cowboy, this is the first time in a long time that I’ve felt anything as awe-inspiring as micro-gravity here on Earth.”
As Holt’s lust-filled eyes move in closer, as his lips descend on mine, I wonder if either of us have a strong enough tether to hold us safely together.
“Ew, man,” TJ yells from the pond, startling Holt and me apart. “Get a room!”
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.”
