Page 60 of Space Cowgirl: Houston, All Systems Go
“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.
