But—“I landed a fucking airplanewithout an engine, and it was a fucking good landing at that. The ground didn’t do a damn thing, you big baby.”
She lifted her face. Her nose and forehead were smudged with Georgia clay, but her bright blue eyes glowed as though they’d gone nuclear. “Did you just call me a baby?”
Had he?
Apparently he had.
And he didn’t want to take it back. “I signed up to put my life on the line every single fucking day, and you prance around shootingoff pumpkins and potatoes and God only knows what else, but someone so much as says the wordairplanearound you and you turn into a Big. Ol’. Baby.”
She pushed to her knees, then all the way to standing, her every pore shooting out laser death beams. “I’d rather be ababythan an asshole.”
“Who was it throwing out cheating accusations? Refusing to admit defeat in trivia? Acting like you’re doingmethe favor in putting up with your crazy-ass redneck shit? AndI’mthe asshole. Right.”
“You don’t have any idea?—”
“Your father died aheroso you could pussyfoot around, letting some stupid fear be bigger than all of your brains. I’ve never lost a parent. You’re right. I don’t know what that’s like. But I lost a buddy in pilot training. I’ve lost friends in Iraq and Afghanistan. You keep living, Dr. Boudreaux. Becausethat’show you honor someone’s memory. So go on. Hug the ground. Skip your damn conference. I’ll keep fighting for your right to be a baby.”
He turned around with a growl and kicked at the dirt. He had to call the Aero Club. His commander. Someone for a ride. Go talk to the farmer and thank him for use of his field for an emergency landing.
This was a fucking disaster.
Something hit him square in the back.
He twisted around. “Did you just throw a mud ball at me?”
She launched another chunk of Georgia mud at him, but it sailed left and over his head. “I. Am. Not. A. Baby.”
He didn’t want to care.
Heshouldn’tcare.
She was a hot mess. Trouble with a capital everything. A walking catastrophe who couldn’t aim for shit.
“The bird throw that first one?” he said.
“Go to hell,” she snarled.
And this time, she turned her back on him and marched those sweet hips away.
“Where are you going?” he called.
“Ain’t none of your concern, Captain.” She punctuated the sentence with a raised middle finger.
Lance growled to himself.
She wouldn’t go far.
She couldn’t. They were in the middle of fucking nowhere, at least fifty miles from Gellings.
So he’d let her cool off—and he’d do some cooling off himself—and he’d get back to taking care of the damn plane.
Kaci hadno idea how far she walked, but thank heavens for GPS on phones. When Tara finally pulled up on a backcountryroad two hours later, after leaving work to come rescue her, she had no idea where she was.
“Oh, jeez, you’re a mess. Where’s Captain Flyboy?” Tara asked.
“Don’t ever say that man’s name to meeveragain.”
“He didn’t push you out of the plane, did he?”
