“Think there’s a single person on either of our teams who doesn’t now know we were together last night?”
He glanced over her shoulder, then shook his head. Shook his head and smiled—on the verge of an outright laugh.
She got the joke but wasn’t feeling it. “My team likely has you labeled as a persona non grata. And I could go ya twenty bucks easy that your team has tagged me as a notional bitch.”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“Is a notional bitch like a national-level tier of bitchdom? If so, I don’t think you qualify, sorry.”
“You are from away. If you go Downeast, notional means stubborn.”
“Was that an invitation to meet your folks?”
“Speaking of stubborn. No. Ma died when I was three.” And why did she feel it was necessary to throw that in?
Derek reached out to tap the Desert Storm patch on her jacket. “If your Pop is still around, I’ll go ya that twenty that he’s right proud of you.”
“He’s about. Back on the boats after doing his twenty years.” And how happy would he be at how she’d handled this whole situation? She’d always been a Daddy’s girl, didn’t have a whole lot of choice in the matter with a single male parent. In turn, his idea of parental protection had to do with her being untouched by mere mortal men—ever. Even her rare good boyfriends had left him bewildered about how to react, not that he talked about anything other than helos and lobster, but she could see it in his face. She thumped her head a couple more times against the metal siding.
“What?” Derek looked concerned.
“Once, just once, I’d like to handle a situation with a man without messing it all up.”
“Personally, I think that last night we handled each other just fine. And it wasn’t you who messed up this morning. I should have stuck and explained myself rather than leaving when you told me to go.”
“I doubt I would have listened.” Abby knew that too was true.
“Notional much?” Derek grinned.
He had no idea. Though maybe he did. To make the grade for the Night Stalkers required an exceptional supply of stubborn tenacity. It probably took much the same to be a Delta operator.
Now if she only knew whether that made them a good match or one doomed before they really began.
34
Emily sat in the right-hand copilot’s seat of the ranch’s King Air twin-engine turboprop plane. They were flying over Nebraska before they even came close to having a plan to go with the three helicopters they had on the move. The task was twice as hard as they had to plan over the intercom because Mark was flying. Michael, Dilya, and Zackie were in the first of two clusters of four luxury seats.
Mark had purchased the same model of airplane that he’d flown as the Incident Commander – Air during their years flying against wildfires for Mount Hood Aviation. He’d bought it so that he and the girls could come visit her at Fort Campbell at least once a month. She also worked a week per month from home, gaining her two more weekends with the girls. Not this time.
“It’s the best we’ve got so far,” Mark pointed out.
When neither Michael nor Dilya made any further comments, Emily sighed. She’d welcome an idea from the dog right about now, but Zackie was probably napping. She checked the autopilot and area radar before telling him, “Do it!”
Michael called Claudia to send another request to the Secretary of Defense, this time asking a favor of His Majesty’s Royal Air Force.
Mark nodded that she had command of the plane, pulled out his phone, and dialed. “Howdy, Fay… Yeah, it’s me. How’ve you been doin’?” No need to introduce himself to the UK base commander.
Emily scowled at him and he paused long enough to lean over the radio console and kiss her on the nose before continuing. There was plenty of his history she didn’t know, but it didn’t mean that she had to like it.
“Had me this itch of a notion.”
She poked him sharply in the ribs to knock the Texas out of him. It didn’t work, of course.
“My Emily has a small flock of Hook helos she wants to give a bit of special training to. Also wants to be staged for a possible something I’m no longer cleared to know a thing about over to the continent. Mind us dropping in for a spell?”
He glanced over at her. If Trisha had done her job, which she always exceeded, it would be… Nine hours, she mouthed.
