Two Crazy, One Wild

by Shaye Marlow

  “I want a gazebo,” she said, pulling back to look at me. “A gazebo, around which I can plant roses and a kiwi vine.”

  “At least two kiwis,” I corrected. “A boy, and a girl.”

  After getting dressed, I printed some gazebo plans off the internet, then went outside.

  Rory followed. “I had no idea you were so pussy-whipped.”

  “I need her to stay because I want to learn to fly. She can teach me.” It was the truth, but for some reason, it felt like a lie.

  “Speaking of which, what happened to her plane?”

  “We crashed it,” I said. “It’s upside down in a marsh right now.”

  “What?” he squawked, hustling after me. “What happened?”

  “We got shot out of the sky. Then shooters chased us through the woods.”

  “Shooters?” Rory asked, alarmed.

  “Yeah. Three guys. I think they were after Frances, but she’s not talking.” I whipped the tarp off our pile of lumber, and selected a six-by-six.

  “Hey, what are you doing?”

  I didn’t pause in carrying the large timber from behind the shop. “Building Frances a gazebo.”

  “That’s catapult wood,” Rory said.

  “Now it’s gazebo wood,” I said, dumping it at the spot she’d indicated. Turning, I found that Rory had planted himself in front of me.

  “You can’t take that wood,” he said. “We need it.”

  “Yeah. For a gazebo.” I tried to go around.

  He stepped in front of me again. “That wood’s our livelihood. That’s how we make the oodles of money you keep throwing away on runways and shit. We build catapults. With that wood. And I don’t know if you’ve been paying attention the last few days, but we’re not getting any more wood anytime soon, because Suzy’s being a jerk.”

  “I need the wood.”

  “Well, I’m not giving it to you.”

  “At least half of it is not yours to withhold,” I said, itching to punch him in the teeth. “I own half of the land, half of the cabin and shop and—” I gasped with mock surprise “—even half of the catapult business. So half of that wood is mine, and I’m gonna go get it, right now, and do whatever I fucking please with it.”

  He glared at me. “She’s changed you,” he declared, his voice holding a world of disapproval.

  “Oh, fuck off.” I brushed by him.

  “Remember our pact,” he said, dogging my steps. “No woman will come between us.”

  “You’re the one putting yourself on the far side of her,” I said. “I’m doing this for us, Rory. I want to learn to fly, so we can go get that bear, the biggest bear, and so we can go get our own wood and our own gas and our own groceries, and be completely independent from here on out. And she’s the way to do it. Think about that.”

  Rory followed me as I moved another armful of lumber. “You have a point,” he said grudgingly.

  “I know I do. Now, are you gonna help me with this, or not?”

  “Why does she want a gazebo?” he asked, following me back to the site. He stopped to gaze at the plans I’d laid on a sawhorse.

  “I think because it’d be pretty? She wants to plant roses around it, and a kiwi vine.”

  “I like kiwis.”

  “Rory, I’m gonna need you for this. I can’t figure out those angles by myself.”

  Rory finally glanced back up at me. “You really want this?”

  “Yes.” There was not the tiniest shred of doubt in my mind.

  He heaved a sigh. “I’ll go get our tool belts.”

  “By the way,” I called after him, “I promised Lane we’d put another six hundred feet of runway behind her place.”

  “What?! Why?”

  “I was bartering for gas,” I said with a grin.

  An hour or so later, Frances called out her window for me. Hoping she needed me in the biblical sense and/or in regards to an urgent sex swing issue, I hurried inside.

  She had me paint her nails. I grumbled, but she appealed to the artist in me, and after a very stinky half an hour—seriously, I had no idea—she had bright red toenails. And again, I was dismissed.

  I took the opportunity, before rejoining Rory on the gazebo project, to make a phone call. “Ed, hey. I need a hundred thousand dollars.”

  “What?”

  I gave him a quick rundown, finishing with, “So, I need a plane.”

  “Zack?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why on earth would I give you a hundred thousand dollars?” Ed asked.

  “For an airplane. Dick Gentrellen has that—”

  “Red Super Cub,” Ed said. “The one parked behind Dotty’s.”

  “Yes.”

  Ed laughed. “Supposing, for a second, that I’d be willing to loan you that much money—which I’m not—”

  “You know I’m good for it.”

  “I know no such thing. Supposing I’m even willing, I don’t have that much cash just lying around.”

  “But you’ve always got the gold nuggets. I’m pretty sure he’d take gold nuggets,” I said.

  “I’m still not willing.”

  “Please.”

  Ed was silent for a few moments. “Tell me why you feel so strongly about this.”

  “Why I need to learn to fly?”

  “Why you want that plane.”

  “I want to learn to fly,” I said.

  “Why?”

  “I want to get that bear.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the trebuchet gang across the river got a big bear, and Rory and I want a bigger one.”

  Ed snorted. “You’re not convincing me, here. I’m not gonna loan you a hundred K in gold so you can go shoot a bear.”

  I considered that.

  “You mentioned Frances.”

  “Yes…”

  “And you not wanting her to leave.”

  “Yes.”

  “So is it a hundred-thousand-dollar bear, or a hundred-thousand-dollar woman?” he asked.

  I was silent.

  “It might interest you to know that Dick is in the hospital right now. Hip replacement. Won’t be back out for at least a week,” Ed added.

  Plastic creaked as my hand tightened on the phone. Why the hell hadn’t Ed told me this earlier, before the million questions? “I need an airplane tomorrow,” I said, stepping out of the cabin so Frances wouldn’t hear. “There’s no way I can stall her for a week. If I even had a few days, I could go to town, take out a loan at the bank, and do all of this the traditional way.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, hey. I need to get back to—”

  “Ed.”

  “I’m not giving you a bunch of gold for a plane that you can’t buy,” Ed said.

  I kicked at a rock Frances had missed in her clean-up efforts.

  “Listen, airplanes aren’t really my area. I mean, I’ve helped fix one or two, but those were desperate times. Have you checked Craigslist?” Ed chuckled when I cussed. “Gotta go. Good luck.”

  Not wanting Rory to stop helping with the gazebo—which was coming right along, main supports up—I ran out to help him get the rafters fastened into place, and then ducked back out to “get us beers”.

  Yes, I grabbed two bottles of beer. I also checked Craigslist, and even called a couple of the numbers from ads who were selling in the area. No one answered, and I left hurried, probably somewhat crazed-sounding messages. “Need plane. Quickly. Will pay. Call me back. Hurry. Need plane!”

  Rory gave me a look as I handed him his beer.

  “What? Bathroom break.”

  “Uh-huh. Was it anything like the bathroom break you and Frances took earlier?”

  I waved him off, then realized there wasn’t a good reason not to share. I quickly explained my dilemma.

  Rory was silent for a few moments as he made some notes on our sketch. Back before Frances had come on the scene, he’d been encouraging of me getting an airplane. Now, I wasn’t so sure.

  “Have you tried Gary?�
� he asked. “Aviation in Alaska’s a pretty small world, or so I hear. He probably knows somebody that’s selling a plane. So you’d have an in, possibly a discount, and be reasonably sure the damn thing runs.”

  Conscious that it was getting on toward ten at night, I whipped my phone out right there, making Rory snort, and dialed Gary. He answered, which was a great start.

  “Actually,” he said, “I’ve got a buddy who’s selling a 172. I can call him now.”

  “Oh, thank god,” I said, laughing with relief. “Rory was saying your balls were too deeply in my sister’s purse… to…”

  “That was you!” Rory hissed.

  “Excuse me?” Gary said.

  I broke out in a sweat, realizing my error. “Um. Yeah. Have him call me back. Hurry. Need plane!” I dropped my phone like a hot potato, wincing as Rory laughed.

  Chapter Nineteen

  ZACK

  The good news? It was late morning the next day, and as of right now, Frances was still in the cabin. Whether this had been a result of my offer to work on ground school, or my alternately begging and pointing out barely-related details like that the weather sucked, I didn’t know.

  The bad news? Gee, where do I start?

  We had no plane. Gary hadn’t called me back yet.

  Frances had seemingly opted out of our sexy morning competition, coming out in more clothes than I’d just about ever seen her in, which practically made me chew my nails off with worry.

  The gazebo wasn’t done yet. And Rory was pissed because he’d left this morning to work on a construction project, in the rain, by himself, because I’d refused to go, because I was trying to keep Frances.

  And my mind was spinning in circles so hard and fast and loudly, that I had no idea what I’d just read in my borrowed Private Pilot textbook.

  And now Frances stood before me, asking questions I didn’t know the answer to. And she didn’t look pleased.

  FRANCES

  “You fly one hundred miles at one hundred miles per hour. How many hours are you flying?”

  Zack’s brow crinkled. “I don’t know.”

  “You fly one hundred miles at one hundred miles per hour,” I repeated slowly.

  He stared at me. “You repeating it isn’t helping.”

  I made a sound of frustration, paced away, and then came back, leaning over the table. “Okay, new rules. If you get an answer correct, I will take off a piece of clothing. If you get it wrong, you will take off a piece of clothing.”

  “Seeing you naked isn’t going to help.”

  “Question one,” I announced, toying with the hem of my shirt as I gave him a smoky look.

  He gulped, then looked down at the book. I looked at his bent head, that light, coarse hair, his strong neck leading into even stronger shoulders. A blunt finger slid slowly across the page as he read the question. He held up the thumb of his other hand, then the index finger, then middle as he muttered to himself.

  He glanced up, his expression hopeful. “129 knots.”

  “Wrong. Your shirt.”

  “Fuck.” He yanked it off and flung it across the room. It landed on the couch.

  “Next question,” I said, my voice having dropped an octave as his chest came into view. I tore my gaze away, then turned half away to keep it from wandering back. The man was gorgeous. Not pretty by any stretch of the imagination, but simply, beautifully masculine through and through.

  “15 degree track,” Zack said.

  “Wrong. Your pants.”

  Zack stood, looking at me from beneath his brows as he worked the buttons of his fly. “This isn’t fair, you know. You’re wearing more clothes than me.”

  “It wouldn’t be fair even if you were wearing a bra.”

  His head lowered just a hair farther and his look became a glower.

  My gaze was glued to what he was revealing. Black fabric, crisscrossed with white and red.

  Bacon. His boxers were printed with strips of bacon.

  I slapped a hand over my giggle. His glower intensified.

  Kicking his jeans the way of his shirt, he lowered himself back into his chair, and moved to the next question.

  This one took a few minutes. I paced across the kitchen to look out the window, watching the leaves flutter, the clouds scud across the sky. It’d cleared up a bit from this morning. Flyable, now. If we had a plane...

  But, Zack needed to learn to navigate. After he passed his test, maybe then he could buy himself a GPS and forget everything I was trying to pound into him.

  Mmm, pound into him. I bit my lip.

  “Something funny?”

  I turned, shook my head. “You have an answer for me?”

  “Can I get a little help?” he growled, each word sounding torn from him.

  I crossed to his table, skimmed the question. “It’s very similar to the wind speed question we did a bit ago. You remember how you solved it?”

  His eyes lit up, he did some quick calculations, and, “48 degrees at 30 knots.”

  “Very good,” I said with a slow smile. I shimmied my shirt up, then pulled it over my head, and dropped it on the table. “Next question,” I purred.

  “Um.” He had trouble finding the next question, and then I watched him read it three times. Deciding maybe he’d be more productive if I took my cleavage elsewhere, I walked back to the window.

  “ETA 10:09,” he said.

  “Wrong. I demand…” my gaze swept downward “… a sock.”

  He lost the other sock within two minutes, and then his underwear. He didn’t even bother trying to cover up; just shoved them off and stood proudly before me, his half-erect penis growing larger, rising before my gaze.

  I pulled my eyes back up to his. “Next question.”

  Zack sat, and rolled one shoulder. “I’ve got nothing more to lose,” he pointed out.

  “You’re right.” Fishing in the pocket of his discarded jeans, I came up with a handful of condoms and his pocket knife. I palmed the knife, and deposited the condoms on the table, where they could tease him a little. “You work on the next question. I’ll be right back.” I walked outside, to the edge of the woods. There, I cut a willow shoot from the base of a larger tree.

  Zack’s eyes widened as I returned, and he saw what I held.

  I set the knife next to his book, noting the way his eyes stuck to my chest. “Do you have an answer for me?” I walked around him, swishing the willow switch lazily through the air.

  “Not yet,” he managed.

  On my next go-round, I trailed the thin end lightly along his shoulders. He shivered.

  “Your answer?” I asked as I came around to his side.

  “56 minutes?” he tried.

  “No.” I emphasized the word with a crack of my switch across his knuckles.

  He jumped, and I watched his muscles ripple, wondered what he was thinking—until he looked up at me from beneath his brows. Then, I knew. He was thinking about tackling me to the ground, about taking my switch, about maybe cracking it across my ass, and showing me just exactly who was in charge.

  I made sure I was out of arm’s reach before I let my lips curve. “Next question.”

  “You won’t hit me with that again,” he said.

  I just smiled.

  He took a deep breath, and focused back on the page. He muttered a bit, then looked up. “Five degrees left.”

  “That was question seven? Good job,” I said. The tip of my switch dipped to the floor as I reached for my fly.

  “Your bra,” he said.

  I chose not to argue. Instead, I reached behind to unclip my bra, watching his gaze darken as it loosened to hang in front of my breasts. I shrugged, and the straps slid down my arms, making my nipples tighten as the lacy garment slithered away. One strap caught on the switch, and I used the tip to deposit the bra next to his hand.

  That hand clenched into a fist, and his eyes darkened to navy. He practically vibrated with tension, all the glorious muscles of his arms, shoulders, an
d chest standing out in stark relief.

  I brushed the back of his hand with the switch, and as I moved around him, I trailed it lightly, teasingly up his arm.

  The door opened behind me, and I turned my head to see Rory standing in the doorway. His expression was puzzled, taking in the scene. I didn’t have a chance to explain, and he didn’t have a chance to ask.

  “Out!” Zack commanded.

  “But I need lunch…” Rory’s eyes were stuck to my bare back.

  Zack’s voice was low this time. “Get. Out.”

  Rory’s eyes narrowed as he gulped. After a second’s consideration, he pulled the door shut.

  I continued my slow walk around my sexy, naked student, letting him look his fill as I traveled along the other side of the table. “Next question,” I reminded him. I stopped directly behind him this time, moving in close. I blew lightly across his ear, watching a cascade of goosebumps wash across his skin.

  He was breathing fast, his shoulders rising with each inhale. I touched a fingertip to the tattoo on his left shoulder. “You have a turtle here,” I said. It was nestled amongst other images, Japanese-looking waves, a bird, a rose. The inked designs capped his shoulder and cascaded down his arm.

  “He was a pet I had as a kid,” he said. “His name was Michelangelo, even though I couldn’t spell it to save my life.”

  I traced the turtle’s shell. “What happened to him?”

  “The dog ate him.”

  “Is the dog on here somewhere, too?”

  Zack shook his head, and I resisted the urge to rub my fingers through his hair. Once I started touching him, I was finding it very difficult to stop.

  “Do you have an answer for me?”

  He braced himself, then glanced up as I came around to his side. “Every six months,” he said.

  Holding his gaze, I rapped him sharply across the knuckles.

  He took a deep breath, and anticipation thrilled through me as I waited to see what he’d do. “I think,” he said slowly. “I do better with a rewards system.”

  “Hmm.” I trailed the end of the switch delicately along his forearm, tracing over dips and valleys of muscle and a sexy smattering of light blond hair. “Get the rest of my clothes off,” I decided, “and then we can change the game.”