Tallulah Trouble

by Casey Hagen

  Good, he didn’t want to be the only one affected.

  “Want and need are two entirely different things. You may not want, but you do need,” he said quietly, just inches from her ear.

  And just like that, the words he said took on a new life. A sexually charged one that made his fingers burn to touch her. To see if his skin against hers would spawn goosebumps on her flesh.

  She glanced over her shoulder, her lips right there, ripe for the taking.

  “I’ll see you this afternoon, Graziella,” he said, his breath mingling with hers as he clicked open the door.

  Before she could say a word, Hank yanked her out into the cool Tallulah morning.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Meeting her Furry Match

  GRAZI CLOSED THE FRONT DOOR and sagged against it. She rolled her head to the side and glanced down at Hank who sat leaning against her leg, staring up at her. The sound of his panting filled the silence as a string of drool led to a puddle on the floor.

  “You got us in a whole bunch of trouble,” she said.

  Hank stood, shook, and jogged into the kitchen, leaving her there with his golden fur floating through the air around her.

  Good, she was going to take a minute and replay her encounter with Isaac.

  Because apparently she was so sex starved that all it took was close proximity and a couple of lingering touches to have her halfway to a Meg Ryan “Oh God…yes…yes…yes…yes!” moment.

  The clean scent of pine with a hint of musk surrounded her when he had leaned over. She’d never been one to worry about whether or not a guy wore cologne. Most of the time she found it to be a huge turnoff, because guys came on too strong and bathed in the shit.

  Not Isaac.

  Nope. He had to get within inches of her for her to even smell it. Then it only teased her senses, making her want to lean in and bury her nose in the part of his neck that met the collar of his shirt.

  The way he closed his warm, capable hand over hers and squeezed, God, she wanted to feel that pressure caressing her thighs, her hips, squeezing her ass as he pulled her against him, and holy wow, kneading her breasts. Nothing got her hotter than a man who claimed every inch of her body with strong hands.

  Despite his silly declaration that he needed to train her as well, he’d proven to be polite, respectful, and a whole lot mysterious. Other than saying he was a vet, he hadn’t said another word about himself.

  Nada. Which only made her want to know more.

  Isaac Cole was nothing like the men she worked with day in and day out.

  She’d spent too many years side by side with guys that only wanted to show off their machismo, or worse, inadequate soldiers that, in the presence of a strong, capable woman, felt they needed to find every opportunity to mansplain anything and everything despite her outranking them.

  In her position, she was often forced to discipline them, and then tolerate the glares that ensued.

  She’d had four blissful days with not one glare, one heaved sigh, no worry of backbiting. Not that they were all like that. Not at all, but it only took a few spread out like mines in a field. She never knew when she was going to be pulled away from her real work to deal with insubordinate nonsense.

  And while she loved the break, four days had gone by where she wasn’t in the air.

  Not once.

  A few things had become glaringly obvious.

  She’d fallen out of love with the Army.

  She still needed to fly.

  She craved orgasms.

  She required help training the mutt in the other room, not that she’d admit it.

  If she was going to entertain the idea of retiring from the Army, she needed to figure out what she wanted to do and where she wanted to land. She’d never loved Georgia but had to live there for her work with the military. She had no desire to return to New York and deal with the breakneck pace or the huge amounts of snow. Especially not while running in the mornings, and running on a treadmill just wasn’t the same.

  Maybe it was time to explore Tallulah Cove and see what mid-coast California had to offer.

  “Hank,” she called as she went into the kitchen to find him. She needed to put him in his crate like Sebastian and Kate told her to if she was going to leave the house, only he wasn’t in there. She checked the laundry room, living room, and dining room before checking their bedroom, and nothing. Both offices had remained closed since they left for St. Martin…so that left—shit!

  She darted to the end of the hall, and sure enough, her door had been pushed open. She froze in the doorway and blinked at the scene before her.

  Hank lay on her bed, the upper half of his body buried in her laundry sack, her clothes strewn about, his back paws digging against the down comforter as he scrambled to get in even farther.

  “Hank! No!” she admonished, slapping her hand against her thigh to get his attention.

  He scrambled back out, her red thong draped over his ear as he was grinding her favorite bra between his teeth.

  “Son of a bitch,” she bit out. “Get down!” she demanded as she headed for him to grab his collar since she’d bet her savings account that the turd wouldn’t comply without being forced.

  He dropped the bra and barked at her before jumping away just a second shy of her snatching his collar. His claws tore into the bed one last time, slicing open the fabric and sending feathers flying into the air.

  “Hank,” she called again, running after him. He scurried around the corner, his back end flying around and slamming against the wall with such force, the drywall cracked.

  “Dammit, Hank. Heel!”

  He slid to a stop in the middle of the tile between the dining room and kitchen, in front of the sliding glass door. Tucked in the corner behind him… the crate.

  All she had to do was get a hold of his collar and guide him into the cage, and she was home free.

  She took a step toward him, and he dropped into a crouch, his ass in the air, tail waving.

  Trying another tactic, she slid her foot forward without lifting it and didn’t make eye contact with him.

  He barked.

  He liked going outside. They had a privacy fence, and she didn’t plan to be out long. What could possibly go wrong if she just cracked open the sliding glass door and let him run out and enjoy the fresh air while she was gone? Most of patio had a roof over it, giving him shade. She could put a bowl of water out and let him back inside in a couple of hours.

  She grinned at him, took a step to the door, and popped the lock.

  His gaze snapped to where her hand curled around the handle, and the minute she pulled it open, he bolted out.

  Closing it behind him, she dropped her chin to her shoulder and sighed.

  She’d go out for a bit and come back and take a damn nap.

  Otherwise, she had no chance of getting through the training with Isaac.

  Ten minutes later, with a clean set of clothes on, her hair knotted on top of her head, and a bowl of water set out for Hank, she rolled away from the house with her shades on, top down, and music turned up.

  The Eagles blasted from her speakers, the beat sending her body into motion, and with her foot tapping away, she made her way to Pastry Masters for a sugary treat. She’d driven past it on her way to Sebastian’s and swore she’d get there at least once, especially after seeing how many cars spilled out of the parking lot and lined the street.

  The masses had calmed today, and she found a spot right up front. Hopping out of her Jeep, she headed in and took a place in line behind a tall, broad guy in blue jeans and a T-shirt, his hair a fascinating mix of salt and pepper. He handed cash to the girl behind the counter and slid to the side with his coffee.

  She stepped up and gave the menu a quick once-over. “I’ll take a large hazelnut coffee, black, and a raspberry torte, please,” she said.

  “Coming right up,” the girl said, grabbing a cup from the stack and tucking it under the spout of the machine. She pushed a button an
d snagged a pair of tongs to snatch a torte out of the case. “You’re new around here. Are you just visiting, or are you a new resident?” the girl asked as she placed a few napkins in the bag with her treat.

  “Oh, I’m just visiting, but exploring. Who knows? If I like it, I could be tempted to relocate. Provided I can find a job, that is,” Grazi said.

  She handed the bag across the counter and then slid the coffee to her. “That’ll be $10.79, please. Are you looking for anything in particular for work?”

  Grazi laughed, handing her a twenty-dollar bill. “Yeah, you know anyone looking for a helicopter pilot?”

  The girl snapped her gaze up from the register where she counted out Grazi’s change. “Seriously? That’s cool.”

  “Thanks,” Grazi said.

  “You know…” the guy stirring his coffee next to her said, a deep timbre to his voice. “They might be looking for someone up at the new airstrip between Cougar Mountain and the Leaping Water Inn. It’s not much, but they just put it in, and it caters to some of the heavy hitters that stay at luxury cabins at the Hidden Cove Winery.”

  She leaned against the counter next to him, out of the way of the elderly lady who had stepped up behind her. “Thank you. I might just have to check that out.”

  “If you follow Valley Road north, you can’t miss it,” he said.

  “I don’t know about that. I drove the perimeter of this whole town three times and managed to never even glimpse it,” Grazi said, taking a tentative sip of the hot brew.

  “Look for a sign saying Condor’s Air Field on the right. I promise you, it’s there. The sign is small though, so if you’re not looking for it, you could miss it. I know they plan on installing a new one, but not until they’re fully operational,” he said as he snatched up his bag.

  “Perfect. I appreciate it.” She reached out a hand. “I’m Grazi.”

  “Ben Davenport,” he said, taking her hand.

  “And what is it you do in the area?” Grazi asked.

  “I own and operate my own construction company. So, if you’re looking to build, consider me your guy,” he said, handing her a business card.

  She laughed and tucked it into her pocket. “I’ll do just that. Thanks again, Ben,” she said, lifting her cup and nodding.

  She pushed the door open with her hip and reaching her Jeep, set her drink on the hood so she could open the door. She got settled with her torte before backing out of her spot and making her way to Pacific Street.

  She slowed down to a crawl a few miles north since no one was right behind her, and sure enough, the small brown sign blended with the mix of trees. They definitely needed to do something about that if they ever wanted business to take off.

  Turning onto the gravel road, she followed it through the copse of trees until it opened up with a short runway good for small personal planes, and two helicopter pads with a massive hangar sitting in between.

  Pulling up next to a Ford F-250, she rolled to a stop and headed for the door. A breeze whipped through carrying warm air, a bit too hot to cool her damp skin. She knocked before turning the handle and ducking inside.

  The Stones blared from a radio. The scent of oil and the lingering tinge of fuel hovered in the air. Most women loved the smell of roses, fresh-baked sweets, or a fragrant laundry detergent. Not Grazi. She lived for the scent of aircraft in all their various stages.

  The current eau de toilete? A Diamond Aircraft gleaming from where it sat parked in the center of the room.

  “Hello? Anyone here?” she called.

  “Yeah, I’m here,” a middle-aged man in overalls and a hat said, climbing out from behind the Diamond.

  “Hi, I’m Grazi Macina. I hope you don’t mind my stopping by,” she said, reaching out a hand to him.

  He wiped his hands on a towel before shaking her outstretched hand. “Not at all, although, I have to say I’m intrigued as to why you have. The name is Ned Condor. What can I do for you?” he asked.

  She smiled and glanced around, the excitement of possibly breaking out of her rut swelling inside her, driving out the depressing thought of returning to the same old mundane, day in and day out. “Well, I’m thinking of relocating here and would be in the market for a job, and Ben Davenport pointed me in your direction,” she said.

  “Ben, huh? He’s good people. What is it you do, Grazi?” he asked, gesturing to a couple chairs by a utilitarian metal desk that looked like it had been beamed out of a 1960’s classroom.

  She took a seat, crossed her legs, and folded her hands on her thighs. “I’m a helicopter pilot in the Army. Sixteen years so far.”

  Ned leaned back in his chair and whistled low. “That’s not the kind of resume one glazes over.”

  “No, it’s not,” she said with a grin.

  “What kind of birds do you fly in the Army? If you don’t mind my asking.”

  “Apache, Black Hawk, and Lakota, mainly. There were a few times I took on the Chinook. My favorite though is the Black Hawk since it’s so versatile. I’ve logged thousands of hours in the Black Hawk alone. I have an impeccable record.”

  “You looking for full time or part time?” he asked.

  “I can do part time for now. I’ll need something full time within say… two years,” she said.

  His chair snapped forward, and his boots hit the floor. “Grazi? I think this could be the start of a beautiful relationship.” He shot her a grin and stood. “Come on. I’ll show you around.”

  Terror and excitement warred inside her, leaving her grinning and stifling a panicked laugh. She hadn’t had a civilian job since high school. She expected it to be a whole lot harder to get hired and maybe it still would be. After all, nothing was official yet. Surely Ned would want references, licensing information, drug testing, and a whole slew of other stuff. Plus, she’d have to put in for retirement. She had already completed the pre-retirement briefing with a Retirement Services Officer so it was only a matter of paperwork and a waiting period.

  The more she walked around with Ned, the more confident she became in her decision. The parts of her that had seemed out of order for so long clicked into place, leaving her with a growing sense of peace and calm she hadn’t enjoyed in years.

  She’d be living again.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Taking Chances

  WITH THE ANVIL LIFTED FROM Grazi’s chest, the one she hadn’t even realized had been sitting there until it disappeared and she could breathe once again, she headed straight for the beach.

  She’d already taken one chance, what was one more?

  She’d never been a beach person, one to really dig her toes in the sand, but damned if the lingering salty ocean air hadn’t seeped into her reluctant pores the minute she’d arrived, and by day four, it teased her into giving it a shot.

  By nature, after so many years in the military, where oftentimes, she had been forced to carry on in dirty, wet, cold clothes for indefinite lengths of time, she usually avoided getting dirty if it didn’t involve a paycheck. The idea of purposely burying her feet in the sand, knowing it would cling to her skin and dig between her toes, had never appealed to her.

  Until now.

  She parked in a small lot along the beach and headed down the wooden walk winding its way through sea grass before opening up to a stretch of packed sand and the wondrous, thrashing Pacific just beyond.

  Fluffy clouds floated through a dark-blue sky, occasionally splitting the sun’s powerful rays.

  At the end of the path, she glanced down at her sneakers and paused. Everyone raved about the feeling of sand against their feet. Despite her instincts to keep her shoes on, she unlaced them, shed her socks, and after tucking them into the sneakers for safekeeping, she stepped onto the beach and immediately began an awkward hop when the chill met the bottom of her feet.

  “Oh, cold,” she muttered, blowing out a breath and heading for the water’s edge where a dark-haired boy added a turret to the sand castle he’d built. A few feet away, a smiling bru
nette with a slightly rounded belly sat under an umbrella with a porcelain-skinned little girl snoozing on a towel, her fine curls fluttering in the breeze. Okay, so they seemed perfectly content in the cool sand so maybe she’d gotten used to the inferno that she’d lived in for so long.

  “First time on a California beach I take it?” she asked.

  “That and the first time I’ve gone shoeless on any beach. Did I look that ridiculous?” Grazi asked as she curled her toes into the cool sand.

  “No, not at all,” the lady said, her lips twitching and eyes dancing.

  “You’re a terrible liar,” Grazi said, letting out a laugh.

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be, I appreciate honesty. I’m Grazi,” she said, leaning over and offering her hand.

  “Abby. This sleeping one is Amelia, and the builder over there is my son, Blake.”

  “It’s nice to meet you,” Grazi said, taking a seat in the sand. She’d meant to go for a walk, but something shifted, and in that moment, she wanted nothing more than to have a conversation, make a connection.

  “Nice to meet you, too. So are you new here or just visiting?”

  “I haven’t decided yet. I came to visit my brother and check out the woman he’s shacking up with. Tried to surprise them, but they surprised me right back by flying off on a two-week vacation and leaving me pet sitting.”

  Abby straightened. “Wait, you’re Grazi Macina?”

  Grazi leaned away and eyed her. “Yes. How did you know that?”

  Abby let out a full belly laugh, slapping her hand in the sand next to her blanket. “That woman your brother is shacking up with, as you put it, is my sister, Kate.”

  Grazi rolled her lips inward and bobbed her head as she turned her gaze back to the sea. Heat crept up her neck and into her cheeks, and it had nothing to do with the piercing California sun. “Well, we can add this blunder to the list of reasons I don’t socialize.”

  Abby patted her arm. “Oh, stop. It’s fine. I’m sure you have the same concerns about my sister that I had about your brother.”