Her Rebel Heart

by Jamie Farrell

  “Give me two days.”

  The blood drained from her face as though someone were sucking it out of her toes—forehead to chin, then her neck went pale as milk too. Her voice was still strong and sassy though. “Heard that one before.”

  “My sister flies fifteens. She has a hookup for incentive rides.”

  Kaci swayed. “Sure you got a sister. You kiss her before you go to bed every night?”

  Her tone didn’t match the sass in her words.

  And even Lance’s ego wasn’t big enough to convince himself that Kaci was bothered because he’d mentioned another woman.

  No, she was—holy shit. “You’re afraid to fly.”

  She sniffed. “You been sitting out here all afternoon? The sunshine’s gone to your brain.” But her knuckles were white while she held herself straight as a lightning rod.

  He scooted to the edge of his own tailgate. “You know airflow. Lift. Drag. All that science shit. Statistically, you’re safer in an airplane than—”

  “I said I ain’t afraid to fly,” she snapped.

  “But you’re lying.”

  “No wonder even your own sister won’t kiss you if this is how you do your negotiating.”

  “You ever been in an airplane?”

  She had to have flown somewhere in her life.

  Hadn’t she?

  “This conversation is over. I want my car in its place at my apartment within an hour, or I’m calling the police.”

  She marched away, and this time, he didn’t try to stop her.

  As far as negotiations went, that had been an epic fail.

  But as far as gathering useful intel went, he’d hit the gold mine. Dr. Kaci Boudreaux was afraid to fly. Hadn’t seen that coming.

  That fear was the chink in her armor.

  She was suddenly more than brains and sass wrapped in a killer body.

  She was human.

  Which only made her more intriguing.

  * * *

  Kaci collapsed into her chair and grabbed her phone.

  She should be furious. She should be horrified. She should be plotting something bigger than that hot-sauce-and-bottle-rockets incident of her sophomore year of high school.

  Instead, she was mortified. And on the verge of hyperventilating.

  He’d threatened to put her in an F-15. Yet she still nearly hadn’t been able to walk away from him.

  She was going to puke.

  And that hog had to go.

  As long as she had Gertrude hidden in her apartment’s storage unit, she’d never be rid of him.

  Even when she was so furious with him she couldn’t think straight, even when he was threatening to take her airborne, she loved the thrill of being near him.

  Not even seeing her Jeep missing had been enough to squelch her absurd attraction to him.

  Sooner or later, he’d break her. She’d give in to the temptation to kiss him again. And then she’d want to touch him.

  Closely.

  Intimately.

  Repeatedly.

  But she didn’t do flyers. She didn’t date military men, especially car-stealing, F-15-threatening military men, no matter how much healthy respect she had for their style of escalation. She didn’t even want to date men who loved her brain.

  She wanted…to simply be loved by someone safe who wouldn’t leave her too young.

  Like Daddy had left Momma.

  She wouldn’t find that with Lance Wheeler, and she shouldn’t want it.

  She pounded in her home phone number. Tara had been working last night, so she hadn’t yet filled her in on yesterday. “We have to get rid of Notorious P-I-G,” she whispered when Tara picked up.

  “They’re onto us?” Tara whispered back.

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “Crap. Okay. Meet me at home. I have an idea.”

  Kaci did too, but much as she was intrigued at wondering how high they could take Gertrude in a makeshift low-altitude spaceship—and what those danged flyers would do if they saw the pictures—she’d never be rid of Lance if she didn’t hand over the hog.

  “Can you pick me up? Those dang flyers stole my car.”

  “They stole your car?”

  “Like I said, we have to get rid of that boar.”

  And then she’d get her head screwed back on right.

  * * *

  Ten minutes later, Tara’s little red coupe careened to a stop near where Lance had been parked. “Whoa, hey, what’s wrong?”

  Kaci scrambled into the car. “Let’s get that boar loaded up and dropped off.”

  “I brought a friend.” Tara hooked a thumb behind her. “Mrs. Sheridan stops in at Jimmy Beans, and she got us visitor passes for the base and permission to put the boar under that big fighter jet on a stick right inside the main gate. Isn’t that fabulous?”

  Kaci blinked at the other woman behind her.

  Mrs. Sheridan. She’d come to a few events at James Robert. Always very nice. Always very official.

  “You brought the base commander’s wife?” she hissed. Mrs. Sheridan’s husband oversaw all operations on the base, for all the squadrons and units and departments. Everyone could be in serious trouble, from Kaci to Lance’s squadron to who knew who else?

  “Bob was in the refueler squadron who owned that boar once upon a time,” the older woman offered. “He’s highly amused. Unofficially, of course.”

  Oh, lordy. This was getting bad. “So we’re gonna let the whole world know their mascot got stolen by some girls?” Kaci said. Oh, no. No, nope, not gonna happen.

  Lance won.

  She was done playing with that man. He had the royal flush, and all she had left in her hand was a pair of twos.

  Forget her Jeep. If he wanted to, he could tell the whole world she was afraid to fly.

  And then her trip to Germany would be under even more scrutiny.

  “Kaci? They won’t seriously hurt your car. They can’t. Even they have to know how much trouble they’d be in.”

  “Your car?” Mrs. Sheridan said. “They took your car?”

  “Probably just took it out for a car wash.” Kaci had started this. She could own the consequences.

  “Or they’re boxing it up to drop it off a ramp next time they’re in the air over the Eglin range,” Mrs. Sheridan said.

  Kaci’s already overworked heart gave a whimper. Surely they wouldn’t…would they?

  She knew about the range at Eglin. Down in the Florida Panhandle, probably not even an hour away by air, hundreds of square miles for nothing but target practice by big flying gunships.

  If they dropped her car over the range, she’d never see it again.

  But…this was just a prank.

  Wasn’t it?

  “If you girls got this covered, I’ll just help you get Gertrude out of storage, and then I’m gonna wait for those boys to bring back my car. Been a doozy of a day with the ex too.”

  “You’re not seriously backing out, are you?” Tara asked.

  Was she?

  Her pride yelled no, but her inner redneck had gone in hiding. “Not enough room for the three of us and the boar on the way to the base.” She bit her lip. “And it won’t exactly look good to my boss if he hears I’ve been fighting with the local military men.”

  Twenty minutes and a helping hand from two neighbors later, she waved as Tara and Mrs. Sheridan headed to the base without her.

  Was she a chicken?

  Hell yeah.

  But she needed Lance Wheeler out of her life more than she needed fun.

  Besides, that was her pink lipstick that Gertrude was sporting.

  She’d gotten her last bit of fun.

  Now she was getting back to her normal. Waiting for her car to come back. Convincing herself she was done with Lance Wheeler forever.

  And listening to hypnosis tapes in the meantime.

  Her only real priority needed to be getting to Germany.

  * * *

  The sun was sinking in the sky when Lance pulle
d through the gate to the base, then promptly parked beside Pony’s truck. “Lipstick?” he said.

  “Shut up and help me get her in the truck.”

  Lance stepped onto the grass beneath the life-size F-16 mounted on a stick at the entrance to the base. “How’d you hear she’s back?”

  He snorted and pointed to the gate. “Half the base saw two women dragging her out here while they were headed home for the day. Who didn’t call is a better idea. By the way, the colonel wants to see us in the morning.”

  No doubt. “About Gertrude, or about our extracurricular activities out at the campus?”

  “Better be about Gertrude, or I’m stringing Juice Box up by his toes.”

  They squatted on either side of the stuffed boar, then lifted her and carried her to Pony’s truck.

  “You boys need any help?” one of the security forces cops at the gate called.

  “We got it,” Pony called back.

  Gertrude wasn’t heavy. She was just big.

  “Hope so, since Mrs. Sheridan and her girlfriend didn’t have any problems with it.”

  Lance and Pony shared a look.

  “Dr. Blondie knows the base commander’s wife?” Pony said.

  “We’re fucked.”

  “No shit.”

  “You tell the guys to deliver her Jeep?”

  Gertrude wobbled between them. Probably would’ve withered under the weight of Pony’s glare if she’d still been alive. “Boar first. Then the Jeep.” He swore under his breath. “If she told Mrs. Sheridan…”

  “Let’s get the hell out of here,” Lance said.

  “And then let’s stay the hell away from that fucking nuisance of a physics professor,” Pony said pointedly.

  Lance ignored him.

  Didn’t need Pony telling him who he could and couldn’t hang out with. And he damn well knew for himself that he needed to walk away.

  Didn’t mean he wanted to though.

  Kaci Boudreaux was a pumpkin-sized boulder dropped into the placid lake of Lance’s life, and he wasn’t ready to let go.

  She was unexpected. She was funny. And there was something about her—a puzzle, a mystery, or maybe just the fact that she was crazy—that had him hooked.

  He’d wanted a distraction.

  Looked like he had her.

  Chapter 8

  Tuesday morning, Kaci careened into her office thirty minutes early. In her Jeep, thank you very much.

  She hadn’t been entirely convinced Lance’s squadron would bring it back, and she’d been on the verge of reminding him she knew the number to the police station when they’d shown up. She’d watched from the window while they pulled it off a flatbed trailer and delivered it safely into her normal parking spot, and now she was done with Lance forever.

  To compensate for the weird feelings in her heart and belly, she’d had two brownies from Jimmy Beans for breakfast with her coffee, and she was bound and determined to do some research on overcoming phobias before she was due for any meetings or lectures.

  Her phone was blinking, so while she waited for her computer to boot up, she checked the voicemail.

  And all the fizzing in her veins from the caffeine and brownies instantly turned to flat-out jitters.

  Except the jitters were eighty percent hormonal and twenty percent scaredy-cat.

  “Hey there, Dr. Kaci,” Lance’s voice drawled in that subtle twang of his. “Just wanted to thank you for making sure Gertrude was safely guarded until we could get there to pick her up yesterday. If she had to be kidnapped, we’re all relieved she was with someone who had her best interests at heart. Hope you found your Jeep without any trouble this morning. But there’s still that matter of Pony’s keg to settle. Appreciate if you’ll give me a call.”

  That arrogant, muscle-headed son of a cow’s uncle. She didn’t want to call him. She didn’t want to hear his voice. He was nothing more than a—

  “And in case you’re wondering,” his message continued, “I did feel something when I kissed you. Both times.”

  All the jitters in her veins swirled together and her heart gave a big ol’ thump.

  This man was dangerous.

  And lately, danger was exactly what she wanted.

  * * *

  Kaci could fire a potato gun without flinching, even if she could never aim the darn thing straight. She could set off fireworks with her eyes closed. And she could stare down a uniformed military man without so much as a twitch.

  But she wasn’t sure she had it in her to knock on the door of the gray brick cookie-cutter mini-mansion where she had it on good authority that Lance lived.

  If he rejected her proposal, she might just crawl into a hole and never come out again.

  Not that she liked him.

  Not like that. Why would she? First of all, she didn’t date flyers. Secondly, he was entirely too young for her. She liked her men with some experience under their belts.

  But having a…a friend was never a bad thing. Right?

  Of course, friends probably didn’t need to call in favors to figure out where their friends lived. But he’d found her apartment—and temporarily commandeered her Jeep—so turnabout was fair play.

  Or she could leave.

  Nobody had to know she’d been here.

  This was a stupid idea anyway.

  James Robert College had a perfectly good psychology department. She’d go talk to an acquaintance or two over there, and—

  “Huh. Am I supposed to be surprised or terrified?”

  So much for the chicken way out. She lifted her eyes to look at the man who had just opened the door. “Honored, sugar.”

  His eyes went smoky and black holey, sucking her in while his lips curved in that maybe-I’ll-smile, maybe-I’ll-smirk kind of way he’d apparently mastered. “Don’t hold your breath.”

  His green flight suit shouldn’t have been sexy, but something about the way it hung off his broad shoulders all the way down to his boots was doing weird things to her belly.

  Like the suit said I am man and I can fly.

  Like men and flying were suddenly sexy.

  “I assume since my door isn’t smoking and hanging off its hinges that this is a friendly visit,” he said.

  The man knew her too well. “Doesn’t have to stay that way.”

  His pearly whites flashed, and there went her femininity swooning. “I’m not here to do anything I wouldn’t do in front of my momma. Just so you know.”

  “Or your ex-husband?”

  She had a sudden flash of Lance’s hands on her rear, his tongue in her mouth, his heady male scent enveloping her while his surprisingly strong body pressed against her, and she had to remind herself she was the daughter of a fighter pilot and a beauty queen before she felt her chin lift and her spine straighten. “You like sleeping with roadkill? Because I know where you live, which means I know where you sleep.”

  He chuckled and held the door open wide. “You coming in?”

  Her pulse ricocheted.

  She’d been alone with him, but never this alone.

  But she wasn’t here for his killer smile or his lean strength or even his suck-her-in bedroom eyes.

  She was here to improve herself.

  So she marched inside. “Hope you got sweet tea.”

  “Pretty sure I need mine leaded,” he muttered.

  But when she arched a look back at him, he was grinning.

  She flipped her hair and faced forward again, then stopped flat out.

  His living room was a shrine to the unholy Crimson Tide. A University of Alabama blanket was tossed over the brown leather couch, and Bama bobbleheads lined a shelf beneath the big-screen TV on the wall. Surrounding the TV were Bama football and Air Force airplane posters tossed in for what was undoubtedly his idea of balance. Strikes eight and nine against any possibility of this man being good dating material. Though she’d bet that TV was fabulous for watching Ole Miss football. “You shouldn’t let your frat buddies decorate your house. It�
��s unbecoming.”

  He snorted. “And your apartment doesn’t have Razorback crap and Albert Einstein posters all over?”

  Only because Tara had threatened to call and invite her momma to do some more redecorating if Kaci didn’t relinquish that job to her. Also, she was a Mississippian through and through, and not a single soul from her bloodline had ever come from Arkansas. “I’m a Rebel, not a pig, thank you very much. You gonna offer me something to drink, or just stand there acting like you’ve never had company before?”

  “Depends on why you’re here.” He dropped onto his couch and propped his boots up on an ottoman, watching her.

  She blew out a short breath and took a stiff position in his matching recliner, idly wondering if he had any tequila in those cabinets she could see behind the half wall separating the living room from the kitchen.

  He was right. Might as well get to it.

  “What we have here is a classic problem,” she said. “You got a buddy with a blown keg, and I’ve got this little discomfort with being airborne. So I’ll go flying with you, and you’ll let this whole bill-over-the-keg thing drop.”

  He didn’t blink. “And I get what out of this bargain?”

  “You get to watch me be miserable. There’s nothing good about me being in an airplane. But if you can fly it low enough and slow enough—but not too slow, we don’t want to negate Bernoulli’s principle here—then we might could both survive. Trust me, sugar, we both live through that, you’re gonna be begging me to never get within three states of you again.”

  “Huh.” He stroked his chin, lazy eyes watching her. “Still not seeing what’s in it for me.”

  “You get to get rid of me.”

  “Why would I want to do that?”

  He’d gone and popped a button in his brain. “You hit your head somewhere today?”

  His wolfish grin made her ovaries stand up and do a striptease. “If I say yes, you gonna check me out, Dr. Nurse?”

  She’d known he wouldn’t cooperate easily. But did he have to go and torture her with his nurse fantasies? “If you hit your head, there’s no way I’m flying with you, no matter how hard you beg.”