Steel Coyote

by Beth Williamson

  Her cheeks flushed—she’d hadn’t expected him to find them drinking the coffee. She was embarrassed since he’d helped her, and now she’d excluded him. Intentional or not, it was a shitty thing to do.

  “None of your damn business. Get back up on the bridge, boy.” Foley tried to struggle to his feet, but Remy pushed him back into his seat.

  “Stop it, old man. You could be a little nicer now and then.” She took a deep breath. “I, uh, was going to bring you a cup.” He frowned at the sight of the three of them at the table. Without him. Shit, shit, shit.

  “There’s a ship hailing us. Hailing you, actually.” Max put his hands on his hips and stared at the percolator. “I had coffee once. A long time ago.” His voice had dropped low and his gaze was in a faraway place.

  “What ship?”

  Max didn’t answer, which apparently tickled Katie because she laughed. Remy shot her a quelling look.

  “Fletcher, what ship?” She snapped her fingers until he looked at her.

  For a moment, just a moment, she saw an incredible loneliness and longing in his eyes. As quickly as it was there, he blinked and his expression retreated into a bland one. Guilt gnawed at her.

  “The ship? It says it’s the St. Pierre. Do you know it?” His gaze slid to the coffee for another moment then back to her.

  “The St. Pierre?” Katie cackled. “He’s following you, Remy.”

  “Who’s following her?” Max frowned. She told herself that it was from curiosity and not concern.

  “It’s another captain named Jean St. Pierre. They had a fling about two years ago—”

  “It doesn’t matter, Katie.” Remy was not about to dredge up the ill-fated affair with Jean. It was embarrassing. “I’ll be right there.”

  What she didn’t say, but she was sure he heard, was that she wanted to drink her coffee before she returned to the bridge.

  He glanced once again at the coffee and then slowly walked out of the galley. She saw the rig on his back now that he’d removed his jacket. It was an ingenious holster for two lethal-looking pistols. Of course, his back was wide and as muscled as his arms. Arousal raced through her again, followed by tingles between her thighs. She cleared her throat and looked at Foley and Katie to be sure they hadn’t noticed her elemental reaction to a good-looking man. Fortunately, they were looking at the coffeepot.

  The silence that followed was not the happy, content one from before Fletcher had come into the room.

  “I still want coffee.” Foley folded his arms and harrumphed.

  “Keep your shorts on, old man. It’s almost ready.” Katie jumped up and took three tin cups from the cabinet.

  “Four cups.” Remy knew that would leave little for each of them but they would share it. As a crew of four.

  Katie’s brows lifted but she took out a fourth, ladling in a spoonful of sugar into each. They didn’t allow themselves too much, but just enough to make it special.

  At least, it had been special until Max ruined it. To be fair, he’d only done what a pilot should have when being hailed by an unknown vessel. It wasn’t his fault he hadn’t been invited. Now, she also had to deal with Jean St. Pierre, a mistake she’d allowed herself to fall into. Some days she wished away all men.

  Katie poured and set the cups in front of Foley and Remy then sat down with her own. The fourth lay in the middle between them. The table was one Gunnar had made himself. He called it a picnic table. She called it a table with benches attached. The blue tablecloth had been Katie’s idea to make it feel more like a home. It definitely prevented splinters but Remy didn’t tell her she could care less if the cloth was on there or not. This entire ship reminded her of her father, no matter how it was hidden from view.

  The coffee, in particular, brought forth more memories of the big man. His booming laugh, the way he waggled his bushy red eyebrows or twirled his mustache as he listened to her tell a tale. He wasn’t the most affectionate father, but he taught her everything she knew, protected her, raised her to be smart and independent.

  “I didn’t invite him, either,” Katie admitted. She stared into her cup. “I, uh, wasn’t sure if you wanted to include him.”

  Remy winced. “I get so focused I forget about things. I’m sorry to have to put you in that position.”

  “He’s just a pretty boy, right?” Foley interjected.

  “No, he’s a pilot and he’s done us no wrong. In fact, he’s saved us twice. All of us. Stop treating him like he’s an interloper, Foley. We’ve got a long way to go and not much time to get there.” Remy shook her head. “Desperation has made us act like assholes. I don’t want to do that anymore.”

  Foley frowned. “I like being an asshole.”

  Katie laughed. “Yeah you do.” She turned a more serious gaze on Remy. “I know I always go along with your plans. But this job with Cooper is bad news. I got a feeling we made a mistake here.”

  “You mean I made a mistake. You told me not to take it, but I didn’t see another choice.” Remy rubbed her eyes. “I don’t know how this is going to turn out, but we’re together on this, right?”

  Foley squinted at her. “I never let your daddy down, and I don’t plan to let you down. I keep my word.”

  She had to be the captain now and include all of her crew in the ritual. Remy got to her feet and picked up her and Max’s cups.

  Max wasn’t upset they hadn’t invited him to their little coffee party. Not even a little bit. He wasn’t a member of the crew, so why would they invite him? After all, he more or less blackmailed his way onto the ship, a fact he refused to discuss with himself.

  He dropped heavily into the pilot’s chair and did a quick check on the ship’s status. Autopilot engaged and functioning. The other ship was still hailing them, the light blinking on and off, but he ignored it. It was Remy’s problem now. He didn’t give a shit about Jean St. Pierre or his own fascination for the voluptuous captain. Not at all.

  “What happened?” Saint appeared.

  “Nothing.”

  “It seemed like it was something.” The hologram moved from Max’s shoulder to the console. He crossed his arms.

  “They didn’t invite me here, and they don’t want me here. Same story, different day.”

  Max had always used his charm and his good looks to get him through life. He’d let the universe tug him along one way or the other. While he hadn’t exactly been looking, he hadn’t found a place where he belonged. A home. He’d long ago realized it didn’t exist, so he lived in the moment. Before he’d escaped from Haverty, he hadn’t known what freedom was and, conversely, how much having a family and friends was worth. Now he was a piece of flotsam in the ocean of the universe, forever floating in whatever current grabbed him.

  Remy had sparked a flame inside him he thought long since extinguished. He was afraid of what would happen if he let that tiny flame burn brighter. If things went the way they usually did, then he might burn up for good when she left him behind.

  “They do not know you.” Saint relaxed his arms.

  “I don’t think they want to.”

  Saint shrugged. “Give them a chance. It took me a year before I liked you.”

  “That’s not helpful.”

  Max scowled at the screen, willing something to happen. Yet it appeared the Steel Coyote was a solid ship and ran like a well-made clock. Although he’d told Remy he had flown Emerson class plenty of times, he’d only ridden in one, and that was only once. However, he’d discovered his natural ability to fly any kind of ship less than a year after he left Haverty. He loved the feeling of moving through the great silent blackness of space. Ships were graceful creatures that spoke to him through their consoles and their helms. He connected with these machines like he’d never done with human beings.

  Until he’d met Remy.

  She inspired him to act in ways he’d never done before. Max was always in control of his emotions and his actions. Not so since he saw a tall blonde walk into a bar. It might be a funny story
if it wasn’t true.

  Damn, he was hungry, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to go back to the galley. If he made another appearance, they’d believe he was a desperate dickhead.

  Max Fletcher was no dickhead.

  The hail came again from the St. Pierre. He didn’t know the captain, but he was persistent. Perhaps after Remy finished drinking her coffee, she might deign to speak to the impatient man awaiting her reply.

  Max shouldn’t feel piqued at the exclusion or the way the captain treated him. He was a pilot, not a partner or friend. Circumstances landed him on this ship and in possession of more than thirteen thousand credits that belonged to Remington Hawthorne. It was the strangest twist of fate in a life full of left turns.

  Max hadn’t wanted to pilot for the lazy rich, but it had been a job and he’d needed one in the worst way. The bald truth was he’d been down to the lint in his pocket. The drinks he’d had the night before were the last credits he had to his name. The only thing he had of value to sell was the Moral Compass, and he’d starve before he sold Saint. Not that he’d tell him that.

  And now he was piloting the Steel Coyote. A legendary ship with a new captain who had a chip on her shoulder and moved as though she owned the universe. Confident and tough. Sexy and confusing.

  As he hurtled through space toward Haverty, he refused to allow himself to be nervous. He never expected to go back to the moon he’d grown up on. After all, he’d burned every bridge behind him when he’d left.

  Returning would be bad. Hell, he might even be shot. Yet he hadn’t, and didn’t intend to, tell the captain about his connection with the moon. He would stay out of sight, with the exception of providing his handprint when needed.

  It was a weak plan, but for now that’s what he had. The next two weeks would give him an opportunity to think of something better. In his sleep-deprived state, his mind wasn’t as sharp as it should be.

  Max stared out into space as the ship moved with ease through the blackness. It was quiet except for the hum of the machinery. This was why he loved being a pilot—the ability to simply be at one with the great beast with nothing between them. His mind and his hands controlled thirty tons of metal. Yep, he didn’t want to be anywhere but in the pilot’s seat.

  “You done feeling up my ship?” Remy’s voice startled him, and he covered it by jumping to his feet.

  “I was flying the ship, Captain, not feeling it up.”

  She glanced at the helm. “Sure didn’t look that way to me. She may need to be washed.”

  “If this ship needs a cleaning, it was like that when I got here.” He leaned against the pilot’s seat. “You finished with your coffee?”

  She handed him a cup, and he fumbled his way into accepting it. “I came up here to answer the hail from the St. Pierre.” She went to the console. The light cast her face in a golden hue, making her blond hair sparkle.

  Sparkle?

  He almost choked on his own spit. What the hell was wrong with him that the word sparkle came to mind? Sleep. He needed more sleep.

  “I, uh, thank you for this.” He sipped at the dark brew and the warmth slid down his throat. A moan of pleasure worked its way up his throat. “Sweet merciful heaven, this is incredible.”

  “Don’t get used to it, because there’s little left.” She sat down in the copilot’s seat and he turned around, refusing to stare at her while he drank the nectar of the gods. He resumed his perch as the pilot and focused on what he needed to do. Which was nothing. Other than listen to her talk to Jean St. Pierre.

  “St. Pierre, this is the Steel Coyote.”

  Within moments, she had a reply. “Remy!” The man’s voice had a vague accent, something smooth and exotic. “I was about to send over a scouting party to make sure you were safe.”

  Remy chuffed a laugh. “I was having coffee.”

  “Ah, the tradition. Of course! I hope you toasted Gunnar.” His warm tone told Max he’d been aboard the ship and possibly aboard the captain. “He is sorely missed in the quadrant.”

  “What do you want, Jean?” Her clipped words made Max smile. All was not sweet in their relationship. Good.

  “You wound me, Remy. My navigator noted your ship’s signature and alerted me. I have not spoken to you in months.” A pause. “I was concerned.”

  Max sneaked a peek at her. Remy pressed a palm to her forehead. He swallowed the urge to laugh.

  “I’m going to say this one more time, Jean. What do you want?”

  Another pause. “I heard you are going to Haverty.”

  Remy’s gaze snapped to Max, and he held up his hands. He’d told no one. She narrowed her eyes.

  “I wondered if you would take passengers with you,” Jean continued. “My cousins, Mason and Morgan, are languishing at the Azesus station, a mere two-day trip from here. They can pay for passage, but they need to return to Haverty.”

  She muted the microphone and stared hard at Max. “Did you speak to anyone?”

  “Other than the inspector, no. I’ve been with you the entire time, remember?” Her accusation stung although it shouldn’t. She had every right not to trust him.

  “Not the entire time. You bought the tires and farming gear while my back was turned.” She scowled harder. “Foley and Katie wouldn’t say anything, so someone else did. Or maybe that inspector has an open palm for anyone willing to fork over credits. Rat bastard.” She frowned at the communication screen. “Jean doesn’t do anything without a profit for himself. I don’t know what he’s up to with ‘cousins’ on Azesus. I think he was born from rotten eggs.”

  Max tried not to let his glee show. He’d been completely wrong about Jean and Remy. Delightfully so. She wasn’t his, but it had bothered him to imagine the other man being her lover. At that moment, he wasn’t ready to examine why. If ever.

  She unmuted the microphone. “I’m not taking on passengers. We’re a cargo ship.”

  “I can offer you a thousand credits to bring them to Haverty.”

  Remy frowned. “That’s an awful lot for two cousins. What’s wrong with them?”

  Jean chuckled. “You always think the worst of me.”

  “I’m usually right,” she shot back.

  Max was fascinated. He’d borne the brunt of her sharp tongue, and watching her lash someone else was priceless.

  “Cherie, you wound me.”

  “I repeat, what’s wrong with them?” She had no compunction about speaking baldly.

  Another pause.

  Max didn’t pretend to not listen. He leaned forward, sipped at his coffee, and waited for the man’s answer.

  “I must be truthful with you. They are young, only sixteen, and an adult must deliver them to their new home on Haverty. They are to become part of the colony, ah, learning a trade.”

  Now was Max’s turn to mute the microphone. “Haverty is a colony of farmers and terraformers. Most people who go there don’t leave, and many others are slaves. It’s basic living, not for anyone who wants to be entertained again in their lifetime by something other than the fiddle or a mouth harp.”

  She raised one brow, which he had come to realize was her way of showing disbelief. “You know a lot about Haverty.”

  He nodded, not willing to give her anything beyond acknowledgement. His past would stay buried if he could manage it. He could almost feel Saint judging him from his shoulder perch. Curse him.

  She turned back to the communication screen and unmuted the microphone again. “I don’t have time to pick them up.”

  “It is on your way, Remy.” His voice was cajoling and sickly sweet.

  “I don’t have time. That’s the end of this conversation.” She’d nearly pushed the end comm button when Jean spoke again.

  “I don’t want to, but I will call in my marker.” All sweetness had vanished from his voice. There was a dark undercurrent that didn’t surprise Max.

  “Damn it, I don’t have time for this.” Remy’s fury was sudden and sharp. “I have very little wiggle room to h
it a deadline. Two wayward sixteen-year-olds are not on my schedule.”

  “The marker.” Jean’s voice was soft and scummy. “Do not make me say it again.”

  “Fucking hell.” Remy banged her fist on the console. “You son of a bitch.”

  “Sorry, cherie.” He sounded anything but. “I must get them to Haverty. I shall pay you the credits the usual way.”

  “We’re square after this. No more markers, no more anything.” Remy appeared as though she wanted to jump through the console and shoot the other captain. Rage laced her words, but something else was there was well—resignation. She was giving in to his demand. Blackmailed her into it was more like it. “If I see you again, I can’t promise to be polite.”

  “I would expect nothing less. Morgan and Mason will be waiting, along with payment. Au revoir, cherie.” The comm clicked off, leaving nothing but the sound of Remy seething.

  “Don’t ask any questions or say a word. I can’t be responsible for my actions if you do.” She banged the console again then kicked it.

  Max wondered what Jean had done for her to warrant a marker that would stop the inestimable captain in her tracks.

  “Set course for Azesus.” She got to her feet, her fists clenched and her face a mask of pure fury.

  Max watched her go, her back so hard and straight it appeared to be made of iron. He was surprised she hadn’t shot the console. The woman had brass balls and the temper to match.

  “That did not go very well.” Saint finally spoke.

  “No, and I have a feeling it’s the start of more bad luck for this ship.” Max was here for her and he’d follow through on that commitment. There wasn’t much in his life he could call his own, but he’d never made a promise he didn’t keep.

  Which was why he never made promises.

  Thoughts tumbled around in Remy’s head. She tried to enter numbers in her register, but her brain refused to focus. It bounced around her skull like a rubber ball. Boing. Boing. Boing.