“So I’ll tell you what. When I come here, you can call me Lieutenant Sky. How does that sound?” They cheered. “Okay, one more question. Someone who hasn’t asked one yet.”
Daisy raised her hand and pointed to the little girl next to her. “Tanya has a question.”
“Ah, yes, my other marching partner. What’s your question, Tanya?”
“Lieutenant Sky, can you bring your helicopter here so we can see it?”
The children started chanting, “Yes, yes, yes!” Daisy leaned over and whispered something to Tanya, probably to let her down easy. Sky whistled for quiet, then focused on Daisy so he wouldn’t miss her reaction. What good was being ADHD if he didn’t use impulsivity and shock and awe to his advantage once in awhile?
“Sure,” he said simply. Daisy’s head jerked up, mouth agape, eyes questioning. The children squealed with excitement.
Sky raised his hand to quiet them and continued. “Would you like me to fly my helicopter here and land right on the soccer field?” Chaos reigned now as the children jumped up and down in the bleachers, screaming and laughing.
He whistled for quiet again. They complied, eager for him to continue. “If you want me to fly my helo here, all of you have to do one thing.” The kids waited spellbound, all eyes glued to him. “Convince Dr. Daisy to go on a date with me.”
The bleachers exploded as the children leapt on her. Daisy’s face registered shock as the screaming, giggling bodies surrounded her, imploring her to say, “Yes!” Her mouth dropped open as she glared at him.
With murder in those bluey-green eyes.
“I still can’t believe you bribed those children to get me to go kayaking with you,” Daisy admonished him in a whisper. They stood at the edge of the exercise mats now, watching the counselor demonstrate tumbling moves.
Sky looked down at their contract. Cory had written it in crayon:
Loo-tenant Sky promises to land his hello-copter on the soccer field if Dr. Daisy goes kayaking with him on Saturday, October 25.
It was signed by all the kids, Sky, and reluctantly, by Daisy. “Well, I guess it worked, sweetheart.”
“Surely you don’t address females in the military by those degrading terms of endearment.”
“Only when I can get away with it, little girl.” He gave her his best gap-toothed grin.
Daisy looked down her body, then back at him, and replied, “In case you hadn’t noticed, I am not a little girl.”
Sky hoped raw desire didn’t smolder in his eyes as his gaze swept over her, then flickered back to her face. “Yeah.” He paused, willing his pulse to slow down. “I noticed.”
“I suppose I should warn you. I know Krav Magda, self-defense of the Israeli Army. If you ever call me ‘little girl’ again, I might have to flatten you,” she hissed at him, careful not to be overheard by the children.
“Is that a threat? Or a promise...little girl?”
Sky wasn’t certain if he saw Daisy smile right before he found himself face down on the mat with the petite body he’d been ogling seconds before parked on his back, and his arm bent at an angle an arm was never intended to be bent. What he was certain of was the fact that he’d never been quite so turned on in his life.
“Holy shit, woman, what do you call that?” he muttered under his breath, trying to keep a straight face. The children squealed at how fun Lieutenant Sky was and gathered around, cheering Daisy on.
She leaned down and whispered in his ear, “And I don’t particularly care for swearing either, especially around children.” She ratcheted his arm back a few more millimeters.
The kids jumped up and down with glee as the counselors gathered around, laughing too.
“Ouch! Uncle! I give!”
She leaned in close one more time and said, “Repeat after me. I will never call a female over the age of five, ‘little girl’ again.”
“I will never call a female over the age of five, ‘little girl’ again.” Sky chuckled as he said the last few words, but no way could he be heard over the giggles of the children.
Daisy let up on his arm, which was a big mistake, because she suddenly found herself flat on her back with all two hundred plus pounds of former Navy linebacker Sky Crawford straddling her with her wrists pinned to the deck, to the absolute delight of the children.
Now it was his turn to lean down and whisper in her ear. “But I don’t promise not to call them ‘sugar’ now and then. All right, sugar?”
Oh, man. This was a position he could get used to. Until he remembered they were in a freaking gymnasium with a gazillion kids jumping around squealing. So how in the hell was he going to get up and walk away without everyone on God’s green earth knowing that this woman was ringing his chimes like no woman ever had?
In the middle of the YMCA.
If Daisy’s eyes could kill, he would be a dead man. “Let me up,” she spit out through clenched teeth.
“You started it,” he retorted, sounding like one of the kids. Half were now chanting “Doctor Daisy” while the rest chanted, “Lieutenant Sky.” The counselors tried to settle them down, shushing them. Sky turned to them. “It’s okay, kids. Dr. Daisy and I were just showing you some fancy self-defense moves. Thank you for your assistance with that demonstration, Dr. Daisy.”
He let go of her hands, which she immediately used to push at his inner thighs. Yeah, like that was going to help settle down his excitement. She twisted and writhed beneath him—which only served to make things worse.
Sky realized his only avenue for a dignified escape would be to lie down on her and roll away. But dammit all, he was going to take his sweet time because she looked so pissed he doubted he’d ever get in this position with her again.
Sky rolled right. Daisy rolled left. She sprang up into a fighter’s stance, but he wasn’t going anywhere fast. Just propped himself up on his elbows and grinned at her.
“Those were some pretty cool moves, weren’t they kids? Okay, now you go back to your tumbling.”
The counselors ushered the children back to tumbling, while Sky took advantage of his baggy flight suit, turning away from everyone and giving it an extra fluff. Maybe he could pretend that was his survival knife in his pocket. Right. He turned to look at Daisy over his shoulder only to see her storm out of the gym.
He chased after her. “Hey, Doc. I’m sorry, but you started that.”
She wheeled on him. “I wasn’t the one calling people names, little boy.” Daisy turned on her heel and marched to her car.
Sky laughed, hot on her tail. “Little boy?”
Daisy opened her car door, turned back to him before climbing in. “Now do you see how ridiculous it sounds when you use those belittling names?”
“Yes, ma’am.” It was all he could do to keep from smiling. He was still enjoying the look on her face when she’d called him little boy. “Listen, I have duty tomorrow so you can count on me not bothering you. Okay, Doc?”
“Good.” Daisy climbed into her car and slammed the door. Her dogs leaned over the seat to greet her. She turned on the ignition and opened the windows all the way. “Was there something else, Lieutenant?”
“Yeah. Should I pick you up Saturday or do you want to meet somewhere?”
Daisy’s mouth dropped open. “You expect me to go on a date after what just happened in there?” She pointed to the YMCA building.
“Um…yup.” He grinned and reached for the zipper on a flight suit pocket. “I got a contract here that says—”
“I know what it says. And you’re going to hold me to it?”
Several children called to him as they walked to their cars. He waved at them. “Aw, now you don’t want to disappoint those children, do you? They want to see my helicopter.”
“And you’re really going to do that?”
“I s
aid I would, didn’t I?” Actually he had no idea if he could get permission to do a fly-in or not, but he’d do his damndest if it meant she’d live up to her half of the bargain.
Daisy huffed out a breath. Seemed to resign herself to the deal. “Okay, go to the kayak pier on Little Talbot Island Saturday morning. If you’re not there at ten sharp, I’m not waiting around.”
“Sounds like a plan. Should I bring solo or tandem? I’ve got both.”
“Bring your solo and I’ll bring mine. There’s no way I’m going tandem with you. I haven’t gone tandem in…” Her gaze drifted away from him. She looked out the windshield as if seeing something that wasn’t really there. A gust of wind caught a lock of her hair. She mindlessly reached up and tucked it behind her ear.
“Daisy?”
She turned back and seemed surprised to find him still standing there. “What?”
All the fight had gone out of her. It was as if her defenses had simply dissipated. He saw vulnerability and downright sadness in her eyes. He ached for her in that moment. Wanted to take her in his arms and hold her.
What had the son of a bitch ex-husband done to her?
Sky asked as gently as he could, “How long has it been since you went tandem?”
She blinked herself back into the conversation. “Couple of years.”
A child called to them, breaking the spell. “Good bye, Dr. Daisy and Lieutenant Sky!” Sky saluted the kid, then turned back and met Daisy’s eyes. “I’ll see you Saturday at ten.”
Then he strolled to his truck, singing under his breath, “Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer, do. I’m half crazy over the likes of you.”
And didn’t that just scare the crap out of him.
Chapter 6
Hector Morales heard the unmistakable high-pitched whine of a helicopter in the distance as he dipped his paddle into the water, guiding the boat through the narrow channel. The air had thickened since sunrise and he swatted at the occasional mosquito as he sliced his way past gnarled tree trunks, twisted by years of hurricane force winds, and slick mud flats left bereft by the receding tide. Gliding under a canopy of cliffs worn away by the elements, he knew it was only a matter of time before the dangling trees—their roots exposed by too much wind and water—would fall to their deaths on the rocks below. The aircraft would most likely beat him to the rendezvous point, but the cocalero did not worry. They would simply have to wait. For he carried the good stuff.
La Perla. The Pearl.
The finest cocaine available.
Usually the sound of a helicopter struck terror in Hector’s heart. It signified the yanquis spraying the coca crops with their poison. Not only would it kill his livelihood, but often killed livestock and sickened the villagers as well. And, when they destroyed the coca farms, they indiscriminately destroyed the legitimate crops at the same time. However, even in this day and age when government programs and the yanquis worked to eradicate the coca fields, Hector knew that as fast as they were burned or poisoned, the farmers would replant elsewhere.
The money was that good.
Why could they not leave him alone and let him make enough pesos to feed his family or follow through with the promises of helping him change his crop to coffee, rice, or guava? The government programs aimed to support alternatives to coca production by providing loans and training in exchange for the farmers’ agreement not to grow coca. But the government talked out of both sides of their mouths. In the meantime, all Hector wanted was to put food into the mouths of his children.
He enjoyed the sizeable jingle in his pocket as well.
Hector tried the alternate crops, but they were not worth the time and effort. Growing the coca plant was much easier and more profitable. It had grown naturally in the jungles of South America since time began and was readily cultivated in just about any soil conditions. The natives had always known its value in staving off hunger and fatigue and improving their moods, although chewing the leaves had only about the same kick as the caffeine in coffee. It was after the processing that coca became cocaine. Hector had become disturbed by the growing use of the drug by the villagers, as more and more turned to the processed drug.
Especially the teenagers. He knew this could portend no good for the future.
The natives certainly couldn’t afford cocaine. Much of it was stolen from the processing plants or confiscated from plane crashes. Certainly the people had a right to any surviving cargo for the inconvenience they endured or the destruction to their property. Though the increased drug use disturbed him, the more prosperous he became, the easier it was to tuck away the guilt of being a cog in the wheel that turned the drug industry.
Something else begged for his attention, but, once again, he compartmentalized these negative feelings. Locking them away in a secret pocket in his soul.
He had begun to notice the impact the cocaleros were making on the land. Little by little, they were picking away at it. Slashing and burning hectares of forest a day. He shuddered when he allowed himself to think about what became of the poisons he sprayed on his crops to keep the bugs away. Did they disappear into thin air or were they washed down into the soil, or carried with the rainwater down to the rivers? Would the land be healthy for his grown children to farm some day? He could not think about this. Food on their table, shoes on their feet, and smiles on their faces today trumped twenty years down the road.
Hector would simply continue to cultivate the very best and sell it to the man. Let others worry about the increasing drug abuse problem and the environment. That was not his responsibility. He was gifted at growing the finest coca plants and he would continue for as long as his good luck held. Why, they paid him as much as five hundred American dollars a month. And growing coca was definitely not as labor intensive as coffee, pineapples, and the like. Plus it was an ongoing operation that extended over the entire year, providing Hector with a continuous source of income.
Many of the other natives took advantage of the easy money by cultivating the coca leaf too, but most of the campesinos lived at the subsistence level. Not Hector Morales. Because he grew Pearl, he was the proud owner of running water. His family would also have electricity if they did not live so far from the town, something they must do in order to grow the specialized crop.
Hector knew about the “eyes in the sky” that scoped out the coca fields near towns, and then the “birds” that would arrive, los helicópteros, dropping their poison. He’d moved away from the village and planted smaller fields. These he cut and carved out of hillsides in the jungle, making them more difficult for government agents to detect with their spy planes.
Hector’s world consisted of planting the coca shrubs, then stripping the leaves by hand. The harvested leaves were immediately sun-dried on blue tarpaulins on his open-air patios. His wife and children performed that task. The leaves needed to be dry enough to be broken up with their fingers. Often he raked them to hasten the drying process. If the weather turned, as it often did late in the day in the jungle, he would pull the tarps inside before the leaves got wet. If they were exposed to excessive heat or humidity, the leaves would rapidly decompose and his entire crop would be for naught. During the drying process, the fresh leaves lost more than half their weight as the water evaporated. This made transportation easier. The cocaine content in the dry leaves was stable as long as he kept them cool and dry.
Hector did not stay in any one location for long, moving every few years. His motto became, “Use it and lose it.” After several successful seasons of growth, the land would be stripped of all nutrients and would become worthless for coca growth, or probably anything else for that matter. He would simply move to a new hillside when the current one wore out or the hill slid away after the rainy season.
He did not like the idea of moving his children away from their grandparents, their aunts and uncles, and their cousins. He remembered
the happy times he’d shared with his extended family growing up, surrounded by them. Their love, their warmth, and their discipline. As strong a part of his life as his own parents. But he also remembered the pangs of hunger that kept him awake at night, the abject poverty that knit his large family together as strongly as did the love.
His children would never know hunger or the humiliation of showing up at church in patched clothing, often barefoot—especially the teens when their feet grew too fast to keep them in shoes. He remembered the shoes his cousins had handed down to him, sporting holes or sandals where his toes hung over the ends. His children would always wear shoes that fit their feet properly. After they had been passed down to the last child, the shoes would be sent to the orphanage. Food in his children’s bellies, new shoes for their feet, and joy on their faces.
This was why Hector Morales grew coca.
All of this flashed through his mind as he queued up to deliver his goods. Finally, he was recognized and his boat was directed to the front of the line. He would deliver his goods to the boss man and where it went next he did not know and he did not care. He’d receive the pesos he deserved and be on his way. Hector slid his boat up to the rustic pier, hoisted his bundles to his shoulders, and stepped ashore.
Chapter 7
Daisy slipped her backpack from her shoulders and shoved off from the rustic pier. She marveled at how good it felt to hold a paddle in her hands once again. The water was smooth and quiet with only the occasional fish jumping, as they sliced their way through the marsh toward the ocean.
She hadn’t ventured near a kayak since Jack left for Afghanistan well over two years ago. Yet she hadn’t had the heart to remove the rack from the roof of her Jeep, as if she might take one of the boats out at any time. Maybe she should have gone kayaking alone these past two years. What better way to bond with Jack’s spirit than to spend the day doing something they had once loved to do together?
Forget Me Not (Love in the Fleet) Page 5
