haze this morning?”
“I don’t get hangovers.”
“Ever? What’s your secret?” When he only smiled, she shook her head. “Yeah, yeah, if I sleep with you, you’ll tell me. How’s the jaw, et cetera?”
“It’s okay.” Banging like a drum after the five miles, but he knew that would subside.
“I heard Dobie nixed the overnight for observation. L.B.’s got him off the jump list until he’s fit.”
Gull nodded. He’d checked the list himself. “It won’t take him long. He’s a tough little bastard.”
She slowed to a walk, then stopped to stretch. “What were you listening to?” she asked, gesturing to the MP3 player strapped to his arm.
“Ear-busting rock,” he said with a smile. “You can borrow it the next time you run.”
“I don’t like music when I run. I like to think.”
“The best thing about running is not thinking.”
As he stretched, she checked out the body she’d been thinking about. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
They started the walk back together.
“I didn’t come out here because I saw you on the track.”
“Well, hell. Now my day’s ruined.”
“But I did admire your ass when you were whizzing by.”
“That’s marginally satisfying,” he considered, “but I find it doesn’t fully massage my ego.”
“You’re a funny guy, Gull. You tend to use fancy words, and read fancy books—I hear. You’re mean as a rattler in a fight, fast as a cheetah and spend your winters with foosball.”
He bent to snag her jacket off the ground. “I like a good game of foosball.”
As she tied the sleeves around her waist, she gave his face a long study. “You’re hard to figure.”
“Only if you’re looking for one size fits all.”
“Maybe, but—” She broke off as she spotted the truck pulling up in front of Operations. “Hey!” she shouted, waved her arms, then ran.
Gull watched the man get out of the truck, tall and solid in a battered leather jacket and scarred boots. Silver hair caught by the wind blew back from a tanned, strong-jawed face. He turned, then opened his arms so Rowan could jump into them. Gull might have experienced a twinge of jealousy, but he recognized Lucas “Iron Man” Tripp.
And it was a pretty thing, in his opinion, to see a man give his grown daughter a quick swing.
“I was just thinking about you,” Rowan told her father. “I was going to give you a call later. I’m on the second stick, so I couldn’t come by.”
“I missed you. I thought I’d check in, grab a minute and see how it’s all going.” He pulled off his sunglasses, hooked them in his pocket. “So, a strong crop of rooks this year.”
“Yeah. In fact . . .” Rowan glanced around, then signaled to Gull so he’d change direction and join them. “Here’s the one who broke the base record on the mile-and-a-half. Hotshot out of California.” She kept her arm around her father’s waist while Gull walked to them.
“Gulliver Curry, Lucas Tripp.”
“It’s a genuine pleasure, Mr. Tripp,” Gull told him as he extended a hand.
“You can drop the mister. Congratulations on the base record, and making the cut.”
“Thanks.”
She had her father’s eyes, Gull noted as they covered the small talk. And his bone structure. But what made more of an impression was the body language of both. It said, simply and unquestionably, they were an unassailable unit.
“There’s that son of a bitch.” Yangtree let the door of Operations slap behind him, and came forward to exchange one-armed hugs with Lucas.
“Man, it’s good to see you. So they let you skate through again this year?”
“Hell. Somebody’s got to keep these screwups in line.”
“When you’re tired of riding herd on the kids, I can always use another instructor.”
“Teaching rich boys to jump out of planes.”
“And girls,” Lucas added. “It’s a living.”
“No packing in, packing out, no twenty hours on a line. You miss it every day,” Yangtree said, and pointed at
“I don’t get hangovers.”
“Ever? What’s your secret?” When he only smiled, she shook her head. “Yeah, yeah, if I sleep with you, you’ll tell me. How’s the jaw, et cetera?”
“It’s okay.” Banging like a drum after the five miles, but he knew that would subside.
“I heard Dobie nixed the overnight for observation. L.B.’s got him off the jump list until he’s fit.”
Gull nodded. He’d checked the list himself. “It won’t take him long. He’s a tough little bastard.”
She slowed to a walk, then stopped to stretch. “What were you listening to?” she asked, gesturing to the MP3 player strapped to his arm.
“Ear-busting rock,” he said with a smile. “You can borrow it the next time you run.”
“I don’t like music when I run. I like to think.”
“The best thing about running is not thinking.”
As he stretched, she checked out the body she’d been thinking about. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
They started the walk back together.
“I didn’t come out here because I saw you on the track.”
“Well, hell. Now my day’s ruined.”
“But I did admire your ass when you were whizzing by.”
“That’s marginally satisfying,” he considered, “but I find it doesn’t fully massage my ego.”
“You’re a funny guy, Gull. You tend to use fancy words, and read fancy books—I hear. You’re mean as a rattler in a fight, fast as a cheetah and spend your winters with foosball.”
He bent to snag her jacket off the ground. “I like a good game of foosball.”
As she tied the sleeves around her waist, she gave his face a long study. “You’re hard to figure.”
“Only if you’re looking for one size fits all.”
“Maybe, but—” She broke off as she spotted the truck pulling up in front of Operations. “Hey!” she shouted, waved her arms, then ran.
Gull watched the man get out of the truck, tall and solid in a battered leather jacket and scarred boots. Silver hair caught by the wind blew back from a tanned, strong-jawed face. He turned, then opened his arms so Rowan could jump into them. Gull might have experienced a twinge of jealousy, but he recognized Lucas “Iron Man” Tripp.
And it was a pretty thing, in his opinion, to see a man give his grown daughter a quick swing.
“I was just thinking about you,” Rowan told her father. “I was going to give you a call later. I’m on the second stick, so I couldn’t come by.”
“I missed you. I thought I’d check in, grab a minute and see how it’s all going.” He pulled off his sunglasses, hooked them in his pocket. “So, a strong crop of rooks this year.”
“Yeah. In fact . . .” Rowan glanced around, then signaled to Gull so he’d change direction and join them. “Here’s the one who broke the base record on the mile-and-a-half. Hotshot out of California.” She kept her arm around her father’s waist while Gull walked to them.
“Gulliver Curry, Lucas Tripp.”
“It’s a genuine pleasure, Mr. Tripp,” Gull told him as he extended a hand.
“You can drop the mister. Congratulations on the base record, and making the cut.”
“Thanks.”
She had her father’s eyes, Gull noted as they covered the small talk. And his bone structure. But what made more of an impression was the body language of both. It said, simply and unquestionably, they were an unassailable unit.
“There’s that son of a bitch.” Yangtree let the door of Operations slap behind him, and came forward to exchange one-armed hugs with Lucas.
“Man, it’s good to see you. So they let you skate through again this year?”
“Hell. Somebody’s got to keep these screwups in line.”
“When you’re tired of riding herd on the kids, I can always use another instructor.”
“Teaching rich boys to jump out of planes.”
“And girls,” Lucas added. “It’s a living.”
“No packing in, packing out, no twenty hours on a line. You miss it every day,” Yangtree said, and pointed at
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