rearranging shuttle missions, our country is at serious risk. Most everyone knows Scott goes trolling every Friday night at that big C&W place in Houston. What’s it called, the Triple-R-Bar? You know, it’s one of those huge dance bars with a mechanical bull.”
Heather squealed like a little girl, “I’ve always wanted to go to that place. This Friday night I’ll be there looking for my sugar-daddy. With a little luck, I might even end up in his mansion. Can’t wait to meet his wife,” she chuckled.
“From what I hear, she’s never there,” said Christina. She turned toward Michael. “If she can get access and slip him a mickie, we can get in there and look around, undetected.”
“Uhh, Friday night you say? Hummm, that’s right, errrr, oh yeah, got to do my laundry that night,” Michael tried not to sound the coward by joking around. “You’re serious? We’re going to break into Director Scott’s mansion? Holy smokes!”
Christina looked all around the bar and gave him a stern look. “Hold it down, loudmouth. Look Michael, we’ll get in and get out. He won’t know what hit him.”
“And I thought being an astronaut would be exciting,” he said staring into her eyes.
She batted her big eyelids as she reached up and brushed his hair to one side. Turning to Heather she said, “Isn’t he cute?”
“Sure is honey. Nice butt too. So how long has this been going on?” Heather probed.
“What?” Christina giggled like a schoolgirl.
“You didn’t tell me you two were sleeping together,” Heather said a little too loudly.
Michael could feel himself flush bright red. He only wished they were sleeping together.
“Oh you!” Christina poked her on the arm. “We’re just friends, that’s all.”
The wind dumped out of Michael’s sail. He hated that feeling of rejection. “We’re more than good friends, dammit. It’s just that Nancy Drew here wants to move slowly. So far my feelings for her remain unrequited. If we survive all this bullshit, I’d like to marry her.”
Heather looked shocked. “Did you say marry? ” She turned to Christina. “So what the hell are you waiting for, girl?” Heather rolled her eyes. She looked him up and down and said, “Besides, he looks good enough to eat.”
Christina jumped in to change the subject. “Okay, Heather, here’s the deal. You’re going to be wearing a panic button in case you run into trouble. If you can get him home and put to sleep, we’ll be just outside the property. After you call and say, ‘Geronimo,’ give us three minutes and we’ll be at the front door. Billy’s going to be nearby the whole time, so if you need him, just scream and do what you can to get away. No telling what Scott might do if he gets suspicious.”
“I do think I know how to handle a man, bi-atch,” Heather said in her sexy southern drawl. “As long as he’s straight, he doesn’t stand a chance. Just leave it to little ole me.”
Chapter Eight
Heather could feel the beat. It was Friday night and the Triple R Bar was rockin’. The Kilgore Cowgirls , one of the hottest CW bands around, had hundreds on the dance floor doing the Cotton Eyed Joe. Heather wasn’t much of a country music fan, but she took a small table near the front where she could see people paying the cover and ordered the house white. She tried not to draw attention, but hiding her in a room full of men was like trying to hide an elephant in a Volkswagen. She wore high-heeled boots, skintight denims and a low-cut blouse that left little to the imagination. Her blonde hair was done up western style in big cowgirl curls.
The waitress came back with her wine and said, “The gentleman at the bar, the one in the black hat, would like to buy you a drink.”
She hated drugstore cowboys, and from a distance the guy looked like he had just gotten off the plane from New York and went
Heather squealed like a little girl, “I’ve always wanted to go to that place. This Friday night I’ll be there looking for my sugar-daddy. With a little luck, I might even end up in his mansion. Can’t wait to meet his wife,” she chuckled.
“From what I hear, she’s never there,” said Christina. She turned toward Michael. “If she can get access and slip him a mickie, we can get in there and look around, undetected.”
“Uhh, Friday night you say? Hummm, that’s right, errrr, oh yeah, got to do my laundry that night,” Michael tried not to sound the coward by joking around. “You’re serious? We’re going to break into Director Scott’s mansion? Holy smokes!”
Christina looked all around the bar and gave him a stern look. “Hold it down, loudmouth. Look Michael, we’ll get in and get out. He won’t know what hit him.”
“And I thought being an astronaut would be exciting,” he said staring into her eyes.
She batted her big eyelids as she reached up and brushed his hair to one side. Turning to Heather she said, “Isn’t he cute?”
“Sure is honey. Nice butt too. So how long has this been going on?” Heather probed.
“What?” Christina giggled like a schoolgirl.
“You didn’t tell me you two were sleeping together,” Heather said a little too loudly.
Michael could feel himself flush bright red. He only wished they were sleeping together.
“Oh you!” Christina poked her on the arm. “We’re just friends, that’s all.”
The wind dumped out of Michael’s sail. He hated that feeling of rejection. “We’re more than good friends, dammit. It’s just that Nancy Drew here wants to move slowly. So far my feelings for her remain unrequited. If we survive all this bullshit, I’d like to marry her.”
Heather looked shocked. “Did you say marry? ” She turned to Christina. “So what the hell are you waiting for, girl?” Heather rolled her eyes. She looked him up and down and said, “Besides, he looks good enough to eat.”
Christina jumped in to change the subject. “Okay, Heather, here’s the deal. You’re going to be wearing a panic button in case you run into trouble. If you can get him home and put to sleep, we’ll be just outside the property. After you call and say, ‘Geronimo,’ give us three minutes and we’ll be at the front door. Billy’s going to be nearby the whole time, so if you need him, just scream and do what you can to get away. No telling what Scott might do if he gets suspicious.”
“I do think I know how to handle a man, bi-atch,” Heather said in her sexy southern drawl. “As long as he’s straight, he doesn’t stand a chance. Just leave it to little ole me.”
Chapter Eight
Heather could feel the beat. It was Friday night and the Triple R Bar was rockin’. The Kilgore Cowgirls , one of the hottest CW bands around, had hundreds on the dance floor doing the Cotton Eyed Joe. Heather wasn’t much of a country music fan, but she took a small table near the front where she could see people paying the cover and ordered the house white. She tried not to draw attention, but hiding her in a room full of men was like trying to hide an elephant in a Volkswagen. She wore high-heeled boots, skintight denims and a low-cut blouse that left little to the imagination. Her blonde hair was done up western style in big cowgirl curls.
The waitress came back with her wine and said, “The gentleman at the bar, the one in the black hat, would like to buy you a drink.”
She hated drugstore cowboys, and from a distance the guy looked like he had just gotten off the plane from New York and went
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