Catch a Falling Star (7 page)

Eventually she did
try but the feel of that stone against the bruise on her back
was too much (or so she rationalized), she moaned and brought
herself back up and into contact again. This time, though, she
tried to explain. “I think something's there.”

Miguel's gaze had
darkened considerably and was now fixed quite firmly on her
generous lips. “Something is definitely there,” he agreed, using
one arm to tuck beneath her waist. Applying just a little bit of
muscle flex and she was quite nicely pressed to him, leaving
absolutely no question as to the 'something'
he
was
referring to.

Everything else but
the woman in his arms became inconsequential to the pilot. It
didn't matter that he'd incinerated his ship, or that the
explosion would have been enough to trigger an inquiry on both
sides. He didn't even care if Fat Farley's bacon had been
cooked. Right at that moment, only this strange and exotic
creature had the pilot's very focused attention.

Lowering his chin
helped him see down the length of her throat and the tops of her
breasts straining against his bare skin. A groan of his own
tightened his body and he had to look up again. When that did
little to soothe the heat stoking in his blood, he had to look
away entirely.

“Shit,” he cursed
with feeling, having now seen the woman's hefty neighbor rocking
back and forth on his back like a flipped turtle. “Looks like he
made it...”

She turned her head
to follow where his gaze had gone and she gasped then pushed
upward even more with both her chest and hips to get him to
move. “Poor Farley! Help me up. I have to see if he's alright.”

It was disturbing to
her that she felt profound disappointment and regret at having
to move away from Miguel. She cared about Farley's survival as
she would anyone, but she felt an unreasonable resentment toward
him as well. She mustn't think of that, though. Instead she
should focus on being grateful that something had brought her
back to her senses.

Miguel sighed,
clearly not welcoming her compassion for the inbred neighbor,
but he did as she asked, pushing himself up and back, lowering
her to the ground as he did so he could take her by the hand and
help her to her feet.

“He looks fine to
me...” he said with a shrug, not really caring either way. “Are
you alright?”

Lyrianne turned her
light blue eyes up to his dark brown ones.
No. I'm not
alright
, she thought as she looked at him. The tip of her
tongue wet her bottom lip as her gaze went to his mouth, wanting
him to kiss her again. She tried to find the anger she'd used as
a defense earlier but couldn't find it. How could she be so
attracted to him when he was most definitely not what she'd ever
imagined her hero in shining battle armor would be?
But he
is
, a tiny voice inside protested. No. He wasn't. He
couldn't be or he wouldn't have turned out to be an enemy who'd
lied to her and... God help her, she mustn't be thinking of any
of this. He was just a stranded Federation pilot, on a planet
that was part of the Alliance, and he was as much nothing to her
as she was to him. Just leave it at that.

She rotated her
shoulder, feeling the pull of the bruised area but at least her
ankle was numb now rather than hurting. “I'm okay.” She looked
away then walked over to where Fat Farley was still rocking and
moaning, his eyes shut tight. In the course of the walk, she
became aware of a number of hurts beyond the bruise: strains,
scrapes on both knees, and the beginning of a killer headache.
She pushed them all away as she touched the big man with the tip
of her boot to get his attention.

“You look like you're
in one piece, Farley. Open your eyes and get up.” Her voice was
firm and no nonsense. She knew coddling would not work when he
was this frightened.

The piggy eyes popped
open and he looked up at her then strained and rolled and
grunted until he was on his feet again. The skin on his ample
forehead, the back of his neck and the backs of both of his
hands was bright red, big blisters already beginning to appear.
With one hand held against his side, which was bruised
painfully, he first looked at Lyrianne then pointed a finger at
Miguel and bared his teeth in a snarl. “You! What did you do?”
His bass voice boomed loudly, making Lyrianne wince at the
effect on her headache.

Miguel smiled at the
very wide man, who was also a mite taller than he, and said,
“What makes you think I had anything to do with that?”

Her eyebrows rose as
Lyrianne watched Miguel, impressed that he hadn't pulled another
act of stupidity by saying something that would give away who he
was. Fortunately, she managed to present a straight face to
Farley by the time he turned to look at her, seeking support in
his assumption.

She lifted her
shoulders and shook her head. “Could have been a fail-safe, set
to blow if the ship was breached. Or something like that.” She
offered the opinion, not believing a word of it. Though it
sounded like a fairly logical possibility, she was convinced the
destruction had been deliberate.

“Come on, Farley.
You've heard all the stories about how those Fed pigs don't give
a rat's ass about anybody but themselves. Do you really think
they'd worry about any poor non-combatants that might stumble
across one of their crash sites?” Her gaze slid toward the
starfighter's pilot. “Right, Miguel?”

He was staring at her
as if she’d grown five more heads. Miguel lifted his hand, now
conspicuously devoid of gloves, and dug it through his dark
brown hair, the waves plastered straight down with sweat and
soot. “Yeah,” he drawled, barely hiding the sarcastic taste of
it. “That’s right.”

Dropping his hand to
readjust the shirt that had gone askew, the pilot’s hair stuck
up in grimy spikes. “Let’s say we get out of here, eh?” The skin
from neck to knee along his back was tender, the soreness
finally realized now that he didn’t have a luscious woman
beneath him. He was betting it would be as red, hot and angry as
it felt.

Turning his back on
Farley as if he were no more important than a gnat, the pilot
started for the bike they’d arrived on. Maybe he’d get to drive
this time.

Farley was slowly
trying to process whether to accept Lyrianne's explanation or
not. It was difficult and not something he was very practiced
at, but he finally came to the conclusion that it didn't matter.
It was done. Still, he needed someone to be angry at for the
loss of all he'd envisioned would be his and the outsider who
was going to steal Lyrianne from him fit the bill perfectly.
Whether her fancy boy deliberately or accidentally set off the
self-destruct, he'd been the one to go inside and therefore it
was his fault.

The fat man's face
turned an even deeper shade of red, sweat began pouring down his
face and his breathing became louder and more rapid. He narrowed
his eyes and focused in on the retreating back of pretty boy
Miguel.

Lyrianne watched,
alarmed. She was sure her neighbor was having some sort of fit
and she started toward him to see if he needed help. Before she
could reach him however, he bellowed and his huge legs began
pistoning, carrying him like a crazed beast straight for the
unsuspecting Miguel. His enormous arms were stretched out before
him, fingers flexing, as he envisioned grabbing the other man by
those wide shoulders and breaking him in half.

Recovering from her
shock, Lyrianne realized there was no way she was going to stop
Farley, either with words or, hah!, physically, so she did what
she could. “Miguel! Behind you!”

Fortunately, even
without the shouted warning, Miguel was aware of the imminent
attack. It was hard not to be. The man shook the ground like
some prize bull and he fair sounded like one to boot. He was so
tempted to shout
ándale, ándale
but refrained, stopping
and turning to face the charging fool. Maybe if he’d had a cloak
worthy of a matador to wave about…

It really wasn’t a
smooth move to write home to mom about, but it was practical and
took little finesse. The pilot simply stepped to the side and
around the hulking beast, letting the man’s considerable
momentum carry him past.

With a roar of rage
at the sneaky little bastard's escape, Fat Farley managed to get
himself turned around, requiring a large arc to make the change
in direction. He narrowed in on his target again and came at
Miguel with murderous intent in his eyes. He didn't even notice
as Lyrianne ran up to put herself between him and the pilot,
holding her hands palms out in front of her.

“Stop! Honestly,
Farley Scruff, get some sense into that thick head of yours...“
She didn't get to finish as the big man came straight at her,
still not even registering her presence. Lyrianne was forced to
try to get out of the way once she'd realized he wasn't going to
stop but she'd waited too long. One of his arms slammed into
her, sending her flying backwards to land in a heap where she
lay stunned. He didn't even pause as he barreled onward, a big
grin spreading across his wide face. Pretty boy was only minutes
away from his doom and this time, Farley thought he was ready
for any evasive moves.

What Farley hadn’t
counted on was a very pissed off, combat-ready IFPG pilot.
Miguel hadn’t had time to get the foolish woman out of the way
but he’d be damned if he was going to play games with the
red-faced elephant now.

Miguel walked
straight at the charging behemoth, three long strides putting
him quickly in front of Farley. Extending his arm, he chopped it
forward, just as the fat man’s excessive neck careened into it
with such force that his feet completely left the ground as his
head snapped back and he was once again laid flat.

The pilot didn’t wait
to see if the fat farmer would get back up; he could hear the
tortured breathing. Hurrying instead to the felled woman, he
dropped to a knee and gripped her about the shoulders, his anger
gone and only concern on his face.

“Lee-ree-anne? Are
you well,
querida
?” He did not try to move her, afraid
she might have been seriously injured by that rampaging moose.
“Come on, beautiful woman. You are well, eh?” His accent had
thickened once again, made hoarse by the dense smoke he’d
inhaled, and sounded wholly worried for Lyrianne’s well-being.
“Lee-ree?”

“Lyrie?” Her eyes
were still closed when she echoed back her name. “That's me.”
She sighed as her eyes opened. Though they were unfocused, she
seemed to look right at him as she smiled. “Mmmmmmm. It's my
hero. Have you come to rescue me?” The question was carried to
him on an exhaled breath before her eyes rolled up and the dark
lashed lids once more closed.

Her breathing was
even, her heart strong and steady, and though it was hard to see
in the low light, there was a rising bump on the right side of
her temple where the beefy arm had connected. When she opened
her eyes again after a few moments, there was awareness in them
as she looked at Miguel. With a groan she managed to sit up and
put a hand to her head. “Cripes! Did a tree fall on me?” 

He'd been
contemplating moving her, weighing the risks if she were badly
hurt, relieved when she sat up of her own accord, and wished
greatly for that flashlight, wherever it had gotten off to.

“Might as well have
been a tree,” he remarked, smiling for her sake though he didn't
feel up to it. “Come on, I need to get you back to your farm.”

Lyrianne ignored his
concern, not as worried about herself as he apparently was.
Instead she concentrated on the returning memory of exactly how
she had wound up with the bump on her head. “I think it was
probably more like having a brick wall run into me.” She smiled
at Miguel then noticed the big lump of Farley behind him.

“Oh, no. Is he...
he's not... you didn't...?“ She couldn't say it. She gave Miguel
another glance, not sure what to think, then got to her feet and
walked over to see for herself. She could hear Farley's harsh,
catching breaths before she got to him but kept going so she
could look down at him, just to be sure. Once she confirmed that
he appeared to be out cold but otherwise in one piece, she felt
much better. However, her relief was almost immediately dampened
by a troubling thought. “We have a big problem, Miguel.”

He was watching her
but when she spoke his eyes slanted down over the fat man. “I do
not see him as much of a threat,” Miguel assured her. “Unless
you have something in these woods that will eat him before he
wakes up, I suggest we leave. With luck, fat man will think his
blood sugar was low and he fainted, yeah?”

“No,” she shook her
head as she continued to watch the big man. “Farley may be dumb
as a post, but when it comes to what he considers his,
especially when there are credits involved, he doesn't forget or
forgive. He blames you,” she glanced at Miguel, her look making
it obvious she did, too, though she was trying to forgive him,
“and, right or wrong, he'll likely make trouble. He might even
make a complaint to the authorities.” She pushed her hair out of
her face as she walked back to the pilot, her expression grim.
“We can't let him do that, Miguel.”

A muscle tensed in
the man's neck, his gaze moving from her to the bloated carcass
wheezing in the grass. “What do you suggest, eh? You want to tie
him to your bike and drag him back to your house? Maybe we can
put him in the barn, yeah? Ball-gag him and feed him his brain
with a nice Chianti?”

Not expecting her to
get the obscure reference, the pilot strongly disapproved of
kidnapping, especially such a burden as large as her neighbor.
“What will we do then? You tell me,
querida
. When he is
missed, and folk come looking, what will we do? Because then we
will really have a problem.”