Needing to see her, to lay eyes on the one woman in all the world made just for him, Buck forgot to take another look around before he inched forward. Hand on the doorframe, eyes just about to get their first look at his mate, the honey badger's ears nearly fell off his head as a roar sounded from over his shoulder.
"What do you think you're doing, Cadet?"
Head slamming into said doorframe, Buck didn’t even get to enjoy the stars dancing before his eyes. It all happened so fast.
A clawed hand clamped down on his shoulder, saving him from hitting the floor headfirst. Then before he knew what was happening, the entire world had gone on a spin cycle. "What do you have to say for yourself? Skulking around, listening to conversations that do not concern you. Speak now before I call Ms. Cooper and have you tossed out on your ear." The voice that had startled him, as well as the clawed hands that had grasped him, belonged to the biggest, angriest crow shifter he'd ever seen, who was dressed in FUCN’A nurse’s scrubs.
“Well, I was… It’s just that…”
“Looks like he’s been in the wars, Hetty.” Dr. Weathersbee chuckled from just over his other shoulder.
Pointing at the doctor, Buck attempted to keep the stammer out of his voice as he quickly explained, "Yeah, what she said, nurse"—eyes flashing to her gold name badge then right back to her narrowed, angry black eyes—"Thomas." Chuckling, an attempt to ease the tension and defuse the situation that failed miserably, Buck searched his mind for all the things he'd said to his mother to get out of all the similar situations that had come before. Sadly, Nurse Thomas was not the only authority figure to want to beat the fur right off his ass. The honey badger had more than ample references who could quote, chapter and verse, his many misdeeds and fuckups.
“I was sent here after an accident in Advanced Explosives. Professor—”
Not bothering to let him finish, her eyes already rolling as she pushed him toward a patient room, Nurse Thomas growled, “That damned dragon. When will he ever learn? These cadets are not ready for this shit. One day…”
“It’s okay, Hetty,” Dr. Weathersbee pacified. “I’m sure Professor Firestone does what he thinks is best for his students, just like you and I do. Let me finish with Dr. Lightfoot while you get Mr…umm…” Eyes flying back to his, the doctor shrugged. “What’s your name, Cadet?”
“Blackthorne. Buck Blackthorne.”
Then right back to the crow without missing a beat, she added, “…Mr. Blackthorne cleaned up and get his chart started.”
“Yes, ma’am, Dr. Weathersbee.”
And that was where it had ended. He didn’t get to see his mate. Didn’t even hear her voice one last time.
For the next four days, Buck had tried to get a look at the illustrious and incredibly elusive Dr. Lightfoot. Unfortunately, right after she visited the infirmary, Freddie—at least he knew her name—had left the Academy on some special mission.
Not even Olivia Owlgenthorpe, the second-year cadet with a specialty in computer hacking and a minor in web-based applications, had been able to get him any information on Freddie Lightfoot's whereabouts. So, when the weekend came, and he could go home for a couple of days, Buck jumped at the chance.
Tuning back into the running conversation between his family members, Buck was just about to give his vote for steaks on the grill and corn on the cob for dinner when Shauna asked, "So, you gonna tell us who she is?"
“Or do we have to come up to that fancy school and find out for ourselves?” Jack inquired.
To which Spencer demanded, “And don’t try to tell us that you haven’t found your mate, ’cause we all just said the words Mom’s strawberry pie with homemade vanilla ice cream and you didn’t so much as blink an eye.”
“Well, fuck,” Buck groaned, running his fingers through his hair. “There are times I seriously hate each and every one of y’all.”
Crinkling her nose and blowing him a kiss, Shauna teased, "Aww, I'd be hurt if I thought you were serious." Picking up the rag off the bar and throwing it right at his head, she ordered with a wink, "Now dish. I wanna know all about my future sister-in-law."
2
Flying over the tallest peak of the Serra da Mantiqueira just outside São Paulo, Brazil, for what felt like the hundredth time, Freddie cursed Kloe, her mission director in the Furry United Coalition. "What the literal fuck?" she spat to her empty plane.
"Why do I have to be the only available FUC agent who flies a plane that has ten Ph.D.s? Why do I have to be in nerdy, brainy crap like toxicology, physics, microbiology, and a lotta crap that doesn't go together but I wanted to learn? Oh, and why did I think it would be cool to learn ten languages, including Portuguese and Vietnamese, arrrrrggggh, whatever! Why wasn’t I born without a brain?!”
She paused her monologue with a frustrated growl, the leading doctor in the field of more things than she wanted to think about beat the yoke of her Lightfoot FUC jet with both hands. “Never do what your mom and dad tell you to do, kids. Do what you want. If you want to fly planes, do it! If you want to be a paratrooper and jump out of perfectly good planes, do it! If you want to be a scientist, well, fuck, do that, too. But make damned sure it’s what you want. ’Cause let me tell you…”
Ending her rant with a huff and more guilt than she wanted to think about for dissing her parents, Freddie, aka Dr. Winifred F. Lightfoot, sighed. “Sorry, Moms. Sorry, Pops. You know what a shithead I can be when I’m having a rant.
“And it’s not really them you’re mad at,” she mumbled.
She’d wanted to stay at the Academy. Wanted to go see her old friend, Matt Firestone. Wanted to get a good, hard look at the honey badger who made her heart go pitter-pat and her inner minx scream, “Come home to momma, big boy!”
But she’d had no choice but to follow FUC orders and fly off to investigate the nutjob in the middle of Fucking Nowhere, Brazil, who was destroying every last coffee bean and the fields where they’re grown.
Freddie focused on what had to be done instead of what she couldn't change. So, if our intel is right, this idiot—whoever they may be—thinks they can corner the coffee market by hijacking shipments and killing the crops.
Shaking her head, running the fingers of her gloved hand through her long black curls, the winged tree frog shifter shook her head. "Why are people so stupid? Coffee? Really? Talk about cutting off the lifeblood of the world. Thank the Goddess I have three cases hidden in the back of the pantry at home."
Hand to her forehead, she blew out an exasperated breath with such vigor that it ended in a raspberry. "I gotta fix this shit before I run out. Freddie Lightfoot without caffeine is not a Freddie Lightfoot anyone wants to meet.” Especially not her one and only mate.
Shaking her head, she added with a grumble, "Come to think of it, there's not one damned person in the whole world I want to meet before they've had their morning cup o’ joe or I've had mine."
Laughing out loud, her mood lifted at the thought of her dear old dad, the King of the Royal Blue Butterfly Frolic and the man who’d poured Freddie her first cup of steaming hot java. Freddie, my girl, you can't fix stupid with duct tape. Try coffee. If that doesn’t work, there’s always the blow torch.