Explosive Alliance

The kid eyed his hand warily. Because he was a stranger? Or because of the thin scars lining his skin? They provided him with constant reminders of the day his fingers had been crushed by a Rubistanian warlord who didn't appreciate attitude from a prisoner.



Paige's gaze skimmed down to his hand, bare of a flight glove today. A whisper of a puzzled frown slipped across her face, gone as fast as it appeared.



Bo let his arm fall to his side. "How about you hold on to your mama. Wouldn't want to lose you in the crowd."



Four hot dogs, two bags of chips and three lemonades later, Bo wadded up their trash and pitched it into the barrel garbage can while Kirstie peppered him with questions. Paige seemed beyond eager to let her daughter carry the conversational load. Somehow her silence made him far more aware of her than if they'd fallen into easy banter.



"Well, ladies, now that my stomach isn't growling out a whale song anymore, how about we look around? The aerial displays don't begin for another two hours, so we should be able to work our way through everything on the flight line."



He started to palm Paige's back. She sidestepped without even looking his way.



Well, hell, Prickly Paige. It wasn't like he planned to haul her behind a booth for a quickie. Although that sounded appealing.



For his own sanity, he kept a safe twelve inches between them while they strolled past booths packed with hats, shirts and more inflatable airplanes, like countless other air shows he'd attended. They wove around a recruiting table toward the rows of parked aircraft.



"I wanna start with that." Kirstie pointed to the Thunderbird on display.



"You got it, Cupcake." He hefted Kirstie up onto the ladder, while the pilot in attendance helped her into the cockpit.



Bo backed away, dipping his head to lower his voice—and hey, if that gave him a quick whiff of Paige, well then, no harm no foul. "They always want to start with the flashy planes."



"Very different from your C-17." She shaded her eyes to study the rows of parked planes



—cargos, bombers, fighters, from current day and years past. "A lot smaller."



"Are you insinuating my big plane's a compensation?" Ah, hell. So much for no banter.



Paige's fair complexion pinkened.



He let them both off the hook before things got even more heated. "I also flew a T-37 and T-38 in pilot training."



A polite smile flickered while she kept her eyes fixed on her daughter tucking her tiny head into a helmet. "You enjoy flying."



"A plane's like no other toy out there." He'd spent hundreds of hours at St. Elizabeth's orphanage dreaming of a job with endless toys and trips around the world.



He'd never considered warlords.



What had Paige dreamed of as a child? Certainly not ending up the wife of a drug dealer who pumped terrorist-generated opium into the U.S. He studied her for a long, silent moment. Maybe it was time to acknowledge the big pink elephant she seemed determined to ignore. "North Dakota's a long way from South Carolina."



She stayed quiet for so long he thought she would ignore him, anyway. Finally her gaze slid down from her daughter and landed square on him without flinching.



"Apparently not far enough because here you are."



Her spunk reached out and grabbed him by the libido.



He liked a woman who held her own. "What brought you here?"



Her spine went so straight he expected her to just snatch up her kid and leave. Good God, the woman couldn't build walls any higher if she had a forklift and team of construction workers to help. "I wasn't referring to your husband. I meant what made you choose here to settle?"



Her rigid stance relented. "I'm from the area. My brother and cousin offered me a job."



She tucked a stray strand under the scrap of a scarf and nudged her glasses straight again.



"So much for independence, huh? But I feel safer here."



Safer? The back of his neck prickled a warning. Why hadn't he considered her husband's past might pose a threat to her future? There hadn't been witness-protection offers since she had nothing to offer up on Haugen's dealings. A mixed blessing. "Has there been any cause to worry?"



She gave a tiny, not at all reassuring, negative shake of her head. "Most important, my daughter's happier here. It's been difficult for her, losing her father. My brother and cousin can't replace...him. But they love her."



"Your brother and cousin?" Like maybe a cupcake-stealing brother or cousin?



"I live with them. We run a business together."



"What kind of business?"



"My brother's a veterinarian. I'm a licensed veterinary technician." She skirted the roped-off area around a fighter plane. "We fly out to remote locations to treat farm animals."



"What about your cousin?" He braced her back as a crowd of teens jostled past. His hand fell away fast.



"He's our pilot and owns the plane. Or at least he was flying until he busted his ankle falling through a loft while we were out on a call. We've hired a temporary pilot—" She stopped short. "I'm tired of talking about me. Why don't we talk about you for a while?



Something other than the size of your plane, of course."



A laugh caught him as unaware as her humor. She smiled back, crinkling the corners of pretty brown eyes behind those funky black glasses, and damned if he didn't forget what they were talking about altogether. Who needed chitchat? This was a day when he could only enjoy the view, anyway.



"Hey?" Kirstie called, climbing down and halting conversation. "You guys are lookin'



awful red. Are you feelin' hot?"



"Uh-huh." Bo registered the little girl's words but stayed focused on the mother staring right back at him with a frozen smile.



Kirstie hopped to a stop between them. "Want some sunblock? Mama packed it in her bag. SPF 45. That's the best so you don't get skin cancer. My daddy died of cancer, don'tcha know."



Huh? Bo jerked his eyes from Paige and looked down at Kirstie who was already distracted by the MH-53 Pave Low helicopter on display.



Paige's jaw tightened. "She's been told the truth even if she says otherwise. She's coping the best she can."



She set off after her daughter, leaving Bo in their wake. Realization dawned. Even if there wasn't some lurking threat from Kurt Haugen's past dealings, these two ladies might well have problems brewing that he couldn't fix in a few short weeks.



But with Paige's brown eyes planted even more firmly in his conscience, he also now knew he was a hundred percent committed to trying.



Two hours later Paige worked up another smile to cover her jittering heart rate, her facial muscles tuckered out from pretending that this wasn't a bizarre day. She stood silently beside Bo in the late-afternoon sun while Kirstie enjoyed a simulator ride.



Why was he spending so much time with them?



He'd been charming, respectful—and sexy as hell. But he couldn't really want to spend all day with a single mother and her kid. Heaven knew there were plenty of women checking him out with definite interest. Still he kept his attention on Kirstie and her.



Even now he maintained his steady stream of military anecdotes, pointing to a hulking B-52, then to a smaller Canadian CF-18. He shared real life stories she would enjoy rather than only dry technical talk or the printed information on the display stands in front of each craft.



She didn't want him to be likeable. And she definitely didn't want the suspicions crowding her head, but Kurt had broken her ability to trust.



Did Bo suspect she knew something about Kurt's activities? The authorities had cleared her, but that didn't mean the public agreed. She'd lain with a downright dirty dog of a man, therefore she must have fleas.



Kirstie stumbled out of the simulator. She paused long enough to tug her new overlong Thunderbird T-shirt covering her shorts before racing ahead with dizzy steps past a WWII plane. Heading for the inflated kiddie moonwalk, Kirstie zipped past an A-26



Invader's risque nose art of "Miss Murphy"—a woman riding a bomb.



Definitely un-PC, but rife with an implication that upped Paige's jittering pulse. She needed to focus elsewhere, maybe with thoughts of lancing bovine boils.



Instead she kept remembering that her daughter had gone a whole hour without checking herself for hives. "Thank you for making this such a special day for Kirstie."



"My pleasure. You've done a great job with her in spite of everything."



A few yards away, Kirstie plunked down in front of the moonwalk. She kicked off her Strawberry Shortcake tennis shoes, jammed them into an empty cubby and disappeared inside the red, green and blue inflated cavern.



Paige sagged on a nearby bench. Muffled childish squeals echoed happiness through the canvas walls—such a simple sound of joy she no longer took for granted.



Bo hitched a boot up on the edge of the bench, resting his elbow on his knee. "And what about you? Have you enjoyed yourself?"



Too much. She stared at his black leather boot, inches from her hip, suddenly aware of how alone they were in the odd anonymity of faceless people massing and moving. She tore her gaze upward, so far up until she stared into ocean-blue eyes full of concern.



Go away. Please. "Why are you really here?"



"The air show."



"Seems like a strange coincidence."



"All right. I confess." He shrugged broad shoulders under the stretch of green flight suit.



"Not so much of a coincidence. I'd heard you moved here, so I traded up with my buddy Scorch who was scheduled to fly with the commander." He stared down at his scarred hands, then back up at her. "I wanted to see how you're doing. Like you said earlier, what happened last year was memorable—life changing. I don't regret the role I played in helping the cops catch your husband, but I am sorry you were hurt."



Sympathy hurt more than scorn. "I'm the one who married the son of a bitch. Some would say I got what I deserved."



"I'm not some people."



"Thank you." Was that husky voice hers?



He leaned closer over his knee, his draped hand perilously close to her shoulder, only a short reach from her breasts. The healer in her longed to soothe the white lines of scar tissue.



The woman in her just longed to touch him.



His deep blue eyes drew her in without either of them moving. "Some would say—maybe you might even say—I helped put him in jail where he died."



"I'm not some."



"I'm glad."



The loudspeaker squawked updates, filling a silence between them too heavy with memories, pain and a need born of loneliness. She dimly registered the five-minute warning for the start of the biplane demonstration. She didn't know why she was so drawn to this man, but she was smart enough to recognize the time for a healthy retreat.



"Of course, I understand you only did what you had to that day. But, Bo, that doesn't mean it's easy for me to be around you. You've been wonderfully patient with Kirstie, and I can't thank you enough—"



"I don't want your thanks—"



"You have it, anyway. But I need a breather from memories."



"So we'll put off the rest of the show until tomorrow."



"I can't. I'm on call for emergencies tomorrow since my brother's on call today." Thank God for logical excuses that wouldn't make her admit she was afraid of her attraction to this man.



"Then let's find a time to meet after." A slow, wicked smile lit his eyes.



She wanted to smile back. Hell, she wanted to lean into his hand and let him fill his palm with the weight of her breast even though they were in the middle of a crowd.



She really did need to get out of here. "You're a good man to worry about us. But you can go back to Charleston with a clear conscience. We're doing better every day. Any leftover wounds are his fault not yours."