Explosive Alliance (16 page)

She eased out of his arms and slumped against the porch swing, hugging herself, his jacket swallowing her. "Don't let the glasses and wide eyes fool you. This girl next door has had to learn not to care what other people think. Anything I do these days is for my daughter or for myself."

Her words squeezed his heart tight in his chest. Hooking an elbow on the back of the swing, he stroked a stray hair from her brow, the satin of her skin gliding along his calluses. "You deserved better from life."

"Did I? Maybe. Maybe not." She angled her cheek into his hand. "Couldn't we just have a raging affair?"

God, was he ever tempted, more than he could remember being, but... "You deserve better from
me."

Rolling her eyes, she sighed, "Heaven protect me from men who think they know what's best for my life."

She pressed a kiss into his palm before gripping his wrist to ease his hand away. "Being the girl-next-door type sure does suck sometimes."

"Lady, I meant what I said. You are the hottest damned woman I've ever laid eyes on. But quite frankly, those wide brown eyes of yours scare the crap out of me." And wasn't that more truth than he'd even realized until the words fell out of his mouth? "Do you hear what I'm saying? You're not the kind I would just have an affair with."

More truth than he wanted to admit to himself, but the words were out there in the night air, porch light illuminating her shock. No mistaking it.

"Whoa, wait." She startled upright, rocking the swing. "You're not actually saying you want us to try—"

Was he? Hell, no. This wasn't a woman to mess with on any level if he wanted to look himself in the mirror in the morning with a clear conscience. "I realize that's out of the question. But if things were different, the past, the present, too—yeah, I would want to ask you out on a real date and not some half-assed groping on a porch."

He let himself spin out the fantasy date in the same way he'd spun other fantasies about her, not wise, but a small compensation for painful denial. "I would take you to dinner and talk to you, get to know you better. And sure, I'd start hoping that you would stay over for the night. But if not, that's okay. I could wait because we would be going out again."

She traced a thumb along his neck, gently rasping a fingernail over his late-day beard. "Where would we go?"

"What?" He blinked twice to clear the throbbing need from one innocent touch.

"Where would we go on the second date?" Her hand fell away and she wrapped her arms tighter around her waist again, burrowing her chin into the collar of his jacket as if sinking into the fantasy date along with him.

"For a second date I would ask if it's okay to include your daughter on the outing. If you said yes—"

"—I would."

"—then we would spend the day at the water with my jet ski and some other friends." In Charleston, back where bad memories waited for her. In a world so different from where she'd chosen to rebuild her life. "Not a bar pickup, one-night-stand sort of start."

"No, it's not." Her head rocked along the back of the swing until she looked at him with pensive eyes. "I didn't expect you to be like this."

He wasn't sure what she meant, and thought maybe he didn't recognize himself right now, either. "I'm only trying to make things easier for you."

"And yet somehow everything just gets tougher."

They stared without speaking for...he didn't know how long, until lights clicked on in the clinic, blaring through the windows into the yard and stealing some of their privacy. For the best, because soon he'd be spinning that fantasy date out to more dangerous territory for both of them.

Self-respect and honor were everything to him, especially after the way his father had lived his life. Bo frowned as the thought shuffled in his head. Maybe that was a big part of why he'd chosen the military with its rigid structure and clear-cut rules of behavior to keep his rebel side in check. An odd insight he wouldn't have considered before meeting Paige, who seemed to have a way of clarifying things.

He followed the new notion through and found it fit. Interesting too he'd chosen a career lifestyle not unlike his orphanage upbringing, predominantly male with a tight brotherhood. Which brought him right back to the looming deadline for deciding whether to stay in the Air Force, and still he couldn't form a clean picture of what else he could do with his life.

He did know one thing, clear as day. Hurting this woman would be beyond dishonorable.

Paige glanced over toward the lights streaking across the patchy yard. "I guess that's my brother's not-so-subtle way of announcing he's around." Rising from the swing with a jolt, she shrugged out of his leather jacket and draped it over the back of the swing. "Good night."

"Night," he called, already reaching for his guitar again. No need for the coat, though, since he was far from cold at the moment.

Damn it all, he was doing the right thing. He'd reestablished boundaries while reassuring her of her undeniable appeal. He'd played it letter-perfect, honorably.

So why was he certain her clouded eyes would haunt his dreams now more than ever?

Scanning the sky, Bo gripped the throttle, climbing into the cloudless morning, Vic beside him today for another run out to the Anderson place. At least he wouldn't have to see Anderson drool over Paige.

If she went for the guy someday, would a wedding invitation wing its way to Charleston?

Crap. He needed to get back to work, real work. Even if Paige mystified him, he'd discovered one thing during the past week and a half. He wasn't cut out for tooling around the skies in the equivalent of a tricycle. He needed more action than he was getting in these hops from farm to farm.

He only had a few days left with Paige, then Seth would be back up to speed. The C-17 wasn' t ready yet, thanks to the delay of some part, but he would be staying at base, other than a quick trip to Charleston over the weekend for a friend's wedding. He was in the homestretch with hanging tough.

And nowhere near finding his answers or relief. Damn, he would miss her.

He flicked the fuel gauge until the needle moved lower to match his own fuel calculations. He didn't even want to think about what could have happened to Paige with that finicky gauge and the crummy temp pilot.

The sky reclaimed his attention. Maybe if he got out of the service he could be a crop duster. Low level in a Cessna kicked ass, turning a tricycle kind of ride into an edgy risk. He'd earned extra money during college with his private pilot's license by flying advertisement banners over ball games and along beaches.

Swoop in near to the ground and fast, hook the banner, scream the plane straight up until it damn near stalled, then haul full-out forward.

Of course he hadn't saved any lives or cows that way, but he'd promoted the hell out of all-u-can-eat buffets and even delivered a marriage proposal once. He'd always assumed he would resurrect that skill when the time came for him to propose. And yet, he'd ended up with a string of broken relationships. For the first time he wondered why a guy so determined to get married someday kept shooting himself in the foot in the dating department.

Vic shifted in the small seat beside him. "I'm not sure how much you know about Paige's husband from when you met her in Charleston."

God, this guy was a broken record. At least things were quiet enough at the clinic now with no repeat intruders. Which gave Jansen more time to worry about somebody hitting on his sister.

Bo started to tell the man to lay off it, already. He was blue from the cold showers and restraint. If he got any more honorable, he'd be up for a freaking Nobel Peace Prize.

Hey, wait.

Apparently Vic didn't know about his role in Haugen's arrest. Interesting that Paige hadn't chosen to tell her brother about the full extent of their Charleston connection—a subject he wasn't all that fond of, either. He settled for a grunt in response.

"I wish I could call him her ex, but the bastard died before she could divorce him."

Now that piqued his interest. "Was she going to?"

"She said she'd married the man and she would stay with him through the trial for her daughter." The big blond guy shifted again in the seat too small for his frame, jeans and boots creaking with each attempt to get comfortable. "But once the trial was over, yeah, she was going to divorce him."

Hearing that shouldn't be so important, but oh, yeah, there came another nudge to his rocky restraint.

And why was Vic sharing things guaranteed to make Paige seem more accessible?

Bo eased back on the throttle and leveled at altitude. "He didn't deserve her."

"Damn straight. Sure she made a mistake in marrying Haugen. We all make mistakes." His voice roughened and he cleared his throat before continuing, "She just had to pay for hers
and
his. She says that's the price for trusting him."

He thought of the paperwork and legalities she'd mentioned haunting her even a year later. "What are you trying to tell me?"

"He broke her trust but she got back on her feet, dusted herself off, survived. Barely. I'm not so sure she can get up a second time."

Ah, the real message behind this talk. "She's stronger than you think."

Although
he
was feeling weaker by the day when it came to resisting Paige. Each new revelation about her offered another nudge to his self-control.

"I'd rather she not be put to the test."

"Fair enough." Yeah, he got it. Paige belonged here. She needed her independence. Bo tapped the fuel gauge again, watched it sink, calculated fuel again while the plane droned.

"Look, I've decided you're a good guy—"

Gee, thanks, dude.

"—and if things were different I could probably be okay with you hitting on my sister." His hand shot out.

"And don't even insult my intelligence by saying you haven't, because I've got eyes."

Bo chose his words carefully. "What I say or do with your sister is our business. But rest assured, I know she's better off without a guy like me complicating her life."

"Good. I'm not talking as an overprotective brother. I'm speaking as somebody who's been there. A person can look okay on the outside, getting out of bed each morning, facing the day and doing a job, but..."

Only a rock wouldn't feel sorry for the guy who'd lost his kid, then his wife, too, through divorce. "You don't need to say anything more."

"Yeah, well, thanks." Vic scrubbed a hand over his face and stared out the side window without blinking, his pain radiating every bit as strong as Seth's after a long day on his busted ankle.

Ah, hell.

He hated the suspicion crawling through his veins over how those drugs disappeared from the clinic. The guy had every reason to be depressed, a totally normal reaction. Survivor's guilt could be hell. But could he have sought relief from the pain and grief through drugs? He'd discounted Vic earlier, figuring he could get whatever drugs he wanted. However Paige maintained records, too, and would notice discrepancies.

He understood well that guilt was a thousand times worse than a punch. Those first months after the shoot down, most nightmares had focused on Tag taking a boot to the ribs to shield him after his hands had been broken. So where did that leave questions about Vic Jansen?

Hell if he knew anything, except he couldn't see walking away from Paige until he had a few more answers.

Swiping his wrist under his nose, Vic shifted back to all gruff country vet again. "So you can keep your damn hands off my sister for a couple more days?"

Bo thumped the fuel gauge again. "I'm trying, dude, I'm trying."

Problem was, he figured one more nudge from Paige would do him in.

"I'm trying, Mom, but fractions are too hard for first graders, even Uncle Seth says so."

Sitting cross-legged on the blanket soaking up the late-afternoon sun, Paige took two deep breaths—

three—then counted to ten for good measure. Doggone that Seth. Kirstie didn't need any help griping about math.

"Well, Uncle Seth also told you that pizza helps, so we'll make a pizza for supper and finish your homework then. Okay?"

"Pizza gives me a stomachache." She inched her glasses up with a prissy sniff. "Last time I ate it, I thought I had a 'pendicitis."

Sighing, Paige glanced skyward for patience with Kirstie and her own very likely unreasonable fears. Bo and Vic were late.

They were only an hour delayed—not that they'd bothered to call—although it probably had more to do with the sick cow and shooting the breeze than anything else. Her nerves were just edgy because of the latest letter from her lawyer, which made her think of Kurt, which made her think of that horrible, horrible night
he 'd
been late.

And arrested.

Oh, God. She grabbed her stomach. She was going to hurl, and then Kirstie would be certain her mama was dying of SARS.

Paige tipped her head back farther and gulped in air to dispel the spots dancing in front of her eyes. And yes, yes, yes, one of those dots got bigger until it took the shape of an airplane, coming closer, landing.

Now she really felt dizzy.

Flattening a hand to the blanket, she hung her head in relief for six shaky seconds, then tossed back her hair she'd left down out of silly vanity because Bo's eyes lingered on it one morning when she'd stepped out of her bedroom. "Come on, kiddo. Let's forget about fractions for a while and go say hi to your Uncle Vic."

And Bo.

"No fractions? Wahoo!" Kirstie pitched aside her workbook and sprang to her feet. Sprinting ahead, she turned a clean cartwheel.

Her first in a year. Melancholy tinged happiness a pale blue over all the lost cartwheels and smiles.

Kirstie raced across the field and threw her arms around her uncle's waist until her tiny arms shook from the strain. Was it so much to ask that her daughter feel secure?

Paige met her brother at the nose of the plane. "Where have you been?"

"Whoa." Vic yanked a lock of her hair. "What crawled in your gut and died?"

"You're both late." She glanced over at Bo on the other side of the plane, trying to keep her voice low enough that he wouldn't hear. "A call would have been nice."