Explosive Alliance (4 page)

"Captain, huh? He must not be too young."

"Still too young for me, since regardless of my actual age I feel a hundred these days." She smoothed a hand over her sleeping daughter's head resting on Vic's shoulder. "How about you put Kirstie down on the sofa inside and I'll get a head start unloading the supplies?"

"Damn sweet deal for me."

"Just make sure to click on the intercoms so I can keep an ear out for her."

His smile faded. "I won't let anything happen to her."

She squeezed his sturdy forearm. "I know. Thank you."

A long swallow and curt nod later, he thudded up the steps to the circa 1920s farmhouse.

Paige circled around to the back of the truck and lowered the tailgate. Bending at the knees, she hefted a fifty-pound bag of Mrs. Svenson's rice-fortified dog food for her aging collie. Paige adjusted the weight on her shoulder and started toward the vet offices spoking off the house, a five-by-five clinic sign flapping in the wind, hinges creaking.

Muscle ache offered a healthy, welcome reminder that she held her own now. She trudged up the four side steps, her eyes drawn to the lonely landing strip out back where their cousin's Cessna Skyhawk was parked, stirring images of a certain guitar-toting pilot.

That plane would be better served reminding her of their precarious financial position. They stayed solvent by Seth flying them out to remote locales for emergency calls. Ranchers paid through the nose for that service. But mad cow disease and lower beef prices had hit the plains states hard, leaving ranchers panicking over every sick animal, yet short of funds to pay the doctor bill.

Their cousin's sprained ankle would take at least two to three weeks to heal before he could fly again.

What a long time to pay a stand-in pilot, even the crappy one Seth had scrounged up who was working for bargain-basement rates.

"Maybe I should invest in a parachute," she mumbled, leaning a hip against the wooden door frame to bear some weight while she slid one hand to the knob.

She reminded herself the substitute was licensed. His finesse factor in the air wasn't great, but they didn't need pretty flying.

Bo Rokowsky was all about finesse and charm—

Ah, for Pete's sake.

The bell tinkled as the door swung wide to reveal her cousin manning the reception desk. Resembling a blond beach bum more than a meticulous pilot, he lounged back in the office chair with his foot propped on the counter. Baggy cargo shorts and a faded fishing hat made for eclectic receptionist garb. "Have fun today?"

"A blast." Paige kicked the door closed behind her, the scent of ammonia-washed tile greeting her with antiseptic reality. No flowery, insubstantial fantasies here.

Would she be doomed to think of Bo every time she saw a plane? You'd figure she would have enough jammed in her head. She was a working, single mother with a floundering family business to keep alive and a life to rebuild. She would not allow some player flyboy with his charming swagger and killer smile to derail her. "How's the pain today?"

Seth shrugged in that guy manner indicating that to admit pain would be considered wussy. "I'll be ready to kick Vic's ass in a couple of weeks."

"I'll be sure to warn him." Paige flung the sack of dog food onto the counter, her muscles screaming

"thank you" in relief.

Not exactly dog food in the looks department, huh? She glanced down at her ragged fingernails and chapped hands, flipped them over to reveal more calluses. Damn it, she was proud of these hands, and she wouldn't let silly vanity steal the joy of accomplishment.

Closing her fingers into a fist, Paige knuckle-nudged her glasses so her unsteady world would tip right again, only to find they were already straight. And she had no choice but to attribute the off-kilter feeling to something—or someone—else.

Given a choice, Bo knew Paige Haugen wouldn't have joined him at the air show for their tour today. So he'd left her no choice by offering in front of her daughter.

Lounging against the Thunderbirds booth, Bo searched the milling crowds for Paige. Wind battered the inflated toy planes dangling from the wooden crossbar. He swatted one from in front of his face for a clearer view. Would she blow him off and not show up? She was already—he shoved his flight-suit sleeve away from his watch—three minutes and forty-seven seconds late.

Irritation nipped, along with more of those atomic mosquitoes. He might not have the best dating record in the world, but he never stood anyone up.

Dating?

This was
not
a date. They were just going to crawl around in a few jets and helicopters, watch the aerial acrobatics, down some of those hot dogs steaming the air. Besides, there was that other guy who stole her cupcakes.

Bo rolled his sleeve back over his watch. Sure he was attracted to her, but the last thing he needed was to tangle up her life with his. Even if she didn't live clear across country, even if her husband hadn't pointed a gun at his head, he would not risk upsetting Kirstie's world. The kid had enough to handle without getting attached to a string of her mama's boyfriends only to watch them walk away.

All moot points because he would only be around for two weeks, three tops. He would keep this and further meetings light, uncomplicated and definitely with no sexual undertones. If she even showed up.

He checked his watch again, trying to ignore his grumbling stomach only made worse by those steaming hot dogs two booths over. And the turkey legs.

And coconut?

His nose twitched. Bo turned to find Paige weaving her way toward him and, oh, yeah, this day would be a torturous exercise in self-control, if he could smell her even from this far away. His hands might not be able to take her, but he allowed his eyes to feast their fill for a few indulgent seconds. Jeans never looked so good as they did riding low on Paige's luscious hips, right where his hands itched to hook. Would the heat of her skin warm the perpetual ache in his reconstructed fingers?

Whoa. Danger zone.

Back off those thoughts pronto, pal, and just keep enjoying the view. Instead of a hair band, today she swept away blond strands with one of those small bandannas tied behind her head, sort of a peasant-handkerchief style with tiny yellow flowers to match her shirt pattern. She sure made the pale color come alive.

Lifting a foot, he shined the top of his boot against the back of his calf. He caught himself midpolish. Not a date, damn it. He slammed his boot to the ground just as Paige dodged another tourist to stop in front of him. Kirstie tucked against her mama's leg like an unshakable wingman.

Bo shoved away from the booth. "Ready for your tour, ladies?"

"Yes, thank you." Paige folded her arms over her breasts.

Only looking, he reminded himself. No harm there. Or was there?

He shifted his attention to Kirstie and tousled the kid's hair. "Good afternoon, Cupcake. Have you eaten lunch yet?"

"Nope." She eyed the hot-dog booth with longing.

Paige knelt to tie her daughter's pink-and-red tennis shoes. "You ate a second breakfast at eleven."

"Not lunch, though, and maybe he didn't get to eat yet, neither."

"Right you are." He extended his hand for Kirstie to take. "How about a hot dog?"

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.