Explosive Alliance (5 page)

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."

The moonwalk entrance flapped open and kids began pouring out. Paige shot from the bench, not even bothering to hide her haste. "My brother can bring her to see the flights tomorrow. I think Kirstie's had enough excitement for one day."

"You mean her mother has," he muttered.

Better to ignore him than launch into more dangerous-ground conversation.

"Kirstie," she called into the crowd of children retrieving their shoes. "It's time for us to go home.

Kirstie?"

She searched the mass of kids, most of whom were wearing oversize white Thunderbird T-shirts, doggone it. Her stomach tightened with the first hints of apprehension. "Bo? Do you see her?"

"She's here. There's no other way out. Just stay calm. Kirstie?"

"Kirstie Adella Haugen." Paige rolled out her best maternal-mad tone, betrayed by a shaky quiver.

The last of the children dispersed, the storage cubbies holding only a lone pair of Strawberry Shortcake shoes, specialty laces sporting little green Ks,

Kirstie plopped onto the grass behind the Moonwalk, scratching the sore spot on her head. Those stupid big kids sure did stomp the little kids. She'd gotten knocked over four times and nobody even said sorry or excuse me.

So she'd found a hole in the back to slip through. That was a lot easier than getting her hair stepped on again if she pushed out the front door with everybody else. Now she just had to find a way back to her mama and Captain Bo without getting her favorite Strawberry Shortcake socks dirty on all the greasy cords and junk.

"Do you need some help?"

Her tummy bumped. She looked over her shoulder. A man stood behind her.

And he was a stranger.

She squinted through her glasses. He was old, really old. Probably as old as her mama. But he wore a uniform, kinda like a policeman, so he must be okay.

"Nope. I'm not lost." She pushed to her feet and dusted off her bottom. "My mama's out front resting her tired pups."

"Good girl." He crouched in front of her. "You shouldn't wander off from your mother."

She didn't like him getting so close. She backed up and— ewww—stepped in the mud. "I'm not supposed to talk to strangers."

"That's right." He nodded. His big bushy eyebrows made him look kinda spooky, and kinda goofy, too.

"But I'm not a stranger, Kirstie Adella Haugen."

Surprised, she stopped inching away. "How do you know my name?"

"I'm a friend of your daddy's."

Her tummy bumped again, harder this time. "I don't got a daddy anymore. He died of the polio."

"Polio, huh?"

"Yep. He got shots," she winced at the word
shots,
too close to a truth she didn't want to think about because it made her stomach hurt more. "But the medicine didn't help so he went to live in heaven. Hey, wait, if you knew him like you said then you would already know he got dead."

"I knew him a long time ago."

That made sense, sorta. And her mama didn't talk about it much, except for that one time she'd told her about what happened when her daddy got shot.

The kids in first grade talked about it though. A bunch. And they didn't think he went to heaven at all like Uncle Vic said.

She scratched her belly right over her tummy ache and backed all the way to the corner of the moonwalk. "I gotta go before my mama gets mad. Uncle Vic says she's a real pill when she gets her knickers in a knot."

Kirstie looked around into the crowd and aw, geez, Mama sure did look mad already. "I really gotta go."

"Who's that with her?" He pointed to Bo pushing through the people with his shoulder.

"That's Captain Bo. He flies airplanes."

"He's your mama's new boyfriend?"

Boyfriend? Kirstie's tummy stopped bumping and started rolling. She swallowed down her hot dog and the chips—and cotton candy Mama didn't know she'd shared with Bo while her mother had gone to the Porta Potti. Was he really a boyfriend? Emily at school said her mother's boyfriends always pretended to be nice then left her with a baby-sitter.

The thought of being alone made it tough to breathe.

She shook her head. "Nu-uh. It's just me and mama and Uncle Vic and Uncle Seth, 'cept Uncle Seth hurt his foot." That was more people than she used to have before her daddy died, but she was still scared at night. "You really knew my daddy before he died of the polio?"

"We used to race dirt bikes out there in the fields when we were supposed to be picking up rocks."

"Kirstie?" Her mother's mad voice reached her seconds before Mama raced over to her. "Kirstie, honey, you were supposed to be out front."

Not a mad voice like she'd thought after all, but a scared voice. Her mother picked her up and backed away real fast from the man.

Bo stepped between them, and he
was
mad. "Would you like to explain what's going on here?"

"No harm meant." The man held up his hands. "I just wanted to make sure the little girl wasn't lost." The guy with bushy brows ran into the crowd so fast she already couldn't see him anymore.

Kirstie risked a quick peek at her mama. Uh-oh. She had that sucking-lemons look on her face.

It would probably be better not to say the man knew Daddy since talking about him made her mother even more sad. "I was watching you the whole time, Mama. I know to holler really loud if somebody tries to snatch me. I'm s'posed to shout 'No! You're not my parents.' Right?"

Bo tugged a curl on her head, his face not so mad anymore. "That's right, Cupcake. You sure scared your mom, though, running off and all."

She thought about hollering that he was hurting her hair, even though he wasn't. Then maybe he would go away and not be her mama's boyfriend.

Her mother hugged her tight. "We need to leave now, punkin."

Rats. She didn't want to go. She just didn't want Bo smiling at her mother anymore.

"I'm sorry." Kirstie thrust out her bottom lip and made it wiggle a little.

"I'm sure you are," she said in that you're-in-trouble-any-way voice, "and we can talk about it more in the truck."

No luck with boo-boo lip. Her daddy would have given her a candy bar if she did boo-boo lip.

Before he died of the shots.

She held her eyes wide without blinking until she worked up a big, fat tear. Not too tough to do, all of a sudden. She felt it trickle down her cheek, cold and wet.

Mama's mad look went away, and she hugged tight again, her heart going
thump, thump, thump
against Kirstie's side. "Love you, punkin.I just want you to be safe."

"I know."

Mama kept squeezing extra tight until it even hurt a little. She did that a lot since Daddy died. It was hard being good all the time so her mother wouldn't get scared and stuff.

Kirstie tried not to wriggle even though she wanted down. Sometimes she wanted to run outside and keep running while she shouted and got really messy. And then maybe she'd make it all the way back to her house in South Carolina with the swing set and the merry-golds she and Mama planted. Her daddy would still be there and her tummy would stop hurting every day.

Her mother gave Bo a wobbly smile. "Thank you for being here. I wouldn't have wanted to look for her alone."

"No problem at all. I'm just glad everything turned out okay."

He smiled back—at Mama.

Kirstie's stomach rolled with hot dogs and cotton candy and lemonade and those chips. She clapped a hand to her mouth—

And upchucked all over Captain Bo's shiny boots.

Ah, geez, the joys of motherhood.

Paige hefted her wailing daughter in front of her and raced for the nearest trash can by a looming helicopter. Kirstie seemed finished puking, but experience taught a mom not to count on lucking into a solitary spew.

Her glasses jostled down as she ran. She tried to juggle Kirstie and nudge them back up, but darn, her baby girl was getting heavy. "Hang on. We're almost to the trash barrel."

"Do you think I got the chicken pox?" She glanced back with horror-stricken eyes. "Or maybe I gots that mosquito disease."

Sigh.
"You don't have malaria." Paige screeched to a stop in front of the garbage bin, positioning Kirstie over the open top. "How do you feel now?"

"Better." She groaned. "Or maybe not."

Paige leaned farther. Her glasses slipped, fell—
plop, ching-.
—into a pile of cans and half-eaten hot dogs. Great. "I think you just ate too much."

Paige's hot dog churned in her stomach, as well, from fear more than indigestion. Her hands still shook after seeing Kirstie with that man. Had it been her imagination that he was too careful in keeping his face averted? She couldn't remember anything more than a big man with blond hair—a description that fit much of the male population in this area packed with folks of Swedish and German descent.

So what if he was a guard of some sort? He could have been anyone. Kurt's connections were so scummy her teeth clattered in fear over the possibility that any of it might come near her daughter.

What could they want from her? Kurt had been in debt up to his lying eyeballs. She'd sold off everything for a fresh start in a place that had one of the lowest crime rates in the country, a great big plus for moving home to North Dakota.

Kirstie straightened and sagged back against Paige's chest.

"All done, punkin?"

She nodded. Paige set her on her feet and rifled through her backpack for wet wipes, most everything in the distance a blur, but retrieving her glasses would have to wait. She swiped around the tiny pink mouth.