Explosive Alliance (3 page)

"Oh, kinda like how I hafta go to school."

"Exactly. But are you coming back tomorrow? I could work around those other things to spend an afternoon with two pretty ladies. If it's okay with your mama, of course."

He grinned up with unrepentant mischief, as if he knew darn well he'd maneuvered her by offering in front of Kirstie. Yet why offer at all? Didn't he have better things to do? It wasn't
that
deserted in Minot.

"Are you always this accommodating?"
And full of bull, she silently added.

"I aim to please." His smile kicked up a notch, his perfect face somehow enhanced all the more by his ever-so-slightly crooked teeth. "What do you say, ladies? Are you going to stand me up tomorrow?"

"No way." Kirstie's curls bounced with her shaking head. "You betcha boots we're coming back. Mama promised."

Whoa. Somebody stop the Mack truck force of this guy and her daughter. "Hello? I'm here, too."

"Mama always keeps her promise." Kirstie rolled right on. '"Course sometimes she says 'maybe,' but that means she's not sure and she never promises 'less she knows for sure, 'cause it's important not to lie."

"She's right." Bo nodded sagely. "Sounds like you've got a good mama, Cupcake."

"Kirstie. My name's Kirstie Adella Haugen and my mama's name is Paige."

"Well Miss Kirstie Adella Haugen..." Scooping up his guitar, he stood, killer grin rising in wattage along with him. "I'll meet you and your mama at noon tomorrow over by the Thunderbirds' booth. All right, Paige?"

Her stomach flipped like one of those planes in flight. She wanted to say no, no and hell, no.

But Kirstie smiled.

Paige sighed, defeated by a hip-high six-year-old, no less. "Yes, thank you."

Kirstie's squeal was ample reward. "I'll see you tomorrow, Captain Bo."

"Looking forward to it, Cupcake." Winking, he pivoted away, swinging his guitar back over his shoulder.

Watching him swagger off, a glint of sunlight dancing through the hint of curl in his hair, Paige reminded herself that the veneer of charm dulled all too quickly without substance beneath. And since she had no intention of going deep with this man, she would be able to keep her daughter safe for the span of one afternoon outing.

As he tossed a wave over his shoulder, and flashed her a perfect smile with charmingly imperfect teeth, she couldn't help but wonder who would protect her from the likes of him?

He hadn't packed protection for this TDY.

Protection?

Bo almost startled back a step on the tarmac at the unexpected thought. Still, he kept right on watching the soft sway of Paige Haugen's even softer looking hips as she hunted down a bench for the cupcake lunch with her kid.

Why was he worrying about condoms today? The emergency landing must have rattled his brain. He'd known full well when leaving Charleston this morning that he wouldn't need birth control since he would only be seeing Paige Haugen. She was the
last
woman he would choose to sleep with, given the mess a year ago, and no doubt
he
would be last place on her list.

Now didn't that sting more than it should while at the same time firing up testosterone at the challenge?

Like he needed more firing up. The singsong melody of her Dakota accent still strummed his raw senses.

Her tangy sunscreen scent clung to the dry air. And damned if sunscreen didn't smell like coconut oil and tropical fantasies.

Her shoulder-length locks offered an enticing bonus of softness. His hands itched to discover just how silky her hair might be gliding through his fingers. And suddenly he thought of another Minot saying to go along with Mako and Tag's "tree" discussion.

Why not Minot? Freezin 's the reason.

Yeah, she'd given him the cold shoulder all right when he was near burning after a glimpse of her generous breasts straining against her 4-H T-shirt. He could have been standing in a winter snowdrift and melted that sucker in five seconds flat.

Gusting wind whipped the eighty-degree May weather around him along with rat-size mosquitoes, itching him out of his sensual haze. The pesky insects bred and hatched in the piles of melting snow, thriving, big like everything else in this wide-open landscape.

He slapped his neck. Paige Haugen would certainly rather swim naked through a pool of these monster mosquitoes swarming the flight line than spend more time with him.

Paige Haugen.

Naked.

The image threatened to take root with a tenacity he knew better than to allow. She was an attractive woman—smelled damned good. But his goal here was to get her out of his head, not plant her more firmly in his thoughts.

She and her daughter emerged from the other side of the small crowd, making their way toward a metal bench. She swung the insulated sack between them and started doling out food. His mouth watered at the thought of tasting a cupcake, followed by a patch of Paige's skin.

As if she felt his gaze, she glanced over—and away just as quickly. He couldn't blame her for wanting to avoid him after the way things had shaken down with her husband's murder in prison. Reminders of that had to suck, regardless of whether or not she'd loved the dirtbag.

And speaking of another Jackass Dirtbag, he knew from his mother that love wasn't logical.

"Rokowsky?" The commanding tone of Quade's voice rode the wind and prickled at him like those mutant mosquitoes.

"Yes, sir?"

Bo turned to his squadron commander, prepping himself for the butt ripping undoubtedly on its way for something or other. Some days, proving his boss wrong was all that kept him in the service.

Lean and lethal, Quade stopped nose-to-nose, cold anger icing the air between them. "What the hell were you thinking wasting time to pick up your guitar?"

That if I got myself blown up you would celebrate over being short a smart-ass captain?
Bo kept his yap shut and let the commander have his say. Open defiance never won the day, a lesson he'd learned well overseas in Rubistan.

"When I order you to abandon the aircraft, you damn well haul out. Is that understood, Captain?"

"Yes, sir." Definitely understood, but he would do the same again in a heartbeat.

Bo hitched his guitar up on his shoulder. The six-string acoustic had been a gift from Sister Mary Nic when he'd graduated from high school. Purchased with a nun's poverty-level salary, the guitar was golden in his eyes. He would die before losing it.

The commander's rigid stance relaxed minutely. "I guess we can call this day a wash since you saved our bacon by spotting the bird strike and pulling up in time. That was an excellent job of maintaining focus in the face of distraction. Well done, Captain."

Quade rarely dispensed praise, so it always stunned the fight right out of a guy's gut. "Thank you, sir."

"Close your slack jaw, Captain." Aloof steely eyes assessed. "You think I'm being a hard-ass because it's fun? I'm not here to be your friend. I'm here to make sure that at the end of my tour, we have as many airplanes and aircrew as when I started."

And they both knew that was already impossible. Their unit had lost two planes to man portable missiles, but, thank God, with no fatalities. Barely. A year ago when Bo's plane had been shot down over the Middle East, his crew had been captured by warlords before the Rubistanian government intervened with a rescue.

Bo's fingers flexed inside his flight gloves. He'd been so full of himself and confidence. Open defiance.

He'd ended up with two broken hands, totally useless to his crew, marking the beginning of his doubts.

He wasn't afraid of dying. He wasn't even afraid of another beating, no more than a normal fear. But he was scared as hell of someone dying because of him.

Knowing he wasn't directly at fault for his mother's suicide didn't squelch the notion that he should have done something. And in the middle of his doubts had fallen this woman with her haunted eyes behind funky, black-framed retro glasses.

His gaze cruised back to Paige on the bench with her daughter. Kirstie licked the top off her cupcake.

The mother mirrored her daughter, clearing half the frosting with one swirl of her tongue. Paige's lashes fluttered closed in ecstasy, flaming visceral heat to life while his defenses were down. A shadow fell ahead of him as Quade shifted closer. "Someone has to stay with Mako and the plane for the next couple of weeks until it's repaired. Obviously I can't be that someone because of my duties back at the squadron."

Bo straightened as the implication—and prospect—sunk in. Any other time he might have chafed at what promised to be two, even three weeks of inactivity. But fate had just thrown open his window of opportunity with Paige Haugen.

"I'm the logical choice to stay, sir." Gaze magnet-stuck, Bo watched Paige thumb chocolate frosting off the corner of her mouth.

"Strange running into her here today, and you two talking," the boss noted quietly.

"Yes, Colonel, it is." Could Quade see inside his head? Probably. The man was everywhere, all the time.

He wanted to like the commander, certainly respected his airmanship. But Quade went out of his way to be unlikable.

Quade cleared his throat and backed up a step. "Well, Captain? Don't you have some paperwork to file before these damn mosquitoes make lunch out of us both?"

Before Bo could answer, Quade pivoted toward Tag and Mako a few yards away. "And you two, what are you gabbing about? The flight's not over until the weight of the paperwork equals the weight of the plane, even if we had to make an emergency landing."

The big kahuna punctuated his orders with precise marching steps of his boots on asphalt. "Tag, unload your gear off the airplane and let's head over to base ops. Mako, park this baby correctly and bring me a maintenance status ASAP, then meet us over in base ops so we can coordinate with home to ship the parts and people here to patch her up...."

Quade's voice droned into that
Peanuts
cartoon teacher blur of "mwah, mwah, mwah" while Bo followed, studying Paige from a growing distance. A man stopped beside her, a burly guy in jeans and a plaid shirt. The dude snitched the rest of her cupcake with unmistakable familiarity.

Talk about a splash of cold water that still didn't wash away coconut-scented fantasies. He'd never considered she might have moved on with her life. But her husband had been dead for nearly a year—

arrested and held without bond last May, murdered in prison the following month.

Bo forced his eyes off her and onto his crew. He should be happy for her. Yippee, whoo-hoo and all that. He was off the hook.

So why the kick in his gut?

He had until tomorrow at noon to figure it out. Too bad he couldn't think about anything except Paige Haugen on a beach towel, setting aside her quirky glasses and swimsuit for a skinny-dip.

"What's the skinny on this guy Kirstie says will be showing you around the air show tomorrow?"

Sliding out of her brother's truck, Paige stifled a wince at Vic's overprotective tone. He slammed the driver's side door on the blue Ford, boots smacking perpetually dusty earth in their patchy front lawn. No sculpted southern gardens and potted ferns for her here.

"Back down, Vic." The last thing she needed was Vic joining forces with their cousin Seth to track Bo Rokowsky, much like they'd done to her first prom date. At least Seth would be slowed by his currently busted ankle. "Bo and I met in Charleston, and he remembered us."

It was a...memorable...time.

What an understatement. She reached into the back seat and unbuckled her sleeping daughter, careful not to bump her baby girl's head on the rack full of fishing poles across the window. "Kirstie's such a charmer, he offered to take off for a couple of hours tomorrow to give her a guided tour."

Brotherly eyes all-knowing under the brim of his John Deere trucker hat, Vic circled around the hood to the passenger side and leaned to scoop the snoozing kid from her arms. "Offered for Kirstie, huh?"

Over protective tones shifted into a higher gear than the straining generator behind their white clapboard house/clinic. Some things never changed. Her older blond brother reminded her of their looming two-story home—weathered, starkly attractive and so very loyal no matter what nature threw their way.

Of course, Vic had been right about Kurt, and she thanked God every day this past year that her brother had never lorded it over her. He'd welcomed her home without question, given her a job and worked like crazy to fill the void in Kirstie's life left by Kurt's death.

With a sleepy sigh, Kirstie sagged against Vic's plaid-covered chest. His devotion was all the more heartbreaking since he'd lost his own daughter in a drowning accident four years ago. His wife had blamed him—the heartless witch—and filed for divorce, the breakup so bitter he'd dug in his bachelor heels deep.

Still, he hadn't winced once when Kirstie had hauled Little Tykes Central through his wide bar gate and into his yard. He swore their arrival was an answer to a prayer, that giving Paige room and board in exchange for a lower salary saved him the pinch of hiring someone at full price.

He'd rescued her pride as well as her butt. She owed him big-time. "Kirstie failed to mention I'm easily six years—" or more,
ouch
"—older than the guy."

"Doesn't matter to a man. And it's not like you're ancient or, uh..." His gaze landed on the stacked bags of feed in the back of the truck. "Or dog food."

"Where do you get your charm?" She elbowed him in the side.

She didn't want this discussion, and she sure didn't want to remember that lightning crackle moment with Bo Rokowsky. Must be lack of sex messing with her head. Yet if she thought overlong about Kurt touching her, her stomach lurched like the brush tumbling past her feet. How could she have made love with a man so devoid of decency and not sensed something?

Forget about sex. Numb was better. Or it had been, until one lightning look from a cocky flyboy shocked her nerve endings to life again.

"Captain Rokowsky was charmed by Kirstie."
Paige hooked her lunch sack over her shoulder. "I should probably check on Seth manning the reception desk and see if he needs ice for his ankle—"