"I thought I gotta eat protein first so I don't get sick with the flu or new-monia and hafta get a shot."
"I brought peanut butter and jam sandwiches, too," she bartered through clenched teeth.
"Blackberry jam. And I'll give you a Rugrats vitamin the minute we get home. Come on."
Kirstie's wide eyes shifted from the lunch sack to the airplanes and back again. Her tongue peeked out of the corner of her mouth.
Yesss. They were seconds away from a sugar high she suddenly craved very much. Paige gave her daughter's hand a gentle tug. "Race ya to that bench over there."
Way over there, far from the man who really, really couldn't be walking toward her.
Kirstie's sneakers smacked asphalt while Paige jogged alongside. The physical labor as a veterinary technician for large farm animals this past year had increased her endurance.
Wind and work toughened her up again in more ways than one. Being broke sucked. At least she had a roof over her head, thanks to her brother, and she was trying to pull her own weight by helping his veterinary practice stay afloat.
"Mrs. Haugen?"
The sexy baritone carried on the wind, leaving her no choice but to stop. Paige turned, gasped. Recognition stole her breath faster than any run.
Flyboys didn't all look alike in the uniform, after all. This man resembled no other. She remembered him sure enough, and that horrible night she'd first seen him.
Her past came strutting toward her with loose-hipped appeal, guitar slung over his shoulder. He was gorgeous, quite simply a perfectly put-together man with fallen-angel good looks that even an objective observer would note.
And her husband had tried to kill him simply because the man had been in Kurt Haugen's way. She fought back tears and shame.
"I didn't mean to startle you, ma'am."
Ma'am? Paige winced. Now didn't that put her in her old-lady place?
Bo Rokowsky would probably be shocked to hear about the whole lightning sensation.
God, he was likely all of about twenty-six or seven. Too young for her.
Her thirty-three wasn't ancient, but she suffered no delusions about her looks. Sure, she didn't crack mirrors, but she would never be mistaken for a supermodel even with an overhaul.
She was comfortable in her own skin now, far more so than during her weekly manicure life. But she wore jeans for working with animals these days, rather than sundresses for pampered-wife dinners. Her glasses never stayed straight. And carting around an extra twenty pounds on her body that couldn't be called baby weight anymore didn't exactly engender rubbernecking stares from men.
"Mrs. Haugen?" The young god's forehead furrowed. "Are you okay?"
"Mom," Kirstie jerked her hand, whispering, "aren't you gonna answer?"
"Hello." Wow, what a conversational gymnast.
"You probably don't remember me."
Could she bluff her way out by pretending she didn't know him? Except she'd never been a good liar, unlike her husband. "I remember you. It was a...memorable...time, Lieutenant Rokowsky."
"It's 'Captain' now."
Had that much time passed since Kurt's arrest and death soon after? Nearly twelve months. Why was this man here?
Kirstie clung to Paige's leg, silent and trembling. Her little girl who used to turn fearless cartwheels now approached the world with more wary feet.
Hugging an arm around Kirstie, Paige wrapped her in as much security as possible. She couldn't imagine this man would deliberately hurt a child. But even an unwitting mention of Kurt left Kirstie searching for hives on her legs, convinced she'd contracted a deadly disease that would require an injection.
"That was quite a show your crew put on, Captain."
"Show? Oh, you mean the sirens."