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—"
"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."