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 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.