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,
Chapter 3
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.