Bo jerked his gaze off the fine view of her striding past the kennels of yipping dogs.
"Jansen."
"My sister moves fast." He gestured toward Paige already charging around the clinic entrance toward the front porch. "I expect she'll have Kirstie down and settled in two minutes flat. So say your piece quick."
Bo lounged against the quarter panel of the truck, keeping his body language laid-back.
"Paige tells me you're in a tight financial spot with your cousin's bashed-up ankle keeping him out of the cockpit for a couple of weeks."
"Prideful Paige told you?" Jansen shook his head. "I don't think so."
Prideful Paige. Prickly Paige. Pretty Paige. Yeah, all three made her too interesting by half. "She told me some, and I read between the lines well."
Jansen stayed silent. Waiting? A man of few words? The guy didn't give off any hints.
Except...wait. He looked like Kirstie right before she'd blasted his boots.
The guy had a weak stomach.
Bingo. Achilles heel identified, Bo launched his attack. "I take it from your green tinge you didn't enjoy that landing much."
Jansen swallowed hard without answering.
"No need to be embarrassed. I saw the whole thing and shee-it. I'd have been tempted to grab an airsickness bag. Guy flared the nose up too soon. I figure he's either a rookie or only used to flying the big planes."
"Rookie. Graduated a while back, but he's low on hours."
Time to go for the pitch. "I have two weeks off and I'd like to help."
"How come?"
Straight up would work best with this guy. "Flying's easy for me. I enjoy it. You need a pilot. I have plenty of hours in smaller planes and I'm glad to show you my logbook."
Time for more truth, well, except for the part about how the scent of Paige slathered in coconut oil twisted his libido inside out. "And, yeah, I met your sister back in Charleston.
I'd like some reassurance that everything's okay for her now. No logical reason other than the fact that I can't leave a problem unresloved. Guy thing, I guess."
Bo waited for the verdict, already planning a counterattack if Jansen said no. And waited.
Good God, this dude took his time making up his mind.
Finally Jansen swept off his hat, swiped his brow and settled the cap back in place again.
"I'd be a fool not to consider it. Let's go for a spin in the Cessna and see if those hotshot wings on your flight suit are genuine."
Yes! He could nail that landing with his eyes closed. Who'd have thought the behemoth would be easier to wrangle than his five-foot-four sister?
Now that he and Jansen were on the same team, he would mention the man who'd been speaking to Kirstie, so Jansen could keep watch without further upsetting Paige. "A flight sounds perfect, and if we move fast we can take off before Paige returns. There's something I'd like to talk to you about alone once we're airborne."
Now that was a real landing. Even with her vision seriously compromised, she could tell the difference between Bo's smooth landing and the halting hatchet job the other pilot managed.
Absently swinging open the chain-link gate on the kennel's grass run, Paige studied the airstrip through the wire mesh while puppies scampered to greet her. The Cessna cruised to a stop, a Dakota sunset splashing the last hints of lilac and magenta to colorize rocks and wheat fields. Great heavens, the guy was a damn good pilot, and they were lucky to have his help.
Labrador-beagle-mix puppies pranced around her ankles, yipping and nipping, begging for attention. She lowered to sit on the grassy ground with Waffles's litter of pups. Her hands drifted to stroke floppy ears while she watched, her memory filling in details currently fuzzy.
Across the field, the airplane hatch swung open. Deja vu whipped over her faster than the evening wind carrying the scent of barley and the earthy fertility of spring. Just like the day before, Bo Rokowsky's body filled the open portal, green flight suit stretching across broad shoulders as he leaped to the ground. He walked around the plane with confidence, securing tie-downs and setting chocks on the bare landing strip beside the small metal hangar.
There was something fascinating about those zipper-suited sky gods, and yeah, something intriguing about this one in particular. She allowed herself a Paige-of-the-Past moment where she sagged against the chain-link kennel and daydreamed. Puppies clambered willy-nilly over her lap while fantasies kept an equally frolicking pace. In her mind she could be eighteen again. She would be twenty pounds lighter in looks and a million pounds lighter in concerns. Free to flirt.