Ah, hell, and there was a part of his problem, because he'd wanted to dig Haugen up and kill him again, the father of that somber-eyed little girl. "Even if he'd died that day in the takedown instead of later in jail, we would have been justified. He held a pregnant woman hostage, for crying out loud." Tag, Bo and Tag's son, as well.
Tag's jaw flexed. Hard. "Yes, he did."
Logical, but still hard as hell to reconcile. "A crime's a crime, but somehow it feels worse when women and kids are hurt."
Tag's wife. Their baby.
Kirstie.
Paige.
Damn. His eyes fell away to Tag's latest paperback splayed open on the bed. "Why the hell do I feel so responsible for her and her kid?"
Tag didn't bother asking what woman and which kid. He didn't say anything at all, his knack with silence always prompting more words than a dozen questions.
"I could be spending the next couple of weeks on easy duty baby-sitting the plane while Mako finishes his repairs. Instead I'm going to be humping my butt around in a beat-up Cessna making house calls on sick cows."
Tag studied his clasped hands for long silent moments before words finally rumbled up.
"My wife says one of the fundamental reasons for arguments between men and women is that sometimes women just want to vent. But when men hear about a problem, we start listing ways to fix it and cut short her rant."
"Yeah, so?"
"A woman doesn't necessarily want fixing. Sometimes she just wants to vent so she feels better about what can't be changed."
"And that helps me how?"
"I don't know. You tell me."
"Good God, now you really sound like your counselor wife." He thought of all those mandatory psych evals he and the rest of the crew had been required to attend after the shoot down. Damn but he resented anyone getting too close, crawling inside his head and making him discuss crap that didn't matter anymore.
Tag's weathered face creased with a slow grin. "Counselor? Me? You're lucky I can't punch an officer, sir."
Bo let his return smile answer. "You chiefs have a helluva way of making that sir sound like a put-down."
"Hey, at least I don't have to worry about you sniffing after my daughter, Nikki."
"Jesus, Tag, I was just helping her out with some advice on university courses."
"Just so it stays that way."
"Yeah, yeah, we all hear you loud and clear around the squadron. No crewdogs for your baby girl."
They shared a laugh at the familiar routine of razzing.
Sure, he didn't have any answers. But at least he now knew he wasn't a nutcase for wanting to fix things that weren't his concern. But hadn't he already made progress? He'd taken care of her pilot problem and alerted her brother about the stranger encounter at the air show. That should have brought satisfaction, resolution.
It didn't.
Tag's words shuffled around in Bo's head about men searching for ways to act. There were still problems. She needed more than a temporary pilot. Any idiot would recognize that, and he liked to think he was at least slightly above idiot level. Logic told him the rage he felt must be nothing compared to what roared inside of her with no place to go.
She needed relief from that pain.
He couldn't erase the heartbreak her scumbag husband had brought, but he had a talent for making women laugh. If ever he'd seen a woman in need of laughter, it was Paige Haugen. So he would play it laid-back, tease a smile from her, lighten her load until he pinpointed the rest of the problem. Damn straight. He'd come up with a solid transitional plan.
Not a convenient excuse to play with a flame hotter than any shooting out of Mako's lighter.
Sipping flaming-hot coffee from her travel mug, Paige stared out at the Cessna wing slicing low-lying clouds in a morning sky while Bo piloted beside her. Okay, so she was actually checking out his reflection in the window with her new glasses, but hey, she was being covert and cool about it. His left hand on the yoke, his right, rested on the throttle.