Pressing back into the leather bucket seat, she wrapped her hands around the warmth of her cup, still stunned and even more tempted to laugh. "Well, please try to contain yourself next time."
"There you go being prickly again." He thumped his forehead. "Better put down your coffee because I can already feel the urge to say something frank like—"
"Bo!"
"—how it's a damn shame I'm too old for you since I'm a good seven years past my sexual prime." He held up a forestalling hand. "If we were to have a relationship at all.
Which I'm totally clear that you aren't interested in with me, so the whole subject is just on a theoretical level. I'm only talking about basic biology. Surely you're at ease with physiological discussions, given your medical background."
Past his prime? Her eyes snapped right to his muscled thighs, broad chest with shoulders filling leather to perfection. Gulp. He looked mighty toned to her, fit enough to more than keep up during—
She brought her mug to her mouth and studied the wing again only to find the cerulean sky reminded her of his eyes. "Basic biology, huh? Interesting discussion you've chosen for today."
"Hey, I wasn't the one who asked about ages." His face blanked with an innocence so at odds with the fallen-angel twinkle in his eyes that she had to laugh again, which encouraged the glint even brighter. "I've always thought it was one of nature's greatest jokes, that men and women peak at different times. Although it lends credence to the argument for a younger-man and older-woman relationship."
"Basic biology, my butt." She put her mug on her knee. "Are you flirting with me?"
"Yes, ma'am, I sure am. Just good old-fashioned fun that doesn't have to lead to a damn thing."
"Do you talk about sexual peaks with all your friends?"
"Now couldn't you just see my old loadmaster pal's face if I did?"
A snort splattered coffee against the topper on her mug. "I'm going to choke to death if you keep this up."
"I don't think so." He adjusted the altimeter setting. "You have the most incredible laugh, almost like a song, but it's a little hoarse, as if you haven't used it enough lately."
His words stole the laugh right out of her. Hadn't she thought the very same thing about her daughter's lack of smiles and laughter just a couple of days ago? Could Kirstie's sad little eyes be as much her mother's fault as her father's? Had she depressed her daughter with her own morose mood?
"Ah, hell, Paige. What'd I do now?"
"Nothing—" she forced a smile "—nothing at all. I'm just not a morning person."
She shrugged and worked on finishing her java as if it were a monumental task requiring all her attention. She needed to recoup after this new insight. Thank God, he got the message and stayed quiet for the whopping three minutes more it took to reach Chuck Anderson's family farm.
What was she thinking by bringing it up, anyway? Flirting was all well and good, but sheesh, she needed to keep herself grounded in reality, not pickup fantasies. She was a single mom in jeans and a T-shirt, her only cologne a hefty slathering of Avon's Skin So Soft to keep the mosquitoes away.
He decreased the throttle and lowered the flaps. The ground grew closer, the sprawling spread enlarging by the second, the landing steps familiar to her after so many flights with Seth. Bo pointed the craft toward the dirt strip runway, notched the flaps down again. Leveling the wings, he flared, raising the nose, all accomplished so smoothly she kept watching him—until she startled in surprise when the gear touched down without so much as a jolt.
His feet tipped the tops of the rudder pedals where the brakes were located, then flexed back down to guide the nose wheel as they taxied to the end of the grass strip. He pulled the throttle all the way out and turned the key. The engine shuddered off.
Bo whistled low through his teeth as he unstrapped. "The guy's got quite a spread here. I wonder how many hands it takes to help run this place? If those rows of bunkhouses are any indication, he's got quite a payroll."
Twisting back for her bag, she glanced over her shoulder. "What makes you think a guy owns it?"
"Get your PC knickers unknotted. You told me the guy's name earlier when we loaded up."
"Oh."
"Prickly Paige is in need of a smile again." He waggled his brows.
"Don't say another word." She held up her hand, totally unable to stop the smile.
He tapped the upward tilt of her lips. "I don't need to now."
The heat of his touch lingered far longer than her smile. Vaulting out of the door to the dusty ground, she clutched her black leather bag and started toward the waiting Suburban. She didn't want to depend on any man for her happiness ever again, even for so much as a few short weeks.
Chuck Anderson waited by the hangar with his idling vehicle—a member of the big blond lug club like her brother and Seth. "Thank heavens you're here. Even my stable head is having trouble keeping old Buck still."