"I'd rather she not be put to the test."
"Fair enough." Yeah, he got it. Paige belonged here. She needed her independence. Bo tapped the fuel gauge again, watched it sink, calculated fuel again while the plane droned.
"Look, I've decided you're a good guy—"
Gee, thanks, dude.
"—and if things were different I could probably be okay with you hitting on my sister."
His hand shot out. "And don't even insult my intelligence by saying you haven't, because I've got eyes."
Bo chose his words carefully. "What I say or do with your sister is our business. But rest assured, I know she's better off without a guy like me complicating her life."
"Good. I'm not talking as an overprotective brother. I'm speaking as somebody who's been there. A person can look okay on the outside, getting out of bed each morning, facing the day and doing a job, but..."
Only a rock wouldn't feel sorry for the guy who'd lost his kid, then his wife, too, through divorce. "You don't need to say anything more."
"Yeah, well, thanks." Vic scrubbed a hand over his face and stared out the side window without blinking, his pain radiating every bit as strong as Seth's after a long day on his busted ankle.
Ah, hell.
He hated the suspicion crawling through his veins over how those drugs disappeared from the clinic. The guy had every reason to be depressed, a totally normal reaction.
Survivor's guilt could be hell. But could he have sought relief from the pain and grief through drugs? He'd discounted Vic earlier, figuring he could get whatever drugs he wanted. However Paige maintained records, too, and would notice discrepancies.
He understood well that guilt was a thousand times worse than a punch. Those first months after the shoot down, most nightmares had focused on Tag taking a boot to the ribs to shield him after his hands had been broken. So where did that leave questions about Vic Jansen?
Hell if he knew anything, except he couldn't see walking away from Paige until he had a few more answers.
Swiping his wrist under his nose, Vic shifted back to all gruff country vet again. "So you can keep your damn hands off my sister for a couple more days?"
Bo thumped the fuel gauge again. "I'm trying, dude, I'm trying."
Problem was, he figured one more nudge from Paige would do him in.
"I'm trying, Mom, but fractions are too hard for first graders, even Uncle Seth says so."
Sitting cross-legged on the blanket soaking up the late-afternoon sun, Paige took two deep breaths—three—then counted to ten for good measure. Doggone that Seth. Kirstie didn't need any help griping about math.
"Well, Uncle Seth also told you that pizza helps, so we'll make a pizza for supper and finish your homework then. Okay?"
"Pizza gives me a stomachache." She inched her glasses up with a prissy sniff. "Last time I ate it, I thought I had a 'pendicitis."
Sighing, Paige glanced skyward for patience with Kirstie and her own very likely unreasonable fears. Bo and Vic were late.
They were only an hour delayed—not that they'd bothered to call—although it probably had more to do with the sick cow and shooting the breeze than anything else. Her nerves were just edgy because of the latest letter from her lawyer, which made her think of Kurt, which made her think of that horrible, horrible night he 'd been late.
And arrested.
Oh, God. She grabbed her stomach. She was going to hurl, and then Kirstie would be certain her mama was dying of SARS.
Paige tipped her head back farther and gulped in air to dispel the spots dancing in front of her eyes. And yes, yes, yes, one of those dots got bigger until it took the shape of an airplane, coming closer, landing.
Now she really felt dizzy.
Flattening a hand to the blanket, she hung her head in relief for six shaky seconds, then tossed back her hair she'd left down out of silly vanity because Bo's eyes lingered on it one morning when she'd stepped out of her bedroom. "Come on, kiddo. Let's forget about fractions for a while and go say hi to your Uncle Vic."
And Bo.