Explosive Alliance (Wingmen Warriors 9)

"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.

Except, if she was eighteen that would make Bo Rokowsky all of eleven or twelve. Ugh.

And bottom line, she wouldn't trade her daughter for a million do-overs with guaranteed happy endings.

Paige angled herself away from visions of the plane and its pilot. Five-week-old Brownie collapsed against her thigh with huffy exhaustion. Draping him over her leg, she stroked the tired puppy to sleep while two more chewed on each other's ears. The remaining four settled against Waffles for supper.

Nice. Normal. Exactly the sort of grass-roots-values life she wanted for her daughter.

A double shadow stretched, easy to distinguish the two even without glasses, her hulking brother and a certain lanky pilot.

Vic strode past to scoop up a puppy scampering close to the exit. "Baby sister, I don't know what you did to convince this guy to help out, but we'd be idiots not to pounce on his offer." He thrust the squirming mutt toward Bo. "Let me wash off. Then I'll drive you back out to base so we can discuss scheduling." He thumped Bo on the back. "And thanks for the heads-up."

Without another word, her brother lumbered away. Leaving her alone with Bo? What was up with that?

Great. The only thing worse than Vic in overprotective mode was Vic in mega-consent mode. And wasn't she quite the contrary brat today? Darn Bo Rokowsky for making her all itchy.

She patted the snoozing puppy in her lap. "So we're all set?"

Bo dropped down beside her, cradling his mutt in one hand and rubbing it with the other.

"I'll make the arrangements with my commander to take leave while I'm here. I'll still be on call if Mako needs me to fire up the plane for a test, but otherwise, I'm free. I'll start after the paperwork's filed Monday."

Paige watched his big, scarred hand rub over the downy fur. She swallowed hard to erase the visions of how painful the injury must have been to require such intricate incisions.