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Shortcake tennis shoes, jammed them into an empty cubby and disappeared inside the red, green and blue inflated cavern.
    Paige sagged on a nearby bench. Muffled childish squeals echoed happiness through the canvas walls—
    such a simple sound of joy she no longer took for granted.
    Bo hitched a boot up on the edge of the bench, resting his elbow on his knee. "And what about you?
    Have you enjoyed yourself?"
    Too much. She stared at his black leather boot, inches from her hip, suddenly aware of how alone they were in the odd anonymity of faceless people massing and moving. She tore her gaze upward, so far up until she stared into ocean-blue eyes full of concern.
    Go away. Please. "Why are you really here?"
    "The air show."
    "Seems like a strange coincidence."
    "All right. I confess." He shrugged broad shoulders under the stretch of green flight suit. "Not so much of a coincidence. I'd heard you moved here, so I traded up with my buddy Scorch who was scheduled to fly with the commander." He stared down at his scarred hands, then back up at her. "I wanted to see how you're doing. Like you said earlier, what happened last year was memorable—life changing. I don't regret the role I played in helping the cops catch your husband, but I am sorry you were hurt."
    Sympathy hurt more than scorn. "I'm the one who married the son of a bitch. Some would say I got what I deserved."
    "I'm not some people."
    "Thank you." Was that husky voice hers?
    He leaned closer over his knee, his draped hand perilously close to her shoulder, only a short reach from her breasts. The healer in her longed to soothe the white lines of scar tissue.
    The woman in her just longed to touch him.
    His deep blue eyes drew her in without either of them moving. "Some would say—maybe you might even say—I helped put him in jail where he died."
    "I'm not some."
    "I'm glad."
    The loudspeaker squawked updates, filling a silence between them too heavy with memories, pain and a need born of loneliness. She dimly registered the five-minute warning for the start of the biplane demonstration. She didn't know why she was so drawn to this man, but she was smart enough to recognize the time for a healthy retreat.
    "Of course, I understand you only did what you had to that day. But, Bo, that doesn't mean it's easy for me to be around you. You've been wonderfully patient with Kirstie, and I can't thank you enough—"
    "I don't want your thanks—"
    "You have it, anyway. But I need a breather from memories."
    "So we'll put off the rest of the show until tomorrow."
    "I can't. I'm on call for emergencies tomorrow since my brother's on call today." Thank God for logical excuses that wouldn't make her admit she was afraid of her attraction to this man.
    "Then let's find a time to meet after." A slow, wicked smile lit his eyes.
    She wanted to smile back. Hell, she wanted to lean into his hand and let him fill his palm with the weight of her breast even though they were in the middle of a crowd.
    She really did need to get out of here. "You're a good man to worry about us. But you can go back to Charleston with a clear conscience. We're doing better every day. Any leftover wounds are his fault not yours."
    The moonwalk entrance flapped open and kids began pouring out. Paige shot from the bench, not even bothering to hide her haste. "My brother can bring her to see the flights tomorrow. I think Kirstie's had enough excitement for one day."
    "You mean her mother has," he muttered.
    Better to ignore him than launch into more dangerous-ground conversation.
    "Kirstie," she called into the crowd of children retrieving their shoes. "It's time for us to go home.
    Kirstie?"
    She searched the mass of kids, most of whom were wearing oversize white Thunderbird T-shirts, doggone it. Her stomach tightened with the first hints of apprehension. "Bo? Do you see her?"
    "She's here. There's no other way out. Just stay calm. Kirstie?"
    "Kirstie Adella Haugen." Paige rolled out her best maternal-mad