Bo's blue eyes darkened with concern even if he didn't move toward her. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Sorta. Enough to get through the night if she kept a tight rein on herself. She clenched her hands into fists, digging her nails into her palms, the slight pinch a slow but sure reminder of how falling for a Bo sort of guy would one day hurt like hell. "Thank you for the support earlier, but I'm almost certain I'll crumble if I get any more sympathy.

Does that make sense?"

"Not really. But then we all cope in different ways, and I have to respect your boundaries."

"Thank you." Holy cow, this guy knew the right words to slip right past her defenses.

Kurt had encouraged her to count on him for everything, financial as well as emotional, insisting there would be plenty of time for her to spread her wings once Kirstie grew up.

But this man talked about healthy boundaries. He even discussed and supported her dreams of returning to college.

The circle of light warmed into a close bubble of privacy against the dark countryside.

She dug those fingernails harder into her palms.

Bo scratched the back of his head. "This may not be the best time to bring it up, but, well, the guys and I were talking and it really is a helluva drive back into Minot after a full work load of flying. So when I return in the morning, I'm going to start bunking here."

She forgot all about digging in her nails, surprise making her hands go slack. She didn't buy his excuse for a second. "You're staying out here because of the break-in."

"Doesn't hurt to have an extra guy around." His easy shrug shifted the leather jacket around his shoulders, a whispered slide of heavy, smooth fabric.

"And that's your only reason?" She braced her sagging spine against the tree, better than leaning on a man again. "I thought you said you were respecting my boundaries?"

"You think I'm moving here to get lucky? Lady, I'd have to be an idiot to try that with your watchdog brother on hand."

He had a point and now she felt foolish. "Then why are you doing this?"

"Make no mistake, I would still follow you inside in a heartbeat—if your brother was on Mars and the past evaporated for a day or two. But I heard you earlier about not letting this—" he gestured between them "—tug we feel go anywhere. I like to think I have enough self-control to keep my hands to myself." A wicked smile tucked in his cheek.

"No matter how enticing the woman."

Heat crawled up her neck even as she resisted the urge to roll her eyes at his blatant flattery.

His smile faded. "What happened with the break-in puts a new spin on things. This is about the business of keeping your practice afloat and a roof over your head. Most of all this is about keeping you and Kirstie safe. Even on testosterone overload, I recognize everything else has to take a back seat."

He sure did have a way of taking the sting out of saying he could live in the same house with her and not do a thing about it. "And you've already talked this over with my brother."

Bo nodded. "He's not happy about it, but sees the logic. He puts your safety first."

"Then it's settled." As much as she wanted to stand on her own two feet, only a moron would turn down the extra security of his presence. For her daughter. "I'm sorry for sounding ungrateful, but the thought of having you here makes me feel this tug between us all the more. Frankly, that scares me as much as vandals prowling the town."

"You sure don't pull punches, lady, or make it any easier for a guy. I like that about you.

But no worries." He held his hands in front of him. "I meant what I said about keeping these to myself."

"Fair enough." Her hands behind her, she splayed her fingers along the roughened bark, the tree's gnarled sturdiness offering a welcome support that demanded nothing in return.

"Thank you for making me smile today. I needed that."

"No problem." He fished his keys out of his pocket. "I'm going to head out now. Mako's waiting to catch supper together."

How silly that she didn't want him to touch her but she didn't want him to leave. Soon enough he would be around 24/7, and wasn't that a scary and exciting thought all at once?

"Mako?" she called out, shoving away from the tree. "That's his nickname, right?"

Pausing, he propped his elbows over the open sedan door, bronzed wrists contrasting to white paint. "His call sign. Yeah."

"What's your call sign?" She edged round the oak and slid down to sit on Kirstie's swing.

"Bo."

Her fingers wrapped around the hemp rope, her toe dragging the dusty ground while the rope creaked with each gentle sway. "But I thought your real name was Bo."

"It's what I go by." He tapped the name tag on his brown leather jacket. "But it's not my legal name."

"Why do they call you Bo?"

"Kind of like 'Bo is for beau, can I be yours?'" His half-cocked grin suggested he was joking. Or not.

Great. He really did have a player reputation. A good thing or bad since he was staying in her house now? "Really."

"Actually, no."

"Then what does it mean?"

His cobalt-blue eyes glinted with the twinkle of stars overhead. "Everybody's got a theory they like to torment me with by threatening to spread it around."

"Such as?"

He studied her for four slow creaks of the swing before stepping around the sedan door, closer to her. "Tag insists it's because of the Rokowsky—cow—in my name. Bovine.

Bo."

"Ewww. Guys can be so gross. Is that the truth?"

"Maybe. Maybe not." He leaned one shoulder against the tree. "Then there are those who say it's a package reference."

"Package?" Oh, my. He couldn't actually mean... She forced her eyes not to drop lower.

"As in, I'm the total package with a bow."

Those slightly crooked teeth sure did charm her as much as his smile. "Uh-huh. So which is correct?"

"All of them around the squadron. None of them in reality. It's a takeoff from my real first name."

"What is it?"

"I've gone by Bo for so long, nobody even remembers my real name."

"And it is?" She needed to know. Because he'd kissed her? Or because she wanted to be different from everyone else?

His jaw flexed in time with a low roll of thunder in the distance. "I was named for my father, and my call sign grew from that long before I joined the Air Force."

Her heart ached for him and the pain he still obviously carried over losing his parents.

"And his name was?" she asked gently.

Winds encircled in a band somehow far more intimate than the halo of light, the gusting growing stronger until it seemed to create a vortex with them at the epicenter.

Finally he shrugged with a no-big-deal air. "Boyd, which I shortened to Bo. I'm not much into the junior gig."

"Okay, Bo it is then." Thunder cracked again, followed by a distant snap of more lightning.

He straightened from the tree and stopped her swing with one hand. "We should probably get away from this hundred-year-old lightning rod."

"I guess so." She stood, bringing their faces close again, much like when they'd kissed on the porch.

Thunder pounded. Or was that her pulse hammering? Another second and she would hop into the car with him to search out the nearest hotel. Good God, what was wrong with her? She considered herself a healthy woman with normal urges, but she didn't like the prickly heat stinging her skin with an out-of-control need.

She sidestepped him. "Good night."

Her feet beat a hasty retreat through the dusty yard thirsty for the rain. By morning she would have her head on straight again.

"Honey." Bo's voice rode the wind to stop her.

Huh? He couldn't mean... She turned on the bottom step. "What?"

He stood by the open door of his white rental. "You asked me to name the puppy, and I chose Honey because of the color of her fur."

Bo ducked into the sedan and slammed the door.

 Honey. She rested her cheek against the porch post while taillights faded into the night. A raindrop splatted on her nose. He'd remembered their conversation, thought of her, wanted to name the puppy, and that stirred an unwelcome warmth in her heart. The burgeoning wind creaked the swing faster, thunder increasing to announce the impending storm to a woman too weak-kneed to dash inside even though rain dampened her hair.

If she expected to survive the next two weeks with her sanity intact, she needed to clear the air about this explosive attraction attacking their hormones. And definitely no more moonlit conversations.

Because who'd have thought his sensitive words would be as tempting as his kisses?

Chapter 8

"Crap!" Bo smacked a mosquito on his arm, striding out of the hangar storing his damaged C-17.

Too bad the Base Exchange wasn't open yet so he could pick up some Off spray before he headed to Paige's for the day. He scratched the rising bite bump. The mosquitoes were having a field day with the muggy aftermath of the rare rain providing new puddles to nest and multiply, generally making his crummy mood worse.

Another sleepless night would do that to a guy. No dreams but plenty of wakeful images to torment him, such as Paige's quivering chin when he'd done a simple thing like name a puppy. This was not the kind of woman a guy boffed in a haystack.

Blinking against the bright sunlight outside the shadowy hangar, he slapped his neck.

Mako's singing taunt followed him as the guy launched into a second chorus of the old seventies tune, "Tie a Yellow Ribbon," the oak tree reference catching him square on with more memories of Paige on the swing, pretty and tempting and so strong he wanted to protect her all the more.

He turned back, calling inside to Mako, "Hey, dude, have you ever considered voice lessons?"

Jet engine parts littering the concrete floor around him, Mako patted the side of the looming cargo plane. "This old gal likes my singing well enough as it is."

"Then she needs a new hearing aid," Bo razzed right back on his way across the tarmac and back to his rental car.

The in-flight mechanic had laughed his ass off over Bo explaining he would be bunking out at Paige's place. With her brothers. And a kid under the roof. Sheesh. Talk about chaperones out the wazoo.

Hadn't made a bit of difference to Mako, but then, flight crews lived to razz each other.

They played hard, joked hard, lived hard, because you never knew when the missile hit was a second away. A reality he understood well from that flight in Rubistan—a subject guaranteed to sink his mood into opaque territory.

And he still didn't know what he planned to do with the rest of his life. At least he had a firm plan for the next two weeks. Albeit, an increasingly frustrating one.

The kiss the night before only proved the obvious. He was weak as hell around this woman. A vulnerable look from her, combined with honest to God caring questions and he was ready to jump her bones. He'd barely made it into the car.

An hour later, gear stowed in the trunk, he pulled off onto the two-lane road leading to Paige's house. At least he would be flying with her brother today, making rounds and taking any emergency calls.

He slowed behind the mail carrier as the school bus chugged past, clearing the driveway

—where Kirstie still stood holding her mother's hand. What was up with that?

Bo turned onto the dirt driveway, cruising to a stop under what was quickly becoming his least favorite tree in the state. He stepped out of the car and popped the trunk to unload his gear. "No school for you today, Cupcake? Are you sick?"

Kirstie stayed mute and stepped closer to her mother's leg.