Читать книгу At First Touch - Cindy Miles - Страница 12

CHAPTER FOUR

“NO.”

Eric Malone sighed. An amplified, overstressed one. “Why not?” he said, and was close, just on the other side of her screened door. She could make out the dark outline that was his form. “Just...why not?” he asked.

Reagan’s mind whirled. Why was he being so damned persistent? For the past several days he’d attempted to lure her into any and all sorts of activity. Lunch. Supper. Breakfast. Fishing. Boat ride. Picnic. She’d said no each and every time. It wasn’t like they knew each other, or had an invested relationship. She’d known him as a kid. She’d known him as an adult for all of a week, yet he acted as if he’d known her his whole life. Like they were...close. And they were not.

What the hell did he want with her?

Her heart wasn’t into much of anything anymore, and really, she wanted to just be left alone. She thought she’d conveyed that quite clearly. But no matter how many times she told Eric Malone no, he came back just as many with a different proposal.

“Reagan, it’s just a friendly drive to the grocery store,” Eric pushed. “You can keep me company. Give me advice, even. What do you say? You’ve got to get out at some point, right? You don’t want to stay cooped up in the house.”

“Why, yes, I most certainly want to do exactly that. I like cooped.” Besides. Friendly drive to the grocery store? What did that even mean?

Eric’s laugh came from his chest. “Nobody likes cooped, Quinn.”

“So this is purely a selfish request on your part, yes?” she asked. When he didn’t reply, she continued. “Because, in case you didn’t notice? I’m blind. I can’t see the scenery typically noticed during a friendly drive. I can’t see items on the grocery store shelves. I can’t see...you. Anything.” She shifted her weight, her hand on the screen door’s handle. “I’d basically just be sitting there. Like a hood ornament.”

Eric was silent at first; the cicadas rose from the yard. Then his laughter fell through the screen, and it was all male. Simple. Joyful. “If that’s the way you want to look at it,” he said. “Hood ornament, huh? That’s pretty funny, Reagan Rose. Almost as funny as making me talk to you through this stupid screen.”

He’d been after her the previous week—ever since she’d arrived—to drive off with him. To somewhere. Anywhere. He’d persisted, pushed, begged. Eric Malone had said anything he thought might convince her, and still she’d refused. Em had told her to just...give in and go. Perhaps if she did, he’d leave her alone. She doubted it, but it was worth a try.

“Don’t you have any friends? Girlfriends?” Reagan asked. “Being in the Coast Guard, I’m pretty sure you do. Go hang out with them. Do guy stuff. Go...date.”

“Ah, checkin’ up on me, huh, Quinn?” he teased. “Of course I have friends.” He sighed. “Girls, by the dozens of course, but not interested in any of them. But I don’t know—my friends? They’re just not as cute as you.”

Why that comment made Reagan smile, she couldn’t understand. But it did, and she fought it. Hid it. Covered it up with her hand, turned her head. “Being called cute stopped affecting me a long, long time ago,” she said.

“Yeah,” Eric answered. His voice sounded light, as though covering up a laugh. “I can tell. Now stop stalling, Reagan Rose. You have turned me down every single time I’ve stopped by this week. I can’t take one more rejection. I just can’t.” A thud sounded against the door frame, accompanied by an exaggerated sigh. “In case you’re wondering, that’s my forehead hitting the wood. Out of epic frustration. And now I’m making a sincerely adorable puppy face. You comin’ or aren’t ya?”

“You’re overacting,” Reagan muttered under her breath, still fighting a grin. “All right. Under one condition I will come with you.”

“Yes! Name it,” Eric said.

Reagan stared in the direction of his shadowy form. “That you leave. Me. Alone.”

“Whoa, now,” he added. “Let’s make an amendment here.”

Reagan waited.

“If—and I stress the word if—you don’t completely and utterly enjoy the absolute hell out of yourself today, I’ll back off.”

“I didn’t say back off,” she corrected. “I said, leave alone. As in stop coming over here, trying to convince me that I need to get out of the house.”

“Well, that’s nigh to impossible, don’t you think? Seeing as how we’re practically family and all?”

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Why do you care if I’m just sitting over here staring at the walls?”

Another heavy sigh. “Do you have a fork? Ice pick? Can opener? I’d like to poke my eyes out now, please. Out of epic frustration.”

Reagan’s lip twitched. Just a fraction. “That’s a really nice thing to say to a blind person. And, you say the word epic a lot.”

“Ha! I saw that!” Eric said excitedly. “And epic is a grand word indeed. And, I’m not joking about your blindness. I’m simply expressing my extreme annoyance with you. Now quit your stalling, girl, and come on. I mean it, Reagan.”

With a sigh of defeat, she pushed open the screen door. “Come on in. I’ll just be a sec.”

“Holy God, wait. Do you hear that?” Eric said, his steps falling across the wood planks as he eased inside.

She stopped and strained her ears. She heard absolutely nothing. “What?”

“It’s the sound of ice cracking.” He chuckled. “From around your heart.”

She shook her head and made her way down the hall. “So glad to know you turned out to be such an Irish American comedian.”

“I’m a natural, too. Don’t you think?” he called after her, in a heavy Irish accent.

“Whatever, Lucky Charms.” Reagan just shook her head, stepped into the bathroom and closed the door. Eric’s whistling and footfalls as he moved around the living room echoed through the wood, and she shook her head yet again. What was it with him? It irritated her that he could coax—and so easily, so it seemed—a smile from her. Like, irritated the absolute hell out of her. Why?

Truth be told, she’d wanted to try to pull her weight a little more and thought she’d make an attempt at dinner for her and Em. Perhaps going to the grocery store wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Basic ingredients for say, spaghetti, couldn’t be that hard. Could they? Running a brush through her hair, she tied it into a ponytail, brushed her teeth, and made her way into her room where she quickly pulled a pair of shorts and a tank from her dresser, felt for her Converse sneakers, and slipped her bag over her shoulder.

She could do this. This...grocery shopping with Eric Malone.

Practically family. Right? He didn’t really feel very familial.

With a deep breath she made her way back to the living room.

“Your shirt’s inside out.”

Reagan froze.

“And...you have on two different-colored sneakers.”

For a split second, embarrassment burned the skin at her throat in a hot flush. But only for a split second. She narrowed her gaze. “Liar. As if I’d trust you, the practical joker.”

“No, Reagan, really—”

“Just come on before I change my mind,” Reagan interrupted. Was he always the perpetual clown?

“Whatever you say, ma’am,” he complied, chuckling.

The air shifted as Eric moved ahead of her, and she noticed he smelled...good. Clean, like some kind of zesty, piney guy soap. The screen door creaked, and she knew he was holding it open for her. “Thanks,” she muttered, and eased through and onto the porch. Immediately, she lifted her hand, feeling the air to find the pillar. Tapping her stick to make sure she didn’t trip.

But a warm pressure settled against her lower back as Eric placed his hand there, guiding her. “Almost to the end,” he said.

“I know,” she answered, and felt the post with her palm. Shame coursed through her. Why in the hell did he feel the need to baby her? If she fell, she fell. So what? Falling would be better than feeling incapable.

Finally, she felt the ground beneath her feet, and she strained her eyes to try to pick out the shadowy form of a vehicle. Before she could, though, Eric applied pressure to her lower back once more and guided her. A door creaked open.

“Up you go,” he said cheerfully, and Reagan felt for the seat, then placed her foot inside and rose up. “I borrowed Jep’s old truck. Watch your feet,” he warned, and the door creaked and slammed shut.

Reagan felt for the seat belt but couldn’t find it. In the next second, the heat from Eric’s body leaning over her made her suck in a breath.

“Here, I’ll get that,” he said, and he was close, and his hands brushed her shoulder, then the belt snugged against her. A metal click sounded, and his warmth left.

“Ready?” he asked.

“As I’ll ever be,” she answered.

With a laugh, Eric turned over the engine, revved the motor, and the truck began to move. The wind blew in from the open window, tossing Reagan’s ponytail. The air felt heavy, as though rain loomed overhead. The pungent brine wafted in, and she wiggled her nose.

“It’s definitely an acquired smell,” Eric commented. “So. Reagan Rose Quinn,” he started. “It’s a gorgeous day.”

Reagan kept her face turned toward the open window. Shadows flashed by, abstract, undeterminable. “So you’ve said. Although it smells like rain.”

“Right.” He chuckled. “Rain’s great, too, don’t you think? Liquid sunshine. What I mean to say is, what do you see?”

Had Eric Malone lost his mind? “Have you been eating sketchy mushrooms, Malone? I see shadows. Dark blurry forms. Nothing else. We went over this already, remember?”

Again, he chuckled. “Really? That’s it? You’re just doomed to a life of haze and darkness?”

Exasperated, Reagan blew out a sigh. “What’s your problem?”

“I, my beautiful but testy neighbor, have zero problems at the moment. Except your mule head. Now, think. Use your other senses and tell me what you see.”

Reagan rolled her eyes. “Please don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

She shook her head and faced the window. “Don’t...try to be my Mr. Miyagi. My therapist.”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Well, how many blind people have you befriended, huh? How many?”

“You’re my first,” he answered cheerfully. “And you’re totally avoiding this exercise.”

She gave a short, acerbic laugh. “Of course I am! It’s ridiculous!”

“Come on, Reagan,” he crooned. “Humor me. Stick your hand out the window. Take a deep breath in. What do you see?”

It angered her—his constant battering of trying to help her see. But what was she to do? Leap from the truck? She’d committed to the grocery store outing, and now she was good and freaking stuck. Better to humor him, so he’d possibly drop the whole damn thing. Silently, she stuck her hand out the window.

“It’s windy,” she said.

“Tsk, tsk, I call no being a smart-ass,” he joked. “Of course it’s windy. I’m driving fifty-five miles an hour. Now feel it again. And take a big whiff.”

Reagan let her hand drift outside the open window and thought about it. Felt the moisture cling to her skin. Slowly, she inhaled, exhaled. She rubbed her fingers together. “A storm. The air feels heavy, and it has a salty, earthy scent.”

“You got it,” he agreed. “Big black clouds are swirling overhead.”

“I thought you said it was a gorgeous day?” Reagan asked.

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, right?” He added, “I love storms.”

Reagan thought back—way back, to before she and Em left Cassabaw. “You always did,” she answered quietly.

“You remember.” Eric laughed softly. “Sitting on the end of the dock, watching those storms roll across the river,” he mused. “Then, when the rain started to sting our skin, or lightning flashed, we’d run for the dock house and stay crammed under the quilt table until the storm passed.”

A smile tugged at Reagan’s mouth. “I don’t remember much, but yeah, I do recall that.”

“Good times,” Eric said. “Childhood is the best. Okay, what kind of music do you like?”

At least he was a decent conversationalist. No uncomfortable silent lull looming over their heads. “I...don’t know. Any kind.”

“God, Reagan.” He groaned. “You’re killin’ me. Come on. There has to be something you love. How about the crazy tunes your sister digs?”

Reagan laughed lightly. “To a certain extent, yeah. But definitely not to Em’s capacity.” She thought. “Classic rock, I guess.”

“Now you’re talkin’,” he said, and after a moment, the Eagles’ “Hotel California” began that mournful opening. “Remember how we loved this one?”

Reagan nodded. “Still do.”

The music continued and the Eagles began to sing the lyrics. Joined by Eric. And he sang loudly.

“Don’t ya remember the words?” he finally asked.

“Of course,” she answered.

She shook her head and wondered about Eric Malone’s motives.

Soon, the truck bumped and jerked to a halt, and the engine went silent. “We’re here,” Eric announced. In the next second her door was being opened. A slight breeze brushed her skin, sultry, salty. Eric’s hand closed around her elbow, and she stepped out of the truck.

“Okay, okay, one thing, Malone,” Reagan said. Eric was close—she could see his dark form a few inches away. Taller than her for certain. And broad. She could smell his soapy skin. Feel his body heat. “Don’t treat me like a blind person. Okay? It’s embarrassing.”

“Define ‘like a blind person,’” he answered. His voice washed over her, quiet now and raspy. “Just so I’ll be clear on the matter.”

Reagan sighed. “Like, let me do things,” she said. “Yes, if I’m about to step out into a line of traffic, pull me back. But I don’t want people staring at me like I’m helpless. I’m not.”

He was quiet for a moment, and Reagan nearly squirmed under what she assumed was his scrutiny. “Did you know you have the most adorable nose I’ve ever seen?” he said softly. “In my life.”

Reagan felt her cheeks burn. “You’re trying to distract me from my point.”

He tugged her elbow, and she shifted away from the truck door. He closed it, and the vibration of metal shimmied next to her. “Don’t worry, Reagan Rose,” he said close. “I know you’re more than capable. No treating you like a blind person. Copy that. Now stop stalling and let’s hit the aisles. I’m starved.”

Why Eric’s close proximity and blunt words affected her so much, she hadn’t a clue. Whether he was ticking her off or making her cheeks turn hot, he affected her.

She could only pray he didn’t notice.