Читать книгу Raeanne Thayne Hope's Crossings Series Volume One: Blackberry Summer - RaeAnne Thayne - Страница 18

THIS TIME WHEN RILEY worked out in her yard, Claire forced herself not to gawk out the window at him. She focused instead on her first beading project since the accident, a fairly simple bracelet she was making out of recycled glass beads from Ghana in lovely aqua tones, with metalwork starfish charms.

She had her supplies set out in the family room—the beads, the spacers, the pliers and cutters—but the limitations of a broken arm presented definite challenges. Claire had sympathy for some of the senior citizens she used to teach at the community center, their hands gnarled and swollen from arthritis.

Usually she found a quiet sort of peace when she worked, the tactile pleasure of the textures and shapes, the unmatched delight of creating something beautiful from only her imagination, her ever-growing bead collection and a little hard work. But this afternoon, even threading the waxed cord onto the needle was an exercise in frustration and she almost quit a half-dozen times.

Every time she was tempted to put the project away, though, she reminded herself that she was exercising, working her arm, hand and wrist muscles as her occupational therapist insisted.

She found even something as basic as a wrapped loop a challenge. She was struggling to hold the pliers and bend the wire when her cell phone rang.

Usually she hated interruptions while she was beading and tried to remember to turn off her ringer. In this case, she jumped at any excuse to take a rest, especially when she saw the identity of her caller on the phone display.

“Hi, Evie. How’s the most brilliant bead store manager in the entire Mountain West?”

Her store manager snorted. “Suck-up. You really think that’s going to work with me?”

Claire smiled, her frustration subsiding in the sheer joy of talking with one of her dearest friends. “It’s worth a try. How are things?”

“Crazy-busy. You wouldn’t believe the pre-Mother’s Day business we’re seeing. We’re rocking right now. That class we did for that memory charm bracelet you designed was standing room only. Seriously.”

“That’s great, Evie. Thank you so much for covering everything for me.”

“No worries.”

“I’m still planning to be back Monday. I got the all clear from Dr. Murray today. I hope I can make things a little easier for you then.”

“Don’t push it. There’s no need for you to rush back before you’re ready.”

“I’m so ready. If I don’t get out of this house for something besides doctor appointments and therapy, I might do something crazy. Like take up knitting or something.”

Evie laughed. “We wouldn’t want that. You’ve got enough hobbies, hon.”

“I can’t afford any more.”

“You know you’re going to have to pace yourself. When you first come back to work, you’re going to want to jump back into everything you did before, but you’ll have to take things slow.”

“Are you speaking as my friend or as a physical therapist?”

“I’m retired,” Evie said automatically. “But, okay, both.”

“I know, I know. I promise, I’ll be good.”

Evie made another sound of disbelief but didn’t argue. “I’m actually calling because we’re running low on our heavy-gauge wire. If I place the order before the close of business today, we can get a shipment Monday, but I thought I’d better run it past you.”

“Whatever you think best.”

“We need it, obviously, but our usual distributor raised their price five percent a few weeks ago. Do you want me to shop around to try to find a better deal?”

She did a quick calculation in her head of the discount they received buying in bulk. Even though math wasn’t her strong suit, she’d become rather more adept than she ever expected at figuring percentages in the two years she’d owned the store.

“Let’s do half of what we normally order. What we lose for the quantity discount, we might be able to make up by finding a different supplier with a better price point.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking, but thought I should check with you.”

“You don’t need me, Evie. We both know you could run the store in your sleep.”

What a blessing that she had someone she trusted so implicitly to leave in charge at String Fever. Evie was smart and creative and capable…and probably far more business-savvy than Claire.

“The other reason I called was to give you the skinny on Gen Beaumont’s wedding. Or have you heard already?”

“You forget I’m living in seclusion, completely isolated from the outside world.”

“Except for cell phone, home phone, television, the internet… And your mother, of course.”

She laughed. “Well, yeah. Except for that. But I haven’t heard anything about Gen. What’s up? She knows the designer is rushing to send another gown, right? Don’t tell me she’s decided to send it to someone else for the beadwork.”

“There is no one else in town who can handle the job except you.”

“And you. And possibly Katherine.”

“Okay. The three of us. Gen knows she won’t find anyone better.”

Despite her best efforts to keep her attention firmly away from the window, Claire caught a flicker of movement and watched Riley heading toward the street, his arms full of shingles, and Owen following him like a little shadow.

She quickly looked back at the beads, picked up one of the recycled glass barrels and rolled it between her fingers. “Then what’s the problem?”

“Well, the good news is you’ve got an extra six months to work your broken arm back into condition before you tackle her project.”

“Why?”

“Gen postponed the wedding.”

The bead popped out from between her fingers and rolled onto the area rug and she had to lean sideways and dig through the thick pile to retrieve it. “You’re kidding! Why?”

“Their family is in crisis. I gather she talked it over with her fiancé in Denver and they decided to wait until things settle down.”

“Because of Charlie.”

“Right. The kid is facing serious consequences for the burglaries and the accident. Last I heard, they were talking maybe vehicular homicide.”

Claire gasped. “Oh, no. Poor Laura.”

The mayor’s wife was a customer at the store. She favored large, flashy, expensive art glass beads and usually managed to finagle one of the store employees into basically creating it for her with sly little interactions like, “Can you just get me started?” or “Will you show me that technique again?” or “You know I always struggle with that particular gauge of wire.”

Usually Claire’s employees loved to help people with their projects, but Laura Beaumont’s ploys to have people do the work for her without compensation of any kind had become so transparent, most of them just rolled their eyes—discreetly—every time she walked in the store.

“Poor Gen. It couldn’t have been an easy decision. I wonder how her fiancé and his family are taking the news.”

Genevieve Beaumont was marrying the son of one of Colorado’s most prestigious families, rich and politically powerful, in what had promised to be the leading social event of the year. She sincerely hoped Sawyer Danforth’s family didn’t try to distance themselves from the Beaumonts in light of Charlie’s legal troubles.

“Why do you think Charlie slashed up the wedding dress? I always thought Gen and Charlie got along fairly well, despite the eight-year gap in their ages.”

“Who knows.” Claire didn’t need to see her friend to sense her shrug. “Maybe Charlie was resentful of all the attention Gen was getting. Or maybe he doesn’t like the groom. Or maybe he just thought the dress was ugly.”

So much anger had been channeled into that wanton destruction. She couldn’t imagine it.

“He must be a very troubled young man to have made such terrible decisions.”

“Or maybe he’s just a rotten kid. It’s possible.”

She caught a flash of movement outside as Riley passed by the window. She thought of him and the trouble he had caused in his youth, reacting so fiercely to a confusing, painful world. She would have thought he, of all people, should have some compassion for Charlie Beaumont.

“I’d better go so I can place this order before end of business, Pacific time.”

“Thank you, Evie. A few more days and I’ll be back to take some of the weight off your shoulders.”

“So far my shoulders are plenty wide enough for the load. Don’t push yourself too hard. I mean it.”

“It’s not like I’m Alex, who has to stand on her feet all day in a hot restaurant kitchen. I can sit in the store as easily as I can sit here and at least there I’ll have someone to talk to besides Chester.”

“Well, he is the only reason I want you to hurry back, you know. I miss that ugly mug. In fact, I miss him so much I might be fostering another dog myself. The shelter called and they need a temporary home for a labradoodle. It will probably be a tight fit in the apartment over the store, but I figure for a few weeks we’ll cope. I told them I would, but I guess I should have checked with you first.”

“You know I don’t care.”

Claire was probably the most indulgent landlord ever, but since Evie was the perfect tenant, employee and friend, Claire figured that earned her more than a little latitude.

Evie had fostered animals before until a permanent placement could be found, but they’d usually been cats or small-breed dogs. She rarely developed a lasting attachment to anything, something that worried Claire. Her friend had deep secrets in her past, a pain she didn’t share with anyone.

“I’ll see you Monday morning,” she said after a moment.

“Need me to come get you?” Evie asked.

Rats. She’d forgotten about transportation. Oh, she hated being dependent on people. “I’ll see if Alex can give me a lift. If that isn’t convenient, my mom can probably do it.”

“Let me know if you change your mind. I know Ruth isn’t always easy to take first thing in the morning.”

Claire smiled and they quickly ended the call. She sat for a moment, rolling that silky bead between her fingers again and thinking of the events that had affected so many lives in Hope’s Crossing. Charlie Beaumont’s life would never be the same. He would always have this tragedy around his neck. The ripples from that moment were expanding out in wholly unexpected ways. Gen pushing her wedding back six months. Riley struggling to find his place in town. Probably in a hundred other lives she didn’t even know.

She thought of Maura, whose life had been changed forever. Riley’s sister was still avoiding her phone calls most of the time, and Claire was determined to make it to her house as soon as possible, if she had to wheel herself the four blocks there.

With a sigh, she turned back to the bracelet, hoping beading would soothe and quiet her spirit.

She was just beginning to find a rhythm of sorts when the back door opened and Riley and Owen came inside.

“Mom? Where are you, Mom?”

“Family room,” she called.

Her son burst through the doorway, baseball cap shoved backward and his face flushed with excitement.

“Did you see me work the nail gun, Mom? I did a whole row of shingles by myself.”

The very thought of it caused heart palpitations. Her son on a ladder with a nail gun that could impale his hand to the roof. She supposed it was a good thing she hadn’t allowed herself to watch.

“You let him use a nail gun?” she asked Riley in what she hoped was a calm voice.

“With help,” he assured her. “I kept my hand on it at all times.”

“It was awesome,” Owen exclaimed. “I think I’m gonna save up my allowance and buy one. Man, I’d have the best tree house in town!”

Riley laughed. “You’ve got to build to a nail gun, kid. Start out with some regular tools and see how that goes first. You don’t snowboard on the black diamond trails until you’ve had a few runs down the beginner slope.”

Her son seemed to accept that bit of philosophy with his usual equanimity—and short attention span. “Hey, Mom, can we have pizza for dinner?”

She smiled. “I was thinking the same thing. It is Friday night after all.” She was always grateful when she had the children on the weekend and tried to make Friday nights fun time for the three of them. “I’ll call and put in the order as soon as Macy comes back from soccer practice. Want to watch a movie, too? We have all those DVDs your dad and Holly brought over for me to watch while I recover, plus the instant streaming. Wasn’t there some superhero show you’ve been wanting to see?”

“Can I go check out our queue and see?”

“Sure. My laptop’s on the kitchen table.”

She was deeply grateful for technology—and even more grateful that her kids could figure it out far better than she could.

The moment her son headed out of the room, Claire instantly wanted to call him back. His presence provided a buffer between her and Riley. Without him, that ridiculous teenage girl inside her couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss.

“Owen is a great kid. You’ve done a great job with him.”

“He is a great kid, but I’m not sure I had anything to do with it. He came out of the box that way. He was the easiest, most good-natured baby you could ever imagine and a very sweet toddler.”

“He has a good mother who loves him. That’s got to count for something.”

She smiled. “Thanks. And thank you for your help, Riley.” She paused. “You probably have figured out that I don’t like being in a position to need help.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” he said, his tone dry as he came closer.

“I’m working on it. So thank you.”

“You’re welcome. We’ve still got a bike to fix but that shouldn’t take long.” He stepped closer and her heartbeat kicked up a notch. He was just so big. He crowded out any common sense she might have hoped to cling to. “What are you working on over here?”

“A bracelet. I wanted to give something to Brooke Callahan for taking such good care of me when I was in the hospital. While I was there, I noticed she had several flowered scrubs in that color.”

He gave her an exasperated look. “Do you ever do anything for yourself?”

“Beading is for me. Oh, I might sometimes give away the things I make, but the process of creating them is all about me. I find pleasure in the whole thing, from coming up with the design to choosing the beads to the feel of them under my fingers. These recycled glass beads from Africa are like sea glass that’s been worn smooth by the waves.”

He leaned forward to touch the beads, his hands looking incongruously large against the delicate blue. “Soft. You’re right.”

She couldn’t breathe with him this close. He smelled musky and male, like cedar and sage, and he crowded her, made her feel girlish and silly. She eased away a fraction of an inch, but he still noticed the movement.

“Why do you do that?”

“What?” she asked, pretending she didn’t know what he meant.

“Flinch away from me.

She thought about lying, pretending he was imagining things, but the casual words just wouldn’t come. “You make me nervous,” she finally admitted.

His eyes widened. “Why? You’ve known me forever. You have to know I would never hurt you.”

Not physically maybe. Claire wiped suddenly damp palms on her skirt. “I’m not going to be one of those women, Riley. Let’s be clear.”

He shuttered his expression. “Oh, absolutely. I strive for clarity in all things. Which women would you be talking about?”

“I know you’re just teasing me, like you’ve always done. All these little comments about…about sleeping with me and having a crush on me when we were kids and everything. Kissing me. You’re just trying to see what kind of reaction you can get out of me. It’s no different from all those times you used to jump around the corner and yell boo just for the pleasure of hearing us squeal. I’m not going to fall for it anymore.”

Much to her relief, he stepped back a pace but only so he could glower at her from a better angle. “You’re going to have to help me out here. Clarity, remember?”

She hated feeling stupid and out of her depth and she finally just blurted out, “I won’t have a fling with you, Riley.”

He blinked. “Okay. Good to know.”

“It’s not that I’m not…um…that I wouldn’t…” Oh, she didn’t know how to do this. “I’m not sophisticated or worldly or any of those things. I’m a soccer mom. I’ve been a room mother for six of the last seven years. I’m the president-elect of the PTA, for heaven’s sake.”

“And that’s pertinent to this discussion because?”

“Because I’m not the sort of woman to jump into bed with anyone. Especially not you.”

His jaw tightened and she had the ridiculous feeling she’d hurt him somehow. “Why especially not me?”

“A hundred reasons. For one thing, I know you’re not serious about any of this, you’re playing some kind of game.”

“This is fascinating. Do go on.” His jaw had hardened and he crossed his arms across his chest, which unfortunately only served to emphasize the definition of his biceps.

“Well, you’re my best friend’s little brother.”

“Younger. I prefer younger. And only by a few years, Claire.”

Okay, that was true. If not for the fact that she’d known him all her life, the difference in their ages would be irrelevant. But she had known him. She’d seen him grow from a pesky kid to a surly teenager.

He was close, so close that she could see a muscle flex in his jaw. She wanted to kiss that flutter, just throw caution to the wind and…

The pressure in the room shifted as the front door was yanked open.

“Hey, Mom!” Macy called out from the entryway. “Guess what? Julie Whitaker has a sprained ankle, so guess who gets to play goalie tomorrow?”

Her daughter burst into the family room, overflowing with gangly, slim gorgeousness, even in practice shorts and knee-high socks. She grinned when she saw Riley. “Hey, Chief.”

“Yay for you! Goalie, huh?”

“Yeah. Jule’s super-good, so I never have the chance to goal tend, but she’s out for at least two games, so I get to fill in. Maybe if I do an awesome job, the coach will think about alternating us. I don’t mind playing forward, but I really love goalie.”

“That’s wonderful, honey.” With effort, Claire shifted gears to her mommy role. “You’ve worked hard to improve your skills and you definitely deserve it. Hey, I’m going to order pizza tonight and Owen’s picking a movie.”

“Okay. I’m going to go change and clean up. The field was super-muddy.”

In a rare show of affection, she slid her arms around Claire’s neck and hugged her, then bounced past Ruth in the doorway on her way out of the room.

“Thanks for the ride home, Grandma,” she said.

“You’re welcome, my dear,” Ruth answered. “Claire, good grief, who left such a mess out by the garbage can? They look like shingles. Is that Andy Harris here working on something? He needs to do a better job of cleaning up after himself.”

Riley stepped forward into her line of vision and Ruth’s mouth pursed like she’d just chomped into a peach pit.

“I left the mess, Mrs. Tatum. Claire lost a few shingles in the rains of the last few weeks, so I was replacing them. Don’t worry, I’m planning to take care of the garbage before I go.”

Her mother’s sharp-eyed gaze slid from Riley to Claire and then back again. Claire gave an inward cringe at the questions and suspicions she saw gathering there like an August afternoon thunderstorm over the mountains.

She braced herself, wishing she had some way to warn Riley of the cloudburst about to let loose.

“Chief McKnight. This is a surprise.” Ruth smiled with absolutely no warmth. “Isn’t there a teenager somewhere you can chase down at dangerously high speeds?”

Riley’s only reaction was the twitch of a muscle in his jaw. If this was the attitude he faced around town, no wonder he carried unnecessary guilt about the accident.

“Mom,” Claire chided quietly.

Ruth offered up a falsely innocent look. “What did I say?”

“You know that was unfair,” she began, but Owen’s “Hey, Grandma!” stalled the words.

“Hello, dear. What have you been up to?”

“Me and Riley fixed the roof on the shed and guess what? I got to use a nail gun.”

Oh, dear. Here we go. Now Ruth would accuse her of allowing Riley to put her son into danger. “Weren’t you two going to take a look at your bike?” she asked, a little desperately.

Riley raised an eyebrow at her sudden uncharacteristic eagerness to accept his help, but he only nodded. “We certainly were. That was our next project. Let’s go check out what we’re dealing with, kid.”

“I found just the show on the computer, Mom,” Owen informed her. “I put it at the top of the queue.”

“Excellent. I’ll order the pizza in a minute.”

When the two of them headed outside, Owen pacing his stride to Riley’s longer-legged gait, Claire turned to her mother.

“Mom, that was unkind. Riley was only doing his job. You know that.”

Ruth began fussing around the room, straightening magazines on the coffee table and picking up the granola bar wrapper Owen had left there after school. “I’m sorry, Claire, but I can’t forget that because of the way he did his job, you and my only grandchildren were nearly killed. Look at you. You can’t even walk and you haven’t been able to work for over two weeks. It’s not right.”

“If you’re going to blame anyone, blame the teenagers who decided to go on a crime spree for no discernible reason. Blame Charlie Beaumont. He’s the one who chose to run.”

Ruth made a dismissive sort of motion. “Charlie is a thoughtless boy who ran because he was afraid.”

“Right. Afraid of being caught. They robbed my store and a half-dozen others in town, not to mention that vacation home in the canyon. None of that is Riley’s fault.”

“I’m not defending what they did. It breaks my heart, that’s what it does, and I don’t understand it for a minute. I don’t see how anyone can. Children from good homes, robbing people, vandalizing things. Something’s wrong, I’ll grant you that. Personally, I think it’s all those video games you parents let them play.”

Because she allowed Owen only a couple hours a week of only rated-E-for-everyone games, she wasn’t sure how her mother could justify lumping her into that particular category. Anyway, that wasn’t the point.

“Whatever the reason, it was the choices Charlie—and, yes, the others—made that caused this tragedy. Not anything Riley McKnight did.”

“He should never have chased them,” her mother insisted. “Not with those snowy conditions. And now a girl is dead and another might as well be, if she has to live the rest of her life like a…like a rutabaga.”

“Riley did nothing wrong.”

“Believe what you want. I’ll do the same.”

Would that waxed cord be strong enough to make a noose? she wondered, although it was a toss-up whether she wanted to use it for her mother or for herself. Five minutes of conversation with Ruth and she wanted to bang her head on her worktable a couple dozen times.

“What would you have him do? Just let the kids drive away? Then you and J. D. Nyman and everyone else in town would be saying he’s too soft.”

Her mother turned her attention to the entertainment center, stacking loose DVDs and picking up the hundred or so remotes it seemed to take to run everything these days.

“I don’t know. He could have discreetly followed them long enough to get a license number and then picked Charlie up later at home. But personally, I think he wanted the big, flashy arrest so he could show off in his first few weeks on the job.”

“That’s not fair. You don’t even know him. Not anymore.”

“I know all I need to know. That boy is trouble, just like Charlie Beaumont. He always has been. You know what he was like. A wilder boy I never knew. Running around getting girls pregnant.”

“One girl, Mom. One girl.”

“That we know about. The city council made a huge mistake bringing him back and I for one am glad they’re reconsidering.”

Claire caught a flicker of movement and glanced toward the hallway and her stomach dropped. They had been so busy in one of their typical arguments that neither of them had heard Riley come back inside. How much of her mother’s ridiculous vitriol had he heard?

“I disagree,” she said, locking her gaze with his. “I think Riley is exactly what Hope’s Crossing needs.”

“A womanizer who acts first and thinks later?” Ruth scoffed.

“A decorated, dedicated police officer who cares about this town and the people in it,” she answered with quiet firmness and saw something warm and intense spark in his eyes.

“He’s trouble,” Ruth repeated. “You’ll see. I love Mary Ella, you know that. She’s a good friend and I love her girls, too. But that boy has broken her heart more times than I can count. He’s trouble and he should never have come back.”

Riley apparently decided he’d lurked in the hallway long enough. He took a step forward. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Mrs. Tatum.”

If Ruth was discomfited at all, she hid it quickly. “I’m sorry you heard that, but I’m not sorry I said it.”

“You’re entitled to your opinion. Just like J. D. Nyman and anyone else who doesn’t think I’m the right fit for police chief of Hope’s Crossing. I’m the first one to accept I made mistakes that night. I have to live with them.”

“So does my daughter!” Ruth snapped. “So does Taryn and her family. And your family most of all. You don’t belong here. Not in Hope’s Crossing and not in my daughter’s house.”

Claire stared at her mother, appalled at her rudeness and her gall. “You have no right, Mother. Riley is always welcome here.”

He shrugged. “It’s okay. I was just coming in to let you know we fixed the bike. It only took a moment to straighten the forks and it seems to be as good as new. Owen’s taking it for a test-drive around the block.”

“It’s not okay. You don’t have to leave. In fact, I was just getting ready to order pizza and we’re going to watch a movie. We’d love you to stay.”

The invitation was more to spite her mother and all three of them knew it, but she wasn’t about to rescind it.

Ruth gave an offended sort of huff. “I’ll go, then, and leave you to your pizza since no one wants to hear my opinion.”

Claire was tired suddenly, exhausted from all the years of handling her mother’s moods and piques. She missed the fun, happy mother she now barely remembered, the one Ruth had been before the humiliation of her husband’s murder. She missed cuddles on the sofa under a blanket during a snowstorm and nature walks on Woodrose Mountain and the mom who used to have a funny story for everything. Ruth had gone from smart and capable to needy and helpless, with a side order of bitterness.

“Thank you for picking up Macy,” she said, trying to focus on the positive.

“You know I’m always glad to help. I’ll come by in the morning to pick her up before the soccer game.”

“Thank you for the offer but Holly and Jeff are planning on it. If I hear otherwise from them, I’ll let you know.”

Ruth nodded stiffly and headed out the door, her shoulders tight. She closed the front door carefully behind her and Claire winced worse than if she’d slammed it. She would have preferred a temper tantrum. Ruth’s quiet outrage was far more deadly.

She was going to have to figure out a way to make things right with her mother, but she had no idea how, short of throwing Riley on the pyre of her mother’s animosity, which she wasn’t willing to do.

“I’m sorry, Riley. My mother can be…”

“I know how your mother can be. Blunt but truthful.”

“She has her opinions. Which I don’t share, by the way.”

“Plenty others do. J.D. has a lot of friends who think he should be the police chief right now. The events of this past month haven’t exactly changed anyone’s mind.”

“I meant what I said. You’re doing a good job.”

“Thank you.” He gave her a careful look. “Look, I appreciate the invitation for pizza. It was a nice gesture of support but not necessary. I’ve dealt with worse criticism of my job performance. At least here, nobody’s shooting at me yet.”

“The invitation was sincere, whatever you might think. The kids enjoyed having you over for dinner the other night. They’ll love sharing their pizza.”

“What about you?” His green eyes turned dark, intense, and her insides jumped again.

“What about me?”

“Weren’t you just telling me all the reasons we weren’t good for each other? Do you want me here?”

Here, there or anywhere. But this wasn’t a Dr. Seuss book and Riley was definitely not green eggs.

“I wouldn’t have invited you if I didn’t,” she answered. “What I said earlier still stands, but just because we have this…thing between us doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”

“Right. Friends.” He studied her for a long moment, then gave a slight smile. “What could be more normal between friends than pizza and a movie?”

TROUBLE. THAT’S EXACTLY what he was.

Riley sat on the recliner in her warm, open family room with Claire on the sofa adjacent to him and the kids sprawled out on thick cushions on the floor. They were watching some superhero movie, but he couldn’t have recited the plot if he were the one about to get run over by a train.

The echo of Ruth Tatum’s words seemed to drown out everything else, ringing there with sonorous, unmistakable truth. He was definitely trouble.

The various women in his life could all take out an ad in the Sunday paper saying the same thing. Riley McKnight had been trouble since the day he was born.

He’s broken his mother’s heart more times than I can count, Ruth had said. He couldn’t argue the truth of that. His mother had cried plenty of tears over him, starting long before his biggest sin in the eyes of the Ruth Tatums of Hope’s Crossing, when his high school girlfriend had gotten pregnant his senior year.

If Lisa Redmond hadn’t lost the baby just a few weeks after she discovered she was pregnant, Riley knew his life would have turned out completely different. He couldn’t even comprehend it. He would have married Lisa at seventeen and taken some blue-collar job around town, maybe construction or maintenance at the ski resort. They probably would have been divorced young, if statistics held true. He would have a sixteen-year-old of his own now, something he could barely comprehend. Lisa had lost the baby, miscarried at nine weeks. Her parents had sent her away to live with an aunt in Idaho for her senior year of high school and Riley had been left here to endure the small-town whispers and finger-pointing, one of the many reasons he had been quick to make his escape while he could.

The whole experience had been painful and difficult, but he knew he had been so wild and angry back then that he probably would have screwed up the kid for life.

As he listened to the thuds and thumps from some fight scene on screen, Riley thought of his own anger in his teens, how he had channeled his sense of loss and betrayal into wild drinking, partying, unprotected sex with his girlfriend.

He had been stupid and thoughtless, had hurt his mother probably even worse than his father had. Ruth was absolutely right about that.

He hadn’t known what to do with all that anger after his father abandoned the family. As the lone male in a household of women, he’d needed a father in his life, damn it. He’d needed somebody to guide him, show him to rein in his impulses, how to respect others. Instead, his father had thrown everything away so he could follow his own dreams, could move to South America and study the archaeological ruins of long-dead civilizations instead of having to face the drudgery of his everyday life as a high school teacher and administrator.

Over the years, Riley knew he’d become an expert at casual relationships. So what was he doing here, then, with a couple of kids and a woman like Claire, who was the antithesis of everything he told himself he needed all these years? He belonged in this cozy picture of domestic bliss about as well as a beach cabana on top of the quad lift at the Silver Strike. She told him outright she didn’t want a fling and he had never been able to have anything else.

He sensed her watching him. When he turned his attention, she gave him a tentative smile. He gazed at her mouth for a long moment, remembering the particular softness of it, the angle and shape, then he jerked his gaze back to the screen.

She was so lovely, bright and vibrant like sunshine bursting through the clouds on a dank and cheerless day. He always seemed to forget that until he saw her again, when he would experience that “aah” of recognition.

A vague sense of unease settled between his shoulder blades. He shouldn’t be here. He didn’t belong.

“You don’t have to stay,” she murmured and he wondered what in his body language had given away his sudden trapped restlessness.

He should have seized on the exit route she’d offered and headed back down the street to his rental house. It seemed cowardly, however, just one more McKnight who walked away to suit his mood.

“We’re almost to the end. I can’t leave yet,” he answered in the same hushed tone.

She didn’t look convinced, something else unique about Claire. Most women were only too willing to believe whatever he told them. Not her. She seemed to filter every word, every phrase, through her own internal bullshit censor. He had a feeling he’d probably set off alarm bells more than a few times in his dealings with her.

This was it, he told himself. He would watch this movie and then work on extricating his life from hers. Claire Bradford had a couple of broken limbs, an idiot of an ex-husband and two active children. She didn’t need more trouble in her world.

When the closing credits started rolling up the screen, Claire switched on the lamp beside the sofa.

“Great show. Good choice, Owen. Now it’s time for bed. Macy’s soccer game is early in the morning.”

Neither of them answered and Riley realized he hadn’t seen movement from the floor for the second half of the movie, except for Chester’s occasional twitches as he snuggled up under Owen’s arm.

“They beat you to it, apparently. I think they’re both out for the count.”

Claire shifted her body on the sofa for a better angle. She smiled a little sadly. “They look like kittens nestled together. It’s too bad the only time they get along so well is when they’re both asleep.”

“They will. My sisters and I didn’t always get along when I was a kid.”

“No, really?”

He ignored her sarcasm. “Now I find most of them fairly tolerable.”

“Something to look forward, I suppose.”

“So what now? Do you want to leave them here for the night?”

“On the floor?” She sounded appalled at the very idea and he smiled.

“My nieces and nephews prefer the floor to a bed half the time.”

“That may be, but I think they’d probably sleep better and be more comfortable in their own beds. Macy. Owen. Wake up, kids.”

Macy stirred a little but not to full consciousness. Claire repeated her name and the girl blinked her eyes for a moment, then rubbed at them blearily.

“I think I fell asleep.”

Claire’s daughter was as lovely as her mother, with Claire’s blue eyes and warm brown hair. In a few years, she was going to be a stunner. Riley only hoped Jeff Bradford was the sort of dad who could put the fear of God in all the little punks who came sniffing around.

“Sorry.” Macy yawned. “How did the movie end?”

“The same way it did the last time we watched it,” Claire murmured. “And the time before that. And the time before that.”

Macy offered up a sleepy smile as she gathered her cotton throw around her shoulders. “Maybe that’s why I fell asleep. We need to pick a movie I haven’t seen three times.”

“It was Owen’s turn and this was the one he wanted to see.”

“Only he fell asleep in the middle. Wake up, dork.”

Owen grunted in his sleep but rolled over again.

“We’ve got it, Macy. You can go on up to bed.”

Her daughter unfolded from the floor with angular grace. “Night. Love you, Mom.” She walked to Claire’s sofa and wrapped her arms around her mother’s neck.

Claire looked pleased as she returned the hug. “Love you, too, sweetheart.”

Macy gave him a sleepy smile. “Night, Chief,” she said, then headed out of the room.

“Owen, wake up,” Claire said in a slightly louder tone.

Chester opened his eyes and gave them both a bored sort of look, but Owen didn’t move.

“Come on, kiddo. Time to head up to bed.”

The basset hound gave a jaw-cracking yawn and wriggled out from under the boy’s arm and waddled over to Claire. He nudged at her arm.

“Does he need to go out?” Riley asked.

“Probably. Do you mind?”

“Not at all.”

He walked to the back door, Chester on his heels. For the first time in more than a week, the night was gorgeous, clear and cloudless and glittering with stars that looked close enough to pluck with his fingers.

The dog seemed content to sniff around the fence line, checking for intruders, so after a moment of waiting for him, Riley returned to Claire and her son, who didn’t look as if he’d budged.

“No luck?”

She shook her head. “He’s renowned for sleeping through anything. Once he fell asleep on the caterpillar train at the county fair. He rode around three times before we could wake him up.”

“Want me to carry him to his bed? I’m assuming his room is upstairs.”

“It is, but let me try one more time.”

“Owen, bath time.”

The boy’s eyes blinked open blearily. “Do I have to?”

She laughed softly and something warm and dangerous twisted through Riley, tugging at him. “Not tonight. You can take a bath in the morning. Can you make it up to your room?”

“I guess.”

He yawned as big as the dog had done and climbed to his feet. “Why did you let me fall asleep in the middle of the movie?” he asked his mother in an accusatory sort of voice.

“I didn’t realize you were asleep until the movie was over. But we can watch it again tomorrow if you want.”

“Next time, wake me up,” he muttered grumpily.

“Easier said than done, kiddo.”

Owen still looked disgruntled, but he gave a halfhearted wave to Riley, then trudged up the stairs.

“I hate not tucking him in,” Claire said in the same sort of disgruntled tone. “That’s been one of the hardest things about this whole thing, but I just can’t tackle all those stairs.”

“Want me to do it?”

She looked surprised. “Do you mind? Macy usually takes care of it for me, but she’s probably already asleep.”

“I don’t mind. Why would I?”

“I usually just make sure he’s under his blankets and the night-light’s on, that sort of thing.”

“Claire, I might not have any kids, but I’m not completely helpless here. I think I can handle it.”

Color climbed her cheeks and in the low lamplight she looked warm and sweet and completely adorable. “I’m sorry. Of course you can.”

Grateful for the distraction, he headed out of the family room, stopping long enough at the back door off the kitchen to let the dog back inside before he headed up the stairs.

Owen was already in his bed, his eyes almost closed. Riley saw in the jumble of bedclothes that he wasn’t inside his top sheet, only under a quilt with cowboy hat and boot material Riley wondered if Claire had made.

His eyes widened when he saw Riley. “Hi.”

“Hey, kid. Your mom felt bad she can’t tuck you in, so I said I’d check on you. Looks like you need to get between the sheets there.”

Owen looked down. “Oh. Right.”

He quickly adjusted the situation, slithering out of one spot and into the other. “Hey, thanks a lot for fixing my bike,” he said when he was settled. “I’m super-glad we didn’t have to take it to the shop.”

“So am I. Have a good night, Owen.”

“Thanks.” He paused. “Will you leave my door open? My mom might need help in the night and I can’t hear her if it’s shut all the way.”

Riley stared at this kid with the earnest freckled face and his mother’s blue eyes, that peculiar tightness in his chest again. How many eight-year-old boys worried about their mother’s comfort in the night? He sure as hell hadn’t.

He cleared his throat. “You bet.”

“Hey, you want to play basketball sometime? I got a new hoop for Christmas, but it’s been too snowy or rainy to use much.”

“Can you do that with the cast on your arm?”

“Oh, sure. But my mom can’t and Macy would rather play soccer.”

“What about your dad?”

Owen shrugged. “He doesn’t like basketball much.”

Just another mark in the Idiot column for Jeff Bradford. “Sure. Maybe. I’ll have to check my schedule.”

Owen seemed to accept the noncommittal answer with equanimity. “Okay. See you later, Chief.”

“Bye, kid.”

He closed the door a bit and headed down the stairs, where he found Claire waiting for him in the living room, Chester at her feet.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

He should leave right now, just walk out the door without another word. This family was seeping under his skin, finding unguarded spaces to settle into. “Owen wants me to come play basketball with him sometime.”

She gave a rueful smile. “Sorry. I’m afraid he’s a little desperate for someone to play with him right now. He probably assumes because you’re male and, um, fairly athletic that you must play basketball.”

“I can try to swing by sometime. He’s a great kid.”

She was silent for a moment. “You’re really good with him and with Macy. Have you had a lot of experience working with kids as a police officer?”

More than he liked to think about, both as victims and perps. “A bit.”

“Well, you seem to know just the right things to say. I thought so the night of the Spring Fling. You’d make a really great father.”

He snorted loudly enough that Chester gave him a jowly faced scowl.

“Hooo. Wrong guy.”

“Why? Haven’t you ever thought about having kids of your own?”

The very idea made his palms itchy, clammy. “You forget. The McKnight men don’t have a great track record in the family department.”

She stared at him for a long moment, brow furrowed, then she frowned. “You are not your father, Riley.”

He shrugged. “Who’s to say I wouldn’t become like him? I’m sure when he and Mom took vows, my dad never intended to abandon his wife and six kids twenty years later to follow his own dreams.”

“It still hurts, doesn’t it?”

He opened his mouth to tell her his father had been gone nineteen years, dead for fifteen of those, and any pain had long since healed. The lie scoured his gut.

“Yeah,” he finally muttered. “Stupid, isn’t it?”

“I don’t think it’s stupid. Only sad. I miss my dad, too.”

He gazed at her, so lovely and pensive there in the low light, and he couldn’t help himself. He leaned forward and brushed his mouth over hers once, then again. She made a tiny gasping sound that sizzled through him. Oh, dangerous. Claire Bradford was a beautiful, hazardous bundle of trouble.

When he moved his mouth slightly to try pulling away in some vain attempt to regain a little sanity, she followed him, leaning forward and up as if she couldn’t bear to break the kiss. He closed his eyes, hating himself, but then he kissed her. Really kissed her. Tongue and teeth, heat and hunger.

The kiss went on and on. Just when he was about to climb onto the sofa with her, cover her body with his, reach beneath her clothing to the soft curves concealed there, a canine snort rasped through the room like someone had just fired up that chain saw again.

He froze and gazed at her, mouth swollen, eyes half-closed. She looked lush and gorgeous, so sensual that he had to move away from the sofa, out of arm’s reach, or he would have grabbed for her again.

“See that?” His voice was low, raw. “I can’t even be trusted to keep my hands off you even when we both know I’m not good for you. I take what I want, regardless of the consequences. Not so very different from my old man, am I?”

She stared at him, blinking back to reality. She gave a shuddering sort of breath, pressing fingers that trembled to her mouth, and he forced himself to look away, hating himself.

“Good night. Make sure you lock up behind me.”

He headed out her back door into the May night.