Dare to Love Again (The Heart of San Francisco Book #2): A Novel (20 page)

“Now, Rosie . . . ,” Caitlyn said softly, the affection in her tone more than evident.

Hadley strode into the room toting a tray of coffee, lemonade, and a plate of deviled eggs.

Rosie’s jaw slipped. “What in blue blazes are you doing with those eggs?” she groused.

Placing the tray next to the other, Hadley rose with a calm tug of his tailored black coat. “Why, your request for coffee, lemonade, and eggs, miss,” he responded with dignity.

Rosie winced and quickly kneaded her brow. “I
said
, ‘bring milk for Megs,’ ” she whispered loudly, “not ‘bring the eggs’!” Shaking her head, she snatched them from his tray.

“Very good, miss.” Hadley offered a polite bow and left, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

“He’ll be the death of me yet,” Rosie mumbled, pausing at the door to shoot Uncle Logan a scowl. “If
he
doesn’t do me in first.”

“I should be so lucky.” Logan chomped on his cookie.

Alli bumped Cassie’s shoulder with a grin. “Maybe that’s been Hadley’s plan all along,” she whispered. “Other than Uncle Logan, I’ve never seen anyone better at riling Rosie.”

Cassie chuckled. “A true talent some men seem to have,” she whispered back, “getting under one’s skin—like Jamie with me in the beginning.” She winked. “And Mr. Nick with you.”

Mr
. Nick.
A blush braised Alli’s cheeks at the mere reminder of the man who, indeed, had a true talent for “getting under her skin,” warming both her body and her temper. Her stomach instantly looped at the memory of that near kiss, confirming there was no way she could let a man like “Mr. Nick”
under
her skin. A shiver shimmied her spine as she took the lemonade Jamie offered, giving him a shaky smile. Because there was no question that once
under
 . . .

She gulped, the drink souring her tongue as much as the thought.

. . . it’d be
way
too easy to slip into her heart.

15

R
ed rover, red rover, send Miss Alli right over.”

Nick shot a glance over his shoulder as he straddled the ladder at the back of the Hand of Hope School, where the younger girls were playing red rover while the older girls chatted beneath a massive oak. Paintbrush in hand, he watched Allison rub her hands together with a dangerous gleam in her eye before she hiked her skirt to her ankles. With a deafening war cry that coaxed a smile to his lips, she charged the opposing team like a band of wild Indians, convincing him once and for all that under that beautiful exterior, a tomboy lurked in disguise. His lips quirked when she broke through the other team’s barrier, which, sadly enough, consisted only of Cassie and Lottie, whose groans were easily drowned out by the whoops and cheers from the other side.

Cheeks flushed, Alli promptly stole Lottie’s hand, taunting her cousin with a gloat. “Looks like I won and you lost, cousin dear, which means
you’ll
be providing candy for my girls
and
grading
my
papers for a solid week per the terms of our bet.”

“Uh, not necessarily,” Nick said, shocking both himself and the others when he laid the paintbrush aside and dismounted the ladder. Wiping his paint-stained hands on his old work trousers, he ambled over to where Cassie stood open-mouthed, a smile
beginning to curve on her face. He gave her a wink. “What d’ya say we get your team back, Miss McClare, and teach the cocky drama teacher how to play the role of a humble teammate?”

“Hey, no fair,” Kara yelled with a cross of arms. “You can’t just join after we won.”

“Why not?” Cassie said with a bold thrust of her chin. “As I recall, Miss Alli joined your team halfway through recess, so if
you
got to add a team member, why shouldn’t I?”

“Sounds fair to me,” Nick said with a slack of his hip. He glanced at his pocket watch. “Only six minutes of recess left, ladies, so I suggest we get a move on.”

Alli stared, mouth ajar while the barest hint of a smile tugged at her lips. “This is nothing but a bald-faced conspiracy, you two!” Shooting a smirk over her shoulder, she sashayed back to her team, taking her place. “But we’ll prove who the real winners are, won’t we, girls?”

“Yeah, we’ll show ’em,” Denise said while the other girls cheered her on.

Alli rubbed her hands on her skirt and grabbed Lottie and Denise’s hands. “Tighten up, girls, and don’t let ’em through, okay? Red rover, red rover, send Miss Cassie right over.”

Groans rose as Cassie broke through the weakest spot, promptly towing Lottie back over.

“Good job,” Nick said, clasping Lottie on one side and Cassie on the other.

Cassie leaned close to his ear. “We’re calling the cocky one over, right?”

His gaze narrowed on Alli. “Miss Smarty-Pie? Oh, you bet.” He firmed his hold on both sides, taunting Alli with a cheeky grin. “Red rover, red rover, send Miss Smarty-Pie right over.”

Giggles rose as the little girls squealed, hopping and dancing
in circles when Alli placed a hand to her chest, brows raised in mock indignation. “Me?”

“You’re the only smart mouth I see,” Nick said, sliding Cassie a grin before giving Lottie a wink. “How ’bout you two?”

“No question,” Cassie quipped while Lottie giggled. “Unless, of course,
Miss Alli
’s a chicken . . .”

“I’ll show you chicken,” she called, methodically rolling the sleeves of her pale-blue shirtwaist, eyes glinting with challenge. She shrugged her shoulders as if to loosen her muscles, then backed up several steps, seemingly oblivious to the whoops and hollers of her team. Knee bent and one foot forward, she braced fists to her sides with that same do-or-die gleam in her eye as when she focused on jiu-jitsu moves.

A grin eased across Nick’s lips at her banshee cry, and with a warrior press of her jaw, she hurtled forward, skirt hiked well above her ankles while she barreled down like a bullet from a Smith & Wesson.

Whether wanting to spare Lottie a jolt or just that cocksure she could take Cassie and him down, she hit hard between them, eliciting a grunt from Cassie’s lips. Holding fast, Nick grinned as Alli ricocheted like a rubber band, arms windmilling when she lost her balance with a squeal. Breath suspended, he scooped her up by the waist to keep her from landing in the grass, no oxygen whatsoever when her chest slammed against his. Momentarily paralyzed, he held her several heartbeats too long, completely derailed by eyes so green, they all but swallowed him whole. “Thank you,” she whispered, and his gaze followed the husky sound to parted lips that tightened his belly.

“Ahem . . .” Cassie’s interruption scorched both of their faces.

He quickly released her with a gruff clear of his throat, aware of the cacophony of groans across the yard for the very first
time. “You’re welcome,” he said with a casual smile that belied the thrum of his pulse. “It’s the least I can do for a teammate.” Glancing down, he spied a splotch of yellow paint on her skirt and groaned, suddenly noting a thick glob of paint on his own pants.

Her eyes followed his, and she sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh, no—this is my favorite skirt!”

Ding-ding-ding!
Miss Tuttle appeared on the porch ringing a bell nearly bigger than she, silver bun flopping as much as the bell. Alli’s team vaulted in the air with deafening shrieks, evidently no allegiance whatsoever as long as they received candy from a teacher.

“Oh, my.” Cassie chewed on her lip. “I’ll take the children in, Al, and you tend to your skirt.”

“B-but . . . how will I get it out?” she said, looking up at Nick like a little girl lost.

A fierce protectiveness rose until he reminded himself this was the woman who not only whacked him with a stick on first sight, but leveled him in jiu-jitsu three times a week. He cleared his throat. “Uh, look, I’m sorry about your skirt, but I can get it out, I promise.”

“Oh, good,” Cassie said with a sigh of relief. She gave her cousin a side hug, obviously avoiding the glob of paint on Alli’s skirt. “Now, you let Mr. Nick take care of that skirt, Al, and I’ll take care of your class, all right?” She winked. “I’m sure I’m leaving you in good hands.”

Heat ringing his collar, Nick strode over to his box of paint supplies and snatched the turpentine along with a questionable-looking rag and putty knife. “Sit on the bottom step,” he ordered, and she hiked a brow. A smile twitched on his lips. “Please.”

Brows in a crimp, she did as he asked, shifting the paint stain
so it rested flat on the plane of her thigh. She eyed the knife. “I won’t need my stick, will I?” she asked with a hint of jest.

“No, ma’am, you’re safe with me.”
I hope.
He squatted to carefully scrape the paint from her skirt, his body humming at touching her like this. Avoiding her gaze, he focused hard on the stain, wondering why this felt so much more intimate than when they trained in the gym.

A throaty chuckle feathered his cheek and he glanced up, pulse tripping at the tease that sparkled in those perilous green eyes. “Safe? Apparently not, Detective Barone.”

He grinned, and pink dusted her cheeks. “The dilemma appears to arise when I attempt to keep you safe from yourself, Miss McClare, not from me.” Ignoring the warmth traveling his body, he concentrated on blotting the paint with his rag.

“Well, we only have one more week of lessons,” she said in a chipper tone that made him feel hollow inside, “and then you’ll turn the responsibility of my safety over to me.”

“I need water,” he muttered, annoyed that her statement bothered him so much, especially when it was his idea to end after six weeks. He’d already taught her as much as she needed to know to ward off an attack, and he certainly didn’t want more time in close proximity with a woman who quickened his pulse. His lips tamped in a tight line.
Especially one related
to Logan McClare.
He jumped up to fetch another rag, dousing it in his water bucket and squeezing it out. “This’ll be cool and wet, but it’s part of the process, Miss McClare.”

“Alli,” she reminded softly, and the very sound feathered his skin with heat.

Jaw tight, he avoided her gaze as he patted the spot once again, refusing to be sucked in. Playing games with her in a schoolyard with a gaggle of children was one thing, as were jiu-jitsu sessions
in the gym after school while students and teachers still buzzed around. Suddenly, squatting this close, sponging her thigh with no one around felt too snug and too cozy to suit, a clear-cut warning he had no business reacting to this woman the way that he did.

“Do I have your word
you won’t make advances to my niece?”

His teeth began to grind at the memory of his response to McClare’s initial request.
“Carved in stone,”
he had said,
“or so help me, you can cut out
my tongue.”

That very tongue now cleaved to the roof of his mouth, drier than the paint crusted on the rim of his bucket. Sure, he’d meant it at the time, but every day in Allison McClare’s presence seemed to be taking a toll, weakening his defenses with a tilt of her smile, the scent of her hair . . . Yes, he’d always noticed a tension in his gut whenever she walked in the room, but now it had more to do with attraction than anger, and the very thought scared him silly. Throughout their sessions over the last month, they’d maintained a friendship of sorts, easy banter and cautious conversation, laced with humor and a comfortable respect that made him so uncomfortable, he almost missed the blasted stick.

Lips compressed, he focused hard on removing the spot—and his growing attraction to Miss McClare—grateful his tenure as teacher was almost at an end. Lost in his thoughts, he squinted hard while scrubbing her skirt, suddenly aware he was also massaging her leg. A harsh breath seized in his throat as his fingers froze on her thigh. Heat coiled in his belly, and his gaze snapped up to hers. “You do it,” he ordered, voice gruff as he shoved the rag in her hand. “Knead the paint with your fingers to remove it, and I’ll get the turpentine.”

You’re a blinkin’ idiot,
Barone
, he fumed, furious over an attraction that sizzled so much, it could have singed the hair on his arms. Allison McClare was off-limits, no matter how attracted
he was to her, and by thunder, he’d keep his word to Logan McClare or die trying. Which, given the blood pulsing his veins at the moment, might be a distinct possibility.
Only
one more week . . .
Snatching another rag, he doused it in turpentine, then wrung it out with more force than necessary, sucking in a polluted breath before huffing it out again. “Blot until the paint is gone, all right?”

She nodded, patting the stain with a wrinkle of her nose. “Goodness, this smells awful, but it does appear to be working . . .”

“It will,” he said with far more assurance than he felt when it came to the woman before him. “Tonight, mix one cup lukewarm water and 1 teaspoon lye soap, then sponge it on the stain and let sit overnight. Tomorrow, just rinse in cool water and wash.”

“Looks like it’s gone,” she whispered, handing him the rag while she awarded him a shy smile that heated his blood all over again. “Thanks, Nick, for going to so much trouble.”

“Least I can do,” he muttered, plucking the offensive cloth from her hand. He strode back to the ladder and tossed the rag onto a pile of others before scaling the rungs. His voice sounded hoarse as he reached for his brush. “Sorry for almost ruining your skirt.”

“But not for ruining my run in red rover, I suppose?” Her teasing tone made him smile.

“No, ma’am, anybody could see you needed to be taken down a peg or two.”

She glanced at the watch pinned to her blouse before those perfect lips bloomed into a smile that put another hitch in his pulse. “Well, we’ll just see who de-pegs whom in the gym tonight.” She gave a saucy tilt of her chin. “I’ve been practicing on Cassie’s fiancé, you know.”

“Have you, now?” He tempered his grin, reminding himself flirting with Allison McClare was
not
a good idea. Slapping the paintbrush back into the can, he cleared his throat while he stirred.
“Don’t forget—cold water for the rinse—the colder the better, got it?”