RaeAnne Thayne Hope's Crossings Series Volume One: Blackberry Summer\Woodrose Mountain\Sweet Laurel Falls (20 page)

“Thanks.” She smiled, adding pasta to another stockpot full of burbling water on the stove. “That's probably the bread sticks. They're just made with frozen dough, but they're really good and super-easy.”

When he decided his hands were sufficiently degermed, he picked up the cutting board and knife along with the remaining tomato as well as the cucumber next to it and carried them to the kitchen table to Claire. He still didn't think she needed to be fixing a salad, but he knew her well enough to know the small gesture would please her—and even though he knew damn well it was wrong and maybe even dangerous, he wanted to make her happy.

“Thanks,” she murmured with a soft light in her eyes.

“You're welcome.” He deliberately turned away toward Owen. “Okay, sport, let's take a look at the damages.”

The boy rolled up his pants leg, revealing a relatively minor scrape.

Riley cocked his head. “Not bad. I think you probably need only about five shots and oh, about ten, maybe twelve stitches.”

Owen giggled and Riley thought how peaceful it was to be in this warm, delicious-smelling kitchen while the rain pattered against the window.

“I do not.”

“Okay, maybe only seven or eight.” He caught Macy's eye and she grinned just like her brother.

“Just wash it off and put a bandage on it,” Owen said in an exasperated tone.

“All right, bossy. You must get that from your mom.”

“Hey!” Claire protested. “I'm not bossy. I just usually know what's best.”

He smiled at that and risked a look at her, then regretted it when he found her watching his mouth again.

“Hey, Mom, did you know Chief McKnight used to be a bike cop?”

She cleared her throat. “I did. Alex is my best friend, remember? And Riley—Chief McKnight—is her brother. She has always kept me up-to-date on what he was doing on the Coast.”

Had she wondered about him over the years? The idea of her talking about him while he was gone made his shoulder blades itchy.

“What did she tell you about me?”

“That you were a good cop and that you sometimes did things you couldn't talk about. Oh, and that you were shot and didn't tell anyone in your family about it but your partner called and spilled the beans so they all played along like they didn't know.”

“You got shot?” Owen asked, his eyes huge.

He frowned at Claire. “It was just a minor injury. I
was back to work in only a few days. They seriously knew? Why didn't anybody say anything to me?” he asked her.

“I guess they figured if you wanted to talk about it, you'd bring it up. Alex was all ready to head out to Oakland, but Angie talked her out of it.”

“Sisters can be a real pain in the…neck.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Owen said a tone of exaggerated misery, which made Macy glare at him.

“Hey, watch it,” she said.

“You think one sister is rough. Try having five, kid.”

“My worst nightmare!”

Riley laughed and stuck a large square bandage over the scrape, then rubbed the kid's hair. “That should do it,” he said. “Now you're ready to go take on a few more potholes. You might want to go change into clean clothes before you eat that delicious-smelling dinner your sister's working so hard to fix.”

“Thanks. It didn't even hurt.”

“Well, don't forget, you're still going to need those stitches.”

Owen grinned, then his eyes lit up. “Hey, you want to stay for dinner, if it's okay with my mom? We always have tons of leftovers when we have spaghetti.”

The knife Claire was holding stilled, then flashed with renewed vigor, he noticed with interest.

“Thanks for the invitation but I'd better not. I'm sure you've got homework and your mom and Macy weren't expecting company.”

“I did all my homework before I went over to the…”
He stumbled. “Before I went to Robbie's house. Mom, is it okay?”

Claire had a hint of color on her cheekbones and she didn't meet his gaze. “Of course. Riley's always welcome here. I'm sure he knows that. We owe him anyway for cleaning up after the windstorm the other day and for helping you home.”

He thought of the sandwich she had so carefully made him and of the sweetness of her kiss. She didn't owe him anything.

He should say no. Should leave this warm, cozy kitchen while he still could. “In that case, I'd love to,” he found himself saying. “I'm starving and those bread-sticks smell like the most delicious thing I've had in years.”

This will be good, he told himself. He could regain his footing with her. They needed to return to the easy friendship they had shared for years. No more flirting and certainly no more kissing.

No matter how hungry she left him.

CHAPTER TEN

S
HE HAD A CRUSH ON
R
ILEY
McKnight.

Claire would have been astonished if she could find any room around the mortification that swamped every thing else.

She was thirty-six years old, had two children and a failed marriage behind her, but she was still acting as if she were Macy's age, trying to get the cutest boy in school to notice she was alive.

This was humiliating on so many levels. Every time he smiled at her, color soaked her cheeks until she imagined she was redder than the spaghetti sauce—which she was also terrified she was going to spill all over while she tried to wrangle the spaghetti one-handed and listen to his stories at the same time.

“My first week out of the police academy, I crashed a brand-new bike into a parked car.”

“You did?” Owen asked, eyes shining with a severe case of hero worship, despite Riley's story showing himself in less-than-perfect light.

“Yep. We were chasing this kid who'd fled the scene of an attempted robbery on foot. My partner and I split up to try to cut him off and I had to book up a hill on a side street to get ahead of him. A car came up behind me and I could hear him coming right at me. We didn't
know the kid had an accomplice in a getaway car. I don't know if he was trying to hit me on purpose—and I didn't really care. I just swerved out of the way. My bike hit a parked car and I went sailing over it.”

“Was your bike okay?” Owen asked, while Claire was still cringing from that mental image.

“Completely trashed. I had to get a new one. The guys called me McFlight after that.”

“Were you hurt?” Macy asked.

“Not bad. I felt it for a few days but I didn't break any bones. Not like you guys.”

His gaze met Claire's and she flushed and focused on dabbing at her mouth with her napkin, hoping she hadn't trailed sauce there.

She did
not
have a crush. The very idea was ridiculous. She was only reacting as any woman would to the man who had rescued her and her children from a dire situation. Riley had risked his own health and welfare to stand out in that water for long moments to ensure they were safe. Any mother would be grateful to a man willing to wade into danger for her children, right?

Not to mention that he was an exceptionally gorgeous man, sexy even, with those green eyes and the tousle of dark hair. The part of her ego that felt frumpy and dried-up and
old
after the raw indignity of her divorce wanted to bask in his attention like Chester splayed out in the grass on a summer afternoon.

How foolish could she be?

The commonsense part of her was quietly whispering a warning. Riley was a womanizer. He collected women like Evie collected antique beads.

His mother and sisters delighted in telling about his heroic triumphs as a police officer. But Alex, at least, was just as quick to report with a combination of indulgence and frustration about how the man went through women like the store went through jump rings.

Yes, they had kissed. She couldn't find a better example of just how different they were. That kiss had left her shaky and stunned, while Riley had acted as if the whole thing had been just a casual brush of mouth against mouth.

“Did you catch the bad guy?” Macy was asking and Claire forced herself to focus on the conversation instead of a kiss that never should have happened.

Riley grinned. “Matter of fact, we did. He came running up, trying to make it to his getaway car. I was sprawled out on the sidewalk amid the broken pieces of my bike, the breath still knocked out of me. I was thinking he was going to get away, but right by my hand was my front tire, which had come off in the crash. I wasn't even aware of doing it really, but I chucked the bike tire at him like a Frisbee and down he went. Before he could climb back up and escape in the getaway car, my partner came up behind him just as our backup in a squad car came down the street to cut off their escape route.”

The kids giggled and Claire smiled, picturing a battered Riley chucking a bike tire at a suspect.

Her kids were crazy about him, she thought. All through dinner, they laughed at his jokes, they plagued him with questions, they vied to tell him their own stories. She might have thought he would find their simple experiences boring, but Riley acted as if a story
Owen told about breaking up a playground fracas was the most fascinating anecdote in the world.

Claire didn't know why she should find it surprising that her kids loved him. Riley had always been good at charming people. Why wouldn't he be? He'd grown up with five indulgent older sisters who probably offered plenty of opportunities for him to practice working the charm.

She had watched his technique in various incarnations dozens of times. She could vividly remember one day when Angie had spent an entire summer afternoon making macaroons, simply because he had mentioned with a passing sort of sigh that he'd woken up with a craving.

As the next oldest sister to him and probably the one most susceptible to sibling rivalry, Alex had been the most immune. She had accused him of manipulation—but even she could fall prey if she wasn't careful.

Riley could nearly always sway people to his point of view by wielding that charm that made everyone want to be around him, at least until he turned into the moody, unhappy teenager he'd become after his father left.

The children tried to prolong the dinner as long as possible, but eventually everyone was full and Chester had planted his haunches beside Claire's chair and waited, a clear indication he needed to go out.

“I got him, Mom,” Owen said, pushing his chair away from the table.

“Thanks,” she answered.

Owen opened the door for the dog, then returned to
the table to clear away his plate, which seemed to be the signal for everyone that dinner was finished.

“I guess we better clean this up,” Macy said. She stood and began to help Owen. When Claire started to rise, Riley froze her with a death glare.

“If you try to clear a single dish, I'll be forced to handcuff you to the chair. Don't think I won't,” he said, his voice stern.

Both Owen and Macy apparently thought that was hilarious. Claire wasn't nearly as amused as she was forced to sit idle and watch Riley and the kids joke around as they scraped dishes, packaged leftovers and loaded the dishwasher.

Riley was drying a pan with one of the pretty embroidered dishcloths when he took a careful look out the window above the sink. Was Chester digging up her flowers again, as he sometimes did when a particular capricious mood struck?

“Looks like you've lost some shingles from your shed, probably from all the wind and rain we've had.”

She frowned. “I hadn't noticed.” Usually when she was at an angle where she had a vantage point over the window above the kitchen sink, she was focusing on staying upright on the crutches and not on the shingles of her shed roof. “Have many blown off?”

“I can't tell for sure. It's too dark, but I can see a couple missing in the porch light.”

“Oh, dear.” Just one more thing she had to add to her fix-it list.

“It shouldn't take long to fix. I bet Owen and I could take care of it in an hour. Don't you think, dude?”

“Maybe even a
half
hour,” said her son, who never met a competition he didn't try to conquer.

Claire didn't know what to think. What game was Riley playing? She dearly wished she had some idea of the rules so that she didn't feel as if she were floundering completely in foreign seas.

Why did he seem to feel so compelled to help her every time she turned around? Why would he want to give up an hour of his life to fix the roof on her garden shed? Even as the cautious grown-up tried to figure it out, the silly junior high girl inside her squealed and did a happy little dance.

“I'm going to go work on my homework,” Macy announced, bored with talk of shingles.

“Let me know if you need help with anything.”

“It's algebra.”

“Okay.”

“You're worse at algebra than I am, Mom.”

True enough. “Between the two of us, we usually figure it out.”

Macy shrugged and headed from the room, Chester, whom Owen had let in a few minutes earlier, following behind. The reminder of her maternal responsibilities was exactly what she needed right then to give the mature grown-up the advantage and send the giddy girl to her room where she belonged.

“Thank you for the offer to fix the roof,” she said to Riley when Macy left. “But you really don't have to do that. I told you I have a handyman. Handy Andy Harris. Do you know him? His family moved here about five or six years ago.”

“Don't think I've met him yet.”

“He's a nice guy. His wife comes into the store quite a bit.”

“So you pay him to fix things, then she comes in and spends the money on beads?”

She managed a smile at his baffled expression. “More or less. That's how it works in a small town.”

“Well, while I don't want to take work away from Handy Andy—or beads away from his wife, for that matter—this is a simple job. Seriously. It wouldn't take long at all and I was planning on fixing the bike anyway. Two birds, right? Consider it my way to repay you for the spaghetti.”