RaeAnne Thayne Hope's Crossings Series Volume One: Blackberry Summer\Woodrose Mountain\Sweet Laurel Falls (21 page)

Claire sighed. She knew that tone. He was going to be stubborn about it. A stubborn Riley McKnight was as immovable as Woodrose Mountain.

She could be stubborn, too, and she really hated being on the receiving end of help. But arguing was only going to prolong the inevitable. She needed her shed roof fixed, Riley wanted to do it and she had no real logical reason to refuse.

“I can come over right after school. We can fix the bike first and then take care of the roof. That work for you, kid?”

“Cool!” Owen looked as excited as if Riley were offering a trip to Disneyland. Even though Jeff was good to take him snowboarding and skiing, her ex-husband wasn't a handyman sort of guy and Owen enjoyed working with his hands. He'd been begging her for a year to let him build a tree house in one of the mature maples on their lot.

“Can I go play on the computer?” Owen asked.

“Yes,” she answered. “Set the timer for half an hour, then we need to do your reading.”

“You don't fight fair,” she muttered to Riley after he left.

“When have you ever known me to?”

She rolled her eyes. “Why are you so stubborn about this? I can handle my home repairs on my own. What I can't do myself, I can hire out. I've been coping by myself for two years. Longer, really, because I've always been the one to coordinate these kind of repairs.”

Jeff had always been too busy with school and his residency and starting his practice, so the pesky details of day-to-day survival had fallen to her.

“Then it's about time someone else stepped in to take a little of that load off your shoulders.”

“Why does that someone have to be you, Riley?” she asked, exasperated.

He didn't answer for a moment. When he did, his tone was solemn. “If not for me, you'd be up and around and handling your own life with your usual terrifying efficiency.”

She stared at him as all the pieces clicked into place. “Are you still hung up on that? I told you, you're not responsible for that accident.”

His jaw tightened but he said nothing.

“That's what this is about,” she said. “All of it. Why you think you have to help me with my shed roof, why you're fixing Owen's bike, why you picked up my branches the other day. You think you owe me something because of the accident. Because you feel responsible.”

He gave her a cool look. “Of course not,” he drawled, even though she could see her words had struck home. “Haven't you figured it out yet, Claire? I'm a guy. I just want to sleep with you.”

The air suddenly thickened with tension, currents seething in the air like the swirls and rivulets of melting snow running fast and high in Sweet Laurel Creek.

She had a wild image of them together, mouths and bodies tangled, heat and fire and glorious passion.

A shiver rippled down her spine, but she wasn't sure if it sprung from her poor, neglected libido reacting with grand enthusiasm to the idea or the rest of her plunging into full-fledged panic.

“Relax, Claire. That was a joke. I'm not going to jump you right here in your kitchen.”

“Of course you're not. I never thought you would.”

That incongruous dimple flashed. “One never knows.”

Her stomach trembled and for once she was grateful she couldn't stand without difficulty because of her stupid cast. She had a feeling if she tried, her knees would barely support her weight.

Much to her relief, she was spared from having to answer by the return of Owen, followed by a waddling Chester.

“Hey, Mom, something's wrong with the internet. I can't get on the game site.”

She drew in a breath and tried to shift gears. “I'll have to figure it out after Chief McKnight leaves.”

“Which I'm just about to do.” Riley grabbed his jacket off the hook by the back door.

“I didn't mean you had to leave now.”

“You've got to help with homework and fix computers and I've got about four hours of paperwork to do. Owen, I'll be by after school tomorrow with a load of replacement shingles. You still in?”

Her son looked suddenly sly. “Can I use a hammer?”

“I'm counting on it, ace. Claire, I'll see you tomorrow. Take care of yourself.”

Good advice, she thought as she watched him go. If she were sincere about following it, she would tell him firmly not to bother coming back. She didn't need the sort of heartache that was bound to follow Riley McKnight.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

T
HIS TIME WHEN
R
ILEY
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.