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Texas On My Mind
Delores Fossen


The McCord Brothers are the most eligible bachelors in Spring Hill, Texas. But these cowboys are about to get wrangled by the love of some very unique women—the kind who can melt hearts and lay it all on the line.Air force Captain Riley McCord has come home on medical leave to find one heck of a welcome reception. Every unattached woman in Spring Hill, Texas, wants to nurse him back to health. That includes his childhood friend Claire Davidson—the only person who understands how damaged he really feels. In high school, she chose his best friend over him. According to Riley’s rules, that should make her off-limits forever. But when Claire suggests a no-strings fling, he can’t refuse.Claire always wanted Riley—but she also craved the safety and stability he couldn’t offer. So she chose another path, only to end up crazier about him than ever. She’s even convinced herself that this time she won’t be devastated when he leaves. Yet once Riley realizes the depth of Claire’s feelings—and his own—he'll have to make the ultimate choice: return to the job he loves or stay home for the woman who's always lived in his heart."Clear off a space on your keeper shelf, Fossen has arrived." —New York Times bestselling author Lori Wilde







The McCord Brothers are the most eligible bachelors in Spring Hill, Texas. But these cowboys are about to get wrangled by the love of some very unique women—the kind who can melt hearts and lay it all on the line.

Air force captain Riley McCord has come home on medical leave to find one heck of a welcome reception. Every unattached woman in Spring Hill, Texas, wants to nurse him back to health. That includes his childhood friend Claire Davidson—the only person who understands how damaged he really feels. In high school, she chose his best friend over him. According to Riley’s rules, that should make her off-limits forever. But when Claire suggests a no-strings fling, he can’t refuse.

Claire always wanted Riley—but she also craved the safety and stability he couldn’t offer. So she chose another path, only to end up crazier about him than ever. She’s even convinced herself that this time she won’t be devastated when he leaves. Yet once Riley realizes the depth of Claire’s feelings—and his own—he’ll have to make the ultimate choice: return to the job he loves or stay home for the woman who’s always lived in his heart.


Praise for Delores Fossen (#ulink_8ff6840e-be4e-50f3-a28d-a24e48d7a5fe)

“The perfect blend of sexy cowboys, humor and romance will rein you in from the first line.”

—New York Times bestselling author B.J. Daniels

“From the shocking opening paragraph on, Fossen’s tale just keeps getting better.”

—RT Book Reviews on Sawyer, 4½ stars, Top Pick

“Rustling Up Trouble is action packed, but it’s the relationship and emotional drama (and the sexy hero) that will reel readers in.”

—RT Book Reviews, 4½ stars

“While not lacking in action or intrigue, it’s the romance of two unlikely people that soars.”

—RT Book Reviews on Maverick Sheriff, 4 stars




Texas on My Mind

Texas on My Mind

What Happens on the Ranch (Bonus)

Delores Fossen





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


TABLE OF CONTENTS

Cover (#u86e240d3-4829-5489-a104-d4435e4068d5)

Back Cover Text (#u3f367b9e-3171-5ddc-96b9-ea3b150de5cf)

Praise (#ulink_79c605b7-2591-5db8-a700-9cfe1e690c06)

Title Page (#ub063e2a2-3e7f-5e61-b458-062f143291a9)

Dedication (#u68757a80-f08b-58aa-bf32-01c4cceaa5f9)

Texas on My Mind (#ulink_9d10375b-1901-5dc6-a561-eed21030d8b2)

CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_acb79253-4c65-5a5d-b4ba-597a62581bc9)

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_58916842-76cc-5637-b5f5-671cc91c55f8)

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_895b6df8-0921-56a4-82e3-4b29ba93c4cd)

CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_bec4413e-6fcc-54bb-bba2-8b9e128569f5)

CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_f52844d7-b3a6-59fd-83cd-66108f95dabe)

CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_111f96be-b2fd-562e-bce8-3493190e7645)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_b8ebbc54-61f3-5ddb-bb43-02e592b4939d)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

What Happens on the Ranch (Bonus) (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


To my wonderful editor, Allison Lyons


Texas on My Mind (#ulink_36a7c512-9009-5d1e-9209-4472c93a90cf)

Delores Fossen


CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_bff9f860-f434-592a-8ce0-abcfa61334cf)

THERE WERE TWO women in Captain Riley McCord’s bed. Women wearing cutoff shorts, skinny tops and flip-flops.

Riley blinked a couple of times to make sure they weren’t by-products of his pain meds and bone-deep exhaustion. Nope. They were real enough because he could hear them breathing.

See them breathing, too.

The lamp on the nightstand was on, the milky-yellow light spilling over them. Their tops holding in those C-cups were doing plenty of moving with each breath they took.

He caught a glimpse of a nipple.

If he’d still been a teenager, Riley might have considered having two women in his bed a dream come true. Especially in this room. He’d grown up in this house, had had plenty of fantasies in that very bed. But he was thirty-one now, and with his shoulder throbbing like an abscessed tooth, taking on two women didn’t fall into fantasy territory. More like suicide.

Besides, man-rule number two applied here: don’t do anything half-assed. Anything he attempted right now would be significantly less than half and would make an ass out of him.

Who the hell were they?

And why were they there in his house, in his bed?

The place was supposed to be empty since he’d called ahead and given the cook and housekeeper the week off. The sisters, Della and Stella, had pretty much run the house since Riley’s folks had been killed in a car wreck thirteen years ago. Clearing out the pair hadn’t been easy, but he’d used his captain’s I’m-giving-the-orders-here voice.

For once it had worked.

His kid sister was away at college. His older brother Lucky was God knew where. Lucky’s twin, Logan, was on a business trip and wouldn’t be back for at least another week. Even when Logan returned, he’d be spending far more time running the family’s cattle brokerage company than actually in the house. That lure of emptiness was the only reason Riley had decided to come here for some peace and quiet.

And so that nobody would see him wincing and grunting in pain.

Riley glanced around to try to figure out who the women were and why they were there. When he checked the family room, he saw a clue by the fireplace. A banner. Well, sort of. He flicked on the lights to get a better look. It was a ten-foot strip of white crepe paper.

Welcome Home, Riley, Our Hero, was written on it.

The black ink had bled, and the tape on one side had given way, and now it dangled and coiled like a soy-sauced ramen noodle.

There were bowls of chips, salsa and other food on the coffee table next to a picture of him in his uniform. Someone had tossed flag confetti all around the snacks, and some of the red, white and blue sparkles had landed on the floor and sofa. In the salsa, too.

Apparently, this was supposed to be the makings of a homecoming party for him.

Whoever had done this probably hadn’t counted on his flight from the base in Germany being delayed nine hours. Riley hadn’t counted on it, either. Now, it was three in the morning, and he darn sure didn’t want to celebrate.

Or have women in his bed.

And he hoped it didn’t lower his testosterone a couple of notches to have an unmanly thought like that.

Riley put his duffel bag on the floor. Not quietly, but the women didn’t stir even an eyelash. He considered just waking them, but heck, that would require talking to them, and the only thing he wanted right now was another hit of pain meds and a place to collapse.

He went to the bedroom next to his. A guest room. No covers or pillows, which would mean a hunt to find some. That sent him to Lucky’s room on the other side of the hall. Covers, yes, but there was another woman asleep facedown with her sleeve-tattooed arm dangling off the side. There was also a saddle on the foot of the bed. Thankfully, Riley’s mind was too clouded to even want to consider why it was there.

Getting desperate now and feeling a little like Goldilocks in search of a “just right” place to crash, he went to Logan’s suite, the only other bedroom downstairs. Definitely covers there. He didn’t waste the energy to turn on the light to have a closer look; since this was Logan’s space, it would no doubt be clean enough to pass a military inspection.

No saddles or women, thank God, and he wouldn’t have to climb the stairs that he wasn’t sure he could climb anyway.

Riley popped a couple of pain meds and dropped down on the bed, his eyes already closing before his head landed against something soft and crumbly. He considered investigating it. Briefly considered it. But when it didn’t bite, shoot or scald him, he passed on the notion of an investigation.

Whatever was soft and crumbly would just have to wait.

* * *

RILEY JACKKNIFED IN Logan’s bed, the pain knocking the breath right out of him. Without any kind of warning, the nightmare that he’d been having had morphed into a full-fledged flashback.

Sometimes he could catch the flashback just as it was bubbling to the surface, and he could stomp it back down with his mental steel-toed combat boots. Sometimes humming “Jingle Bells” helped.

Not this time, though.

The flashback had him by the throat before Riley could even get out a single note of that stupid song he hated. Why had his brain chosen that little Christmas ditty to blur out the images anyway?

The smell came first. Always the fucking smell. The dust and debris whipped up by the chopper. The Pave Hawk blades slicing through the dirt-colored smoke. But not drowning out the sounds.

He wasn’t sure how sounds like that could make it through the thump of the blades, the shouts, screams and the chaos. But they did. The sounds always did.

Someone was calling for help in a dialect Riley barely understood. But you didn’t need to know the words to hear the fear.

Or smell it.

The images came with a vengeance. Like a chopped-up snake crawling and coiling together to form a neat picture of hell. A handful of buildings on fire, others ripped apart from the explosion. Blood on the bleached-out sand. The screams for help. The kids.

Why the hell were there kids?

Riley had been trained to rescue military and civilians after the fight, after all hell had broken loose. Had been conditioned to deal with fires, blood, IEDs, gunfire, and being dropped into the middle of it so he could do his job and save lives.

But nobody had ever been able to tell him how to deal with the kids.

PTSD. Such a tidy little label. A dialect that civilians understood, or thought they did anyway. But it was just another label for shit. Shit that Riley didn’t want in his head.

He grabbed his pain meds from the pocket of his uniform and shoved one, then another into his parched mouth. Soon, very soon, he could start stomping the images back into that little shoe box he’d built in his head.

Soon.

He closed his eyes, the words finally coming that he needed to hear.

“Jingle bells, jingle bells...”

He really did need to come up with a more manly sounding song to kick some flashback ass.


CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_3bac8a22-b62e-5801-97a5-f3746f4c2a22)

“HI DA TOOKIE,” someone whispered.

Riley was sure he was still dreaming. At least, he was sure of it until someone poked him on the cheek.

Hell. What now?

“Hi da tookie,” the voice repeated. Again in a whisper.

Obviously this was some kind of code or foreign language, but Riley’s head was too foggy to process it. He groaned—and, yeah, it was a groan of pain—and forced his eyelids open so he could try to figure out what the heck was going on.

Eyeballs stared back at him.

Eyeballs that were really close. Like, just an inch from his.

That jolted him fully awake, and Riley automatically reached for his weapon. Which wasn’t there, of course. He wasn’t on assignment in hostile territory. He was in his own family’s home. And the eyes so close to his didn’t belong to the enemy.

They belonged to a kid.

A kid with brown eyes and dark brown hair. Maybe two or three years old, and he had a smear of something on his cheek.

“Hi da tookie,” the kid said again. He didn’t wait for Riley to respond, however. He jammed something beneath the pillow.

A cookie, aka tookie.

And it had an identical smell to the one Riley had just been dreaming about. Except it was no dream. Riley realized that when he lifted his head and the crumbs fell onto the collar of his uniform. Hell’s Texas bells. He’d slept on a chocolate-chip cookie. But why the devil was it there in Logan’s bed?

Like the women in his own bed and the gibberish-talking kid, an answer for that might have to wait a second or two because Riley had a more pressing question.

“Who are you?” he asked the kid.

“E-tan,” the boy readily answered.

That didn’t explain much, and Riley wasn’t sure how much a kid that age could explain anyway.

“Tookie,” the boy repeated. He took one of the crumbs from Riley’s collar and ate it.

All right, so maybe that did explain why he’d slept on a cookie-laced pillow. This kid was responsible. But who was responsible for the kid? He didn’t get a chance to find out because the little boy took off running out of the room.

Riley got up. More groaning. Some grimacing, too. The damage to his shoulder and knee weren’t permanent, but at the moment it sure as hell felt like it.

The docs at the base in Ramstein, Germany, had told him he needed at least three more weeks to recover from the surgery to repair the damage done by the shrapnel when it’d slashed into his right shoulder and chest. After that, he’d start some physical therapy for both the shoulder and his wrenched knee. And after that, there would be a medical board to decide if he could continue being the only thing he’d ever wanted to be.

An AF CRO. Short for Air Force Combat Rescue Officer.

It twisted his gut to think that it could all be taken away. That whole “life turning on a dime” sucked donkey dicks, and he could go from being part of an elite special ops force to someone he was darn sure he didn’t want to be.

That was a violation of man-rule number one: don’t be ordinary.

Frustrated with that thought, with the pain and with the whole world in general, Riley headed into the adjoining bathroom. When he came out, the kid was still nowhere in sight.

Brushing away some more cookie crumbs from his uniform, Riley went into the family room to look around. No sign of E-tan there. Someone had cleaned up the party remains, so Riley headed to his own bedroom. Good gravy. The two women were still there, still asleep. Riley was about to wake them, to tell them about the cookie-hiding toddler, but then he caught a whiff of something else.

Coffee. The miracle drug.

And he heard someone moving around in the kitchen. Since Della and her sister, Stella, had sworn on John Wayne’s soul and their mama’s Bible that they would follow Riley’s orders and stay far away from the place, there shouldn’t be any sounds or smells coming from anywhere in the house. Still, if this was a break-in, at least the burglar had made coffee. He might just give up everything of value to get a single cup.

Once Riley hobbled his way to the kitchen, he saw that E-tan had already crawled into a chair at the table. Like the rest of the house, the kitchen was sprawling, and even though they had two other dining rooms, Riley had eaten a lot of his meals in this room. In fact, he’d sat in that very chair where the kid was sitting now.

Riley immediately located the cookie source. There was a plate of about a dozen or so of them on the kitchen table. He spotted the source of the moving-around sounds, too.

Another woman.

A blonde this time. Her hair was cut short and choppy and fell against her neck.

This one was very much awake. She was at the stove, her back to him, and she was stirring something in a skillet. Her body swayed a little with each stir, and despite the F-5 tornado in his head, Riley noticed. Hard not to notice since she was wearing denim shorts that hugged a very nice ass.

An ass that was strangely familiar.

She turned slightly to the side when she reached for the saltshaker, and Riley got a look at her face. Familiar all right.

Claire.

A real blast from the past. Calling Claire Davidson a childhood friend was a little like saying the ocean had a bit of water in it. Once they’d been as thick as thieves, but he’d pretty much lost touch with her after he graduated from college.

Riley took a moment to savor the moment. There was always something about Claire that reminded him of home. Of the things he’d left behind. Not that she’d been his to leave, but it always felt a little like that whenever he thought of her. Now he didn’t have to conjure up a memory. She was right there in front of him.

Wearing those nice-fitting shorts.

Riley went to her, slipped his arm around her waist to give her a friendly hug.

And Claire screamed as if he’d just gutted her with a machete.

Along with slapping him upside the head with an egg-coated spatula.

She made some garbled sounds. Hit him again. This time on his already throbbing shoulder. She took aim at him once more, but her common sense must have kicked in, and she looked at his face.

“Riley, my God, you scared the life out of me!”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” He didn’t mean to sound grouchy, but hell in a handbasket, that spatula had hit the wrong spot.

Claire’s face flushed red. Then she smiled. And despite his eyes watering in pain, he had no trouble seeing it. That smile always lit up the room, and it gave him a sucker punch of attraction. But as Riley had done since about the time he’d first sprouted chest hair, he stepped back. For the past fifteen years or so, Claire had been hands-off.

Not that she’d ever actually been hands-on.

Evidently she didn’t have the same rules about the hands-off part. She put her arms around him, pulled him really, really close to her for a hug. He wasn’t able to bite back a grunt of pain so the hug was short and sweet.

“I’m so sorry.” Claire grabbed a tea towel, began to wipe the egg off his face. “I heard about your injury, of course.”

Judging from the noodle banner, so had everyone in town. “I’ll be fine. I just need a few weeks to recover.”

At best, that was wishful thinking. At worst, an out-and-out lie. It was a sad day when a man lied to himself, but right now Riley needed anything that would get him through this.

Lies and oxycodone.

She stared at him, made a sound as if she hadn’t fully bought his answer. Her smile faded. “Should I ask how much you’re hurting right now?”

This was easy. “No.”

Claire nodded, maybe even looked relieved. Good. Because if she was uncomfortable talking about it, then maybe it wouldn’t come up again.

“About an hour ago someone dropped off an Angus bull that Logan bought,” she said as if this were a normal conversation. It wasn’t, but he guessed this was her way of chit-chatting about anything but his injury. “It must have been worth a fortune the way they were treating it. The men wore white gloves when they touched it. Don’t worry. One of the guys took care of the paperwork and such.”

By guys, she probably meant one of Logan’s assistants from the office in town. Or maybe a ranch hand who tended the horses and cattle that came and went through the stables and grounds on the property. Other than a couple of riding horses for their personal use, none of the livestock stayed too long, just enough for Logan to make whatever amount of money he intended to make off the deal. As a broker, Logan usually dealt in bulk purchases.

Since Riley hadn’t been home in nearly six months, he wasn’t sure exactly who was on his brother’s payroll for McCord Cattle Brokers or for managing the livestock on the grounds. His payroll, too.

Technically.

But while the house would always be Riley’s home, it was Logan’s heart and soul in the family business. Logan had been as happy to stay put, and buy and sell cattle as Riley had been to head out for more exciting pastures.

He looked out the back bay window at the sprawl of green grass, streaked with white fences and dotted with a dozen barns, corrals, the hands’ quarters and outbuildings. Everything looked exactly the same as it always had down to the yellow Lab sleeping under one of the shade trees. Both a blessing and a curse as far as Riley was concerned.

“How’d you get from the San Antonio airport?” she asked.

“Taxi.”

That earned him a raised eyebrow because Claire likely filled in the blanks. Riley hadn’t called anyone to come and get him because he didn’t want to see anyone. And he hadn’t rented a car because he was in too much pain to drive. It’d been worth every penny of the hundred-dollar cab fare to get a driver who hadn’t asked him a single question.

“Logan called the house phone earlier to check and make sure you got in all right,” Claire went on after lowering that eyebrow. “He said he didn’t want to call your cell and risk waking you. Oh, and no one’s been able to get in touch with Lucky yet.”

That was all right. He didn’t want to deal with Lucky. Or Logan for that matter. They were his big brothers, and he loved them—most days anyway—but Riley wanted to go the less-is-better route with his recovery. Actually, he wanted the none-is-best route.

“Why are you here?” he asked Claire, and since it was probably all related, he added two other questions. “Why are there women in my bed?” No sense asking about the one in Lucky’s because that was often the case. “And who is he?”

Riley tipped his head to the kid, who was now out of the chair and eating the bits of scrambled egg that’d fallen off the spatula and onto the floor.

“Ethan, no. That’s yucky,” Claire scolded, sticking out her tongue and making a face.

She scooped up the little boy, wiping that smear off his cheek. It was chocolate. And in the same motion she eased him back into the chair. A chair with a makeshift booster seat of old phone books.

“Don’t wiggle around, or you’ll fall,” Claire told the kid. “I’ll get you some eggs when they’ve cooled a little. The women in your bed are Wilbert Starkley’s twin granddaughters,” she added to Riley without missing a beat. “The one in Lucky’s room is their sister.”

After she moved the skillet from the burner to the back of the stove, Claire got busy cleaning up the egg mess on the floor. Cleaning off Riley, too.

“Wilbert Starkley’s granddaughters?” Riley repeated. Wilbert owned the town’s grocery store and was someone Riley had known his whole life, which was pretty much the norm for Spring Hill. “No way are those his granddaughters. They’re just kids. The two in my bed are grown women.”

With boobs that jiggled when they breathed.

Claire smiled as if she knew exactly what he was thinking. “Not kids. They’re nineteen and home from college for the summer. Their sister is twenty-one and works for their dad. Wilbert dropped them off last night, and they fell asleep waiting for you to get in.”

He listened, still didn’t hear them stirring around. “Are they deaf? Or drugged? They slept through your bloodcurdling scream.”

“I guess they’re just deep sleepers. Anyway, when they heard you were coming home to recover and that Della and Stella were on vacation, they wanted to help.”

Claire lifted her eyebrow again on the vacation part of that explanation. With reason. Della and Stella didn’t normally take vacations and never at the same time. One of them was always around to take care of the place and the McCord clan.

“I wanted Della and Stella on vacation. I’m the one who told them to go. And how are those other women supposed to help?” Riley located the biggest cup he could find and filled it to the brim with coffee. Judging from the size of the headache he was going to have to cure, he’d need at least six more cups.

“They want to help by doing things for you so that you can get all the rest you need. That’s why I’m here. To fix you breakfast.”

It wasn’t as if Riley didn’t appreciate Claire’s efforts. He did. However, it didn’t help his confusion that was growing with every new bit of this conversation. “But why are you here? As in here in Spring Hill? Did you move back?”

Claire nodded. “I came back about six months ago when Gran got sick. I still have my apartment in San Antonio, though. I’m still working as a wedding photographer, too. But I’m staying on awhile longer here to clean out Gran’s house so I can get it ready to sell.”

Yeah, that. He had no trouble hearing the grief in her voice. “I was sorry to hear she passed away.”

Claire didn’t even try to dismiss his sympathy. Probably because she couldn’t. She’d been close to her grandmother, and it didn’t matter that the woman was old and had lived a full if not somewhat eccentric life. Claire obviously hadn’t been ready to let her go.

Still multitasking, Claire took out two plates from the cabinet, scooped some of the eggs onto both of them and set the plates on the table. Apparently one of them was for him because Claire motioned for Riley to sit. The other plate was for the kid.

“And who’s the kid?” Riley pressed.

“That’s Ethan, my son. He’s two years old.” She smiled, this time one that only a mother could manage. Ethan gave her a toothy grin right back.

Riley’s attention went straight to her left hand. No ring.

Claire followed his gaze. “I’m not married.”

“Oh.” And because Riley didn’t know what else to say, he went with another “oh.”

Man, he was way out of the gossip loop. His sister, Anna, had told him about Claire’s grandmother dying two months ago but not about Claire being a mom. Better yet, Anna hadn’t said a word about who had made Claire a mom.

Probably Daniel Larson.

Except Ethan didn’t look a thing like Daniel. Ethan had dark brown hair more like the color of Riley’s own. Daniel could have passed for a Swedish male model with his blond hair and pale blue eyes. Maybe that meant Claire had met someone else. Someone who looked like him.

But Riley rethought that.

Of course it was Daniel. The kid just got his looks from some past ancestor with that coloring. Because Claire was with Daniel. Daniel had captured her heart and just about every other part of her their sophomore year in high school, and Claire had chosen him.

Over Riley.

It hadn’t been a particularly hard decision for her, either. And Riley knew that because she’d left her binder behind in chemistry class, and he had seen her list of why she should pick one over the other. Fifteen years later, Riley could remember that list in perfect detail.

Beneath Daniel’s name, Claire had written, “Cute, reliable, good listener, likes cats, no plans to move off and join the military.” Beneath Riley’s name, she’d written only one word.

“Hot.”

Hot had stroked his ego for a minute or two, but he definitely hadn’t stacked up against the cute, cat-loving Daniel. And while Daniel and Riley had once been close friends, it’d been nearly four years since Riley had seen him. That was plenty enough time to make a two-year-old.

Now Claire was a mother.

He supposed that was the norm seeing she was thirty-one, the same age as he was. People did that. They made babies. Stayed in one place for more than a year. Didn’t get shot at as a general rule. They had lives that Riley had always made sure to avoid.

Claire dodged Riley’s stare, looking at the plate of cookies instead. Then she huffed, put her hands on her hips. “Ethan, you took another one of those cookies, didn’t you? Where’d you hide it this time?”

“Logan’s bed,” Riley answered when Ethan didn’t say anything.

But, man, Riley wished he hadn’t ratted him out. The kid looked at him with wide-eyed bewilderment and betrayal. Ethan’s bottom lip even quivered. Riley felt as if he had violated a major man-pact.

“So, that’s what’s in your hair.” Claire plucked some crumbs from Riley’s head. “I’m sorry. Ethan knows he’s not allowed to have sweets without asking. He took at least two cookies last night when we were over here before you got home. He ate one, hid the other and now he’s taken another one.” She pointed her index finger at him. “No computer games for you today, young man.”

The kid’s look of betrayal intensified significantly.

“Sorry, buddy,” Riley said.

Claire put some toast on the table, poured Riley a glass of OJ from the fridge, topped off his coffee. She clearly hadn’t forgotten the waitressing skills she’d learned from her afternoon job at the Fork and Spoon Café in high school.

“Eat up, Ethan,” she told her boy. “We’ve got to get going soon. The next shift should be here any minute.”

Riley looked at her midbite. “Shift?”

Claire nodded, started washing the skillet she’d used to cook the eggs. “Misty Reagan and Trisha Weller. They’re coming to help you get dressed and then will fix your lunch.”

Both women were familiar to him. Intimately familiar. He’d had sex with only two girls in high school.

And it was those two.

“Misty’s divorced, no kids,” Claire went on. “That brings the total to nine divorced couples in town now in case you’re keeping count.”

He wasn’t, but divorce was a rare occurrence in Spring Hill—less than 1 percent of the marriages had failed. It was the cool springwater, some said. Most folks just fell in love, got hitched and stayed that way. Riley thought it didn’t have as much to do with the water as it did with lack of options. Little pond. Not many fish.

“Trisha never married. Oh, except for that time she married you, of course.” Another smile tugged at Claire’s mouth. This one didn’t so much light up the room as yank his chain.

“Trisha and I were six years old,” Riley said in his defense. “And she had brownies.”

That perked up Ethan. “Boun-knees.” Obviously, the kid had a serious sweet tooth, something else he had in common with Riley.

“Well, I guess a home-baked dessert is a good reason for marriage,” Claire remarked.

It sure seemed that way at the time. “It was Trisha’s version of put a ring on it. No marriage, no brownies.”

“And you did put a ring on it.” Claire dried the skillet, put it away and dropped the spatula in the dishwasher after she rinsed it. “I seem to remember something gold with a red stone in it.”

“Fake, and it fell apart after a few hours. Just like our fake marriage.”

That eyebrow of hers went to work again. “I think she’d like to make that marriage the real deal.”

Riley frowned. “Trisha said that?”

“Not with words, but she’s a lawyer in Austin and cleared her schedule for the next two weeks just so she could be here. I’d say she really, really wants to be here with you.”

Well, hell. Riley liked Trisha enough, but he hadn’t wanted anyone hanging around, including a woman who was looking for more than a plastic ring from a vending machine.

“Call them,” Riley insisted. “Tell them not to come, that I don’t need or want any help. I really just need to get some rest—that’s all. That’s why I told Della and Stella to take the week off.”

The words had hardly left his mouth when Riley heard the sound of car engines. Ethan raced to the window in the living room with Riley and Claire trailing along right behind him. Sure enough two cars had pulled into the circular driveway that fronted the house.

Wearing a short blue skirt and snug top, Misty got out first from a bright yellow Mustang, and she snagged two shopping bags off the passenger’s seat. She’d been a cheerleader in high school and still had some zip to her steps. Was still a looker, too, with her dark brown hair that she’d pulled up in a ponytail.

She might be trouble.

After all, she’d lost her virginity to Riley when she was seventeen after they’d dated for about four months. That tended to create a bond for women. Maybe Misty would be looking to bond again.

Then there was Trisha.

Riley had lost his virginity to her. And there’d been that wedding in first grade, possibly creating another problem with that whole bonding thing.

When Trisha stepped out of a silver BMW, she immediately looked up, her gaze snagging his in the window. She smiled. No chain yanking or “light up the room” smile, either. All Riley saw were lips and teeth, two things Trisha had used quite well on the night of his de-virgining.

“Oh, look,” Claire said. “Trisha brought you a plate of brownies.”

Yeah, she had.

And other things were familiar about Trisha, too. Like those curves that had stirred every man’s zipper in town. Now all those curves were hugged up in a devil-red dress. She still looked hungry, as if she were ready to gobble up something. And judging from the smile she gave Riley, she wanted him to be the gobblee.

Another time, another place, Riley might have considered a good gobbling. Or at least some innocent flirting. But there was that part about people seeing him in pain. Plus, there was always the threat of a flashback. No way did he want anyone around to witness that little treat.

“Come on, Ethan,” Claire said, scooping him up. “It’s time for us to go.”

“So soon?” Riley wanted to ask her to stay, but that would just sound wussy. His testosterone had already dropped enough for one day.

“So soon,” Claire verified. She waggled her fingers in a goodbye wave and headed for the door. “Enjoy those brownies.”

She probably would have just waltzed out, but Claire stopped in her tracks when their gazes met. She didn’t ask what was going on in his head, and the chain-yanking expression was gone.

Hell.

He hadn’t wanted her to see what was behind his eyes. Hadn’t wanted anyone to see it. But Riley was as certain as he was of his boot size that Claire knew.

“Finish your breakfast,” Claire instructed. Her voice was a little unsteady now. “I’ll deal with them. I can’t guarantee they won’t come back, but you’ll have a few hours at least. Is that enough time?”

Riley lied with a nod.

He used actual words for his next lie. “You don’t have to worry about me, Claire. Soon I’ll be as good as new.”


CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_17d84a74-3f11-5c74-8d6d-b81f4971fb6b)

“PAY DOUGH!” ETHAN squealed when Claire held up the picture of the painting.

Claire checked to make sure she was showing him the right one. Yes, it was van Gogh’s Starry Night, but there was no Play-Doh on it.

“That’s really close, sweetie, and the artist’s name does sort of rhyme with Play-Doh,” Claire encouraged.

“Pay dough!” he repeated, speeding up the words a little.

She tried not to look disappointed. The directions on the “Making Your Toddler a Little Genius” packet had said to make this activity fun. Or rather FUN!!!! Claire only hoped that the creators of this product had raised at least one semigenius child and that they hadn’t just tossed some crap activities together to milk her out of her $89.95, plus shipping.

“Try again,” she prompted, waving the picture at Ethan to get his already wandering attention. “You got this right yesterday.” And, according to the rules, she wasn’t supposed to move on to the next picture until he’d gotten this one right three days in a row. They’d been working on it for two weeks now with no end in sight.

Ethan studied the picture and grinned. “Money!”

Claire was certain she didn’t contain her disappointment that time. “No. Not Monet.” That’d been last month’s lesson.

She snagged one of his toy vehicles. A van. And she held it up with the painting while trying to make a running/going motion with her index and middle fingers. Her nails nearly tore a hole in one of the star blobs. Evidently, $89.95 wasn’t enough to buy higher-quality paper, and her example was obviously too abstract.

“Ri-wee!” Ethan squealed with more excitement than money or Play-Doh.

Frowning, Claire put aside the picture and the van. “No, not Riley.” Or rather Ri-wee. “Why don’t we work on this later? You can go ahead and play.”

You would have thought she’d just announced he could have an entire toy store and unlimited chocolate-chip cookies for life. Ethan scooted across the floor and went back to his cars. The auto crashes started immediately.

“Ri-wee!” he repeated like some kind of tribal shout with each new collision.

Even though he didn’t have the pronunciation down pat, Claire knew her son was only repeating what he’d heard her mumble for the past two days—Riley. For some reason, Riley’s name kept popping into her head and then continued to randomly pop out of her mouth.

And there was no good reason for it.

A few bad reasons, though.

Riley was an attractive man. Still hot. No denying that. He was also very much hands-off since he wouldn’t be around for long, as usual. Maybe her brain would figure that out soon enough and stop sending these ridiculous impulses to the rest of her body.

Claire stayed on the floor next to Ethan but grabbed her laptop from the sofa. Since she had struck out in creating a baby genius, she might as well get some work done, and she downloaded the last photo she needed to edit. When she finished, it would almost be bittersweet because it was also the last of her work in the queue.

More photo shoots would follow. They always did. But it was best if she didn’t have any free time on her hands right now.

Of course, she could fill that free time, easily, by sorting through more of her gran’s things. However, that was more bitter than sweet, and it was also the main reason she kept procrastinating. And overeating. She’d put on six pounds since the sorting had started. Soon, she’d either have to pay for therapy or Weight Watchers.

Her phone buzzed, and Claire saw Livvy Larimer’s name on the screen. Her best friend and co-owner of their business, Dearly Beloved.

“Well?” Livvy started.

No greeting. Which meant she expected Claire to dish up something exciting. And the dishing up that Livvy wanted was about Riley. Best just to give her a summary and hope it didn’t lead to too many other questions.

“Riley finally made it home day before yesterday after his flight was delayed. I fixed him breakfast, and I came back to Gran’s to get some work done on the Herrington-Anderson engagement photos.” An engagement that Livvy knew all about because she was the wedding planner for the event.

“That’s it?” Livvy asked.

Here come the questions. But Claire made Livvy work for the answers. “What else were you expecting?”

“Fudging details. Specifically, fudging you did with Riley.”

Fudging was the compromise they’d worked out instead of using the F word, one of Livvy’s many favorites. They also used sugar for shit and bubble gum for blow job, something that came up surprisingly often in her conversations with Livvy.

They were still working on one for asshole.

Ethan’s little ears picked up on anything Claire didn’t want him to hear while selectively shutting out van Gogh, and since Livvy cursed like a meth dealer in an R-rated movie, they’d resorted to acceptable substitutions.

“No fudging,” Claire explained. She was finally able to keep a straight face when she said it. “I only fixed Riley breakfast and ran interference from some unwanted visitors.”

Livvy made a yeah-right sound. “And you’ve fawned over him for the past decade.”

“Fawned over? What the heck does that even mean? Is that a new compromise word?”

“Yes, it means you dream of fudging and bubblegumming Riley.”

Claire huffed. “Does any woman actually dream of bubblegumming a man? I don’t. It’s more of something that just sort of evolves during foreplay.”

“Foreplay,” Ethan said with perfect clarity. Great, they needed a compromise word for that now.

“Sugar yeah, you dreamed of fudging him,” Livvy went on. “You pointed out his pictures in your high school yearbook. You’ve talked about him. And then there’s Ethan—”

“Riley and I were friends in high school. Friends,” Claire emphasized.

“You can fawn over friends. And fudge them, too. I’ve seen pictures of Riley, and he’d make a great fudge.”

“Riley has never fudged me.” Claire paused. “He’s hurt, Livvy.”

That reminder flicked away the annoyance she was feeling about Livvy’s interrogation. But Claire replaced the flicked-away emotion with one she’d been trying to keep out of her head.

Worry.

“Is it bad?” Livvy asked.

“Maybe.” Probably, Claire silently amended.

“God, I just can’t imagine doing what he does. Ever googled Combat Rescue Officer and looked at some of those pictures?”

Once. It had been enough.

Livvy made a shuddering sound. “And to think, he’s been doing that job for a long time.”

Nine years. Since he graduated from college and joined the Air Force. Riley had been on six deployments, and even though Claire didn’t know the exact locations, she was betting there’d been plenty of other times when he could have been wounded or killed.

Ethan grumbled something, clearly not pleased about his car-bashing game. Claire glanced over to make sure all was well. It wasn’t. One of the cars had broken. Again. Thank heavens it wasn’t one of his favorites so his reaction was mild. The Terrible Twos wasn’t just a cliché when it came to her baby boy. He often aimed high to live up to that particular label.

She needed to find a toddler genius kit to help her with that.

“You think Riley’s got PTSD or something?” Livvy went on.

This was even less comfortable than the fudge question. “If he does, I’m sure there’s help for that at the base in San Antonio. From what he told his sister, he’ll be starting physical therapy there soon.”

The military would patch him up, both physically and mentally if needed, and Riley would go right back out there on deployment again. To someplace dangerous. Because that’s what he did. What he’d always wanted since middle school.

“You haven’t asked me about the hot date,” Livvy said a moment later.

“Date-date, or are we talking fruit now?” And Claire was serious. Livvy had a thing for trying new foods and men. Lots of men. She had been married three times and was always on the lookout for ex number four. Thankfully, she didn’t live in Spring Hill or she would have single-handedly skewed their divorce stats.

“Date-date. You know, the guy I met from the dating site. I told you, didn’t I?”

“I don’t think so.” She’d been living vicariously—sexually anyway—through Livvy since having Ethan. “How’d it go?”

“Sugar hot,” Livvy declared. “His name is Alejandro just like the Lady Gaga song. He’s an albino drummer in a heavy metal band.” She giggled like a schoolgirl. “I predict lots of fudging in my future.”

Since Livvy seemed excited about his name/career/pigment/fudging combo, Claire was happy for her. Or rather cautiously optimistic. “Is he nice?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t go out with a grouchy asshole again. Sorry, we’ll work on that word. Anyway, other than his pinkeye, he’s perfect.”

“Uh, I don’t know a lot about albinos, but I think pink eyes are normal for them.”

“Not pink eyes,” Livvy quickly corrected. “Pinkeye. He’s using drops for it, though, so it should clear up soon. You really should use this dating site, Claire. It’s the best one yet.”

She’d rather have pinkeye. “I’m on hiatus from dating. Until I get Ethan potty trained.” Of course, there was no correlation. None. But thankfully it was an argument that always worked with Livvy.

“So, making any progress getting the house ready to sell?” Livvy asked.

Claire wanted to say a hallelujah for the change of topic. “Some. Gran wasn’t a hoarder exactly, but she didn’t throw away much. I’ll keep at it until a new job comes in.”

“Already got two. Wedding announcement photos. I’ll email you the dates and details.”

There were clearly more procrastination possibilities on the horizon. It was probably depression over Gran’s death, but Claire felt stuck in Neutral.

“Oh, and Daniel called the office, looking for you,” Livvy added. “Said his fudging phone died after a software update, and he lost all his sugar, including your phone number.”

The timing was odd. What with Riley’s arrival back in Spring Hill. Like her, Daniel no longer lived there, but that didn’t mean a gossip or two hadn’t called him in San Antonio with news of Riley’s homecoming.

Rather than come out and ask that, Claire took the roundabout route. “Did Daniel want anything specific?”

“Well, I’m guessing he wanted you. I gave him your number, so I figure you’ll get a call from him soon.”

“Good.” And Claire would be happy to hear from Daniel. Almost. “Gotta go,” she said when Ethan yawned and stomped on one of the cars. “I’ll send you these engagement pictures as soon as I’m done.”

The moment she ended the call, Claire hit the save button on her files and picked up Ethan. He started to fuss right away. In part because he knew nap time was coming. Also in part because he needed a nap.

She changed his diaper. Not an easy feat now that the grumpy boy had emerged. Still, she loved grumpy boy just as much as the other boys that materialized throughout the day. Ethan had her heart. And the little sugar knew it.

“No getting up,” she warned him when she put him in his crib.

He was quickly outgrowing it. Outgrowing naps, too. And it wouldn’t be long before he really would be ready for potty training.

Her baby was growing up so fast.

Not that she would miss the whole diapering thing and having him test his aiming skills by trying to pee in her eye. She’d convinced herself that it was a labor of love. But it was also time when she had Ethan close and he wasn’t running away from her.

Plus, she’d lose that excuse she kept giving to Livvy about not dating.

Since Ethan might or might not obey that no-getting-up part and since he might try to climb out of the crib again, Claire knew she’d need to spend at least fifteen minutes with him while he fell asleep. No use wasting that time, so she went into the hall to bring one of the cardboard boxes into the makeshift nursery with her. She had plenty of boxes to choose from. At least thirty that she’d already dragged down from the attic or found in the back of her gran’s closet.

There’d been spiders involved.

Something that made her shiver just thinking about it.

The various cousins had already gone through the house and taken items of furniture and such that they’d wanted. Which wasn’t nearly enough to clear out the place. Every room, every corner was still crammed with bits and pieces that reminded Claire of the woman who’d raised her. The woman she’d loved.

Damn it.

The tears came. They always did whenever she thought of Gran.

God, she missed her.

Opening the box wouldn’t help, either, but going through whatever was inside was the next step to getting the house ready to go on the market. Claire wasn’t exactly strapped for cash. Yet. But her savings had dwindled considerably what with all the time she’d taken off to be with Ethan.

She didn’t regret that time off, not for a second, but she didn’t have the comfortable financial pad that she needed. Since Gran had left her the house free and clear, anything Claire got from the sale would be hers to keep.

She put the box on the floor, glanced over at Ethan. Still not asleep, but his eyelids were getting droopy.

The tape holding the box was so old that it gave way with a gentle tug, and Claire opened the flap. Checked for spiders.

Nothing scurried out at her.

So she began the sorting. She’d set aside another area at the end of the hall to deal with the contents of each box. One pile for stuff to keep. Another for items to be donated. A final one for trash.

She’d yet to put anything in the trash pile.

Not a good sign.

Of course, it was probably wishful thinking on her part that a charity group would want copies of old magazines and newspapers, panties with shot elastic and mismatched socks. This box was pretty much the same. Magazines from the 1980s. More newspapers. A Gerber baby food jar filled with buttons. Another had sequins. There were some Mardi Gras beads, though Claire couldn’t recall Gran ever mentioning a trip to New Orleans.

And then Claire saw the old photo of Riley’s parents—Betsy and Sherman.

More bittersweetness.

Claire had been in the car with them the night they’d died. Still had both the physical and emotional scars from it. It’d been pouring rain, and they’d given her a ride from the high school basketball game where the Spring Hill Mavericks had won by eleven points. Daniel was away visiting his sick aunt and had missed the game. Riley had stayed behind to be with Misty. Anna was home studying. Logan was on a date. And Lucky was at a rodeo.

She remembered all those little details. Every last one of them. The knock-knock joke that Mr. McCord had told just before the crash. Mrs. McCord’s laughter at the lame punch line. The Alan Jackson song playing on the radio. The way her band uniform was scratching against her skin. But Claire couldn’t remember the accident itself.

Sometimes she would recall a blur of motion from the red car that’d plowed into them. But Claire was thankful that it stayed just a blur.

She put the picture aside—definitely a keeper—and moved on to the next items in the box. Desk calendars. At least a dozen of them stacked together. They were freebies that an insurance company had sent Gran, but there was a handwritten note on the first one she looked at. January 5.

Enroll Claire in school.

She checked the year, not that she didn’t already know. Claire had been five years old. And two days earlier her mother had left her at Gran’s house. Dumped her, really, not even taking the time to say goodbye. If her mother had known it would be a real goodbye, that in a year she’d be dead, maybe she would have said a proper farewell.

At least that’s what Claire liked to tell herself.

The ache came. The one that crushed her heart and had her eyes burning with tears that she refused to cry. Never had, never would shed a tear over her worthless excuse for a mother. Claire pushed it all aside. Not her bridge, not her water. Not anymore. And she wouldn’t repeat the mistakes her mother had made. She’d be the best mom ever to her son.

She flipped through the calendar and saw another note. “Bennie” with a heart drawn around it and the time 7:00 p.m. No doubt a date. Claire had vague memories of the man. He’d worked for Riley’s family and had been seeing Gran around the time Claire moved in.

Claire did the math. Her grandmother had been in her late forties then, a youngish widow, and had no trouble attracting men. Apparently, she didn’t have trouble unattracting them, either, because six weeks later, Bennie’s name had a huge X through it, their date obviously off.

Beneath the X, Gran had scrawled, “Pigs do fly if you kick them hard enough in the ass.”

Ouch.

Claire moved on to the next calendar. There were more notes about doctor’s appointments, parent-teacher meetings and more dates with men who’d initially gotten their names enclosed with hearts. Then, had been X’ed out.

She hadn’t remembered her grandmother having an appointment book, and the woman didn’t use a computer, so this must have been her way of keeping track. A good thing, too, since there were a lot of date-dates to keep track of. Claire read each one, savoring the little tidbits Gran had left behind.

Get cash to pay McCord boys.

That was an entry for the September when Claire had been ten. There were two more for the same month. Events Claire remembered because she’d been close to the same age as the McCord boys and had begged to help Riley and Logan move the woodpile and do some other yard chores. However, Gran had insisted it wasn’t work for a girl and that she would pay Riley and Logan despite their having volunteered.

More entries. All of them brought back smiles and childhood memories. Until she landed on October 14 of that same year.

Give Claire the letter.

Claire frowned. What letter? It’d been a long time, twenty-one years, but she was pretty sure she would have remembered Gran giving her a letter. And who was it from?

Hoping she would find it, Claire had a closer look in the box. Not the careful, piece-by-piece way she’d been taking out the other things. She dumped the contents on the floor and riffled through them.

Nothing.

But there was a book. Judging from the battered blue hardback cover, it was old. She opened it, flipped through it, hoping the letter was tucked inside. But no letter. However, it wasn’t just an ordinary book.

It was a journal.

Her mother’s journal.

Her mother had scrolled her own name complete with hearts and flowers on the inside cover. Then Claire’s attention landed on two other words centered in the first page. Her mother had drawn a rectangle around it.

Fucking kid.

Claire slammed it shut and couldn’t toss it fast enough back into the box. She definitely hadn’t wanted to see that. She wanted to erase it from her head.

She didn’t want to cry.

Where the heck was that letter? It’d get her mind off those two words that were now burning like fire in her gut. She stood to get another box but didn’t make it but a few steps when her phone buzzed.

Riley.

And this time, the name didn’t just pop into her head. It actually popped onto her phone screen. She checked on Ethan. Asleep, finally, so she eased the nursery door shut and went into the living room to take the call.

She also took a minute to steady her nerves. No way did she want Riley to hear she was shaken up by two words written by a woman who’d abandoned her.

“Claire?” Riley greeted her.

Just the sound of his voice calmed her. It excited her in a different way, too, but for now, she’d take it. Claire needed something that wasn’t dark and heart crushing.

She scowled when she felt the little flutter in her stomach at the mere sound of his voice. “Eat any good brownies lately?” she asked.

“Very funny. You might have run off Misty and Trisha, but you still left me here with three women barely old enough to be classified as women. And Trisha and Misty didn’t stay away. They returned and didn’t leave until the swing shift arrived.” He cursed, and he didn’t use any of the compromise words. “At least I haven’t been involved with any of them.”

Not that batch. These were women from the historical society. Nobody under sixty in the bunch. Of course, it was possible one or two of them had the hots for Riley. He seemed to bring that out in women of all ages.

“They won’t be coming back,” Riley continued. “Neither will the twins, their sister or the midmorning shift.”

“Really? Trisha will be so disappointed.” But for reasons Claire didn’t want to explore, she actually felt good about disappointing Trisha. Probably because Trisha had used her 36-Ds to seduce Riley in high school.

Seriously, who had boobs that big in the tenth grade?

“Not sure disappointed is the right word for it,” Riley went on, “but she seemed upset that I didn’t want her here. Like I said, it’s nothing personal. I just need some peace and quiet.”

“But not peace and quiet right now? Or are you calling to tell me I’m off breakfast duty tomorrow?”

He huffed. “The peace and quiet doesn’t apply to you right now. And, yeah, you’re off breakfast duty.”

Good grief. That stung. What she should feel was relief. Being around Riley wasn’t good for her. He was a forbidden-fruit kind of thing, and she didn’t need any more choices of fruit, fudge or bubblegum in her life.

“All right. If you’re sure,” she said. “If you change your mind, though, just give me a call.” Claire was about to say goodbye, but she thought of that note. “By any chance, when we were about ten years old, did Gran ever say anything to you about giving me a letter?”

“Letter?” Claire couldn’t be sure, but she thought maybe he hesitated. “What kind of letter?”

“Don’t know. It was something she’d marked on her calendar, and I thought maybe you remembered it since you did some yard work for her around that same time.”

Of course, it sounded stupid now that she’d said it aloud. At ten years old, Riley would have been less interested in some letter than in finishing the duties that Logan had no doubt volunteered him to do.

“Sorry, I can’t help you.” Riley paused. Mumbled something she didn’t catch. Paused again. “But maybe you can help me. Is it my imagination or do some of those women who came over think I’m Ethan’s father?”

Claire was so glad he wasn’t there to see her expression. She was certain she’d gone a little pale. “Uh, do they?”

“Yeah. I heard some whispers about Ethan having my smile. As if anyone’s seen my smile since I got back. Has anyone come out and asked you if I’m his father?”

Several dozen times. “Once or twice,” she settled for saying. “I denied it, but I don’t think they believed me.”

“Even when you told them we’ve never had sex?”

“Well, I didn’t really tell them that. I sort of hoped they would infer it when I said you’re not his father.”

“They’re not inferring it right. They think the kid’s mine because he looks like me.”

“Does he?” No way in hell on a good day would Claire confirm or deny that, and she could practically hear the next question that was about to come out of Riley’s mouth.

Since I know I’m not Ethan’s father, who is?

Claire decided to put an end to it before it started. “Get some rest, Riley. I’ll call you soon.” And before Riley could utter another word, or ask another question, she hung up.


CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_cc5f9071-b71e-5a82-9746-37e9663a3633)

RILEY WAS SURE someone was watching him. Since this was downtown Spring Hill and not hostile territory, he wasn’t overly alarmed, but he could sense that someone had him under surveillance.

He glanced around Main Street at the line of shops and buildings, including the Fork and Spoon Café, the bank and the pharmacy where Riley had just picked up a refill of his oxycodone. The biggest building, however, was the two-story Victorian inn that Logan had converted into headquarters for the family business. Logan had added a new sign in the past six months. McCord Cattle Brokers was emblazed on a copper-and-brass background.

Classy.

But then Riley hadn’t expected anything less from Logan. His brother was a ball-busting Renaissance man in a four-hundred-dollar cowboy hat.

Since it was close to dinnertime, Riley hadn’t expected to see so many people milling around Main Street. None was especially looking at him, though he did get a friendly wave from Bert Starkley who was in the doorway of the café he owned.

He got a not-so-friendly look, however, from Misty. The woman was coming out of the bank, but when Misty laid eyes on him, she whirled around and went back in. Clearly he’d ruffled some feathers by refusing her help, but he preferred that to some of the TLC that was being offered.

Hell, Trisha had wanted to run his bath for him, and he didn’t think it was his imagination that she would have joined him in the sudsy oasis if he’d been agreeable. She’d also eyed that saddle on Lucky’s bed. Riley wasn’t in any shape for suds, saddles or Trisha.

“Want a cold glass of sweet tea?” Bert called out to Riley. “It’s on the house for our local military hero.”

“Thanks. If the offer’s still good tomorrow, I’ll take you up on it then,” Riley answered.

Maybe.

Riley made sure to smile. Hoped it didn’t look as forced and creepy as it felt, but it was something he was working on.

He still wasn’t in a socializing kind of mood, but he had needed a flat surface to walk so he could get in some exercise. Only every other step hurt now. Well, all of them hurt, but only one out of two made him see gigantic stars. Riley figured that was a good sign. What wasn’t a good sign was that he still needed lots of pain meds to get through every minute of every hour.

And then there were the flashbacks.

Since the bad one two nights ago, he’d kept them from trying to claw their way to the surface. “Jingle Bells” and a good mental boot stomping had worked. Temporarily. But he needed another weapon in his arsenal. Sex, maybe. Lately, he’d been thinking a lot about sex.

And Claire.

Too bad he’d been thinking about them at the same time.

When he got the niggling feeling again that he was being followed, Riley glanced quickly behind him and spotted the twins. Not exactly being stealth-like because he heard them giggling before they darted into their grandfather’s store. He hoped they’d stay there. He didn’t want to see any glimmer of a nipple.

“Just admiring the view,” one of them called out. And giggled again.

The view being his butt. Now, normally he would have been flattered by something like that, but if Wilbert found out that his backside was the object of his young granddaughters’ attention, then Riley would have one more riled citizen on his hands. He’d get that sweet tea all right—dumped on his head.

Riley picked up the pace in case the twins came in pursuit, and he ducked down the side street just as his phone rang. It was his sister, Anna, the one person he did want to have a talk with, and that’s why he’d already left her two messages. If she hadn’t been all the way over in Florida where she was attending college near her military fiancé, Riley would have gone after her for a face-to-face chat.

“Don’t you know I have certain skills that make it dangerous to piss me off?” Riley said when he answered.

“And how did I piss you off?” Anna didn’t pause, didn’t miss a beat, which meant she’d no doubt been expecting his surly protest.

“When I got home, I found two women in my bed.”

“Okay. And I guess you want to thank me for that?” she teased.

“No. They’re young women. Too young. And you sent a team of women to my house to babysit me.”

“I heard about you giving Della and Stella time off. I knew Logan would be busy because he’s, well, Logan, and Lucky is, well, Lucky. I couldn’t be there with you, so I made a few calls to let people know you’d be at the house. Alone. While recovering from an injury that could have killed you.”

Oh, man. Anna’s voice trembled on that last handful of words, and Riley felt the tremble tug right at his gut. “I’m okay.”

“Yes, because you got lucky. Don’t bullshit me. That shrapnel was just an inch from your heart.”

“Shrapnel I got because I was trying to rescue a kid from a very bad situation.” And that’s all he could and would say about it.

Jingle bells... Jingle bells...

Anna didn’t argue. Wouldn’t. But she wouldn’t just accept this, either, because she was his kid sister, and it was in her job description to worry about him and nag him. “Look, I’m not asking you to give up what you do. You love it. You’re good at it. And it’s you. I’m just asking for you to accept their help so you can recover.”

“I did accept help. Some. Those women stocked the fridge, brought over even more food. And Claire fixed me breakfast.” Which reminded him of something else he wanted to ask. “Claire’s got a kid. Why didn’t you tell me about that?”

“Because I thought it was something you’d eventually want to tell me. Ethan’s your son, right?”

Riley found himself cursing again. “Jesus H. No, he’s not. Why does everyone think that?”

Anna made a sound of mock contemplation. “Hmm. Maybe because it’s true?”

“It’s not. I’ve never had sex with Claire. She’s Daniel’s girl.”

“Yes,” Anna stretched that out a few syllables. “In high school, she was. I just figured you two had hooked up since then.”

“I can’t move in on a best friend’s girl even when the girl becomes an ex. That’s man-rule number three—never take anything that’s not yours.”

“Even when the relationship happened in high school?” No teasing tone this time. Just lots and lots of skepticism.

“Even then. It’s a forever and ever amen thing.”

“Sheez. Who makes up these stupid rules?” she asked.

“Men. Real men. Including me. Besides, Daniel might not be her ex. I’m thinking they’re back together and that he’s the kid’s father.”

“Did you ask Claire about that?”

Well, he hadn’t gotten a chance because she’d hung up on him. “It’s none of my business.”

More of those hmm-ing sounds. “But you’re curious or you wouldn’t have just asked me to gossip about it.”

“Man-rule again. It’s not gossip if the dirt comes from a sibling. Especially a sibling who owes her brother because said sibling unleashed a horde of horny females on him.”

“I’m not speculating about Claire, her sexual partners or her exes. But I’m scratching my head over that so-called rule and code. Men are idiots,” she concluded.

Perhaps in a woman’s mind, but it still made sense to Riley. Rules kept him grounded and marked his territory. Marked others’ territories, too. “You’re engaged to a man. One who no doubt has some codes and rules since he wears a uniform just like me. How’s Heath by the way?”

Even though he couldn’t see her face, he figured that got her to smile. “He’s enjoying me.”

Riley winced. “I don’t want to know that. You’re my kid sister, and as far as I’m concerned, you’re an eternal virgin.”

“Thank God you’re wrong about that. Heath’s enjoying me a lot. Oh, and his new instructor job. Surprised?”

Yeah, about the new job. But then maybe not. Since Heath Moore and Anna had gotten engaged, Heath had settled down some. That restless streak in him wasn’t so restless, and last Riley had spoken to Heath, he was talking about the possibility of them having a wedding as soon as Anna finished law school.

Riley wasn’t sure how a Combat Rescue Officer went from heart-stopping, life-on-the-line missions to being a fiancé with a desk job, but it had worked for Heath. Riley was thankful for it, too, since the happiness of both his sister, and future nieces and nephews was at stake.

“Tell Heath hello for me,” Riley said, ending the call, and he was still in the process of putting his phone away when he practically ran into the woman who was coming out of the side entrance of the What’s Old Is New antiques shop.

Trisha.

No brownies with her today. Nor was that a gobbling smile. Trisha gave him a cool glance instead. Still riled, apparently.

“Going to Claire’s?” she asked, also cool-ish.

“Huh?” Riley looked up, to see exactly where he was, and, yep, he was only about a half block from Claire’s place.

It wasn’t intentional. It was just the way the town was laid out. All roads here didn’t lead to Rome but rather to Claire’s grandmother’s old house.

“I’ve heard rumors,” Trisha said before he could say anything else. “I heard Claire isn’t really going to sell her grandmother’s house, that she’s too attached to it.”

All right. So not a rumor about his alleged fatherhood. And Riley had heard that same rumor about the house, as well, from the swing shift crew before he’d dismissed them.

“Understandable, I suppose,” Trisha went on, examining her nails. Then his crotch. “Claire loved her grandmother and was happy living there with her. I mean, after her mother dumped her and all.”

Yes, and all was a good way to sum up the emotional shit Claire had likely gone through. Not that she’d ever shared that with him. Claire wasn’t the shit-sharing type.

“I’m not sure how Daniel will feel about Claire staying here, though,” Trisha added. “He’d probably rather see her back at her place in San Antonio since it’s so close to where he lives.”

It seemed like a good time for Riley to answer with “Oh.” It was a noncommittal answer, didn’t really encourage gossip, but hearing anything about Daniel did pique his interest.

Trisha fluttered her perfectly manicured fingers toward the small shop across the street. Over the years, it’d been a bakery, a florist and a bookstore. All had come and gone, but there was no sign on the front now.

“That’s Daniel’s office,” she supplied. “He only uses it a couple of times a month when he’s showing property in the area, but he’s been using it a lot more since Claire returned.”

“So, they’re back together.” Riley hadn’t actually planned on saying that aloud, but he sort of had to say something when Trisha stopped talking.

“I’m not sure what’s going on between them. What does Claire say about it?”

“Not much.” Not to him anyway.

“What about you? Are you seeing anyone?” she asked. Another glance at his crotch.

Normally he wouldn’t have minded glances like that, but Riley nodded since those glances and her question seemed like the start of an invitation he didn’t want to get and wasn’t in any shape to accept.

“Yes, I’m seeing someone. Her name is Jodi.” It was an on-again, off-again relationship.

Mostly off.

Heck, who was he kidding?

It wasn’t on with Jodi even when they were together. She was a friend he had sex with. A no-strings-attached kind of friend, which suited them both just fine. Not that he was totally opposed to strings and rings, but in his experience most women didn’t want to get into a long relationship with a man whose job description included deployments into direct combat.

“Jodi’s a photographer,” Riley added just because he felt he should be adding something.

“A photographer, like Claire?” Trisha made a weird little sound that made this seem like a big coincidence.

Or no coincidence at all.

Nope, they weren’t going there. Plenty of people knew he’d been hung up on Claire, but that didn’t mean he chose facsimiles of her to take to bed.

“Jodi does combat photos for a couple of big magazines and newspapers.” The opposite of Claire, who shot wedding and engagement pictures. In fact, the only thing Jodi and Claire had in common was the general overall label of photographer. And the blond hair.

Yeah, the green eyes, too. But other than that, they were nothing alike.

Trisha blinked. “Oh.”

That had a liar-liar-pants-on-fire ring to it. One that Riley didn’t like much. Of course, there wasn’t much about this conversation he did like. “I thought you’d be back in Austin by now,” he threw out there.

“Not yet. I decided to take some time off to catch up with friends and make sure you’re doing as well as you claim. Besides, I can do most of my work from here anyway.” She moved an inch closer. “Riley, you know if you ever need my help or whatever, all you have to do is ask?”

He did know. He also knew what that whatever entailed, too. “Thanks, but I’m fine.”

Liar-liar-pants-on-fire came in the form of a frown this time. “The offer stands.” The frown was still on her mouth when she checked her phone. “I should be going. Enjoy your visit with Claire.”

Since Trisha didn’t move and since she appeared to be waiting for him to head in Claire’s direction, that’s what Riley did after they exchanged cheek kisses, goodbyes and one final crotch glance.

Great day. Next time he needed to walk in the pastures. Or buy a treadmill. A ten-minute conversation with Trisha, and he’d spilled more than he should. He’d asked about Claire, and he was betting it wouldn’t take that long to hit the gossip mill. Riley was convinced that telepathy was involved, considering the staggering speed with which news got around Spring Hill.

And that was the reason he wasn’t going to stop by Claire’s.

If anyone saw him, and they would, it’d get back to Daniel, who’d think Riley was horning in on his woman and son.

Riley picked up the pace, intending to limp his way past Claire’s house, but when he was still within fifty feet, he heard a sound that had him slowing down so he could see what was going on.

Someone was crying.

The kid.

And not just ordinary crying—he was wailing as if he’d been hurt or something. That got Riley moving faster, and he hurried through the gate and into the front yard. Ethan was sitting on the porch of the old Craftsman-style house, and Claire had stooped down in front of him and was trying to console him.

“Is he hurt?” Riley shouted. He stomped down the flashback. Not now. “Jingle Bells” had to get the mojo working and fast.

Claire snapped toward him, clearly not expecting the sound of his voice or his presence in her yard. She didn’t scream this time, but Riley could tell he’d given her another jolt.

Well, she’d given him a bit of one, too. Sadly, just the sight of her could do that to him. Maybe she was the cure for flashbacks.

“No. Ethan’s not hurt,” Claire answered. “He broke his favorite car, that’s all.”

Sheez Louise, that was a lot of loud crying for a car, especially since there were about fifty others on the porch. But Riley soon saw why this particular one had caused tears. It was a vintage red Corvette. Even as a toy, it had plenty of sentimental value, and Ethan seemed to get that even though he was just a kid.

With a part sigh, part huff coming from her mouth, Claire stooped even lower so she could give Ethan a kiss on the cheek. No shorts for her today. Instead, she was wearing a denim skirt and a top. Barefoot. And with the way she was stooping, he could see her pink panties.

Trisha wasn’t the only one whose gaze wandered in the wrong direction.

Riley reacted all right. He felt that stirring behind his zipper. Felt his testosterone soar past normal levels.

He glanced around, mainly because he needed to get his attention off her underwear, and he pretended to look at the house. It was in serious need of a paint job, and the white picket fence needed repairs, but the place had always had good bones. However, something was missing.

“No cats?” Riley asked. There’d been at least a half dozen around when her grandmother was alive.

“Gran gave them away when she got sick.”

Too bad because Claire had always loved them, and apparently it’d been one of the tipping points for her choosing Daniel.

“Ix it, peas,” Ethan said, holding out the car to Riley.

It took Riley a moment to work out the translation: fix it, please. The car was in three pieces, and Riley took them with all the reverence that a vintage car like that deserved.

“You don’t need to trouble yourself,” Claire insisted. “Just sit down and relax. You look exhausted.”

Judging from the cardboard box and its contents scattered on the porch, she had been going through her grandmother’s things, and she pushed some of the items aside to make room for Riley.

“I can get Ethan another car like that the next time I go to the store,” she added.

But the fat tears rolling down Ethan’s cheeks let Riley know the kid didn’t want a new one. Riley eased down onto the porch next to him and tried to remember how he’d repaired his own toy cars after he’d given them a good bashing. After all, what else was a kid to do with toy cars other than create a perpetual stream of wrecks, increasing the gore of those wrecks with each new play session?

“Got any superglue?” Riley asked her.

Claire nodded, moved as if to go inside, but then stopped. “Really, you don’t have to do this.”

Riley couldn’t be positive, but he thought maybe this had something to do with his walking-wounded status. Something that automatically put his teeth on edge. “Just get the glue.”

Hard for his teeth to stay on edge though when she ran inside, leaving him alone with the kid. Ethan looked up at him. “Ix it?”

“I’ll sure try.” Riley glanced around at the other cars, but he soon spotted what had likely caused the damage. Several big-assed action figures. He wasn’t certain who or what they were supposed to be, but they looked like a mix of the Grim Reaper, Cyclops and Mick Jagger. With big-assed lips and wings.

“Here you go,” Claire said when she came racing back out.

Riley took the glue and tipped his head to the action figures. “Your idea?” Because they darn sure didn’t seem like something Claire would buy.

“No. Livvy, my business partner, is responsible. She took Ethan to the toy store for his second birthday and told him he could pick out anything he wanted. He wanted those. They’re supposed to be some kind of protectors of the universe.”

Riley nodded. “Good choice.”

Ethan grinned. The man-pact was back on, and the kid seemed to have forgiven him or at least forgotten about the hidden cookie caper.

“Why are you out here anyway?” Claire asked.

“Walking is part of my physical therapy.” Riley squirted the first dollop of glue to get the rear axle back in place. “I just saw Trisha by the antiques shop. She said Daniel’s got an office here in town.”

Riley wasn’t going to win any awards for being subtle, but he figured it wouldn’t take more than a minute or two for the car repairs, and then he wouldn’t have any reason to stay. Any good reason anyway.

“Yes, he does,” Claire answered.

Clearly not chatty today. Riley went in a slightly different direction. “I guess Daniel did that so he could see you. And Ethan.”

She didn’t huff, but that’s exactly what she looked as if she wanted to do. “You know how you don’t want to talk about your injury or the pain? Well, I don’t want to talk about Daniel. Deal?”

Since she was as testy as he was, it was best to let it drop. Besides, it really wasn’t his business, only idle curiosity as to why the kid looked more like Riley than any real kid of his probably would.

Best to move on to a different conversation thread. “How’s the box sorting going?”

The sigh that left her mouth was one of frustration. So, testy, nontalkative and frustrated. Oh, yeah, this was a good visit, but at least the car repairs were going well.

“I’m still looking for the letter Gran mentioned on the calendar. I have no idea what was in it or even if it was from her.”

Riley glanced at the stack of letters that’d been tied together with white ribbon. “It’s not one of those?”

Another sigh. Man, he was picking at scabs today. “No. Those are from various men,” Claire said, her forehead bunching up. “Gran was obviously, um, popular. It’s strange to learn she had so many things going on in her life that I never knew about.”

Apparently that was a pattern Claire was continuing to follow when it came to her son’s paternity. Riley frowned. He really needed to get his mind on something else. Heck, the memory of her pink panties flash was better than this.

“I brought down more boxes from the attic, and I’ve got at least twenty others to go through,” she went on. “Maybe I’ll find the letter in one of them.”

“Maybe she decided not to give it to you,” Riley suggested. “Or she could have lost it.”

He’d dropped in that last idea only because the first one sounded kind of sinister, as if the letter might be so god-awful that her grandmother had decided Claire shouldn’t see it after all.

“I think it might have been from my mother.” Claire didn’t look at him. She suddenly got very interested in picking at the nonexistent lint on her skirt. “Or my father.”

From her mother, yes, he could understand that. The woman had ditched Claire and then had died a while later. Not in a clean, it’s-your-time kind of way, either. She’d gotten drunk, thrown up and had choked to death on her own vomit. But Claire’s father was a different matter.

“Do you even know who your father is?” Riley asked.

She shook her head. Didn’t add anything else. Apparently, any talk involving fatherhood was off the table. In this case, that wasn’t a bad thing.

From what Riley had heard, her father had never been in her life and had left her mother before Claire was even born. That made the man lower than pig shit, and as a kid Riley had often thought about what it would be like to punch the idiot for doing that.

His own parents had disappeared from his life when he was a teenager, but that’s because they’d been killed by a drunk driver—an accident that Claire knew about all too well since she’d been in the vehicle.

And was the sole survivor.

Being in the backseat had saved her from dying in the head-on collision. The drunk driver had died on impact. His parents, shortly thereafter.

It had hardly been his parents’ choice to leave. And despite the fact he’d been planning to go out of state for college, Riley hadn’t left, either. He’d stayed at home with Logan to help raise his then fourteen-year-old sister and Lucky. Though Lucky had been Logan’s age, only younger by a few minutes, he had still required some raising.

Along with occasional bail money.

Heck, Lucky still required occasional bail money.

Riley had wanted nothing more than to get out of town fast and find his destiny, but instead he’d gone to college in nearby San Antonio to be closer to Anna until she turned eighteen and headed off to her own college choice. Logan had taken it a step further and even dropped out of the University of Texas to be home. It was just something family would do for family.

Unlike Claire’s scummy parents.

Riley added the last bit of glue to put the car’s hood back in place and blew on it so it would dry. It didn’t take long, and he examined his repair job before he handed it to Ethan. However, Ethan reached for it first and missed, and his hard little hand bashed right into Riley’s shoulder.

Riley bit back the thousand really bad curse words that bubbled up in this throat. The pain exploded in his head, and it was a good thing he was sitting, or it would have brought him to his knees.

“Sor-wee,” Ethan blurted out.

Riley wanted to lie and say it was okay. No sense making the kid feel bad for an accident, but he was having trouble gathering enough breath to speak. However, he did manage to utter a “shit.”

“Sugar,” Claire corrected. She scrambled toward him, and before Riley could stop her, she started unbuttoning his shirt. “Here, let me take a look.”

“Are you qualified to do that?” he grumbled.

“Sure. I’ve been looking all my life.”

Riley appreciated the smartass-ness, but he knew it wouldn’t last. And it didn’t. When Claire eased back the bandage on his shoulder, the color drained from her face. Every last rosy drop. He didn’t have to see the raw, angry gash to know that she was about to lose her lunch.

“God, Riley,” she said on a rise of breath. A breath that landed right against his neck.

Apparently, there was a semicure for blistering pain after all, and it was Claire’s breathing. Of course, it helped that her mouth was now plenty close to his. Close enough to kiss...if he’d been in any state to kiss her, that was.

He wasn’t.

Did that make the desire go away? Nope. Which meant this situation with Claire could turn out to be trouble.

“Sugar,” she said. And then she added other words. Fudge and divinity. Substitutions for the kid’s sake probably. “I didn’t know you were hurt this bad.”

Even though every movement throbbed like hell, Riley jerked his shirt back together and even managed to do some of the buttons. “We agreed not to talk about this, remember?”

“Yes.” Claire cleared her throat. “I’m not sure I can hear it anyway. It hurts too much to think about it.”

And he couldn’t take that look on her face. Pity. Something he divinity sure didn’t want.

“I’m all right,” he told Ethan. Riley forced a smile that possibly looked even creepier than his earlier one since the muscles in his face were stretched tight. “My shoulder just needed some fixing like your car, but it’s better now.”

No way did the kid believe that. No way could Riley take the time to convince him, either. Not with the pain still shooting through him. Plus, he felt a flashback coming on, and he didn’t want to have one of those in front of the kid.

Not in front of anybody.

He fished through his pocket, grabbed the new bottle of meds and downed a couple of them, somehow managing to get to his feet in the process. “Better go. These knock me out pretty fast.”

Still pale, still looking at him as if he were the most pitiful creature on earth, Claire stood. “You want me to drive you home? It’s nearly a half mile, and that’s too far for you to walk—”

“No, thanks.” Riley was already off the porch and into the yard when he heard the footsteps hurrying after him. Not Claire. But Ethan.

“Sor-wee,” Ethan repeated and he held up one of the winged action figures. He took Riley’s hand and put the toy in it. “For you.”

Well, that was far more touching than Riley had ever thought it would be. The kid had a good heart. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine. You don’t have to give me your toy.”

But Riley was talking to himself because Ethan gave him a little wave and raced back toward the porch.

Riley felt a tug of a different kind. Something akin to the same feelings he’d had with his kid sister when he’d helped raise her. A stupid tug in this case because Ethan wasn’t his to raise.

Even if everyone in town thought he was.

Yeah, the whole situation with Claire was definitely trouble. So much so that even “Jingle Bells” might not work on this one.


CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_81c9ebb1-4e94-53d3-aa43-f1b1f8aca4cb)

CLAIRE WISHED SHE could go back in time and stop her grandmother from purchasing a single roll of wallpaper. Or better yet, use that going-back-in-time superpower to stop wallpaper from ever being invented.

She held the steamer over the wallpaper, following the instructions to a tee. She waited, then scraped. Like the three million other steam, wait and scrape sequences, she didn’t get a lot for her efforts. A postage-stamp-size piece of the paper came off. Only to reveal another layer of wallpaper beneath that one.

There was enough of it to create a quarantine facility to contain an outbreak of Ebola.

That’s the way it had been for the bathroom and the kitchen. Layer after layer and layer. It was entirely possible there weren’t even any walls left, that the entire house was held together with varying colors of floral wallpaper—each layer seemingly more butt ugly and more steam resistant than the last one.

Steam, keep steaming, scrape.

She got off another piece and tried to hold on to the reminder that one day this would all look as if it weren’t stuck in the seventies. One day she’d be able to finish off the walls and the floors, and clear out the boxes so that she could see a sign she wanted to see.

For Sale.

Steam, keep steaming, scrape.

But on the scrape segment of this particular square inch of space, Claire heard something that had her climbing off the step ladder. It wasn’t Ethan, either, because she could see him. He was sitting nearby creating a toy-car postapocalyptic scene on the floor.

Claire stepped around Ethan and looked out the screen portion of the front door. She’d left the actual front door open to catch the semicool breeze.

Uh-oh.

This was an unholy alliance if ever Claire had seen one.

Livvy, Daniel and Trisha.

All three of them had just exited their vehicles and were strolling toward the front porch. Claire was sure there was a joke in there somewhere: a blond Realtor, a brunette lawyer and a redheaded wedding planner all walk into a house...

But she couldn’t quite come up with a punch line that would ease the sudden knot in her stomach.

Claire had known Livvy was on her way because Livvy had called to say she’d be there sometime that afternoon. But the other two certainly hadn’t given her a heads-up. Too bad or she would have been somewhere else. Anywhere else.

If Claire had still been in third grade, such wimpiness would have earned her the chicken-dookie label, but it was a label she would proudly bear if she could have just delayed this meeting with Daniel.

Thankfully, Livvy had brought wine with her.

Claire put her steamer and scraper aside, opened the screen door and steeled herself for this visit.

Livvy went ahead of the other two, teetering up the limestone walk on sparkly silver heels so thin she could have picked her teeth with them. They matched her sparkly silver pants and top stretched around her latest boob job. Like with her husbands, Livvy liked to trade up in bra sizes every couple of years.

Claire wasn’t sure exactly what Livvy’s natural hair color was. That, too, had changed frequently over the past eight years since they’d bought Dearly Beloved together. Today it was I Love Lucy red with threads of acid green and was piled on top of her head like a volcanic eruption.

Somehow, Livvy made it all work.

“Vee!” Ethan squealed, and he rushed out to greet Livvy. She scooped him up, spun him around and made piggy snorting sounds while she kissed his neck.

Ethan laughed like a loon, and Claire lapsed into a smile despite that abdominal knot. Yes, Livvy always made it work not just with her son and hair but also with everything else. Livvy created magic.

“I’ve got something for my favorite boy,” Livvy announced. She set him back down on the porch and plucked a silver toy car from her cleavage.

Another squeal from Ethan. Another laugh. God, he was such an easy kid to please. Despite the car stash he already had on the porch and in the house, he obviously thought this one was special.

“And this is for you, Claire. I stopped at the grocery store for this.” Livvy held up a bottle of wine, the sweet, cheap stuff they both favored. She gathered Claire into her arms, smacked a kiss on her cheek and added in a whisper, “These two saw me in town, and I wasn’t able to shake them.”

Of course, Livvy didn’t actually whisper it softly enough for Daniel and Trisha not to hear her. Which was probably Livvy’s intent all along. She played a little passive-aggressive with people she didn’t like.

“Claire,” Trisha said, obviously taking Livvy’s cue and hugged Claire, too. She looked as if she were about to head off to a photo shoot for Chanel number whatever. Smelled like it, too. “We came to check on you. To make sure you weren’t wallowing in your grief.”

“No wallowing,” Claire assured her, sounding as genuine in her response as Trisha had been with the comment.

No genuineness whatsoever.

Daniel stayed back, waiting his turn, and when Trisha stepped away, he moved in for his own hug. “Good to see you, baby,” he said in a real whisper, and he went in for a kiss. Not a cheek smacker like Livvy, but the real thing.

Claire felt her muscles go stiff. Felt that knot in her stomach tighten. Nerves, she assured herself. Not repulsion.

Daniel stepped back, taking in everything with a sweeping glance. Her shorts and top. Bare feet. Ethan’s car menagerie. The boxes she’d been sorting through. The bits of wallpaper stuck to her hair and face.

“I thought you’d be further along in clearing out this stuff,” he commented.

Daniel started a lot of sentences with those three words, including the contraction—I thought you’d. Anything that came after that would almost certainly be a drawled dressing-down that he would then punctuate with a smile.

Right on cue, he smiled.

Livvy wasn’t the only one who liked to play the passive-aggressive game.

“I’m making progress,” she assured him though it didn’t look like it at the moment.

This latest round of boxes was mostly paper—more calendars, magazines and old bills. Claire had put some rocks and terracotta pots with dead plants on top of the various piles to keep the wind from blowing anything away.

“Did you find the letter?” Livvy asked. She had plopped herself down on the porch with Ethan and the cars and didn’t seem to notice the way her question snagged Trisha’s and Daniel’s attention.

“What letter?” the pair asked in unison.

Claire had to shrug. “It was just something Gran mentioned on a calendar. But she never gave me a letter.” She waited to see if either of them knew anything about it, but Trisha had moved on to checking her phone and Daniel was more interested in observing her half-up, half-down ponytail.

“I thought you’d have called me by now,” he said. The smile came just as the now was slipping from his mouth.

The mess on her porch actually came in handy. “I’ve been busy.”

He made a sound that could have meant anything and picked up the folder beneath the pot holding a dead spider plant.

“How’s Ethan doing with the Little Genius kits?” Since Daniel had been the one to recommend them, he clearly had an interest in them.

Claire made a so-so motion with her hand.

“Maybe I can give it a try. Sometimes boys respond better to a man’s voice.”

She would have liked to challenge that, but Daniel did do a lot of reading about child development. More than she did.

Daniel took the picture on top, van Gogh’s Starry Night, and he held it up. “Ethan?” Of course, he had to repeat it because Ethan was bashing his new car into the old ones. By the time he’d said Ethan’s name four times, Daniel’s voice was more of a bark.

“Remember the FUN! part of this,” Claire mumbled to herself.

Ethan finally realized he was being summoned and looked at the picture. “Money!” he yelled.

“He means Monet,” Claire translated.

“No.” Daniel drew that out a few syllables, probably not nearly as frustrated with Ethan as he was with not proving the point about that whole male-voice thing. “Try again.”

“Riley!” Ethan shouted. And no Ri-wee, either. This was very, very clear.

Trisha and Daniel turned to her so fast that Claire heard necks pop. “Riley’s been working with him on these?” Daniel’s question sounded a lot like a jealous accusation.

Which it probably was.

“Of course not,” Claire answered. “Riley’s recovering from his injury. He doesn’t have time to play with Ethan.”

Daniel looked at her as if he expected her nose to start growing. But it wasn’t a lie. It’d been three days since Riley’s visit, and he certainly hadn’t played with Ethan then. Riley had fixed Ethan’s car and then left looking as if he was about to collapse from the pain.

“Give me that.” Livvy craned her long, lithe body up enough to snatch the picture from Daniel. She didn’t even have to say Ethan’s name to get his attention. “Okay, see this.” She held up the toy van.

Claire nearly confessed that she’d already tried that, but she decided to watch and see how this played out.

Livvy tugged off one of her shoes, wiggled her toes and put the van right next to all that wiggling.

“Van Gogh!” Ethan squealed.

Claire laughed.

But Daniel huffed. “How does that help him, giving him a clue like that?”

“Seriously? It helped because he got it right.” Livvy put her shoe back on, plucked another car from her cleavage—a candy-apple-red Mustang—and gave it to Ethan. “Here’s your prize for guessing right.” That brought on more squeals of delight, more giggling.

More huffing from Daniel.

And a bitchy look from Trisha. “What else do you have in there?” Trisha tipped her head to Livvy’s boobs.

“A picnic basket.” Livvy stood and patted Trisha’s arm, and Claire could almost feel the condescension coming. Livvy looked at Trisha’s breasts, which were impressively sized but looked more like fried eggs when compared with Livvy’s. “Maybe you can try growth cream on them or something. Then you’ll have a place for a Lunchable or maybe just some Goldfish crackers.”

Time for some interference since Trisha was no doubt gearing up her bitchy-response generator. Claire looped her arm around Livvy’s waist. “Livvy and I will get some iced tea.”

Trisha must have taken that as a call to arms because she followed them, leaving Daniel and Ethan on the porch.

“Are you falling for Riley again?” Trisha asked the moment they were out of Daniel’s earshot.

Claire kept moving toward the kitchen. “That’s an are-you-still-beating-your-wife question. Because you’re assuming I’ve fallen for Riley before.”

Claire had, but that wouldn’t help her win this argument, and if she started losing too much ground, Livvy would step in and try to win the argument for her. It could turn into a catfight. Not an actual one, but there’d be some name-calling and shouting. Something that Claire didn’t want Ethan to hear.

“Riley won’t be as good with Ethan as Daniel,” Trisha added as if it were gospel.

And, of course, if Riley was indeed with Ethan and her, then he wouldn’t be with Trisha. That’s really what this was all about, but Trisha skittered out of there before Claire could remind her of that. Trisha probably hurried so she could tell Daniel he needed to watch his back, that he had some competition.

Livvy unscrewed the wine bottle, dumped a generous portion into a glass measuring cup that she took from the drying rack in the sink. “You want a side of backbone to go with that slice of milquetoast?”

Claire didn’t have to ask for clarification. Livvy was talking about Daniel’s and Claire’s reactions, or Claire’s lack of reaction, to each other.

“I can’t imagine you ever having sex with that guy,” Livvy added.

Claire skipped a glass and drank right out of the bottle. “Daniel’s really good-looking.”

“So is that painting by van Gogh. Doesn’t mean it’d be great in bed.” Livvy downed half a glass of the wine in one long swig. “Was he ever a great?”

“Of course.” Claire had more wine. Figured she’d regret what she was about to say but said it anyway. “If I grade it on a curve.”

Livvy leaned in and lowered her voice to a real whisper. “Never grade a fuck on a curve, Claire. Never.”

And with that screensaver-worthy advice, Livvy gave a satisfied nod.

Probably because Livvy knew she was right. Still, there were other things more important than sex. Like being with a man who hadn’t had a hole blown in his shoulder. A man who would go back for another hole-blowing as soon as he could.

Gosh, that was a dismal thought. One that ate away at that safety net she’d spent too long building around herself.

Since it seemed as if Livvy was about to dole out more advice, Claire went on the offensive. “How are things with the albino? Did his pinkeye clear up?”

Livvy had more wine before she answered. “It didn’t work out. He said my tits were hard as rocks.”

“They are.” Claire went to the fridge, took out the pitcher of iced tea, a juice box for Ethan and some glasses. “Hugging you comes with risks. I think you inverted one of my nipples once.”

“Ha-ha. I’m not arguing with you, but he said my tits bruise his chest when I’m on top.”

That wasn’t an image Claire wanted in her head. Too late. It was already there. “So, you’re not going to see him again?”

“Nope. I have another date next week. I’ll call you afterwards and tell you all about it. Come on. Give them their tea so they’ll get the hell out of here and we can have a good visit.”

Livvy helped her with the glasses, and they made their way back to the porch. Trisha and Daniel were having a whispered conversation, but they broke away as if they’d just been caught picking their noses.

“Is there a problem?” Claire asked.

Daniel cleared his throat. “I thought you’d want me to correct Ethan. I told him not to keep crashing the cars.” He paused, gently put his hand on her shoulder. “Because it might bring up old memories for you.”

Maybe it was the rush of sugary wine to her head, but it took Claire a moment to make the connection. He was talking about the accident that’d killed Riley’s parents. “Uh, I know the difference between a toy car crash and a real one.”

And thankfully Ethan seemed to get that, too, because he kept playing his crashing game, which pretty much shot that theory about boys listening better to men.

Maybe that’s what put Daniel in such a sour mood, but Claire was betting it had to do with the gossip floating around about Riley’s visit to her place. And the other five-hundred-pound elephant on the porch—gossip about why Ethan looked so much like the man whose name her son loved to squeal. Whatever it was, it caused Daniel to slip his hand in Claire’s and maneuver her to the other end of the porch. Away from the metaphorical elephant. Away from Livvy and Trisha, too.

Of course, since Livvy and Trisha weren’t actually talking to each other, and the porch was only about ten feet wide, this likely wasn’t going to be a private conversation.

Or one that she especially wanted to have.

“Look, Daniel, Riley will be going back soon, so there’s really no need for us to discuss him.” There. She’d gotten that order of backbone after all, and it felt good.

“I don’t want to talk about Riley. I know you’re not interested in him and haven’t been since high school.”

Oh, if only that were true.

Claire didn’t mention that, though.

“Besides,” Daniel went on, “if he was Ethan’s father, he would have manned up and told me that he’d stabbed me in the back by sleeping with you. Riley’s got a lot of faults, but lying isn’t one of them.”

And he stood there, clearly waiting. Claire didn’t have to guess what he was waiting for. This was the part where he wanted her to tell him who Ethan’s father was. One way or another, it came up every single time they were together. After a dozen or so interrogations in which she hadn’t confessed, Daniel had let her know that he forgave her for being with another man. Since, after all, they’d been in an off phase at the time it’d happened.

Claire didn’t confess today, either.

She wouldn’t.

Because a confession would only lead to a second confession and an admission that Daniel was not going to want to hear.

“I thought you’d have made up your mind about us before now,” Daniel went on. Of course, he smiled, but it was brief and strained. “I mean, you know how I feel about you and know I’d love Ethan as my own. I’m good for you. I know what you need.”

God. Not another proposal, and she didn’t have time to stop it. Daniel took a box from his pocket and dropped it into her hand.

A box just the right size for an engagement ring. And the right color, too, since it was Tiffany blue. She didn’t have to look at it to know that it would be big and budget breaking.

“Don’t say anything right now.” Daniel made sure she didn’t by kissing her again.

“Fudge,” Livvy mumbled.

Trisha squealed.

Claire wanted to throw up. That knot in her stomach was now making its way to her throat, and it didn’t ease up even when Daniel broke the kiss and stepped back.

“I thought you’d have made up your mind by now,” Daniel repeated, “but since you haven’t, I’m giving you one week.”

Daniel waved to Trisha and Ethan and delivered the rest of his proposal from over his shoulder as he walked away. “Or else.”


CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_5d6b3b42-2ba2-586c-aa8b-af231d978eb7)

GET THE HELL out now!

The words roared through Riley’s head, but he couldn’t listen to that warning even if he knew gut deep that it was more than just a warning. The only thing that mattered right now was time.

He had one minute left, and those seconds were ticking off.

Riley couldn’t see shit. The wall of sand had rolled in, swallowing him up and had erased everything within view at the rescue site.

Everything but the sounds.

He could hear the thump of the Pave Hawk’s blades behind him. Could hear the cry for help just ahead.

His extractions.

An airman and a kid, injured from an IED. Riley knew why the airman had been there. He’d been doing his job, but Riley didn’t want to guess about the kid. Didn’t want to think about the kid, either.

Focus.

A quick in and out.

Forty-five seconds left.

Riley trudged forward. Fast but cautious steps toward those sounds. His crew was around him, nearby, and every now and then he caught a glimpse of one of them from the corner of his eye before the sand curtained them again.

His heartbeat was drumming in his ears. His pulse too fast like those seconds that were ticking away. He’d done rescues like this nearly a hundred times but never with that warning punching him in the gut.

Get the hell out now!

“I got a visual,” one of the crew said. Not a shout but loud enough for Riley and the others to hear. “McCord, your one o’clock.”

Riley automatically adjusted, moving slightly to the right, and he spotted the extractions. Both down. Both injured. He knew after just a glimpse that the airman wouldn’t make it, not with the blood spurting from his femoral like that. The kid was fifty-fifty.

Sixty-forty if Riley went in even faster and got him back to the Pave Hawk in under thirty seconds.

So that’s what he did.

Riley pushed forward, his boots bogging down in the sand, and made it to the kid. He scooped him up, knowing someone would be right behind him to take the airman. Riley focused on the kid. He would save him and get the rest of his crew and the airman back on the Pave Hawk.

But that didn’t happen.

The sounds stopped. Everything stopped. Like that split second of watching and waiting for a pin to drop onto a tile floor.

This was no pin, though.

The pressure exploded in his head. And the pain came, cutting off the air to his lungs. Strangling him. Riley couldn’t move, couldn’t run, but he could feel the blood, all warm and thick. His blood.

Get the hell out now!

“Riley?”

The sound of someone calling out his name gave him a jolt. Riley’s eyes flew open, but since the nightmare was still with him, it took him a moment to realize this wasn’t one of his extractions.

It was Claire.

And she was leaning over him, her mouth so close to his that he nearly kissed her. She was a welcome sight, all right. A lot more welcome than the flashbacks. But she was sporting a very concerned look on her face.

“You were dreaming,” she said.

Yeah, that was a good word for it. Better than the brain-fuck label that Riley had slapped on it. Because it hadn’t been just a dream. All of that, and more, had happened in the blink of an eye.

Since Claire’s mouth and therefore that kiss was still within striking range, he waited until she backed away a little before Riley sat up in the porch swing. He only grunted once. Only felt the blinding pain twice.

She looked amazing. Since this was Claire, looking amazing was a given. Her face was a little shiny with sweat. Her top, a little clingy—also from the sweat. But she didn’t smell like sweat. She smelled like roses. Except he soon realized that smell wasn’t coming from her. She really did have some roses in her hand.

“I wouldn’t have woken you up,” Claire added, “but you were talking and thrashing around. I was afraid you’d hurt yourself. Do you need your pain meds?”

He did, and needed them badly, but Riley shook his head. “I’m off the oxy, and the new stuff makes me drowsy.”

Which explained why he’d fallen asleep in his uniform in the porch swing. It was spring, but in Texas that meant it was already hotter than hell. Of course, that pretty much described three and a half of their four seasons.

Riley put his feet on the porch but didn’t risk standing just yet. The porch was swirling beneath him. However, there was maybe something he could do to get that look of pity off Claire’s face.

“I nearly kissed you,” he admitted.

As expected, the pity vanished, and she looked about as shocked as if he really had kissed her. “When? Wait, that wasn’t part of the dream, was it?”

Uh, no. “I nearly kissed you just now when you were leaning over me.”

Since he had never kissed her, this would have been the time when most women would have asked why he’d nearly done that. Or at least continued on the subject a bit until she got some more info. Claire didn’t. She dropped back another step.

“What happened to the kid?” she asked. She hooked her fingers around the neck strap that was holding a camera. “The kid in the nightmare you were having?”

Ah, hell. How much had he said? Apparently, too damn much. Since that was the last thing he wanted to discuss with her, with anyone, Riley went on the offensive.

“I heard about Daniel’s proposal. Including the or else.” He wouldn’t give her his opinion about that.

She nodded. “Trisha blabbed.” That was it. Her complete response on the matter before Claire suddenly got very interested in looking at her fingernails.

“Do you think we can find a subject that we both will actually discuss?” he asked. “If not, this is going to be a very short visit.” And while he was at it, Riley added something else that was sure to get her mind off what he had said or hadn’t said while napping. “Why are you visiting anyway? Did you bring me flowers?”

His tone alone should have put her off since it wasn’t very welcoming, but Claire didn’t huff or look insulted. She sank down on the seat next to him. “I’m just taking a break from stripping wallpaper and sorting boxes. And, no, the roses are for your mother’s grave. They’re the first batch from Gran’s garden, and I thought your mom would like them.”

That put an instant lump in his throat. He wasn’t usually so lump prone when it came to the mention of his mother, but those flashbacks had left him raw, as if some of his skin had been stripped away. It made it too easy for the feelings to get in.

“Mom would like them,” Riley settled for saying.

Claire nodded, smiled, put the flowers on the railing. “I’ll swing by the cemetery on the way home, but Ethan wanted to play with Crazy Dog first. I brought my camera so I could get some pictures. He’s growing up so fast that I’m trying to hang on to the minutes by making sure I get at least one new picture of him every week.”

Since Riley hadn’t heard a peep from Ethan, he looked at the yellow Lab’s usual resting spot, and as predicted Crazy Dog was there, sleeping, and Ethan was tugging on his ears, trying to get the dog to move.

Good luck with that.

“Crazy Dog’s not so crazy anymore,” Riley remarked. And he hadn’t been for the past six years or so.

But before that, he’d been worthy of the name that Lucky had given him. Well, actually the name had been Bat-Shit Crazy Dog, but that hadn’t gone over well with Della and Stella. Neither had Ol’ Yeller—Riley’s suggestion. Logan hadn’t offered any name options, but he had been the one to call a dog obedience instructor.

For the most part, Crazy Dog slept under that particular tree during the day, though there was a doggy door for the house so he could come and go as he pleased. The only time he went inside was to eat and do more sleeping. The vet had assured them that the dog wasn’t sick; all the tests had been done to rule that out. Apparently, Crazy Dog was more Lazy Dog now.

“You’re wearing your uniform,” Claire commented.

Riley hadn’t forgotten he had it on, of course, but he glanced down at it. “I was at the base getting physical therapy and a checkup first thing this morning. I’m healing,” he added so that she wouldn’t ask.

Nor would he explain that wearing the uniform to the appointment hadn’t been necessary. Riley just felt better when he had it on. Not like the ordinary Riley with the head-exploding pain. In the uniform he was Captain McCord, CRO. People saluted him, called him sir and there was the awe factor of being special ops.

Since his comments about the dog and his physical therapy hadn’t generated any safe conversation, Riley went back to an unsafe subject. “What are you going to do about Daniel’s proposal?”

Her lips tightened as if she might tell him it was none of his business, but it was a sigh rather than a huff that left her mouth—which he was still thinking about kissing.

“I don’t know.” She leaned back in the swing, sighed again.

All right, so maybe she had come here to talk this over. It made more sense than Ethan playing with Crazy Dog since there was zero playing going on.

“What would you do?” she asked.

“I wouldn’t marry him, but then I’m straight.” He flashed her a smile that had her rolling her eyes. Riley waited until the eye roll was done before he continued. And here was the six-million-dollar question. “Do you love him?”

“Some.” She screwed up her face and shook her head. “I know, I know. Livvy said I shouldn’t grade love...or sex on a curve.”

Livvy was obviously a font of wisdom. “You shouldn’t.” And, no, that didn’t have anything to do with Daniel himself. Or Claire. “Why would you have to grade sex on a curve anyway?”

“Clearly, you’ve never had mediocre sex. But then you’re a guy. Lucky told me once that for guys, no sex is actually bad. Some times are just better than others.”

Riley was sure he screwed up his face, too. “When the hell did my brother tell you that?”

“Oh, I guess I was about nineteen or so and home from college. We ran into each other at Calhoun’s Pub.” She dismissed it with the flip of her hand.

Riley sure as heck didn’t dismiss it, and the next time he saw his brother, he’d rip off Lucky’s ears—maybe his dick, too.

Sheez. Was nothing sacred with Lucky? Because his brother had obviously been hitting on Claire if he’d broached the subject of sex with her. Of course, Lucky hit on every woman within breathing range, but even Lucky should have had enough brain cells to know that Claire was off-limits.

And Riley really didn’t want to think about why Lucky would know that. He just would.

Claire thankfully missed his little mental implosion because she groaned, scrubbed her hand over her face. “What am I going to do, Riley? There are only three days left on Daniel’s or else deadline.”

Shoot, he might rip off Daniel’s dick, too. “I should probably stay quiet on the subject, but why would you let him give you an ultimatum like that, especially when you only love him some?”

Claire’s attention drifted to Ethan who was now using Crazy Dog’s back as a track for two toy cars.

Oh.

Claire’s drifted attention gave Riley a reminder that he’d been trying to forget. That Daniel was almost certainly Ethan’s father.

Well, shit.

That explained Daniel’s ultimatum. If Ethan was Riley’s kid, he would have wanted to raise him, too. He was an all right kid. Creative, too, since he used the folds on Crazy Dog’s neck to hide one of the cars, and Ethan was doing it gently enough so that Riley knew the boy cared.

“I’ve been with Daniel a long time,” she finally said. “It feels a little like an investment, you know?”

Riley didn’t have a clue, and that only riled him even more, but he nodded anyway.

“Sometimes, I just think...” She paused. “Well, sometimes I wonder if my slogan is just a pile of sugar.”

All right, he really, really didn’t have a clue. “Huh?”

“I say sugar instead of shit because I don’t want Ethan to curse,” she clarified in a whisper. “And I meant my sugary slogan—Making Fantasies Come True. That’s the slogan Livvy and I picked for our business, but...”

“Daniel’s not doing it for you, fantasy-wise?” Oh, he so should have given that some thought before it came out of his mouth. Too bad the new pain meds hadn’t made him comatose instead of just dizzy and drowsy.

A teeny-tiny smile crossed her lips and then vanished. “Do you really want to talk about me and Daniel having sex?”

Yeah, right after he slid down a mile-long stretch of razor blades. Riley hoped his silence, and possibly his wincing, let her know that it was not something on the discussion table.

“Are you sleeping better?” she asked.

Not exactly a safe subject, but they were running out of topics here. “Some.”

And that led him to something else he’d been thinking about lately. He tipped his head to the flowers she’d brought. “How did you deal with the memories of what happened to my mom and dad?”

Claire gave him a long look. “I don’t have a lot of memories. It’s more like little bits and pieces, you know?”

This time, he did know, but bits and pieces could still come together for an ugly picture.

“And the bits and pieces aren’t all of the accident itself. Your father told a joke,” Claire went on. “Your mother laughed. Then the crash happened.”

He knew all of that. It’d been a knock-knock joke.

His dad: Knock knock.

His mom: Who’s there?

Dad: Boo

Mom: Boo who?

Dad: Ah, don’t cry, honey.

Riley hadn’t been there, but Claire had filled him in over the years. Those last moments of their lives were as clear in his head as if he had witnessed every second of it. Heck. He wished he had. Then he could have had the chance to say goodbye.

He looked at her, hoping that her eyes weren’t burning like his. Because if Claire lost it, Riley would have to pull her into his arms. It wasn’t a good time for that to happen. Not with all this nervous energy zinging between them.

But no tears. She smiled when she glanced at the roses.

“You have nightmares about it?” he asked her.

She drew in a long breath. “Not very often. Why are you asking? Are you having a lot of nightmares? Is that what was happening when I woke you?” Thankfully, she didn’t wait for him to answer. Or for him to flub around with an explanation. “Because what helped me was a picture of you.”

Riley had to go back through that to make sure he’d heard her right. “Me?”

She nodded. “You just seemed to be holding things together a lot better than I was. So when I’d have bad dreams and sad thoughts, I’d look at your picture in the yearbook—the one with you in your football uniform—and I’d remind myself that if you could do it, then so could I.”

He definitely hadn’t been holding it together. But Logan had. He’d swooped in and taken care of all the funeral arrangements, the business stuff. Even Anna. Riley had put on a front, but it was just that—a front. It’d been good practice, though, for the front he was putting on now.

“I still look at your picture sometimes,” she went on. “Because every now and then the dreams come back.”

“And looking at my picture actually helps?” Riley wished he hadn’t sounded so astonished, but he was.

“Sure. Well, for the nightmares but not for thunderstorms. You don’t work for me in thunderstorms.”

Yeah, Claire had a thing about storms, spiders and zombie movies. But Riley hadn’t had a clue she’d even attempted to use his picture or anything about him to help her get through it.

“Riley!” Ethan called out. The kid had obviously noticed he was awake and sounded excited to see him. Riley was mildly surprised that he was excited to see Ethan, too.

Ethan had given up on his Crazy Dog playdate, and he barreled up the steps toward them. But he didn’t just come onto the porch. He crawled into the porch swing, wriggling his pint-size body in between Claire and him. He had a toy car in each hand. Several were crammed in his pockets, and the ones in his left pocket dug into the outside of Riley’s thigh. Since that was his sore leg, the pain nudged Riley a bit, but he didn’t move. Riley wanted to hang on to this closeness for a little while.

“Angel,” Ethan said, and he pointed to the Combat Rescue Officer badge on Riley’s uniform. The kid climbed into Riley’s lap to get a better look at it.

“No.” Claire immediately reached for her son, probably because she thought it would hurt Riley.

And it did. More than just a nudge this time, but Riley stopped her from whisking him up. Instead, Riley fished out his phone and maneuvered Claire closer so that her head was right against Ethan’s.

“Smile. It’s a picture for Anna,” he said, snapping the shot. “She wanted to see how big Ethan’s getting.”

That was such a huge lie that Riley thought it might spur even Crazy Dog to action. Claire gave him that look, the one that let him know that she knew he was lying, but the look also told him that she really wasn’t sure she wanted to know what was simmering beneath the lie.

Good.

Because Riley turned the phone and snapped a picture of just her. She was caught with her mouth slightly puckered, as if she was waiting for that kiss he’d been considering.

Hell. He just might have a cure for those flashbacks after all.


CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_f49e20e1-7090-59d0-83d7-7e3231a7afca)

THE MIGRAINE WAS chasing Logan McCord, and it was winning.

The blind spots were already there. The little swirly bright dots, too. He figured he had less than a half hour before he would have to pretend he was so exhausted that he needed a morning nap.

At least Della and Stella wouldn’t be around to try to mother him because they wouldn’t be back until tomorrow from their forced vacation. Riley wouldn’t be there, either, since he was at physical therapy. Lucky was still off doing things that Logan didn’t want to think about.

But the reporter and photographer were a different story.

The reporter, Andrea-something, came up the steps behind him, her heels sounding like a persistent woodpecker. She was persistent about getting this story, too, and if Logan hadn’t wanted this article to promote his new business venture, he would have sent her and those heels clacking.

The photographer, whose name Logan didn’t bother to catch, lagged along behind her while he adjusted his camera. Occasionally, the photographer scratched his balls, too. Logan wasn’t opposed to ball scratching, but even that sound was amplified so it seemed as if the guy was scratching a hundred chalkboards.

“We’ll just need a few more pictures,” Andrea said in between the clacking-heel sounds.

She was a reporter for one of the San Antonio newspapers, and even though she’d already interviewed Logan at the office, she had insisted on snapping a few pictures here at the ranch.

“One picture,” Logan said. He used the tone that he knew would set her teeth on edge. He knew all the tricks for doing that because people with their teeth on edge didn’t stay in his face pestering him.

Trying to make as little noise as possible so he could buy himself some time with the migraine, Logan opened the front door.

And the first thing he saw was the naked woman.

“Ta-da!” she said, and then a split second later she shrieked louder than a horde of banshees with bullhorns.

Trisha.

Even with the blind spots and aura speckles, Logan could make out her face. Though he had to admit her face wasn’t the first thing that’d caught his attention. It was her huge breasts and the tiny patch of shiny red fabric that he supposed was meant to be panties. An eye patch would have more fabric than that little thing.

Trisha shrieked again, and she scurried to the sofa to grab a dress that she held up in front of her like a shield. A piss-poor shield because it didn’t cover her left boob or that panty swatch.

The photographer snapped a few pictures of her.

Logan shot him a look to let him know that he was going to delete each one he’d just taken. A hard look wasn’t that difficult to manage since Trisha’s shrieks had caused the migraine to close in on him.

“Logan, what are you doing here?” Trisha asked.

“That was the question I planned to ask you.”

“I was waiting for Riley,” she said as if that explained everything.

And maybe it did.

Logan hadn’t heard any rumors about Riley and Trisha getting back together, but maybe his little brother had found a new way to relieve pain.

Logan closed the door, leaving the reporter and the ball-scratcher on the porch. “Riley’s at PT in San Antonio,” he told Trisha.

“I know.” She huffed, blew at a strand of her hair that’d fallen onto her cheek. “I called one of the ranch hands, and he said Riley should be back by now. I, uh, wanted to surprise him. Please, Logan,” she repeated. “You can’t tell anyone about this.”

He wouldn’t, but the photographer would. Probably the reporter, too. By noon it would be all over town, possibly posted on the internet, and the gossips would add that Logan had stepped behind closed doors with her. That meant Logan needed to call his girlfriend, Helene Langford, and let her know what had happened. Since Helene and he had been together for years, she would believe he hadn’t cheated on her with Trisha, but he didn’t want Helene blindsided by the bullshit.

Trisha started to wiggle into the dress. It was a testament to how much pain he was in that he hoped she would hurry.

“What are you doing here anyway?” Trisha asked. “You were supposed to be on a two-week business trip and shouldn’t be back for three more days.”

“I wrapped up things early—” He would have continued his own questions if Trisha hadn’t interrupted.

“But you rarely stay here anymore. I didn’t figure you’d be coming home.”

So the gossips had picked up on that, too. And it wasn’t just gossip. Logan had indeed converted the third floor of his office building to a loft apartment, and with the hours he worked, it was easier just to sleep there. Besides, it wasn’t as if he had family here now that Anna had moved off to Florida.

But Logan had no intentions of getting into that with Trisha.

“Where’s your car?” he asked, hoping he didn’t have to drive her anywhere.

She hitched her thumb toward the back. “I parked behind the house. I was going for an element of surprise.”

“Element accomplished.”

Logan went to the door to tell the reporter and photographer to take a hike, but it wasn’t only them on the other side. It was Riley, too. And he practically punched Logan in the gut because he was reaching for the doorknob.

“Go,” Logan growled to the news crew. He glared at the photographer. “And if those photos or anything else about this situation show up anywhere, you’ll deal with me.”

Logan didn’t wait for their reaction. The blind spots were getting even spottier. From the looks of it, Riley wasn’t faring much better in the pain department.

Riley stepped in right before Logan shut the door, and his brother volleyed glances between Trisha and him. It didn’t help that the front of Trisha’s dress was still hiked up, and he could see that sad excuse for panties.

“Trisha wanted to surprise you,” Logan summarized. Some people probably would have just let this all play out, but he wanted to hurry things along. “I’ll take a nap while you two have fun.”

“Thank you,” Trisha said at the exact moment Riley said, “I can’t. I need to talk to you, Logan,” Riley added.

Shit on a stick. That didn’t seem like an end to a conversation but rather the beginning of one Logan didn’t want to have.

Riley turned to Trisha. “I haven’t seen Logan in months. We need to get some family things settled.”

Translation: Riley didn’t want what Trisha was offering behind those red panties.

“Plus, I’m in pain. It was a rough session of PT today.” Riley rotated his shoulder and winced. Probably not fake, either, like that family-things comment.

Riley never wanted to discuss family things.

“I’ll call you,” Riley told Trisha when she didn’t budge.

Maybe the last bit of her dignity kicked in because the woman finally scurried to gather the rest of her things. Of course, she had on woodpecker heels, too, and they hammered against the hardwood floor. Trisha turned, heading toward the back of the house, but then she stopped.

“I just thought...” she said to Riley. “Well, I just thought I could cheer you up. I mean, I thought you might be feeling a little blue what with Claire marrying Daniel and all.”

Translation: pity sex.

And judging from the way Riley’s expression soured, he might just be in need of pity something. That wasn’t the expression of a man who’d just learned a friend was getting married. No. But then, Riley had always had a thing for Claire.

“Call me,” Trisha reminded Riley. She dropped a kiss on his cheek. Paused. As if waiting for Riley to do something more than make it a cheek kiss. When he didn’t, Trisha finally left.

“Sorry about that,” Riley mumbled. He was wearing his uniform, and with the exception of that weary, pained expression, he looked every bit the part of a military superstar. Which from all accounts, he was.

Logan considered repeating that part about needing a nap, but instead he found himself sinking down on the chair across from Riley. “Want to talk about it?”

Riley dropped the back of his head against the sofa and let out a long breath. “Which part—Trisha or the PT?”

“Both. Or neither,” Logan amended. “Or you can talk—briefly—about Claire and Daniel.”

Riley lifted his head and made eye contact with him, and for a moment Logan thought Riley would question that briefly part. To the best of his knowledge, Riley didn’t know about the migraines, and Logan wanted to keep it that way. Besides, his little brother no doubt had him beat a thousandfold in the pain department.

“Claire hasn’t decided if she’s marrying Daniel, but he did propose again, and he gave her a week to decide. There’s only one day left on his deadline. Trisha wants a repeat of what we did in high school. The PT’s going nowhere.”

Logan dismissed the first two topics, went with the last one. “How much time do you have left on your medical leave?”

“A month, maybe less.” He aimed his eyes at the ceiling, avoiding eye contact. “If I can’t pass a physical, I might be given a medical discharge.”

Riley said it in the same tone as someone would admit they were dying from cancer or some other horrible disease. But he wasn’t dying. He just wouldn’t be able to lead the life he wanted more than being near family.

“Are you still having flashbacks?” Logan asked.

That got his eyes away from the ceiling, and Logan earned a glare for his question. “Who said I was having them in the first place? Hell. Claire told you?”

“No. One of the ranch hands heard you when you were sleeping on the back porch, but if Claire knows, at least you’re talking to someone about it.”

“I’m not talking to her about it. Not talking to you about it, either.”

Logan decided it was a good time to listen. Besides, it was easier to deal with the spots if he didn’t have the sound of his own voice echoing in his head.

“I can’t get kicked out of the Air Force,” Riley snarled. He motioned toward his uniform. “This isn’t just what I do. It’s who I am. I help people. I rescue them. I save them from dying. Most of the time,” he added.

Logan nodded. This wasn’t anything new. “Man-rule number two—don’t be ordinary.”

“It’s man-rule number one,” Riley snapped.

Right. The headache must have fuzzed his memory up a little. As often as Logan had heard those rules, he should have remembered. “I don’t need to know the number of the rule to know what it means, Riley. You left home because you wanted something more than this place could offer.”

Logan’s strong suit wasn’t being warm and fuzzy, and clearly he missed the boat this time, too.

“You stayed because you chose to stay,” Riley reminded him.

Ah, hell. That was not the thing to say right now. It wasn’t the first time it’d come up, and sometimes Logan just walked away from it.

Not today, though.

“I stayed to make sure the business that Dad started didn’t go under,” he reminded Riley. “I’m the one who made it what it is today. The one who went to parent–teacher meetings for Anna—”

“You stepped up to do that.”

“Yeah. But Lucky and you could have stepped up, too. You didn’t, and neither did he. When you say you don’t want to be here because it’s ordinary, just remember you’re calling my life and everything that I’ve worked for ordinary, too.”

Logan stood and said the rest of what he wanted to say while he was walking away. “I need that nap now.”

The migraine, and this conversation, had caught up with him and was already kicking him in the nuts.

* * *

CLAIRE OPENED HER back door to take out the trash, and that’s when she saw it. A creature was just sitting there on the steps. It was in the shape of a ball, with gray fur sticking out in every direction.

And it had one eye.

She shrieked, scrambled away from it, banging her hip against the kitchen counter, but all the commotion didn’t stop it from coming closer. It just ambled in the house as if she’d given it an invitation.

“Whoa,” Ethan said. He scooted down from his booster seat where he was eating his lunch. “Cat.” Or rather “tat.”

Claire had already picked up the broom to try to shoo it out, but she gave it another look. Maybe it was a cat. It squalled, a sound that a cat might make, so maybe Ethan was right.

“Don’t get too close, Ethan,” she warned her son. If she could catch it, she’d take it into the vet to make sure he or she was okay and wasn’t the survivor of some radiation experiments.

But Ethan didn’t listen. He immediately offered the critter a bite of his PB&J sandwich. There was some sniffing involved on both the cat’s and Ethan’s parts before the animal took a bite. Clearly, it was starving if it would go after that.

With the broom still in her hand and while keeping an eye on their visitor, Claire poured some milk in a saucer, sloshing it all over her and the floor before she managed to put it in front of the animal. It took a lap but went back for another taste of the PB&J.

“Whoa,” Ethan said again, giggling.

Well, Whoa was certainly a good name for it, but she hoped this wasn’t an omen. A bad one. Of course, she’d been looking for omens and signs all day since the deadline for Daniel’s marriage proposal was only hours away.

“Don’t get too attached,” she told Ethan. “We can’t keep it.”

Claire used the PB&J and the saucer of milk to lure the cat back out onto the porch, and shut the screen door before it could get back in. Ethan sat down on the floor to watch, and she saw something in his eyes that she instantly recognized.

Love.

Apparently, pet fever ran in the family, and while this was no cute fur ball, Ethan didn’t seem to mind. Too bad she couldn’t explain that it was a stray and this might be the one and only time they saw him.

She gathered up the stuff to make Ethan another sandwich, but she heard the *NSYNC ringtone, and it sent her heart banging against her chest. Sheez. She braced herself for the conversation she was going to need to have with Daniel, but she saw a name on the screen that she hadn’t expected to see.

Logan.

She tried to hit the button so fast that she nearly dropped her phone. “Is everything okay?” she asked.

What she really wanted to know—was Riley okay? Logan must not have picked up on that subtext, but judging from the sound he made, he was a little taken aback by her frantic tone.

“I’ve got a big favor to ask you,” he said. “I have to take another business trip, and I need you to check on Riley for me.”




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