Raeanne Thayne Hope's Crossings Series Volume One

CHAPTER TEN

SHE HAD A CRUSH ON RILEY McKnight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Were you hurt?” Macy asked.

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

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

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

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

How foolish could she be?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks,” she answered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s algebra.”

“Okay.”

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

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

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

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

“Don’t think I’ve met him yet.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“When have you ever known me to?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

His jaw tightened but he said nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That incongruous dimple flashed. “One never knows.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t mean you had to leave now.”

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER ELEVEN

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No worries.”

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

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

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

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

“I can’t afford any more.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Whatever you think best.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And you. And possibly Katherine.”

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

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

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

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

“Why?”

“Gen postponed the wedding.”

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

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

“Because of Charlie.”

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

Claire gasped. “Oh, no. Poor Laura.”

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