At First Touch (The Malone Brothers) (3 page)

CHAPTER THREE

E
RIC
COULD
SEE
it in her face. The fierce pull of her brows. The tightly pressed lips. The muscles flinching in her jaws. Every characteristic screamed annoyance. He’d known she wouldn’t want to go anywhere. Especially with him.

He was, in Reagan’s words, a virtual stranger. Soon-to-be sort-of brother, though.

Yup. She had a big damn chip on her shoulder all right. Couldn’t say he blamed her. She’d been through hell. First, as a kid. And again more recently, when she’d lost her sight in an accident on a base in Afghanistan. While he still didn’t know the full details, he knew she’d suffered. Some kind of fuel accident had claimed her sight. Knew she was angry, bitter. He could see it. Hell—he could feel it, like how the air grows heavy and dense when a storm is about to unleash. Her inner fury rose from her like a thick, soupy fog.

And he had a mind to rid her of her pending storm.

“So what do you say, huh, neighbor?” he pressed.

Reagan gave an acerbic laugh. “Yeah, uh, no. Thanks for the offer, but I’m good.” Her hands reached for the banana he’d tried to coax away from her earlier, patting the quilt until she found it, and she slowly peeled it. Ignoring him proficiently.

A skill she’d no doubt perfected as the youngest sibling. He knew the tactic well. And he knew how to counter it.

“Oh, come on,” Eric coaxed. “Give me one good reason why not. Sun’s out. A decent breeze. The salt water. All makes for a perfect day.” He watched her as she broke off a piece of banana and popped it into her mouth. Noticed how the sun made her cheeks pink; spotted the freckles on her nose, and a few on her shoulders. Her thick wavy hair was pulled back into a ponytail. It was blonder than Emily’s, he thought. Still shot with streaks of red, and shorter, but you could definitely see the resemblance in the sisters. He watched her chew, and waited.

Finally, she gave her feet a kick in the water, making it ripple. “Listen, Eric,” she began, her blind gaze fixed on some point across the river. “I appreciate your attempt. Since we’re already neighbors, and we’re going to sort of be family, it’s a...nice gesture.” She turned her head in his direction, drew her feet from the water and set them on the quilt. “So that’s why I’m going to be perfectly honest and tell you the truth. Just leave me alone. I don’t want to be looked after, watched or treated differently. I don’t need to be entertained. And I don’t need to be coaxed out of my shell.”

Eric stared at her, watched her pat the water from her bare feet with a towel. She was one tough bird. “Hey, I’m not biased,” he answered with a grin. “I’d still hit on you even if you had your sight. So quit stalling, Reagan Rose, and just...relax—”

“Are you going to force me to be rude?” Reagan asked, then pulled her sneakers on and began reaching for the items on the quilt, placing them in the lunch bag.

Eric laughed and started to help. “Yeah, I think you’ve already got that one covered, darlin’.” Blindly she reached over and somehow grabbed the apple out of his hand and plopped it into her lunch bag.

Finished, she patted around once more, then rose, grasping the edge of the quilt with her hand. She tugged; he remained firmly planted on it.

“Do you mind?” she asked.

Eric slowly rose, and he could tell she wanted to yank the quilt from beneath him. He laughed. “Wanna go for a swim? It might help release some of that—”

“What?” she snapped, glaring in his direction. He could feel her anger rising in the air. “Release what, exactly?” She wadded the quilt up and tucked it under her arm.

Eric ran his hand over his head and peered at her. It wasn’t like he was trying to piss her off on purpose. Okay, maybe he was. She needed a virtual kick in the ass. He couldn’t help but grin, and he was pretty sure she could hear it as it tugged at his face. “I don’t know. Some of that mean you got all bottled up inside, maybe?”

Slinging the lunch bag onto her shoulder, she bent down, stuffed the empty thermos and cups in the bag, rose, and grabbed her stick. She turned, her eyes covered by the dark shades she wore, but he knew fury raged in them. “You don’t know me anymore,” she said quietly. “Stop pretending that you do.”

With that, she tapped her stick, hitting him in the shin before making her way slowly and cautiously up the ramp.

“What about our swim?” he called after her.

“Help yourself,” she threw over her shoulder.

He watched her for a moment, moving over the marsh, her little stick tap-tap-tapping as she felt her way along. Shorter than her sister Emily, she still had gorgeous lean legs and a damn cute ass, if he had to admit it. He watched that ass swagger away. “Need some help?” he called out.

“Nope,” she answered. Her voice drifted over the water, and he thought despite the fact that she had a decent amount of acid in that remark, it was still pretty adorable.

“Sure?” he yelled once more.

She merely shook her head and kept on making her way, each step striking that blind stick of hers harder against the wood of the dock.

Eric could only laugh, shake his own head and follow her.

The sun fell bright this morning; hot, humid, with only a slight breeze shifting through the reeds of the marsh. It carried a voice pretty well, though, and he could hear Reagan’s angry muttering as she sashayed her way back home. She was moving fast across the dock—probably faster than she should. Matt had fixed it up but still—it was an open dock. Wooden slats secured to pilings with metal screws and that was it. No handrails. She could misstep and fall right in.

“Hey, you better slow down,” he called out.

She went even faster, and Eric winced.

He shook his head again. “Hardheaded girl,” he grumbled, and picked up his pace to a jog. “I like that.” By the time he caught up to her she was off the dock and making her way to the house.

He gently grabbed her arm. “Reagan, wait,” he said. “Stop.”

She jerked to a halt and stared straight ahead. Sighing heavily, she shifted her weight. “What?”

Eric dropped his hand. “Do you have plans or something? It’s a gorgeous day, Reagan Rose.” He watched the dappled sunlight fall across her cheeks, and her chest rise and fall as she breathed. “Spend it with me.” Staring at her eyes through those shades she wore frustrated him. He wanted her to take them off. He wanted to take them off himself. Fling them across the yard. Stomp on them. Why he cared so much, he didn’t understand. He certainly wasn’t in the market for shitty company, and Reagan had a seriously bad case of Bad Attitude. Something pulled at him, though. Their childhood? Yeah, that had to be it. He’d always been a sentimental guy at heart.

Reagan’s back stiffened. “Please,” she finally said. “Just leave me alone.” She turned then, tapping her stick until she reached the porch steps, then climbed them and left him standing there. “And stop calling me Reagan Rose.” The door closed behind her, and Eric sighed.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he glanced up and stared as the sun speared through the magnolia branches. What the hell was he going to do with little Miss Hardhead Quinn?

Eric scratched his jaw and stared at the house.

He grinned.

“I’ll leave you alone for now, Reagan Rose,” he called out. “But I’ll be back!” He watched for a moment. Waited for movement by a window, or the door to open. A shout. A swear. Any sign of movement that Reagan had heard his words.

Nothing.

With a determined shake of his head, he turned and headed back down the lane that separated the Quinns’ property from the Malones’. Eric was well versed in the art of hardheadedness. He himself was a master of it. But he’d never dealt with such an indomitable female before. As he strode down the lane, making his way back to his house, he grinned, and that grin was still pulling at his face when he loped up the steps of the river house and flung himself onto the porch and leaned against the pillar. His eyes met his grandfather’s gaze.

“No luck, eh?” Jep asked.

Eric shoved his fingers through his hair and shook his head. “Nope.” He rubbed his jaw. “Stubborn doesn’t quite sum it up.”

“Hmm,” Jep muttered. “Figured as much. So what’cha goin’ to do about it?”

Eric shrugged and rested his head against the pillar. “Hell if I know. Not give up?”

“Damn straight, not give up,” Jep agreed.

“Advice?” Eric asked.

Jep nodded. “Push back.”

Eric thought about it and agreed. Push back. He knew despite having been childhood friends long ago, they were strangers now. Neither was the same person. Well, maybe he was. Or, was he? After the big, ugly breakup he’d been through, it certainly had embittered him a little. His trust in others had faded, whereas before he was full-on, full throttle filled with all kinds of trust. But Reagan Quinn had definitely changed. The fact that she’d lost her sight and independence just made things more challenging. He looked at Jep, who wore his signature baby blue coveralls and USCG cap perched on his head. His bushy white eyebrows were drawn in a perpetual frown—a joke, really, since everyone knew that despite his cantankerous looks, Jep Malone had a soft heart—as he gave his advice, and Eric had learned long ago to heed it. His grandpa was a wise old guy.

He pulled his legs up and rested his hands on his knees. “She’s angry.”

“Wouldn’t you be?” Jep added.

“Yeah,” Eric agreed. “I suppose I would be.”

He and Jep were quiet for a moment, and Eric listened as the wind chimes clanged from the Quinns’ front porch and carried across the property. That same wind rustled the leaves in the trees overhead, knocked the bell on the buoy right off the dock. What would Reagan do to keep busy? Why didn’t she just stop being so pigheaded and agree to accompany him...somewhere? Anywhere was better than sitting around doing nothing. That was the fastest way to hopelessness, and he could say that with experience. The rocking chair creaked as Jep pushed back and forth, and when Eric looked up, his grandfather eyed him skeptically.

“I see smoke risin’ from atop that head of yours, boy,” Jep said. “Got anything good planned?”

Eric cut him a grin. “I usually don’t have to try this hard, Jep my man.” Jep scoffed at his comment, and Eric sighed and pushed to his feet. “My Malone charms are perfected.”

“Or so you thought,” Jep added. He chuckled. “I’m goin’ to enjoy watchin’ this one unfold. Boy, you better sharpen them charms and quit bein’ so damned cocky.” He turned his gaze to the lane, in the direction of the Quinns’ river house. “I think that girl’s gonna give you a run for it.”

Eric turned his gaze, too, and smiled. He pictured Reagan all mad, sitting in a chair somewhere, fuming. “I think you’re right.”

“Usually am.” Jep peered at him. “You ain’t sweet on her, are you?”

Eric laughed. “Gramps, she’s been here a week. No, I’m not sweet on her.” He shrugged. “But we’re pretty much family now, and I’m determined to help her through this transition. She used to be...” He thought about it. “So damned crazy. Full of life and would take on any dare. I guess I don’t like her just sitting around, staring blankly at the wall.” He winked. “I’m going to make her snap out of it. Call it brotherly love.”

“Even though she hasn’t asked for your help?”

Eric nodded. “Damned right.”

“Hmm,” Jep said, giving his rocker a push. “What about Celeste?”

The mention of his ex-fiancée made Eric’s heart take a nosedive. He pretended that it didn’t bother him. “What about her?”

Jep didn’t say anything, only stared, curiously studied Eric as though seeing something no one else could see. Those bushy white brows were pulled into a frown, and he just sat there, rocking. Staring.

“I know that girl broke your heart,” his grandfather finally said. “And not so long ago, either.”

“Jep, I—” Eric began.

“Ah,” Jep interrupted, holding up a weathered hand. “I’m not tryin’ to drag up old wounds, boy. I’m just sayin’, watch it with Reagan. She’s not the one to get over Celeste with. You know, what do you kids call it these days?”

Eric stared hard at his grandfather. That’s what he thought he was doing? Putting the moves on Reagan as the rebound? Hell yeah, Celeste had stomped on his heart. Ripped it out and twisted it. Dramatic? Yup. But that’s what it had felt like. He’d asked the girl to marry him, for Christ’s sake. She’d said yes. Then the moment he’d announced he had been given transfer orders to Cassabaw, Celeste had broken the engagement. Just like that. But he wasn’t rebounding. Hell no. “Yeah, Jep,” he said, and rose. “Rebound. Copy that.”

“Rebound, that’s right. Don’t get all mad now,” Jep countered. “I’m just advisin’ you is all. Just in case your head was parked up your ass.”

Eric chuckled and shook his head. “Advice unneeded, but appreciated out of respect,” he clarified. “Celeste was months ago, Jep.” He nodded. “I’m...good. No rebound necessary.”

Jep eyed him, a white brow lifting. “I’m skeptical about that, but we’ll see.”

Eric started for the door.

“Where’re you off to?”

He glanced over his shoulder and grinned at his grandfather. “To plan round two of Mission: Hardhead Quinn.” He wagged his brows and pushed inside, and just as the screen door closed he heard his grandfather mumble.

He knew Reagan was in pain. He knew it was going to take a while for her to realize she was part of the family now, and that the Malones had one another’s backs. Always.

And as Eric flipped on the hot water for a shower, his mind raced as to just exactly how he planned on making her cooperate.

Hell. That would be half the battle. And half the fun. The only thing was, why did he care so much? Many years separated their adult lives now. Before, they’d been kids, with no hurts other than scraped knees or splinters, and no heartache. Well, that was before Reagan and Em had lost their parents in an accident.

Either way, something inside him was egging him on. Making him want to tackle the force of nature that was Reagan Quinn. She was dog-determined to have her way, which was to obviously hide from the world. For some reason, he wasn’t having it.

Reagan Quinn would in no way, shape or form be able to say no.