At First Touch (The Malone Brothers) (8 page)

As Eric retreated, Reagan felt her cheeks grow warm. Heat flushed her bare body. Had she felt his eyes on her? It was a new sensation for her, this blushing modesty. The thrill of flirting. She’d flirted before, and had been flirted with. Why did this, with Eric Malone, feel so drastically different?

And, he was absolutely right. It was only the beginning. Over the next week, if Eric wasn’t at the Coast Guard station, he was at their house, trying his best to coax her into doing something, anything, with him. Go for a drive. A walk on the beach. Crabbing. Fishing. Eating. Flying a kite. Eating some more. It absolutely was something new, every single day. No matter where she was, Eric Malone would find her. She’d even contemplated climbing the old plum tree just to get away from him. She’d flirted with the idea that he was almost harassing her, but truth be told—even if only to herself—she liked it. Liked his pursuit. He was...endearing. Sexy. Yet she wondered, why her?

By the next week, she hadn’t heard from him in a couple of days, and in a strange, tucked-away dark corner of her mind, Reagan thought she’d actually missed him coming around. She’d tell absolutely no one that fact, but there it was.

It was Saturday evening, and Emily and Matt had gone to Caper’s Inlet to the wedding of one of Emily’s young servers. They had of course asked Reagan to go, but she’d of course declined. Now she was sitting on the front porch, waiting for the timer to go off on the oven, alerting her that her frozen mushroom-spinach pizza was done. Dusk began to settle, and a breeze kicked up, stirring the muggy air.

“Permission to approach,” Eric’s voice called out. “I don’t want to be kicked in the face or anything.”

She should have known the quiet wouldn’t last long.

Reagan shook her head. “Permission not granted—Eric!”

Just as her body left the porch swing and air left her lungs, she found herself being slung over Eric’s shoulder. With a steel vise grip he clamped his arm over the back of her legs, the other hand firmly on her backside.

“Malone, put me down! I’ve got a pizza in the oven!” She tried to thrash, but he had her in a pretty good hold. He abruptly turned, walked into the house and turned off the oven. The sound of a pan scraping metal sounded, and the oven door closed.

“Mmm, this thing smells good. But I’ve got plans for you, Reagan Rose,” he said, then turned out of the house and began to jog down the steps.

“Are you insane?” she ground out through her teeth. Not really as angry as she was letting herself sound. Why was that? “Where are you taking me?”

With her body bouncing off his not-so-soft back, Eric Malone whistled as he strode down to the marsh and started over the dock.

“Well I guess you’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?” Eric announced.

“Ugh,” she groaned.

“You’ll thank me,” he said. “I absolutely promise you will.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

“W
HAT
ARE
YOU
DOING
?”
she hollered. “Eric!”

“Be quiet, Reagan Rose, before you scare the Hardens,” he replied. “To be so little you have one big mouth, girl.”

It was pitch-dark as hell with near zero visibility since the moon had retreated, and at the end of the dock he stepped down into the rowboat he’d tied to the piling and dumped her onto the bench seat. Quickly he untied the rope from the piling and pushed off before she could scramble back onto the dock.

Surprisingly, she didn’t even try. Instead, Reagan sat right where he’d dumped her. Arms crossed over her chest. Breathing like a bull and mad as hell. She didn’t move an inch when he slipped the life vest over her head, and he had to physically move her crossed arms out of the way to push the plastic clasp together. Hardheaded girl.

Eric began rowing. Keeping his gaze on Reagan. Knowing where he was going because he’d done it his whole life. “You’re going to hyperventilate if you don’t chill out. Take a deep breath. Relax.”

“What are we doing on the river?” she finally asked.

“Glad you asked,” he cheerfully answered. “This is your first official lesson.”

A sound came out of her throat, or maybe her nose. Sounded like a snort, but he wasn’t sure. “What are you talking about? What makes you think I need lessons?”

Eric continued rowing until the moonlight illuminated a small creek, and he headed that way. “Because, Reagan. You sit alone every day. Staring. Doing nothing. It’s not healthy. And I want to show you a few things on how to beat it.”

A hefty sigh loosened from her lungs. “Eric. I’m sure my sister has put you up to this. But whether I like it or not, this is me. In the dark. My life. Not an airman. Not...anything at the moment.”

“Why?” he pushed.

She stared in his direction, and the look on her face said:
Are you an idiot?
“Why? I’ve lost everything, Malone. I can’t do anything without my sight. Nothing! I can manage to take care of my personal needs and that’s it. I can’t drive. I can’t—” her voice caught, and it surprised Eric “—I can’t do a damn thing.”

Eric peered through the night. His eyes had somewhat adjusted and could see the hopeless expression on Reagan Quinn. It was a first. Hopeless was bad.

And it took all he had not to drop the rows and pull her into a fierce hug.

Not that she’d allow it.

He had a different plan, though. One they’d had to use on his brother Nathan, after the accident that stole Nathan’s fiancée’s life and Nathan blamed himself for it. Something Jep had said, though, made him think. Made him pause. He hadn’t really thought about it until now.

Did he prefer focusing on helping fix other people’s problems, rather than his own? He had to admit, it was easier. For some reason, his mind opened more to those in need, versus his own needs. Was it fear? Yeah, maybe he was a little scared to face the fear of how shattered Celeste had made him. It was a hell of a lot easier to just forget about it, and her, and focus on something else. Someone else who needed him.

Eric dragged a paddle to slow the boat down until it stopped. “Wow.”

“What?” Reagan said softly. Defeated.

“I guess I didn’t take you for a quitter, Quinn.”

Anger rolled off her in waves. Eric could feel it where he sat across from her.

“You don’t know me,” she said with such fury that her voice shook. “You don’t know what it’s like! Stuck in a gray-and-black world of shadows. Excuse me for being pissed off about it!”

“Come here,” he coaxed gently.

Reagan wore a white tank top and a blue-and-white plaid snap-down long-sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled up. A pair of faded denim cutoff shorts. Old sneakers. Her chest rose and fell with each angry breath. “What?”

“Come. Here. And. Sit. Beside. Me.”

“Why—”

Eric leaned forward, grasped her by the hand and pulled her to his bench. “Sit.”

Reagan flopped her backside down beside him. “Happy?”

“Not yet. Now I want you to do something for me,” he began. “Will you?”

“Right. You tell me what it is first,” she replied. “Before I commit.”

“I want you to do a series of exercises with me,” Eric explained. “None include getting naked—unless you want to, of course. Player’s prerogative!”

“No.”

“Okay, no naked, so just agree. They’re all simple. I swear.”

Reagan tilted her head back as though staring up at the stars, then exhaled. “This is stupid, Malone. I don’t need you to be my Miyagi. I’ll... This is stupid. But okay.”

“You do need me to be your Miyagi, this isn’t stupid and you’ll thank me later. Possibly with a date. Ready?”

They were close, their thighs nearly touching, their shoulders brushing together, and Reagan turned to him and cocked her head. “I guess.”

“First, I’m going to start off with a list of your immediate problems,” Eric started. “Nothing personal here, but they’re...observances, if you will. First,” he said, “you’re so busy being mad about what you can’t do anymore that you can’t see what you can do. For instance, take a big breath in—”

“Trying to heighten my other senses? Jesus, you sound just like the doctors,” she said angrily.

He gave a firm nod. “Good. And I didn’t even go to school for it.” He elbowed her lightly. “I’m just that smart. Now shut your piehole and
listen
, Reagan Rose. Take a deep breath in.”

After stalling for a second or two, she did it. Held it.

“Now slowly let it out,” Eric encouraged.

Reagan did as he asked. “Now what?”

“What do you taste?”

“Seriously?”

“Reagan, just think about it and answer,” Eric chided.

She was quiet for a few moments before answering, and because they were so close Eric witnessed her brow furrowing as she considered. “Salt. Wet salt.”

Reaching down to the bottom of the boat, Eric lifted the piece of saw grass he’d snapped off earlier as he’d rowed from his dock to Reagan’s. “Hold your hand out, palm up.”

When Reagan hesitated, Eric grasped her hand, flipped it open, and set the saw grass against her skin. He closed her fingers over it lightly. “Now feel. Carefully.”

Reagan’s fingertips glided over the stiff river foliage. “Saw grass. So?” She held her hand over the edge of the boat and dropped it into the water.

Eric pinched the bridge of his nose. “Girl, I swear,” he muttered. “Just...listen, Reagan. Be quiet, stop thinking and listen.”

Again, surprisingly, she kept silent. The boat drifted with the current, winding down and around the narrow creek. The river at night teemed with every sort of saltwater bug and creature and bird you could think of.

“The quieter we are, the louder they are,” she finally said, and pushed her hair behind her ear. She sighed. “It’s like...an orchestra, with every musician playing whatever they want, all at once. That’s what I remember thinking when I was a kid, anyway.”

Eric’s mouth pulled into an unstoppable grin. “Yeah, I remember.”

“It’s loud,” she added.

“Yep,” Eric agreed. “Loud and perfect. Here,” he reached over Reagan’s lap, grasped her hand and placed it around the oar. “Help me row.”

“So, we’re just out in the pitch-black rowing on the river?” Reagan asked.

“Yep.”

Eric noticed how their shoulders bumped with each pull of the oar, and before long they’d rowed around the horseshoe creek and were now back in the wide part of the river. “Reagan, hold up with the rowing for a second and listen again.”

She stopped, and for a moment the night sounded just as it had before. But Eric waited, watching Reagan’s face, and then several shots of wet air cut through the silence.

“Porpoises?” Reagan exclaimed, and Eric saw the smile on her face, the lines crinkling at the corners of her eyes. The air pops happened a few more times, growing fainter as the porpoises continued on their way.

“So, why?” Reagan said a few moments later.

“Why what?” Eric asked.

Her narrow shoulder lifted in a shrug. “I get the lesson. Pay closer attention to the things I can hear. Taste. Smell. Feel.” She nodded. “I get it. But...why you? Why’d you keep after me, even after getting shot down time and time again? Why are we here, in the dark, in a boat, in the river?”

After a moment, Eric blew out a gusty breath. “Well, it was the whole naked-under-the-towel thing, I guess.” He waited for a punch. A swear. Something. Anything. Instead, she was silent. Her head turned, seemingly staring out over the water. Her lips barely tipped up in the corners. A reaction?

Eric wiped his jaw with his hand and cleared his throat. “I wanted us to be on equal grounds,” he finally said. “As equal as possible. The darkness is debilitating. Crippling. I get that, because I can’t see a damn thing out here,” he continued. “I can only imagine if something similar happened to me, and my life in the Coast Guard would be over. But it happened to you, leaving me to see things more clearly. I thought about it. Things that you might casually skip over with sight, you heighten without it. I...wanted you to know I get
that
, Reagan Rose. And so should you. You can’t just stop living. You gotta figure out a way to make things fit.”

Reagan clasped her hands together, those long fingers entwining with one another, and she nodded. Didn’t say anything for quite a while, just kept her head bowed, as though staring at the boat’s bottom, that space between her feet. Then, she lifted her head.

“I don’t know where to start,” she said softly. “Making things fit.” A sad smile touched her mouth, barely noticeable in the darkness. But Eric saw it. “All of my edges are jagged and—” she gave a light laugh “—out of place. Not wanting to fit at all, like I have only half of a puzzle.”

Reagan looked so lost. Eric felt like a voyeur, being able to see her features, her expressive lines and frowns and smiles, while she could only see him as a dark blur. He could only imagine how his life would be altered if he lost his sight. Unable to be a rescue swimmer? Unable to do basically everything he did?

“Well.” He thought about it. “I think first off, we need a proper reintroduction,” he suggested.

Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“You can’t see me. Not really, anyway. I’m just a shadow, right?”

Reagan nodded.

He half turned toward her. “Face me.”

Her eyes narrowed even more, but she did it.

“Now.” He reached for her hands and lifted them to his cheeks. “See me.”

She cleared her throat, and Eric was slightly surprised when she didn’t pull her hands away. “You’ve watched one too many chick flicks involving blind girls, haven’t you?”

He couldn’t help but chuckle. “No such thing as too many chick flicks, Ms. Quinn.”

She cleared her throat once more, situated herself on the bench, and her hands began to search his features. “Scratchy,” she announced, letting her fingertips graze his jaw. Moving slowly upward, she felt his nose, his eye sockets, his brows. “Phew. There are two and not just one,” she said with a grin. Then she ran her fingers over his hair. “Nice military cut, but still thick. No baldness for you anytime soon.”

Eric watched Reagan’s face as she used her fingertips as eyes, noticing the way she captured her lip between her teeth as she studied him. It gave him a funny feeling inside, and not the
ha-ha
kind of funny.

The
I-might-want-to-kiss-her
kind of funny was more like it. And it took him off guard. He didn’t budge, though. This was his bright idea; he’d have to deal with it.

Her hands moved down his throat, her fingers brushing his Adam’s apple, then over his collarbone and to both shoulders. She gave them a squeeze and smiled. “Not the skinny little wiry boy I remember.” Her hands retreated back to her lap.

Eric cleared his throat, ran his hand over his head. “Now we’re even, see? I’ve seen you, and you’ve seen me.”

“I guess you still have those famous Malone green eyes?” she asked with a slight laugh.

“I do,” he confessed. “Big score with the ladies.”

“I bet.” Reagan grinned. “Does this conclude my lesson?”

“Almost,” Eric stated. “A couple of conditions remain.”

“And those are?”

“The next time I show up at your house and invite you somewhere, no arguments. No refusals. You have to go. Period,” he said.

Reagan gave a light laugh. “Okay. And?” she inquired.

“Start painting again.” Eric knew he was pushing it with that request, but he’d already kidnapped her. Might as well make a few demands.

Her jaw tightened. “That’s ridiculous, Eric.”

“Grab your oar,” he asked, and she did, and they began rowing back to the dock. “Why is it ridiculous?”

The night settled around them as the rowboat eased over the water, the oars making a slight
whoosh
ing sound as they sliced through the river. Along the marsh, yard lamps peered from the darkness, and although a small breeze stirred things around, the air was heavy and wet, and Eric’s T-shirt clung to his back.

“The obvious? I can’t see to paint,” she said, frustrated. “Kind of makes it difficult.”

“I don’t think so,” Eric argued. “I looked through all of your paintings. The subjects are all undefined shadows, Reagan. I think you could do it.”

“And how do I find new subjects? Sometimes everything is a blur, and I can’t judge anything at all.”

Eric shrugged, even though he knew she couldn’t see him do it. “Use scenes from your memories. No doubt you have plenty of them. Bottom line, Quinn,” he continued, “all that talent wadded up in that tiny little body is bound to come out somehow. Why not go with what you already know?” He cleared his throat. “I mean, you could always pick up beading, or welding yard art—although I wouldn’t recommend that one.”

A weak laugh escaped Reagan’s throat. “Yeah, probably not. How is it you know so much?” she asked.

“I know a little about a lot,” Eric confessed. “Courtesy of Jep Malone.”

“No doubt,” she said softly.

Reagan was silent the rest of the way back to the dock, and Eric could only assume—and hope—she was considering his plan. He had no doubt she could do it. None at all. She not only had to learn to trust others, trust him. But to trust herself.