Blackberry Summer (15 page)

“I couldn’t get a sitter,” he’d apologized, so she spent the entire dinner cutting meat into pieces, wiping faces, ignoring snide comments from his bratty prepubescent daughter.

She hadn’t been eager to dip her toes into the dating pool again.

Not that she was thinking about dating Riley. It was just a kiss, for heaven’s sake. Okay, a pretty stunning, toe-curling one, as far as kisses went. But still only a kiss.

She didn’t need to explain herself to Alex, not with Ms. McKnight’s own dealings with the opposite sex. Alex specialized in the short-term relationship, dating only ski bums or guests at the resort who came into her restaurant. She pushed away everyone who wanted anything more meaningful.

“So the kids are still gone with Jeff and the ditz?” Alex asked.

“Until tomorrow. Their tickets for the show are tonight.”

Jeff and Holly were taking the children to a traveling Broadway production of
The Lion King.
Claire would have loved to take the kids herself, but she’d decided her budget couldn’t quite squeeze out tickets at $150 a pop. That translated into a whole lot of bead sales.

“How are you coping on your own?”

She flashed a look at Riley, who had eased back in his chair, his arm over the back of the one next to him. Claire winced, thinking of her foolish worry over the
visit from the Angel of Hope and how she had flashed her porch lights to scare him off.

“I’m fine. Just trying to hang on another few weeks when I can get a walking cast and be able to dump the wheels.”

“That’s great.” Alex finished her sandwich creation, which truly looked like something she would serve at the restaurant, complete with a little carrot peel garnish.

She’d always been that way, even when they were girls. Claire smiled when she thought of all the hours they’d logged in the McKnight kitchen, making brownies or popcorn balls or snickerdoodles.

“Have you checked on Maura today?” Claire asked, aware even as she spoke of Riley’s features going taut.

“I just dropped off a basket of muffins for her.”

“How is she?”

“Hard to say. She’s numb. The way she’s acting, you’d think she was drugged or something, but she refuses to take anything the doctor is trying to give her. She says it will only anesthetize her brain and delay the pain.”

“Is someone with her?” Riley asked. Claire heard the grim note in his voice and saw the way his jaw tightened.

“Sage. Thank the Lord for her.”

Poor Sage. Claire was somewhat ashamed to realize she’d been so busy worrying about Maura that she hadn’t given much thought to her friend’s older daughter, who had lost her only sister. Smart and funny and uncommonly pretty, Sage wanted to be an architect.
She was in her second year at the University of Colorado at Boulder, finishing her general education credits. This was bound to hit her hard.

“She has to go back Monday,” Alex said as she finally slid into a chair around the table. “Finals are the week after next.”

“That will be tough on Maura, when she’s alone in the house.” That had been the roughest times at first when the divorce had been finalized, when Jeff would take the kids and she would be alone here in this big house.

Worry furrowed Alex’s fey features. “Sage wanted to just bag school and stay home because she’s already missed two weeks of classes, but Maura won’t hear of it. I have to agree. I mean, she’s this close to the end, it seems foolish to throw away an entire semester. I’m just not sure how Maura will do once Sage returns to school. I think Ma will probably go stay with her for a while, if she’ll let her.”

Claire had doubts about the likelihood of that. Like all the McKnight women, Maura was fiercely independent and liked her space, even in the midst of trouble.

Riley’s features had grown increasingly wooden throughout the conversation. Now he pushed away from the table and took his plate to the sink, in the way of someone who had been trained well in a houseful of women.

“I’m sure the landfill still closes early on Saturday,” he said, his voice gruff. “I’d better head out so I can make it there in time to drop your branches for the wood chipper.”

He extended a hand out to snag his work gloves and protective eyewear from the counter, a movement that stretched his T-shirt over strong back muscles. Claire swallowed hard and quickly looked away.

“Thank you again for—” picking up the storm debris, kissing me senseless, making me feel wanted “—everything.”

He smiled but his green eyes were still troubled. “You’re welcome. Thanks for the chow.”

On his way out the door, he reached out and tugged a lock of Alex’s hair lightly. “See you, brat.”

“Bye, dork.”

He headed out the door and Claire watched him go, then turned back to Alex, only to find her friend aiming that narrow-eyed, probing look at her again.

“Okay, what’s going on?”

Claire willed herself not to flush. “What do you mean?”

“Was Ri bothering you?”

“Bothering me? No, of course not. He was helping me. You saw the truckload of branches. He’s been working in my yard for the last two hours.”

“Was that
all
he was doing?”

“What are you implying, Alexandra?”

“I don’t know. Call me crazy. I’m just catching a weird vibe.”

“Okay, you’re crazy,” she lied. “No weird vibe here.”

Alex didn’t look convinced and Claire held up the cast on her arm and gestured to her leg with it. “Look at me. I’m not exactly hot babe material here.”

“A little plaster wouldn’t stop Riley if he set his sights on a woman. You know how he is.”

Claire frowned. She’d heard the way his sisters talked about Riley’s reputation with women and it bothered her suddenly. More than that, it made her sad.

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?” Alex asked around a mouthful of sandwich.

“You make him sound like some frat boy with a drawer full of condoms. He’s a decorated police officer. Maybe you ought to remember that and give him a little more credit.”

Alex blinked. “O-kay.” She drew out the word.

“I mean, what’s the difference between the two of you? You’re thirty-five years old and you haven’t dated any man for longer than two weeks in your life. You’ve got exactly the same commitment issues. In yourself, you consider it exercising discernment. When Riley does the same thing, you all think he’s a dog.”

“You implying I’m a female dog, Claire-a-bell? Because I can go there, if that’s what you want.”

Although Alex’s tone was mild, Claire could see the temper spark in her eyes. It jarred her back to her senses. Why was she doing this? Alex was her best friend. She loved her better than any sister.

“I’m sorry. I don’t think you’re a player, honey. You know I don’t. But Riley’s not, either.” She paused. “He’s ripped up by the accident and what happened. Layla and Taryn and…everything. Give him a break, okay?”

“Fine,” she said after a moment. “And just to show
you what a kind, loving sister I am—not to mention what a good friend—I’m not even going to ask why you’re suddenly so quick to jump to his defense.”

Claire wasn’t sure she could answer that question, even if Alex had not decided to be so magnanimous.

“Now that’s out of the way, tell me the truth. How are you really feeling?”

Claire hadn’t given any thought to her assorted aches since Riley showed up with his chain saw two hours earlier.

“I don’t feel like I was dragged down the mountain behind a snowcat anymore.”

“That’s something anyway.”

“Now I’m just impatient to get back to work. I hate that I had to dump everything at the store on Evie.”

“She’s coping.” Alex rose and carried her plate to the sink, just as her brother had done. She went him one better, though, and started automatically unloading the dishwasher.

“I talked to Katherine this morning,” Claire said. Without the lifeline of her telephone, she would have gone crazy stuck here at home while she healed, not being able to even reach out to her grieving friends.

“I haven’t called in a few days,” Alex answered. “How are things?”

“She said they were placing a feeding tube through Taryn’s nose.”

“That genuinely sucks.” To Alex, who loved food and everything about creating it, Claire imagined a feeding tube would seem the worst trial a person could endure.

“Katherine said they’re talking about a long-term
rehab facility for her now. Doctors said they can give her another week at the hospital while the rest of her injuries continue to heal and if she doesn’t come out of the coma by then, they’ll move her.”

So much sorrow. She couldn’t bear it. She had to do something for her friends to ease the pain a little, but she had no idea what. The usual gestures of a warm meal or a lovely card seemed wholly inadequate. She needed to do more.

“Enough of this,” Alex said, her voice firm as she closed the now-emptied dishwasher. “Let’s do something fun. I don’t have to be at the restaurant until five tonight, so I’m hanging out here with you until then.”

“You don’t have to babysit me.”

Alex raised an eyebrow. “Who said I was talking to you? I’m here to visit Chester.”

At his name, her basset hound lifted his head off the rug and gave Alex the happiest look he could muster out of his droopy eyes.

“That’s right, you gorgeous cuddle monkey. You’re such a good boy. Yes, you are.” Chester obediently rose and headed over to Alex to nudge against her leg. “Chester and I are going to snuggle up and watch
Charade,
aren’t we, you?”

He licked her hand, his tail wagging hard enough to churn butter.

Alex grinned at the dog, then looked up at Claire. “I guess you can join us.”

“Thank you,” she said dryly.

“A perfect afternoon, right? We can admire Audrey Hepburn and her hats and moon over the lovely Cary Grant.”

It
did
sound perfect, she had to admit.

The only thing better would have been sharing a longer kiss with Riley.

H
E WASN’T AVOIDING
C
LAIRE
over the next week, he was only busy.

That’s what Riley told himself anyway, as the unusually wet and cool May dripped along. He was still trying to settle into his new role as a small-town police chief, a task made more difficult by a few strident voices who didn’t want him there, led by J. D. Nyman.

He had plenty to do preparing for the preliminary court proceedings in the robberies—filling out paperwork, interviewing the other teens involved, trying to inventory the stolen items they’d recovered so that they could be returned to their rightful owners. And it wasn’t as if that little crime spree was all he had to deal with.

Throw in a half-assed knife fight at the Dirty Dog between a couple of drunk, stupid tourists, some shop-lifters at the grocery store who tried to shove a couple of pot roasts down their pants and a pair of domestic assaults and he had plenty on his plate. His obligations didn’t leave much time for social calls.

That’s what he told himself anyway. He might almost believe it, too, if not for the annoying little voice in his head that whispered the truth.

In his heart, he knew he was avoiding Claire for one reason. That kiss they shared had rocked him off his foundation and he didn’t quite know what to do about it.

Claire wasn’t the sort of women he was used to. She was soft and pretty and homey, the kind of woman who could spend months fixing a crumbling old house so her family could have a comfortable nest. She was soft quilts and warm cookies after school and flowers brimming over weathered baskets on the porch steps.

All the things he’d been running from like hell since he reached adulthood.

As he headed home from the station on Thursday evening, nearly a week after he had seen those flickering porch lights as he passed her house, Riley mulled all the reasons he needed to ignore the urge to stop by her place to check on her, the same litany of excuses he’d been telling himself every day since their shattering kiss.

As stunning as he found the experience, he knew he couldn’t repeat it.

Claire and he were entirely different. His relationships tended toward fun, casual, no-strings-attached sorts of encounters with women looking for the same thing. He knew it probably had to do with his father deserting them all when he was fourteen. As he had watched his mother’s stunned devastation in that first year after James McKnight decided he was being smothered by his family and needed to escape, Riley had decided he wasn’t going to ever be in that position, where one person could have that kind of power over him. Nor would he ever be the one doing the hurting.

He had almost married once, when he was seventeen years old and his girlfriend found out she was pregnant. The marriage would have been a disaster, he knew that now. The miscarriage she’d suffered at two months, while a tragedy at the time, had probably been one of those blessings-in-disguise things.

Riley wasn’t sure he was cut out for that life. Watching his sisters’ various marital misadventures had only reinforced that conviction. Casual and fun and flirty, that was him, where no one could end up with a broken heart.

Claire wasn’t like that. She needed a man who would stick around. Because that man wasn’t Riley—and because he couldn’t seem to spend a moment in her company without wanting to become whatever she needed—he decided he was better off staying away.

He was still telling himself that on his way home from the station that evening when he spied a kid trying to ride a bike with his arm in a cast and making no effort to dodge the puddles left by the steady rain of the day.

He smiled as he recognized Owen Bradford under the blue helmet and the Star Wars clone fighter backpack. Nice to see the kid’s broken arm wasn’t keeping him from the simple pleasures of puddle jumping. Riley had spent many a drippy day when he was a kid seeing just how high he could make the water splash.

He waved, tapping his horn as he passed, and saw Owen’s flash of a grin. The kid raised his casted arm to return the wave, but the movement shifted his weight just enough that he was slightly unbalanced when the front tire hit the edge of a puddle that turned out to be
more like a pothole. The bike’s rear tire went up in the air and Owen, not holding on well, did a spectacular endo over the handle bars.

Crap on a stick. Riley slammed on his brakes and pulled his patrol vehicle to the side of the road—half on the grassy parking strip of grumpy old Mr. Maguire, who wouldn’t appreciate it, he knew—and shoved open the door.

When he reached the kid, Owen was sitting beside his bicycle wearing an expression of mingled pain and disgust.

He had mud from chest to knee where he’d fallen and Riley could see a rip in his jeans and a blood smear glimmering through the frayed threads of cotton. Despite the kid’s obvious war wounds, Riley could tell he was trying fiercely not to cry, his mouth pressed in a hard line.

He had been that same kind of kid, stubbornly determined to be tough, and seeing this mini-me version of himself was a little disconcerting.

“You okay, bud?”

“Yeah.” Owen’s voice sounded a little ragged but he cleared his throat. “I think so. Stupid puddle.”

“You’ve got to watch those. You never can tell how deep they are or what’s underneath the water.”

It struck him that while Claire probably wouldn’t appreciate being compared to a mud puddle, the argument could be made that she was much the same. He had a feeling there were hidden depths and pitfalls to her, just waiting to tangle a man up on his handlebars.

Or maybe he just needed to stop thinking about her every blasted minute.

“I do have to say, that was a truly spectacular dive. I’d give it 10 for form and a 9.5 for precision.”

Owen giggled, just as he’d hoped. The shock of the fall was probably beginning to wear off and in Riley’s experience, this was the trickiest point, when the adrenaline rush faded and the pain set in.

“How’s the cast?” he asked. “Did it get banged up?”

Owen lifted his arm and gave it an appraising look in the gathering twilight. “Muddy. My mom’s gonna be mad.”

“I doubt that. It was an accident and we should be able to wipe it down because it’s fiberglass. Can I help you up?”

“Thanks.”

Owen grabbed his hand and rose to his feet. Now that his initial bravado began to fade, he started to look more upset. “I think my bike’s messed up.”

Riley pulled the bike up so he could look. “Well, the forks are bent. That’s going to be a bit tricky to fix but not impossible.”

“I really need it. Now that the snow’s melted, I ride my bike to school a lot.”

“Then we’ll have to make sure we fix it right. Come on, let’s get you home before that rain starts up again. I can throw your bike in the back of my vehicle.”

Owen chewed his lip. “Yeah, only, I’m not supposed to get in a car with anyone else.”

For a half second, Riley remembered his days undercover, grungy and rough. The kids in those desperate neighborhoods didn’t have the same suspicions as their parents. They used to flock around him for candy or
the little toys he always seemed to have on hand. It hadn’t been great for his cover as a ruthless criminal and he’d taken heat from his superiors on the outside, but he hadn’t been able to stand their misery. It had become a game between him and the neighborhood kids, trying to come up with creative ways to sneak the goodies on the sly.

“You’re absolutely right to be cautious,” he said now to Claire’s sweet-faced kid, who was always warm and dry and loved. “But let me ask you, what does your mom say to look for if you’re ever in trouble?”

Owen gave him a sideways look, a smile lurking. “A cop, I guess.”

“Well, I’m the police chief, Owen. The top cop in Hope’s Crossing, as a matter of fact. I’ve known your mom since I was younger than you are. You’re safe with me, I swear it. Do you want to call your mom to make sure?”

Owen looked undecided for a moment and then shrugged. “It should be okay, I guess. Sorry. You probably think I’m a dork.”

“I think you’re one smart kid to be careful. Come on, let’s get you buckled up. You’ll have to sit in the backseat. That’s where I put all my tough customers.”

“Do you have handcuffs and everything?”

Riley opened his jacket to the inside pocket where he stowed his cuffs and pulled them out for Owen, whose eyes grew large. “Cool!”

Riley smiled and helped him in, then ensured he fastened his seat belt before he closed the door and headed to the back to make room for the bike.

When he returned to the front seat and pulled back
into traffic, he cast a glance in the rearview mirror and was amused to see Owen’s fascination with the patrol vehicle.

“A little late to be coming home from school, isn’t it? Don’t tell me you were in trouble and had to stay after.”

“No way! I’ve never even had I.S.S. That means in-school suspension.”

Riley was familiar with the term. And the regular good old-fashioned suspension and its ugly cousin, expulsion. He had more than a passing acquaintance with every form of school punishment back in his wild youth.

“Did you have soccer practice or something?”

Owen shook his head but didn’t elaborate. Riley had enough experience with reluctant witnesses to know when someone was trying to keep secrets.

He firmly believed a kid was entitled to his secrets as long as they weren’t dangerous. All the same, he was too much of a cop not to be curious. “So what were you doing so late? Over at a friend’s house?”

Owen shook his head.

“Out on a date?” he teased.

“Ew. No!” The kid screwed up his face in horror at the idea.

“Then what?’

“Promise you won’t tell my mom?” he asked after a pause.

“That depends,” he answered honestly. He had a strict policy not to lie to kids for the sake of convenience. Probably because he felt like the first four
teen years of his life when he thought he had a happy, normal family had been basically a lie.

“Are you doing something illegal or is your secret something that your mom needs to know for your safety or well-being?”

Owen snorted. “No, nothing like that.” He paused again. “I’ve been making a present for my mom.”

“Ah, the secret mom present. Got it.”

“You know it’s Mother’s Day on Sunday, right?”

He winced. He’d forgotten that particular day and made a mental note to ask his sisters what Mary Ella might have her eye on. He had to make up for the dozen years of Mother’s Days he’d spent in California. “Thanks for the reminder. Guess I better get shopping.”

“My mom’s birthday is right after Mother’s Day, so I should really be giving her two presents.”

“Ooh, double whammy. That’s rough, man.”

Owen giggled again and Riley grinned into the rearview mirror, feeling better than he had all week.

“I wanted to do something awesome, but I don’t have very much money. So Evie at my mom’s store is helping me make her something.”

“Something out of beads?”

“Yeah. My mom has this cool watch thing that she can switch like, with different bands, you know? So Evie’s helping me make her a new one.”

He couldn’t have said why that touched him so much, but something about the image of this very rugged little boy with the bum arm making a bead thingy for his mom slid right to his heart. If he was this mushy over
it, he could only imagine Claire would bawl like a newborn calf. “She’ll love it,” he assured the boy.

“I hope so.”

“Where does your mom think you are?” he asked as he turned onto Blackberry Lane.

“I told her I was going to my friend Robbie’s house after school.”

“What if your mom called Robbie’s mom to check?”

“Robbie’s mom works at the bank until six. His big sister tends him after school, so I told her I’d have Evie make her some earrings if she…” He paused, and in the mirror, Riley saw guilt flash over his features.

“If she gives you an alibi,” he answered for Owen.

“Yeah,” he answered, his voice sheepish. “You won’t tell my mom, will you?”

Something told him Claire was going to have trouble with this one and his elaborately orchestrated schemes. “Are you kidding? I wouldn’t ruin the surprise for her or for you.”

Owen grinned. “Thanks a lot.”

“You be sure and let me know how she likes it, okay?” Riley said when he pulled into the driveway. The windows of her house looked warm and welcoming in the fading, gloomy light.

Although it went against everything he’d been telling himself all week about staying away from her, Riley knew he had no choice now and he opened his car door.

“You don’t have to come in,” Owen said. “I’m okay.”

“You might need somebody there to help you explain the mud on your cast. Anyway, your mom is an
old friend and I need to check on her, see how she’s doing. And we’ve got a bike to fix, right? Between you and your mom, you’ve only got two good arms. I can give you a hand.”

“Do you know anything about fixing bikes?” Owen asked, his voice laced with suspicion. “My dad can never fix my bike when something goes wrong. Or Macy’s, either. If we have a bike that needs work, we always have to take it to Mike’s Bikes, even for a flat tire.”

That’s because your dad is a jackass pansy,
he thought—but of course didn’t say.

“When I was first a beat cop, I used to ride a bike.”

Owen looked intrigued. “Like a motorcycle?”

“Nope, like a bicycle. Two wheels, pedals, chain. The whole bit.”

“Cops don’t ride bicycles.”

“Maybe not in Hope’s Crossing. It doesn’t make a lot of sense here. But in a city without a lot of snow, a bike is a great way to get around quickly.”

“Especially downhill.”

“True enough.” Riley smiled. “When you’re chasing a bad guy running down the street with some lady’s purse, you don’t always have time to stop and take your bike into a shop. We often had to fix our own rides on the fly.”

“Do you still like to ride a bike?”

He thought of his three-thousand-dollar mountain bike currently taking up space in the spare room at his rented house. One of the main reasons he’d decided to take the job—besides his burnout in Oakland—had
been the recreational opportunities that abounded in Hope’s Crossing. In the summer a person could find world-class climbing, hiking, biking, fishing. And of course the winter featured challenging downhill skiing and cross-country trails.