Break On Through (3 page)

Her younger son, at seven, was still affectionate and he squeezed her fingers even now. She squeezed back reassuringly. “It’s going to be fine, Obe. I just want to talk to this person you saw.”

“I don’t know if it
is
a person,” Obie said, his blue eyes anxious. “It might be a bear. He came out of some bushes.”

Behind her, Eli snorted.

“In any case,” Cleo said, “I want to show you there’s nothing to be afraid of.” Her boys had been scared enough in their young lives and she wasn’t going to allow that ever again.

Turning the corner, Obie dug his sneakers into the cement. “Mommy…”

“It will be fine,” Cleo repeated firmly, pulling him forward. “Elias, where did this happen exactly?”

He came abreast of them and pointed ahead, to a sturdy gate set in a tall, wide hedge. “Oh.” Cleo hesitated. She knew that gate. Beside it was mounted a large metal mailbox, deep and wide enough for a package of baked goods.

Nervousness fluttered in her belly, which was silly, because the occupant of that house was someone she…well, not knew, exactly, but with whom she had an acquaintance of sorts. Though she hadn’t spoken with him for several days now. Perhaps he’d been sick? On a trip?

No matter. She stepped up to the gate, Obie fidgeting beside her, Eli hanging back again. With a crisp movement, she pressed the lighted button on the gatepost. She couldn’t see the house because of the hedge, but she assumed it was set back aways, which meant wires must deliver the sound of the bell. She didn’t hear it, even in the distance.

As she waited for a response, that twitchy feeling started up again. She ignored it. A mother did what she had to when it came to her kids. Her ears picked up the sound of a door opening and shutting, then measured footsteps against a hard surface coming their way. Cleo blew out a silent breath and cast a quick glance at Eli who wore a ghost of that fearful expression she’d promised herself she’d never see on his face again. “Hey, E,” she whispered. “I’ve got this, buddy.”

Then her attention was diverted back to the gate as it swung open with a rusty creak to reveal a tall, broad figure.

“Mommy,” Obie said. “It
is
a man!”

Oh, wow, Cleo thought.
What
a man. He was well over six feet tall, with muscular shoulders, and arms ropey with muscle beneath the sleeves of his black T-shirt. His hair was dark brown, and disordered in a bedhead-and-I-don’t-give-a-damn kind of way. His face was all chiseled, elegant bones and at odds with that bruiser of a body…which only served to make each more notable. There was a touch of sulky fullness to his lower lip, which she glanced away from quickly, only to be captured by the searing blueness of his eyes. They were taking her in, as if he might be called upon later to give a complete and vivid description.

Which was only fair, she supposed, since she’d been staring.

Clearing her throat, she half-lifted her right hand, then thought better of it. “Um, hello. I’m Cleo Anderson. This is my son Eli,” she caught the boy’s arm and drew him closer to her side, “and this is Obie.”

Obie, bless his funny little heart, wiggled the fingers not held by hers.

“I’m Reed,” the man said, in a voice she knew from those dark hours of the early morning.

Mr. Reed? Or Reed Something? “Yes, well,” Cleo continued. “We’re here because I understand an incident happened this afternoon…”

“Some boys ambushed your kids and threw old fruit at them.”

“I
told
you, Mom,” Eli said. “Can we go home now?”

Cleo tightened her hold on him. “Would you happen to know those boys’ names, um, Reed? I’d like to talk to their mothers—”

“Mom!” Eli said, his voice strident. “That will only make it worse.”

“I don’t know them,” Reed said. “Sorry.”

Obie slipped his hand free of hers and darted past the man into his front yard. “Oh, boy. A treehouse!”

“Obie!” Cleo called. “Get back here.”

Her younger son ignored her. “Eli, you’ve got to come see. A treehouse!”

Wearing a bemused expression, Reed half-turned and lifted a hand toward the yard. “Eli, I guess you have to come see.”

“Oh, we shouldn’t bother you…” Cleo began, but Eli had already taken up the invitation.

She glanced back at the homeowner. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “You should probably come in as well.”

Suddenly, she didn’t want to. But the boys were out of her sight and she couldn’t have that. Stepping forward, she tried not to jump when that creaky gate slammed shut behind her. Her gaze went straight to her boys, both halfway up the wooden ladder of a sturdy-looking treehouse nestled in the branches of a massive oak near the front corner of the house. “Is it safe?” she asked.

“Perfectly. I made my brother test it out just recently.”

She glanced over at him.

“He’s an engineer-type. Makes a much better inspector than me.”

“You didn’t build it?”

He shook his head. “Came with the house. Can’t deny its existence wasn’t one of the place’s charms, though.”

Wandering closer to her boys, she took in the surroundings. The landscaping was established and lush. The home large, yet relaxed-looking. The entry was a Dutch door, the top half open, but she couldn’t see more than shadows inside. Eli whooped and Cleo shifted her gaze. Her older son was at a window in the treehouse and waved to her, a huge, exuberant grin splitting his face. Her heart lifting, she waved back.

It was the most boyish he’d looked in months.

Their neighbor was staring up at the tree too.

“We won’t stay long,” she assured him. “I’ll get them down in just a minute.”

“Let them take their time,” he said, then transferred those mesmerizing eyes to her. “Can I get you something to drink?”

That nervous flutter was back in the pit of her belly. “Um, well…”

“Payback for all the baked goods,” he said, starting to walk toward the front door.

It was the first time he’d let on they knew each other from over the fence. She started trailing him. “I don’t want to put you out.”

He paused, a hand on the knob. “It’s no trouble.” One of his brows rode up to hide behind his messy hair. “Come inside?”

When she glanced back at her boys, he said, “We’ll leave the door open so we can hear them.”

Okay, call her curious. But she did want to see the interior of the comfortable-looking house which sprawled on the corner plot of land like it was stretching out for an afternoon nap. A couple of steps into the foyer, she paused. The sight lines were good. She could see a large living area on her right, a dining room off that. Down the hallway, what was probably a family room.

As if sensing her hesitation, Reed glanced back. Then he looked around, as if seeing his home through her eyes. “There’s no furniture,” he announced, like it was a surprise to him as well.

Cleo’s lips twitched. “I’ve noticed that.”

The hint of a rueful smile caused the corners of his mouth to tick up. “I’ve been meaning to do something about it.” He continued down the hall and she followed him into the kitchen.

“Oh,” she said. It had gleaming countertops, state-of-the-art appliances, a table and six chairs. Best of all, a brick fireplace, set at waist level.

Cleo was instantly drawn to it. “My grandmother had one of these at her house,” she said, running her hand along the rough-hewn surface of the used red bricks.

“She still around?” Reed asked as he opened the refrigerator.

“No.” Cleo sighed, remembering her grandmother’s red-painted fingernails, bright lipstick, and flowered aprons.

“That’s right,” Reed said. “You told me you didn’t have family.”

The night they’d shared the most about themselves. She felt a little guilty that she hadn’t mentioned her sons then. “I have my boys, of course.”

“Obie and Eli. Unusual names.”

“Obadiah and Elias,” she said. Her mother-in-law had picked them and Cleo, missing her own mom so very much, had gone along with her choices. She’d felt lucky that the Anderson family had taken her into their home, their son’s very young orphan-bride, while he was deployed.

“They’re in a new school?” Reed asked.

“Last month.”

He carried glasses of iced tea in both hands. One he set by her elbow on the counter. Then he leaned a hip against it, studying her.

The silence made her jittery again. During their early-morning encounters, the silences had been comfortable. But now that she was looking at him, seeing him as a thirtyish single guy—didn’t he have to be single? She hadn’t seen a sign of wife or kids—it made her awkwardly aware of herself.

As if reading her mind, he said. “You
are
blonde. Brown-eyed.”

Her skin heated, remembering when she’d described herself for him. Teasing him then had seemed funny at the time. Easy.

But now, with his gaze sliding down her body to her legs—in cut-off denim, but a length modest enough for a school picnic—she felt it like the stroke of a man’s hand.

And a man hadn’t touched her except in anger for a very, very long time.

She had to fight to hide her sudden shudder.

“Got the gams you mentioned too,” he said casually, then lifted his glass and closed one eye to examine its icy contents. “However, you inflated the top half a tad.”

Cleo choked back a laugh, even as she fought not to cross her arms over her respectable but scant C-cups. But maybe she should, she thought, going hot all over again. Because she could feel the distinct prick of her hardening nipples against the fabric of her bra.

Clearing her throat, she threw one forearm across her chest, like she always gripped her opposite shoulder during casual conversation. It was time to change the line of this one. “You haven’t been in your office lately.” Did that sound accusing…or worse, like she missed him? “I mean, um, not that I noticed.”

“Working some different hours,” he said. “Should we get back to where we can see your boys?”

“Sure, yes.” She hoped she wasn’t blushing again, though she felt foolish for not being the one to mention that first. As she followed him back outside, again she was struck by the emptiness of the house. “What is it you do?” she asked, addressing his back.

Since he faced away, she could barely hear his mutter. It sounded like “I make stuff up,” which she took to mean he made stuff. But what kind of stuff, she wondered. Birdfeeders? Computer processors? Mail bombs?

At the chilling thought, she hurried past him to stop at the base of the tree where she could address her sons. “Obie, Eli, we’ve gotta go, guys.” She knew better than anyone that monsters could lurk beneath the most harmless-looking masks. Even the one who was supposed to love you the most, care for you the best, could change and become a threat.

As the boys climbed down, she turned toward their host. “Harmless-looking” was nowhere near a close description of this man. He was gorgeous, with that tough body and arresting face. But Cleo Anderson shouldn’t be noticing things like that. She was a twenty-eight-year-old single mother.

Men, even merely appreciating one this good-looking, had no place on her agenda filled with homework, bathing times, and building a new life for herself.

“Well,” she said, pasting on a polite smile.

“Well,” he countered, with no smile at all.

Cleo wiped her right palm on her shorts then held out her hand. “It was nice meeting you.”

“Likewise,” Reed said, then his palm touched hers.

It was the Fourth of July. Midnight on New Year’s. The lightning strike she’d once witnessed crack a massive tree in two.

Rockets, shell bursts, a whiplash of power and heat.

They stared at each other, and she supposed he was having as difficult time as she was coming to grips with this…this
thing
flaring between them.

If she was honest, she’d admit it had been there when their gazes had first met and when his glance flowed over her skin in his kitchen. It had sparkled in the air between their bodies out in his front yard. Even, maybe, during the conversations in the darkness that they’d shared.

Chemistry. Attraction. A potent force beyond one’s control.

Cleo yanked her hand away, panic clawing at her throat. “Let’s go, boys,” she said, backing away from the man.

“Mommy?” Obie, sensitive and sympathetic Obie, detected the note of alarm in her voice. His fingers curled around the hem of her shirt.

“It’s okay, baby,” she murmured, turning to hustle him and his brother through the gate. “Nothing to worry about.”

Except she was. Worrying. And worse, afraid.

Because her intense reaction to the man’s touch gave her the unsettling feeling that her life was about to change.

Again.

A couple of days later, Cleo was removing the mail from the box situated at the mouth of the driveway while Eli and Obi raced their bikes up and down its smooth surface, zooming from the sidewalk all the way to their little guest house at the back of the property. The usual circulars were jammed in with the bills and letters and she was sorting through the mass when movement in the peripheral of her vision caused her to look up.

Two young women were approaching on the wide sidewalk.

As this neighborhood teemed with fitness aficionados and people with dogs big and small, walkers were a common sight. But these two didn’t hold leashes or pump small hand weights. Instead, each of them carried a short stack of aluminum foil baking pans.

Cleo thought she knew where they’d come from.

Which made her study the newcomers with interest. Both appeared petite from her height of five feet, eight inches. One was a honey blonde with bright blue eyes. The other was an olive-skinned brunette. They both wore pastel-colored yoga gear and friendly smiles.

Not unexpectedly, they stopped as they reached her.

Cleo glanced at her sons, reassuring herself they were fine, something she realized she did in moments of uncertainty. If the boys were well and safe, then nothing else could truly spell trouble.

Surely these two beautiful visitors weren’t portents of danger.

“Hi,” the blonde woman said. “I’m Priscilla—Cilla—Maddox. This is Alexa Alessio.” She nodded to her companion, who sketched a wave.