RaeAnne Thayne Hope's Crossings Series Volume One: Blackberry Summer\Woodrose Mountain\Sweet Laurel Falls (22 page)

“I'll see you Monday morning,” she said after a moment.

“Need me to come get you?” Evie asked.

Rats. She'd forgotten about transportation. Oh, she hated being dependent on people. “I'll see if Alex can give me a lift. If that isn't convenient, my mom can probably do it.”

“Let me know if you change your mind. I know Ruth isn't always easy to take first thing in the morning.”

Claire smiled and they quickly ended the call. She sat for a moment, rolling that silky bead between her fingers again and thinking of the events that had affected so many lives in Hope's Crossing. Charlie Beaumont's life would never be the same. He would always have this tragedy around his neck. The ripples from that moment were expanding out in wholly unexpected ways. Gen pushing her wedding back six months. Riley struggling to find his place in town. Probably in a hundred other lives she didn't even know.

She thought of Maura, whose life had been changed forever. Riley's sister was still avoiding her phone calls most of the time, and Claire was determined to make it to her house as soon as possible, if she had to wheel herself the four blocks there.

With a sigh, she turned back to the bracelet, hoping beading would soothe and quiet her spirit.

She was just beginning to find a rhythm of sorts when the back door opened and Riley and Owen came inside.

“Mom? Where are you, Mom?”

“Family room,” she called.

Her son burst through the doorway, baseball cap shoved backward and his face flushed with excitement.

“Did you see me work the nail gun, Mom? I did a whole row of shingles by myself.”

The very thought of it caused heart palpitations. Her son on a ladder with a nail gun that could impale his hand to the roof. She supposed it was a good thing she hadn't allowed herself to watch.

“You let him use a nail gun?” she asked Riley in what she hoped was a calm voice.

“With help,” he assured her. “I kept my hand on it at all times.”

“It was awesome,” Owen exclaimed. “I think I'm gonna save up my allowance and buy one. Man, I'd have the best tree house in town!”

Riley laughed. “You've got to build to a nail gun, kid. Start out with some regular tools and see how that goes first. You don't snowboard on the black diamond trails until you've had a few runs down the beginner slope.”

Her son seemed to accept that bit of philosophy with his usual equanimity—and short attention span. “Hey, Mom, can we have pizza for dinner?”

She smiled. “I was thinking the same thing. It is Friday night after all.” She was always grateful when she had the children on the weekend and tried to make Friday nights fun time for the three of them. “I'll call and put in the order as soon as Macy comes back from soccer practice. Want to watch a movie, too? We have all those DVDs your dad and Holly brought over for me to watch while I recover, plus the instant streaming. Wasn't there some superhero show you've been wanting to see?”

“Can I go check out our queue and see?”

“Sure. My laptop's on the kitchen table.”

She was deeply grateful for technology—and even more grateful that her kids could figure it out far better than she could.

The moment her son headed out of the room, Claire instantly wanted to call him back. His presence
provided a buffer between her and Riley. Without him, that ridiculous teenage girl inside her couldn't stop thinking about that kiss.

“Owen is a great kid. You've done a great job with him.”

“He
is
a great kid, but I'm not sure I had anything to do with it. He came out of the box that way. He was the easiest, most good-natured baby you could ever imagine and a very sweet toddler.”

“He has a good mother who loves him. That's got to count for something.”

She smiled. “Thanks. And thank you for your help, Riley.” She paused. “You probably have figured out that I don't like being in a position to need help.”

“I hadn't noticed,” he said, his tone dry as he came closer.

“I'm working on it. So thank you.”

“You're welcome. We've still got a bike to fix but that shouldn't take long.” He stepped closer and her heartbeat kicked up a notch. He was just so
big.
He crowded out any common sense she might have hoped to cling to. “What are you working on over here?”

“A bracelet. I wanted to give something to Brooke Callahan for taking such good care of me when I was in the hospital. While I was there, I noticed she had several flowered scrubs in that color.”

He gave her an exasperated look. “Do you ever do anything for yourself?”

“Beading
is
for me. Oh, I might sometimes give away the things I make, but the process of creating them is all about me. I find pleasure in the whole thing, from coming up with the design to choosing the beads
to the feel of them under my fingers. These recycled glass beads from Africa are like sea glass that's been worn smooth by the waves.”

He leaned forward to touch the beads, his hands looking incongruously large against the delicate blue. “Soft. You're right.”

She couldn't breathe with him this close. He smelled musky and male, like cedar and sage, and he crowded her, made her feel girlish and silly. She eased away a fraction of an inch, but he still noticed the movement.

“Why do you do that?”

“What?” she asked, pretending she didn't know what he meant.

“Flinch away from me.

She thought about lying, pretending he was imagining things, but the casual words just wouldn't come. “You make me nervous,” she finally admitted.

His eyes widened. “Why? You've known me forever. You have to know I would never hurt you.”

Not physically maybe. Claire wiped suddenly damp palms on her skirt. “I'm not going to be one of those women, Riley. Let's be clear.”

He shuttered his expression. “Oh, absolutely. I strive for clarity in all things. Which women would you be talking about?”

“I know you're just teasing me, like you've always done. All these little comments about…about sleeping with me and having a crush on me when we were kids and everything. Kissing me. You're just trying to see what kind of reaction you can get out of me. It's no different from all those times you used to jump around
the corner and yell boo just for the pleasure of hearing us squeal. I'm not going to fall for it anymore.”

Much to her relief, he stepped back a pace but only so he could glower at her from a better angle. “You're going to have to help me out here. Clarity, remember?”

She hated feeling stupid and out of her depth and she finally just blurted out, “I won't have a fling with you, Riley.”

He blinked. “Okay. Good to know.”

“It's not that I'm not…um…that I wouldn't…” Oh, she didn't know how to do this. “I'm not sophisticated or worldly or any of those things. I'm a soccer mom. I've been a room mother for six of the last seven years. I'm the president-elect of the PTA, for heaven's sake.”

“And that's pertinent to this discussion because?”

“Because I'm not the sort of woman to jump into bed with anyone. Especially not you.”

His jaw tightened and she had the ridiculous feeling she'd hurt him somehow. “Why especially not me?”

“A hundred reasons. For one thing, I know you're not serious about any of this, you're playing some kind of game.”

“This is fascinating. Do go on.” His jaw had hardened and he crossed his arms across his chest, which unfortunately only served to emphasize the definition of his biceps.

“Well, you're my best friend's little brother.”

“Younger. I prefer younger. And only by a few years, Claire.”

Okay, that was true. If not for the fact that she'd
known him all her life, the difference in their ages would be irrelevant. But she
had
known him. She'd seen him grow from a pesky kid to a surly teenager.

He was close, so close that she could see a muscle flex in his jaw. She wanted to kiss that flutter, just throw caution to the wind and…

The pressure in the room shifted as the front door was yanked open.

“Hey, Mom!” Macy called out from the entryway. “Guess what? Julie Whitaker has a sprained ankle, so guess who gets to play goalie tomorrow?”

Her daughter burst into the family room, overflowing with gangly, slim gorgeousness, even in practice shorts and knee-high socks. She grinned when she saw Riley. “Hey, Chief.”

“Yay for you! Goalie, huh?”

“Yeah. Jule's super-good, so I never have the chance to goal tend, but she's out for at least two games, so I get to fill in. Maybe if I do an awesome job, the coach will think about alternating us. I don't mind playing forward, but I really love goalie.”

“That's wonderful, honey.” With effort, Claire shifted gears to her mommy role. “You've worked hard to improve your skills and you definitely deserve it. Hey, I'm going to order pizza tonight and Owen's picking a movie.”

“Okay. I'm going to go change and clean up. The field was super-muddy.”

In a rare show of affection, she slid her arms around Claire's neck and hugged her, then bounced past Ruth in the doorway on her way out of the room.

“Thanks for the ride home, Grandma,” she said.

“You're welcome, my dear,” Ruth answered. “Claire, good grief, who left such a mess out by the garbage can? They look like shingles. Is that Andy Harris here working on something? He needs to do a better job of cleaning up after himself.”

Riley stepped forward into her line of vision and Ruth's mouth pursed like she'd just chomped into a peach pit.

“I left the mess, Mrs. Tatum. Claire lost a few shingles in the rains of the last few weeks, so I was replacing them. Don't worry, I'm planning to take care of the garbage before I go.”

Her mother's sharp-eyed gaze slid from Riley to Claire and then back again. Claire gave an inward cringe at the questions and suspicions she saw gathering there like an August afternoon thunderstorm over the mountains.

She braced herself, wishing she had some way to warn Riley of the cloudburst about to let loose.

“Chief McKnight. This is a surprise.” Ruth smiled with absolutely no warmth. “Isn't there a teenager somewhere you can chase down at dangerously high speeds?”

Riley's only reaction was the twitch of a muscle in his jaw. If this was the attitude he faced around town, no wonder he carried unnecessary guilt about the accident.

“Mom,” Claire chided quietly.

Ruth offered up a falsely innocent look. “What did I say?”

“You know that was unfair,” she began, but Owen's “Hey, Grandma!” stalled the words.

“Hello, dear. What have you been up to?”

“Me and Riley fixed the roof on the shed and guess what? I got to use a nail gun.”

Oh, dear. Here we go. Now Ruth would accuse her of allowing Riley to put her son into danger. “Weren't you two going to take a look at your bike?” she asked, a little desperately.

Riley raised an eyebrow at her sudden uncharacteristic eagerness to accept his help, but he only nodded. “We certainly were. That was our next project. Let's go check out what we're dealing with, kid.”

“I found just the show on the computer, Mom,” Owen informed her. “I put it at the top of the queue.”

“Excellent. I'll order the pizza in a minute.”

When the two of them headed outside, Owen pacing his stride to Riley's longer-legged gait, Claire turned to her mother.

“Mom, that was unkind. Riley was only doing his job. You know that.”

Ruth began fussing around the room, straightening magazines on the coffee table and picking up the granola bar wrapper Owen had left there after school. “I'm sorry, Claire, but I can't forget that because of the way he did his job, you and my only grandchildren were nearly killed. Look at you. You can't even walk and you haven't been able to work for over two weeks. It's not right.”

“If you're going to blame anyone, blame the teenagers who decided to go on a crime spree for no discernible reason. Blame Charlie Beaumont. He's the one who chose to run.”

Ruth made a dismissive sort of motion. “Charlie is a thoughtless boy who ran because he was afraid.”

“Right. Afraid of being caught. They robbed my store and a half-dozen others in town, not to mention that vacation home in the canyon. None of that is Riley's fault.”

“I'm not defending what they did. It breaks my heart, that's what it does, and I don't understand it for a minute. I don't see how anyone can. Children from good homes, robbing people, vandalizing things. Something's wrong, I'll grant you that. Personally, I think it's all those video games you parents let them play.”

Because she allowed Owen only a couple hours a week of only rated-E-for-everyone games, she wasn't sure how her mother could justify lumping her into that particular category. Anyway, that wasn't the point.

“Whatever the reason, it was the choices Charlie—and, yes, the others—made that caused this tragedy.
Not
anything Riley McKnight did.”

“He should never have chased them,” her mother insisted. “Not with those snowy conditions. And now a girl is dead and another might as well be, if she has to live the rest of her life like a…like a rutabaga.”

“Riley did nothing wrong.”

“Believe what you want. I'll do the same.”

Would that waxed cord be strong enough to make a noose? she wondered, although it was a toss-up whether she wanted to use it for her mother or for herself. Five minutes of conversation with Ruth and she wanted to bang her head on her worktable a couple dozen times.

“What would you have him do? Just let the kids drive away? Then you and J. D. Nyman and everyone else in town would be saying he's too soft.”

Her mother turned her attention to the entertainment center, stacking loose DVDs and picking up the hundred or so remotes it seemed to take to run everything these days.