Wishes and Stitches (14 page)

Chapter Twenty-one

B
ut no flames rose, and the smoke or dust, whatever it had been, dissipated, leaving just the smell of burning oil and a faint
tink-tink
from the engine.

Naomi waited a beat while he stared at the bike, unmoving. Then she said, “Isn't this where you hit the dirt with a wrench, getting grease on your hands? Further proving the town right about you? You know,
Zen and the Art
and all?”

Rig shook his head. “I love riding, but I don't know a damn thing about engines. Of any kind. I know how people work. That's about it.”

Naomi felt a flutter in her stomach.

Rig stuck his hand in his front pocket and pulled out a cell phone. “I'll just call my brother.”

Standing on opposite sides of the motorcycle, Naomi watched as he dialed, then listened as he gave his brother directions. “Quit it. Just get here.” A pause. “Shut up.” A click as he snapped the phone shut. “Smart-ass. He's on his way. He's not far.”

There was an electrically charged pause. Should she invite him in? Naomi dug her nails into her palms. Need hit her, hard. A ridiculous desire to test him. To test herself.

Rig kicked a booted toe into the edge of the gutter and kept his eyes down. The quiet grew louder.

She would figure this out. Naomi only knew why she was moving a second before she came around the back wheel. She didn't give herself time to form an argument. Coming face-to-face with Rig, she grabbed the front of his leather jacket in both hands.

In the moonlight, his eyes widened, and the beginning of a smile crept across his mouth.

“What—?”

“I just have to try this again,” Naomi said. This would be scientific. A controlled study. In Portland, it had been . . . In her living room, it was . . . no, she must be remembering wrong. One more try, then.

Going up on tiptoe, she pulled herself up to his mouth. She didn't go slowly. The kiss started up right where it had left off earlier, as if no time had passed. Her head swam, and she held on tightly to her intention. This was a test—she was in control.

Rig met her intensity, wrapping his arms around her waist, drawing her against him, hard. His tongue rasped against hers, and Naomi kept track of who was in charge of the kiss. She was, no, he was . . . No, she definitely was. No question.

He sucked on her lower lip, then breathed into her mouth, and she inhaled him, wanting to draw him into her, down inside where her need started, growing with each flick of his tongue. She was shocked to feel her knees shake, and pressed her thighs to his while at the same time, she leaned out, taking a juddering breath. She needed cool air in her lungs to come back to herself.

More. She should push this further. Just to see. His head dipped toward her again. Releasing his jacket, feeling herself supported fully by his arms around her waist, she wove her hands into his hair, dragging her fingers down his neck, back up to the base of his skull so she could pull his kiss against her harder. Rougher.

Getting air was difficult again, and she heard the ragged edges of his breath match her own. Forgetting her study of the kiss, unable to stop herself, she dropped her hand down to the front of his jeans, pressing against where she could feel him straining. He bit off a curse against the side of her jaw and leaned more heavily into her, bucking again at the touch of her hand.

“Naomi . . .”

“What?” she whispered, dipping her tongue into the corner of his lips, just where they met. He tasted sweet and metallic. She couldn't get enough.

“You have to . . .”

“Have to what?” A heady feeling of power coursed through her as she felt his sides shake with a need that matched hers. Yes. This was what she wanted.

“Stop. You have to stop.”

Naomi pulled her head back and looked at him. The moonlight bathed his high, broad cheekbones, and she could see that they were flushed with warmth. Good. Her whole body was superheated, and she wanted his to match.

“Why?” she asked. A little more of the kiss wouldn't hurt. Just testing. She told herself she could keep it together. She knew she could. If she figured out exactly how dangerous he was for her, she could control her responses.

“Because,” Rig said, and leaned forward to graze her cheek with the stubble of his chin. His voice was intense, pitched low and directly into her ear. “If you don't, my brother is going to drive up and find me fucking you against the bike.”

And just like that, Naomi lost control of the situation. The image crashed through her mind, her naked legs wrapped around his hips, Rig thrusting into her—her knees, already shaking, felt as if they were made of liquid, like the rest of her. She clung to him, her mouth open. She couldn't find the words, the right words . . .

Rig drew the lobe of her ear into his mouth, and then said, “And if I do that then the woman across the street”—Naomi peeked at Mrs. Strufend, who was gawping at them through her kitchen window—“will probably have a heart attack, and we'll have to save her, and I don't feel like saving anyone but you right now.”

Naomi turned her head and took a deep breath. “You're right. We
have
to stop.” She managed to push her way out of his arms and stumbled backward a few steps. Her lips felt swollen, burned by stubble, and she put her arms out, as if something were nearby to steady her.

The streetlight clicked back on, and lit him like a spotlight. His hair stuck out on the side where she'd had her fingers in it, and his bottom lip shone, wet. He looked like he should be smoke jumping, not ferrying a coworker home.

She'd been playing with matches, forgetting he was a fucking volcano. Holy Christ. She barely restrained herself from panting.

Naomi couldn't let that happen again. How ridiculous. Thank God it was Friday and she wouldn't have to face him in the morning.

Already, now that the heat of his body had been removed from hers, the cool air was giving her a chill. Goose bumps prickled her arms. His chest was rising and falling like hers.
Damn it.
She was struck by the completely irrational urge to fly back to him, wrap herself around him so tight that they both went crazy, and at the same time, she wanted desperately to run inside. Away from here. Away from
him
. Oh, but God, she'd forgotten yet again that her home was occupied by her pregnant sister. Damn, damn, damn.

“I'm sorry,” she mumbled, looking anywhere but at his moonlit eyes. A shooting star grazed his shoulder.

“I'm not,” he said. His voice was sugar on gravel. “I'm glad as hell.”

A car's engine sounded in the distance. A wild feeling of gratitude rose in her chest. “Is that him? Your brother?”

“Probably.”

“Thank God.”

The car, a small black Jetta, pulled onto the street and then drew alongside them. The window went down, and Jake Keller's head came out the driver's-side window.

“All three of us needed an outing. Hope you don't mind.”

Chapter Twenty-two

R
ig's father gave a cheery wave, grinning like the five-year-old Milo who sat behind him. For God's sake. His brother had brought the whole damn family.

“Hey, you two.” Jake got out of the car and gave Naomi an assessing look. Then he turned to his brother and winked. “What's wrong with your bike?”

Apparently Jake had forgiven him for the argument about the photo album yesterday. Good. That was something.

“You had to bring everyone?” said Rig.

“Sure!” said Jake. “We were bored. Milo couldn't sleep. Thought we'd come help Uncle Rig.”

Rig's father unfolded himself from the front passenger seat into the street, stretching and sighing as he did so. “Your car is cramped, Jake. You should get a new one the Keller men fit into.”

The situation was turning even more embarrassing than Rig had imagined it would be to have his brother rescue him. Frank approached Naomi, who stood in place with a quizzical expression on her face. Was she wondering if he'd ordered reinforcements?

“Frank Keller, at your service,” his father said, holding out his hand.

“Dr. Naomi Fontaine, nice to meet you.”

His father leaned forward, took her hand with both of his, and then bowed to kiss her knuckles. She'd been kissed by two Keller men tonight, Rig realized. Naomi giggled, a cute-as-hell sound Rig hadn't heard before. He made an immediate vow to get her to giggle for him. There was no way his father was getting away with it if Rig couldn't.

“I don't know what's wrong. It just kind of blew up,” he said to Jake.

“Blew up? Motorcycles don't—” The firefighter in his brother looked concerned. “You both all right?”

“Fine, fine. I think it threw something, which pissed something else off.”

“You never were the mechanic in the family.” Frank released Naomi's hand and tapped himself proudly on the chest. “I rebuilt my Volvo's engine last summer. It's at Jake's house, runs like a dream.”

“The horn honks when you use the turn signal,” Jake said.

“That's just electrical,” snapped Frank. He turned back to Naomi and beamed. “The engine purrs. And you, my dear, look lovely tonight.”

“Don't hit on Rig's date, Dad,” said Jake. “It never goes as well as you think it will.”

“Well, thanks for coming to get me,” said Rig. He wasn't above begging. This had just turned into the most uncomfortable date he'd ever been on. “Naomi, I'll have the shop pick up the bike in the morning.”

“You're leaving it here?” asked Jake.

“What, you think you can fix it with your mechanical prowess and mind control? Got a toolbox on you, bro?”

Jake shrugged. “Guess not.”

“So let's go.”

“I have to pee,” piped Milo, poking one hand out the open window.

Rig groaned. “Can't you wait, buddy? Five more minutes? Just till Dad drops me off at my place? You can pee there.”

“Now.” Milo stood firm on the matter. And when Keller men made up their minds, Rig knew there was no swaying them.

“Naomi, would you mind if we . . . ?”

“Of course not,” she said briskly. “Why doesn't everyone come inside?”

“I meant me,” Rig said. “I'll take Milo in by myself.” But it was too late. Jake and his father were already headed up the walkway. He got Milo out of his car seat, and his nephew shot ahead. All of them were inside the house before Rig finished closing the car door.

A second later, Naomi's face appeared in the living room window, just in time to watch him stumble over a sprinkler head in the lawn as he made his hurried way to the front doorstep. Great.

“You coming in?” She held the screen door open for him.

“Don't mind me,” he said.

“I won't,” she said. But she smiled, and Rig got stuck all over again on how pretty her mouth was when it moved like that.

He shook his hands out as if the motion would help him clear his mind. Jake had already disappeared, presumably to the bathroom with Milo, and Frank was leaning forward, taking a close look at the pictures Naomi had up near the hallway. Rig hadn't noticed them earlier—he'd only really looked at the large print of the poppy.

These pictures were different; they were family photos, mostly black and white. They were hung haphazardly, some a little crooked, at all points on the wall, in frames that didn't match. Rig's mother would have had a heart attack. Once, he'd seen her use a level while hanging her shopping list on the fridge. He'd teased her, but she'd just told him she liked order.

Naomi, as proven by the pictures, and the piles of professional journals next to the couch, piled so high that several of the piles had toppled over, wasn't like his mother. At all.

Not that he would compare them.

Whatever.

He had to admit, the photos looked nice the way Naomi had hung them. Homey.

Frank pointed a finger, almost touching the glass of one of them.

“Dad,” hissed Rig.

“Who is this, my dear?”

Naomi stood next to Frank. “That's my father and mother when they were still married.” She smiled, a small private grin. “He wore that suit for years, said it was the best one he ever had made.”

“Where are they now?”

Rig watched Naomi's face fall. “Dad died when I was seventeen. He was a doctor, too. Mom's still in L.A.”

“Oh, my dear. I'm sorry about your father,” said Frank. “Which one do you most resemble?” He leaned in again. “Your father. I can see it clearly.”

Naomi nodded, appearing satisfied. “My sister looks like our mother, I look like Dad.”

“And this is your grandmother?” Frank pointed to a photo of an elderly woman seated, smiling, on a sand dune.

Naomi laughed. “No, that's Eliza Carpenter. I wish she was my grandmother. But no, just a friend.”

Frank said, “Was it taken here?”

Naomi smiled. “No, she
was
from here, but she was my patient in San Diego. I broke her out of the hospital one afternoon, and we went wandering. Eliza taught me how to go down a dune that day. She told me to listen carefully, and I thought she'd have some safe way to do it, a way to preserve the sand and ecology or something, so I concentrated. Then she said, ‘You must throw both arms in the air and run down, as fast as you can, screaming as loudly as possible.' Then she held both of her canes up into the air, and wobbled down the dune, hollering the whole time. She watched as I ran down and gave me an eight for performance, and a ten for volume.” Naomi laughed, and touched the frame of the photo, her eyes wistful.

Frank nodded, his eyes happy. “Sounds like a smart woman.”

“All right, Dad, as soon as Jake—”

“Hi.” The voice came from behind them. Naomi's sister, Anna, walked out of the dim hallway and into the bright living room. She wore red pajamas that barely covered her stomach and a fluffy red robe. Rig wondered if they were her own clothes or if she'd borrowed them from her sister.

Naomi would look hot as sin in red.

Anna rubbed her eyes and, her belly notwithstanding, looked about thirteen years old. “What are you all talking about out here?”

Frank looked startled. “Oh, dear, I hope we didn't wake you up.”

“You did,” Anna said with a smile, “but it sounded nice out here. Interesting.”

Naomi said quickly, “This is Frank, Rig's father. His whole family is here, actually. They're using the bathroom. Then they're leaving, and you and I can talk.” She paused. “Are those my pajamas?”

So they
were
hers. Now Rig had a visual of Naomi moving though her house at night in the red silk.

“Bathroom?” Anna ignored the question and plopped onto the couch, yawning. “Why?”

Jake came out of the side bathroom, ushering along Milo, who held his hands in the air and flapped them.

“Air dry,” said Milo. “Air dry!”

Naomi said, “Isn't there a towel in there?”

Rig nodded. “Milo likes to air dry. Even when he gets out of the bath.” He still thought it was one of the funniest things his nephew did, and he did a lot of them, careening naked around the house after his bath, thumping wetly off walls and furniture.

Milo sped up, like he always did when air drying, and he zoomed around the living room. On his second lap, he jumped up onto and then off of the couch where Anna sat.

“Milo!” said Jake. “Come here. Stop.”

Milo kept running, but he stayed on level ground.

“Sorry,” said Rig to Anna. “That's my nephew, Milo. And this is my brother, Jake.”

Anna pulled the red robe around herself more tightly and said, “Well, hi. I didn't know it would be
this
much fun out here.”

Jake said, “He's crazy. Gets that from his uncle.” Milo stopped running and started spinning like a top.

“Unfair,” said Rig, but he was barely listening. He watched Naomi's face, how it lit up at the sight of her sister, only to fall, so quickly, as her eyes fell to her sister's stomach. There were a lot of emotions that needed to be dealt with, and the women couldn't start until all the Kellers left.

Milo stopped spinning and staggered sideways, running into Anna's legs. She reached forward, moving awkwardly with her belly, and caught him under the arms. “Come up and sit next to me, big guy.”

Rig waited for Milo to struggle, to pull away like he always did when he was placed in one spot and told to stay. Rig knew it wouldn't fly, especially from a stranger.

But Milo looked up into Anna's eyes, and then down to her belly. He crawled up next to her. “Is there a baby in there?”

Anna nodded. Naomi watched her sister with a guarded expression Rig couldn't read.

“Yep,” said Anna. “It's a baby girl. You must be really smart. How did you know?”

“Mrs. Misty at day care has one in her tummy, too.”

“Well, you're very smart to figure it out.”

Milo nodded, put his thumb in his mouth, and curled up against Anna. Damn. Milo didn't cuddle with strangers. Maybe it was a knocked-up thing.

Jake said, “Don't suck your thumb, Milo. And we should go. Let's get out of their hair.”

Anna put her arm around Milo and drew him closer. “You don't have to go. Or is Milo's mother always sure you boys are dead on the highway if you're late?”

Naomi gasped. “Anna!”

Jake opened his mouth, looking like he had something to say but only managed, “Well . . .” before he stopped speaking.

Rig would have to clean it up somehow. “She—”

Milo unstopped his thumb from his mouth and interrupted him. “My mom died a really long time ago. When I was little.”

Anna's eyes went wide. “Oh, God. I'm so sorry.”

“Why?” said Milo, but Anna was looking at Jake.

“I didn't mean to—”

Jake waved his hands, but still appeared mute.

“But you did,” said Naomi sharply. “As usual.”

Anna's eyes filled with tears, and she stood up from the couch and rushed down the hallway into the darkness. A door slammed.

Rig swung around, thinking he could say something to ease the situation, smooth it over. Jake was going to be more hurt than he would let on, and Naomi would probably be embarrassed by the whole thing. Dad, of course, would be oblivious, as usual.

As he turned, his elbow hit a tall standing lamp and sent it pitching to the left. He jumped, grabbing for its pole, but missed and sent it flying farther. Just before the lamp crashed to the ground, it thunked a tall gray pot, decorated with an owl, that sat on a side table.

With a huge smash, the pot hit the hardwood floor and exploded into shards of ceramic. A coarse, heavy dust spilled from the broken container.

This Frank noticed. He jumped back and said, “I was nowhere near that. What
was
it?”

Heavyhearted, Rig stared at the dust rising from the floor. There was only one reason to keep a pot full of ashes.

Naomi visibly paled. “Dad,” she whispered.