Raeanne Thayne Hope's Crossings Series Volume One: Blackberry Summer. RaeAnne ThayneЧитать онлайн книгу.
the spaghetti one-handed and listen to his stories at the same time.
“My first week out of the police academy, I crashed a brand-new bike into a parked car.”
“You did?” Owen asked, eyes shining with a severe case of hero worship, despite Riley’s story showing himself in less-than-perfect light.
“Yep. We were chasing this kid who’d fled the scene of an attempted robbery on foot. My partner and I split up to try to cut him off and I had to book up a hill on a side street to get ahead of him. A car came up behind me and I could hear him coming right at me. We didn’t know the kid had an accomplice in a getaway car. I don’t know if he was trying to hit me on purpose—and I didn’t really care. I just swerved out of the way. My bike hit a parked car and I went sailing over it.”
“Was your bike okay?” Owen asked, while Claire was still cringing from that mental image.
“Completely trashed. I had to get a new one. The guys called me McFlight after that.”
“Were you hurt?” Macy asked.
“Not bad. I felt it for a few days but I didn’t break any bones. Not like you guys.”
His gaze met Claire’s and she flushed and focused on dabbing at her mouth with her napkin, hoping she hadn’t trailed sauce there.
She did not have a crush. The very idea was ridiculous. She was only reacting as any woman would to the man who had rescued her and her children from a dire situation. Riley had risked his own health and welfare to stand out in that water for long moments to ensure they were safe. Any mother would be grateful to a man willing to wade into danger for her children, right?
Not to mention that he was an exceptionally gorgeous man, sexy even, with those green eyes and the tousle of dark hair. The part of her ego that felt frumpy and dried-up and old after the raw indignity of her divorce wanted to bask in his attention like Chester splayed out in the grass on a summer afternoon.
How foolish could she be?
The commonsense part of her was quietly whispering a warning. Riley was a womanizer. He collected women like Evie collected antique beads.
His mother and sisters delighted in telling about his heroic triumphs as a police officer. But Alex, at least, was just as quick to report with a combination of indulgence and frustration about how the man went through women like the store went through jump rings.
Yes, they had kissed. She couldn’t find a better example of just how different they were. That kiss had left her shaky and stunned, while Riley had acted as if the whole thing had been just a casual brush of mouth against mouth.
“Did you catch the bad guy?” Macy was asking and Claire forced herself to focus on the conversation instead of a kiss that never should have happened.
Riley grinned. “Matter of fact, we did. He came running up, trying to make it to his getaway car. I was sprawled out on the sidewalk amid the broken pieces of my bike, the breath still knocked out of me. I was thinking he was going to get away, but right by my hand was my front tire, which had come off in the crash. I wasn’t even aware of doing it really, but I chucked the bike tire at him like a Frisbee and down he went. Before he could climb back up and escape in the getaway car, my partner came up behind him just as our backup in a squad car came down the street to cut off their escape route.”
The kids giggled and Claire smiled, picturing a battered Riley chucking a bike tire at a suspect.
Her kids were crazy about him, she thought. All through dinner, they laughed at his jokes, they plagued him with questions, they vied to tell him their own stories. She might have thought he would find their simple experiences boring, but Riley acted as if a story Owen told about breaking up a playground fracas was the most fascinating anecdote in the world.
Claire didn’t know why she should find it surprising that her kids loved him. Riley had always been good at charming people. Why wouldn’t he be? He’d grown up with five indulgent older sisters who probably offered plenty of opportunities for him to practice working the charm.
She had watched his technique in various incarnations dozens of times. She could vividly remember one day when Angie had spent an entire summer afternoon making macaroons, simply because he had mentioned with a passing sort of sigh that he’d woken up with a craving.
As the next oldest sister to him and probably the one most susceptible to sibling rivalry, Alex had been the most immune. She had accused him of manipulation—but even she could fall prey if she wasn’t careful.
Riley could nearly always sway people to his point of view by wielding that charm that made everyone want to be around him, at least until he turned into the moody, unhappy teenager he’d become after his father left.
The children tried to prolong the dinner as long as possible, but eventually everyone was full and Chester had planted his haunches beside Claire’s chair and waited, a clear indication he needed to go out.
“I got him, Mom,” Owen said, pushing his chair away from the table.
“Thanks,” she answered.
Owen opened the door for the dog, then returned to the table to clear away his plate, which seemed to be the signal for everyone that dinner was finished.
“I guess we better clean this up,” Macy said. She stood and began to help Owen. When Claire started to rise, Riley froze her with a death glare.
“If you try to clear a single dish, I’ll be forced to handcuff you to the chair. Don’t think I won’t,” he said, his voice stern.
Both Owen and Macy apparently thought that was hilarious. Claire wasn’t nearly as amused as she was forced to sit idle and watch Riley and the kids joke around as they scraped dishes, packaged leftovers and loaded the dishwasher.
Riley was drying a pan with one of the pretty embroidered dishcloths when he took a careful look out the window above the sink. Was Chester digging up her flowers again, as he sometimes did when a particular capricious mood struck?
“Looks like you’ve lost some shingles from your shed, probably from all the wind and rain we’ve had.”
She frowned. “I hadn’t noticed.” Usually when she was at an angle where she had a vantage point over the window above the kitchen sink, she was focusing on staying upright on the crutches and not on the shingles of her shed roof. “Have many blown off?”
“I can’t tell for sure. It’s too dark, but I can see a couple missing in the porch light.”
“Oh, dear.” Just one more thing she had to add to her fix-it list.
“It shouldn’t take long to fix. I bet Owen and I could take care of it in an hour. Don’t you think, dude?”
“Maybe even a half hour,” said her son, who never met a competition he didn’t try to conquer.
Claire didn’t know what to think. What game was Riley playing? She dearly wished she had some idea of the rules so that she didn’t feel as if she were floundering completely in foreign seas.
Why did he seem to feel so compelled to help her every time she turned around? Why would he want to give up an hour of his life to fix the roof on her garden shed? Even as the cautious grown-up tried to figure it out, the silly junior high girl inside her squealed and did a happy little dance.
“I’m going to go work on my homework,” Macy announced, bored with talk of shingles.
“Let me know if you need help with anything.”
“It’s algebra.”
“Okay.”
“You’re worse at algebra than I am, Mom.”
True enough. “Between the two of us, we usually figure it out.”
Macy shrugged and headed from the room, Chester, whom Owen had let in a few minutes earlier, following behind. The reminder of her maternal responsibilities