At First Touch. Cindy MilesЧитать онлайн книгу.
Reagan’s mouth tugged up in the corners. “Sounds like you were perving on him, sis.”
“I totally was,” Emily confessed. “Are you okay back there?”
Reagan swept her stick side to side, and the dock was just enough of a shadow in the bright sunlight to make out. “Yep, I’m good.”
“You amaze me, you know?” Emily continued. “I mean, look at you. Taking the dock like you own it. Which you do.” She giggled. “On a good day I pick my way carefully down, even though it’s in good shape now.” Another sigh. “Guess I’m a scaredy-cat.”
Yeah, right. You’ve never been a scaredy-cat, Reagan thought, but said nothing. She just continued her path to the end, then eased down the aluminum plank to the floating dock. It rocked back and forth with the lapping water. Another door creaked, and Emily’s figure bustled about in the little dock house, then finally returned.
“Let me throw down this quilt,” she said. “So our backsides don’t fry.”
Reagan stood, letting the salty breeze brush her face and toss her ponytail as she waited.
“Okay, it’s all ready. Move one step over and have a seat. You’re close to the edge, so we can hang our feet in the water.”
Reagan slowly lowered, felt the cool material of the quilt beneath her palms, and eased onto it. Slipping off her sneakers, she felt for the edge, found it with her fingertips and lowered her feet into the tepid water. A shadow moved, then a splash beside her as Emily found her place.
“Okay. Yogurt,” her sister said, handing her the cool plastic container. “Spoon is right beside you.”
Reagan sighed, hating that she had to be told where items were, felt the lid with her fingertips and pulled the thin foil top off. Found the spoon next to her on the quilt and picked it up. “Thanks, Em.”
“No problemo,” she returned. “You know, we could—”
The sound of Emily’s phone ringing cut off her words. “It’s the café. I’d better answer,” she said. “Emily Quinn, esquire and entrepreneur, here. Oh, hey, Toby, what’s up?” Silence, then, “Oh, shoot. Okay, give me a few and I’ll be right in.” Emily sighed. “Fudgsicle,” she huffed. “I’m sorry, sis. I have to go in. Ginger had to leave sick.”
Reagan nodded, the wind pushing at her hair. “It’s okay, Em. I’ll be fine.”
“Two hot Quinn chicks,” a voice interrupted, and grew closer. “Could a guy get any luckier?”
Emily laughed. “Ha! It just got worse. I have to leave. Hey,” she said with a touch of glee in her voice. “Why don’t you take my place?”
“No, he doesn’t have to,” Reagan interjected. “I’m perfectly fine—”
The floating dock rocked as Eric Malone jumped from the ramp and landed with a heavy thud. “Don’t mind if I do,” he said cheerfully. “It’s your lucky day, Reagan Rose. I have the entire day off.”
“Umm,” she replied, pushing a spoon of yogurt into her mouth. “Lucky me.”
Emily laughed. “Rea, are you sure you don’t want to come with me? You could sit on the pier, or on the covered deck at the café? Or inside with me—”
“Sure, maybe with a cup beside me, for people to throw change into. No, thanks, I’m good,” Reagan replied. “You go.”
Eric’s laughter broke out over the river. “She and all of her grumpiness are in good hands, Em,” Eric said with confidence. As if he wasn’t irritating the hell out of her with his cocky buoyancy. “Thanks for the breakfast, sis.”
“I don’t need to be in anyone’s hands,” Reagan insisted. “And I’m not grumpy.”
She was promptly ignored.
Footfalls sounded as Emily jogged up the metal ramp and headed back across the marsh. “See you guys later! Call me if you need anything!”
The docked swayed as Eric plunked himself down beside Reagan, and the sound of water rippling and lapping against the edges alerted her that he had dropped his feet in, too. “So,” he said. Chipper. Jubilant. Annoyingly so. “This is what you call breakfast, huh?”
Reagan shrugged. “You don’t have to eat it. And you don’t have to babysit me, either.”
“Wow. You must be exhausted,” he said.
Reagan swiped her spoon around the inside of the yogurt container, finding it empty. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know,” he answered. “Looks like that chip on your shoulder is pretty heavy.”
“There’s no chip,” she said, frustrated. “I just don’t like being treated like a baby.” She gave a short laugh. “No one seems to get that.”
“Coffee?” he asked.
Reagan sighed. “Yes, please.”
Eric chuckled, then she heard the sound of liquid pouring into a cup before he pushed it into her hand. Warmth soaked through to her palm. “Thanks,” she muttered quietly, and sipped the hot drink that her sister had made just perfect. Lots of sugar, lots of cream.
“So, what do you want to do today?” Eric asked cheerfully. “Hey, are you gonna eat your banana?” The sound of him rummaging around in the bag met her ears.
“Yes, I’m going to eat it. And we aren’t doing anything today,” Reagan replied.
“Why not?”
Reagan stared through the shade of her sunglasses, out across the water where only the vague, dark outline of the little island they all used to play on lay in the distance. “Because,” she said, “I don’t need a babysitter.” She turned her gaze in his direction, but saw only a silhouette. “Don’t you have anything to do?”
“And pass up the chance to hang out with the hot neighbor? Nah,” he said, his voice buoyant again. He leaned closer. “Not in a million. So, you can either tell me what you want to do, or I’ll just have to surprise you, Reagan Rose.” He chuckled. “Either way, babe, I’m just not taking no for an answer.”
ERIC COULD SEE it in her face. The fierce pull of her brows. The tightly pressed lips. The muscles flinching in her jaws. Every characteristic screamed annoyance. He’d known she wouldn’t want to go anywhere. Especially with him.
He was, in Reagan’s words, a virtual stranger. Soon-to-be sort-of brother, though.
Yup. She had a big damn chip on her shoulder all right. Couldn’t say he blamed her. She’d been through hell. First, as a kid. And again more recently, when she’d lost her sight in an accident on a base in Afghanistan. While he still didn’t know the full details, he knew she’d suffered. Some kind of fuel accident had claimed her sight. Knew she was angry, bitter. He could see it. Hell—he could feel it, like how the air grows heavy and dense when a storm is about to unleash. Her inner fury rose from her like a thick, soupy fog.
And he had a mind to rid her of her pending storm.
“So what do you say, huh, neighbor?” he pressed.
Reagan gave an acerbic laugh. “Yeah, uh, no. Thanks for the offer, but I’m good.” Her hands reached for the banana he’d tried to coax away from her earlier, patting the quilt until she found it, and she slowly peeled it. Ignoring him proficiently.
A skill she’d no doubt perfected as the youngest sibling. He knew the tactic well. And he knew how to counter it.
“Oh, come on,” Eric coaxed. “Give me one good reason why not. Sun’s out. A