Raeanne Thayne Hope's Crossings Series Volume One. RaeAnne Thayne

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      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 СКАЧАТЬ