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“Daniel’s not doing it for you, fantasy-wise?” Oh, he so should have given that some thought before it came out of his mouth. Too bad the new pain meds hadn’t made him comatose instead of just dizzy and drowsy.
A teeny-tiny smile crossed her lips and then vanished. “Do you really want to talk about me and Daniel having sex?”
Yeah, right after he slid down a mile-long stretch of razor blades. Riley hoped his silence, and possibly his wincing, let her know that it was not something on the discussion table.
“Are you sleeping better?” she asked.
Not exactly a safe subject, but they were running out of topics here. “Some.”
And that led him to something else he’d been thinking about lately. He tipped his head to the flowers she’d brought. “How did you deal with the memories of what happened to my mom and dad?”
Claire gave him a long look. “I don’t have a lot of memories. It’s more like little bits and pieces, you know?”
This time, he did know, but bits and pieces could still come together for an ugly picture.
“And the bits and pieces aren’t all of the accident itself. Your father told a joke,” Claire went on. “Your mother laughed. Then the crash happened.”
He knew all of that. It’d been a knock-knock joke.
His dad: Knock knock.
His mom: Who’s there?
Dad: Boo
Mom: Boo who?
Dad: Ah, don’t cry, honey.
Riley hadn’t been there, but Claire had filled him in over the years. Those last moments of their lives were as clear in his head as if he had witnessed every second of it. Heck. He wished he had. Then he could have had the chance to say goodbye.
He looked at her, hoping that her eyes weren’t burning like his. Because if Claire lost it, Riley would have to pull her into his arms. It wasn’t a good time for that to happen. Not with all this nervous energy zinging between them.
But no tears. She smiled when she glanced at the roses.
“You have nightmares about it?” he asked her.
She drew in a long breath. “Not very often. Why are you asking? Are you having a lot of nightmares? Is that what was happening when I woke you?” Thankfully, she didn’t wait for him to answer. Or for him to flub around with an explanation. “Because what helped me was a picture of you.”
Riley had to go back through that to make sure he’d heard her right. “Me?”
She nodded. “You just seemed to be holding things together a lot better than I was. So when I’d have bad dreams and sad thoughts, I’d look at your picture in the yearbook—the one with you in your football uniform—and I’d remind myself that if you could do it, then so could I.”
He definitely hadn’t been holding it together. But Logan had. He’d swooped in and taken care of all the funeral arrangements, the business stuff. Even Anna. Riley had put on a front, but it was just that—a front. It’d been good practice, though, for the front he was putting on now.
“I still look at your picture sometimes,” she went on. “Because every now and then the dreams come back.”
“And looking at my picture actually helps?” Riley wished he hadn’t sounded so astonished, but he was.
“Sure. Well, for the nightmares but not for thunderstorms. You don’t work for me in thunderstorms.”
Yeah, Claire had a thing about storms, spiders and zombie movies. But Riley hadn’t had a clue she’d even attempted to use his picture or anything about him to help her get through it.
“Riley!” Ethan called out. The kid had obviously noticed he was awake and sounded excited to see him. Riley was mildly surprised that he was excited to see Ethan, too.
Ethan had given up on his Crazy Dog playdate, and he barreled up the steps toward them. But he didn’t just come onto the porch. He crawled into the porch swing, wriggling his pint-size body in between Claire and him. He had a toy car in each hand. Several were crammed in his pockets, and the ones in his left pocket dug into the outside of Riley’s thigh. Since that was his sore leg, the pain nudged Riley a bit, but he didn’t move. Riley wanted to hang on to this closeness for a little while.
“Angel,” Ethan said, and he pointed to the Combat Rescue Officer badge on Riley’s uniform. The kid climbed into Riley’s lap to get a better look at it.
“No.” Claire immediately reached for her son, probably because she thought it would hurt Riley.
And it did. More than just a nudge this time, but Riley stopped her from whisking him up. Instead, Riley fished out his phone and maneuvered Claire closer so that her head was right against Ethan’s.
“Smile. It’s a picture for Anna,” he said, snapping the shot. “She wanted to see how big Ethan’s getting.”
That was such a huge lie that Riley thought it might spur even Crazy Dog to action. Claire gave him that look, the one that let him know that she knew he was lying, but the look also told him that she really wasn’t sure she wanted to know what was simmering beneath the lie.
Good.
Because Riley turned the phone and snapped a picture of just her. She was caught with her mouth slightly puckered, as if she was waiting for that kiss he’d been considering.
Hell. He just might have a cure for those flashbacks after all.
CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_f49e20e1-7090-59d0-83d7-7e3231a7afca)
THE MIGRAINE WAS chasing Logan McCord, and it was winning.
The blind spots were already there. The little swirly bright dots, too. He figured he had less than a half hour before he would have to pretend he was so exhausted that he needed a morning nap.
At least Della and Stella wouldn’t be around to try to mother him because they wouldn’t be back until tomorrow from their forced vacation. Riley wouldn’t be there, either, since he was at physical therapy. Lucky was still off doing things that Logan didn’t want to think about.
But the reporter and photographer were a different story.
The reporter, Andrea-something, came up the steps behind him, her heels sounding like a persistent woodpecker. She was persistent about getting this story, too, and if Logan hadn’t wanted this article to promote his new business venture, he would have sent her and those heels clacking.
The photographer, whose name Logan didn’t bother to catch, lagged along behind her while he adjusted his camera. Occasionally, the photographer scratched his balls, too. Logan wasn’t opposed to ball scratching, but even that sound was amplified so it seemed as if the guy was scratching a hundred chalkboards.
“We’ll just need a few more pictures,” Andrea said in between the clacking-heel sounds.
She was a reporter for one of the San Antonio newspapers, and even though she’d already interviewed Logan at the office, she had insisted on snapping a few pictures here at the ranch.
“One picture,” Logan said. He used the tone that he knew would set her teeth on edge. He knew all the tricks for doing that because people with their teeth on edge didn’t stay in his face pestering him.
Trying to make as little noise as possible so he could buy himself some time with the migraine, Logan opened the front door.
And the first thing he saw was the naked woman.
“Ta-da!” she said, and then a split second later she shrieked louder than a horde of banshees with bullhorns.
Trisha.
Even with the blind spots and aura speckles, Logan could make out her face. Though he had to admit her face wasn’t the first thing that’d caught his attention. It was her huge breasts and the tiny patch of shiny red fabric that he supposed was meant to be panties. An eye patch would have more fabric than that little thing.
Trisha shrieked again, and she scurried to the sofa to grab a dress that she held up in front of her like a shield. A piss-poor shield because it didn’t cover her left boob or that panty swatch.
The photographer snapped a few pictures of her.
Logan shot him a look to let him know that he was going to delete each one he’d just taken. A hard look wasn’t that difficult to manage since Trisha’s shrieks had caused the migraine to close in on him.
“Logan, what are you doing here?” Trisha asked.
“That was the question I planned to ask you.”
“I was waiting for Riley,” she said as if that explained everything.
And maybe it did.
Logan hadn’t heard any rumors about Riley and Trisha getting back together, but maybe his little brother had found a new way to relieve pain.
Logan closed the door, leaving the reporter and the ball-scratcher on the porch. “Riley’s at PT in San Antonio,” he told Trisha.
“I know.” She huffed, blew at a strand of her hair that’d fallen onto her cheek. “I called one of the ranch hands, and he said Riley should be back by now. I, uh, wanted to surprise him. Please, Logan,” she repeated. “You can’t tell anyone about this.”
He wouldn’t, but the photographer would. Probably the reporter, too. By noon it would be all over town, possibly posted on the internet, and the gossips would add that Logan had stepped behind closed doors with her. That meant Logan needed to call his girlfriend, Helene Langford, and let her know what had happened. Since Helene and he had been together for years, she would believe he hadn’t cheated on her with Trisha, but he didn’t want Helene blindsided by the bullshit.
Trisha started to wiggle into the dress. It was a testament to how much pain he was in that he hoped she would hurry.
“What are you doing here anyway?” Trisha asked. “You were supposed to be on a two-week business trip and shouldn’t be back for three more days.”
“I wrapped up things early—” He would have continued his own questions if Trisha hadn’t interrupted.
“But you rarely stay here anymore. I didn’t figure you’d be coming home.”
So the gossips had picked up on that, too. And it wasn’t just gossip. Logan had indeed converted the third floor of his office building to a loft apartment, and with the hours he worked, it was easier just to sleep there. Besides, it wasn’t as if he had family here now that Anna had moved off to Florida.
But Logan had no intentions of getting into that with Trisha.
“Where’s your car?” he asked, hoping he didn’t have to drive her anywhere.
She hitched her thumb toward the back. “I parked behind the house. I was going for an element of surprise.”
“Element accomplished.”
Logan went to the door to tell the reporter and photographer to take a hike, but it wasn’t only them on the other side. It was Riley, too. And he practically punched Logan in the gut because he was reaching for the doorknob.
“Go,” Logan growled to the news crew. He glared at the photographer. “And if those photos or anything else about this situation show up anywhere, you’ll deal with me.”
Logan didn’t wait for their reaction. The blind spots were getting even spottier. From the looks of it, Riley wasn’t faring much better in the pain department.
Riley stepped in right before Logan shut the door, and his brother volleyed glances between Trisha and him. It didn’t help that the front of Trisha’s dress was still hiked up, and he could see that sad excuse for panties.
“Trisha wanted to surprise you,” Logan summarized. Some people probably would have just let this all play out, but he wanted to hurry things along. “I’ll take a nap while you two have fun.”
“Thank you,” Trisha said at the exact moment Riley said, “I can’t. I need to talk to you, Logan,” Riley added.
Shit on a stick. That didn’t seem like an end to a conversation but rather the beginning of one Logan didn’t want to have.
Riley turned to Trisha. “I haven’t seen Logan in months. We need to get some family things settled.”
Translation: Riley didn’t want what Trisha was offering behind those red panties.
“Plus, I’m in pain. It was a rough session of PT today.” Riley rotated his shoulder and winced. Probably not fake, either, like that family-things comment.
Riley never wanted to discuss family things.
“I’ll call you,” Riley told Trisha when she didn’t budge.
Maybe the last bit of her dignity kicked in because the woman finally scurried to gather the rest of her things. Of course, she had on woodpecker heels, too, and they hammered against the hardwood floor. Trisha turned, heading toward the back of the house, but then she stopped.
“I just thought...” she said to Riley. “Well, I just thought I could cheer you up. I mean, I thought you might be feeling a little blue what with Claire marrying Daniel and all.”
Translation: pity sex.
And judging from the way Riley’s expression soured, he might just be in need of pity something. That wasn’t the expression of a man who’d just learned a friend was getting married. No. But then, Riley had always had a thing for Claire.
“Call me,” Trisha reminded Riley. She dropped a kiss on his cheek. Paused. As if waiting for Riley to do something more than make it a cheek kiss. When he didn’t, Trisha finally left.
“Sorry about that,” Riley mumbled. He was wearing his uniform, and with the exception of that weary, pained expression, he looked every bit the part of a military superstar. Which from all accounts, he was.
Logan considered repeating that part about needing a nap, but instead he found himself sinking down on the chair across from Riley. “Want to talk about it?”
Riley dropped the back of his head against the sofa and let out a long breath. “Which part—Trisha or the PT?”
“Both. Or neither,” Logan amended. “Or you can talk—briefly—about Claire and Daniel.”
Riley lifted his head and made eye contact with him, and for a moment Logan thought Riley would question that briefly part. To the best of his knowledge, Riley didn’t know about the migraines, and Logan wanted to keep it that way. Besides, his little brother no doubt had him beat a thousandfold in the pain department.
“Claire hasn’t decided if she’s marrying Daniel, but he did propose again, and he gave her a week to decide. There’s only one day left on his deadline. Trisha wants a repeat of what we did in high school. The PT’s going nowhere.”
Logan dismissed the first two topics, went with the last one. “How much time do you have left on your medical leave?”
“A month, maybe less.” He aimed his eyes at the ceiling, avoiding eye contact. “If I can’t pass a physical, I might be given a medical discharge.”
Riley said it in the same tone as someone would admit they were dying from cancer or some other horrible disease. But he wasn’t dying. He just wouldn’t be able to lead the life he wanted more than being near family.
“Are you still having flashbacks?” Logan asked.
That got his eyes away from the ceiling, and Logan earned a glare for his question. “Who said I was having them in the first place? Hell. Claire told you?”
