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Renegade
Kaitlyn Rice
He's the bad boy who's no longer off-limitsShe's the good girl who needs a safe manCould it be the sea-green bandanna knotted in his blond hair? Or maybe it's the quicksilver eyes that sparkle with laughter before they deepen to hurricane-gray.Whatever it is, bad-boy Riley Collins, the idol of Tracy Gilbert's high-school years, is back in town, and too sexy, too dangerous–too close–for Tracy's precarious peace of mind. With all her systems on high alert, and caring for her young daughter uppermost in her mind, she vows to keep her distance.That was the plan–until Tracy's boss assigns her to help Riley get his fledgling business under way. Tracy soon finds that the new business isn't the only thing Riley–or she, for that matter–wants to get going.
“Are you going to tell me why you’re hanging out in my backyard?”
“I came by to see you, Riley,” Tracy said, “and when no one answered the door, I came back to admire the view. It’s better from your yard.”
Riley grinned. “You can swing on my swing set anytime, little girl.”
Tracy’s regard touched on his mouth, then dropped down his torso again. When the blood circled back around to her brain and she homed in on his gleaming eyes, she sighed, resisting another urge to chomp her nails.
“What do you want?” he asked in a voice that was in no way like the one he’d used when she was a child. This was soft, all right, but it was rich with suggestion.
She frowned.
“You said you came to see me,” he reminded her.
She gazed at the hair that moved around his head as he shook it. She’d driven over here to ask him to leave, but now the words seemed harsh. “Don’t get too comfortable in this town,” she said. “And I’m saying that for your own sake. You won’t fit in.”
His eyes darkened ominously. “You don’t think I will?”
“No.”
“Then watch me.”
Dear Reader,
I love a bad boy–good girl story. Riley Collins, the renegade hero in this novel, was fun to write because he’s my favorite kind of bad boy—one who has matured enough to be responsible, but who has kept his adventurous spirit. When I imagine the distant futures of Riley and Tracy, I picture a lifetime of fun and surprises.
In writing this story, I thought a lot about my childhood. I didn’t have a counterpart in my life, but Jacque was Riley’s female counterpart. She was the little girl from two houses down, and my first best friend. Our family situations were very different, and I admired Jacque for her ability to survive and succeed under difficult circumstances. She moved away during my early teen years, and we didn’t keep in touch. I wish we had.
I hope you enjoy Riley and Tracy’s story.
Sincerely,
Kaitlyn Rice
The Renegade
Kaitlyn Rice
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
This one is for lifelong friends.
To Jacque, wherever you are: I still think about you.
And to Lisa:
I’m so glad we never lost touch.
Contents
Chapter One (#u1342546d-46f7-5739-883d-48593cfb6031)
Chapter Two (#u6bf71c0f-c5e1-56f0-986b-2dc213a745e1)
Chapter Three (#u81933afe-fb7f-501b-8d6b-01ec45e09ec5)
Chapter Four (#uc1f40713-4eec-5b0c-ae76-337dc09b17b7)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
Tracy Gilbert closed her eyes and lifted her face to the soothing spray of the shower. As she allowed the water to flow through her hair for a final rinse, she calculated the time required to do her morning chores. First, the dry cleaner, then the grocery—the list was already in her purse. An hour should do it. Two at the most. If she told the baby-sitter she’d be home by lunchtime, she might be able to squeeze in a quick trim at Cecilia’s shop.
Turning off the tap, Tracy stepped out of the stall. She was just reaching for a towel, when she heard a door slam. Strange—the noise seemed too solid and loud to have come from an interior door. Besides, Hannah should still be asleep and she always left her bedroom door open.
Tracy’s mind scrambled to discount the sound. Claus, her cat, might have jumped down from some high perch. A passing car might have backfired. Yet the sound had been a sharp scrape of wood on wood, a span of quiet and then a jarring boom.
Her alarm grew. Neither Claus nor a car could have made that noise. Horrid possibilities flashed through her mind—a home invasion or, worse, a child kidnapped right from bed. A child lost to his or her family for five or ten years. Perhaps never seen again.
Had she locked the door last night? She thought so, but maybe that was the night before last. Was Hannah in her bed? Tracy took off down the hall, wrapping the towel around herself on the way. When she reached the door of her daughter’s bedroom and looked in, she breathed a sigh of relief. She stood there a moment, only vaguely aware of the puddle accumulating on the floor at her feet.
Hannah was fine. Her tiny, four-year-old frame was sprawled sideways on the narrow bed. Her glossy black hair fell over one cheek; her feet lay butted against the wall. Most important, her back moved gently up and down as she breathed. Slowly. Deeply. She was still asleep.
Now Tracy wished she’d donned her robe. She needed to investigate that sound right now.
“Yoo-hoo, Tracy. You here?”
Tracy gripped the towel at her chest and whirled around. Even though she recognized the voice immediately, her surprise was enough to keep her heart racing.
Her next door neighbor, Nellie Bell, strolled into the hall wearing a white chenille robe and curlers.
“Lord, Nellie, you scared me to death,” Tracy whispered. “What are you doing in here?”
“Sorry,” Nellie said, “but I have news. I started to leave a message on your machine, but I knew you were home so I came on over. I rang the doorbell twice.”
Tracy grabbed a bony arm to direct Nellie back down the hallway. “I gave you my spare key to use when we’re out of town,” she hissed, somewhat annoyed. “Not just anytime. I was in the shower.”
When they reached the living room, Tracy let go of Nellie’s arm, wondering if her duplex neighbor even noticed that she was dripping wet and covered only by a towel. She considered ushering her right out the front door, but knew she’d only be delaying the inevitable. Usually, the best tack with Nellie was to go along with the drama, then send her away with a polite, but firm, goodbye.
Tracy shook her head. “Never mind, Nellie. Wait in here for a minute while I dress. And be quiet. Hannah’s asleep.”
Tracy padded back toward her bedroom, closing the little girl’s door on the way past. While she dressed, she decided that she would ask the landlord to install a dead bolt.
She’d also ask Nellie to return the key. She hoped the news was short and significant. The lovely span of blue sky outside the window made Tracy want to finish her chores early so she could take her little girl to the park.
When she’d brought Hannah home from the central Asian orphanage two years ago, Tracy promised herself that her unmarried status would never be a burden to her child.
Tracy wasn’t twenty-nine and single because she was too vacuous or homely to hold a man’s interest; she was twenty-nine and single because life was too short for big mistakes. When she married, she’d marry forever.
Adopting a child could never be a mistake, so Tracy had made that commitment. She did her best to provide well for Hannah, and she also tried to be an involved parent. That wasn’t always easy. Tracy’s office-manager position at Vanderveer Organizing occupied her weekdays, so she sent Hannah to an excellent day-care center that offered preschool activities. Lately, however, Tracy had been bringing work home in the evenings, too. Hence the need for a diligent handling of weekend chores.
When Tracy returned to the living room, Nellie was sitting on the sofa munching on a doughnut. A white cardboard box containing the rest of the dozen was open on the coffee table in front of her. It looked as if Nellie was settling in. Tracy sighed.
“Here, have a doughnut,” Nellie said, nudging the box. “I didn’t think to bring drinks. Would you mind?”
Tracy held back a groan and started for the kitchen. “Orange juice?”
“That’d be great.”
As she poured the juice, Tracy reminded herself that Nellie was probably just lonely. Besides, this was Kirkwood, Kansas, where major change was generally met with stalwart resistance. Although the student population at Wheatland University caused the town to boom to city size every autumn, permanent residents clung to the ways of their pioneer ancestors. Neighbors talked across fences and borrowed cups of sugar. They lent a hand if a hand was needed. Nellie simply carried that old-fashioned friendliness a step too far.
Make that a few steps. A mile. In fact, she was a total nuisance.
Tracy returned to the living room and set Nellie’s glass of juice on the table. “So what’s the news?”
Nellie finished chewing her doughnut and blurted, “Riley Collins is back!” Then she scanned Tracy’s face with pale, wild eyes.
Tracy’s heart started to race again, but she crossed her arms and waited.
“My friend Ruth saw him at the market early this morning, and he was buying a cartful—cereal, bread, cleaners. He bought out the supply of macaroni and cheese. Like he’s staying.”
Tracy drew a deep breath, summoning every ounce of her patience. This was stunning news, absolutely. She still wanted her neighbor out of here. Maybe even more so now.
“He was probably shopping for his grandma,” Tracy said as she bent down to close the lid to the doughnut box.
Nellie frowned when Tracy placed the box in her lap, but she didn’t stop talking. “Would an old woman use shaving cream and men’s razors?”
“Okay, so he’s visiting for the weekend.” Tracy picked up the full juice glass and walked toward the front door. Just as she expected, Nellie got up and followed her, carrying the box and talking all the way.
“No one would eat a dozen boxes of macaroni and cheese in one weekend. My friend Ruth said he was at the old house all night.”
When Nellie noticed that Tracy had opened the door and was handing her the glass of juice, she frowned again.
“I have my own box of doughnuts in the kitchen,” Tracy lied. “They’ll get stale. You can keep the glass.”
Nellie glanced outside and spoke in a louder voice. “We think Riley Collins is hiding out in that old house.”
Tracy put a finger to her lips. “The Kirkwood grapevine is thriving, isn’t it.”
“Aren’t you upset?” Nellie asked incredulously.
“Riley is ancient history to me,” Tracy said. “And I need to be out the door in twenty minutes.”
As Nellie headed toward her own door, she said, sounding put out, “Be that way. I’ll bet you another dozen doughnuts that no one else in town has forgotten him.”
Tracy closed the door and drooped against it.
Nor have I.
Riley Collins—the town’s most notorious delinquent.
The cause of the Gilbert family’s biggest heartache.
And Tracy’s first friend.
Padding back through the living room, Tracy headed down the hall to wake Hannah. The baby-sitter would arrive soon, allowing Tracy to do her away-from-home chores. She’d fit the park visit in after lunch. Later, there was an overflowing laundry basket to contend with, and she’d promised her boss she’d type some reports this weekend. Damn. So little time.
When Tracy noticed her cat sunning on a forbidden windowsill—it was where she displayed a couple of china figurines—she stopped in the middle of the room and glared at him. “Are you up there again, Claus? Down!”
Other than blinking, the big white tomcat didn’t move a muscle. Tracy scooped him up and sank with Claus in her lap into her favorite chair. “I don’t know what he’s thinking, coming back here,” she said. The last time she’d seen Riley, he’d been in some sort of trouble with his father, the equally notorious Otto.
Riley had been out at the curb working on his car that morning, with Otto yelling that he was a good-for-nothing troublemaker from the porch. The next day, Riley had left town in his battered convertible.
That was thirteen years ago. As far as Tracy knew, this was the first time he’d been back.
His leaving town, or rather the way he left town and with whom, had proved his father right. Riley was nothing but trouble.
Tracy put Claus on another windowsill and headed for Hannah’s room. She wouldn’t allow herself to get ruffled. Nellie’s informant could be mistaken. The truth would surface eventually, and Tracy could wait to react.
She didn’t change her mind until she was strolling down aisle five at Dot’s Supermarket. She noticed an entire shelf empty of macaroni-and-cheese boxes, and saw in her mind’s eye a tall, blond man tossing them in his cart.
She had to know. She spun around and nearly crashed into an elderly couple conferring over a bottle of olive oil. She retraced her steps, returning the milk to its case and the apples to the stacks, then left the store.
