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Tracy’s mother wrapped an arm around Tracy’s shoulders, offering a quick squeeze. “Thanks. I don’t regret the extra time we took to see the flower show, but I’m sorry we missed you and Hannah.”
I wondered where he was, and when he trimmed the bush at the corner of the house. Did you notice that?
Her mother started up the stairs. “Let’s take the laundry to the living room,” she said. “We can talk and fold.”
Tracy picked up the laundry basket and followed her mother upstairs to dump the clothes on the sofa. After they’d sorted for a minute, Tracy said, “You had a good time?”
“You’ve asked me that three times,” her mother said. “I’ve answered yes every time. It was wonderful.” Smiling, she matched a pair of white crew socks and rolled them together. “Is something on your mind?”
Tracy caught the neck band of one of her stepdad’s shirts under her chin, folding the arms in. “What do you mean?”
“It’s Thursday morning and you’re not only dressed for work, you’re late for work,” her mother said. “You’re usually punctual. And we were only gone eight days—you could have brought Hannah to visit this evening.”
Tracy smiled as she set the shirt on the arm of the sofa. “I guess you know me.”
“Yes, I do. What’s wrong?”
Did you notice a new crackle in the air around Kirkwood?
“Have you noticed anything going on next door?”
“Next door?”
Both women glanced up as Matthew Gilbert walked into the living room, jangling his keys in his pocket and whistling.
Tracy had been introduced to Matthew when she was ten. She’d liked him from the start, but he’d been “Matthew my mom’s friend” for quite a while. Eventually, he’d married her mother and adopted both girls. He’d been Dad to Tracy ever since.
He paused long enough to plant a kiss atop her mother’s head, continuing his tune on his way to the front door. Apparently, the trip had put him in a good mood, too.
“Dad, wait,” Tracy said.
Matthew’s whistle changed to a grin. “I’ve got a class to teach this morning, Teacup.”
“I have an appointment, too. This’ll only take a minute.”
With the affability that made him eternally popular with freshman chemistry students at the university, her stepdad returned and gave Tracy his undivided attention. “What’ll only take a minute?”
“I wanted to tell you, someone moved into Lydia’s old house while you were gone.”
“We knew someone would buy it,” Matthew said with a frown. “The house needs a little TLC, but it’s structurally sound.”
Tracy sighed. “Riley’s living there.”
Her mother seemed vacant for a minute, then she gasped. “Riley Collins?”
Tracy nodded, watching both her mom and Matthew change from happy to thoughtful. “He’s planning to open a business in town,” she explained.
“I figured Lydia would try to sell the place,” Matthew said, frowning across at Tracy’s mother.
“Maybe Riley’s buying it,” her mother said.
No one spoke for a minute. Tracy’s green eyes traveled between her mother’s blue ones and her stepdad’s brown ones, waiting for their reactions. They traded the look they’d always traded when they wanted to discuss something in private. Karen had dubbed it the “worried-parent look,” and had compared it to spelling words in front of a toddler.
But Tracy wasn’t a child anymore, and she wanted to know their thoughts. Did the night of Karen and Riley’s departure still bother them as much as it did her? She swallowed. “You won’t mind having him as a neighbor?”
Her mother shrugged.
Tracy shook her head. She’d hoped one of them would say something to help her feel less agitated. If they couldn’t do that, she’d wanted them to say something to make refusing the job her only recourse.
“Riley hurt our family once, but he was young,” Matthew said as he stood up. “It’s ancient history. I’ve got to scoot, but we can talk when you come to dinner on Sunday.”
As her mother walked Matthew out to his car, Tracy checked her watch. Since she was meeting with Riley early, she could go straight to his office in twenty minutes. This morning’s cornflakes felt as if they’d sprouted wings. Tracy was reminded that she was not good at procrastinating.
When her mother returned, Tracy said, “I’m glad you’re okay with this, because I may be working with Riley.”
Her mother blinked. “In what aspect?”
“As an organizer. He went to Booker and asked for me.”
“That’s good, I guess.” Gwen frowned as she tossed another rolled pair of socks onto the done pile.
Tracy frowned, too. “I’m afraid he’s got some ulterior motive. People don’t request a novice.”
“Who knows?” her mother said. “Just be careful, love.”
Right. Just be careful. Solid parenting advice, but not a reason for refusal. Tracy looked at her watch again, and felt her heart take off after the cornflakes.
Ten minutes left.
She swallowed. “He flirts with me,” she stated softly.
Her mother tilted her head. “How so?”
Tracy sighed. “The way a man flirts with a woman.”
Her mother’s frown returned as she began to place the folded clothes back in the basket. “Well, he always liked you, but I wouldn’t flirt back.” She sighed and shook her head. “I’m just glad you’re here and not your sister.”
Right. Tracy was the trustworthy sister. She was the one Riley might tease but would never touch.
“Will Karen care that he’s here?” Tracy wondered aloud.
“I doubt it,” her mother said. “She told me she’s been seeing a marriage counselor. She’s trying to change.”
“She is.” Tracy was skeptical.
“Yes, and as your dad said, it’s ancient history.”
There it was again. The phrase they were all associating with Riley—ancient history. He couldn’t harm her because the harm he’d caused was a long time ago. He shouldn’t upset her because everyone deserved a second chance. He wouldn’t seduce her because she wasn’t the sister he’d seduced before. Tracy knew that’s what they were really saying.
But she also knew Riley would affect her in some profound way she didn’t want affected. And whether anyone said it or not, Riley Collins wasn’t ancient history anymore.
While that worried Tracy plenty, it also pleased some mixed-up inner need in her soul. The fact that he was the hottest man she’d seen in a while was the most troubling realization of all.
Without bothering to check the time, Tracy slipped on her shoes and kissed her mother’s cheek. Judging from the sorry state of her nervous system, it was time to go.
KIRKWOOD’S LARGEST employer was the university, and its biggest claim to fame was the man-made lake and campgrounds nestled in the hills near its northern edge. A constantly rotating collection of college students and university staff ensured a steady economy, but most of the businesses had moved away from downtown to the trendier East Side.
Tracy was familiar with the address Riley had given her. The office space was generous, and it was situated between a pet-grooming shop and an insurance agency. The previous occupant had sold holdover items from the sixties—tie-dyed shirts, incense and hand-dipped candles—before packing up and heading to places unknown.
As Tracy pulled into the parking spot closest to the blacked-out door of the vacated Hippie Hut, she wondered at the absence of Riley’s motorcycle. A chime announced her arrival as soon as she opened the door, but a large light table three feet inside blocked her path. She couldn’t get through unless she got down on her knees and squeezed through a narrow opening underneath the desk.
Even then, successful entry was questionable. Beyond the light table, file cabinets were stacked side by side along the floor. Faint tones of a Pink Floyd song filtered in from somewhere in the background, but Tracy detected no other sounds to give away Riley’s whereabouts.
“Anyone here?” she called, keeping one hand on the door. If he didn’t greet her within twenty seconds, she’d have her excuse to leave. She could explain to Booker that the client was obviously not serious about hiring her services, and get on with her life.
“I’m in back,” Riley said from beyond the chaos.
“I can’t get through.”
“Right. I’ll come to you.”
Tracy set her brand-new leather briefcase on the table and tried not to notice the disarray. Office organization was her particular area of expertise and Booker’s main reason for hiring her. As much as she hated to admit it, she could do this part of the job.
After a moment, she was startled by the repeat of the door chime behind her. She turned around and noted the jeans and red T-shirt Riley had donned for this meeting. Except for the green bandana he’d wrapped around his head, this version of Riley wasn’t vastly different from the teenager she’d known so well.
“Guess you’ll have to come this way,” he said, turning to head back out the door.
She followed him across the storefronts. He strode past the pet-grooming shop without noticing the patron exiting its door, but the woman’s appreciative smile—she’d doubtless noticed Riley’s inarguably buff backside—was enough to make Tracy miss a step. Two miniature schnauzers on matching pink leashes tugged the woman along, and Tracy paused to let the trio trot past.
Riley turned at the opening to an alleyway. When he leaned against the redbrick wall of the building to wait for her, she caught a flash of gold underneath the green cloth. An earring?
He’d transformed to pirate. When she reached his side, he furthered the impression by staring boldly at her with his arms crossed in front of his chest. Only an eye patch, a sword and jug of ale would be necessary to complete the picture.
“How long till you open for business?” she asked as she waited for him to stop staring and start walking.
“Two months, max,” he answered. “I’d like to be set up and operating by midsummer, but I need to hire a crew.”
“Take your time,” she advised. “Two months would be barely enough time to shape up your…uh, ship.”
“Then you’d better work fast.” Riley pushed away from the wall and started down the alley.
He definitely had a stud in one ear. The bandana held his hair back from his face to reveal it. Image coaching might not be Tracy’s greatest strength, but Booker had sent her to classes. She could handle that, too.
The sound of a big dog’s bark caught her attention, and Tracy glanced back toward the front of the alley. She shivered, aware that she and Riley were alone in the shadowed space.
Her attraction to him was undeniable.
When the alley opened onto a back lot full of trash bins and parked cars, Tracy felt a mixture of regret and relief. She knew she shouldn’t relish being alone with him, but the walk had reminded her of the many childhood adventures he’d shared with her. Some days it might be a ring-neck snake they discovered under a rock, other days a fort he’d built in the woods, but she’d often been pulled along behind Riley as he led the way to some new discovery. She’d always felt protected.
Tracy hadn’t felt that way for a long, long time. These days, she was the strong one. Devoted mother, thoughtful daughter, hardworking employee and sympathetic friend.
Noting the gleaming motorcycle Riley had parked near a dented purple delivery door, Tracy wasn’t surprised when he pulled that door open. He stepped out of the way but kept his arm stretched over the doorway so she’d have to enter beneath his arm.
Was he toying with her? Ignoring the notion, she stepped under his arm into a long room that smelled like sandalwood. This must have been the previous occupant’s storeroom.
Riley scooped a pile of folders off a computer chair and tossed them on the floor. “Have a seat,” he said.
With her mind on making a professional appearance, Tracy sat down and crossed her legs at the ankles, then slammed both feet flat on the floor when the chair began to roll across the smooth tile. She’d scarcely regained her equilibrium, when she remembered she’d left her briefcase around front, on the light table.
Yesterday she’d given up six months’ clothing budget and her entire lunch hour to shop for the case. She’d wanted to appear credible when she turned down the job.
But Booker had dubbed her Ms. Superefficient for a reason. She’d take mental notes. Folding her hands in her lap, Tracy waited while Riley turned a metal trash can on its open end and sat down on top. Even at thirty-one, he was too restless to sit on a normal chair, like a normal person.
She pulled her eyes away from his flexed thighs and peeked through the door at the accumulation of boxes and furniture in the front-office space. “Typically, I would spend this time looking around your office,” she announced with a frown. “Then I would write a proposal.”
“You can do that after I clear a pathway,” he said. “Why don’t you start with my image. What would you advise me to do to appear more respectable and professional.”
Of course, his image was the bigger challenge.
“Are you sure you want to open a business here?” Tracy asked, studying his ear stud. When she remembered Nellie’s comment, she added, “You are Otto’s son. People are wondering if you’re hiding out. Or running from something.”
Riley kept his narrowed eyes adhered to hers. “I haven’t seen my father in thirteen years,” he said. And shrugged. “I came back because this is home.”
Tracy knew he’d read her expression when he added, “I know this town hasn’t forgiven my misspent youth, nor my biological tie to Otto. That’s why I’m hiring you.”
“If I were to take the job, you’d have to listen to my advice,” Tracy said with a frown.
He swept a hand down his chest. “Advise away.”
She peered at his earlobe. “Lose the earring.”
He fingered the stud. “This? It’s hardly noticeable.”
“I noticed it.”
Shivering at the look he slipped down her body, Tracy said, “This is the Midwest. At least some of the folks who are affluent enough to require an engineer’s services have never caught on to male jewelry.”
She noticed Riley’s smirk and said, “If you won’t listen to my advice, we can forget the whole thing.”
When a grin exploded across his face, Tracy realized she’d sounded shrill. She’d probably reminded him of the young girl who’d once spent an hour trying to convince him that a lemonade stand was a good idea—even though their parents were the only probable customers.
Except this time the tone worked. Riley reached up and removed the stud. “What next?”
That was easy enough, but the removal of his earring hadn’t done the job. Maybe the bandana would do the trick. She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “The bandana.”
He swiped it off, and a lock of hair fell across his forehead, only making him seem sexier and more piratelike, if that was possible. Tracy frowned as she watched him fold the cloth. “That’s better,” she lied. “But you need a haircut.”
He shrugged, and lifted a hip to slip the green square into his back pocket. “I was overdue, anyway. What else?”
