Renegade

His grandmother didn’t complain, though. She spent a moment perusing a glossy photo of some distant galaxy, then said, “I guess you’ll have to convince her she’s wrong.”

Riley didn’t ask who his grandmother was talking about, because his mind hadn’t completely left Tracy since he’d seen her. “Convincing that woman of anything would be a pleasure,” he said as he attempted to position his legs on the other side of the board. “Is she involved?”

“As in dating?” Lydia flipped through pages until she found the one she’d dog-eared. Then she looked up.

“As in dating, engaged, married, living with…all that brouhaha.”

His grandmother shook her head. “Getting involved with the Gilberts’ youngest daughter would be a mistake,” she said. “You know that, don’t you?”

“Who said I was getting involved?” Riley asked. “I asked if she was involved.”

His grandmother arched an eyebrow. “She’s a career woman and a single mom. She doesn’t have time for anything else.”

“Wow, a single mom.” Riley pictured a little girl or boy with Tracy’s hair and eyes. “What sort of career?”

“She works for Booker Vanderveer. He came here from Chicago a few years ago when his wife took a job as a psychology professor. I’m taking her class next fall.”

“Gran, what kind of business is it?”

“Oh, well, why didn’t you ask in the first place? Booker runs an organizing business.” She chuckled. “I’ll be danged if the idea hasn’t caught on. It seems that quite a few college professors and some of the wealthier students are willing to pay through the nose for someone else to clean up their clutter.”

“An organizer…that sounds right. She was always a go-getter.”

“And despite the fact that tongues will flap faster than a flag in the wind, you’re planning to go get ’er?”

Riley snorted at his grandmother’s choice of words, but he wasn’t surprised by the boldness of the question. He also knew an answer wasn’t expected.

He had no idea what he was going to do, but Tracy’s words had felt like a dare. He could live anywhere he pleased, and he’d stay around until Tracy admitted that. Or longer.

“Actually, Booker’s the consultant,” Lydia said, breaking into his thoughts. “I’m pretty sure Tracy just manages the office.”

Frowning at the text lying between them, Riley didn’t comment. He already had the information he needed, and he was developing a plan. He wasn’t sure about the details yet, but he’d find a way to teach Tracy a lesson. Rotating the astronomy book toward his grandmother, he said, “Is this the section causing you problems?”

Lydia nodded, and the two concentrated on astronomy for the next half hour. They’d just read through a page, when his grandmother said, “I suppose you could use her.”

“Use Tracy?” Images invaded Riley’s thoughts.

“M’dear grandson, should you decide to stick around, you could use Vanderveer’s to get your business up and running.”

Riley smiled in response to Lydia’s grin, but he tapped his index finger against her book. “We’re studying now, Gran,” he reminded her. “Besides, I’m a bucket ahead of you.”

But when he noticed the snap of her eyes, he knew he’d never truly catch up to the lightning-quick workings of his grandmother’s mind. Hadn’t she just manipulated him into staying a while?

TRACY STOOD IN LINE at the strip-mall print shop, waiting to pick up a case of forms for Booker. The young woman behind the service desk was working slowly, even for a Monday morning. She’d taken six minutes to fill the first order, and was only now greeting the next customer.

Hannah was beginning to fidget, despite the lemon drop and yo-yo Tracy had found in the depths of her purse and offered as a bribe. The four-year-old bundle of fresh-faced charm and relentless energy was eating the candy with loud smacks, and had just banged the toy into the ankle of the man fifth in line.

Apologizing profusely, Tracy pulled Hannah closer. Even while she swore to herself that tomorrow she’d drop Hannah off at day care before errands, the little girl tried to work the yo-yo again. Of course, she let go of the string and the toy rolled between the legs of the older woman behind them. Hannah dropped to the floor to skitter along after it.

“Hannah, bring me the yo-yo,” Tracy said. When she heard the impatience in her voice, she softened her tone. “I’ll get you to school soon. You won’t miss circle time.”

The little girl’s dark eyes were solemn as she dropped the yo-yo into Tracy’s outstretched hand. Tracy felt a pang of remorse. It wasn’t Hannah’s fault they were running late. It was hers. She’d overslept, which was something she didn’t do. Then again, she hadn’t been herself all weekend.

Another employee appeared from a side door to hasten across the shop, so Tracy grabbed Hannah’s hand and followed him. “I’m here to pick up a case of forms for Vanderveer’s,” she announced to a set of pumping elbows.

He was practically running, but after her statement, he glanced over his shoulder and stopped. “I’m just the passport photographer,” he said in a voice with a timbre that reminded her of Riley’s.

Tracy scowled. Since Saturday morning, Riley’s traits were popping up in every man within her path. The knowledge that he was back in town had thrown her for a loop, despite her best efforts to forget about him.

The photographer was staring at Tracy’s face, probably wondering about the sudden switch from smile to frown.

Tracy gentled her expression. “I don’t mind,” she said, once again assuming a calmness she didn’t feel. Raising an eyebrow, she pulled Hannah close and waited for the man to get the box. Surely, even a passport photographer could make time for something so simple.

“Yes, ma’am,” the man said in a voice that sounded only nervous now. As he hurried around the counter to ask his co-worker where to find the Vanderveer job, Tracy saw a tall, muscular man in hip-hugging jeans pass by the front window.

No. It wasn’t Riley. Just a guy who reminded her of Riley, of course.

Still, in a town the size of Kirkwood, Tracy knew she’d run into him eventually. She didn’t have to have anything to do with him, though. After all, her parents and his parents had avoided one another for years, and they’d been next door neighbors.

Her behavior this weekend had been flighty, at best. She kept imagining what scintillating thing she might say to Riley, even though she had no intention of speaking to him again. It was as if all those years hadn’t passed at all, and she was still a teenager harboring a crush on the boy next door.

Except her imagination had grown up. Instead of substituting herself as the recipient of his kisses down by the train trestle, she was picturing entire weekends spent in bed with him. Heaven knew where Hannah would be during all these misbegotten fantasies.

But Tracy lived in the real world, and Hannah was fine right where she was—at her side.

The little girl had been delighted with the unusual laxity in their routine—especially when she’d been indulged with a three-hour play-clay session yesterday afternoon. Tracy had sat across the table from her, punching a glob of tangerine-colored clay into unrecognizable shapes. Muttering under her breath. Getting up countless times to replay a Beauty and the Beast sound track on the stereo.

Several times this weekend, Tracy had picked up the phone to call her sister in San Diego. She wondered if Karen knew about Riley’s return. Though she’d married her fourth husband several years ago, Karen might still be in touch with Riley. It seemed to Tracy that her sister had never gotten over him. Either that, or she had horrendous taste in men.

“Here you go, ma’am.” The photographer thrust a box against Tracy’s midsection. Gripping it under one arm, Tracy was all the way to the door before she remembered to say thanks and instruct the photographer to send the bill to Vanderveer’s.

Then to summon her daughter.

After she’d put the box in the trunk and Hannah in her child seat, Tracy got in and started the car. Ten minutes later, she realized that she’d driven past the turn for the day-care center and was heading toward the office. She turned at the next corner.

While she circled around the day-care center parking lot, she glanced toward the seat beside her and suddenly realized she’d forgotten to bring Hannah’s little backpack.

Tracy sighed as she pictured it next to the front door of the duplex, with Hannah’s lunch card on top. Exactly where Tracy had put them so she wouldn’t forget. Most of the time, she didn’t. Now she’d have to swing by home and the day care on her lunch break, and the dry cleaning would have to be put off another day.

“I forgot your backpack, Hannah-bean,” Tracy said as she parked. “Don’t worry. I’ll bring it before lunch.”

After she’d dropped Hannah off with a hug and a kiss, Tracy returned to her car and tried to shift her mind to her morning’s work. Since she hadn’t started typing the reports she’d taken home this weekend, she knew she had a tall stack awaiting her. She also had folders to file and phone messages to transcribe, and she wanted to free herself of mundane chores as soon as possible.

Booker had promised to let her sit in on a couple of consultations if she did.

When she passed the Mercedes parked in the first spot in front of Vanderveer’s, Tracy made an immediate turn to claim her regular place next to it—and nearly rammed into the motorcycle parked there.

She slammed on her brakes and flinched, waiting for the impact. She was lucky—she’d missed by inches. Her heart pounding, she threw her car into reverse and backed up, slamming on her brakes when she heard a screech and a honk, and glanced in her rearview mirror.