Raeanne Thayne Hope's Crossings Series Volume One: Blackberry Summer

Owen giggled and Riley thought how peaceful it was to be in this warm, delicious-smelling kitchen while the rain pattered against the window.

“I do not.”

“Okay, maybe only seven or eight.” He caught Macy’s eye and she grinned just like her brother.

“Just wash it off and put a bandage on it,” Owen said in an exasperated tone.

“All right, bossy. You must get that from your mom.”

“Hey!” Claire protested. “I’m not bossy. I just usually know what’s best.”

He smiled at that and risked a look at her, then regretted it when he found her watching his mouth again.

“Hey, Mom, did you know Chief McKnight used to be a bike cop?”

She cleared her throat. “I did. Alex is my best friend, remember? And Riley—Chief McKnight—is her brother. She has always kept me up-to-date on what he was doing on the Coast.”

Had she wondered about him over the years? The idea of her talking about him while he was gone made his shoulder blades itchy.

“What did she tell you about me?”

“That you were a good cop and that you sometimes did things you couldn’t talk about. Oh, and that you were shot and didn’t tell anyone in your family about it but your partner called and spilled the beans so they all played along like they didn’t know.”

“You got shot?” Owen asked, his eyes huge.

He frowned at Claire. “It was just a minor injury. I was back to work in only a few days. They seriously knew? Why didn’t anybody say anything to me?” he asked her.

“I guess they figured if you wanted to talk about it, you’d bring it up. Alex was all ready to head out to Oakland, but Angie talked her out of it.”

“Sisters can be a real pain in the…neck.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Owen said a tone of exaggerated misery, which made Macy glare at him.

“Hey, watch it,” she said.

“You think one sister is rough. Try having five, kid.”

“My worst nightmare!”

Riley laughed and stuck a large square bandage over the scrape, then rubbed the kid’s hair. “That should do it,” he said. “Now you’re ready to go take on a few more potholes. You might want to go change into clean clothes before you eat that delicious-smelling dinner your sister’s working so hard to fix.”

“Thanks. It didn’t even hurt.”

“Well, don’t forget, you’re still going to need those stitches.”

Owen grinned, then his eyes lit up. “Hey, you want to stay for dinner, if it’s okay with my mom? We always have tons of leftovers when we have spaghetti.”

The knife Claire was holding stilled, then flashed with renewed vigor, he noticed with interest.

“Thanks for the invitation but I’d better not. I’m sure you’ve got homework and your mom and Macy weren’t expecting company.”

“I did all my homework before I went over to the…” He stumbled. “Before I went to Robbie’s house. Mom, is it okay?”

Claire had a hint of color on her cheekbones and she didn’t meet his gaze. “Of course. Riley’s always welcome here. I’m sure he knows that. We owe him anyway for cleaning up after the windstorm the other day and for helping you home.”

He thought of the sandwich she had so carefully made him and of the sweetness of her kiss. She didn’t owe him anything.

He should say no. Should leave this warm, cozy kitchen while he still could. “In that case, I’d love to,” he found himself saying. “I’m starving and those bread-sticks smell like the most delicious thing I’ve had in years.”

This will be good, he told himself. He could regain his footing with her. They needed to return to the easy friendship they had shared for years. No more flirting and certainly no more kissing.

No matter how hungry she left him.

CHAPTER TEN (#ulink_7bad4925-140f-58d3-b315-3ed748b02bb2)

SHE HAD A CRUSH ON RILEY McKnight.

Claire would have been astonished if she could find any room around the mortification that swamped every thing else.

She was thirty-six years old, had two children and a failed marriage behind her, but she was still acting as if she were Macy’s age, trying to get the cutest boy in school to notice she was alive.

This was humiliating on so many levels. Every time he smiled at her, color soaked her cheeks until she imagined she was redder than the spaghetti sauce—which she was also terrified she was going to spill all over while she tried to wrangle the spaghetti one-handed and listen to his stories at the same time.

“My first week out of the police academy, I crashed a brand-new bike into a parked car.”

“You did?” Owen asked, eyes shining with a severe case of hero worship, despite Riley’s story showing himself in less-than-perfect light.

“Yep. We were chasing this kid who’d fled the scene of an attempted robbery on foot. My partner and I split up to try to cut him off and I had to book up a hill on a side street to get ahead of him. A car came up behind me and I could hear him coming right at me. We didn’t know the kid had an accomplice in a getaway car. I don’t know if he was trying to hit me on purpose—and I didn’t really care. I just swerved out of the way. My bike hit a parked car and I went sailing over it.”

“Was your bike okay?” Owen asked, while Claire was still cringing from that mental image.

“Completely trashed. I had to get a new one. The guys called me McFlight after that.”

“Were you hurt?” Macy asked.

“Not bad. I felt it for a few days but I didn’t break any bones. Not like you guys.”

His gaze met Claire’s and she flushed and focused on dabbing at her mouth with her napkin, hoping she hadn’t trailed sauce there.

She did not have a crush. The very idea was ridiculous. She was only reacting as any woman would to the man who had rescued her and her children from a dire situation. Riley had risked his own health and welfare to stand out in that water for long moments to ensure they were safe. Any mother would be grateful to a man willing to wade into danger for her children, right?

Not to mention that he was an exceptionally gorgeous man, sexy even, with those green eyes and the tousle of dark hair. The part of her ego that felt frumpy and dried-up and old after the raw indignity of her divorce wanted to bask in his attention like Chester splayed out in the grass on a summer afternoon.

How foolish could she be?

The commonsense part of her was quietly whispering a warning. Riley was a womanizer. He collected women like Evie collected antique beads.

His mother and sisters delighted in telling about his heroic triumphs as a police officer. But Alex, at least, was just as quick to report with a combination of indulgence and frustration about how the man went through women like the store went through jump rings.