when she’d lost her sight in an accident on a base in Afghanistan. While he still didn’t know the full details, he knew she’d suffered. Some kind of fuel accident had claimed her sight. Knew she was angry, bitter. He could see it. Hell—he could feel it, like how the air grows heavy and dense when a storm is about to unleash. Her inner fury rose from her like a thick, soupy fog.
And he had a mind to rid her of her pending storm.
“So what do you say, huh, neighbor?” he pressed.
Reagan gave an acerbic laugh. “Yeah, uh, no. Thanks for the offer, but I’m good.” Her hands reached for the banana he’d tried to coax away from her earlier, patting the quilt until she found it, and she slowly peeled it. Ignoring him proficiently.
A skill she’d no doubt perfected as the youngest sibling. He knew the tactic well. And he knew how to counter it.
“Oh, come on,” Eric coaxed. “Give me one good reason why not. Sun’s out. A decent breeze. The salt water. All makes for a perfect day.” He watched her as she broke off a piece of banana and popped it into her mouth. Noticed how the sun made her cheeks pink; spotted the freckles on her nose, and a few on her shoulders. Her thick wavy hair was pulled back into a ponytail. It was blonder than Emily’s, he thought. Still shot with streaks of red, and shorter, but you could definitely see the resemblance in the sisters. He watched her chew, and waited.
Finally, she gave her feet a kick in the water, making it ripple. “Listen, Eric,” she began, her blind gaze fixed on some point across the river. “I appreciate your attempt. Since we’re already neighbors, and we’re going to sort of be family, it’s a...nice gesture.” She turned her head in his direction, drew her feet from the water and set them on the quilt. “So that’s why I’m going to be perfectly honest and tell you the truth. Just leave me alone. I don’t want to be looked after, watched or treated differently. I don’t need to be entertained. And I don’t need to be coaxed out of my shell.”
Eric stared at her, watched her pat the water from her bare feet with a towel. She was one tough bird. “Hey, I’m not biased,” he answered with a grin. “I’d still hit on you even if you had your sight. So quit stalling, Reagan Rose, and just...relax—”
“Are you going to force me to be rude?” Reagan asked, then pulled her sneakers on and began reaching for the items on the quilt, placing them in the lunch bag.
Eric laughed and started to help. “Yeah, I think you’ve already got that one covered, darlin’.” Blindly she reached over and somehow grabbed the apple out of his hand and plopped it into her lunch bag.
Finished, she patted around once more, then rose, grasping the edge of the quilt with her hand. She tugged; he remained firmly planted on it.
“Do you mind?” she asked.
Eric slowly rose, and he could tell she wanted to yank the quilt from beneath him. He laughed. “Wanna go for a swim? It might help release some of that—”
“What?” she snapped, glaring in his direction. He could feel her anger rising in the air. “Release what, exactly?” She wadded the quilt up and tucked it under her arm.
Eric ran his hand over his head and peered at her. It wasn’t like he was trying to piss her off on purpose. Okay, maybe he was. She needed a virtual kick in the ass. He couldn’t help but grin, and he was pretty sure she could hear it as it tugged at his face. “I don’t know. Some of that mean you got all bottled up inside, maybe?”
Slinging the lunch bag onto her shoulder, she bent down, stuffed the empty thermos and cups in the bag, rose, and grabbed her stick. She turned, her eyes covered by the dark shades she wore, but he knew fury raged in them. “You don’t know me anymore,” she said quietly. “Stop pretending that you do.”
With that, she tapped her stick, hitting him in the shin before making her way slowly and cautiously up the ramp.
“What about our swim?” he called after her.
“Help yourself,” she threw over her shoulder.
He watched her for a moment, moving over the marsh, her little stick tap-tap-tapping as she felt her way along. Shorter than her sister Emily, she still had gorgeous lean legs and a damn cute ass, if he had to admit it. He watched that ass swagger away. “Need some help?” he called out.
“Nope,” she answered. Her voice drifted over the water, and he thought despite the fact that she had a decent amount of acid in that remark, it was still pretty adorable.
“Sure?” he yelled once more.
She merely shook her head and kept on making her way, each step striking that blind stick of hers harder against the wood of the dock.
Eric could only laugh, shake his own head and follow her.
The sun fell bright this morning; hot, humid, with only a slight breeze shifting through the reeds of the marsh. It carried a voice pretty well, though, and he could hear Reagan’s angry muttering as she sashayed her way back home. She was moving fast across the dock—probably faster than she should. Matt had fixed it up but still—it was an open dock. Wooden slats secured to pilings with metal screws and that was it. No handrails. She could misstep and fall right in.
“Hey, you better slow down,” he called out.
She went even faster, and Eric winced.
He shook his head again. “Hardheaded girl,” he grumbled, and picked up his pace to a jog. “I like that.” By the time he caught up to her she was off the dock and making her way to the house.
He gently grabbed her arm. “Reagan, wait,” he said. “Stop.”
She jerked to a halt and stared straight ahead. Sighing heavily, she shifted her weight. “What?”
Eric dropped his hand. “Do you have plans or something? It’s a gorgeous day, Reagan Rose.” He watched the dappled sunlight fall across her cheeks, and her chest rise and fall as she breathed. “Spend it with me.” Staring at her eyes through those shades she wore frustrated him. He wanted her to take them off. He wanted to take them off himself. Fling them across the yard. Stomp on them. Why he cared so much, he didn’t understand. He certainly wasn’t in the market for shitty company, and Reagan had a seriously bad case of Bad Attitude. Something pulled at him, though. Their childhood? Yeah, that had to be it. He’d always been a sentimental guy at heart.
Reagan’s back stiffened. “Please,” she finally said. “Just leave me alone.” She turned then, tapping her stick until she reached the porch steps, then climbed them and left him standing there. “And stop calling me Reagan Rose.” The door closed behind her, and Eric sighed.
Rubbing the back of his neck, he glanced up and stared as the sun speared through the magnolia branches. What the hell was he going to do with little Miss Hardhead Quinn?
Eric scratched his jaw and stared at the house.
He grinned.
“I’ll leave you alone for now, Reagan Rose,” he called out. “But I’ll be back!” He watched for a moment. Waited for movement by a window, or the door to open. A shout. A swear. Any sign of movement that Reagan had heard his words.
Nothing.
With a determined shake of his head, he turned and headed back down the lane that separated the Quinns’ property from the Malones’. Eric was well versed in the art of hardheadedness. He himself was a master of it. But he’d never dealt with such an indomitable female before. As he strode down the lane, making his way back to his house, he grinned, and that grin was still pulling at his face when he loped up the steps of the river house and flung himself onto the porch and leaned against the pillar. His eyes met his grandfather’s gaze.
“No luck, eh?” Jep asked.
Eric shoved his fingers through his hair and shook his head. “Nope.” He rubbed his jaw. “Stubborn doesn’t quite sum it up.”
“Hmm,” Jep muttered.