to Riley when Macy left. “But you really don’t have to do that. I told you I have a handyman. Handy Andy Harris. Do you know him? His family moved here about five or six years ago.”
“Don’t think I’ve met him yet.”
“He’s a nice guy. His wife comes into the store quite a bit.”
“So you pay him to fix things, then she comes in and spends the money on beads?”
She managed a smile at his baffled expression. “More or less. That’s how it works in a small town.”
“Well, while I don’t want to take work away from Handy Andy—or beads away from his wife, for that matter—this is a simple job. Seriously. It wouldn’t take long at all and I was planning on fixing the bike anyway. Two birds, right? Consider it my way to repay you for the spaghetti.”
Claire sighed. She knew that tone. He was going to be stubborn about it. A stubborn Riley McKnight was as immovable as Woodrose Mountain.
She could be stubborn, too, and she really hated being on the receiving end of help. But arguing was only going to prolong the inevitable. She needed her shed roof fixed, Riley wanted to do it and she had no real logical reason to refuse.
“I can come over right after school. We can fix the bike first and then take care of the roof. That work for you, kid?”
“Cool!” Owen looked as excited as if Riley were offering a trip to Disneyland. Even though Jeff was good to take him snowboarding and skiing, her ex-husband wasn’t a handyman sort of guy and Owen enjoyed working with his hands. He’d been begging her for a year to let him build a tree house in one of the mature maples on their lot.
“Can I go play on the computer?” Owen asked.
“Yes,” she answered. “Set the timer for half an hour, then we need to do your reading.”
“You don’t fight fair,” she muttered to Riley after he left.
“When have you ever known me to?”
She rolled her eyes. “Why are you so stubborn about this? I can handle my home repairs on my own. What I can’t do myself, I can hire out. I’ve been coping by myself for two years. Longer, really, because I’ve always been the one to coordinate these kind of repairs.”
Jeff had always been too busy with school and his residency and starting his practice, so the pesky details of day-to-day survival had fallen to her.
“Then it’s about time someone else stepped in to take a little of that load off your shoulders.”
“Why does that someone have to be you, Riley?” she asked, exasperated.
He didn’t answer for a moment. When he did, his tone was solemn. “If not for me, you’d be up and around and handling your own life with your usual terrifying efficiency.”
She stared at him as all the pieces clicked into place. “Are you still hung up on that? I told you, you’re not responsible for that accident.”
His jaw tightened but he said nothing.
“That’s what this is about,” she said. “All of it. Why you think you have to help me with my shed roof, why you’re fixing Owen’s bike, why you picked up my branches the other day. You think you owe me something because of the accident. Because you feel responsible.”
He gave her a cool look. “Of course not,” he drawled, even though she could see her words had struck home. “Haven’t you figured it out yet, Claire? I’m a guy. I just want to sleep with you.”
The air suddenly thickened with tension, currents seething in the air like the swirls and rivulets of melting snow running fast and high in Sweet Laurel Creek.
She had a wild image of them together, mouths and bodies tangled, heat and fire and glorious passion.
A shiver rippled down her spine, but she wasn’t sure if it sprung from her poor, neglected libido reacting with grand enthusiasm to the idea or the rest of her plunging into full-fledged panic.
“Relax, Claire. That was a joke. I’m not going to jump you right here in your kitchen.”
“Of course you’re not. I never thought you would.”
That incongruous dimple flashed. “One never knows.”
Her stomach trembled and for once she was grateful she couldn’t stand without difficulty because of her stupid cast. She had a feeling if she tried, her knees would barely support her weight.
Much to her relief, she was spared from having to answer by the return of Owen, followed by a waddling Chester.
“Hey, Mom, something’s wrong with the internet. I can’t get on the game site.”
She drew in a breath and tried to shift gears. “I’ll have to figure it out after Chief McKnight leaves.”
“Which I’m just about to do.” Riley grabbed his jacket off the hook by the back door.
“I didn’t mean you had to leave now.”
“You’ve got to help with homework and fix computers and I’ve got about four hours of paperwork to do. Owen, I’ll be by after school tomorrow with a load of replacement shingles. You still in?”
Her son looked suddenly sly. “Can I use a hammer?”
“I’m counting on it, ace. Claire, I’ll see you tomorrow. Take care of yourself.”
Good advice, she thought as she watched him go. If she were sincere about following it, she would tell him firmly not to bother coming back. She didn’t need the sort of heartache that was bound to follow Riley McKnight.
THIS TIME WHEN RILEY worked out in her yard, Claire forced herself not to gawk out the window at him. She focused instead on her first beading project since the accident, a fairly simple bracelet she was making out of recycled glass beads from Ghana in lovely aqua tones, with metalwork starfish charms.
She had her supplies set out in the family room—the beads, the spacers, the pliers and cutters—but the limitations of a broken arm presented definite challenges. Claire had sympathy for some of the senior citizens she used to teach at the community center, their hands gnarled and swollen from arthritis.
Usually she found a quiet sort of peace when she worked, the tactile pleasure of the textures and shapes, the unmatched delight of creating something beautiful from only her imagination, her ever-growing bead collection and a little hard work. But this afternoon, even threading the waxed cord onto the needle was an exercise in frustration and she almost quit a half-dozen times.
Every time she was tempted to put the project away, though, she reminded herself that she was exercising, working her arm, hand and wrist muscles as her occupational therapist insisted.
She found even something as basic as a wrapped loop a challenge. She was struggling to hold the pliers and bend the wire when her cell phone rang.
Usually she hated interruptions while she was beading and tried to remember to turn off her ringer. In this case, she jumped at any excuse to take a rest, especially when she saw the identity of her caller on the phone display.
“Hi, Evie. How’s the most brilliant bead store manager in the entire Mountain West?”
Her store manager snorted. “Suck-up. You really think that’s going to work with me?”
Claire smiled, her frustration subsiding in the sheer joy of talking with one of her dearest friends. “It’s worth a try. How are things?”
“Crazy-busy. You wouldn’t believe the pre-Mother’s Day business we’re seeing. We’re rocking right now. That class we did for that memory charm bracelet