wild and angry back then that he probably would have screwed up the kid for life.
As he listened to the thuds and thumps from some fight scene on screen, Riley thought of his own anger in his teens, how he had channeled his sense of loss and betrayal into wild drinking, partying, unprotected sex with his girlfriend.
He had been stupid and thoughtless, had hurt his mother probably even worse than his father had. Ruth was absolutely right about that.
He hadn’t known what to do with all that anger after his father abandoned the family. As the lone male in a household of women, he’d needed a father in his life, damn it. He’d needed somebody to guide him, show him to rein in his impulses, how to respect others. Instead, his father had thrown everything away so he could follow his own dreams, could move to South America and study the archaeological ruins of long-dead civilizations instead of having to face the drudgery of his everyday life as a high school teacher and administrator.
Over the years, Riley knew he’d become an expert at casual relationships. So what was he doing here, then, with a couple of kids and a woman like Claire, who was the antithesis of everything he told himself he needed all these years? He belonged in this cozy picture of domestic bliss about as well as a beach cabana on top of the quad lift at the Silver Strike. She told him outright she didn’t want a fling and he had never been able to have anything else.
He sensed her watching him. When he turned his attention, she gave him a tentative smile. He gazed at her mouth for a long moment, remembering the particular softness of it, the angle and shape, then he jerked his gaze back to the screen.
She was so lovely, bright and vibrant like sunshine bursting through the clouds on a dank and cheerless day. He always seemed to forget that until he saw her again, when he would experience that “aah” of recognition.
A vague sense of unease settled between his shoulder blades. He shouldn’t be here. He didn’t belong.
“You don’t have to stay,” she murmured and he wondered what in his body language had given away his sudden trapped restlessness.
He should have seized on the exit route she’d offered and headed back down the street to his rental house. It seemed cowardly, however, just one more McKnight who walked away to suit his mood.
“We’re almost to the end. I can’t leave yet,” he answered in the same hushed tone.
She didn’t look convinced, something else unique about Claire. Most women were only too willing to believe whatever he told them. Not her. She seemed to filter every word, every phrase, through her own internal bullshit censor. He had a feeling he’d probably set off alarm bells more than a few times in his dealings with her.
This was it, he told himself. He would watch this movie and then work on extricating his life from hers. Claire Bradford had a couple of broken limbs, an idiot of an ex-husband and two active children. She didn’t need more trouble in her world.
When the closing credits started rolling up the screen, Claire switched on the lamp beside the sofa.
“Great show. Good choice, Owen. Now it’s time for bed. Macy’s soccer game is early in the morning.”
Neither of them answered and Riley realized he hadn’t seen movement from the floor for the second half of the movie, except for Chester’s occasional twitches as he snuggled up under Owen’s arm.
“They beat you to it, apparently. I think they’re both out for the count.”
Claire shifted her body on the sofa for a better angle. She smiled a little sadly. “They look like kittens nestled together. It’s too bad the only time they get along so well is when they’re both asleep.”
“They will. My sisters and I didn’t always get along when I was a kid.”
“No, really?”
He ignored her sarcasm. “Now I find most of them fairly tolerable.”
“Something to look forward, I suppose.”
“So what now? Do you want to leave them here for the night?”
“On the floor?” She sounded appalled at the very idea and he smiled.
“My nieces and nephews prefer the floor to a bed half the time.”
“That may be, but I think they’d probably sleep better and be more comfortable in their own beds. Macy. Owen. Wake up, kids.”
Macy stirred a little but not to full consciousness. Claire repeated her name and the girl blinked her eyes for a moment, then rubbed at them blearily.
“I think I fell asleep.”
Claire’s daughter was as lovely as her mother, with Claire’s blue eyes and warm brown hair. In a few years, she was going to be a stunner. Riley only hoped Jeff Bradford was the sort of dad who could put the fear of God in all the little punks who came sniffing around.
“Sorry.” Macy yawned. “How did the movie end?”
“The same way it did the last time we watched it,” Claire murmured. “And the time before that. And the time before that.”
Macy offered up a sleepy smile as she gathered her cotton throw around her shoulders. “Maybe that’s why I fell asleep. We need to pick a movie I haven’t seen three times.”
“It was Owen’s turn and this was the one he wanted to see.”
“Only he fell asleep in the middle. Wake up, dork.”
Owen grunted in his sleep but rolled over again.
“We’ve got it, Macy. You can go on up to bed.”
Her daughter unfolded from the floor with angular grace. “Night. Love you, Mom.” She walked to Claire’s sofa and wrapped her arms around her mother’s neck.
Claire looked pleased as she returned the hug. “Love you, too, sweetheart.”
Macy gave him a sleepy smile. “Night, Chief,” she said, then headed out of the room.
“Owen, wake up,” Claire said in a slightly louder tone.
Chester opened his eyes and gave them both a bored sort of look, but Owen didn’t move.
“Come on, kiddo. Time to head up to bed.”
The basset hound gave a jaw-cracking yawn and wriggled out from under the boy’s arm and waddled over to Claire. He nudged at her arm.
“Does he need to go out?” Riley asked.
“Probably. Do you mind?”
“Not at all.”
He walked to the back door, Chester on his heels. For the first time in more than a week, the night was gorgeous, clear and cloudless and glittering with stars that looked close enough to pluck with his fingers.
The dog seemed content to sniff around the fence line, checking for intruders, so after a moment of waiting for him, Riley returned to Claire and her son, who didn’t look as if he’d budged.
“No luck?”
She shook her head. “He’s renowned for sleeping through anything. Once he fell asleep on the caterpillar train at the county fair. He rode around three times before we could wake him up.”
“Want me to carry him to his bed? I’m assuming his room is upstairs.”
“It is, but let me try one more time.”
“Owen, bath time.”
The boy’s eyes blinked open blearily. “Do I have to?”
She laughed softly and something warm and dangerous twisted through Riley, tugging at him. “Not tonight. You can take a bath in the morning. Can you make it up to your room?”
“I guess.”
He yawned as big as the dog had done and climbed