Texas On My Mind. Delores Fossen
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at him with wide-eyed bewilderment and betrayal. Ethan’s bottom lip even quivered. Riley felt as if he had violated a major man-pact.
“So, that’s what’s in your hair.” Claire plucked some crumbs from Riley’s head. “I’m sorry. Ethan knows he’s not allowed to have sweets without asking. He took at least two cookies last night when we were over here before you got home. He ate one, hid the other and now he’s taken another one.” She pointed her index finger at him. “No computer games for you today, young man.”
The kid’s look of betrayal intensified significantly.
“Sorry, buddy,” Riley said.
Claire put some toast on the table, poured Riley a glass of OJ from the fridge, topped off his coffee. She clearly hadn’t forgotten the waitressing skills she’d learned from her afternoon job at the Fork and Spoon Café in high school.
“Eat up, Ethan,” she told her boy. “We’ve got to get going soon. The next shift should be here any minute.”
Riley looked at her midbite. “Shift?”
Claire nodded, started washing the skillet she’d used to cook the eggs. “Misty Reagan and Trisha Weller. They’re coming to help you get dressed and then will fix your lunch.”
Both women were familiar to him. Intimately familiar. He’d had sex with only two girls in high school.
And it was those two.
“Misty’s divorced, no kids,” Claire went on. “That brings the total to nine divorced couples in town now in case you’re keeping count.”
He wasn’t, but divorce was a rare occurrence in Spring Hill—less than 1 percent of the marriages had failed. It was the cool springwater, some said. Most folks just fell in love, got hitched and stayed that way. Riley thought it didn’t have as much to do with the water as it did with lack of options. Little pond. Not many fish.
“Trisha never married. Oh, except for that time she married you, of course.” Another smile tugged at Claire’s mouth. This one didn’t so much light up the room as yank his chain.
“Trisha and I were six years old,” Riley said in his defense. “And she had brownies.”
That perked up Ethan. “Boun-knees.” Obviously, the kid had a serious sweet tooth, something else he had in common with Riley.
“Well, I guess a home-baked dessert is a good reason for marriage,” Claire remarked.
It sure seemed that way at the time. “It was Trisha’s version of put a ring on it. No marriage, no brownies.”
“And you did put a ring on it.” Claire dried the skillet, put it away and dropped the spatula in the dishwasher after she rinsed it. “I seem to remember something gold with a red stone in it.”
“Fake, and it fell apart after a few hours. Just like our fake marriage.”
That eyebrow of hers went to work again. “I think she’d like to make that marriage the real deal.”
Riley frowned. “Trisha said that?”
“Not with words, but she’s a lawyer in Austin and cleared her schedule for the next two weeks just so she could be here. I’d say she really, really wants to be here with you.”
Well, hell. Riley liked Trisha enough, but he hadn’t wanted anyone hanging around, including a woman who was looking for more than a plastic ring from a vending machine.
“Call them,” Riley insisted. “Tell them not to come, that I don’t need or want any help. I really just need to get some rest—that’s all. That’s why I told Della and Stella to take the week off.”
The words had hardly left his mouth when Riley heard the sound of car engines. Ethan raced to the window in the living room with Riley and Claire trailing along right behind him. Sure enough two cars had pulled into the circular driveway that fronted the house.
Wearing a short blue skirt and snug top, Misty got out first from a bright yellow Mustang, and she snagged two shopping bags off the passenger’s seat. She’d been a cheerleader in high school and still had some zip to her steps. Was still a looker, too, with her dark brown hair that she’d pulled up in a ponytail.
She might be trouble.
After all, she’d lost her virginity to Riley when she was seventeen after they’d dated for about four months. That tended to create a bond for women. Maybe Misty would be looking to bond again.
Then there was Trisha.
Riley had lost his virginity to her. And there’d been that wedding in first grade, possibly creating another problem with that whole bonding thing.
When Trisha stepped out of a silver BMW, she immediately looked up, her gaze snagging his in the window. She smiled. No chain yanking or “light up the room” smile, either. All Riley saw were lips and teeth, two things Trisha had used quite well on the night of his de-virgining.
“Oh, look,” Claire said. “Trisha brought you a plate of brownies.”
Yeah, she had.
And other things were familiar about Trisha, too. Like those curves that had stirred every man’s zipper in town. Now all those curves were hugged up in a devil-red dress. She still looked hungry, as if she were ready to gobble up something. And judging from the smile she gave Riley, she wanted him to be the gobblee.
Another time, another place, Riley might have considered a good gobbling. Or at least some innocent flirting. But there was that part about people seeing him in pain. Plus, there was always the threat of a flashback. No way did he want anyone around to witness that little treat.
“Come on, Ethan,” Claire said, scooping him up. “It’s time for us to go.”
“So soon?” Riley wanted to ask her to stay, but that would just sound wussy. His testosterone had already dropped enough for one day.
“So soon,” Claire verified. She waggled her fingers in a goodbye wave and headed for the door. “Enjoy those brownies.”
She probably would have just waltzed out, but Claire stopped in her tracks when their gazes met. She didn’t ask what was going on in his head, and the chain-yanking expression was gone.
Hell.
He hadn’t wanted her to see what was behind his eyes. Hadn’t wanted anyone to see it. But Riley was as certain as he was of his boot size that Claire knew.
“Finish your breakfast,” Claire instructed. Her voice was a little unsteady now. “I’ll deal with them. I can’t guarantee they won’t come back, but you’ll have a few hours at least. Is that enough time?”
Riley lied with a nod.
He used actual words for his next lie. “You don’t have to worry about me, Claire. Soon I’ll be as good as new.”
“PAY DOUGH!” ETHAN squealed when Claire held up the picture of the painting.
Claire checked to make sure she was showing him the right one. Yes, it was van Gogh’s Starry Night, but there was no Play-Doh on it.
“That’s really close, sweetie, and the artist’s name does sort of rhyme with Play-Doh,” Claire encouraged.
“Pay dough!” he repeated, speeding up the words a little.
She tried not to look disappointed. The directions on the “Making Your Toddler a Little Genius” packet had said to make this activity fun. Or rather FUN!!!! Claire only hoped that the creators of this product had raised at least one semigenius child and that they hadn’t just tossed some crap activities together to milk her out of her $89.95, plus shipping.
“Try again,” she prompted, waving