Renegade. Kaitlyn Rice
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grabbed the cup and returned it to the sink. “You might have noticed I’m not long on dishes here.”
His grandmother cackled as they made their way to the living room. With a limberness belying her years, she scooped the astronomy text from the floor and looked around for a place to sit. “You’re not long on furniture, either,” she said. “You need to fill this place up—unless you’re planning to leave soon.”
“I hope to stay a while, although I’ve already been warned I’m making a mistake.” Riley headed to the back bedroom to fetch two unopened gallon paint cans.
“Who told you that?” Lydia hollered.
“Tracy,” he hollered back. He paused in the bedroom when he noticed that his grandmother’s voice had sounded odd from across the walls. It had a new quality, something not obvious when she was within his sight. As he returned to set the cans a few feet apart in the middle of the living-room floor, he realized what it was—she sounded old.
But she was quiet now, so he picked up a board he’d bought to repair a rotted window and centered it between the cans. “There we have it,” he said, directing a tender smile toward his grandmother. “The amazing, instant study desk.”
“It’s good to know I didn’t waste my money on that fancy California university,” Lydia said as she sat and stretched out her legs beneath the board. She couldn’t be comfortable in that position for long. Criminy, he wouldn’t be comfortable. He’d have to pick up a table and chairs somewhere.
His grandmother didn’t complain, though. She spent a moment perusing a glossy photo of some distant galaxy, then said, “I guess you’ll have to convince her she’s wrong.”
Riley didn’t ask who his grandmother was talking about, because his mind hadn’t completely left Tracy since he’d seen her. “Convincing that woman of anything would be a pleasure,” he said as he attempted to position his legs on the other side of the board. “Is she involved?”
“As in dating?” Lydia flipped through pages until she found the one she’d dog-eared. Then she looked up.
“As in dating, engaged, married, living with…all that brouhaha.”
His grandmother shook her head. “Getting involved with the Gilberts’ youngest daughter would be a mistake,” she said. “You know that, don’t you?”
“Who said I was getting involved?” Riley asked. “I asked if she was involved.”
His grandmother arched an eyebrow. “She’s a career woman and a single mom. She doesn’t have time for anything else.”
“Wow, a single mom.” Riley pictured a little girl or boy with Tracy’s hair and eyes. “What sort of career?”
“She works for Booker Vanderveer. He came here from Chicago a few years ago when his wife took a job as a psychology professor. I’m taking her class next fall.”
“Gran, what kind of business is it?”
“Oh, well, why didn’t you ask in the first place? Booker runs an organizing business.” She chuckled. “I’ll be danged if the idea hasn’t caught on. It seems that quite a few college professors and some of the wealthier students are willing to pay through the nose for someone else to clean up their clutter.”
“An organizer…that sounds right. She was always a go-getter.”
“And despite the fact that tongues will flap faster than a flag in the wind, you’re planning to go get ’er?”
Riley snorted at his grandmother’s choice of words, but he wasn’t surprised by the boldness of the question. He also knew an answer wasn’t expected.
He had no idea what he was going to do, but Tracy’s words had felt like a dare. He could live anywhere he pleased, and he’d stay around until Tracy admitted that. Or longer.
“Actually, Booker’s the consultant,” Lydia said, breaking into his thoughts. “I’m pretty sure Tracy just manages the office.”
Frowning at the text lying between them, Riley didn’t comment. He already had the information he needed, and he was developing a plan. He wasn’t sure about the details yet, but he’d find a way to teach Tracy a lesson. Rotating the astronomy book toward his grandmother, he said, “Is this the section causing you problems?”
Lydia nodded, and the two concentrated on astronomy for the next half hour. They’d just read through a page, when his grandmother said, “I suppose you could use her.”
“Use Tracy?” Images invaded Riley’s thoughts.
“M’dear grandson, should you decide to stick around, you could use Vanderveer’s to get your business up and running.”
Riley smiled in response to Lydia’s grin, but he tapped his index finger against her book. “We’re studying now, Gran,” he reminded her. “Besides, I’m a bucket ahead of you.”
But when he noticed the snap of her eyes, he knew he’d never truly catch up to the lightning-quick workings of his grandmother’s mind. Hadn’t she just manipulated him into staying a while?
TRACY STOOD IN LINE at the strip-mall print shop, waiting to pick up a case of forms for Booker. The young woman behind the service desk was working slowly, even for a Monday morning. She’d taken six minutes to fill the first order, and was only now greeting the next customer.
Hannah was beginning to fidget, despite the lemon drop and yo-yo Tracy had found in the depths of her purse and offered as a bribe. The four-year-old bundle of fresh-faced charm and relentless energy was eating the candy with loud smacks, and had just banged the toy into the ankle of the man fifth in line.
Apologizing profusely, Tracy pulled Hannah closer. Even while she swore to herself that tomorrow she’d drop Hannah off at day care before errands, the little girl tried to work the yo-yo again. Of course, she let go of the string and the toy rolled between the legs of the older woman behind them. Hannah dropped to the floor to skitter along after it.
“Hannah, bring me the yo-yo,” Tracy said. When she heard the impatience in her voice, she softened her tone. “I’ll get you to school soon. You won’t miss circle time.”
The little girl’s dark eyes were solemn as she dropped the yo-yo into Tracy’s outstretched hand. Tracy felt a pang of remorse. It wasn’t Hannah’s fault they were running late. It was hers. She’d overslept, which was something she didn’t do. Then again, she hadn’t been herself all weekend.
Another employee appeared from a side door to hasten across the shop, so Tracy grabbed Hannah’s hand and followed him. “I’m here to pick up a case of forms for Vanderveer’s,” she announced to a set of pumping elbows.
He was practically running, but after her statement, he glanced over his shoulder and stopped. “I’m just the passport photographer,” he said in a voice with a timbre that reminded her of Riley’s.
Tracy scowled. Since Saturday morning, Riley’s traits were popping up in every man within her path. The knowledge that he was back in town had thrown her for a loop, despite her best efforts to forget about him.
The photographer was staring at Tracy’s face, probably wondering about the sudden switch from smile to frown.
Tracy gentled her expression. “I don’t mind,” she said, once again assuming a calmness she didn’t feel. Raising an eyebrow, she pulled Hannah close and waited for the man to get the box. Surely, even a passport photographer could make time for something so simple.
“Yes, ma’am,” the man said in a voice that sounded only nervous now. As he hurried around the counter to ask his co-worker where to find the Vanderveer job, Tracy saw a tall, muscular man in hip-hugging jeans pass by the front window.
No. It wasn’t Riley. Just a guy who reminded her of Riley, of course.
Still, in a town the size of Kirkwood,