over his handsome features, turning his clear blue eyes to hot, shadowed volcano beds. Turning his rugged jaw to jagged steel, his full, wide mouth to a razor line of bloodless white.
“Claire, sweetheart, Steve never made it to practice. He had an accident.”
Strange, she thought, that a mouth so fierce, so twisted with pain, could speak in such gentle tones. His arms tightened around her. “It was very bad. He didn’t make it, Claire. He’s gone.”
“Gone?”
He shut his eyes, and it was a relief not to have to look into their tortured depths.
“Yes, he said. “I’m so sorry, Claire. Steve’s dead.”
Dead…
Not playing football, not laughing, not running, not even breathing.
Dead.
She shut her eyes, too, as the knife blade of the word sank deep into her chest. She felt her heart’s blood gush everywhere, she tasted the metallic hot ice of the cruel steel, and then, thank God, the terrible black universe began to disappear again.
My little brother is dead.
She wasn’t sure whether she spoke that sentence or merely thought it. But she heard herself say the next one.
And you killed him.
CHAPTER TWO
Two years later
KIERAN MCCLINTOCK RUBBED the stinging red spot just above his swim trunks where the latest water balloon had landed and wondered if his reflexes might be getting a little slow. That made eight hits already, and it wasn’t even noon. He couldn’t seem to duck, dodge or jump out of the way fast enough.
The darn things hurt, too. High-school boys really threw some heat these days. He scowled at the one who had just nailed him in the gut.
“Ingrate,” he called as the boy chuckled and scooted away.
“Golly, Coach, I’ll bet that smarts.” Suddenly a female voice purred in his ear, and a soft female hand rested over his. “Need any help with that?”
“Hi, Linda.” Kieran didn’t need to look up to know whose hand it was. No one but Linda Tremel would dream of rubbing the football coach’s wet, naked stomach in public. He moved her fingers away. “Thanks, but I’ll live.”
Linda pouted, but otherwise she took the rejection in stride. She was quite used to being rejected by Kieran—she was his neighbor. Since her divorce, she’d been programmed to bait her hooks automatically whenever she saw any man. She didn’t really expect him to bite.
She adjusted her large straw sun hat to a prettier angle and surveyed the chaos in front of them, where Heyday High’s annual Junior-Senior Send-off was in full swing. About a hundred students and their families were slip-sliding on water toys, hobbling in three-legged races and gnawing on cold fried chicken legs and deviled eggs.
She sighed and fanned herself with her paper napkin. Summer had come in swinging this year. The temperature was already in the nineties.
“I’d take off my cover-up, but I’m not sure these hormonal young boys could control themselves,” she said. “It’s bad enough that you’ve got every female under fifty salivating over your six-pack, stud. Think you should toss a shirt on and put them out of their misery?”
Kieran didn’t respond. Linda always talked like that. In fact, she never talked about anything but sex. Kieran suspected that might mean she wasn’t really all that interested in it. Protesting too much, as they said.
Besides, he saw a couple of his best players huddled over by the ice chest, and he could imagine what they were plotting. The next water balloon was probably going to be filled with Gatorade. He could only hope they had one of the other teachers in mind for this one.
All the faculty, right up to the principal, were here today. Even the school volunteers had showed up—like Linda. The Send-off was the highlight of the school year. Each May, just before the start of final exams, the junior class hosted a water party for the outgoing seniors. It had been a Heyday tradition for at least fifty years.
Heyday was big on tradition. Kieran’s father, who had, until his death less than two months ago, owned most of Heyday, had always said that tradition was what the little town had instead of culture, prominence, wealth or wisdom.
“So, I hear you’ve got another superstar coming along next season, Coach. You know the one.” Linda tilted her head. “What’s his name? Nice muscles. Bedroom eyes.”
“Bedroom eyes?” Kieran looked at her. “I have no idea who you’re talking about, but you’d better watch it, Linda. These boys are underage.”
“Well, he does have sexy eyes.” She grinned from under the wide brim of her hat. “I can’t help noticing, can I? Oh, what is his name? The boy everyone is saying could be the new Steve Strickland. Eddie-something.”
“Eddie Mackey?” Kieran wondered where Linda had heard about Eddie. “He’s good, but he’s not on the team yet. He’s not sure he wants to play.”
“Oh, you can talk him into it. You can talk anybody into anything. Steve Strickland didn’t want to play at first, either, and look how good he turned out to be.”
Kieran tossed his empty Gatorade bottle into the recycling bin. “Of course Steve wanted to play,” he said. He hoped he didn’t sound defensive. “Where did you hear that he didn’t want to play?”
“I don’t remember…” Linda chewed on her lower lip. “Oh, that’s right. It was his sister who didn’t want him to play. That’s what I heard. They say Claire hated the idea of Steve playing football. I never understood why. Was she afraid he’d get hurt or something?”
That was stupid, even for Linda. Instantly, she realized her mistake and drew in a deep breath. “I mean—you know. In a game. Like getting tackled or something. Naturally, no one could have imagined he’d end up—”
“No.” Kieran popped open another drink and downed half of it in one gulp. It really was hot out here. “No one could have imagined that.”
“Where is she now, do you know?”
Kieran squinted into the sunlight, trying to see if the people barbecuing hot dogs needed any help. “Who?”
“Claire. Do you know if she’s still in Richmond?”
“No.”
Linda flicked him with her napkin. “Be specific,” she said. “Do you mean no, she’s not in Richmond, or no, you don’t know?”
“No, I don’t know.”
“You haven’t seen her since—”
“No.”
“Do you think she’s still angry? Do you think she still blames you for—”
“I don’t know.”
“I’ll
