bruise his chest when I’m on top.”
That wasn’t an image Claire wanted in her head. Too late. It was already there. “So, you’re not going to see him again?”
“Nope. I have another date next week. I’ll call you afterwards and tell you all about it. Come on. Give them their tea so they’ll get the hell out of here and we can have a good visit.”
Livvy helped her with the glasses, and they made their way back to the porch. Trisha and Daniel were having a whispered conversation, but they broke away as if they’d just been caught picking their noses.
“Is there a problem?” Claire asked.
Daniel cleared his throat. “I thought you’d want me to correct Ethan. I told him not to keep crashing the cars.” He paused, gently put his hand on her shoulder. “Because it might bring up old memories for you.”
Maybe it was the rush of sugary wine to her head, but it took Claire a moment to make the connection. He was talking about the accident that’d killed Riley’s parents. “Uh, I know the difference between a toy car crash and a real one.”
And thankfully Ethan seemed to get that, too, because he kept playing his crashing game, which pretty much shot that theory about boys listening better to men.
Maybe that’s what put Daniel in such a sour mood, but Claire was betting it had to do with the gossip floating around about Riley’s visit to her place. And the other five-hundred-pound elephant on the porch—gossip about why Ethan looked so much like the man whose name her son loved to squeal. Whatever it was, it caused Daniel to slip his hand in Claire’s and maneuver her to the other end of the porch. Away from the metaphorical elephant. Away from Livvy and Trisha, too.
Of course, since Livvy and Trisha weren’t actually talking to each other, and the porch was only about ten feet wide, this likely wasn’t going to be a private conversation.
Or one that she especially wanted to have.
“Look, Daniel, Riley will be going back soon, so there’s really no need for us to discuss him.” There. She’d gotten that order of backbone after all, and it felt good.
“I don’t want to talk about Riley. I know you’re not interested in him and haven’t been since high school.”
Oh, if only that were true.
Claire didn’t mention that, though.
“Besides,” Daniel went on, “if he was Ethan’s father, he would have manned up and told me that he’d stabbed me in the back by sleeping with you. Riley’s got a lot of faults, but lying isn’t one of them.”
And he stood there, clearly waiting. Claire didn’t have to guess what he was waiting for. This was the part where he wanted her to tell him who Ethan’s father was. One way or another, it came up every single time they were together. After a dozen or so interrogations in which she hadn’t confessed, Daniel had let her know that he forgave her for being with another man. Since, after all, they’d been in an off phase at the time it’d happened.
Claire didn’t confess today, either.
She wouldn’t.
Because a confession would only lead to a second confession and an admission that Daniel was not going to want to hear.
“I thought you’d have made up your mind about us before now,” Daniel went on. Of course, he smiled, but it was brief and strained. “I mean, you know how I feel about you and know I’d love Ethan as my own. I’m good for you. I know what you need.”
God. Not another proposal, and she didn’t have time to stop it. Daniel took a box from his pocket and dropped it into her hand.
A box just the right size for an engagement ring. And the right color, too, since it was Tiffany blue. She didn’t have to look at it to know that it would be big and budget breaking.
“Don’t say anything right now.” Daniel made sure she didn’t by kissing her again.
“Fudge,” Livvy mumbled.
Trisha squealed.
Claire wanted to throw up. That knot in her stomach was now making its way to her throat, and it didn’t ease up even when Daniel broke the kiss and stepped back.
“I thought you’d have made up your mind by now,” Daniel repeated, “but since you haven’t, I’m giving you one week.”
Daniel waved to Trisha and Ethan and delivered the rest of his proposal from over his shoulder as he walked away. “Or else.”
GET THE HELL out now!
The words roared through Riley’s head, but he couldn’t listen to that warning even if he knew gut deep that it was more than just a warning. The only thing that mattered right now was time.
He had one minute left, and those seconds were ticking off.
Riley couldn’t see shit. The wall of sand had rolled in, swallowing him up and had erased everything within view at the rescue site.
Everything but the sounds.
He could hear the thump of the Pave Hawk’s blades behind him. Could hear the cry for help just ahead.
His extractions.
An airman and a kid, injured from an IED. Riley knew why the airman had been there. He’d been doing his job, but Riley didn’t want to guess about the kid. Didn’t want to think about the kid, either.
Focus.
A quick in and out.
Forty-five seconds left.
Riley trudged forward. Fast but cautious steps toward those sounds. His crew was around him, nearby, and every now and then he caught a glimpse of one of them from the corner of his eye before the sand curtained them again.
His heartbeat was drumming in his ears. His pulse too fast like those seconds that were ticking away. He’d done rescues like this nearly a hundred times but never with that warning punching him in the gut.
Get the hell out now!
“I got a visual,” one of the crew said. Not a shout but loud enough for Riley and the others to hear. “McCord, your one o’clock.”
Riley automatically adjusted, moving slightly to the right, and he spotted the extractions. Both down. Both injured. He knew after just a glimpse that the airman wouldn’t make it, not with the blood spurting from his femoral like that. The kid was fifty-fifty.
Sixty-forty if Riley went in even faster and got him back to the Pave Hawk in under thirty seconds.
So that’s what he did.
Riley pushed forward, his boots bogging down in the sand, and made it to the kid. He scooped him up, knowing someone would be right behind him to take the airman. Riley focused on the kid. He would save him and get the
