not, but I’ll feel better knowing she can call if she needs something. It’s bad enough I have to leave her alone in the house.”
He sent her a curious look. “She doesn’t stay by herself?”
“Rarely, and only for a half hour or so on weekends, while I’m running errands during the day.”
“What do you do with her while you’re working?”
“If she’s not at work with me, she stays with Mrs. Carpenter next door or at a friend’s house.”
She sensed what he was thinking—Erica’s paranoia runs rampant—particularly when he followed her to the door and she armed the security system with the standard code—a code that signified her and Jeff’s wedding anniversary.
“Glad to see you’re adequately protecting yourself,” he said before adding, “although this is a virtually crime-free neighborhood.”
She stepped onto the porch and double-checked the lock. “There isn’t any such thing as a crime-free neighborhood these days.” After pocketing her phone and keys, she turned to him again. “You never know when some strange man’s going to appear at your doorstep, intent on torturing you.”
His smile made the torture worthwhile. “Do you remember how to stretch?”
She tried not to be too insulted. “Yes, I remember.” Which was no guarantee that she might not tear something in the process.
Erica followed Kieran’s lead as he went through the motions of warming up his muscles. She also followed the line of his leg, from the top of his cross trainers to the bend of his knee and the curve of his thigh. For some reason, she kept right on going to a very male area no decent mother should dare go—
“What equipment do you prefer?”
Her gaze snapped to his as a heated blush slapped her cheeks. “Beg your pardon?”
His grin deepened, indicating he’d noticed her wicked perusal. “Maybe I should ask what event you preferred during your gymnastic days.”
Thank heavens that’s what he’d meant. “I did fairly well with the beam, bars and vault, but floor exercise was my forte.”
“And that involves quite a bit of running, right?”
“Yes, that’s part of it.”
“Good. Then let’s go.”
When he took off down the walkway toward the street, Erica realized the moment of truth had arrived. Would she make it two blocks without collapsing? Of course she would—she hoped.
When Erica passed by his black sports car parked at the curb, she discovered it happened to be a Porsche. Figured. He looked like a Porsche kind of guy. But she didn’t have time to admire the dream vehicle if she wanted to catch up with him, which she did in short order since he’d maintained an easy jog, not a full-out sprint. Despite her calves’ and ankles’ slight protests, she managed to keep up with his pace…until he sped up, leaving her behind. After a few yards, he turned and ran in place. “You can do better than that.”
If she had the energy, she’d take off her aged sneaker and hurl it at him. “I’m coming,” she said around her labored breathing. “Feel free to go ahead without me.”
“No way. I don’t want you heading back home.”
Going back home sounded like a good plan, but she’d be darned if she’d give up now, so she continued on regardless that the occasional patch of grass began to resemble a nice place to take a nap.
By the time they reached the park, Erica’s feet stung and her lungs burned. She managed to make it to a nearby play yard where she used a support beam to hold her up while she caught her breath.
Kieran looked no worse for the wear, or winded in the least, and that brought about a return of her foul mood. “Are you trying to kill me our first day together?” she managed around a few puffs of air.
“Not at all,” he said. “By next week, I’ll have you jogging to the park and back, plus a couple of laps around it.”
By next week, she might be bedridden with several stress fractures. “I hope you know CPR.” Another pleasant fantasy filtered into her mind—Kieran’s mouth covering hers. Short of feigning respiratory arrest, it wasn’t going to happen.
“That’s a requirement that comes with the job, but you’re not going to need it.” He pulled the sweatshirt over his head, leaving him clad in only a white T-shirt that rode up momentarily, giving Erica a glimpse of the dip of his navel and the happy path running beneath it.
If he kept that up, she’d definitely need some serious resuscitation. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. Let’s just hope I can live up to your expectations.”
“You already have.” He draped the sweatshirt over the side of the slide, stepped closer and braced two fingers on Erica’s neck.
“Looking for something?” she asked.
“I’m checking your heart rate.”
Of course he was, and how stupid for her to think anything else. “Am I still alive?” Her rapid heartbeat indicated she was quite alive—a partial reaction to his touch, no matter how innocent—or clinical—it might be.
He dropped his hand from her neck, much to Erica’s disappointment. “Yeah, you’re still alive. We’ll work on getting your rate up a little higher in the future.”
Any higher and she might suffer a cardiac arrest to go along with her shin splints. “If you say so.”
“Are you recovered enough to head back now?”
From the run, yes. From his hand on her neck and his close proximity, not exactly. After a couple of deep knee bends that caused her moderate pain, she shook out her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I’m ready, and even if I wasn’t, I need to get back to my daughter.”
Kieran studied her for a long moment before saying, “She’s lucky to have you as her mother.”
“And I’m blessed beyond belief to have such a great daughter. She’s the best thing that ever happened to me, and I’d do anything for her.”
“The answer is no, Stormy. End of discussion.”
“But, Mom, you’re not being fair!”
Kieran stood in the den, listening to the verbal volley between mother and daughter coming from the kitchen. It wasn’t his place to dive into the fray, and so far he’d avoided any intervention. In order for that to remain true, he needed to make a quick departure to allow the familial fireworks to calm. But before he could head out, Stormy rushed into the den and aimed a puppy-dog look on him, halting his escape.
“Isn’t she being unfair, Kieran? I mean, what’s wrong with playing softball?”
So much for remaining out of the battle. And so much for pretending he hadn’t overheard the conversation. “Your mom didn’t say you couldn’t play softball. She said she didn’t
