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 rest of his crew and the airman back on the Pave Hawk.
But that didn’t happen.
The sounds stopped. Everything stopped. Like that split second of watching and waiting for a pin to drop onto a tile floor.
This was no pin, though.
The pressure exploded in his head. And the pain came, cutting off the air to his lungs. Strangling him. Riley couldn’t move, couldn’t run, but he could feel the blood, all warm and thick. His blood.
Get the hell out now!
“Riley?”
The sound of someone calling out his name gave him a jolt. Riley’s eyes flew open, but since the nightmare was still with him, it took him a moment to realize this wasn’t one of his extractions.
It was Claire.
And she was leaning over him, her mouth so close to his that he nearly kissed her. She was a welcome sight, all right. A lot more welcome than the flashbacks. But she was sporting a very concerned look on her face.
“You were dreaming,” she said.
Yeah, that was a good word for it. Better than the brain-fuck label that Riley had slapped on it. Because it hadn’t been just a dream. All of that, and more, had happened in the blink of an eye.
Since Claire’s mouth and therefore that kiss was still within striking range, he waited until she backed away a little before Riley sat up in the porch swing. He only grunted once. Only felt the blinding pain twice.
She looked amazing. Since this was Claire, looking amazing was a given. Her face was a little shiny with sweat. Her top, a little clingy—also from the sweat. But she didn’t smell like sweat. She smelled like roses. Except he soon realized that smell wasn’t coming from her. She really did have some roses in her hand.
“I wouldn’t have woken you up,” Claire added, “but you were talking and thrashing around. I was afraid you’d hurt yourself. Do you need your pain meds?”
He did, and needed them badly, but Riley shook his head. “I’m off the oxy, and the new stuff makes me drowsy.”
Which explained why he’d fallen asleep in his uniform in the porch swing. It was spring, but in Texas that meant it was already hotter than hell. Of course, that pretty much described three and a half of their four seasons.
Riley put his feet on the porch but didn’t risk standing just yet. The porch was swirling beneath him. However, there was maybe something he could do to get that look of pity off Claire’s face.
“I nearly kissed you,” he admitted.
As expected, the pity vanished, and she looked about as shocked as if he really had kissed her. “When? Wait, that wasn’t part of the dream, was it?”
Uh, no. “I nearly kissed you just now when you were leaning over me.”
Since he had never kissed her, this would have been the time when most women would have asked why he’d nearly done that. Or at least continued on the subject a bit until she got some more info. Claire didn’t. She dropped back another step.
“What happened to the kid?” she asked. She hooked her fingers around the neck strap that was holding a camera. “The kid in the nightmare you were having?”
Ah, hell. How much had he said? Apparently, too damn much. Since that was the last thing he wanted to discuss with her, with anyone, Riley went on the offensive.
“I heard about Daniel’s proposal. Including the or else.” He wouldn’t give her his opinion about that.
She nodded. “Trisha blabbed.” That was it. Her complete response on the matter before Claire suddenly got very interested in looking at her fingernails.
“Do you think we can find a subject that we both will actually discuss?” he asked. “If not, this is going to be a very short visit.” And while he was at it, Riley added something else that was sure to get her mind off what he had said or hadn’t said while napping. “Why are you visiting anyway? Did you bring me flowers?”
His tone alone should have put her off since it wasn’t very welcoming, but Claire didn’t huff or look insulted. She sank down on the seat next to him. “I’m just taking a break from stripping wallpaper and sorting boxes. And, no, the roses are for your mother’s grave. They’re the first batch from Gran’s garden, and I thought your mom would like them.”
That put an instant lump in his throat. He wasn’t usually so lump prone when it came to the mention of his mother, but those flashbacks had left him raw, as if some of his skin had been stripped away. It made it too easy for the feelings to get in.
“Mom would like them,” Riley settled for saying.
Claire nodded, smiled, put the flowers on the railing. “I’ll swing by the cemetery on the way home, but Ethan wanted to play with Crazy Dog first. I brought my camera so I could get some pictures. He’s growing up so fast that I’m trying to hang on to the minutes by making sure I get at least one new picture of him every week.”
Since Riley hadn’t heard a peep from Ethan, he looked at the yellow Lab’s usual resting spot, and as predicted Crazy Dog was there, sleeping, and Ethan was tugging on his ears, trying to get the dog to move.
Good luck with that.
“Crazy Dog’s not so crazy anymore,” Riley remarked. And he hadn’t been for the past six years or so.
But before that, he’d been worthy of the name that Lucky had given him. Well, actually the name had been Bat-Shit Crazy Dog, but that hadn’t gone over well with Della and Stella. Neither had Ol’ Yeller—Riley’s suggestion. Logan hadn’t offered any name options, but he had been the one to call a dog obedience instructor.
For the most part, Crazy Dog slept under that particular tree during the day, though there was a doggy door for the house so he could come and go as he pleased. The only time he went inside was to eat and do more sleeping. The vet had assured them that the dog wasn’t sick; all the tests had been done to rule that out. Apparently, Crazy Dog was more Lazy Dog now.
“You’re wearing your uniform,” Claire commented.
Riley hadn’t forgotten he had it on, of course, but he glanced down at it. “I was at the base getting physical therapy and a checkup first thing this morning. I’m healing,” he added so that she wouldn’t ask.
Nor would he explain that wearing the uniform to the appointment hadn’t been necessary. Riley just felt better when he had it on. Not like the ordinary Riley with the head-exploding pain. In the uniform he was Captain McCord, CRO. People saluted him, called him sir and there was the awe factor of being special ops.
Since his comments about the dog and his physical therapy hadn’t generated any safe conversation, Riley went back to an unsafe subject. “What are you going to do about Daniel’s proposal?”
Her lips tightened as if she might tell him it was none of his business, but it was a sigh rather than a huff that left her mouth—which he was still thinking
