Well, hell. Riley liked Trisha enough, but he hadn’t wanted anyone hanging around, including a woman who was looking for more than a plastic ring from a vending machine.
“Call them,” Riley insisted. “Tell them not to come, that I don’t need or want any help. I really just need to get some rest—that’s all. That’s why I told Della and Stella to take the week off.”
The words had hardly left his mouth when Riley heard the sound of car engines. Ethan raced to the window in the living room with Riley and Claire trailing along right behind him. Sure enough two cars had pulled into the circular driveway that fronted the house.
Wearing a short blue skirt and snug top, Misty got out first from a bright yellow Mustang, and she snagged two shopping bags off the passenger’s seat. She’d been a cheerleader in high school and still had some zip to her steps. Was still a looker, too, with her dark brown hair that she’d pulled up in a ponytail.
She might be trouble.
After all, she’d lost her virginity to Riley when she was seventeen after they’d dated for about four months. That tended to create a bond for women. Maybe Misty would be looking to bond again.
Then there was Trisha.
Riley had lost his virginity to her. And there’d been that wedding in first grade, possibly creating another problem with that whole bonding thing.
When Trisha stepped out of a silver BMW, she immediately looked up, her gaze snagging his in the window. She smiled. No chain yanking or “light up the room” smile, either. All Riley saw were lips and teeth, two things Trisha had used quite well on the night of his de-virgining.
“Oh, look,” Claire said. “Trisha brought you a plate of brownies.”
Yeah, she had.
And other things were familiar about Trisha, too. Like those curves that had stirred every man’s zipper in town. Now all those curves were hugged up in a devil-red dress. She still looked hungry, as if she were ready to gobble up something. And judging from the smile she gave Riley, she wanted him to be the gobblee.
Another time, another place, Riley might have considered a good gobbling. Or at least some innocent flirting. But there was that part about people seeing him in pain. Plus, there was always the threat of a flashback. No way did he want anyone around to witness that little treat.
“Come on, Ethan,” Claire said, scooping him up. “It’s time for us to go.”
“So soon?” Riley wanted to ask her to stay, but that would just sound wussy. His testosterone had already dropped enough for one day.
“So soon,” Claire verified. She waggled her fingers in a goodbye wave and headed for the door. “Enjoy those brownies.”
She probably would have just waltzed out, but Claire stopped in her tracks when their gazes met. She didn’t ask what was going on in his head, and the chain-yanking expression was gone.
Hell.
He hadn’t wanted her to see what was behind his eyes. Hadn’t wanted anyone to see it. But Riley was as certain as he was of his boot size that Claire knew.
“Finish your breakfast,” Claire instructed. Her voice was a little unsteady now. “I’ll deal with them. I can’t guarantee they won’t come back, but you’ll have a few hours at least. Is that enough time?”
Riley lied with a nod.
He used actual words for his next lie. “You don’t have to worry about me, Claire. Soon I’ll be as good as new.”
“PAY DOUGH!” ETHAN squealed when Claire held up the picture of the painting.
Claire checked to make sure she was showing him the right one. Yes, it was van Gogh’s Starry Night, but there was no Play-Doh on it.
“That’s really close, sweetie, and the artist’s name does sort of rhyme with Play-Doh,” Claire encouraged.
“Pay dough!” he repeated, speeding up the words a little.
She tried not to look disappointed. The directions on the “Making Your Toddler a Little Genius” packet had said to make this activity fun. Or rather FUN!!!! Claire only hoped that the creators of this product had raised at least one semigenius child and that they hadn’t just tossed some crap activities together to milk her out of her $89.95, plus shipping.
“Try again,” she prompted, waving the picture at Ethan to get his already wandering attention. “You got this right yesterday.” And, according to the rules, she wasn’t supposed to move on to the next picture until he’d gotten this one right three days in a row. They’d been working on it for two weeks now with no end in sight.
Ethan studied the picture and grinned. “Money!”
Claire was certain she didn’t contain her disappointment that time. “No. Not Monet.” That’d been last month’s lesson.
She snagged one of his toy vehicles. A van. And she held it up with the painting while trying to make a running/going motion with her index and middle fingers. Her nails nearly tore a hole in one of the star blobs. Evidently, $89.95 wasn’t enough to buy higher-quality paper, and her example was obviously too abstract.
“Ri-wee!” Ethan squealed with more excitement than money or Play-Doh.
Frowning, Claire put aside the picture and the van. “No, not Riley.” Or rather Ri-wee. “Why don’t we work on this later? You can go ahead and play.”
You would have thought she’d just announced he could have an entire toy store and unlimited chocolate-chip cookies for life. Ethan scooted across the floor and went back to his cars. The auto crashes started immediately.
“Ri-wee!” he repeated like some kind of tribal shout with each new collision.
Even though he didn’t have the pronunciation down pat, Claire knew her son was only repeating what he’d heard her mumble for the past two days—Riley. For some reason, Riley’s name kept popping into her head and then continued to randomly pop out of her mouth.
And there was no good reason for it.
A few bad reasons, though.
Riley was an attractive man. Still hot. No denying that. He was also very much hands-off since he wouldn’t be around for long, as usual. Maybe her brain would figure that out soon enough and stop sending these ridiculous impulses to the rest of her body.
Claire stayed on the floor next to Ethan but grabbed her laptop from the sofa. Since she had struck out in creating a baby genius, she might as well get some work done, and she downloaded the last photo she needed to edit. When she finished, it would almost be bittersweet because it was also the last of her work in the queue.
More photo shoots would follow. They always did. But it was best if she didn’t have any free time on her hands right now.
Of course, she could fill that free time, easily, by sorting through
