Kathleen Creighton - One Summer’s Knight

She turned to the sink then, and Riley went back to studying her while she turned on the water and let it run hot, pumped liquid soap and worked it into a lather, which she slathered all the way up above her elbows. She had long, firmly toned arms…strong, broad shoulders…supple back…slender waist.

Thank God, he thought, she wasn’t ever going to know how close he’d been to putting his hands on that waist, spanning that firm and supple back and, if she was willing, pulling her down astride him right there where he sat. And if he was lucky, she was never going to know how much he still wanted to do that very thing, or guess that even now he could feel the weight of her smooth-muscled thighs pressing on his, feel the moist heat of her body soaking through his old shirt…imagine himself opening it, and the slick-slippery meeting of her breasts with his chest…the slap of her belly against his…the taste of her mouth, the feel of those supple, mobile lips moving under his…the ripe-peaches smell of her hair…and her hands, those strong, no-nonsense hands making imprints in the muscles of his back…

“Ready?” Was it his imagination, or did she sound as breathless as he felt, standing there looking at him with her eyes alight, drying her hands on a towel. She handed him the towel almost absentmindedly; he took it and gave his face and neck, shoulders and torso a cursory wipe with it before laying it across his lap-a seemingly casual act, but oh, how grateful he was for that towel just then.

“I could sure use a shower,” he muttered. A cold one.

“You can shower when I’m finished…I’ll lend you one of my shower caps, if you like.” She was frowning at his scalp. “Am I to assume you’d rather I didn’t shave off too much of your hair? Just kidding.”

Riley snorted. “You’re a regular not, Doc.”

“Gee…my other patients don’t seem to mind. Okay, hold the towel up to your face while I pour some of this hydrogen peroxide into the cut…little bit more…okay, that’s good. Now some antiseptic…”

“Ouch!”

“Don’t be a baby…the sting just means-”

“It’s doing its job, I know. Hurry it up, will you?”

“Almost done. Now-I’d like to put a couple of these little butterfly bandages across the cut to close it, but I’ll have to snip off just a lit-tle teeny bit of hair. Is that going to be okay? You won’t even see it, I promise.”

Lord, how vain did she think he was? “Do it,” he muttered. “Get it over with.” He closed his eyes and held his breath; it wasn’t pain he was trying his best to shut out, but her scent, her nearness. His stomach growled; he was helpless to stop it.

“Hmm,” she said softly, her voice just a breath away from his ear, “that’s right, I guess you never did get to eat your waffles, did you? They’re still there, you know, in the kitchen. When we’re done here, I can warm them up for you, if you like. They’ll crisp up nicely in the toaster.”

There it was again-that mystifying little irritation. She sounded like somebody’s mother. Which definitely wasn’t what he wanted from her, not then. Not ever. “Gee, Doc,” he said sarcastically, “do you normally offer your patients blueberry waffles after surgery?”

“No…I usually give them doggy treats…okay-that’s it. Done.” She stood back, her eyes innocent. “Beatle probably wouldn’t mind sharing some of hers, if you’d prefer.”

He didn’t know whether to laugh or growl; what he wanted to do was pull her into his arms and kiss her until she couldn’t breathe. He might have done it that time, and the hell with the consequences, if at that moment David had not come bursting through the doorway at that pace all children seem to prefer, somewhere just below a dead run. Right behind him was the beetle-dog, her toenails clickety-clicking on the tile.

“Mom-” naturally he was out of breath “-I looked and looked, and I can’t find her anywhere. I called, and even Beatle helped search. Helen’s gone, Mom, I swear. She just vanished.”

“Take a deep breath,” Summer ordered. “Calm down. Now-she can’t just vanish, can she? So she has to be here somewhere. Unless-” She looked at Riley.

He shook his head. “She couldn’t get past the perimeter of the grounds, not without setting off the alarm.”

“Okay, then. She has to be here. Tell me where you looked.”

David lifted his hands and hitched up his shoulders as far as they would go. “I told you-I looked everywhere.”

Summer straightened and threw Riley a look of apology. “She does this sometimes. When she’s angry, or afraid she’s in big trouble, she…hides. Right now-” an ironic smile tugged at her mouth “-she’s afraid she’s in big trouble because she thinks she may have killed you.” She drew a deep breath and gave her son’s shoulders a squeeze. “All right, I think we should start in the house, don’t you? Come on-we’ll take it one room-” And she was already turning to hustle the boy ahead of her out of the bathroom. She stopped, though, as Riley struggled to his feet, and shooed him back with a wave of her hand. “No, no-that’s okay, stay there. No need for you to bother yourself. Here-” Distracted, she paused at the sink where she’d dumped the tray of ice cubes, pulled up the stopper and turned on the tap, then dropped in a washcloth. “Put this on your foot I’m sure David and I can find her.”

Riley reached over and turned off the water. “If she’s hiding because she’s afraid she’s hurt me,” he said reasonably, “then seeing me alive and well ought to reassure her. Maybe she’ll come out of her own accord. And if she doesn’t-” he bit on his lip as he tested his foot, decided the pain was entirely manageable and then nodded “-then I probably know some hiding places you don’t. This house has a few odd nooks and crannies.”

For a moment she hesitated, and he could see the struggle in her eyes-a brief one, an automatic rejection of the idea of anyone helping her more than a real objection, he thought. Then she nodded in acceptance and abruptly pivoted, following her son from the room. Riley raised his eyes skyward in a silent appeal for patience and hobbled after her.

As they were passing through his bedroom, he observed what looked like a fat furry pillow squarely in the middle of his bed. Summer saw it, too, and halted dead in her tracks.

“Oh, Lord, I’m sorry. Here-just let me take her-” She threw him a look of pure misery and bent over to pick up the cat, trying her best, it seemed to him, to do so without letting any part of her touch any part of the bed. No small feat, given the size of his bed.

Riley’s mind suddenly became crowded with images and associations, all having to do with Summer and her proximity to his bed, thoughts he had no business entertaining, even for a moment. His belly grumbled ominously. “Leave her-let her sleep,” he growled, waving Summer out of his bedroom with an impatience bordering on urgency.

They commenced the search at one end of the upstairs hall, taking it one bedroom at a time, opening doors and drawers and cupboards, peering into closets, behind draperies and under beds-any space a five-year-old body could possibly squeeze into as well as a few it couldn’t. They’d finished the two empty rooms on the north side of the house and were about to move on to the one Summer was occupying when Riley noticed that the dog Beatle appeared to have taken an interest in one of the doors across the hall. He paused to watch her as she sniffed and snuffled at the bottom of the closed door, then raised her head and gave a soft “Wuf.”

Summer looked down at the Chihuahua, then up at Riley. He raised his eyebrows; she shrugged a who knows?