Kaitlyn Rice - Renegade

“Here, have a doughnut,” Nellie said, nudging the box. “I didn’t think to bring drinks. Would you mind?”

Tracy held back a groan and started for the kitchen. “Orange juice?”

“That’d be great.”

As she poured the juice, Tracy reminded herself that Nellie was probably just lonely. Besides, this was Kirkwood, Kansas, where major change was generally met with stalwart resistance. Although the student population at Wheatland University caused the town to boom to city size every autumn, permanent residents clung to the ways of their pioneer ancestors. Neighbors talked across fences and borrowed cups of sugar. They lent a hand if a hand was needed. Nellie simply carried that old-fashioned friendliness a step too far.

Make that a few steps. A mile. In fact, she was a total nuisance.

Tracy returned to the living room and set Nellie’s glass of juice on the table. “So what’s the news?”

Nellie finished chewing her doughnut and blurted, “Riley Collins is back!” Then she scanned Tracy’s face with pale, wild eyes.

Tracy’s heart started to race again, but she crossed her arms and waited.

“My friend Ruth saw him at the market early this morning, and he was buying a cartful—cereal, bread, cleaners. He bought out the supply of macaroni and cheese. Like he’s staying.”

Tracy drew a deep breath, summoning every ounce of her patience. This was stunning news, absolutely. She still wanted her neighbor out of here. Maybe even more so now.

“He was probably shopping for his grandma,” Tracy said as she bent down to close the lid to the doughnut box.

Nellie frowned when Tracy placed the box in her lap, but she didn’t stop talking. “Would an old woman use shaving cream and men’s razors?”

“Okay, so he’s visiting for the weekend.” Tracy picked up the full juice glass and walked toward the front door. Just as she expected, Nellie got up and followed her, carrying the box and talking all the way.

“No one would eat a dozen boxes of macaroni and cheese in one weekend. My friend Ruth said he was at the old house all night.”

When Nellie noticed that Tracy had opened the door and was handing her the glass of juice, she frowned again.

“I have my own box of doughnuts in the kitchen,” Tracy lied. “They’ll get stale. You can keep the glass.”

Nellie glanced outside and spoke in a louder voice. “We think Riley Collins is hiding out in that old house.”

Tracy put a finger to her lips. “The Kirkwood grapevine is thriving, isn’t it.”

“Aren’t you upset?” Nellie asked incredulously.

“Riley is ancient history to me,” Tracy said. “And I need to be out the door in twenty minutes.”

As Nellie headed toward her own door, she said, sounding put out, “Be that way. I’ll bet you another dozen doughnuts that no one else in town has forgotten him.”

Tracy closed the door and drooped against it.

Nor have I.

Riley Collins—the town’s most notorious delinquent.

The cause of the Gilbert family’s biggest heartache.

And Tracy’s first friend.

Padding back through the living room, Tracy headed down the hall to wake Hannah. The baby-sitter would arrive soon, allowing Tracy to do her away-from-home chores. She’d fit the park visit in after lunch. Later, there was an overflowing laundry basket to contend with, and she’d promised her boss she’d type some reports this weekend. Damn. So little time.

When Tracy noticed her cat sunning on a forbidden windowsill—it was where she displayed a couple of china figurines—she stopped in the middle of the room and glared at him. “Are you up there again, Claus? Down!”

Other than blinking, the big white tomcat didn’t move a muscle. Tracy scooped him up and sank with Claus in her lap into her favorite chair. “I don’t know what he’s thinking, coming back here,” she said. The last time she’d seen Riley, he’d been in some sort of trouble with his father, the equally notorious Otto.

Riley had been out at the curb working on his car that morning, with Otto yelling that he was a good-for-nothing troublemaker from the porch. The next day, Riley had left town in his battered convertible.

That was thirteen years ago. As far as Tracy knew, this was the first time he’d been back.

His leaving town, or rather the way he left town and with whom, had proved his father right. Riley was nothing but trouble.

Tracy put Claus on another windowsill and headed for Hannah’s room. She wouldn’t allow herself to get ruffled. Nellie’s informant could be mistaken. The truth would surface eventually, and Tracy could wait to react.

She didn’t change her mind until she was strolling down aisle five at Dot’s Supermarket. She noticed an entire shelf empty of macaroni-and-cheese boxes, and saw in her mind’s eye a tall, blond man tossing them in his cart.

She had to know. She spun around and nearly crashed into an elderly couple conferring over a bottle of olive oil. She retraced her steps, returning the milk to its case and the apples to the stacks, then left the store.

As her car sped north out of town, she thought about what she’d say. Riley’s return couldn’t be good for anyone but his grandmother, Lydia, and even that was questionable. He had a right to visit Lydia, of course, but he should have no reason to stay. Riley didn’t belong here anymore. Tracy had to make sure he knew that.

But when she rang the doorbell at the old house a few minutes later, no one answered. The ugly beige curtains that had always hung over the large front window were open. Tracy would be able to see movement inside, if there was any.

She pressed the bell again. Still receiving no answer, she stepped off the porch to peek through the garage window. The glass was filthy, but she could see there wasn’t a car inside. Good. If he’d been here, he was gone now.

Tracy jogged back to her car and grabbed the carafe of green tea she’d left in her cup holder. She’d give herself a few minutes to look around. If she wore an old suit to work on Monday, she could scratch the dry cleaning off today’s list and grocery-shop tomorrow.

Hitching up a pant leg, Tracy stepped over the sagging fence to Riley’s backyard. It was hard to believe the child’s swing set was still back here. The primary stripes that had once painted a falsely optimistic picture of children soaring to the sky had long since mutated to flaking paint and rust. She crossed the lawn quickly and set her drink on the seat of the middle swing. Turning to face the hazy blue hills north of town, she grasped the chains of the swing farthest from the house—always her favorite—and wriggled onto the seat.

The plastic was cold. The weatherman had said it would be warm for late April, but even sixty degrees felt cold through her well-worn “Saturday jeans”. The swing seemed solid enough to hold her weight, so she pushed off with her feet and swung forward, toward the hills.

“You’re trespassing.”

Tracy knew the strange flip of her stomach had nothing to do with the motion of the swing. She skidded to a stop and jumped off the seat, then turned around with her heart in her throat.

It was Riley, standing inside the open storm door at the rear of the house holding a coffee cup. It had to be him. Other men may share a similar combination of smoke-gray eyes and dirty-blond hair, but when you added the teasing smile and dare-me-to-care expression, you had to be looking at Riley.

“Riley?” she called, in case her thoughts were somehow affecting her eyesight.

“I’m flattered you remember me,” he said as stepped out and let the door slam behind him.

As if she could have forgotten.

He set his cup on top of a wood box near the door and started across the lawn toward her. As he neared, her throat went dry. Riley had always had a certain heart-wrenching appeal, but he’d improved with age. The eighteen-year-old boy had transformed into every woman’s fantasy of confident good looks and muscular build. His hair was longer now, but rather than shaggy and unkempt, it lay smooth, catching the sunlight and making him look sexy. Dangerously so.