Kaitlyn Rice - Renegade

“That’s good.” Riley’s crooked smile seemed too open, and he was cupping her tea thermos between his hands with a disturbing familiarity. The last thing she needed was to tie herself up with him again, in friendship or anything else.

He was a stranger now. She wanted him to remain one.

Tracy stared at her thermos, willing him to hand it across so she could leave and sort out her thoughts.

A little more than a year ago, Riley’s father had been caught embezzling funds from the company where he worked. Although that particular news hadn’t been shocking, other things had been.

For one thing, Vanessa had seemed unaffected by her husband’s troubles. She’d filed for divorce and headed south to a friend’s house in Oklahoma City just two days after Otto’s prison term began. For another, Tracy’s parents had learned that Riley’s grandmother actually owned the house.

Lydia Stephenson was quirky but harmless. Since she was content in her retirement-village apartment, the house had been left vacant. Tracy’s mother claimed that sometimes she heard the old place sighing in relief. She’d been looking forward to welcoming new neighbors. It was a good thing she wasn’t home this weekend. Tracy could break the news gently.

Riley rested her thermos on top of the fence post and shot a glance down Tracy’s body again. “Are you going to tell me why you’re hanging out in my backyard?”

“I came to see you,” Tracy said. “I rang the doorbell and—”

“It’s busted. My father was a slob.”

Tracy bit back a retort about Riley having faults of his own. “—And when no one answered, I came back to admire the view. It’s better from your yard.”

Riley grinned. “You can swing on my swing set anytime, little girl.”

Tracy’s regard touched on his mouth and dropped down his torso again. When the blood circled back round to her brain and she homed in on his gleaming eyes, she sighed, resisting another urge to chomp her nails.

“What do you want?” he asked in a voice that was in no way like the one he’d used when she was a child. This voice was soft, all right, but it was rich with suggestion.

She frowned.

“You said you came to see me.”

She gazed at the hair that moved around his head as he shook it. She’d driven all the way over here to ask him to leave, but now the words seemed harsh. “Don’t get comfortable here,” she said as she reached up to snatch her thermos from the post. “And I’m saying that for your sake. You won’t fit in.”

His eyes darkened ominously. “You don’t think I will?”

“No.”

“Then watch me.”

Riley stood at the fence and watched as Tracy maneuvered her way around the overgrown cedar and across to her parents’ driveway. The lady was worth watching. Her faded jeans emphasized a pair of curvy hips and a small waist. She was so feminine now. So alluring. Deep-chestnut hair bounced around her shoulders as she opened the door of a white sedan and folded her trim body inside. Within seconds, she started the car and roared off down the road.

His attraction to her wasn’t a complete surprise—he’d always found her enchanting. Full lips and expressive eyes on a well-proportioned face made her classically pretty, but he was charmed by more than her looks. She’d always seemed comfortable with her choices and her world. He’d been pleased that a girl with such winning ways had found something about him to admire. But not anymore. His departure all those years ago had taken care of that.

He returned to the back door and grabbed his coffee cup on the way inside. If he’d learned anything from his reckless youth, it was that running away rarely solved a problem. Way back when, Tracy had been one of few who’d believed in him. Her distrust now was only part of the price he’d paid.

Deciding he didn’t need the caffeine, Riley left his full cup of coffee near the kitchen sink and walked through the empty living room. His mother had taken the furniture when she’d moved. She hadn’t wanted to live in a house full of bad memories, but she’d wanted her things. And Riley had left his junk in a storage unit out in California. It was hardly worth the cost of moving it, and for now he was content with necessities. He could always send for his things later. If he decided to stay.

When Grandma Lydia had called to request his help, she’d offered to sell him the place—something she’d never done for his parents. And until Riley’s arrival yesterday afternoon, he’d laughed heartily at the idea.

It was funny, the way he felt about the old house now. He and his parents had moved here from Topeka when he was six, and he’d always hated the place. For one thing, it was too isolated. The only neighbors within walking distance were Tracy’s family. It was said that a community tried to spring to life out here a century ago, but progress had stunted its growth. The dusty rural route in front of the houses had been bisected by a highway curving lazily toward the lake, leaving room for only two.

A bigger factor was the loud and constant criticism he’d received here. Now that his father was gone, the place seemed peaceful. For the first time, it actually seemed like a haven. Maybe he would stay.

He entered the back bedroom, reopened the pail of creamy yellow paint and climbed the ladder to grab his paintbrush. After loosening its bristles against the cleanup rag, he dipped the brush into the pail.

And grinned out the window at the swing. Seeing Tracy there had erased a whole mess of years and as many bad decisions. It returned Riley to days when he’d come flying out of the house, angry at his father for some cruel taunt, and Tracy would chatter innocently from her perch on that same swing. She’d always manage to cheer him up.

The sexual pull that had been new and mysterious that last winter was still there, but it was different now. He was seeing her through the eyes of an experienced man, and she was just as intriguing.

More intriguing.

Coltish legs had become longer and more shapely, budding breasts had bloomed and she’d become a provocative woman. She’d noticed him today, too, in that way. He’d watched her green eyes trail down his body. He’d felt their heat.

Rough-and-tumble tomboy had grown into sizzlinghot babe. Hot enough to make him forget his good intentions and get into trouble. And new trouble would stack on top of the old, sending the town into towering spirals of gossip.

Hurting Tracy again.

Maybe he should fix up the house and move on.

He applied the paintbrush to the edge of the freshly sanded wood of the windowsill. As he was reaching up to tackle the narrow sliver at the top of the sill, a knock sounded at the front door. Sighing, he balanced the brush across the rim of the can, wondering if he’d ever get his painting chore finished.

But on his way down the ladder, he decided Tracy must have returned. No one else would know to knock, would they? He started a mad dash toward the door, then forced himself to slow. Maybe he could drop the defensive attitude and make a more mature impression.

By the time he reached the living room, the door was opening and his grandmother was backing her way in with a brown paper bag under one arm and a plump text under the other. “It’s Gran!” she called in a voice loud enough to carry through the house. “Don’t bother coming to the door.”

“I’m already here,” Riley said from behind her. “If you didn’t want me to answer the door, why did you knock?”

She turned around and set the bag in the middle of the floor. “Even if you are my grandson, you’re a single adult male with a private life,” she said. “I couldn’t barge in.”

“You did barge in,” Riley pointed out as he watched his grandmother pitch the book beside the bag. It was hard to get used to the idea that she was enrolled in college classes, even though he knew she tended to disregard convention.