RaeAnne Thayne - Raeanne Thayne Hope's Crossings Series Volume One - Blackberry Summer

Neither of them answered and Riley realized he hadn’t seen movement from the floor for the second half of the movie, except for Chester’s occasional twitches as he snuggled up under Owen’s arm.

“They beat you to it, apparently. I think they’re both out for the count.”

Claire shifted her body on the sofa for a better angle. She smiled a little sadly. “They look like kittens nestled together. It’s too bad the only time they get along so well is when they’re both asleep.”

“They will. My sisters and I didn’t always get along when I was a kid.”

“No, really?”

He ignored her sarcasm. “Now I find most of them fairly tolerable.”

“Something to look forward, I suppose.”

“So what now? Do you want to leave them here for the night?”

“On the floor?” She sounded appalled at the very idea and he smiled.

“My nieces and nephews prefer the floor to a bed half the time.”

“That may be, but I think they’d probably sleep better and be more comfortable in their own beds. Macy. Owen. Wake up, kids.”

Macy stirred a little but not to full consciousness. Claire repeated her name and the girl blinked her eyes for a moment, then rubbed at them blearily.

“I think I fell asleep.”

Claire’s daughter was as lovely as her mother, with Claire’s blue eyes and warm brown hair. In a few years, she was going to be a stunner. Riley only hoped Jeff Bradford was the sort of dad who could put the fear of God in all the little punks who came sniffing around.

“Sorry.” Macy yawned. “How did the movie end?”

“The same way it did the last time we watched it,” Claire murmured. “And the time before that. And the time before that.”

Macy offered up a sleepy smile as she gathered her cotton throw around her shoulders. “Maybe that’s why I fell asleep. We need to pick a movie I haven’t seen three times.”

“It was Owen’s turn and this was the one he wanted to see.”

“Only he fell asleep in the middle. Wake up, dork.”

Owen grunted in his sleep but rolled over again.

“We’ve got it, Macy. You can go on up to bed.”

Her daughter unfolded from the floor with angular grace. “Night. Love you, Mom.” She walked to Claire’s sofa and wrapped her arms around her mother’s neck.

Claire looked pleased as she returned the hug. “Love you, too, sweetheart.”

Macy gave him a sleepy smile. “Night, Chief,” she said, then headed out of the room.

“Owen, wake up,” Claire said in a slightly louder tone.

Chester opened his eyes and gave them both a bored sort of look, but Owen didn’t move.

“Come on, kiddo. Time to head up to bed.”

The basset hound gave a jaw-cracking yawn and wriggled out from under the boy’s arm and waddled over to Claire. He nudged at her arm.

“Does he need to go out?” Riley asked.

“Probably. Do you mind?”

“Not at all.”

He walked to the back door, Chester on his heels. For the first time in more than a week, the night was gorgeous, clear and cloudless and glittering with stars that looked close enough to pluck with his fingers.

The dog seemed content to sniff around the fence line, checking for intruders, so after a moment of waiting for him, Riley returned to Claire and her son, who didn’t look as if he’d budged.

“No luck?”

She shook her head. “He’s renowned for sleeping through anything. Once he fell asleep on the caterpillar train at the county fair. He rode around three times before we could wake him up.”

“Want me to carry him to his bed? I’m assuming his room is upstairs.”

“It is, but let me try one more time.”

“Owen, bath time.”

The boy’s eyes blinked open blearily. “Do I have to?”

She laughed softly and something warm and dangerous twisted through Riley, tugging at him. “Not tonight. You can take a bath in the morning. Can you make it up to your room?”

“I guess.”

He yawned as big as the dog had done and climbed to his feet. “Why did you let me fall asleep in the middle of the movie?” he asked his mother in an accusatory sort of voice.

“I didn’t realize you were asleep until the movie was over. But we can watch it again tomorrow if you want.”

“Next time, wake me up,” he muttered grumpily.

“Easier said than done, kiddo.”

Owen still looked disgruntled, but he gave a halfhearted wave to Riley, then trudged up the stairs.

“I hate not tucking him in,” Claire said in the same sort of disgruntled tone. “That’s been one of the hardest things about this whole thing, but I just can’t tackle all those stairs.”

“Want me to do it?”

She looked surprised. “Do you mind? Macy usually takes care of it for me, but she’s probably already asleep.”

“I don’t mind. Why would I?”

“I usually just make sure he’s under his blankets and the night-light’s on, that sort of thing.”

“Claire, I might not have any kids, but I’m not completely helpless here. I think I can handle it.”

Color climbed her cheeks and in the low lamplight she looked warm and sweet and completely adorable. “I’m sorry. Of course you can.”

Grateful for the distraction, he headed out of the family room, stopping long enough at the back door off the kitchen to let the dog back inside before he headed up the stairs.

Owen was already in his bed, his eyes almost closed. Riley saw in the jumble of bedclothes that he wasn’t inside his top sheet, only under a quilt with cowboy hat and boot material Riley wondered if Claire had made.

His eyes widened when he saw Riley. “Hi.”

“Hey, kid. Your mom felt bad she can’t tuck you in, so I said I’d check on you. Looks like you need to get between the sheets there.”

Owen looked down. “Oh. Right.”

He quickly adjusted the situation, slithering out of one spot and into the other. “Hey, thanks a lot for fixing my bike,” he said when he was settled. “I’m super-glad we didn’t have to take it to the shop.”

“So am I. Have a good night, Owen.”

“Thanks.” He paused. “Will you leave my door open? My mom might need help in the night and I can’t hear her if it’s shut all the way.”

Riley stared at this kid with the earnest freckled face and his mother’s blue eyes, that peculiar tightness in his chest again. How many eight-year-old boys worried about their mother’s comfort in the night? He sure as hell hadn’t.

He cleared his throat. “You bet.”

“Hey, you want to play basketball sometime? I got a new hoop for Christmas, but it’s been too snowy or rainy to use much.”

“Can you do that with the cast on your arm?”

“Oh, sure. But my mom can’t and Macy would rather play soccer.”

“What about your dad?”

Owen shrugged. “He doesn’t like basketball much.”

Just another mark in the Idiot column for Jeff Bradford. “Sure. Maybe. I’ll have to check my schedule.”

Owen seemed to accept the noncommittal answer with equanimity. “Okay. See you later, Chief.”

“Bye, kid.”

He closed the door a bit and headed down the stairs, where he found Claire waiting for him in the living room, Chester at her feet.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

He should leave right now, just walk out the door without another word. This family was seeping under his skin, finding unguarded spaces to settle into. “Owen wants me to come play basketball with him sometime.”

She gave a rueful smile. “Sorry. I’m afraid he’s a little desperate for someone to play with him right now. He probably assumes because you’re male and, um, fairly athletic that you must play basketball.”

“I can try to swing by sometime. He’s a great kid.”