Renegade. Kaitlyn Rice
will if we’re talking about this afternoon.”
She’d meant this afternoon. She’d meant to get it over with as soon as possible. But suddenly an extra day or two sounded smarter. She’d have time for her stomach to unclench and her heart to slow down. “Oh! No, I meant tomorr—Wednesday. I meant Wednesday.”
“I’d prefer earlier in the week,” Riley said, his eyes twinkling as if he’d won some sort of challenge. “But any afternoon is fine.”
“Then it’s settled.” Tracy stretched out her hand for Booker’s pen. When Riley dropped it in her palm, she opened Booker’s appointment book and made an entry. “I’ll be there at nine o’clock sharp…Thursday morning.” She shot a grin across the desk as she slid the pen back in its holder, and wondered why her little victory felt as false as her smile.
THREE MORNINGS LATER, she knew why.
The delay wasn’t a triumph, it was a curse. The few days’ respite had been counterproductive, and she’d accomplished little beyond chewing her nails to the quick.
Last night, she’d allowed Hannah to help her make cupcakes for the day care’s spring party. Tracy had lost patience before they’d managed to add even two simple ingredients to the mix. Then, after a half hour struggle with dropped eggs and spilled vegetable oil, Tracy had let the cakes burn in the oven. Hannah had been allowed to eat the candy decorations, and Tracy had promised to buy special treats at the grocery store.
She’d been sluggish at work, too. After three days of misplaced files, cutoff phone conversations and computer crashes, Booker had asked if she was short of sleep. She’d made up a litany of other excuses, mostly relating to single parenthood and moon phases, but she knew they weren’t the cause.
She was reminded that first instincts were often best. She should have met Riley at his office ten minutes after he left Booker’s.
Now she was in the basement of her parents’ home watching her mother transfer another bundle of clothes from her suitcase to her washing machine and add a capful of soap. “What time did you get home last night?” she asked, studying her mother’s profile.
Gwen Gilbert had never been less than gorgeous. Even when she was lying in a hospital bed with tubes poking out of absurd places, her blond good looks had seemed graceful. This morning she was stunning, humming under her breath and pink with good cheer. The getaway had worked wonders.
“Matthew and I drove straight through from Cincinnati, so it was well after dark,” her mother said, turning on the water and closing the lid. “But I really wasn’t paying attention to the time.” She began pulling clothes from the dryer.
“Hannah and I came by at dusk,” Tracy said. “I watered your gardens.” And kept an eye on your next door neighbor’s house. Have you noticed him over there yet?
Tracy’s mother wrapped an arm around Tracy’s shoulders, offering a quick squeeze. “Thanks. I don’t regret the extra time we took to see the flower show, but I’m sorry we missed you and Hannah.”
I wondered where he was, and when he trimmed the bush at the corner of the house. Did you notice that?
Her mother started up the stairs. “Let’s take the laundry to the living room,” she said. “We can talk and fold.”
Tracy picked up the laundry basket and followed her mother upstairs to dump the clothes on the sofa. After they’d sorted for a minute, Tracy said, “You had a good time?”
“You’ve asked me that three times,” her mother said. “I’ve answered yes every time. It was wonderful.” Smiling, she matched a pair of white crew socks and rolled them together. “Is something on your mind?”
Tracy caught the neck band of one of her stepdad’s shirts under her chin, folding the arms in. “What do you mean?”
“It’s Thursday morning and you’re not only dressed for work, you’re late for work,” her mother said. “You’re usually punctual. And we were only gone eight days—you could have brought Hannah to visit this evening.”
Tracy smiled as she set the shirt on the arm of the sofa. “I guess you know me.”
“Yes, I do. What’s wrong?”
Did you notice a new crackle in the air around Kirkwood?
“Have you noticed anything going on next door?”
“Next door?”
Both women glanced up as Matthew Gilbert walked into the living room, jangling his keys in his pocket and whistling.
Tracy had been introduced to Matthew when she was ten. She’d liked him from the start, but he’d been “Matthew my mom’s friend” for quite a while. Eventually, he’d married her mother and adopted both girls. He’d been Dad to Tracy ever since.
He paused long enough to plant a kiss atop her mother’s head, continuing his tune on his way to the front door. Apparently, the trip had put him in a good mood, too.
“Dad, wait,” Tracy said.
Matthew’s whistle changed to a grin. “I’ve got a class to teach this morning, Teacup.”
“I have an appointment, too. This’ll only take a minute.”
With the affability that made him eternally popular with freshman chemistry students at the university, her stepdad returned and gave Tracy his undivided attention. “What’ll only take a minute?”
“I wanted to tell you, someone moved into Lydia’s old house while you were gone.”
“We knew someone would buy it,” Matthew said with a frown. “The house needs a little TLC, but it’s structurally sound.”
Tracy sighed. “Riley’s living there.”
Her mother seemed vacant for a minute, then she gasped. “Riley Collins?”
Tracy nodded, watching both her mom and Matthew change from happy to thoughtful. “He’s planning to open a business in town,” she explained.
“I figured Lydia would try to sell the place,” Matthew said, frowning across at Tracy’s mother.
“Maybe Riley’s buying it,” her mother said.
No one spoke for a minute. Tracy’s green eyes traveled between her mother’s blue ones and her stepdad’s brown ones, waiting for their reactions. They traded the look they’d always traded when they wanted to discuss something in private. Karen had dubbed it the “worried-parent look,” and had compared it to spelling words in front of a toddler.
But Tracy wasn’t a child anymore, and she wanted to know their thoughts. Did the night of Karen and Riley’s departure still bother them as much as it did her? She swallowed. “You won’t mind having him as a neighbor?”
Her mother shrugged.
Tracy shook her head. She’d hoped one of them would say something to help her feel less agitated. If they couldn’t do that, she’d wanted them to say something to make refusing the job her only recourse.
“Riley hurt our family once, but he was young,” Matthew said as he stood up. “It’s ancient history. I’ve got to scoot, but we can talk when you come to dinner on Sunday.”
As her mother walked Matthew out to his car, Tracy checked her watch. Since she was meeting with Riley early, she could go straight to his office in twenty minutes. This morning’s cornflakes felt as if they’d sprouted wings. Tracy was reminded that she was not good at procrastinating.
When her mother returned, Tracy said, “I’m glad you’re okay with this, because I may be working with Riley.”
Her mother blinked. “In what aspect?”
“As an organizer. He went to Booker and asked for me.”
“That’s