“The patients were soldiers?”
“Well, yeah. But it has to be done and if she wants me to…”
“Please, Riley,” Kimmie pleaded.
“Okay.” He looked around. “It would help if we prop her leg over the sink. I want to pour the hydrogen peroxide over it, and you probably don’t want that on the carpet.”
“It wouldn’t be my first choice,” she agreed.
He scooped Kimmie up again, carried her into the kitchen and set her on the counter. Then he gently stretched out her leg, bracing the back of her knee on the separator between the two sinks.
He picked up the bottle of disinfectant and studied the little girl whose dramatic facial expression suggested she was expecting amputation without anesthesia.
“Keep in mind,” Abby told him, “that Kimmie has a flair for the dramatic.”
After a moment of assessment, he unscrewed the bottle’s top and said, “Why don’t you pour it on, Kimmie? If it stings too much, you can stop.”
Kimmie looked deep in thought, then nodded solemnly. Riley held out the large, economy-sized bottle and helped her hold it. If there was stinging, Abby couldn’t tell. Her daughter concentrated on pouring the liquid, completely distracted from any discomfort. Stroke of genius letting her help. They watched the disinfectant bubble and make clean tracks through the dirt on her leg. He took the gauze Abby held out and gently washed up the area, then checked to make sure there weren’t any pebbles left in the scrape.
“Here’s the antibiotic ointment,” she said, handing him the tube.
“I wanna do it.”
Riley nodded and handed it to Kimmie. She centered her attention on dabbing the goo over the scrape like Picasso spreading paint on a masterpiece. And he let her take all the time she needed.
Finally the little girl held out the tube. “I’m done. Ready for my Band-Aid.”
Abby held up several. “Ariel? Belle? Or Aurora?”
“Belle,” Kimmie said, tapping her lip with her finger. “No. I mean Ariel.”
“You name your Band-Aids?” Looking confused, Riley glanced from her to Kimmie.
Abby couldn’t help laughing. This had to be so surreal for him. “These are cartoon characters—the princess collection.”
“Ah,” he said, nodding with comprehension. “I should have known. Very appropriate.”
“Ariel, it is,” she said to the child.
“If it falls off,” Kimmie said, “then I’ll use Belle.”
Abby handed the oblong package to Riley and watched as he performed the final step of first aid with the same gentle care he’d used from the start. He had large hands, very competent. Who knew such a big man could be so tender? So gentle? Did he take as much care when he made love to a woman? Was he as tender when stroking her body after kissing her senseless?
Her pulse spiked and she shook her head to clear it of the sudden unwelcome erotic images. If he’d been the same jerk/flake/slacker she’d met in his office that first day, she could easily have resisted him. But he wasn’t. There were layers to him she’d never suspected. Yes, he was a gung-ho, gorgeous guy, but he was also conscientious and, she suspected, soft-hearted. All of this added up to the fact that she was in a whole lot of trouble.
“You’re very good with kids,” Abby blurted out, adding to her trouble quotient.
“Do you have any kids?” Kimmie asked him.
“No.” The single word was clipped, and his mouth hardened into a straight line.
Interesting reaction from Mr. Cool, Abby thought. There was something he wasn’t saying. But she didn’t feel it was right to pry. She already knew he wasn’t married. That left separated, divorced or already involved with someone. But she could almost see the wheels in Kimmie’s head turning. And her daughter hadn’t yet developed the filter between her brain and her mouth that screened out inappropriate questions. Abby braced herself.
Kimmie stared up at him. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
“No.” This time the corners of his mouth softened and just barely curved up.
Abby wanted to smile, too. Because he wasn’t involved with anyone. It was stupid to be pleased that he was available, because he wasn’t available to her. She wouldn’t let him be. But, like her daughter, she was filter challenged. The one between her brain and her heart didn’t do a great job screening out inappropriate attraction. She’d have to work harder at protecting herself.
Riley inspected Kimmie’s knee. “I think you’re going to live. But there might be a little scar.”
Then he lifted her and started to set her on the kitchen floor. Kimmie wrapped her arms around his neck. “I don’t know if I can walk.”
“See?” Abby said. “A well-developed dramatic flair.”
“I’ll give you a ride to the sofa,” he said, carrying her easily.
With her in his arms, he walked into the family room and settled her in a semi-reclining position on the sofa. At her direction, he slid a throw pillow under her knee. “She gives orders like a general,” he commented.
“Tell me about it,” Abby said.
He studied the little girl, then seemed satisfied that she was comfortable. Meeting Abby’s gaze he said, “I guess I should go.”
“No,” Kimmie protested. “I don’t want you to leave.”
Neither did Abby. Although, unlike her child who put into words whatever thought popped into her head, Chinese water torture couldn’t drag the admission out of Abby.
“We’re finished for today,” he said, nodding toward her injured knee. “We should probably wait a few days to train again. When your knee doesn’t hurt.”
“But we haven’t had lunch yet,” the child protested. “Mommy made a picnic and we didn’t eat it. There’s a sandwich for you.”
“Don’t feel like you’re on the spot,” Abby told him. “However, I feel compelled to point out that she was a brave little soldier and such behavior should be rewarded. If you could possibly postpone whatever it is you have to do, there’s a sandwich with your name on it.”
He ran his fingers through his hair. “To be honest, there’s nothing waiting for me but an empty apartment.”
“Does that mean you can stay?” Kim asked.
“It does. And thanks,” he said to Abby.
“My pleasure.”
It scared Abby how very true those words were. She was way too pleased that he was sticking around, which meant she needed to get a handle on this—whatever it was—real soon. To do that she needed more information on him. More than the fact that he wasn’t married and didn’t have kids or a girlfriend. After making Kimmie comfortable on the couch with a movie in the DVD player, she went into the kitchen and Riley followed.
She unpacked the picnic basket and set out paper plates and napkins. “So you don’t have a girlfriend,” she said as casually as possible, continuing her six-year-old’s interrogation. “Were you ever married?”
He stared thoughtfully at her. “I’m not exactly sure how that first statement leads into the question. But, yes.”
So he was married once upon a time. “You’re divorced?”
“Yes.”
“And you never had children?”
“I believe that was asked and answered.”
“So it was. It’s just that you’re so good with Kim. I can’t help wondering how you got that way. Instinct? On-the-job training? Experience?”
He shrugged. “Maybe I’m a natural.”
She tipped her head to the side and studied him. “You don’t give out much information.”
“Military training, I guess.”
“So you can take the man out of the military, but you can’t take the military out of the man?”
“So it seems.” But his expression had turned dark, intense. Painful?
She didn’t know him well enough to make a judgment about that. But she figured she’d inadvertently stepped into a verbal minefield. And it bothered her that she might have brought up memories that somehow hurt him. In spite of
all her unanswered questions, she needed to put a lid on her curiosity and change the subject.
“I don’t think I thanked you for carrying Kimmie home.”
“My pleasure,” he said, echoing her words.
“It wasn’t a major trauma, and she could have made it under her own steam. But having your support made the whole situation less traumatic.”
“Do you miss it, since the divorce? The support, I mean?”
Abby thought about the question. Her ex-husband had stuck with her until after she was settled in her job, but he’d never really been there. “You can’t miss what you never had.” She rested her back against the counter. “Fred was always off tilting at windmills and chasing dreams that never panned out. For all I know, he’s still doing it.”
She turned away so he wouldn’t see anything in her eyes that she didn’t want him to. Opening the cupboard, she reached for the tall iced tea glasses on the second shelf. They were just beyond her grasp and suddenly Riley was beside her.
“Let me,” he said.
She stepped back, but not quite soon enough or far enough to avoid feeling the heat of his body. The way he filled out jeans and a T-shirt should be declared illegal. Before she could finish processing the thought and get over it, he pulled the glasses down and half turned so that their bodies brushed. Abby was sure that if it had been dark, she’d have seen sparks dancing between them.
Worse, the way his gaze narrowed told her he’d noticed the contact, too. His eyes locked onto her mouth and his chest rose and fell a little faster. He set the glasses on the counter and stared at her for a heartbeat. Then his head lowered toward her, just a fraction. She held her breath, wondering if he planned to touch his lips to hers.
“Mommy?”
The single word snapped him to attention. They jumped apart as if her father had suddenly appeared with a shotgun to defend her honor. Abby blew out a breath. “What, Kim?”
“I’m hungry.”
“Lunch is ready.”
As she hustled into the family room to take her daughter a plate, Abby wondered what had just happened. Had Riley been about to kiss her? She desperately wanted to believe the answer to that question was no because of how much she wanted it to be yes. She’d wanted to feel the touch of his lips to hers. Her profound disappointment at the interruption told her how wrong it would be to let this—whatever it was—between them get out of control.
Their relationship was task-based. When they’d reached their goal, all contact between them would cease and desist. She needed to remember that.
“Mommy says I can’t play with matches,” Kimmie said, brushing her brunette bangs out of her eyes.
Riley met her serious gaze. “These aren’t matches. They’re sticks. And if you rub them together hard and fast you get sparks. If the sparks are close enough to dry kindling, fire happens.”
The little girl blinked up at him. “Mommy says you shouldn’t play with fire.”
The warning was too late, Riley thought, looking at Abby. He’d known she fell into the “playing with fire” category the moment he’d seen her. And nothing that had happened since had changed his mind. Especially the fact that the last time he’d seen her, he’d come close to kissing her. He hadn’t planned to. But it set off a slew of warning bells that had reverberated through his system, followed by a solemn vow to never let it happen again.
“I already explained to Kimmie that fire isn’t dangerous if you know what you’re doing and you’re careful. Want to help me out here?” he asked, unable to take his eyes off Abby’s mouth.
“Nope. It’s fun watching you try to reason with a six-year-old. Welcome to my world.” Her wicked grin sent a shaft of heat straight through him. “Sorry. I couldn’t resist.”
That was tough for him, too. Especially when every time he glanced at her mouth, he wanted to take his solemn vow and shove it. But that thinking was counterproductive to today’s operation. Kimmie’s scraped knee had healed for several days and now he’d brought them back to the park for a lesson in the fine art and techniques of building a campfire.
Abby looked into the steel barbecue pit provided for public use by the park service. He’d assembled rocks and placed them in a circle with dry leaves and kindling in the center. The configuration was waiting for sparks, and there were plenty arcing between him and Abby.
She tipped her head a little as she studied him. “Tell me again why we need to know this. Why can’t we just use matches?”
“What if you lose them or they get wet?”
“Let them dry?”
He shook his head. “They’re no good.”
“You’ll be with us and you know how to start a fire with sticks,” she argued.
“What would you do if something happened and I was incapacitated?”
“Does that mean you might get hurt?” Kimmie asked, looking worried.
“Sweetie,” Abby said, pulling her daughter against her side, “Riley is just playing ‘what if.’” She shot a glare in his direction. “Nothing’s going to happen to him.”
“So you can see into the future?” he asked.
“Of course not. But what are the odds? It’s one night.”
“Obviously The Bluebonnets believe the outdoor experience is important. Fire is necessary for warmth and cooking. It’s a valuable skill to have.”
Abby slipped her fingertips into the pockets of her short denim skirt. Her sleeveless pink T-shirt tucked into the waistband showed off her slender figure to perfection. Sneakers and socks completed the outfit courtesy of their daily walking routine. The fire lesson had only occurred to him the night before.
“I agree that it’s important for kids to experience a lot of things,” Abby said carefully. “And after this, Kim can decide if camping is a hobby she wants to pursue. But I’d be willing to bet that after she gets her outdoor badge, we won’t be spending much time on the prairie.”
He’d thought about that himself. “Still, you’re talking about The Bluebonnets here. The outdoor badge is earned for surviving off the land. Fire is a part of that, and should be badge-worthy.”
He was making a case that this was an essential lesson and he wasn’t sure why. Did he need to justify spending time with Abby and Kimmie? They made him laugh and feel like part of a family. He’d forgotten how that felt. But could they have skipped this lesson on fire? Or was he complicating the need for this skill because a day without Abby was like a day without color and light?
“Let me get this straight,” she said. “You’re telling me… Fire good.”
Her caveman voice left a lot to be desired, but it made him laugh. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. As well as, fire dangerous.”
“Mommy, can I go play on the swings?”
Abby’s gaze swung to the playground area, which was a few feet away. “Okay. Be careful.”
“I will.” She jumped into the large circle filled with sand and swings as well as a contraption for kids to climb on.
“I can see she was completely riveted by the presentation,” he said wryly.
“Short attention span. Don’t take it personally.”
None of this was personal, but the challenge was remembering that. It was all about duty, honor and the Charity City auction, he reminded himself. Then he watched Abby watch her child play. He noticed the tender, loving expression on her face, the way her dimples deepened and her mouth curved up in a small smile. Her full lips were the stuff of male fantasy, so full and soft-looking.
And suddenly it all felt very personal.
So he reminded himself again that he was only a volunteer here because the foundation that dispersed auction proceeds had given him start-up capital for his business. Which reminded him of something else.
He folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the end of the picnic table, crossing one ankle over the other. “The Charity City Chamber of Commerce is having a dinner meeting on Saturday night.”
“That’s nice,” she said, distracted as s
he waved at Kimmie.
“It’s a welcome for Dixon Security, along with an invitation to become a member of the chamber.”
“Good for you.” She nodded and smiled when Kimmie shouted to look at her.
“Yeah. It’s important for a businessman to be involved with organizations like that. The networking is critical for growing the business.”
“I can imagine.”
“So would you like to go?”
Her gaze snapped to his. “What?”
“The dinner. Saturday. Would you go with me?”
“I’m a teacher—specifically, a librarian. I don’t know anything about business.”
He ran his fingers through his hair. “Business aptitude isn’t a prerequisite for eating. Actually, the constitution of an elephant would be more helpful than business sense. To digest the rubber chicken and cold potatoes,” he explained, feeling pretty lame.
He was sorry he’d opened his mouth, but it was too late now.
She frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“It was English, not Swahili,” he said, annoyance at himself kicking up even more. “I asked if you’d accompany me to a town function. There’s not much to understand.”
“But that’s not part of the responsibility I bought.”
“Understood.” He met her gaze. “So what about the COC dinner?”
She absently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Did we or did we not agree that our relationship is task-based. We’ve come together to make sure Kimmie gets her outdoor experience?”
“We did.” He couldn’t be sorrier that he’d started this. “Look, Abby, a simple yes or no will suffice.”
“Okay. No.”
He felt as if she’d slugged him in the gut. “Okay. Well…” If he had a foxhole handy, he’d dive in head-first and wait for the concussion from the explosion.
Then Abby started laughing. “How does it feel, big guy?”
It feels pretty damn bad, he wanted to say. Rejection is lousy. But instead, he said, “How does what feel?”
“When you’re told no. The shoe is on the other foot. How do you like it?”
That Touch of Pink Page 7
