He took his time looking up from the set of plans he was going over before answering. “Sure. What do you need?”
She took a deep breath, then let it out. “Is this going to work? The two of us working together?”
He frowned. “What do you mean? Are you not happy here?”
“It’s not that. It’s this awkwardness between us.”
He blinked. “What awkwardness?”
She all but snorted. “I know men are supposed to be thickheaded, but really, Riley. You know as well as I do how awkward we’ve both acted with each other ever since that day in the shop, when you—when we—”
“When we—?”
“Look. I know you didn’t mean anything by it.” Her mouth started running and she couldn’t seem to stop it. “I mean, even if you have been alone since Brenda shipped out, you wouldn’t have meant what nearly happened the other day in the shop, I know that. I mean, you’re used to Brenda, and she was so beautiful, so totally feminine even in combat boots. I know I’m nothing like that, not feminine or sexy or anything.”
It was a good thing he chose that instant to speak, because her mouth had just run dry, of words and of spit. That might have had something to do with the enormous heat that suddenly flooded her face.
“Of course you are,” he blurted out. He stared at her, wide-eyed. He swallowed. He looked away. “I mean…it doesn’t take….”
When he didn’t continue, she said, “Doesn’t take what?”
He shrugged and thumbed the corner of the plans on his desk. “A woman doesn’t need ruffles and lace to attract a man.”
Her stomach did a little flip-flop. “What are you talking about?”
“Why, Sergeant Amy.” He looked as if he was finished with awkwardness. His lips were curving upward and his eyes twinkled. “Are you fishing for compliments?”
Amy sputtered. Then, seeing his grin widen, she narrowed her eyes. “Are you laughing at me?”
He leaned forward and placed his forearms on his desk. “I think I’m laughing at both of us. Tiptoeing around each other like the other one’s got the plague.”
“It’s not that bad,” she claimed, her own lips twitching now. “Cooties, maybe.”
He coughed to disguise his laughter, but there was no denying it was there. “You sound like one of my girls.”
For one brief instant, she wondered what it would be like to be Riley’s girl. Not his daughter, his girl.
Your best friend’s husband?
Good grief. Brenda was dead and gone, God love her. Her husband was fair game, wasn’t he?
Oh, and didn’t that sound trashy?
“Well, I’m not one of your girls, I’m your employee.”
“And I’m your boss, which means that, if you count what I was thinking, I was way out of line out in the shop and I’m sorry. You won’t have to worry about me hitting on you again at work.”
At work? What did that mean, that he was going to hit on her away from work? “Fair enough.”
“Good. Friends?” He stood, and they shook on it.
“Friends.”
And really, she thought to herself, wasn’t friends better for everyone?
Then why did she suddenly feel so depressed?
That night at home, Riley still couldn’t get over the curious look Amy had given him when he’d sworn not to hit on her at work. He’d been a jerk to add “at work” to the promise. She was probably thinking she was going to have to keep watch over her shoulder when she left work, with a qualification like that.
He’d been trying to reassure her. He hadn’t really hit on her in the first place, had he? But maybe, as a woman alone with a large man in an empty warehouse, maybe she’d been frightened.
Bull. With the training she got before shipping out to Iraq, she could probably beat the stuffing out of him. And that had not been fear in her eyes when they’d nearly kissed.
So maybe that look today, when he’d said “at work,” had been relief that he hadn’t shut the door completely?
He shook his head. Who knew the mind of a woman. He’d never truly known a woman other than Brenda. The thought of getting to know a new woman in that way had not appealed to him until Sergeant Amy came to town.
Was it too soon? Was it fair to Brenda?
He wasn’t talking about marriage, but he wouldn’t mind a date, spending time with a woman his own age. Maybe share a few kisses. Maybe sweat up the sheets now and then.
Could he do that? Could he have a casual, or even a serious, affair, while sharing a home with three curious little busybodies?
Only a crazy person would even think of such a thing.
Putting three little girls to bed an hour later didn’t particularly help his sanity any, but he loved every minute of it. They kept him grounded, lifted his heart. They made him smile and laugh and cry and bang his head against the wall on nearly a daily basis. They filled him with terror for the future, and hope. And so much love, he couldn’t contain it all.
Thank you, Brenda, for our girls. How am I supposed to raise them alone?
A moment later he was ready to swear he truly was going insane. He thought he heard Brenda’s voice. The words were distinct, as if coming from right behind him. “Silly, you’re not supposed to raise them alone.”
He spun around, half expecting to see her standing there, laughing at him. “Silly.” That’s what she had always called him when she teased him.
She wasn’t there, of course. No one was there.
It took a good thirty minutes for his heart rate to settle.
But when he slept that night, he dreamed of her. She came to him in his sleep and smiled. “I hope you like the present I sent you.” Then she waved good-bye and left.
When he woke he realized he felt good. Cheerful. Usually when he dreamed of Brenda, he woke sad and lonely.
By the time he and the girls were ready to leave for the day, he remembered that he’d dreamed of Brenda, but couldn’t remember what it had been about.
All he could do was put it aside and face the new day. To that end, when he got to work he decided that this close to Christmas, no one should have to be alone. Including his sergeant.
“What are you doing tomorrow morning?” he asked Amy.
“Uh, tomorrow’s Saturday, right? My day off?”
“I’m not talking about work. The girls and I are picking out our Christmas tree tomorrow morning. Why don’t you come with us?”
She stood there and stared at him, her eyes blinking, looking as if she might be calculating the national debt in her head.
He chuckled. “Was it that hard a question?”
“Oh. Sorry.” She laughed at herself. “I was just trying to decide if I want a tree for my new apartment.”
“You got an apartment? When? Where?”
“The Alameda Apartments, on Third. I move in this afternoon when I get off work.”
“Congratulations. It’s Friday, you’ve got a new apartment waiting for you. I expect you to take off at noon and call it a day.”
“I’ll take it,” she said quickly.
“Do you have furniture to move?”
“No. The apartment’s furnished. All I own is in my car and motel room. I travel light.”
“Sounds like it. So how about the great Christmas tree hunt? It’s not like we’re going to the mountains to chop down a live tree. We’re just going to that tree lot down the street.”
“Darn. And me with my ax all sharp and ready. But I guess the lot down the street will do. While you get your tree, I’ll get a small one for myself. I’ll need a stand and decorations and lights. Is there someplace here in town to get them?”
“The hardware store has some, and so does the drug store. I think the feed store does, but unless you want to hang road apples on your tree—”
“Road apples?”
“Roundish, smelly items that horses leave in small piles on the road.”
“What do they call them if they’re not on a road?” she asked with an exaggerat
ed wide-eyed look.
“Horse dung,” he said straight-faced.
They both laughed. And it felt good.
Amy took Riley at his word and left work for the day at noon. She had checked out of her motel room that morning, so all she had to do was drive to her new apartment and unload her meager belongings. A few boxes of linens, kitchen items, personal items, a suitcase of clothes and not much else. The unloading took twenty minutes, but only because she took her time.
The Alameda Apartments was a grand name for a strip of six upstairs and six downstairs connected units, reddish-brown brick, with individual central heat and air. Each unit came with all the usual kitchen appliances, but no laundry facilities. Cable TV hookup came with the rent, but not a TV.
Amy’s apartment was next to the south end, upstairs. The faint smell told her the walls had been painted recently, basic white. Brown carpet, worn in places, but still serviceable, covered the floor in the living room and bedroom. A throw rug or two would brighten up the place.
How about that? She’d had a decorating thought. Wonders never cease. Maybe there was hope for her yet. Decorating usually never crossed her mind.
Then, again, never before had she meant to settle in and put down roots, create a home for herself. Not that she intended to root in an apartment for the rest of her life, but it was a good place to start.
It was as nice as either of the two apartments she’d had before being deployed, and a hell of a lot better than any place she’d stayed in before moving out on her own. There had never been much room for her when she’d been juggled from relatives to foster care and back again from the time she was eight until her eighteenth birthday.
She hadn’t complained during those years of sleeping on the floor, or on the sofa, or sharing a bed with some third girl cousin twice removed. She’d known even then that things could have been a lot worse for her.
The first eight years of her life hadn’t been much better than the years of shuffling around, but at least when she’d been younger, if she’d had to sleep in the car or a ratty motel, her mother had been with her.
But there would be no more of that rootless shifting from place to place for her. Tribute was it. She was sticking.
She spent the rest of the afternoon and evening unpacking, rearranging furniture, making the bed. And she made lists. The grocery list would be taken care of before the day was out. Other things such as a television, a new coffeemaker, maybe even a houseplant, would have to wait until she could make a trip to a larger discount store somewhere.
Maybe she would go to Waco tomorrow after the great Christmas-tree search.
Before the tree search, however, she got to show off her new apartment to Riley and the girls when they came to pick her up Saturday morning.
Her plan had been to watch for them, then run downstairs as soon as they pulled in, so they didn’t have to wait for her. But a couple of minutes before they were due, she was drying her hands from a last-minute kitchen wipe-down when someone knocked on her door.
Her heart gave a little leap. My first visitor.
Of course, it had to be Riley, and she was right, partly. She opened the door to find Riley, Pammy, Jasmine, and Cindy.
“Surprise!” they shouted.
Amy laughed in delight and stepped back to let them enter. Her heart flip-flopped at the smile on Riley’s face. “What’s going on?”
“We come bearing gifts,” Riley said.
“I brought this.” Cindy held up a small flowerpot, decorated in Christmas red and green, with a miniature ivy trailing from it.
“How wonderful. Thank you.” Amy was more touched than she’d been in a long, long time as she took the plant from those tiny hands.
“This one’s from me.” Pammy offered a pretty African violet in full, lilac bloom.
“Oh, Pammy, how gorgeous. Thank you.”
“You can put them both on this,” Jasmine said. From behind her back she pulled out a mirrored tray that would fit just right on her coffee table.
Amy thanked her profusely. She got all three girls to help her arrange and rearrange the tray and plants until they were all satisfied.
“I can’t thank you girls enough,” Amy said. “The whole apartment looks better now. I love my presents. Thank you.” While the girls gave final approval of the presentation, Amy mouthed a silent Thank you to Riley.
“It was their idea,” he claimed. “They thought it up and decided what they wanted to get you and picked them out themselves.”
“I thank you for humoring them. I can’t remember the last time I had a live plant, now I have two. Would you like the grand tour?”
“Naturally,” he said.
What should have taken five minutes max, stretched into fifteen easily with the curiosity of three little girls to satisfy. The thing that seemed to fascinate them the most was living upstairs, with no back door, no yard, only one bedroom, and the tiny kitchen.
“But it’s so small,” Pammy protested.
“Not to me,” Amy told her. “I’m the only person living here, so it’s really just right.”
That made the girl stop and think. “Oh. Okay.”
Riley finally got his girls to stop asking questions and poking into cabinets long enough to get them out the door. He turned back and held out his hand for Amy.
“Come on. We have Christmas trees to buy.”
Amy slipped her hand into his and felt a tingle race up her arm. She wanted to kiss him. But instead she closed the door behind them. “Yes. Christmas trees.”
They smiled at each other and took the stairs side by side, hand in hand.
Chapter Six
The early-December Saturday morning was bright and sunny, cool and crisp, with a bit of a bite to the south wind. The Christmas-tree lot took up the outer quarter of the grocery-store parking lot. Several cars were parked nearby. A young couple walked hand-in-hand through the rows of trees, along with a family of four and an elderly couple.
As Riley pulled into a parking space he cautioned the girls, “Don’t go wandering off. Stay together and stay with me.”
The girls were busy staring out the window at the Christmas trees, commenting on which ones they liked best.
“I’ll take your promise on that,” Riley added.
Still no response.
“Girls.”
“Yes, Daddy,” Jasmine said. “We’ll stay together and stay with you. We promise. Don’t we?” she added under her breath for her sisters.
“My little peacemaker,” Riley murmured as he killed the engine.
They all piled from the truck and made their way to the tree lot. The salesman greeted them, then stepped back out of their way and let them wander.
Amy took in a deep breath. “Oh, it smells good here. It’s been a long time since I smelled pine.” The scent of the trees, the wind, the presence of the man who stirred her…it was all so heady.
“I’ll bet,” Riley said.
But there was no time to linger over the delightful scent. They had to hustle to keep up with the girls, flitting from one tree to another. They couldn’t decide if they wanted the giant eight-footer or the cute twelve-inch predecorated tree in a foiled pot.
“I don’t know what you’re going to do about that monster,” Amy told Riley, “but I see my tree right here.” She picked up the small, decorated tree.
“Are you getting that one?” Pammy asked.
“I am. I think I’ll set it in the middle of my new mirror tray, and put my other new plants on either side. How does that sound?”
“It sounds cool. Can we see it when you take it home?”
“Of course you can, as long as your dad says it’s okay.”
“Can we, Daddy?”
“I think we can work that into our schedule. But first we have to pick a tree. Preferably one that will fit in the house.”
From that point on, Amy seemed to lose control of her day. She tried to hang back and let Riley and the girls choose their tree without he
r tagging along, but they would have none of it. Riley asked her opinion on every tree they considered. He had apparently made up his mind to include her in this family outing and that was that.
It was the sweetest time Amy remembered ever spending. The rush of cold wind, little-girl giggles, the ever-present zing of attraction with an attentive man. And all of it ordered up especially for her.
That, at least, was what it felt like.
The girls and Riley finally settled on a beautifully shaped pine to grace their home. He tied the tree down in the bed of his pickup, and, with Amy holding her little tree in her lap, headed back to her apartment.
“You have to let us come up and help you situate your tree,” Riley reminded her as he parked at her building.
“Of course,” she claimed with feigned seriousness. “I might need help moving it around.”
From the backseat, three young voices giggled.
Upstairs in her apartment the girls made a grand production of placing the cute little Christmas tree in the center of Amy’s new mirror tray.
“How gorgeous,” she claimed. “The mirror makes it twice as pretty.”
She watched as the girls made a big fuss, turning the tree this way and that, switching places between the ivy and the African violet. Should the ivy be on the right, or the left? Smiling over their dilemma, Amy happened to glance toward Riley and caught him watching her. The warm smile in his eyes seemed to melt her insides.
“Thank you for including me this morning,” she said softly.
“Thank you for coming with us,” he replied. “But now, since we helped you put up your tree, I think you should come help us with ours.”
For a wild instant, she wanted to say yes. But it wouldn’t be right. “That’s a family time, for you and your girls. You don’t need an outsider there.”
“You’re not an outsider,” he protested. “This is the season of giving and sharing. No one should be alone this time of year, and we want to share this day with you, don’t we, girls?”
“Yes.” Jasmine nodded emphatically.
“You have to come help us, ’cause we helped you,” Pammy decided.
Cindy, rather than speak, slipped her hand into Amy’s and smiled up at her.
Riley and His Girls (Mills & Boon Vintage Cherish) (Mills & Boon Cherish) Page 7
