“If you can choose wisely.”
She rolled her eyes, but he thought he saw a hint of a smile lurking there. Might have been a trick of the light, though. “I can fix up Owen from here. I could actually slice the tomatoes from here, too, but because I have a feeling you’re going to insist on doing something, you can finish the salad.”
“Wrong. I’m going to insist on doing both. You’ve only got one good hand. Just relax.”
She looked frustrated, but he also saw the lines of pain around her mouth, so he didn’t let her annoyance bother him.
“Let me wash my hands and I’ll take care of the BMX casualty here first.”
He took off his jacket and hung it over a chair, then headed to the sink where Macy was watching the whole scene with interest. “It really does smell delicious,” he said as he rolled up his sleeves and lathered his hands. “What are you fixing?”
“Spaghetti. It’s not very hard. I just have to boil the pasta. Grandma brought over the sauce, but we like it a little spicier than she does, so we always add some stuff to her sauce.”
Claire didn’t look exactly thrilled by her daughter’s confession—or maybe she was still annoyed at him.
“Whatever you’re doing, it smells perfect.”
“Thanks.” She smiled, adding pasta to another stockpot full of burbling water on the stove. “That’s probably the bread sticks. They’re just made with frozen dough, but they’re really good and super-easy.”
When he decided his hands were sufficiently de-germed, he picked up the cutting board and knife along with the remaining tomato as well as the cucumber next to it and carried them to the kitchen table to Claire. He still didn’t think she needed to be fixing a salad, but he knew her well enough to know the small gesture would please her—and even though he knew damn well it was wrong and maybe even dangerous, he wanted to make her happy.
“Thanks,” she murmured with a soft light in her eyes.
“You’re welcome.” He deliberately turned away toward Owen. “Okay, sport, let’s take a look at the damage.”
The boy rolled up his pants leg, revealing a relatively minor scrape.
Riley cocked his head. “Not bad. I think you probably need only about five shots and oh, about ten, maybe twelve stitches.”
Owen giggled and Riley thought how peaceful it was to be in this warm, delicious-smelling kitchen while the rain pattered against the window.
“I do not.”
“Okay, maybe only seven or eight.” He caught Macy’s eye and she grinned just like her brother.
“Just wash it off and put a bandage on it,” Owen said in an exasperated tone.
“All right, bossy. You must get that from your mom.”
“Hey!” Claire protested. “I’m not bossy. I just usually know what’s best.”
He smiled at that and risked a look at her, then regretted it when he found her watching his mouth again.
“Hey, Mom, did you know Chief McKnight used to be a bike cop?”
She cleared her throat. “I did. Alex is my best friend, remember? And Riley—Chief McKnight—is her brother. She has always kept me up-to-date on what he was doing on the Coast.”
Had she wondered about him over the years? The idea of her talking about him while he was gone made his shoulder blades itchy.
“What did she tell you about me?”
“That you were a good cop and that you sometimes did things you couldn’t talk about. Oh, and that you were shot and didn’t tell anyone in your family about it but your partner called and spilled the beans so they all played along like they didn’t know.”
“You got shot?” Owen asked, his eyes huge.
He frowned at Claire. “It was just a minor injury. I was back to work in only a few days. They seriously knew? Why didn’t anybody say anything to me?” he asked her.
“I guess they figured if you wanted to talk about it, you’d bring it up. Alex was all ready to head out to Oakland, but Angie talked her out of it.”
“Sisters can be a real pain in the...neck.”
“Yeah, tell me about it,” Owen said in a tone of exaggerated misery, which made Macy glare at him.
“Hey, watch it,” she said.
“You think one sister is rough. Try having five, kid.”
“My worst nightmare!”
Riley laughed and stuck a large square bandage over the scrape, then rubbed the kid’s hair. “That should do it,” he said. “Now you’re ready to go take on a few more potholes. You might want to go change into clean clothes before you eat that delicious-smelling dinner your sister’s working so hard to fix.”
“Thanks. It didn’t even hurt.”
“Well, don’t forget, you’re still going to need those stitches.”
Owen grinned, then his eyes lit up. “Hey, you want to stay for dinner, if it’s okay with my mom? We always have tons of leftovers when we have spaghetti.”
The knife Claire was holding stilled, then flashed with renewed vigor, he noticed with interest.