The echo of Ruth Tatum’s words seemed to drown out everything else, ringing there with sonorous, unmistakable truth. He was definitely trouble.
The various women in his life could all take out an ad in the Sunday paper saying the same thing. Riley McKnight had been trouble since the day he was born.
He’s broken his mother’s heart more times than I can count, Ruth had said. He couldn’t argue the truth of that. His mother had cried plenty of tears over him, starting long before his biggest sin in the eyes of the Ruth Tatums of Hope’s Crossing, when his high school girlfriend had gotten pregnant his senior year.
If Lisa Redmond hadn’t lost the baby just a few weeks after she discovered she was pregnant, Riley knew his life would have turned out completely different. He couldn’t even comprehend it. He would have married Lisa at seventeen and taken some blue-collar job around town, maybe construction or maintenance at the ski resort. They probably would have been divorced young, if statistics held true. He would have a sixteen-year-old of his own now, something he could barely comprehend.
Lisa had lost the baby, miscarried at nine weeks. Her parents had sent her away to live with an aunt in Idaho for her senior year of high school and Riley had been left here to endure the small-town whispers and finger-pointing, one of the many reasons he had been quick to make his escape while he could.
The whole experience had been painful and difficult, but he knew he had been so wild and angry back then that he probably would have screwed up the kid for life.
As he listened to the thuds and thumps from some fight scene on screen, Riley thought of his own anger in his teens, how he had channeled his sense of loss and betrayal into wild drinking, partying, unprotected sex with his girlfriend.
He had been stupid and thoughtless, had hurt his mother probably even worse than his father had. Ruth was absolutely right about that.
He hadn’t known what to do with all that anger after his father abandoned the family. As the lone male in a household of women, he’d needed a father in his life, damn it. He’d needed somebody to guide him, show him how to rein in his impulses, how to respect others. Instead, his father had thrown everything away so he could follow his own dreams, could move to South America and study the archaeological ruins of long-dead civilizations instead of having to face the drudgery of his everyday life as a high school teacher and administrator.
Over the years, Riley knew he’d become an expert at casual relationships. So what was he doing here, then, with a couple of kids and a woman like Claire, who was the antithesis of everything he told himself he needed all these years? He belonged in this cozy picture of domestic bliss about as well as a beach cabana on top of the quad lift at the Silver Strike. She told him outright she didn’t want a fling and he had never been able to have anything else.
He sensed her watching him. When he turned his attention, she gave him a tentative smile. He gazed at her mouth for a long moment, remembering the particular softness of it, the angle and shape, then he jerked his gaze back to the screen.
She was so lovely, bright and vibrant like sunshine bursting through the clouds on a dank and cheerless day. He always seemed to forget that until he saw her again, when he would experience that “aah” of recognition.
A vague sense of unease settled between his shoulder blades. He shouldn’t be here. He didn’t belong.
“You don’t have to stay,” she murmured and he wondered what in his body language had given away his sudden trapped restlessness.
He should have seized on the exit route she’d offered and headed back down the street to his rental house. It seemed cowardly, however, just one more McKnight who walked away to suit his mood.
“We’re almost to the end. I can’t leave yet,” he answered in the same hushed tone.
She didn’t look convinced, something else unique about Claire. Most women were only too willing to believe whatever he told them. Not her. She seemed to filter every word, every phrase, through her own internal bullshit censor. He had a feeling he’d probably set off alarm bells more than a few times in his dealings with her.
This was it, he told himself. He would watch this movie and then work on extricating his life from hers. Claire Bradford had a couple of broken limbs, an idiot of an ex-husband and two active children. She didn’t need more trouble in her world.
When the closing credits started rolling up the screen, Claire switched on the lamp beside the sofa.
“Great show. Good choice, Owen. Now it’s time for bed. Macy’s soccer game is early in the morning.”
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.