“It’s a lovely night following a beautiful day,” Mary Ella said.
“How could it not be lovely when I get to dance with the prettiest girl in Hope’s Crossing?” he said, earning only an eye roll in response.
“It’s true,” he protested. “You’ve still got it, you know.”
She smiled a little, her fingers tightening in his. “You’re very sweet to say so, son.”
“I’m serious, Mom.” It seemed a night for questions somehow. Anything to distract him from mooning over Claire. Every time he turned around, she seemed to be directly in his line of vision. She was exquisite in a backless black cocktail dress that set off her lush curves.
As he turned his mother on the dance floor, he caught sight of Claire near the dais being set up for the auction, straightening the cloth on the table, for heaven’s sake. As if no one else in the room could take care of that detail.
All evening, she had been in perpetual motion. He wondered if she’d had a chance to get off her walking cast for even five measly minutes. He would have liked to grab her and make her sit down somewhere for a breather, but had to remind himself Claire’s typical overexertions were none of his damn business.
He jerked his attention away and focused on his dance partner. “Ma, why didn’t you ever marry again after Dad left? You had to have had offers.”
He rarely brought up that dark time in their lives after James McKnight left. He would rather forget the whole thing, even though, like a bad patch of stinkweed, it permeated every part of their lives.
Mary Ella looked surprised at the question. “Not as many as all that, but yes, I had a few chances.”
“Why not take one?”
“I could ask the same of you. You’re thirty-three years old, Riley. Don’t you think it’s time you stopped acting like you’re still in a fraternity somewhere?”
He didn’t miss her abrupt change of subject. It was a tactic he employed often when interrogating a subject, but he was no more immune to it than the dumbest criminal.
“Unfair,” he said automatically. “I’ve been in Hope’s Crossing two months now and I haven’t dated anyone.”
“Claire doesn’t count?”
He missed a step and barely avoided stomping on his mother’s foot. “How did you... I’m not dating Claire.”
“Too late. You’re not as slick as you think you are. I’ve seen the way you look at her.”
“You’re imagining things, you crazy old bat,” he said with what he hoped was a casual grin. If he made a joke, maybe she wouldn’t notice the heat he could feel rising up his neck. “You must need your bifocals checked.”
She pinched the back of his neck.
“Ow!”
“That’s for being disrespectful to your mother.” She pinched him again. “And that’s for whatever you did to hurt our Claire.”
“Who says I did anything?”
“I say. You’re the reason she’s got that lost look in her eyes these days, aren’t you? Drat you, James Riley. What were you thinking? Claire isn’t one of your stupid California bimbos.”
“I know that. Believe me, I know,” he said in a low voice.
His mother stared at him, eyes narrowed. He tried to look away, but she must have seen something in his eyes because she stopped moving, just stood stock-still right there on the dance floor.
She gripped his face in her hand and looked into his eyes and he couldn’t look away, although he was grimly aware all the misery eating away his insides must be right there for the world to see.
“You’re in love with her. Oh, sweet heavens.”
“No,” he said quickly and pulled his face away. “So are we done dancing? The music is not quite over.”
He should have just pulled a double shift, as he’d wanted to. That had been his master plan, but Katherine Thorne had basically ordered him here to make an appearance. Did the half hour he had been here already cover any political obligation he might have?
“What did you do to her?” his mother asked, a voice loud enough they were starting to draw attention.
“Nothing,” he insisted. “Absolutely nothing. Can we talk about this another time?”
“No, I want to know what you did. Did I actually raise my son to be that big of an idiot that he wouldn’t recognize a woman like Claire for the best thing that ever happened to him? Yes, she might be a bit older than your usual ditzes, but that only gives her a depth and maturity. She’s smart, she’s beautiful, she’s compassionate. What else do you need, for heaven’s sake?”
“Ma, please stop. I agree. Claire is wonderful. You don’t think I know that? She’s perfect...and I’m not.”
She stared at him for a long moment, her eyes wide and slightly stricken.
“Riley—”
“Just give it a rest, Ma, okay? Thanks for the dance.”