Just a Kiss (9 page)

R
iley grabbed the mail from the floor in front of the shelter's door slot. The act of bending down with crutches was a real bear. He'd just been casted for his temporary prosthesis and would have it in a couple weeks. He couldn't get rid of these crutches soon enough.

After standing upright and regaining his balance, he flipped through the letters, mostly junk, then dropped them on Paige's desk.

He could hear some dogs barking as he passed the kennel, but he was in no mood to deal with them. Lately he couldn't seem to pull himself out of the funk he'd fallen into the night of his cramp a couple weeks ago.

He was angry that she'd seen him so weak and vulnerable. Angry that she'd seen his ugly flesh. That everything that used to be easy was now so hard. And what did he have to look forward to once all this rehabilitation was behind him? A menial job a world away from Summer Harbor and the people he loved.

There was so much darkness inside, it welled up and came gushing out at the worst times. Paige, being so convenient, had
become the recipient of his ugliness. He'd been negative and surly, and he knew she was about at her limit. He could tell by the way she'd clamped her lips down this morning when he'd snapped at her.

She'd had a date with Dylan Saturday night. Riley had arranged a boys' night out with his brothers to take his mind off it. But even that failed to lift his spirits.

They didn't deserve his rudeness, and neither did she. Paige had done nothing but help him. But somehow he couldn't seem to stop himself, and that only fed his anger. His feelings for her only added to his frustration. Why couldn't he pull himself out of this vicious cycle?

He'd stopped going to counseling after that first session. Couldn't bring himself to go back. Just what every man wanted—some stranger staring at him, waiting for him to share his deepest feelings. How could anyone understand what he'd been through?

He hadn't had the nerve to tell Paige he'd quit. She still dropped him off every Tuesday night like clockwork. Fortunately the counseling center was right around the corner from the Sugar Shack, where he'd begun indulging in a weekly homemade cinnamon roll. He took it down by the harbor and watched the lobster boats coming in for the day, remembering when he was out there. When he was following in the footsteps of generations of Callahan men. When he had a real purpose.

Riley kept himself busy for the remainder of the afternoon—proofing a couple ads, answering the phone, and taking stock of the medications.

When closing time came, he flipped the sign in the window and went to find Paige. She'd steered clear of him most of the day. And after the way he'd spoken to her this morning, who could blame her?

He found her at her desk, shoulders slumped, head in her hands, fingers plowed into the thickness of her hair.

The sight of her defeated posture, so unlike her, flooded his veins with worry. His own frustrations, all the stuff he'd been dealing with since he got home, ceased to matter.

“What's wrong?” His voice vibrated with tension.

Her head snapped up, the vestiges of worry replaced by surprise. Her hair was ruffled from her busy fingers, and if he wasn't mistaken, her eyes were a bit bloodshot.

“Nothing.” She lowered something in her hand. A letter. She folded it up carelessly, then glanced at her watch. “Is it that time already?” The cheerful note rang false.

“Something's wrong.” He gestured toward the letter. “What's that?”

“Nothing. It's nothing.”

But he could see by the way she tried to make the letter disappear that it wasn't nothing. His eyes fell to the empty envelope on the desk, and he remembered it from today's mail.

“It's from the insurance company. What did it say?”

She stood and began gathering her things. “It's just a letter. Not a big deal. Did you call the vet about the spaniel? We should probably get him to check for an ear infection, don't you think?”

She probably would've gone straight out the door if he weren't blocking the exit.

He crossed his arms—not an easy feat with a crutch—and stared her down for a full ten seconds before he spoke. “I think you should tell me what's going on.”

She stared right back, her chin lifting a fraction of an inch. Her lips pressed together.

“I'm not moving until you tell me.”

She started to go around him, but he shifted his weight to block her. He had the advantage; she wouldn't take chances with his balance.

She scowled at him. “You're a bully.”

“Tell me.”

She gave him a withering look.

He held his ground, and half a minute later her façade began to crack. The tightness around her eyes softened. Her lips relaxed. Her shoulders sank.

“They're dropping me,” she said finally.

His jaw clenched. This was all his fault. The flooding was all on him, and that's why they were dropping her. He closed his eyes. He was such an idiot. He'd done nothing but make things worse for her since he'd come back. She'd be better off without him. They all would.

“Hey . . . it'll be fine.” She infused the words with an enthusiasm he knew she didn't feel. “I'll find another company. You'll see.”

He turned and hobbled down the hall, his crutch hitting the floor hard with each step. “And they'll charge you an arm and a leg. Ha! Isn't that fitting?”

“Riley, stop it . . .”

“Stop what? Stop making trouble for you? Stop being a huge pain in the—”

She grabbed his arm, turning him. “You're not a pain.”

His skin felt hot. He couldn't even look at her. He was too angry at himself. And this time he wasn't taking it out on her.

“It was an accident. This kind of thing happens all the time with businesses. I'll ask Zac for advice. It happened to him a while back. It'll be fine.”

His head was swimming, darkness swelling. And, as if his
missing leg just wanted in on the action, a sharp stab of phantom pain darted up his leg. He needed to get away before he lashed out at her again.

“Sure,” he grated out, turning.

But she tightened her hand on his arm, stopping him. “Riley . . . we'll get through this. I promise. I know it's hard right now, but I-I love you.”

His eyes flickered back to hers, looking deeply, wishing for something that just wasn't there.

“We should go.” This time when he turned away, she didn't stop him.

P
aige carried her empty plate to the sink, leaving Riley at the table. One more awkward and silent supper in the bag. He'd been disturbingly quiet since the day before. She preferred the Riley who lashed out to this tense, quiet version who seemed coiled up and ready to spring. Even so, either was preferable to the fake cheerful thing he'd done upon his return to Summer Harbor. At least this was real. Honest.

She opened the dishwasher and grabbed the dirty cookware from the stove top, aware of the scrape of his chair on the floor. She stopped herself—barely—from grabbing his plate off the table. He wouldn't welcome her help.

She'd thought therapy the night before might help him sort out his feelings, but he'd come away just as pent up as when she'd dropped him off.

“I'll do these.” Riley had managed to sneak up behind her. She drew in a whiff of his spicy sent and imagined she felt the warmth of his chest at her back.

Warmth of his chest?

She pressed forward against the front of the sink. “I got it.”

“Move.”

If she thought his tone brooked no argument, the scowl on his face left no room for misunderstanding. She set down the plate she'd been rinsing and dried her hands. “Fine.” She tossed the towel and spun to leave, but he grabbed her arm.

“I changed my mind . . . about the bachelor thing.”

She couldn't think past the tingles shooting up her arm. “What?”

“The auction. Go ahead and sign me up.”

Realization of what he was saying made the tingles fizzle away like the remnants of a firework. She fought the cloud of dread that threatened to engulf her and smirked at him. “Has a cold front passed through hell recently?”

“If you think it'll bring in a few extra dollars, I'm game. It's the least I can do.”

A few dollars? Her eyes scrolled over his face. Even frowning, he was the handsomest man she'd ever known. Those deep-set green eyes, the straight slash of his brows, the rugged planes of his face. All of it somehow softened by a fringe of dark lashes. And that was just from the neck up.

Half the women in Summer Harbor would be lining up for a chance with him. The Callahan brothers were the town's most eligible bachelors—or had been. Now there was only one left, and he was a broody, handsome marine.

She swallowed hard. “You don't have to do this, Callahan. We've got it covered.”

“I want to.”

“You don't look like you want to.”

The muscles in his jaw flickered. “Well I do.”

She imagined him on that stage surrounded by dozens of swooning women. She imagined a tall, svelte redhead taking his
hand and leading him from the stage. She imagined them disappearing off into the sunset.

Her heart kicked hard, making her breath catch in her lungs before it raced faster. She should've found their twelfth bachelor.

“Paige?”

She redirected her focus. “I was going to ask Mary Ann's cousin.”

“Well, now you don't have to.”

She cocked her head. “Riley . . . are you sure you want to do this?”

“What, stand on a stage and make a fool of myself? Even I can do that right.”

She was so tired of the way he put himself down. She smacked his arm. Her hand practically bounced off his solid bicep.

Something in his eyes shifted as he gave her a long, searching look. “Or maybe you're afraid I won't raise as much money as Mary Ann's cousin.”

Was he really that clueless? “Don't be ridiculous.”

A flush climbed his neck as his gaze fell to the floor. He shifted his weight to his crutch. “Maybe you should go ahead and ask him.”

She sighed hard. “No, Riley. You'll round out the roster very nicely. I'll tell Eden to add your name to the website.”

His eyes lifted to hers again. His nose flared. “Now you just feel sorry for me.”

She threw her hands up. “Gah! You're impossible.”

“Seriously, if he'll bring in more money for the shelter, ask him. I don't blame you.”

“You idiot. What is wrong with you? Don't you know women will be lining up for a date with you?”

His eyes narrowed to slits. “Yeah, 'cause every woman is dying to go out with a gimpy loser.”

She put her hands on her hips and glared right back. “You know, it's really too bad you can't see yourself the way everyone else does. Maybe when a dozen women are waving their paddles in the air it'll finally sink in.”

Before he could respond, she whirled away and stormed up the stairs. Let him do the dishes. Let him stand there and stew about what she'd said. Maybe some time alone would do him good.

She pulled out her phone to text Eden. Sign Riley up for the bachelor auction.

She hit Send before she could second-guess herself.

Her heart was beating a million miles per hour. What was wrong with her? Why did it bug her so much to think of Riley with other women? And those tingles . . . what were those about? Hadn't one Callahan man been enough for her? Now she had to go for Beau's brother too? Her
best friend
?

You are one sick woman, Paige Warren.

She'd done a lot of soul-searching after Beau had broken up with her. They'd never been meant to be. They'd been missing that spark, that something special. It didn't take her long to figure out the main appeal had been his family. The Callahans had what she'd never had—and had always dreamed of. A real family. A place to belong.

Did she want it so badly she was now manufacturing feelings for Riley? She shook her head. Pathetic. Just pathetic.

A text buzzed in, and Paige looked at the screen.

Yay! I'll add him to the roster. That is awesome!

Paige sighed as she closed the program. Yeah. It was flipping awesome.

R
iley looked down at the temporary prosthesis as the technician gave it one final tweak. He couldn't believe this day had arrived. He'd hardly slept last night in anticipation of standing upright, of walking again.

The prosthesis felt tighter than he'd expected. It hit him that this bulky piece of equipment was going to be part of him for the rest of his life. The thought made his heart thump against his ribs.

“All right,” the prosthetist said. “Let's give this a try.”

Riley's breath hitched. He grabbed the parallel bars and pushed to a stand, his weight balanced between his arms and legs. It felt awkward, but he was upright and on his own two feet—even if one of them wasn't real.

Using his arms to brace his weight, he took his first unsteady step. It felt strange. He was grateful for the bars.

“Looking good,” the technician said. “How's it feel?”

“Good. I think.” He wasn't sure how it was supposed to feel.

He walked down the length of the bars slowly, carefully, his arms trembling. He turned and came back. It was tedious. It was exhausting. But he was walking. He was really walking.
“How's it feel?” Beau shot Riley a look from the driver's seat of his pickup.

Riley looked down at his prosthesis. He looked a little like a robot.

“Like I've got a fake leg attached to me. There's a lot more to it than I expected. All the donning and doffing stuff . . . desensitization . . . stretching and strengthening . . . I hope I remember it all.” “It's in the take-home stuff if you need a refresher. And you can always call if you have questions.”

“I have an appointment with the physical therapist later this week.” He was going to work his butt off to get back on his feet. “I thought I was done with those things.” He gestured to his crutches in the back.

“Give yourself time. You're young and strong, so that helps. Did he say how long it would take to walk without them?”

Riley shrugged. “It's one of those everyone-is-different kinds of things. But I read some people can walk after a couple weeks. I plan on being one of them.”

“I have no doubt you can do whatever you set your mind to.”

The sooner he became self-sufficient the sooner he could drive. The sooner he could move to Georgia. “At least I'll be on my feet for your wedding.”

“I'm just glad you'll be there.”

“Unlike our other brother, who didn't bother waiting for my return.”

Beau spared him a look. “Stop crying. We Skyped you in.”

Riley looked down at his prosthesis and wondered whether the thing would be his friend or foe. He'd been looking forward to this day for weeks, but he hadn't expected to feel so awkward and clumsy. The prosthetist said the fit was critical, told him what to
watch for in the way of problems, and warned him he'd likely need to come back regularly for adjustments as his stump shrank. Now there was a pleasant image.

“Don't forget the tux fitting is Wednesday.”

“I won't.”

He was happy for his brother. Anyone could see Eden was better suited for him than Paige had ever been. He was sure he'd feel that way even if he weren't in love with Paige himself. But he had to admit it was a huge relief to know it was Eden, not Paige, who was becoming his sister-in-law.

He remembered the sheer misery of being on the sidelines while they dated. Was it any wonder he'd resorted to joining the Marines?

And look at him now. Just when Paige was finally available, when he was finally back from overseas, he was unfit for any woman, least of all her.

Not that she had the slightest clue how he felt. She'd never guessed, not in all these years. He must be one heck of an actor. There had only been one close call.

He'd thought the gig was up that night of their eighteenth summer, after her dad died. He asked her over after the funeral, but she wanted to be alone. He was worried about her in that little house, alone with her mother. Not that Darleen would ever physically hurt her. But she'd offer no comfort either. He'd told Paige to call him later, but it was after nine o'clock and he'd heard nothing.

He tried to call, but there was no answer. Worried for her, he borrowed his dad's truck and made his way to the place she went when things were bad at home. He parked along the street and
followed the grassy trail back to the pier on the inlet where the Warrens moored their boat.

He was relieved to see the boat still tied up, and a few seconds later the pier came into view. Paige sat at the end, tucked into a ball, facing the water. The vestiges of twilight streaked the sky with pinks and purples, silhouetting her small frame. Water rippled against the shoreline, and the boat bumped rhythmically against the dock.

His shoes thumped quietly on the wood as he moved down the pier. She must've been lost in thought, because she didn't seem to notice the sound or the way the dock shimmied under his weight.

She lifted something and, when her head tilted back, the silhouette of a dark bottle came into view. It took him a second to configure the facts and arrive at the only reasonable conclusion.

How many parties had they been to where Paige only nursed a can of Coke? He knew for a fact she'd never even tasted an alcoholic beverage. Her family had taught her from an early age that drinking was a sin, and though Riley's own perspective was a little less conservative, he knew Paige would never resort to drinking unless something was terribly wrong.

Her relationship with her dad had been complicated. And now he was suddenly gone, and she had all these unresolved feelings. Clearly she wasn't thinking straight.

When he reached the end of the pier, he grabbed the Jack Daniels from her hands. “What are you doing?”

She looked up at him with eyes that were so sad he almost regretted his sharp tone. “Riley.” She patted the space beside her, losing her balance and nearly toppling over. “Have a seat.”

The bottle was almost empty. He sighed, lowering himself to the end of the pier and setting the bottle out of her reach.

“Where did you get this? You shouldn't be drinking. You could've fallen in the water.”

“It's only a few feet.”

She clasped her arms around her knees, staring at her toes as if mesmerized by the peeling pink polish.

“You should've called me.”

“I couldn't.” She belched and covered her mouth belatedly.

“Why not?”

“Darleen took my phone.”

He frowned. He'd never heard her call her mom by her first name. “What happened?”

A duck swooped low across the inlet, feet reaching forward, before it came to a graceful landing on the water.

Paige shifted beside him. “She's not my mom.”

He set his arm around her shoulder. “She's not much of one, that's for sure. But it'll be okay. You start college in a month, and you'll be gone most of the time. You won't have to see her much.”

“No . . .” She shook her head dramatically as she turned toward him. “No, I mean, she's really not my mom. My dad ch-cheated on her when they lived in Augusta, and he got me.”

“What?”

“Yep.” Her lips popped with the “p” sound. “He had an affair with some woman, and she got pregnant, and then Mo—
Darleen
—found out, and all hell broke loose.” She leaned around him, looking, her forehead scrunched up. “Where's my bottle? I want my bottle.”

He grabbed her shoulders to keep her from falling over. Looked her in the eye. It couldn't be true. But even as he struggled with disbelief, in so many ways, it made sense. The way Darleen treated her as an afterthought. The way her dad stood by and did nothing about it.

“If that's true, where's your real mom?”

Paige lifted her shoulders. “She died when I was two. Dad talked Darleen into taking me in, and they moved here to start over.”

“She told you all this?
Tonight?
”

He wanted to throttle the woman. She couldn't have waited until things had settled down? Until Paige was no longer caught up in a vortex of grief? But no. It had always been about Darleen. She couldn't wait ten seconds after her husband died to spill the truth.

“I'm not hers,” Paige said softly. “She never even wanted me.” The forlorn sound of her voice plucked at his heartstrings. He tightened his arm, pulling her into his chest. He wanted to protect her from all this. He wanted to rewind time and stop Darleen from shooting off her mouth.

Even as he wanted to rail against Darleen, he mentally stepped into her shoes. Paige must've been a daily reminder of Donald's betrayal. A bigger person could've separated the two, could've loved the child anyway. But they both knew Darleen wasn't that person.

He clenched his jaw hard. Paige deserved so much better. And she sure hadn't deserved to hear the news from a bitter woman who'd done nothing but make her feel like an outsider—and on the same day as her dad's funeral.

It had always angered him that Paige's dad didn't stand up to Darleen. Not when she grounded Paige unfairly or when she gambled away Paige's babysitting money. Now he knew why. Donald was living out a penance for his betrayal. But he hadn't been the only one paying the price.

Paige started to pull away. “What'd you do with my bottle?”

“Shhh.” He tucked her back in tight. “You don't need that now. I'm here.”

“My legs feel all tingly.”

“I know.” He kissed the top of her head, breathing in the sweet, flowery scent of her.

He had to take care of her. There was no way she could go home like this. Darleen would ground her for a year. Shoot, she might even kick her out of the house now that Paige's dad wasn't there to stop her.

He'd have to bring her to his house. His dad wouldn't be thrilled about her condition, but he wouldn't turn her away.

The sun's warmth was long gone, and Paige shivered as a cool breeze swept across the inlet. He rubbed her arms to warm her as he stared into the heavens. What would happen now that the truth was out? Would she even be welcome in her own home?

Help her, God
.
Remind her she's loved.
So much. He set his chin on her head.

A few minutes later her weight began to sag against him. He looked down to see her eyes had closed.

“Paige?”

“Mmmm.”

“Come on. It's getting dark.”

She buried her face into his chest.

“Paige. We need to go.” He jostled her until she lifted her head. Then he stood and helped her to her feet, steadying her when she wobbled.

“Where we going?”

“My house.”

She didn't argue as he led her to the truck or on the short drive back to his place. He called his dad on the way home and explained what had happened. When they got there, his dad opened the door, compassion in his eyes.

“Take her on up to your room. You can take the couch.”

Paige had grown quiet in the car, closing her eyes a lot, probably drifting off. She was still quiet as he led her up the stairs and turned into his room. The last bit of daylight filtered through the curtains, giving him enough light to see by. He bypassed the light switch and led her straight to his twin bed. She wavered on her feet as he pulled back the covers.

He unzipped her light jacket and helped her out of it. She wore a T-shirt and a pair of shorts that would be comfortable enough to sleep in. A moment later she flopped onto her back with a sigh. Her blond hair fanned out on his pillow, her lashes black shadows against her cheeks.

He slid her sandals from her feet and pulled the covers to her shoulders. “Get some sleep,” he whispered.

“Stay.” She grabbed his hand, her eyes flicking open. “Please? Just for a minute.”

He'd never been able to deny her anything. Certainly not after a day like today. He sank down on the edge of the bed, turning so his knee was propped near the pillow's edge.

“I don't want to be alone,” she said.

He tightened his hand on hers. “You're not alone. Not ever.”

Her eyes grew glassy, and her breathing turned ragged. “I don't know what I'd do without you, Riley.” She grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him down. She held him against her chest, clamping her arms around his head.

Her heart thudded in his ear, the warmth of her skin pressing against his cheek. The sweet, flowery scent of her tugged at his senses.

Her hands moved sloppily over his head. “You're a good friend, Callahan.”

Friend. He swallowed hard. It was difficult thinking in those terms with his face smashed up against her—

“You're the only one who's there for me. Don't know what I'd do without you.”

“You won't have to find out, honey.” His words were garbled against her chest. He flattened his palms against the bed and pushed.

But she grabbed his face, holding him inches from her.

“Thank you.” Her eyes were smoky blue in the dim light. Her breath teased his lips an instant before she touched them with her own.

It was barely a brush. Soft and quick. And not nearly enough. Their breath mingled between them. His heart kicked against his ribs, his good judgment evaporating in a flood of want.

He lowered his mouth to hers one more time. Her lips were soft and yielding. Responsive. A thrill shot through him, and he brushed her lips again. Warmth surged through him, urging him to continue with his slow exploration.

She was kissing him back. The wonder of it kindled a fire deep inside that flared outward to the tips of his fingers. He trembled with hope.

Her fingers moved into his hair, stirring every follicle to life. If this was a dream, he didn't want to wake up. He wanted to stay here forever, kissing this girl.

He slowly became aware of the faint taste of alcohol on his lips. He remembered the bottle—almost empty. Guilt nagged at the edges of his conscience, pulling him further and further away from his most excellent dream until the distance brought clarity. Reason.