“Yeah. Layla’s father was Chris Parker. The rock star.”
Maura hadn’t had the greatest of luck, men-wise. She was another McKnight who struggled in the relationship department. She’d gotten pregnant with Sage when she was only seventeen, although she’d never revealed the father’s identity. Whoever the son of a bitch was, he’d never stepped forward to support his kid—just another reason Riley had been so determined to marry Lisa Redmond when they found out she was pregnant. He had seen how rough things had been on Maura and on Sage. No way would he have put a kid of his through that.
Maura started dating Chris Parker when Sage was three or four, although none of the family had been too sure about the relationship, Riley remembered. At the time, Parker’s rock band was playing weekend gigs at bars and casinos. They’d married, but stayed together just a handful of years, long enough to have Layla, before Parker hit the big time. Maura didn’t talk about it, at least not with him, but Riley had a feeling the guy hadn’t wanted the burden of a family on his climb to the top.
“I haven’t seen your sister around tonight.”
“She didn’t make it,” he said. No way would Maura have been strong enough emotionally for this. She was still lost and grieving and refusing to let anybody try to help.
Harry puffed on his cigar. “I would have thought she’d at least show up to say thank you, what with everybody going to all this trouble in her kid’s memory.”
He didn’t dislike that many people, but for a brief instant, Riley wanted to reach a hand out and shove that cigar right down Harry Lange’s throat. “She’s…having a rough time,” he managed to say calmly. “Right now she needs to grieve in her own way.”
Harry puffed again. “Do you remember I was there?” he said after a moment. “At the scene? There wasn’t a thing anyone could have done for that girl. She was dead before I even made it to the scene, just a few minutes after the accident. I guess it’s some relief she didn’t suffer.”
Was that Harry’s idea of offering his condolences? It was a damn good thing Maura hadn’t come. Riley didn’t think she would necessarily find that a comfort.
“What were you doing out that time of night in the snow when you spied the break-in?” he asked suddenly, a question he’d wondered but never had the chance to ask in all the craziness after.
“Walking my dogs,” Lange said, his voice curt again.
That struck him as both incongruous and rather sad. He knew Lange lived alone in a huge house near here. His wife had died years ago and as far as Riley knew, the man had never remarried. He’d had a son several years older than Riley who’d left town just out of high school and rumor was the two of them had come to blows beforehand.
For all his success, the man had no one except some dogs to share it, and had become bitter and reclusive in his old age.
No parallels whatsoever to his own life, Riley assured himself.
“We should probably go back in,” he said. “The music has stopped, which means they’ll be starting the auction soon. You’ve got a painting to steal out from everyone else, don’t you?”
The old man tipped his cigar, a look of almost amusement in his eyes. “We’ve got time. They’ll save the good stuff for last. Right now they’re probably getting ready to auction a quilt or a flower arrangement or some other garbage like that. I hear you’re having a bit of trouble with the city council.”
Riley scratched his eyebrow. He should have walked away when he had the chance. “So I hear.”
He probably ought to be a little more upset by the apparent wavering of confidence in him by the people who had hired him. He had no doubt he could easily prove himself to the town in time, but the truth was, he couldn’t bring himself to care much, especially because he was considering leaving anyway. The last two weeks had been hell, living down the street from Claire, driving past her store on patrol, knowing she was so close but impossibly out of reach.
“I think it’s a bunch of hooey, if you want my opinion,” Lange said. “That J. D. Nyman’s a pissy little prick and always has been. Stirring up trouble behind a man’s back. What a pansy.”
The words surprised a smile out of him. “Man’s got a right to his opinion.”
“I guess.” Lange gave him a long, measuring look before puffing one last time on his cigar stub, then tossing it in the ashtray. “Doesn’t mean his opinion holds a drop of water.”
He didn’t quite know how to respond to that rather flattering, if unspoken, seal of approval.
“For what it’s worth, I’ve got no beef with the job you’ve done since you came here. I was there that night. I saw you back off the chase and shut down your lights when you realized how slick the road had become. I don’t see how anyone can blame you for what happened.”
“I… Thank you.”
“Unlike J. D. Nyman’s, my opinion does matter around here. One of the few benefits of being the richest man in town. People tend to listen when I open my yap. You want me to, I can make it clear to those boneheads on the city council I still think you’re the right man for the job. That should shut them up.”
Riley scrambled for an answer. “Uh, while I appreciate the offer, to tell the truth I’m beginning to think this job might not be the best fit for me after all. Maybe it would be better all the way around if I just saved the city council the trouble and paperwork of firing me.”
Harry’s expression was scathing. “Your mother must be so proud to know she raised her only son to be a quitter, running away like a little girl at the first sign of trouble.”
Oh, right. Now he remembered why Harry Lange was so universally disliked. “What’s the shame in admitting I may have made a mistake?” he said stiffly. “Maybe I’m just not sure the life of a small-town police chief is right for me.”
Over the other man’s shoulder, he saw through the wide windows that the auction had started. He didn’t recognize the auctioneer who had taken to the dais and was now holding what appeared to be—as Lange has predicted—a quilt with a big multicolored star in the middle.
Claire stood on the edge of the dais, apparently helping to organize the order of the auction items. Through the window, he could see her smile at something one of the other assistants said and something hard lodged in his chest. He couldn’t do this. He had spent his boyhood watching and wanting her. Why put himself through that as an adult?
“Maybe it would be better for everybody if I just stepped down and let Hope’s Crossing find a police chief who’s a better fit.”
At Lange’s continued silence, Riley finally turned and found the man watching him with uncomfortable perception. His gaze flicked between Riley and the auction inside and then back to Riley.
“Aah.”
Riley glowered. “What the hell does that mean, aah?”
“Nothing, kid. Nothing.”
“No, tell me. You’re the one who said your opinion was so damn important around here. I’d like to know.”
“Pretty girl, that Claire Tatum.”
“Bradford,” he corrected.
Harry made a dismissive sort of noise as if her ten-year marriage meant nothing. “Her mother can be a pistol, but Claire’s one of the nicest people in town. Genuinely nice, not just-because-you’re-loaded nice.”
Riley had no answer to that. This was not making him feel better, although he doubted that was Harry’s intention anyway. Why did the guy think anything about Claire mattered to him? First his mother guessed his feelings for her, now a virtual stranger. Was he wearing a frigging sign?
“Guess it’s a good thing you’re leaving, now that I think on it. Stupid asshole like you doesn’t deserve a nice girl like that.”
Why, again, was he standing here listening to a crazy old man? “Never mind. I don’t want your opinion after all.”
“That’s because you know it’s the truth. She deserves better than an idiot with one foot already out the door. I’m going to give you a little advice, kid.”
“Please, don’t hold back
.”
Harry ignored his sarcasm. “Most people would say I’ve got everything I could ever want. Fancy house, priceless artwork, enough money to buy and sell most of the town. But I can tell you this. Regret makes a bitter companion. Think hard about what you’re giving up. That’s all.” He straightened. “Now if you’re done yakking at me, I’ve got a painting to buy.”
With an abrupt pivot, he turned and headed back into the hotel, leaving Riley standing alone with the echo of his words mingling with the sounds of the auction as the doors opened and then closed behind him.
Riley stared out at the night and the dark shadows of the mountains. Think hard about what you’re giving up.
Only everything he had never admitted he wanted.
This town. Home, family.
Claire.
Lange was right. He was an idiot.
His father had thrown everything away to selfishly go after his own dreams. How the hell was Riley any better than that? He was throwing away his dreams—the chance of a wonderful, joy-filled life here with the woman he loved—because he didn’t trust himself not to turn into his father. He was not James McKnight. He never had been. Suddenly Riley knew without question that he would cut off his arm before he walked away from his obligations to pursue his own selfish desires, as his father had done.
He was in no danger of becoming like the man. He had spent nearly the last twenty years proving it. That fear was only one more excuse, a convenient rationalization to avoid allowing himself to be vulnerable. He was afraid of failing, of reaching out to grasp everything he had ever wanted for fear that he would screw up everything.
He had told Claire he didn’t want to hurt her. The bald truth was, he was more afraid of this tenderness inside him, this overwhelming need to be with her, to watch her smile, to become a better person just because she thought he could.
Why should he fear it? Claire offered peace and comfort. Every time he was with her, life seemed brighter and richer.
He had told her he didn’t want to cause her more pain. He would hurt her by walking away, just as James McKnight had done. Why would he do such a stupid, self-destructive thing when everything he wanted was right here?
CHAPTER NINETEEN
THE PLACE WAS PACKED. He couldn’t see an empty chair anywhere. Claire must be thrilled at the turnout. At this rate, maybe they could raise enough green for two or three scholarships.
With nowhere to sit, Riley leaned a shoulder against the back wall to watch. He scanned the crowd, only half listening to the bidding going on for some kind of antique necklace. He could see his sister Angie and her husband, holding hands and looking easy and sweet together. His mother sat with Ruth and Katherine near the front and it looked like she’d already bid on something, judging by the package on her lap. Alex was there with some guy he didn’t know.
There were a couple of seats, he finally noticed, near Mayor and Mrs. Beaumont. Nervy of them to come, he thought, when they were trying to extricate their son from the consequences of his actions—one of which resulted in the death of the girl the town had come together to honor.
Was it a coincidence that the two of them sat slightly apart from the crowd? Laura Beaumont looked as composed and distant as always in what looked like a designer dress, her makeup perfect, a flashy piece of bling around her neck. The two sat side by side, not even brushing shoulders and when she turned briefly in his direction, he saw dark circles under her eyes her makeup couldn’t completely conceal.
He had been so frustrated with the mayor these past few weeks that this unexpected pang of sympathy took him completely by surprise. Yeah, the man was handling the situation completely wrong, but Laura and William must be heartsick, seeing their son’s future implode.
Kids put their parents through hell. He certainly had. It was a wonder his own mother was willing to still talk to him after all his crap.
“Come on,” the auctioneer was saying. “Remember, this is a part of Hope’s Crossing history, made from silver taken out of the original Silver Strike lode.”
Riley turned his attention to the auction and saw the bid was for a flimsy filigree necklace on a velvet-covered form.
“You have the chance to take home a piece of history here, folks. Bid is two thousand dollars. Do I hear twenty-one? Twenty-one? No? Going once, going twice, sold to number seventy-five for two thousand dollars. Sir, you may come up and collect your item and provide your information to our lovely assistants.”
Holly Bradford jumped up with a little squeal and hugged her husband, then the two of them headed to the side of the dais, where Claire now stood holding the necklace. He was close enough that he could see her expression. Her mouth seemed tight and he thought he saw a glimmer of sadness in her eyes, but he wasn’t sure whether it was a trick of the lighting, especially when she smiled graciously enough when Holly gave her a giggling hug.
He couldn’t hear their interaction but he could guess, especially when Holly turned around, leaving Claire to fasten the necklace on her.
That cheerful smile never left her features even amid her ex-husband’s younger wife’s excitement, and Riley’s throat constricted. In that moment, he loved Claire so fiercely that he couldn’t breathe around it.
“Our last piece of jewelry of the evening is this exquisite handmade piece created by the organizer of today’s incredibly successful event, our very own Claire Bradford. Folks, let’s give her another round of applause.”
Riley clapped the loudest and Claire slanted a look toward him. Their eyes met for a long moment, hers guarded, his solemn. Something significant passed between them, unspoken but intense.
When she turned away, she was blushing—and he was determined to take her from here as soon as he could.
The auctioneer picked up the necklace, also displayed on a velvet jewelry form. He didn’t know anything about beading but even he could see the piece was exquisite, a tangle of color that gleamed brilliantly in the ballroom lights, anchored by a stunning rose-colored heart.
“Claire tells me this is made out of precious and semiprecious gems, each of which can be found in the mountains of Colorado. We’ve got aquamarine, the state gem of Colorado, as well as topaz and tourmaline. She estimates about a hundred hours of work went into this—and keep in mind, this was all done while the designer and creator had a broken arm.”
The crowd applauded again and Claire gave an embarrassed but pleased smile.
“Claire calls this piece the Heart of Hope. Fitting, don’t you think? Let’s start the bidding at a hundred dollars. Anyone?”
Riley looked at the necklace gleaming there in the light and then he turned to the woman he loved, whose strength and beauty would always outshine anything else.
He smiled, knowing just what he had to do. He stepped forward and raised his hand. “Twenty-five hundred dollars,” he called out.
All eyes turned to him and a few people gasped. He didn’t care about anyone else or about how foolish he felt bidding on a necklace. He only cared about Claire. Her expression was stunned, her eyes huge and her mouth slightly open. After a moment she swallowed, the look of shock changing to something else, something bright and glittery.
“Okay.” The auctioneer hesitated for only a beat. “Now that’s what I’m talking about, folks. The new chief of police starts things out right. The bid is twenty-five hundred, do I hear twenty-seven-fifty?”
“Three thousand,” a gruff voice called out.
Riley spun around and found his competitor was Harry Lange, the old bastard. The guy gave him an annoying smirk and Riley wished again he’d shoved that stogie down his throat.
“Thirty-five,” Riley said immediately.
“Thirty-seven-fifty,” Lange countered.
“Four,” Riley said. Oh, he was in it now. He knew Harry had no desire for the necklace, he was only goading him on. He didn’t know what Harry was playing at and at this point he didn’t care. He had finally figured out just what treasure he had been about to throw away an
d he wasn’t letting some grouchy old man yank it out of his hands.
“We’ve got a bid of four thousand. Do I hear forty-five?”
“Forty-two-fifty,” Lange said before the words were out.
“Forty-two-fifty, going once, going twice.”
“Five,” Riley said quickly.
“Do I hear fifty-two-fifty?”
He waited for the other guy to counter, holding his breath. While Lange might have endless pockets, Riley unfortunately did not. He did have a healthy nest egg he had built through shrewd investments and he had no problem using some of it for this cause. At heart, this was about a scholarship fund in his niece’s name, not about Claire’s necklace.
The silence seemed to drag on while everybody waited for the little drama to play out.
“Five thousand, going once…going twice…”
Lange made a little gesture of defeat to Riley, that smirk still on his features.
“Sold, to the new police chief for five thousand dollars. Chief, do you want to come up and collect your item?”
As he made his way to the dais, he heard the swell of whispers, the speculation about why the unattached chief of police would spend five grand on a pretty piece of jewelry.
“That’s going to look smashing with your badge,” his sister Angie teased as he passed her.
He ignored her and Alex’s narrow-eyed look of suspicion. Out of the corner of his gaze, he caught his mother’s bright, delighted smile, but he didn’t return it, focused only on moving forward to reach out for his prize.
He supposed while he was up there, he might as well pick up the necklace, too.
AS RILEY SEEMED TO MOVE toward her in slow motion, Claire couldn’t manage to grab hold of her wildly whirling thoughts.
Five thousand dollars for her necklace! It was outrageous. She had been hoping for a tenth of that and would have been over the moon if it had sold for a thousand. Five! What was Riley doing?
She couldn’t hear anything over the pounding of her pulse in her ears as Riley continued moving toward her, his green eyes full of an emotion she couldn’t name. He looked delicious in an elegant tux that seemed out of character but absolutely right on him.
RaeAnne Thayne Hope's Crossings Series Volume One: Blackberry SummerWoodrose MountainSweet Laurel Falls Page 28