But when she rang the doorbell at the old house a few minutes later, no one answered. The ugly beige curtains that had always hung over the large front window were open. Tracy would be able to see movement inside, if there was any.
She pressed the bell again. Still receiving no answer, she stepped off the porch to peek through the garage window. The glass was filthy, but she could see there wasn’t a car inside. Good. If he’d been here, he was gone now.
Tracy jogged back to her car and grabbed the carafe of green tea she’d left in her cup holder. She’d give herself a few minutes to look around. If she wore an old suit to work on Monday, she could scratch the dry cleaning off today’s list and grocery-shop tomorrow.
Hitching up a pant leg, Tracy stepped over the sagging fence to Riley’s backyard. It was hard to believe the child’s swing set was still back here. The primary stripes that had once painted a falsely optimistic picture of children soaring to the sky had long since mutated to flaking paint and rust. She crossed the lawn quickly and set her drink on the seat of the middle swing. Turning to face the hazy blue hills north of town, she grasped the chains of the swing farthest from the house—always her favorite—and wriggled onto the seat.
The plastic was cold. The weatherman had said it would be warm for late April, but even sixty degrees felt cold through her well-worn “Saturday jeans”. The swing seemed solid enough to hold her weight, so she pushed off with her feet and swung forward, toward the hills.
“You’re trespassing.”
Tracy knew the strange flip of her stomach had nothing to do with the motion of the swing. She skidded to a stop and jumped off the seat, then turned around with her heart in her throat.
It was Riley, standing inside the open storm door at the rear of the house holding a coffee cup. It had to be him. Other men may share a similar combination of smoke-gray eyes and dirty-blond hair, but when you added the teasing smile and dare-me-to-care expression, you had to be looking at Riley.
“Riley?” she called, in case her thoughts were somehow affecting her eyesight.
“I’m flattered you remember me,” he said as stepped out and let the door slam behind him.
As if she could have forgotten.
He set his cup on top of a wood box near the door and started across the lawn toward her. As he neared, her throat went dry. Riley had always had a certain heart-wrenching appeal, but he’d improved with age. The eighteen-year-old boy had transformed into every woman’s fantasy of confident good looks and muscular build. His hair was longer now, but rather than shaggy and unkempt, it lay smooth, catching the sunlight and making him look sexy. Dangerously so.
Tracy’s early-morning stint on her exercise bike had been unnecessary. Her heart had been getting a rather rousing workout ever since her shower. She picked up her tea and took a long swig.
When he reached the swing set, Riley looped an arm over the top beam and ogled her with one side of his mouth tilted up. “Criminy. You’ve grown up, little girl.”
“Guess that happens to everyone.” She drank again to wet her throat with the warm liquid, then clutched the carafe against her pounding chest. “I’m not a little girl anymore.”
His gaze shot down her body, and back up. “I’ll say. What’s it been, about a million years?”
The man was too hunky for his own good, and she was tempted to mimic the obvious way he’d checked her out. Instead, she trained her eyes on a lock of hair falling across his forehead. “I was almost sixteen when you left, and I’m twenty-nine now. You were the math whiz.”
“My question was purely rhetorical,” he said. “I’m perfectly aware of how long it’s been. I was the one banished from town, remember?”
“What brings you back now?”
He squinted toward the hills. “There’s no reason to stay away now that Otto is gone.”
“Are you visiting your grandma?”
“Not exactly.” He glanced back over his shoulder. “I’m renovating her house. I’ve just come back from the hardware store.”
Tracy studied the dilapidated two-story he’d grown up in. For at least half a century, that house had sat next to her parents’ limestone cottage. The proximity of the two adjacent, tree-lined lots in the country had fostered strong friendships—and stronger feuds.
For years, Tracy’s mom and stepdad had tried to help Otto and Vanessa Collins aspire to better living. Until the night their son had lured Tracy’s underage sister away from home, and changed everyone’s lives in the process.
“I don’t think it’ll take too much to make it livable,” Riley said, turning around again.
Tracy drank her tea and kept her eyes on the house. It definitely needed work, but she’d thought the Collins family would try to sell it as a fixer upper.
When she realized the significance of what Riley had said, Tracy’s tea seemed to curdle in her throat. She choked out, “You aren’t planning to live out here, are you?”
Riley’s eyes turned dark before he averted them. He began to peel flakes of paint from the top beam. “That makes the most sense to me,” he said as he flicked a piece off his thumbnail. “I can work on the place easier if I’m living in it.”
“And then?”
At her question, the gaze he aimed in her direction was so intense that she turned her eyes away, pretending interest in a pudgy robin hopping across the yard. In her peripheral vision, Tracy noted that he had crossed his arms over his chest. The seeming force of his will eventually caused her to look up. “And then I’ll stop working on it.”
“And keep living here?”
He shrugged.
Tracy shook her head. “You think you can waltz back into Kirkwood now and stay?”
“I don’t see why not.”
Tracy sipped her tea once more and realized the last of it was bitter. She unscrewed the thermos lid and poured the liquid onto the grass, then set the container back on the swing seat. Lifting a hand to her mouth, she clamped the nail of her pinkie finger between her teeth.
When he reached out his hand to pull hers from her mouth, she jerked away.
“Don’t get all bent out of shape,” he said. “I was only trying to stop you from biting your nails.”
“Just don’t touch me,” she said, and her loss of composure sent her eyes careering down his body, over the ribbed white undershirt that clung to a muscled chest and revealed, when his arms were raised to the cross-beam, an inch of enticing bare skin at his flat abdomen, just above the low-slung jeans.
She pulled her shocked eyes up to his glittering ones. The realization that she was drooling over her family’s nemesis didn’t help at all. Clenching her hands into fists, Tracy said, “Otto wasn’t the only one who wanted you gone.”
“Oh, really?”
She held his gaze.
“Did you want me gone?” This was said in the same patient voice he’d used when she was a scrawny girl and he was her not-so-secret crush.
“I was a kid. What did I know?”
“You knew me. Did you try to stand up for me?”
She started picking the paint off the swing set, too, thinking back to the day she’d found out Riley was gone. The phone calls had come first. The high school geometry teacher had called the Gilbert house, looking for Tracy’s older sister, Karen. Riley’s basketball coach had called his house. Neither teenager had made it to school that day, the teachers reported. And in retrospect, no one in either family could remember seeing them the night before.
Within a half hour,