LITMIR.BIZ

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though, for the front he was putting on now.

      “I still look at your picture sometimes,” she went on. “Because every now and then the dreams come back.”

      “And looking at my picture actually helps?” Riley wished he hadn’t sounded so astonished, but he was.

      “Sure. Well, for the nightmares but not for thunderstorms. You don’t work for me in thunderstorms.”

      Yeah, Claire had a thing about storms, spiders and zombie movies. But Riley hadn’t had a clue she’d even attempted to use his picture or anything about him to help her get through it.

      “Riley!” Ethan called out. The kid had obviously noticed he was awake and sounded excited to see him. Riley was mildly surprised that he was excited to see Ethan, too.

      Ethan had given up on his Crazy Dog playdate, and he barreled up the steps toward them. But he didn’t just come onto the porch. He crawled into the porch swing, wriggling his pint-size body in between Claire and him. He had a toy car in each hand. Several were crammed in his pockets, and the ones in his left pocket dug into the outside of Riley’s thigh. Since that was his sore leg, the pain nudged Riley a bit, but he didn’t move. Riley wanted to hang on to this closeness for a little while.

      “Angel,” Ethan said, and he pointed to the Combat Rescue Officer badge on Riley’s uniform. The kid climbed into Riley’s lap to get a better look at it.

      “No.” Claire immediately reached for her son, probably because she thought it would hurt Riley.

      And it did. More than just a nudge this time, but Riley stopped her from whisking him up. Instead, Riley fished out his phone and maneuvered Claire closer so that her head was right against Ethan’s.

      “Smile. It’s a picture for Anna,” he said, snapping the shot. “She wanted to see how big Ethan’s getting.”

      That was such a huge lie that Riley thought it might spur even Crazy Dog to action. Claire gave him that look, the one that let him know that she knew he was lying, but the look also told him that she really wasn’t sure she wanted to know what was simmering beneath the lie.

      Good.

      Because Riley turned the phone and snapped a picture of just her. She was caught with her mouth slightly puckered, as if she was waiting for that kiss he’d been considering.

      Hell. He just might have a cure for those flashbacks after all.

CHAPTER SEVEN

      THE MIGRAINE WAS chasing Logan McCord, and it was winning.

      The blind spots were already there. The little swirly bright dots, too. He figured he had less than a half hour before he would have to pretend he was so exhausted that he needed a morning nap.

      At least Della and Stella wouldn’t be around to try to mother him because they wouldn’t be back until tomorrow from their forced vacation. Riley wouldn’t be there, either, since he was at physical therapy. Lucky was still off doing things that Logan didn’t want to think about.

      But the reporter and photographer were a different story.

      The reporter, Andrea-something, came up the steps behind him, her heels sounding like a persistent woodpecker. She was persistent about getting this story, too, and if Logan hadn’t wanted this article to promote his new business venture, he would have sent her and those heels clacking.

      The photographer, whose name Logan didn’t bother to catch, lagged along behind her while he adjusted his camera. Occasionally, the photographer scratched his balls, too. Logan wasn’t opposed to ball scratching, but even that sound was amplified so it seemed as if the guy was scratching a hundred chalkboards.

      “We’ll just need a few more pictures,” Andrea said in between the clacking-heel sounds.

      She was a reporter for one of the San Antonio newspapers, and even though she’d already interviewed Logan at the office, she had insisted on snapping a few pictures here at the ranch.

      “One picture,” Logan said. He used the tone that he knew would set her teeth on edge. He knew all the tricks for doing that because people with their teeth on edge didn’t stay in his face pestering him.

      Trying to make as little noise as possible so he could buy himself some time with the migraine, Logan opened the front door.

      And the first thing he saw was the naked woman.

      “Ta-da!” she said, and then a split second later she shrieked louder than a horde of banshees with bullhorns.

      Trisha.

      Even with the blind spots and aura speckles, Logan could make out her face. Though he had to admit her face wasn’t the first thing that’d caught his attention. It was her huge breasts and the tiny patch of shiny red fabric that he supposed was meant to be panties. An eye patch would have more fabric than that little thing.

      Trisha shrieked again, and she scurried to the sofa to grab a dress that she held up in front of her like a shield. A piss-poor shield because it didn’t cover her left boob or that panty swatch.

      The photographer snapped a few pictures of her.

      Logan shot him a look to let him know that he was going to delete each one he’d just taken. A hard look wasn’t that difficult to manage since Trisha’s shrieks had caused the migraine to close in on him.

      “Logan, what are you doing here?” Trisha asked.

      “That was the question I planned to ask you.”

      “I was waiting for Riley,” she said as if that explained everything.

      And maybe it did.

      Logan hadn’t heard any rumors about Riley and Trisha getting back together, but maybe his little brother had found a new way to relieve pain.

      Logan closed the door, leaving the reporter and the ball-scratcher on the porch. “Riley’s at PT in San Antonio,” he told Trisha.

      “I know.” She huffed, blew at a strand of her hair that’d fallen onto her cheek. “I called one of the ranch hands, and he said Riley should be back by now. I, uh, wanted to surprise him. Please, Logan,” she repeated. “You can’t tell anyone about this.”

      He wouldn’t, but the photographer would. Probably the reporter, too. By noon it would be all over town, possibly posted on the internet, and the gossips would add that Logan had stepped behind closed doors with her. That meant Logan needed to call his girlfriend, Helene Langford, and let her know what had happened. Since Helene and he had been together for years, she would believe he hadn’t cheated on her with Trisha, but he didn’t want Helene blindsided by the bullshit.

      Trisha started to wiggle into the dress. It was a testament to how much pain he was in that he hoped she would hurry.

      “What are you doing here anyway?” Trisha asked. “You were supposed to be on a two-week business trip and shouldn’t be back for three more days.”

      “I wrapped up things early—” He would have continued his own questions if Trisha hadn’t interrupted.

      “But you rarely stay here anymore. I didn’t figure you’d be coming home.”

      So the gossips had picked up on that, too. And it wasn’t just gossip. Logan had indeed converted the third floor of his office building to a loft apartment, and with the hours he worked, it was easier just to sleep there. Besides, it wasn’t as if he had family here now that Anna had moved off to Florida.

      But Logan had no intentions of getting into that with Trisha.

      “Where’s your car?” he asked, hoping he didn’t have to drive her anywhere.

      She hitched her thumb toward the back. “I parked behind the house. I was going for an element of surprise.”

      “Element

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