At First Touch

“Yeah, I uh...” Reagan replied. “I can smell it.” She smiled, but turned her face toward the light streaming in through the window.

“You okay, sis?” Emily asked, and she draped her arm over Reagan’s shoulders. Then she lifted the ponytail Reagan had pulled her shoulder-length hair into the night before. “Want me to brush it? It’s grown out since you cut it short.” Emily tugged at her ponytail. “I can braid it if you like—”

“No, Em.” Reagan rose from the bed and slowly moved toward the blurred image of the window. With her hands outstretched, she grasped the sill and stood, allowing the sunlight to bathe her face. Outside the windows, crickets chirped. “I’m not helpless. I can get myself in and out of bed, dressed and...even braid my own hair. I’m not an invalid.”

Emily’s sigh reached her ears. “I know—I didn’t mean anything, Rea. Honest. Hey,” she said brightly, changing gears. “Let’s have breakfast on the dock. Like we did when we were kids. Do you remember?” Her footsteps grew closer. Hesitant. “It’s a sincerely magical morning. Perhaps a mermaid will join us.”

Reagan closed her eyes briefly, and a slight smile touched her lips. Emily had a way with words, and she’d always made up the best stories when they were kids. “Sure.” She turned toward her sister. “Sounds good.”

“Swell! I’ll throw everything together! You like bananas, right? Fruit? Greek yogurt?” Emily said, and Reagan nodded. “Great!” Em’s voice grew faint as she hurried from the room. “It’ll only take me a sec!” A crash to the floor followed by a muttered shiitake mushrooms! reached Reagan’s ears, and she again felt her mouth pull into a slight smile. Emily Quinn—soon to be Malone—hadn’t changed a bit. She’d never been one for swearing. Instead, she’d made up her own forms of verbal release. Shiitake mushrooms being one of them.

The sounds of Emily bustling around in the kitchen washed over Reagan for a moment more; they—the noises—seemed familiar, too. Of a time long, long ago, when their mother used to make ham sandwiches and dill pickles to eat on the dock. Or toast waffles—toast with butter and syrup—and bacon on Saturday mornings. Sounds she’d taken for granted as a kid were the only link to the past she had now. The clink of silverware. The creak of the pantry door. Reagan breathed, scanned the room with her useless eyes, then eased across the wood-planked floor, arm outstretched, and made her way slowly across the hall to the bathroom. The thing about the Quinns’ river house was that it had a lot of windows, allowing the sun to pour in from all directions. It gave her some semblance of direction. A small help, she guessed.

In the bathroom, Reagan quietly closed the door behind her, washed her face and brushed her teeth with the toiletries she’d carefully laid out on the shelf after she’d first arrived. After running a brush through her hair, she pulled it back into a ponytail again and then stared hard at the blurred image before her. Tentatively, she lifted her fingertips to her eyes. Brushed the tender skin beneath them. The corners. Then the lids.

Useless. Blank stares. That’s all she had to offer now.

Pushing angrily away from the sink, she made her way back to her room, bumped into the door frame and swore, then once inside pulled open the first drawer of her meticulously packed dresser. Emily had helped her arrange the clothes in her dresser so all Reagan would have to do was feel around for them. With her fingertips she felt in the first drawer for a bra. Easy enough. In the next drawer, a pair of cutoff faded jeans that she knew reached midthigh and had a hole near the pocket. Then a tank top. Plain. Easy. No color coordination required. The only thing she’d ever have to worry about would be that her shirt was inside out, and she absently lifted her hand and brushed the back of her tank. Small, silky tag intact and inside shirt. With a shake of her head, she sat on the floor and pulled on her well-worn Converses, then slipped on her shades, grabbed her walking stick and headed for the kitchen.

Shadows and light collided as the sun poured in through the multitude of windows, from every angle, and for a moment Reagan stopped in her tracks to get her bearings. Living room. Kitchen to the left. She continued on, tapping her stick side to side as she went along. She knocked against something hard—an end table, probably—then something soft. Sofa. She felt like a fool, swiping the long stick with the telltale sign that a blind person was on the move: white stick, red tip. Swipe swipe swipe.

“Just let me grab one more thing and we’re all set,” Emily said, and her figure shot about the kitchen in a hurry, then came to stand before Reagan. “Okay, ready?”

“I can help carry something,” Reagan said.

“Nope, it’s okay. I’ve—”

“Em,” she warned with impatience. “Seriously.”

“Fine,” Emily agreed with a sigh, then draped a strap over Reagan’s shoulder. “You carry the lunch box. I’ve got the thermos and cups.”

Reagan nodded and adjusted the bag. “Right behind you.”

The screen door creaked open and Reagan caught it with her palm as she and her sister stepped onto the porch. Humidity clung to the air around her, and she inhaled the ever-present brine that always heightened at low tide. She followed her sister’s lead, walking the trail she remembered from years ago, until they left the shade of the magnolias and live oaks and hit full sun on the dock. The wood creaked as they started across, and Reagan picked her footing carefully.

“You should’ve seen this when I first returned,” Emily said. “Every other wood plank was sketchy, then there was the big gap.” She giggled. “I’d hired Matt to repair it, and Lord have mercy above, you should’ve seen him out here.” She sighed, and the sound floated back to Reagan on the breeze. “All cutoff shorts and bare chest with all those muscles glistening from the water.”

Reagan’s mouth tugged up in the corners. “Sounds like you were perving on him, sis.”

“I totally was,” Emily confessed. “Are you okay back there?”

Reagan swept her stick side to side, and the dock was just enough of a shadow in the bright sunlight to make out. “Yep, I’m good.”

“You amaze me, you know?” Emily continued. “I mean, look at you. Taking the dock like you own it. Which you do.” She giggled. “On a good day I pick my way carefully down, even though it’s in good shape now.” Another sigh. “Guess I’m a scaredy-cat.”

Yeah, right. You’ve never been a scaredy-cat, Reagan thought, but said nothing. She just continued her path to the end, then eased down the aluminum plank to the floating dock. It rocked back and forth with the lapping water. Another door creaked, and Emily’s figure bustled about in the little dock house, then finally returned.

“Let me throw down this quilt,” she said. “So our backsides don’t fry.”

Reagan stood, letting the salty breeze brush her face and toss her ponytail as she waited.

“Okay, it’s all ready. Move one step over and have a seat. You’re close to the edge, so we can hang our feet in the water.”

Reagan slowly lowered, felt the cool material of the quilt beneath her palms, and eased onto it. Slipping off her sneakers, she felt for the edge, found it with her fingertips and lowered her feet into the tepid water. A shadow moved, then a splash beside her as Emily found her place.

“Okay. Yogurt,” her sister said, handing her the cool plastic container. “Spoon is right beside you.”

Reagan sighed, hating that she had to be told where items were, felt the lid with her fingertips and pulled the thin foil top off. Found the spoon next to her on the quilt and picked it up. “Thanks, Em.”

“No problemo,” she returned. “You know, we could—”

The sound of Emily’s phone ringing cut off her words. “It’s the café. I’d better answer,” she said. “Emily Quinn, esquire and entrepreneur, here. Oh, hey, Toby, what’s up?” Silence, then, “Oh, shoot. Okay, give me a few and I’ll be right in.” Emily sighed. “Fudgsicle,” she huffed. “I’m sorry, sis. I have to go in. Ginger had to leave sick.”

Reagan nodded, the wind pushing at her hair. “It’s okay, Em. I’ll be fine.”

“Two hot Quinn chicks,” a voice interrupted, and grew closer. “Could a guy get any luckier?”

Emily laughed. “Ha! It just got worse. I have to leave. Hey,” she said with a touch of glee in her voice. “Why don’t you take my place?”

“No, he doesn’t have to,” Reagan interjected. “I’m perfectly fine—”

The floating dock rocked as Eric Malone jumped from the ramp and landed with a heavy thud. “Don’t mind if I do,” he said cheerfully. “It’s your lucky day, Reagan Rose. I have the entire day off.”

“Umm,” she replied, pushing a spoon of yogurt into her mouth. “Lucky me.”

Emily laughed. “Rea, are you sure you don’t want to come with me? You could sit on the pier, or on the covered deck at the café? Or inside with me—”

“Sure, maybe with a cup beside me, for people to throw change into. No, thanks, I’m good,” Reagan replied. “You go.”

Eric’s laughter broke out over the river. “She and all of her grumpiness are in good hands, Em,” Eric said with confidence. As if he wasn’t irritating the hell out of her with his cocky buoyancy. “Thanks for the breakfast, sis.”

“I don’t need to be in anyone’s hands,” Reagan insisted. “And I’m not grumpy.”

She was promptly ignored.

Footfalls sounded as Emily jogged up the metal ramp and headed back across the marsh. “See you guys later! Call me if you need anything!”

The docked swayed as Eric plunked himself down beside Reagan, and the sound of water rippling and lapping against the edges alerted her that he had dropped his feet in, too. “So,” he said. Chipper. Jubilant. Annoyingly so. “This is what you call breakfast, huh?”

Reagan shrugged. “You don’t have to eat it. And you don’t have to babysit me, either.”

“Wow. You must be exhausted,” he said.

Reagan swiped her spoon around the inside of the yogurt container, finding it empty. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” he answered. “Looks like that chip on your shoulder is pretty heavy.”

“There’s no chip,” she said, frustrated. “I just don’t like being treated like a baby.” She gave a short laugh. “No one seems to get that.”

“Coffee?” he asked.

Reagan sighed. “Yes, please.”

Eric chuckled, then she heard the sound of liquid pouring into a cup before he pushed it into her hand. Warmth soaked through to her palm. “Thanks,” she muttered quietly, and sipped the hot drink that her sister had made just perfect. Lots of sugar, lots of cream.

“So, what do you want to do today?” Eric asked cheerfully. “Hey, are you gonna eat your banana?” The sound of him rummaging around in the bag met her ears.

“Yes, I’m going to eat it. And we aren’t doing anything today,” Reagan replied.

“Why not?”

Reagan stared through the shade of her sunglasses, out across the water where only the vague, dark outline of the little island they all used to play on lay in the distance. “Because,” she said, “I don’t need a babysitter.” She turned her gaze in his direction, but saw only a silhouette. “Don’t you have anything to do?”

“And pass up the chance to hang out with the hot neighbor? Nah,” he said, his voice buoyant again. He leaned closer. “Not in a million. So, you can either tell me what you want to do, or I’ll just have to surprise you, Reagan Rose.” He chuckled. “Either way, babe, I’m just not taking no for an answer.”

CHAPTER THREE

ERIC COULD SEE it in her face. The fierce pull of her brows. The tightly pressed lips. The muscles flinching in her jaws. Every characteristic screamed annoyance. He’d known she wouldn’t want to go anywhere. Especially with him.

He was, in Reagan’s words, a virtual stranger. Soon-to-be sort-of brother, though.

Yup. She had a big damn chip on her shoulder all right. Couldn’t say he blamed her. She’d been through hell. First, as a kid. And again more recently, when she’d lost her sight in an accident on a base in Afghanistan. While he still didn’t know the full details, he knew she’d suffered. Some kind of fuel accident had claimed her sight. Knew she was angry, bitter. He could see it. Hell—he could feel it, like how the air grows heavy and dense when a storm is about to unleash. Her inner fury rose from her like a thick, soupy fog.

And he had a mind to rid her of her pending storm.

“So what do you say, huh, neighbor?” he pressed.

Reagan gave an acerbic laugh. “Yeah, uh, no. Thanks for the offer, but I’m good.” Her hands reached for the banana he’d tried to coax away from her earlier, patting the quilt until she found it, and she slowly peeled it. Ignoring him proficiently.

A skill she’d no doubt perfected as the youngest sibling. He knew the tactic well. And he knew how to counter it.

“Oh, come on,” Eric coaxed. “Give me one good reason why not. Sun’s out. A decent breeze. The salt water. All makes for a perfect day.” He watched her as she broke off a piece of banana and popped it into her mouth. Noticed how the sun made her cheeks pink; spotted the freckles on her nose, and a few on her shoulders. Her thick wavy hair was pulled back into a ponytail. It was blonder than Emily’s, he thought. Still shot with streaks of red, and shorter, but you could definitely see the resemblance in the sisters. He watched her chew, and waited.

Finally, she gave her feet a kick in the water, making it ripple. “Listen, Eric,” she began, her blind gaze fixed on some point across the river. “I appreciate your attempt. Since we’re already neighbors, and we’re going to sort of be family, it’s a...nice gesture.” She turned her head in his direction, drew her feet from the water and set them on the quilt. “So that’s why I’m going to be perfectly honest and tell you the truth. Just leave me alone. I don’t want to be looked after, watched or treated differently. I don’t need to be entertained. And I don’t need to be coaxed out of my shell.”

Eric stared at her, watched her pat the water from her bare feet with a towel. She was one tough bird. “Hey, I’m not biased,” he answered with a grin. “I’d still hit on you even if you had your sight. So quit stalling, Reagan Rose, and just...relax—”

“Are you going to force me to be rude?” Reagan asked, then pulled her sneakers on and began reaching for the items on the quilt, placing them in the lunch bag.

Eric laughed and started to help. “Yeah, I think you’ve already got that one covered, darlin’.” Blindly she reached over and somehow grabbed the apple out of his hand and plopped it into her lunch bag.

Finished, she patted around once more, then rose, grasping the edge of the quilt with her hand. She tugged; he remained firmly planted on it.

“Do you mind?” she asked.

Eric slowly rose, and he could tell she wanted to yank the quilt from beneath him. He laughed. “Wanna go for a swim? It might help release some of that—”

“What?” she snapped, glaring in his direction. He could feel her anger rising in the air. “Release what, exactly?” She wadded the quilt up and tucked it under her arm.

Eric ran his hand over his head and peered at her. It wasn’t like he was trying to piss her off on purpose. Okay, maybe he was. She needed a virtual kick in the ass. He couldn’t help but grin, and he was pretty sure she could hear it as it tugged at his face. “I don’t know. Some of that mean you got all bottled up inside, maybe?”

Slinging the lunch bag onto her shoulder, she bent down, stuffed the empty thermos and cups in the bag, rose, and grabbed her stick. She turned, her eyes covered by the dark shades she wore, but he knew fury raged in them. “You don’t know me anymore,” she said quietly. “Stop pretending that you do.”

With that, she tapped her stick, hitting him in the shin before making her way slowly and cautiously up the ramp.

“What about our swim?” he called after her.

“Help yourself,” she threw over her shoulder.

He watched her for a moment, moving over the marsh, her little stick tap-tap-tapping as she felt her way along. Shorter than her sister Emily, she still had gorgeous lean legs and a damn cute ass, if he had to admit it. He watched that ass swagger away. “Need some help?” he called out.

“Nope,” she answered. Her voice drifted over the water, and he thought despite the fact that she had a decent amount of acid in that remark, it was still pretty adorable.

“Sure?” he yelled once more.

She merely shook her head and kept on making her way, each step striking that blind stick of hers harder against the wood of the dock.

Eric could only laugh, shake his own head and follow her.

The sun fell bright this morning; hot, humid, with only a slight breeze shifting through the reeds of the marsh. It carried a voice pretty well, though, and he could hear Reagan’s angry muttering as she sashayed her way back home. She was moving fast across the dock—probably faster than she should. Matt had fixed it up but still—it was an open dock. Wooden slats secured to pilings with metal screws and that was it. No handrails. She could misstep and fall right in.

“Hey, you better slow down,” he called out.

She went even faster, and Eric winced.

He shook his head again. “Hardheaded girl,” he grumbled, and picked up his pace to a jog. “I like that.” By the time he caught up to her she was off the dock and making her way to the house.

He gently grabbed her arm. “Reagan, wait,” he said. “Stop.”

She jerked to a halt and stared straight ahead. Sighing heavily, she shifted her weight. “What?”

Eric dropped his hand. “Do you have plans or something? It’s a gorgeous day, Reagan Rose.” He watched the dappled sunlight fall across her cheeks, and her chest rise and fall as she breathed. “Spend it with me.” Staring at her eyes through those shades she wore frustrated him. He wanted her to take them off. He wanted to take them off himself. Fling them across the yard. Stomp on them. Why he cared so much, he didn’t understand. He certainly wasn’t in the market for shitty company, and Reagan had a seriously bad case of Bad Attitude. Something pulled at him, though. Their childhood? Yeah, that had to be it. He’d always been a sentimental guy at heart.

Reagan’s back stiffened. “Please,” she finally said. “Just leave me alone.” She turned then, tapping her stick until she reached the porch steps, then climbed them and left him standing there. “And stop calling me Reagan Rose.” The door closed behind her, and Eric sighed.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he glanced up and stared as the sun speared through the magnolia branches. What the hell was he going to do with little Miss Hardhead Quinn?

Eric scratched his jaw and stared at the house.

He grinned.

“I’ll leave you alone for now, Reagan Rose,” he called out. “But I’ll be back!” He watched for a moment. Waited for movement by a window, or the door to open. A shout. A swear. Any sign of movement that Reagan had heard his words.

Nothing.

With a determined shake of his head, he turned and headed back down the lane that separated the Quinns’ property from the Malones’. Eric was well versed in the art of hardheadedness. He himself was a master of it. But he’d never dealt with such an indomitable female before. As he strode down the lane, making his way back to his house, he grinned, and that grin was still pulling at his face when he loped up the steps of the river house and flung himself onto the porch and leaned against the pillar. His eyes met his grandfather’s gaze.

“No luck, eh?” Jep asked.

Eric shoved his fingers through his hair and shook his head. “Nope.” He rubbed his jaw. “Stubborn doesn’t quite sum it up.”

“Hmm,” Jep muttered. “Figured as much. So what’cha goin’ to do about it?”

Eric shrugged and rested his head against the pillar. “Hell if I know. Not give up?”

“Damn straight, not give up,” Jep agreed.

“Advice?” Eric asked.

Jep nodded. “Push back.”

Eric thought about it and agreed. Push back. He knew despite having been childhood friends long ago, they were strangers now. Neither was the same person. Well, maybe he was. Or, was he? After the big, ugly breakup he’d been through, it certainly had embittered him a little. His trust in others had faded, whereas before he was full-on, full throttle filled with all kinds of trust. But Reagan Quinn had definitely changed. The fact that she’d lost her sight and independence just made things more challenging. He looked at Jep, who wore his signature baby blue coveralls and USCG cap perched on his head. His bushy white eyebrows were drawn in a perpetual frown—a joke, really, since everyone knew that despite his cantankerous looks, Jep Malone had a soft heart—as he gave his advice, and Eric had learned long ago to heed it. His grandpa was a wise old guy.

He pulled his legs up and rested his hands on his knees. “She’s angry.”

“Wouldn’t you be?” Jep added.

“Yeah,” Eric agreed. “I suppose I would be.”

He and Jep were quiet for a moment, and Eric listened as the wind chimes clanged from the Quinns’ front porch and carried across the property. That same wind rustled the leaves in the trees overhead, knocked the bell on the buoy right off the dock. What would Reagan do to keep busy? Why didn’t she just stop being so pigheaded and agree to accompany him...somewhere? Anywhere was better than sitting around doing nothing. That was the fastest way to hopelessness, and he could say that with experience. The rocking chair creaked as Jep pushed back and forth, and when Eric looked up, his grandfather eyed him skeptically.

“I see smoke risin’ from atop that head of yours, boy,” Jep said. “Got anything good planned?”

Eric cut him a grin. “I usually don’t have to try this hard, Jep my man.” Jep scoffed at his comment, and Eric sighed and pushed to his feet. “My Malone charms are perfected.”

“Or so you thought,” Jep added. He chuckled. “I’m goin’ to enjoy watchin’ this one unfold. Boy, you better sharpen them charms and quit bein’ so damned cocky.” He turned his gaze to the lane, in the direction of the Quinns’ river house. “I think that girl’s gonna give you a run for it.”

Eric turned his gaze, too, and smiled. He pictured Reagan all mad, sitting in a chair somewhere, fuming. “I think you’re right.”

“Usually am.” Jep peered at him. “You ain’t sweet on her, are you?”

Eric laughed. “Gramps, she’s been here a week. No, I’m not sweet on her.” He shrugged. “But we’re pretty much family now, and I’m determined to help her through this transition. She used to be...” He thought about it. “So damned crazy. Full of life and would take on any dare. I guess I don’t like her just sitting around, staring blankly at the wall.” He winked. “I’m going to make her snap out of it. Call it brotherly love.”

“Even though she hasn’t asked for your help?”

Eric nodded. “Damned right.”

“Hmm,” Jep said, giving his rocker a push. “What about Celeste?”

The mention of his ex-fiancée made Eric’s heart take a nosedive. He pretended that it didn’t bother him. “What about her?”

Jep didn’t say anything, only stared, curiously studied Eric as though seeing something no one else could see. Those bushy white brows were pulled into a frown, and he just sat there, rocking. Staring.

“I know that girl broke your heart,” his grandfather finally said. “And not so long ago, either.”

“Jep, I—” Eric began.

“Ah,” Jep interrupted, holding up a weathered hand. “I’m not tryin’ to drag up old wounds, boy. I’m just sayin’, watch it with Reagan. She’s not the one to get over Celeste with. You know, what do you kids call it these days?”

Eric stared hard at his grandfather. That’s what he thought he was doing? Putting the moves on Reagan as the rebound? Hell yeah, Celeste had stomped on his heart. Ripped it out and twisted it. Dramatic? Yup. But that’s what it had felt like. He’d asked the girl to marry him, for Christ’s sake. She’d said yes. Then the moment he’d announced he had been given transfer orders to Cassabaw, Celeste had broken the engagement. Just like that. But he wasn’t rebounding. Hell no. “Yeah, Jep,” he said, and rose. “Rebound. Copy that.”