Vivian Arend - Turn It On

“Dress casual, bring your appetite.” His gaze flashed to her feet. “Wear runners.”

Runners?

He stepped closer and lifted a hand to stroke her cheek. Her throat choked tight, whether with unrequited desire or plain old-fashioned embarrassment she wasn’t sure. He winked and backed away. “See you tonight.”

She watched in a daze as he walked the length of the wide veranda, disappearing from sight around the corner before she released the breath she hadn’t realized she held. Holy Hannah, they were potentially explosive together. She lifted a hand to her lips, still able to feel his mouth on hers, her skin tender from his touch, his caresses. Her whole body hummed, yet other than her mouth and neck he had barely laid a finger on her.

She wandered back into the house and distractedly packaged up the garbage with the sticky glass in it. She’d held the damn shelf up for half of forever before Ryan had arrived. There was no way she would let the last batch of preserves her Gramma made be destroyed. Saving the jelly had been the goal but the prize was better than anything she’d ever expected.

She laughed out loud. “Thank you, Gramma!”

He’d driven like a madman, but it was already five minutes after the hour before Ryan flew into the nursing home and past the security desk, one of the nurses jumping up to get the door for him.

“Sorry, ladies.”

He didn’t stop to explain. The quicker he arrived the better, at this point. He slid into Carl’s bedroom and dropped into his usual chair. One of the male nurses was in the room, and he rose from Carl’s side. He shook his head at Ryan and then slipped out, leaving them alone.

“Four hundred sixty-nine.” Carl sucked in a ragged breath and rubbed his arms. He stared blankly at the opposite wall and rocked his wheelchair. Small repetitive movements jerked his head and torso. “Four hundred seventy-four. Four hundred seventy-five. Four hundred—”

“I’m here, Carl, I’m here. I’m sorry I was late. I came as soon as I could.” Ryan rose to lay a soothing hand on Carl’s arm as his brother continued to shake his chair with his agitated movements. “I’m going to read to you today, remember? You’ll have to sit still if you want me to read.”

There was no use in further explanations. He squatted quietly by Carl’s chair, resting a hand on his brother’s thigh until the youth’s breathing calmed. The frantic rubbing slowed and Carl tilted his head to the side. “Hello, Ryan. You are going to read to me today. You promised. You promised to come to see me.” He hiccupped unsteadily a few times and continued to stare at the wall. His anxious movements increased in pace again.

Ryan sighed. He hooked his foot around the nearby chair, dragged it closer and prepared to wait out the storm. Today it looked like it was going to be the long route to settle Carl down. There was no set pattern, although he had begun to recognize some of the triggers that set his brother off, plus the few responses that helped calm him.

The most difficult part of the whole situation for Ryan was Carl’s astonishing intelligence didn’t jibe with his childlike behavior. Instantaneous math calculations would be followed by temper tantrums. Photographic visual recall—especially of faces—that Ryan would have loved to have while on active duty, vanished when Carl grew upset.

He stared at the baby-smooth skin of Carl’s cheek. The mind of a child, mixed with the mind of a genius, in the body of a fifteen-year-old. Ryan sat quietly and hummed a favorite tune, soft and low. A light flickered in Carl’s eyes, and Ryan’s hopes rose. He gave Carl’s thigh a squeeze.

“Hey, buddy, how are you? You want me to read a story to you?” It was a chance in a thousand this would be one of the rare occasions the situation passed without hours of painful intervention.

“You said you would read to me. We can read together. Hello, Ryan, I’m your brother Carl.”

“You sure are.” Ryan sat back in his chair, the tension peeling away one layer at a time. A faint smile pulled at the corners of Carl’s mouth, the tears in his eyes already forgotten. Ryan grabbed a tissue and dried his brother’s face gently. “There you go. Now, why don’t you pick a book?”

Carl nodded, then wheeled himself away to peer at his bookshelf. A constant flow of words issued from his lips, barely audible. By the time Carl picked a story and Ryan read it to him, they were both back into the normal routine of a visit. Ryan read the familiar picture book out loud without having to concentrate, his gaze instead on his younger sibling.

He hadn’t even known he had a brother.

Now as he examined Carl surreptitiously, he spotted small resemblances between the youth and the hardhearted man who he remembered as his father, with his heavy fists and a wandering eye. Home to Ryan had been little more than a battleground. When his mom died, Ryan said goodbye to the constant fighting in a shot, not caring that he was barely old enough to legally leave home. He’d wanted nothing more to do with family. Blood might be thicker than water, but that only meant it was messier to clean up. The anger and frustration of those early years was a burning ache in his belly he’d ignored while building his military career.

Four years ago he’d received word of his father’s death. The news didn’t make his heart leap or bring any feelings of regret for missed opportunities. He’d felt like he’d buried the man years before. Only through his father’s will, Ryan discovered he had a half-brother. He’d contacted the number he was given and had a long chat with Carl’s mom, Vicky. She was happy to hear from him. And more than happy to tell him not to look them up, especially since he was uncertain how often he could come around.

“Carl’s not like other kids. He requires special care and attention. I’ve got everything in place he needs, and we’re doing all right. I don’t want you to come into his life unless you’re in it for good. It hurts him too much, he just doesn’t understand.”

Ryan breathed out slowly as Carl rolled off to do something intricate, detailed and totally incomprehensible at his desk. Now that he’d been with Carl for six months he understood far better what Vicky had meant. She’d been a good mom to Carl.

Caring. Giving.

Drunk drivers never hit the people who deserved it.

“Ryan. You got a minute?” Jon was back, the attendant from earlier. “Hey, he’s doing better than I expected. I was worried I’d have to give him a sedative if you didn’t show up.”

Ryan glanced at his brother. Carl was busy at his desk, seemingly unaware of Jon’s arrival. “I hate it when you use that shit on him. It might take a while, but you know he settles down if someone stays with him.”

Jon sat next to him. “We’ve got the info on his chart, but it’s not always possible to provide one on one with our staffing situations. I wanted to let you know Carl’s physiotherapist said he’s doing wonderfully. She hopes to have him up and out of the wheelchair by Christmas, maybe sooner.”

“That’s great news.”

Jon smiled. “Carl’s stubborn. In this case it’s working to his advantage because he’s improving in huge spurts. His muscles are strong enough, it’s the neurological pathways that are being retrained. Anyway, thought you should know.” He glanced at Carl, still fussing with whatever had caught his attention. “Funny how life changes in a moment, especially with him. Devastated one minute to happy and content the next.”

Crap, yeah. Wasn’t that just about the sum of the whole situation? Carl’s life had changed in an instant with the car accident that had taken his mom’s life. For Ryan? Six months ago he was Captain Claymore, a lifetime of service to his country mapped out in his future, his only family the men with whom he served. Now he was permanently relocated stateside, with a fledgling company and a youth who needed more of him than he knew how to provide.

Funny? That wasn’t exactly the word Ryan would have chosen to describe it.

The phone rang and Maxine raced to answer it. Pulling a sweater over her shoulders as she flew down the final steps to the living room, she snatched it up on the seventh ring only to hear the buzzing of the dial tone. “Damn. I need to get my answering machine set up soon.”

She turned away, adjusted her sleeves and buttoned up. It was warm enough that with the sweater she wouldn’t need to take a coat. She sat in her favorite chair to tighten her runners, bouncing up as the phone rang again.

“Hello?”

No dial tone, but also no answer.

“Hello? Who is this?” Stupid telemarketers with their dialing machines, you never knew if you were going to hang up on a real person or not.

A piercing screech wailed in her ear and she dropped the phone in surprise. The receiver bounced on the hardwood, the shrill sound loud even from a distance and Max swore. She grabbed it, hit the talk button and hung up on whatever had gone off on her.

People needed to rethink the whole fax-machine business.

A firm knock on the front door announced Ryan’s arrival. She peeked through the side window to double check before swinging the front door open. His dark eyes flashed at her, the grin she’d seen that afternoon lighting up his face. One hand remained hidden behind his back and she paused before greeting him. “Hi, Ryan. I’m ready to go when you are.” She tried to casually glance around him and he laughed.

“Curiosity killed the cat.”

Max stood and crossed her arms in front of her chest, pretending to be upset. “That’s not the story I heard. Someone killed the cat because it teased for too long.”

Ryan reached his free hand to her and led her out the door, waiting for her to lock it behind them. “Yeah, I heard that version too. Poor cat, either way.”

He wore an old pair of runners that looked comfortable and lived in. Faded blue jeans fit nice and snug around his thighs, cupping his butt like a glove. His white button-down shirt fought his biceps. Max tried not to drool as she linked her fingers around the elbow he offered to escort her to his car. At the door he stopped and faced her.

“Now you can have your surprise.” He handed her a set of envelopes, all tightly sealed. “You get to help plan the evening. I’ve arranged the locations, you pick the order we do things.” Max turned over the envelopes, looking for a clue of what they contained.

“What’s inside?” she asked. “Tickets? Coupons?”

“I’m not giving away any secrets. Pick one and let’s get started.”

She selected one from the pile, and he tucked the rest away, seating her before walking around to the driver’s side. Maxine took a deep breath and ordered herself to calm down. The chance to enjoy time with another adult who wasn’t family—especially one who made her tingle just being close to him—was going to be wonderful. The edge of arousal bubbling through her all afternoon had left her aching for his touch. His presence. This mischievous side was a treat she hadn’t expected.

The last date she’d been on with Mr. Wishy-Washy, she’d planned the whole thing, and then Jamie had arrived an hour late and messed it up. Max glanced at Ryan as he sat behind the wheel smiling at her.

“Are you going to open it?” he asked.

She slipped the card from inside and read out loud. “Chinatown.”

Ryan nodded and put the car in gear. “A wonderful choice. I knew you had exquisite taste.”

Max laughed at him and made herself comfortable. “I never realized you were this much of a goof. Chinese food for supper?”

“Appetizers only. I’ve planned a progressive dinner, and we’ll walk between courses.”

“Seriously, a progressive dinner? I haven’t done one of those since I was a teenager,” Maxine said.

He gasped. “What? It’s the best way to dine out. There’s no way I can chose one type of food. This way I get to indulge in all my favorites in one evening.”

Maxine stared out the window at the passing scenery, enjoying the cool evening air rushing past. “I didn’t picture you as the type who had trouble making decisions.”

Ryan didn’t respond immediately and she wondered if she’d offended him. “Thank you. I’m very good at making decisions when it comes to things like security systems, and personal safety.” His tone of voice lightened and he joked, “But picking a favorite food, that’s damn near impossible.”

He fell silent, and she watched the traffic go by outside and tried to relax. She snuck secretive glances at Ryan, admiring his rugged good looks, his firm control behind the wheel. The kisses they’d shared were scorchers, but they were still getting to know each other. He was very different from her ex—older, rougher—something wild and untamed showing in his eyes at times. The wildness made her heart race with desire, not fear. She’d dated before, only never with a man like Ryan, someone more mature and experienced. Jamie had been her first serious relationship, her first lover, although curiosity more than passion had encouraged that venture.