Actually, it wasn't wise to think about getting n**ed with her at any time, because his self control was dwindling fast the longer he spent with her. But he'd figured out quickly in Reis's office that he wasn't fooling anyone, especially himself, by staying away. Best to convince her they could resurrect the light friendship they'd once had.
While keeping his flight suit zipped this time.
Nikki's brother Chris shuffled up beside them, his eyes locked on his mother's weary face, concern stamping a maturity beyond his years on his college-aged features. The kid had been bending over backward to help out around the house since his own brush with the law his junior year in high school. His part-time job at a restaurant then had almost turned deadly when the boy's boss had tried to use Chris as cash mule for drug money.
Damn, hadn't the Price family been through enough?
"Hey, Mom?" Chris cupped her elbow. "How about we go inside and I'll dig up some of that chocolate peanut butter and marshmallow ice cream you've been craving?"
Rena straightened from the car, her gaze shifting from Carson to her daughter and back again with too much perception for his comfort level. Rena tucked her hand in the crook of her lanky son's elbow. "That sounds wonderful, Chris. Then Scorch can finish, uh, checking on Nikki."
Nikki shifted from foot to foot, fidgeting in a way he recognized as her need to run. He completely sympathized, which steeled his resolve to make this right between them.
Carson tapped the earphones dangling around her neck, soft strains of something filtering through but unidentifiable. "What's playing?"
A smile teased at her full lips, no gloss needed. She had a shine all her own. "Want to guess?"
"Lady, I couldn't figure you out if I had a million guesses."
"Thanks, I think." She reached down to the CD player clipped to her Lycra running pants and turned off the music. "My secret shame—I'm a big band, WWII music addict. Ragtime, too. Anything over sixty years old, and I'm there."
"God, you're full of surprises." How odd to realize he didn't know her any better than she knew him. He thought he'd been the one with all the secrets.
"That's me, unpredictable as ever, although I have to confess that these days I'm in the mood for a boring life."
The past few days had to have been scary as hell for her. Carson cupped her elbow, which seemed surprisingly frail even through the thick cotton of her pullover and a body he knew to be toned from running, workouts and even her membership on a local rec-league soccer team. Thank heaven for those honed quick reflexes. Still, she had to be sore, bruised maybe.
He searched for signs of scrapes but found nothing visible. "Are you okay? You look tired."
She scrunched her elegant nose. "Thanks."
"Are you feeling any aftereffects from the fall? You didn't actually go into work today, did you?"
"I wish. But no work for me today. The principal thinks it's best I take a couple of weeks off."
"What the f—" He stopped short, biting back the word along with his anger at the injustice before shoving it all aside to focus on her. "I'm so damn sorry."
"Me, too. The principal was hanging tough until word leaked that DNA tests of the skin under Gary's fingernails matched mine, which of course still doesn't mean a thing since I was obviously there with him."
His jaw flexed with tension or—more unsettling—jealousy? "Having your life on hold must be hell."
"They're paying me, so I shouldn't complain, but my students..." She shook her head, ponytail swishing from the back of her Atlanta Braves ball cap. "I wanted to be there with them when they present at the regional history fair."
"The sarcophagus."
"At least we got to finish the display and the reports before my surprise vacation." She nodded toward the open garage door full of gardening supplies. "I'm keeping busy around here in the meantime. I figure I can sabotage most of Mom's gorgeous landscaping by the end of the week."
The perfect excuse to hang around here longer and launch his plan to resurrect their unlikely friendship.
"Want some help? For your dad, of course." He winked.
Snorting, she rolled her eyes. "You're picking on me, aren't you?"
"More than a little."
"I think I lost my sense of humor along with a few hours of my life." She scooped a second sweatshirt off the hood of her truck and tugged it over her head on her way to the garage. She could pull on five layers and his mind's eye would see the beauty underneath, his hands itching to tunnel inside for a second sampling.
"About my dad—" she sidestepped a table saw on her way to the wheelbarrow "—I had to tell him what's going on before the news filtered over there."