Page 42 of Change of Plans

“Isn’t Kevlar what they make bulletproof vests out of?” June asked. Although her arms were crossed over her chest in that eternally defensive posture she seemed to have these days, she peered over her sisters’ heads with interest.

“Correct,” he said.

“Wait. Under that pretend foot, you’ve got another foot that’s…bulletproof?” Cecily asked, her eyes wide. At Ryker’s shrug and nod, she raised an arm in triumph. “See? I told you he’s like Superman!”

“What’s under this sock up there?” Addison poked at the gray, almost foamlike cover on Ryker’s left leg.

Bryce opened her mouth to intervene, but Ryker was already rolling down the tight-fitting sleeve from his thigh.

“My leg. I was hurt in Afghanistan by a bomb, and they had to operate.” Using his palms, he slid the gel-like inside sleeve over his knee, then down the three inches that remained of his shin below the knee. “This is the scar where the doctor took the hurt part of my leg.”

Bryce saw silvery-white scars decorating the flesh on the outside of his leg down to a few inches below the knee, where the limb ended just below a neat, smile-like scar that extended from one side of his calf to the other. The only other evidence of injury was a red, angry-looking spot on the front of his shin, a little below his knee, and indentations in his flesh where the prosthetic hugged his limb at the sides of his calf.

“Does it hurt?” June’s question echoed the one in Bryce’s head.

Ryker shrugged. “It hurt when it happened. Sometimes I can feel my old foot down there and it’ll itch, burn, or tickle, even though it’s gone. Like right now I feel like I’m wiggling my big toe—except it’s invisible. My phantom leg thinks it’s all still down there.”

“Like my wings.” Addison nodded. “When I take these off at night, I can still feel them fluttering on my back. I think I’m growing invisible wings, and maybe soon I can fly!”

“Don’t be a dope,” June scoffed, leaning against the nearby booth, her phone in her hand. “You can’t fly.”

“Once you put that on, can you come play with us?” Cecily asked, bored. “This is our last night with the ship, ’cause deliveries are coming tomorrow. Aunt Beamer says it’s gotta go in your truck to be recycled.”

Ryker nodded. “Give me two seconds, and we can play whatever you want.”

With fast, efficient movements, he’d slid the squishy, gel-like sleeve over his residual limb and knee, all the way to mid-thigh. Then, lining up the socket like you would to put on a pair of stiff pants, he slid the limb into the black, decorated shell. Bryce envisioned the metal pin on the end slipping into the socket, then the hole in the bottom.

Ryker pushed his leg down until it clicked a few times. Then he stood and gave one more, mighty shove with his left leg until the thing clicked twice more.

“Okay, all set. So, am I the mean pirate, then?” he asked, pushing down his jeans. The leg clicked one more time as he took a step, holding out his hand to Bryce. “How about if I’m the bad guy who took this lovely lass hostage, and you two pirates have to come in and save her?”

Cecily snorted. “No way. You aren’t the bad guy. You’re the good guy. Everyone knows that.”

Bryce felt Ryker’s hand tighten, and his expression morphed into one that could be best described as touched. Maybe verging on…overwhelmed?

“Heisthe good guy,” she said, leaning in to plant a loud, obnoxious kiss on his cheek. “Okay, who’s going to toss us into the ship’s brig?”

As the two little girls shepherded them to the cardboard contraption on the back loading dock, Bryce watched Ryker’s carefully guarded expression evaporate as he laughed along with the girls’ antics. The manwasthe good guy.

Yet as their eyes met, and his sultry wink made her stomach go all fluttery, Bryce realized this man was also a pirate. A tall, blond Viking-looking pirate who’d literally swept her off her feet in the baby aisle of the grocery store, and now—not a month later, and despite the wretched timing—was beginning to carve a way into her heart. The thought was simultaneously thrilling and terrifying.

Bryce was starting to realize that while she was a whiz in the kitchen…

She might have gotten the recipe for love all wrong.

Chapter 12

Hey, I know this is last minute,” Ryker said later that evening, loading the remains of the cardboard boat into the bed of his truck. As soon as he began speaking, he wanted to smack himself in the forehead for starting so lamely, but now he had to finish his sentence. “I was wondering if you’re busy tomorrow? I thought I might take you with me to Rochester, since the girls are at their grandparents’.”

“Are you asking me on a date?” She gave that saucy grin, one eyebrow raised.

“Yes. I mean, no. It’s also work. I have to deliver the Cougar to my client, and I thought you might want to ride up with me.” He rushed to continue, realizing this sounded like he was taking her on a lame date in his truck with a trailer hitched to it. “After we drop off the car, I thought we’d go to dinner. A buddy of mine got me reservations on a dinner cruise, and the chef on the boat is some hotshot—”

“Wait. You’re taking me with you to drop off the Eliminator? Absolutely I want to go, but can I drive it off the trailer? Please?”

He barked a laugh. She’d done it again—surprised him. He’d hoped she’d be lured by the thought of a meal by a hotshot chef, but she’d been sucked in for the chance to drive a muscle car.

God, if she wasn’t perfect in every way…

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