“The Girl Most Likely To...”

Excerpt from “The Girl Most Likely To ...” © Susan Donovan, 2009

Four shirtless construction workers posed on the roof like suspects in a police lineup. But because of the direction of the afternoon sun – and the fuzziness of her twenty-year-old memory – Kat couldn’t tell which was the father of her child and the only man she’d ever loved.

She squinted, raising a hand to block the glare. Him? No. The man on the far left was too short and stocky. Even at sixteen, Riley Bohland had been over six feet tall. That one? No. Riley’s hair had been curly and dark and his shoulders much broader, even as a kid. How about that one?

The recognition hit her with a thud, pinning her feet to the wet West Virginia clay. Her breath went shallow. She broke out in goose bumps from head to toe.

“Is he up there?” Nola’s whisper was squeaky with excitement, and she gripped Kat’s upper arm so hard it hurt. “One of them is staring at you! Is that Riley? Is that him? Holy shit, this is going to be pure, Grade-A drama!”

As the man in question cocked his head and frowned down at them, a hammer hanging useless in his hand, Kat nodded her silent reply. Oh yeah, that was Riley Bohland all right – the bastard – all grown up, filled out, and still walking around advertising the fact that God had Supersized his order of good looks, and it really pissed her off.

Nola put her lips to Kat’s ear. “You said he was cute, but, seriously hon, you could have gone into a little more detail.”

Kat’s homegrown heart pounded under her Parisian bra as she stared at him. This wasn’t going to be as easy as she’d imagined. Why couldn’t Riley have gone flabby over the years like a normal guy? Not that physical appearance was the measure of a man, but why did he have to be so well preserved? He was still long and lean without an extra inch anywhere. His arms were corded with ropes of muscle. A pair of beat-up jeans hung low on his spare hips.

The instant he dropped the hammer and started down the ladder, Kat’s whole world shifted. Suddenly, her righteous return felt all wrong. The glamorous Fifth Avenue makeover that thrilled her yesterday seemed embarrassingly over-the-top up here in the Monongahela Mountains. The three-inch stiletto boots that looked so sexy on the city sidewalk were sinking into the muck.

“I think I might black out,” Kat mumbled.

“Man up, sister.” Nola said. “This is the moment you’ve been waiting for. Do what you came here to do.”

Riley’s work boots left the last rung of the ladder and hit the mud with a splat. He turned. He took graceful, confident strides in Kat’s direction. One step. Two. Spine straight. Chest rock-solid. Long arms relaxed.

Lips curled in a sneer.

“I’ll be in the car.” Nola ran away faster than a scalded dog.

Three steps. Four. Five.

Kat fluffed her razor-precise hairstyle with her perfectly manicured fingers. This was it. Riley’s face came into focus. She could see those impossibly blue eyes blaze with an intensity that made her stomach flip. She’d practiced this a million times. She could do it. Sweet revenge was within arm’s reach. Kat took a deep breath, steadied herself, and prepared to drop the bomb on the man whose selfishness had forever determined the course of her life.

Without warning, a big, black SUV drove right in front of Kat, splattering mud from her bangs to her Blahniks. She let out a yelp of shock, which was accented by muffled obscenities from inside the car.

As she tried to wipe some of the glop from her eyes, her brain seized with panic. Her makeup! Her hair! Her clothes! This could not be happening.

Riley walked right up to her. He moved so close that she could smell him – a potent mixture of memories, sweat, and rage.

“Where the hell have you been?”

“Uh, Baltimore.” Kat let go with a nervous laugh, still wiping her eyes. She told herself that she must be having the mother of all bad dreams. She’d be waking up any minute.

Riley leaned closer. Even through her gunked-up eyelashes, she could see every day of 37 years of life on that chiseled face. She watched his nostrils flare. If this was a dream, it was a very detail-oriented one.

Riley bent down so that his nose nearly touched her own. From behind straight, white, clenched teeth he asked, “What in the name of God have you done with my son?”