The Secret Sin by Darlene Gardner

turning. “I’ve told you a couple of times now, I’m fine.”
    “Then I’ll check your mountain bikes.”
    He was suddenly beside her. It had always surprised her that she didn’t need to look up far to meet his eyes. She guessed he was five-eleven, tops, but he’d been such an overwhelming figure in her life that he’d always seemed much taller.
    “For loose pedals,” he added.
    The suggestion was an excellent one, considering she’d be liable if a customer had a mishap. They called in a technician to service the bikes regularly to prevent exactly that.
    “I’ll get Jason to do it,” she said.
    “I worked in a bike shop one summer. I can help him.”
    “You don’t have—”
    “I want to,” he interrupted.
    She stared at him, at a loss as to what to say to gethim to leave. Lindsey was probably awake by now; she could appear at any minute. Common sense dictated that the less time Ryan spent around the girl, the less chance he’d have to figure out their connection.
    “I’ll get started on the bikes while you clean up.” He strode toward the rack of mountain bikes available for rental, as though she’d already given him permission.
    Cursing herself for not speaking up more forcefully against his help, Annie started for the house. Lindsey was sitting on the sofa in front of the television, her legs tucked under her, a spoon poised above a small container of peach yogurt. She glanced at Annie, then did a double take. “Oh, my gosh! What happened?”
    “I fell off a bike,” Annie said.
    Lindsey put down her breakfast and unfolded her legs, scooting forward on the sofa. “Need any help?”
    It made Annie feel marginally better that Lindsey offered.
    “I got it.” Annie walked past her into the kitchen and tore a few sheets from a roll of paper towels. She wet them and mopped up the blood and the dirt the best she could, wincing as she did so.
    “That looks like it hurts.” Lindsey had followed her into the kitchen, yogurt in hand. She wore a gray-and-pink-striped tank top that ended just above the low, elasticized waistband of her very short gray shorts. “How’d you fall anyway?”
    “One of the pedals on my bike came off.” Annie reached into the cabinet where her father kept bandages and ointments and withdrew some supplies.
    “Don’t you rent those things out?”
    “Yes.”
    Lindsey made a face. “I’d be afraid to ride one.”
    The girl’s train of thought, Annie noted, was distressingly similar to Ryan’s.
    “We’re checking the other bikes to make sure it doesn’t happen again,” Annie said.
    “Who’s we?”
    Annie hesitated, reluctant to tell her Ryan was on the premises. “A teenage boy works for me.”
    Lindsey ate a spoonful of her yogurt, then dropped the container in the kitchen wastebasket. “You sure you don’t need any help?”
    She not only thought like Ryan, she sounded like him.
    “I’m sure.” Annie smoothed a gob of salve over the brush burn on her thigh, then tore open a package containing an oversized bandage. She concentrated on centering it over the scrape.
    “See you later,” Lindsey called.
    Annie’s head jerked up in time to see the teen headed for the door on long, bare legs, her flip-flops smacking against the heels of her feet. “Wait! Where are you going?”
    “To see if I can help with the bikes,” Lindsey tossed the words over her shoulder without breaking stride.
    “Wait!” Annie called again, but it was too late. Lindsey was gone.
    Annie made short work of dressing the rest of her wounds and charged for the door, only to look down at herself and discover her shorts were ripped and her T-shirt streaked with dirt.
    She dashed for her bedroom, pulling the T-shirt over her head as she went, and yanked another shirt and pair of shorts out of her dresser drawers. Moments later, she was rushing out of the house, her sore arms and legs aching.
    Laughter carried through the clear summer air, a girlish giggle mingling with the deep vibrations