The Summer He Came Home

Chapter 27



The smell of sawdust filled the air along with the sound of hammers and saws—a handyman’s paradise.

Cain’s cell phone vibrated. Again. It had been going off intermittently, and he couldn’t ignore it anymore. He grabbed it from his pocket and stared at the LA exchange. It was Natasha, and from the looks of it, she’d called at least a dozen times over the past hour.

“What’s up?” Jake paused on his way by, arms full of lumber. It was early afternoon, Thursday, and they were in the middle of building a suitable stage for the festivities on Saturday. So far the job was going well, considering. The “too many hands in the pot” thing hadn’t become a detriment—yet.

“Nothing.”

Cain pointed toward Dax. The Brit had insisted on helping build the stage, and Cain wasn’t so sure it was a good idea. If he didn’t lose a finger it would be a miracle. “No, that’s plywood. Mac needs the lumber from the other pile for the frame.”

The Brit made a face, cursed a string of foul words before turning around, and dumped his load of plywood in favor of the heavier framing lumber. Cain’s cell phone rang once more. He swore, powered it down, and slipped it into the front pocket of his jeans.

Screw Natasha. He didn’t have time for her bullshit.

“Everything all right?”

He turned to Mac. “Right as rain.” He nodded to the skeleton of a stage. “So, we on schedule or what?” The plan was to get the staging built Thursday, and then Friday the production was to arrive. Sound check and all the final details had to be dealt with before Saturday.

Mac nodded. “Pretty sure we’ll get it done.” Mac’s eyes narrowed. “As long as your British peacock manages not to screw things up.”

Cain snorted. Peacock was about right. Dax’s choice of wardrobe was somewhat eccentric, to say the least. He’d arrived at the site wearing Union Jack pants—leather Union Jack pants, no less, in this heat—a silk dress shirt to match, and his infamous top hat. White cowboy boots finished the ensemble. Dax wasn’t exactly the type for manual labor. But his heart was in the right place.

Michael and Tommy ran by them, arms waving madly as they dragged a cooler in their wake, off to dole out some cold drinks to the workers. Maggie had let Cain take the boy for the day, and the two kids were having a blast.

“So, things with Maggie are good, I take it?”

Cain followed Mac to the staging area. He grabbed a hammer and adjusted the sack of nails that hung from his waist.

“Yeah, things are good.”

“So what are your plans?”

“Plans?”

“How long you sticking around?”

“We’ve got the cottage for the summer, Mac.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Cain chuckled and followed Mac to the stage. Most of the framing was in place; it wouldn’t take long to finish.

“I know what you meant, and I don’t know what I’m going to do.” He shrugged. “It depends.”

“On what?”

His answer was simple. “Maggie.”

“Shit.” Mackenzie grinned. “You’re so gone.”

Cain said nothing.

“You’re totally gone for her.”

Cain turned to the task at hand and nodded. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

The rest of the afternoon flew by, and it was nearly five when they called it a day. The stage wasn’t fancy but it was solid and, thanks to Mac, had been designed so that it could be broken up into sections, rolled away, and stored for future use.

Things were moving along, and Cain was in a great mood. They’d ordered pizza and wings—Cain’s treat, courtesy of his buddy at Jack’s Hut—enough to feed all the volunteers who’d stuck around to the end. Michael sat at his side happily stuffing pizza into his mouth. Tommy and his dad had left a few hours earlier. They were heading into the city to visit his grandfather, so it was just Cain and the boy.

He glanced down at Michael. He was fine with that. In fact, he was more than fine with that. The kid had managed to burrow into his heart in pretty much the same way his mother had.

He stood and stretched, worked out a kink in his neck. His muscles protested, but he liked the burn. He was in shape, but it felt good to get his hands dirty again. Nothing like an afternoon of hard physical labor to soothe the mind and work the body. It was good to get back to basics.

“Who’s that?”

Cain followed Jake’s line of vision, and his mood darkened. Instantly.

Son of a bitch.

A man lurked near the edge of the field, but it wasn’t the man who angered Cain as much as what he was carrying. A camera. A big honking camera. He glanced down at Michael. Christ, if he’d taken the kid’s picture…

“Michael, you stay here with Salvatore, okay?”

Had this been what Natasha meant? She’d called him several times the week before because she wanted to visit. The woman was insane. He’d finally told her that he’d met someone, that her pipe dream of hooking up with him again was ridiculous. She’d been livid and had threatened to ruin his summer.

He’d cut her off and hadn’t thought anything of it. The woman had blown steam throughout most of their marriage, and it had never meant anything. But the paparazzi? They had no interest in him per se, and the only reason they’d be here was if Natasha had pointed them in this direction.

He’d f*cking kill her.

“You need help dealing with this a*shole?” Jake clenched his hands and stood.

“I’m good.”

Cain strode toward the interloper, his features blank, though inside his anger roiled. He was pissed and really didn’t have time for this shit.

The paparazzo fiddled with his equipment and, from what Cain could tell, was most likely packing up for the day, which meant he’d gotten what he came for. Cain’s anger spiked. Children were hands-off, and if this guy had crossed that line, he was going to be one sorry son of a bitch.

As he got closer, Cain frowned. He recognized the slimy bastard. Dirk was his name. He was the a*shole who’d sold pictures of him and Natasha on their honeymoon. The man was a weasel with no moral integrity at all.

He was nearly upon him when Dirk turned, his pinched features tightening into what was supposed to be a smile, but Cain took it for what it was. A big f*ck you.

“Give me the camera.” Cain wasn’t playing around.

Dirk’s long hair hung in dreads halfway down his back. His caramel skin was as fake as the hair he’d paid huge money for. His skinny arms hung like pencils at his side, the camera held loosely in his long fingers. He was such an arrogant little prick.

Cain’s hands fisted and he squared his shoulders.

“Dude, it’s a free country. I’m just out taking shots of”—he sneered—“the scenery. No biggie.”

“Give me the camera, now.” He spit the words out.

Dirk took a step back, and the pencil-necked douche’s eyes narrowed as he glanced behind Cain. “Cute kid. Secret love child?”

Cain’s temper exploded, and he lunged forward. Dirk was surprised. In all their previous encounters, Cain had never reacted this way.

But then, he’d never had a child to protect.

His hand closed around the camera, and he yanked it easily from Dirk’s fingers. Dirk tried to twist away, but he was no match for Cain. Cain’s fingers dug in, and he had him by his shirt.

“Hey, you can’t…”

“I can and I will.” Cain was inches from his face. There was no mistaking the level of anger that he felt. “I suggest you get your ass out of town and don’t come back.”

“What’s going on here?” Jake asked, his voice light. Deceptively so. The soldier’s muscles bulged as he flexed his arms. “We got a problem, Cain?”

A squeak escaped Dirk’s lips as Cain applied a touch more pressure, and a flash of satisfaction rushed through Cain. “I think we’re good.” He pushed the paparazzo away and studied the camera in his hands. After retrieving the memory card, he asked, “Does this have an internal hard drive?”

Dirk shrugged, his thin face screwed up something fierce as a wave of red colored his sunken cheeks.

“You know what? Doesn’t matter. I’m taking this.”

“You can’t—”

“Don’t push me. That kid’s face is not going to be plastered all over some trashy mag because you think you have the right to take his picture.” Cain leaned forward, and Dirk stumbled backward.

Smart man.

“Call Natasha. I’m sure she’ll be more than happy to replace your equipment.” There was no surprise, and Cain knew he was right to surmise Natasha’s involvement. Hell, she’d probably sold them out on their damn honeymoon for the publicity alone.

Dirk glared at him and opened his mouth, but Jake interrupted. “If you were smart, you’d be gone already.”

Dirk’s gaze dropped to the camera Cain held, and it took everything inside of Cain to refrain from smashing the damn thing in his slimy, sweat-slicked face.

“Are you deaf and dumb?” Jake frowned and took a step forward.

Dirk searched through the front pockets of his jeans for a set of keys, a smile Cain didn’t much care for on his face as he jangled them between his fingers. “Doesn’t matter anyway, the cat’s out of the bag.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

Dirk was surprised. It was obvious. He laughed and then stopped abruptly. “You don’t know? You haven’t seen the pictures?”

Cain’s heart sank.

“Shit, they broke this morning and are all over the Net. Hollywood Scene published them.” Dirk’s face screwed and he sneered. “I’ve been here for longer than a week. You do the math.”

Son of a bitch. “Get out of here.”

Dirk heard the warning in Cain’s voice. This time he was smart. He turned and muttered, “Whatever,” and then disappeared into a gray van parked along the street.

Cain grabbed his cell. He moved a few feet away and, as the signal gained strength, was able to bring up his browser. He Googled Hollywood Scene and frowned. They were notorious for their exposés. Treated celebrities like dirty laundry and regularly hung them out to dry with their pants down for the entire world to see. He didn’t know why they’d be interested in him, but was sure the angle centered around Natasha.

When the site came up, his gut churned at the headline.

“Natasha Simmons’s Ex-husband and Mystery Woman Get Hot and Heavy.”

“Shit, this is not good.” He shook his head, afraid to click on the link that would enable him to see the images.

Maggie was going to freak.

He glanced back to Michael and hit the link, his eyes not leaving the boy as it loaded onto his device. His world was about to crash and burn. He felt it, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do. As he scrolled through the pictures his gut churned and his face went white. When he’d seen every single one of them, his body thrummed with anger. He was flush with it.

He’d love to put his hands around Natasha Simmons’s throat and—

“You all right?” Jake stood a few feet away.

What the hell was Maggie going to say when she saw the photos? She’d be pissed for sure. Cain shook his head. “No. I’m not.”

A crow cawed in the distance, its eerie screech somehow an omen.

He turned to Jake. “Can you take Michael back to the cottage and give Dax a ride too? I have to talk to Maggie before she sees these, if she hasn’t already. I have a feeling it’s going to get ugly.”

Jake nodded. “Sure. Call me later and, uh, good luck.”

“Thanks.” He stared down at the camera in his hand. He sure as hell was going to need it.