The Summer He Came Home

Chapter 9



“Mom, is he here yet?” Michael’s excited whisper penetrated Maggie’s early-morning fog. It was Wednesday morning, just after five a.m., and she stifled a yawn as she took a sip from her second cup of coffee.

“He said five fifteen, sweetie. I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”

She glanced out the window into the dark. Whispers of fog crept along the road, ribbons of smoke that shimmered from the streetlight down the way. Cain was taking Michael fishing as promised, and apparently the best time happened to be at this godforsaken hour.

She’d been surprised when Cain called Tuesday evening to remind her he’d be by at the crack of dawn to take Michael out on the lake. It was another shot for her son to try the whole fishing thing, since Sunday afternoon had been a bust—they’d caught nothing. Obviously the man had meant what he said. Maggie had secretly hoped he was just being polite.

She’d wanted to say no, but couldn’t come up with a reason good enough to do so. She wasn’t about to ruin what would be a memorable day for her son because Cain Black made her uncomfortable. That was her problem to deal with.

Besides, he’d be leaving Crystal Lake soon enough, and with his departure, the enigmatic complication that was Cain Black would be gone.

Twin beams of light cut through the dark, and Michael jumped up and down. “He’s here!”

Her son clutched his pole, and Maggie tugged the edges of her robe together, suddenly conscious of the fact she was still in her jammies. The plain cotton robe fell to just above her knee, and Lord knows it covered more than her bikini did, but still.

Her hair was piled loosely on top of her head. She tucked an errant strand behind her ear and shuffled nervously, her bare feet cold on the worn hardwood.

A soft knock at the door startled her, which was ridiculous, considering she knew he was out there. With a dry mouth, she carefully unlocked three heavy-duty dead bolts and was able to jump out of the way before Michael yanked it open.

Cain’s eyes found hers immediately, and that familiar feeling—the one she’d grown to resent—hit her in the belly. It twisted and electrified her insides in such a way that it was hard to breathe. Heat crept along her skin, cajoling goose bumps from her flesh as the early-morning air slithered across her bare legs.

“Morning, Maggie.” His voice was low, warm, and her name rolled off his lips in an easy drawl.

He was dressed in an old pair of jeans and a white T-shirt with the Rolling Stones logo emblazoned onto the front. It was as faded and worn as his jeans, which fit every inch of his long legs like a glove.

His jaw was shadowed with day old stubble and he smiled, a lazy lift to his mouth, as he ran his fingers through the mess of hair atop his head. The edges of his shirt lifted, exposing a large expanse of his toned lower belly, and of course her eyes went there. To that delicious male “cut” that only served to emphasize his hips and abs.

Did he practice that maneuver? Was there anywhere else to look?

She dragged her eyes away and cleared her throat. His warm brown eyes were hooded, and he looked like he’d rolled out of bed minutes earlier. His smile widened even more, and her lips tightened in reaction. Cain Black was working it, but she wasn’t in the mood to play.

“I’ve packed enough food for the both of you. Extra sandwiches, snacks, soda, and I tossed in a couple bottles of water.”

“Did you put in my Snickers bar?” Michael asked hopefully.

Maggie rumpled his curls, kissed the top of his head, and nodded.

Michael glanced up at Cain. “We only have one, but I’ll share, okay?”

Cain chuckled. “All right, but I warn you, Snickers are my favorite.”

“Me too! I’d eat them every day, ’cept Mom says too much sugar isn’t good for your teeth.”

Cain winked. “Well, your mom would be right.” He paused. “Is that your gear?”

Michael nodded and grabbed his small plastic tackle box and fishing pole.

“All right, buddy, we should head out.”

“Sweet!” Michael ran past Maggie and was out the door, not one look back or kiss good-bye. Nothing.

“Make sure you call Mommy on her cell if—”

He’d already disappeared inside Cain’s truck.

“—something happens,” she finished lamely.

“Don’t worry, he’ll be fine. Trust me. I grew up on this lake.”

Resentment flushed her body with a hot wave of heat as she met Cain’s gaze once more. His eyes were dark, intense, and she flinched when his hand reached for her, but she refused to move away.

Maybe she didn’t want to.

Cain paused, his eyes not wavering, and her tummy twirled crazily, as if hundreds of butterflies were having a party. Gently he pushed away the curtain of hair that had fallen from her ponytail, near her temple.

Her heart thrummed against her chest as his fingers grazed the bruise from her fall. His touch was soft, and an ache erupted inside as he caressed her there. It had been so long since anyone had touched her in that way. Years.

“Your stitches are looking good. I don’t think there’ll be a scar.” The timbre of his voice had changed, an added depth that coated his words in silk. She swallowed and nodded, unable to answer.

His eyes lowered and settled on her mouth. The air around them thickened—it must have—because all of a sudden she couldn’t breathe. She heard the catch in his breath as he exhaled and wondered if his heart was beating as fast and furious as her own.

Heat suffused her cheeks, but she couldn’t tear her eyes from his mouth.

“So, the deal is…”

“What?” She glanced up into his eyes. “Deal?”

Was that her voice? All whispery and Marilyn Monroeish?

He smiled again, a slow, devastating grin, and for the first time she noticed a tiny dimple near the corner of his mouth. His eyes glittered like liquid glass. “You got a grill?”

“You mean a barbecue?” she asked firmly. Good, Marilyn had left the building.

At his nod, she answered, “Yes.”

“Great. Your son and I will provide the fish for dinner, you look after the fixings.”

She opened her mouth, an automatic protest riding her tongue, but instead of making up some excuse, as she should have, Maggie found herself agreeing. “All right.”

Cain paused, and she thought that maybe he was surprised. “Okay.” He glanced toward his truck. “I should go.” He took a step back and shrugged, his even, white teeth a flash in the dark. “Michael’s waiting, but, uh, I’ll see you later.”

Maggie closed the door and leaned against it, her hand on her heart as she settled her nerves. She watched the beams of light from his truck creep across her walls as Cain reversed out of the driveway and headed toward the lake. She stared at Michael’s Chicago Blackhawks cap. It lay on the floor. She picked it up, fingered the logo, and held it close to her chest before heading toward his room.

She’d just agreed to dinner with Cain. What the hell was up with that? A smile touched her lips, and her steps were light as she headed toward Michael’s room. She wouldn’t think about it. Wouldn’t overanalyze what it meant, because it meant nothing.

It was just dinner, a special thank-you for taking Michael fishing.

Maggie disappeared into her son’s room. It was time to make beds and get ready for her day.

***

On Wednesdays Maggie only had one client, Mr. Jackson, an elderly widower who lived on her street. He was a sweet man, and she knew he looked forward to her visits not only because he needed his house cleaned, but because he was lonely. His only child, a son, lived in the city, well over two hours away, and he no longer drove beyond Crystal Lake’s town limits.

Mr. Jackson was a weekly client, so the house was kept up—an easy clean—but she still spent longer than necessary with him. He followed her around and chatted, and truth be told, Maggie enjoyed his company as much as he did hers. He regaled her with stories from his past, a time when he’d grown up on a large farm near the Canadian border. He was funny, witty, and a total charmer.

It was nearly one thirty when she finished, but Maggie still had time to run a few errands and be home before three o’clock. She’d decided a fresh garden salad would be perfect with whatever kind of fish the boys brought home for supper and at the last minute decided to make sweet potato pie—Michael’s favorite.

By the time the fresh vegetables were washed and prepped and dessert was cooling from the oven, it was nearly five thirty. Maggie glanced out the window. Did she chance a shower?

A quick sniff under her arms had her shuddering. Hell yes.

Maggie crossed to the door and stared at the dead bolts for a few seconds before peeking outside. Her neighbor Luke was on his front lawn, cell phone in his hand and his dog running madly around him. Sounds of children playing down the street could be heard. She hesitated. Bit her lip. Then quickly released all the dead bolts and unlocked the door. Michael had left without his key, and she didn’t want him waiting on the porch if they returned while she was in the shower.

Maggie slipped into her room, where she spent an extra five minutes trying to decide what to wear. In the end, she pulled a pair of black three-quarter-length capris and a moss-green tank top from her closet, tossed them onto the bed, and hopped into the shower.

It was the fastest shower she’d ever had. For one thing, she hated that the front door was unlocked, and for another, images of Cain bursting into her room and finding her alone in the shower kept flashing through her brain.

Of course that would never happen, but still, the thought was enough to get her butt out in record time.

She dressed, combed out her long hair, and searched the top of her dresser for some mascara. She seemed to remember a tube lying around. She found it, had trouble unscrewing it, and when she pulled out the wand, she made a face and tossed the entire thing into the garbage. It was like cement. It had been that long since she made any kind of effort with her appearance.

Whatever. She was being silly anyway. She wasn’t out to impress Cain Black.

Maggie busied herself in the kitchen, and it was approaching six thirty when she heard the sound of a motor in the driveway. She smoothed her hair, slowed her steps—didn’t want to appear too anxious—and opened the door. Cain stood at the foot of her porch, Michael’s wild curls nestled in the crook of his arm.

Her son looked like an angel—an exhausted one, for sure. His small chest rose and fell as he slumbered.

She moved aside and let them pass. Cain’s hair was nearly as wild as her son’s, and a smile tugged at her mouth as she closed the door behind them.

“He fell asleep on the boat,” Cain whispered softly. “He didn’t move at all on the ride home.”

“I think maybe we should just put him in his bed.” Maggie flicked the curl that fell against Michael’s forehead. His long lashes swept low against his cheek, and his breaths fell in long, deep exhales. She was pretty sure he’d be out for the night. “It’s this way.”

Maggie led the way toward Michael’s room and watched as Cain carefully laid her son on his bed. She couldn’t lie. It was bittersweet, watching the man treat her son like a treasure. It was something his father had never done.

Cain doffed Michael’s shoes and tossed them before grabbing the afghan that lay at the foot of the bed. He draped it across Michael’s small form and stood back, staring down at him for a few moments.

His cell phone went off at that moment and he cursed, tossing a sorry Maggie’s way before striding past her.

She closed the door to Michael’s room and followed Cain into her living room. His back was toward her and he was talking rapidly into the phone, though his words were muted and she had no clue whom he was talking to or what it was about.

He slipped the phone into his pocket and turned. His dark eyes were serious, his mouth set tightly, and Maggie got the feeling that his mood had just done a complete 360.

“Is everything all right?” she asked finally.

“It’s good.” Cain exhaled and rolled his shoulders. “Sorry we’re so late. We just kinda lost track of time.”

“Oh, don’t apologize. I’m sure Michael had a great day.” She shrugged. “Beats cleaning houses with Mom.”

Silence fell between them. She heard the ticking of the clock from the kitchen, the slow, steady beat of it getting louder and louder as Cain stared at her, his expression unreadable.

“I gotta…” he began, and he swore under his breath as he shook his head. “I gotta go, Maggie. I got this thing…to take care of, and I…”

“Oh.” She nodded quickly, swallowing a lump of disappointment as she moved to the door. “Of course, don’t worry about it. Michael’s out for the evening anyway, so…”

“I hope you didn’t go to any trouble.”

“No, not at all.” She shook her head and glanced away. “I didn’t really have time to do much.” She shrugged. “Don’t worry about it.”

He was there, inches from her, his crisp, male scent teasing her nostrils as he took another step closer. He hesitated, but she kept her gaze lowered and moved aside. “I’m tired myself, so…”

“We’ll do this again, okay?” His voice was gentle, cajoling, and for some reason that pissed her off.

She remained silent but nodded.

An awkward moment passed, and then Cain walked through the door and was down her front steps faster than a wino downing a bottle of booze.

He ran to his SUV and yanked the door open, grabbing for his cell again as he did so. He looked up as if it were an afterthought and crooked his head. “I’ll be in touch.” His phone was buzzing in loud, rapid bursts, and he hopped into the truck before she had time to answer.

Maggie closed the door, not sure what the hell had just happened. A shiver rolled over her arms and she wrapped them around her midsection, squeezing what bit of warmth she could before heading to the kitchen. She was suddenly cold, which was odd, considering the temperature was still in the high seventies.

The slow ticktock of the clock grated on her nerves. She glanced up at it and frowned. It was so…ominous. A sliver of sadness rippled through her, and she angrily shoved it aside. What was the point? And why did she care so much?

She sighed and crossed to the small table that had been set for three and stared down at the place settings. What an idiot. She’d even folded purple napkins into hats.

On the counter beside the dessert that had long cooled stood a bottle of white wine—an impulse purchase. She considered pouring herself a glass but carefully corked it instead and then cleared the dishes before tossing her now-limp salad into the trash.

Her appetite was long gone.

She turned out the light and stood in the early-evening shadows, lost in the silence that was her life.