The Summer He Came Home (8 page)

Tuesday morning in Crystal Lake found the sun shining bright, and even though it was just past nine it the morning, the thermometer was creeping into the midseventies. Flowers were in bloom and the lake glistened as if precious gems floated on its surface.

Cain drove along Crystal Lake Road and headed toward town. His windows were down, and the fresh air, heavy with the scent of late spring, lifted his spirits as he navigated the two-mile stretch.

The lake was on his left, and the winding road was bordered on each side by colorful bands of black-eyed Susans and white daisies. In the distance, pine forests blanketed the entire area, painting the landscape a vibrant green.

It was a beautiful, picturesque kind of place and one he hadn’t fully appreciated growing up. Such is the ignorance of youth.

The town had come into existence because of the flourishing lumber industry back in the 1800s. Crystal Lake was but one of many lakes and waterways that connected to the powerful Muskegon River. The Edwards family had garnered most of their wealth when the twins’ ancestor Thomas Edwards, a lumberjack from the wilds of Canada, had arrived in the area with ten dollars in his pocket and a burning ambition to make a life for himself.

His hard work and keen mind had enabled him to push forward, and the Edwards Lumber Company had been born off the sweat of his brow and the blind determination in his heart. During its heyday, the lumber company had made him and a select group of individuals who’d laid down roots in Crystal Lake millions.

Those roots had taken hold with a tenacity that survived the downturn in the lumber business, and now, more than a hundred years later, the town was still home to the descendants of many of the first-wave inhabitants.

It wasn’t a large town by any means, boasting a population of only four thousand souls when Cain had lived there ten years earlier. As he drove into town he noted they’d gained another thousand over the last decade—at least according to the sign on the side of the road near the old mill: Crystal Lake, Home of the Lumberjacks. Population 5,120.

He grinned as he passed the sign. Hoo-yah. Football was still king. He was glad to see that not much had changed and that those things that had changed were for the better.

He took his foot off the gas and eyed the old mill as the SUV rolled by. It was now a fancy gift shop with an adjacent pub-style restaurant. A patio filled with patrons jutted out into the water. Crystal Lake sported a tributary waterway that ran through town and dumped into the large body of water the town was named after.

Cain’s gaze drifted overhead to the iron railway, and a vivid image of himself and the boys jumping off of it, just shy of the dam, brought another wistful smile to his face. It had been dangerous—stupid—but Christ, the high was one he’d never forget.

Large, stately homes from another era with huge oak trees guarding them welcomed him back, and he marveled at the feeling of déjà vu as he turned down Front Street. It was short and ended at the water. Two young boys pounding the pavement furiously, with their skateboards and fishing poles tucked to their backs, rushed down the sidewalk to his left, swerving at the last minute as a couple of girls screeched in their direction.

They didn’t break stride. They were on a mission—Michigan boys in search of water and fish.

He pulled into Lawrence’s Tackle & Bait and cut the engine. The place was the last one on the street, a smallish brick building that had stood for nearly one hundred and fifty years. At one time it had been the post office, but when the downtown business district had sprung up across the bridge in the thirties, it had been taken over by the Lawrence family. It was
the
place to get bait and tackle, and over the years the family had added a variety of items to their inventory—everything from screwdrivers to shotguns.

Cain slid from his truck and grinned like a kid. Damn, but it felt good to be back.

He strode inside and took a few seconds to adjust his eyes to the dark interior. The smell of sandalwood oil, wood, bait, and fish greeted his nostrils. It was a sharp blend that hadn’t changed a bit.

“Well, shit, Cain. You back already? Don’t tell me you used up that bait you got on Sunday.” Daniel Lawrence—a.k.a. Old Man Lawrence—moved from behind the counter. He’d been old for as long as Cain could remember, and though his gait was a bit slower than a decade earlier, he was still spry for a man in his mideighties.

Cain shook Mr. Lawrence’s hand and nodded. “Yeah, and we didn’t catch squat.” Cain moved to the display of lures. “I think I need to invest in some new tackle.”

Mr. Lawrence guffawed. “You lose your touch, Hollywood?”

Cain grinned. He hadn’t been called that in years. “Naw, I think the fish have gotten smarter, is all.”

The old man’s faded eyes softened, his once-tall body slightly bent as he shuffled closer. “It’s good to have you back, son. You been gone too long. This town takes care of its own, and eventually most who leave find their way back.”

Cain glanced toward the colorful fishing lures, more than a little unnerved at the intensity behind those faded eyes.

“You take your time there. I’ll grab you some bait.”

Cain watched him shuffle down the narrow aisle and then proceeded to pick out several lures, including some new ones for Michael. He grinned as he thought of the boy. They’d had shit luck Sunday afternoon and had caught a few sunfish, which they’d thrown back in the water. Cain wasn’t so sure if it was because the fish weren’t biting or if he was just too distracted by thoughts of the boy’s mother to concentrate on fishing.

He’d promised to take Michael out again tomorrow and wanted to make sure they were outfitted properly. The gear Cain had left behind at the boathouse—his tackle from years ago—was sad, and it was time for new.

“Here you go.” Old Man Lawrence tossed a large container onto the counter and nodded at the lures in Cain’s hands. “Good choice.” His brow creased. “Why so many?”

Cain placed the tackle on the counter. “I’m taking a friend’s son out for the day tomorrow.”

“Uh-huh.” The elderly gentleman pushed round glasses up his nose and quickly packed the lures into a paper bag. “The O’Rourke woman’s boy.”

Cain wasn’t surprised. Gossip and innuendo traveled faster than a speeding bullet in this town. That was something that was never going to change. “Yes, Maggie’s son, Michael.”

“She keeps to herself but makes it out to church service once in a blue moon. I guess she can’t be all that bad.” Mr. Lawrence peeked over his specs, his watery blue eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “A woman alone is a dangerous thing, especially one as pretty as that O’Rourke lady.” The old man nodded, his expression serious. “Plus, she’s got that dark red hair, and that can’t be good.”

Cain tried his best to keep the smile from his face. “How so?” He handed over some cash and waited while Mr. Lawrence’s gnarled fingers navigated a cash register that was older than Cain.

“Well, son…” Cain held out his hand to accept the change that was placed into his waiting fingers. “She’s either hiding something, or that red hair has made her unmanageable.”

“Unmanageable?” What the hell was Maggie? A horse?

“This is the truth. Don’t you know what they say about redheads?”

Cain was almost afraid to ask.

Old Man Lawrence lowered his voice. “They’ve got the fire of a witch inside them and can be one of two things.”

Cain grabbed his bait. He couldn’t wait to hear what his choices were.

“She can be the greatest pleasure you’ll ever encounter, or…”

Cain struggled to hide a grin.

“She’ll be the death of you…bad luck.”

“Bullshit.” He shivered as the damp air of the store rolled over his shoulders, and opened his mouth but closed it again.

The elderly gentlemen looked so serious that for a moment Cain didn’t know quite what to say. All of a sudden Mr. Lawrence’s face crinkled and he guffawed loudly, slapping his hand onto the counter as laughter rolled out of his mouth.

“I’m just teasing, son, though no one really knows much about this Maggie. She could be a serial killer for all we know…like a black widow.”

The man had been watching way too many thrillers. Cain shook his head and smiled. “Take it easy, Mr. Lawrence, and give my best to your wife.”

“I will. And Cain?”

“Yeah?” He paused in the doorway.

“Sure is good to have you boys back here.”

He nodded but said nothing as he cleared his throat. He had a feeling he needed this town more than they needed him, but that was a secret he’d keep to himself.

Cain slid into this truck.

In the meantime, he planned on getting to know Maggie O’Rourke a whole lot better than anyone else in Crystal Lake. He slipped the SUV into gear and cranked the tunes, grinning as “Summer Nights,” an old Van Halen song, erupted into the quiet.

Hell, yeah.

“Summer nights and my radio…”

And a girl with dark red hair.

“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?