Those Cassabaw Days (5 page)

Owen Malone walked into the living room. Tall and still handsome, he’d retained his Coast Guard physique through the years. And although in his sixties, he still had quite a lot of chestnut hair, sprinkled with silver, and kept it cut short. He draped an arm over her shoulders.

“So what are you kids talking about?”

Emily’s gaze shot to Matt’s, and her eyes widened. She cleared her throat. “Just...old times,” she said, trying not to laugh.

Owen gave her a gentle squeeze. “I’m glad you’re home, Emily,” he said. “And you’re welcome over here anytime.”

Emily liked his sincerity. Owen Malone was indeed a gentle soul. “Thanks, Mr. Malone.” She cocked her head. “I really like your skin.” She looked up at him and smiled wide. “Reminds me of a perfectly aged copper penny.”

Owen laughed. “Is that so?”

She nodded. “It is.”

“Do you always do that?”

Her eyes moved directly to Matt’s—he was intently watched the interaction. For a split second, his face softened.

She knew exactly what he was talking about. “Yes, I do. I like to find something right off the bat appealing about a person and let them know what it is.” She shrugged. “I find it a rather useful bonding agent. Plus, it lets people know I pay attention to them.”

Nathan laughed, and Owen gave her a gentle hug. “I think it’s a fine quality, Emily.”

“Thank you.” She looked at Matt. Just as she could see sadness in Nathan’s eyes, there was something altogether different in Matt’s. Almost feral. Yet she also felt like he saw completely inside of her.

“Let’s head to the kitchen, then,” Owen said, and tugged on Emily’s shoulders. “Eric will be home any minute with supper.”

Emily allowed Owen to lead her through the foyer and into the wide-open kitchen, where Jep stood in front of an enormous white enamel stove, stirring something in a big white enamel pot. Still wearing those baby blue coveralls, he now donned a red apron. Jep had to be all of eighty years young, and although his hair was now silver throughout, he had plenty of it.

“I like your hair, Jep,” she announced. “The way it flips up by your neck and over your ears. Reminds me of the feathers of a snowy owl.”

Jep stared at her from the stove. “An owl, you say?”

She grinned and nodded. Nathan again laughed.

“Well, I suppose that’s all right. You like potatoes, missy?” Jep called loudly from the stove. He glanced over his shoulder at Emily. She liked the way his eyes crinkled at the corners. “Round here we eat lots of potatoes. Good solid Irish fare.”

Emily patted her stomach. “Yes, sir. I love them.”

“Would go really nice with pie,” Jep added.

Emily laughed, and just as Owen was leading her toward a set of French doors that led out onto a massive veranda overlooking the marsh, another male voice stopped them in their tracks.

“Holy God, in no way is that little Emily Quinn!”

Emily whirled around and saw Matt’s younger brother, Eric, smiling wide. Holding a brown paper bag in one arm and a plastic bag filled with two-liter sodas in the other, he set them both on the counter and headed straight for her.

“Excuse me, Owen,” Eric teased, moving in front of his dad and throwing his arms around Emily in a tight hug. He pulled back and looked down at her, grinning. “You used to be all knees and elbows!”

Emily laughed, holding him away and inspecting the youngest Malone.

“Yeah, and you used to be missing your two front teeth.” She studied him closely, peering at his mouth. “I really like your teeth now. Reminds me of really white pearls. Only square. Maybe more like Chiclets.” Against his tanned skin Eric’s teeth did look like pearls.

Eric burst out laughing. “Well, thank you! I think!”

“And we used to beat the crap out of you,” Matt said, suddenly beside her.

“Not true, bro,” Eric argued. He wore a white USCG hat, a navy blue short-sleeved shirt with a USCG patch and
Station 34
embroidered onto the chest and navy trousers. Handsome as all get-out, just like all of the other Malones. “
You
used to beat the crap out of me. Emily here would smack you on the head and tell you to stop.”

“Uh-huh.”

A hand moved to Emily’s lower back and before she knew it, Matt was guiding her away from Eric and through the French doors and out onto the veranda.

“Sit here,” he said, pulling out a chair. Emily sat. Matt’s eyes locked onto hers. “Enjoy being a guest, since this is your first day home and all. The next time, Jep will probably put you to work.”

“I think he already has,” she admitted. “He’s put in an order for pies.”

A half smile crossed Matt’s face, and he shook his head. “He’s got zero filter. You two will get along great. His hearing is going fast, so he’s not yelling at you. He just talks loud.”

Matt disappeared through the French doors, and Emily breathed, took everything in. It was a lot. It wasn’t enough. It was...fabulously perfect.

Looking out over the rising tide of the Back River over Morgan’s Creek, she drew in the air. Salty and delicious. Had she been back only a few hours? How she wished Reagan was here, too.

Before long, the Malone men shuffled from the kitchen and onto the veranda, their arms laden with supper stuff. Roasted chicken was laid out on a platter; Jep’s mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans and rolls accompanied the main course. Nathan set a basket of silverware and napkins down, along with heavy green plates and glasses to match. Eric opened a bottle of soda and Jep set down a pitcher of iced tea.

“We’ll say grace now,” Jep announced.

Eric pulled off his hat, and Jep began.

“Dear Lord, thank You for this day, and thank You for not only bringing my hardheaded grandson back home safe from Afghanistan, but also for bringing little missy back to Cassabaw. It’s been a while since I had good pie. Amen.”

Emily grinned as she opened her eyes and when she lifted her head, Matt was watching her. Intense. Steady.

It nearly knocked the wind from her lungs.

“All right, let’s eat!” Eric said.

Over the next half hour, everyone ate, and the Malones made idle chitchat, asking about Emily’s life in Bethesda.

“So what’s your little sister up to these days?” Owen asked.

Emily swallowed a mouthful of potatoes and wiped the corner of her mouth. “She’s enlisted. The air force. Afghanistan right now.”

“Are you serious? Little Reagan? The air force?” Eric said, and nodded. “Impressive.”

“You got a fella, missy?” Jep blurted.

Emily’s gaze slid to Matt’s, then back to Jep. She shook her head. “No, sir. Not anymore.”

Everyone in the room went dead quiet for several seconds. Then Owen spoke. “Well, he’ll never know what a treasure he’s missed out on.”

“Thanks, Mr. Malone,” she answered with a grin. “It wasn’t awful or anything. We were just...too different, is all. His family is heavily into the political scene on the Hill. And I’m—” she grinned and shrugged “—a little saltier than that.”

“Salty, you say?” Jep repeated. “I like salt. Makes your spine straight and your legs anchored.”

Emily grinned. “Yes, sir, it does.” She turned to Nathan. “So have you always worked the trawler with your dad and Jep?”

Again, the veranda grew quiet. Nathan slowly shook his head. “No, that’s a fairly recent development,” he explained. “I just left the Coast Guard last year. Alaska.”

Emily could tell by the sad light in Nathan’s eyes that something tragic had happened. Had something gone wrong with a rescue? She wasn’t about to scratch open any fresh wounds, and from the looks of it, no one was willing to talk about it.

“Well, I’m sure your dad and Jep are glad to have you home.”

Nathan simply gave her a smile and a nod. “Yes, ma’am, I suppose they are.”

“And now it’s like a damn summer camp around here again,” Jep said. “Three boys moved out. Three boys moved back in.”

“You missed us, Jep,” Eric accused.

Jep grumbled something unintelligible, possibly Irish Gaelic. Emily remembered he’d used it now and then when they were growing up. The thought made her smile.

“Jep, I’ve got to work on Emily’s Jeep for a few days,” Matt finally said. “I told her it’d be okay if she used your truck until I had hers running again.”

Jep’s gaze immediately darted to Emily’s. Green eyes gleamed as they narrowed, the weathered skin at the corners crinkling. His face was filled with lines of years and sun and wisdom and mischief. He didn’t hesitate. “You know what that means, don’t you, missy?”

Emily smiled and gave a nod. She didn’t miss a beat, either. “Pies.”

Jep winked. “You’re catching on fast. I like that.”

“Jep’s old truck is three on the tree—”

“Manual transmission, Emily. Stick shift, three gears,” Eric clarified with a grin.

Matt shook his head. “A little stiff to shift into gear,” Matt continued. “If you want to run over to the Windchimer, I’ll ride with you. Make sure you can shift it okay.”

Another ride in an enclosed area with the mysteriously quiet ex-marine Matt Malone. She supposed she could withstand it again. “Yeah, that would be great. Thanks.”

Emily helped clear the table, but the guys shuffled around her like a military base camp. Everyone seemed to have their duties, and they did them well. It was beyond impressive—especially since Trent and his family had servants to do their chores. And when Trent had visited Emily at her apartment? He’d obviously forgotten that she didn’t have servants. He’d sit back and allow her to handle everything domestic. It had been sort of fun at first—cooking for him, taking care of him.

Nadine, an older woman from work, had scoffed at Emily, saying it was because she was a
nurturer
. As if that was a terrible, awful disease. Now that she thought about it, though, the way Trent allowed her to
nurture
him annoyed the absolute bull mess out of her. That would definitely be something to chalk up to lessons learned. Not that Trent had been a bad guy. He’d actually been very sweet and thoughtful.

Before long, the veranda was back in order, dishes were stacked in the dishwasher and she and Matt were headed out. The sun hovered over the river, and shadows stretched long across the yard. The chorus of frogs and crickets pitched and echoed through the pines.

“Don’t be a stranger, now,” Owen called to her. “This side of Morgan’s Creek is awful glad to have you back.”

Emily’s heart melted a little. What a sweet man. She threw her hand up and waved. “Thanks again, Mr. Malone. I sure won’t.”

Eric and Nathan followed her and Matt down the steps and around the back of the house to a smaller lean-to. Matt disappeared, an engine roared to life and within seconds an old faded blue Chevy pickup began backing out.

“That thing is a beast,” Eric said, grinning. He stood beside her, arms crossed over his chest. “You sure you can handle it, Emily?”

Emily liked Eric’s easygoing, somewhat cocky character. He hadn’t changed much in that department.

“I can handle it,” she assured him.

“A girl with confidence,” Eric said, and clapped her on the back. “I like that.” He leaned close to her ear. “Do you like younger men? I’m definitely open to dating older women.” He flashed a toothy smile. “What do ya say?”

Emily laughed. “You’re still a ham, you know that?”

Eric smiled wider. “That’s no answer.”

Emily waved. “Bye, Eric.”

He just laughed and shook his head.

When Matt stopped the truck, Emily walked to the driver’s side and waved to his brothers. “Bye, guys. See ya round.”

Matt slid past her as she jumped in and closed the door. On the passenger’s side, he climbed in, reached over and killed the engine. “Now you start it.”

Emily did as he asked and pushed in the clutch, then started the engine. Although the engine felt a little stiff, she shifted into First and started down the shady drive. At the end of it, she pulled out onto the two-lane, picked up speed and shifted into Second, heading for the boardwalk.

“Not bad,” Matt remarked. “Hit Third.”

It took a little muscle, but Emily shifted once more. The gear grinded a bit, but caught and they continued on.

“Eric’s right. This thing is a beast,” she said, giving Matt a quick look. “But I’m grateful to have it. Thanks.”

Along the road, the dusk shadows lurched beneath the canopy, and the salty late-May breeze blew in through the opened windows. Matt’s presence beside her filled the cab of the old truck—he was almost crowding her and she felt a fluttering in her stomach. He had this smoky voice that she liked listening to. And that profound, brooding stare unsettled her—or rather, her reaction to it did.

“You remember Miss Mae Kennedy? She still lives there,” Matt said, pointing out a coral-colored cottage with a white concrete seahorse mailbox as they moved through the little neighborhood.

“She’s the lady who was friends with your mom in high school, wasn’t she?” Emily asked. “She used to make those chocolate cupcakes with white frosting and bring them over to your house, every single week.”

Matt’s gaze stayed on the house as they passed it. “Yeah, she did. I stopped by to see her after I got here.” He looked at her. “I don’t remember my mom, Em. Only in pictures. I remember yours, though.” He quieted for a moment. “She laughed a lot. Like you.”

Downshifting, Emily rolled to a stop at the intersection and held Matt’s gaze in the hazy light of dusk. Matt’s mom had died of cancer when he was four, leaving Owen and Jep to raise three small boys. Eric had just turned a year old.

“Yeah, she did. I remember her, too,” Emily answered. The ache she always got when she missed her parents settled into the pit of her heart.

“It still hurts,” Matt said pointedly.

Emily nodded. “Sometimes. It’s like someone is squeezing my insides in their hand.” The light turned green, and she started forward. “I was so angry for a while. Like they left me on purpose or something. But I have mostly good memories. I choose to focus on and remember those. They’re fun, and they make me feel happy.”

“So what does being here do?”

Emily followed the curve, and the gray Atlantic coastline came into view. She sighed.