The Summer He Came Home Part 8

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 h.e.l.l 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."

"Bulls.h.i.t." 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.

h.e.l.l, yeah.

"Summer nights and my radio..."

And a girl with dark red hair.

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 G.o.dforsaken 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 b.u.mps 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 b.u.t.terflies 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 st.i.tches 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 gla.s.s. "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 h.e.l.l 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 overa.n.a.lyze 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. h.e.l.l 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 b.u.t.t 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 uns.c.r.e.w.i.n.g 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 pa.s.s. 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.