The Summer He Came Home Page 23

  But as his mother used to say, baby steps…you have to crawl before you can walk. Damn straight.

  Cain would do whatever it took to release Maggie from her demons. Even if it meant crawling to hell and back.

  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 fucking kill her.

  “You need help dealing with this asshole?” 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 asshole 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 fuck 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?”

&
nbsp; 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.

  Chapter 28

  Maggie should have known her happy place, that soft bubble of bliss, would never last. She should have known that it would inflate into a mess of gigantic proportions—one that would leave her on the floor, wrecked, and virtually frozen with fear at its demise.

  But when a train derailed and came at you full tilt, you didn’t always see it. And when you did…sometimes it was too late.

  And that train ran you over.

  ***

  Twelve hours earlier…

  Maggie woke up with a tulip near her pillow and the scent of Cain all around her. The imprint of his body was like a picture on her sheets, and she closed her eyes, imagined him there beside her. It wasn’t hard to do. The man’s charisma was like a physical entity. He bled into everything he touched.

  Maggie nestled into the blankets and noticed a folded note beside the tulip next to her pillow. She grabbed it and read it quickly before folding the small piece of paper and sinking back into the bed. She thought of his arms and the comfort he’d offered the night before. Of his strength and desire to protect. She’d never felt so coddled or cared for. Not ever.

  The shell that slithered along her skin, that invisible force field she used to keep everyone out, had been cracked. She’d shared some of the pain that lived inside her, and the weight of those secrets was gone.

  It gave her hope that the other stuff, the dark secrets that she hoarded, would one day lessen and ease her burden.

  Maggie’s alarm clock glowed six a.m. in the early-morning gloom. She stretched, and though she would have liked to linger, she threw back the blankets and jumped out of bed.

  It was going to be a busy day. She had two clients on the books, and according to Cain’s note, he would be by around seven thirty for Michael. A bunch of volunteers was meeting at the football field in order to get the stage built, and he’d promised to keep her son busy.

  He’d ended the note with a promise to keep her busy later on.

  Maggie grinned and slipped into the shower. Twenty minutes later she had coffee on, and when Michael shuffled his sleepy head down the hall, it was nearly seven thirty.

  Michael had just sat down to eat his breakfast when there was a soft rap at the door. Her heart lurched and her cheeks flushed.

  Cain.

  “I’ll get it.” Michael almost tripped in his effort to get to the door, and Maggie stared after him, anticipation rolling inside her when she heard Cain’s voice.

  The two of them entered the kitchen, and her heart swelled. Cain was dressed “blue collar”—white T-shirt, old worn jeans, and work boots. His hair was damp, his chocolate eyes warm, but the smile that greeted her—that lazy, slow smile—was hot. Her heart leaped as she settled on his mouth.

  Michael chatted animatedly, his arms moving violently as he described a scene from latest X-Men comic.

  “Did you hear what I said, Cain?”

  He nodded to Michael. “Sure, buddy. Wolverine kicked ass.” His eyes remained focused on her.

  Michael sat down and grabbed his spoon. “No.” He shook his head. “I was talking about Gambit.” He giggled. “But that’s okay, I know you’re making those weird faces at my mom.”

  Cain chuckled and ruffled Michael’s head and then helped himself to a cup of coffee. He sat down, and the three of them chatted about their plans for the day and the upcoming weekend. There was an easy, comfortable flow that settled around Maggie’s shoulders that maybe cracked that facade a bit more.

  It felt like…they were a family.

  Cain insisted on giving her a ride to her first client’s house. Mr. and Mrs. Felkes lived in small, brick bungalow not far from Rebecca Hayes. They were a sweet older couple who shared their space with three cats and two litter boxes.

  They were also curious about the large SUV she arrived in. When Maggie admitted that Cain Black had given her a ride, Mr. Felkes decided to spend the majority of the morning regaling her with stories of Cain’s high school days. Felkes was a retired English and history teacher and had taught all four of the Bad Boys.

  It
was funny, really, how they were referred to in this way. It was as if they were legendary, like Butch and Sundance, or Billy the Kid and his gang.

  Maggie finished up at the Felkeses’ and caught the bus to her afternoon client. The Monroes were away on vacation, so it was a quick run-through, really—dusting, and vacuuming and mopping the floors. By three thirty she was locking up and heading home. It was a bit of a jog to the bus stop, and as it turned out, she had lots of time. It ran every half hour, and she missed the four o’clock by minutes.

  Figures. Now she was stuck waiting until four thirty.

  ***

  She’d just exited the bus downtown when her cell rang. Maggie wanted to hit the grocery store on her way home and pick up a few essentials—she was out of milk, eggs, and bagels again. Funny how a man in the house put a dent in the food budget.

  “Maggie, where are you?” It was Raine.

  “I’m downtown, why?”

  There was a pause at the other end, and Maggie frowned. Something was wrong. She could feel it.

  “I… What are you doing downtown?”

  “Getting a few groceries.”

  Again with the silence.

  “So, you’re in the Super Saver? Like right now?”

  “Yes, I just walked in. What the hell’s going on, Raine? Why are you being weird?”

  Maggie perched the phone on her shoulder and moved out of the way of a few shoppers. She was in the dairy aisle and needed breakfast fixings. She grabbed a carton of eggs and a block of cheese. She didn’t the need the cheese, but it was on sale, and she was, if anything, a super saver when it came to shopping.

  Janice Hopkins, mother to one of Michael’s classmates, stared at her from the milk section, and when Maggie smiled, the woman looked away as if embarrassed and fled toward the produce aisle.

  Maggie stared after her, and that’s when she noticed Rebecca Stringer pointing her way, giggling behind her hands as she chatted with a woman Maggie didn’t know.

  “Maggie, I know this is going to sound strange, but can you just leave the store and I’ll meet you in front?”

  What the hell is going on?

  “You want me to leave the store.” She was getting weirded out.