by Cindy Kirk
Max nodded. The lump that now filled his throat prevented him from commenting. He shifted his gaze, searching for something, anything, to discuss that didn’t involve emotions. He found it on the top shelf of the corner curio cabinet. “That’s an interesting vase.”
It was sleek and black with a white Aztec design. Oddly, instead of being open at the top, it held some kind of stopper.
“That’s Rory.”
“Rory bought it?”
“No.” Steve smiled slightly, though his expression remained serious. “That’s an urn, Max, not a vase. It holds Rory’s ashes.”
Max had fallen off his bike when he was ten and had the air knocked out of him. He remembered that feeling. He felt that way now.
“I-I’d have thought he’d want to be scattered to the winds.” Max cleared his throat. “Maybe from the observation tower in Peninsula Park. Or around Good Hope.”
“That’s what he did want.”
Prim’s voice sounded behind him. Max whirled. Her eyes were as flat as her voice.
“Deb didn’t want him cremated, but that’s what he wanted. I followed his wishes.”
Her father offered a sympathetic smile. “Knowing Deb, she probably wanted him in a spot where she could go and visit, keep vigil.”
Prim gave a slight nod. “I don’t know if you remember, but she pushed to have him buried in the family plot at the Lutheran cemetery. I don’t believe she’s forgiven me for not following her wishes.”
Steve squeezed her shoulder, his hazel eyes, so like hers, dark with sympathy. “You had to do what Rory wanted. She’ll come to realize that one day.”
But Steve didn’t mention, and neither did Max, that Prim had only followed Rory’s wishes so far. Yes, she’d had him cremated. She hadn’t scattered his ashes.
Was it her way of holding on to him?
Max didn’t ask. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. But it gave him pause, made him wonder.
“Five-minute warning,” Ami called out. “I’m loading the video of the parade.”
“Time to pick up.” Beck reached for the large plastic container where the logs were stored.
“Nooooo,” the twins whined in unison.
Normally Max would have found their exaggerated protests amusing, but right now, nothing amused him.
He touched Prim’s arm, kept his voice low. “May I speak with you a minute?”
Surprise flicked in those hazel depths. “Sure.”
She stepped closer to the window and looked up at him, that gorgeous freckled face framed by a mass of red-gold curls. “What is it, Max? If it’s about Charlotte and last night, truly it’s none of my business who you date.”
“Charlotte is a friend of sorts, not even that, really. More of a business associate.” Max had made that clear when he’d taken Charlotte home. Thankfully, she’d told him she hadn’t felt a connection, either. “That isn’t what I want to discuss with you . . .”
Prim looked up at him with that sweet, trusting expression. What did it matter if she still had Rory on the shelf? It wasn’t his business. She’d made it clear she wasn’t wanting to date.
She touched his hand. “Max?”
His heart swelled with love, and he knew that even if she never loved him back, couldn’t love him back, he would do whatever he could to protect her. “About the burglaries. If you see or hear anything unusual, I want you to call me. Day or night.”
“No one is going to—”
“Promise me, Prim.”
“I promise.” She smiled that bright, sunny smile that always warmed his heart, then tugged on his hand. “Now, let’s go watch the video. Eliza won’t be happy unless the parade is a smashing success.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” he muttered and let her lead him to the sofa.
Boris’s barking yanked Prim from a sound sleep. She opened one eye and found a hundred pounds of fury standing beside her bed. The ruff on the wolfhound’s neck stood straight up, as if he’d just received an electrical shock.
He gave three more staccato barks, then raced from the room. She scurried out of bed, her heart slamming against her ribs.
Had something happened to one of the boys?
Bile rose in her throat, but when she flung open the door to the room, she found both sleeping peacefully.
Thank you, God.
Boris had disappeared down the hall and the barking continued, sounding as if it was coming from the kitchen now. Prim lifted the baseball bat leaning against the wall, hugging it to her while she gently closed the door.
Keeping her eyes on the hall, she zipped into her room. Prim scooped up her phone, then stood guard outside her sons’ room.
Call me, Max had said.
As she hit his number, she hoped he’d meant it when he’d emphasized at any time. She supposed she could call the sheriff, but if it ended up being a skunk or a possum that had gotten Boris riled, she’d feel like a fool.
Max answered on the third ring, his voice groggy with sleep. “Hello.”
“It’s Prim,” she whispered. “Boris is barking like crazy. I think there might be something—or someone—in the backyard.”
“Where are you and the boys?”
“They’re sleeping. I’m in the hall outside their room.”
“Go in there now. Lock the door. Take your phone.”
She could hear him stumbling around, swearing. “I’ll be right there. Don’t leave that room until you hear my voice.”
“Be careful.” She slipped into the bedroom and locked the door. Setting her phone on a nearby dresser, she stood at the end of the boys’ beds, bat in hand.
Prim couldn’t have said how much time went by before she heard footsteps in the hall and a quiet voice on the other side.
“It’s me, Max. You can open the door.”
The breath she must have been holding came out in a whoosh. With trembling fingers Prim set down the bat. She stepped out of the bedroom and right into his waiting arms.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured against his shirtfront. “This burglar thing has me more spooked than I realized.”
“It’s okay.” With gentle fingers he stroked her hair and held her until she quit shaking. “I’m here. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.”
She breathed in the scent of him, shampoo and soap and that indefinable male scent. The strength in his arms gave her comfort, and she found her world steady. Finally, she eased back and gazed up at him.
His cheeks were shaded by golden stubble. His jeans were worn and the faded red T-shirt he’d tossed on had clearly seen better days. He looked magnificent.
“Was it an animal?” Even as she asked the question, Prim saw the answer in his eyes.
“It was a man.”
Her heart gave a solid thud against her rib cage. “You saw him?”
“No. You called me. I called the sheriff. They were here before I got out my door, searching your backyard. They found footprints.”
“I don’t understand.” Prim’s heart had begun to hammer, so fast she felt light-headed.
“Let’s sit down.” Max took her arm and guided her into the living room, taking a seat beside her when she collapsed onto the sofa. “I’ll tell you everything I know.”
Boris rose to his feet, came to her, his tail swishing from side to side.
Prim leaned forward and buried her face in his fur. “You’re such a good boy, such a good watchdog.”
When she sat back, she had to wipe tears away. “You should have heard him barking.”
“Once you called, I did hear him.” Max gave the dog a rub. “He did a good job keeping the guy at bay.”
“It was him, then? The burglar?”
“Yes. They almost caught him tonight. The Rhodes family down the block are visiting family in Illinois. He tripped their alarm system. The sheriff and several deputies were there in minutes, but he ran. From the boot print they found out back, it looks as if he was hiding in your backyard for a few minutes.”
&nbs
p; “He could have broken inside.” She shivered, running her hands up and down her bare arms. Only then did Prim realize she wore only an oversize tee.
“He’d have to get through Boris first.” Max grabbed the crocheted throw from the back of the sofa and tucked it around her. “Better?”
The concern in his eyes and the strength she saw there warmed her more than any blanket. “Yes. Thanks.”
“Sheriff Swarts is confident the guy is no longer in the neighborhood.”
“I’m okay, now that I know he’s gone.” Prim forced a brave smile but the effect was ruined when her lips trembled. “If he would have gotten inside . . . the boys . . .”
She closed her eyes as her voice broke.
Max placed his hands on her shoulders. “Look at me.”
She met his gaze.
“You need me, you call. Understand?” His intense gaze remained on her face. “What did I tell you in Milwaukee?”
Confused, Prim cocked her head. She didn’t recall Max ever visiting her in Milwaukee. “You didn’t tell me anything. You—”
He gave a lock of her hair a little tug.
“Hey,” she protested.
“The math competition, Red. I told you that you could always count on me.” The eyes focused on her face were clear and very blue. “That hasn’t changed.”
Fatigue and the events of the evening must be getting to her, Prim decided. Blinking rapidly, she cleared her throat. “That trip is my favorite memory from high school.”
“Mine, too.”
The air grew heavy as a curious tension filled the space between them. It was a kind of watchful waiting.
“I still have my medal,” she blurted, seized with a desperate need to fill the silence.
The gold medals they’d received from winning the mathlete competition had been modeled after Olympic medals, circles of faux metal hanging from red-white-and-blue ribbons.
“You had yours around your neck when I ran into you in the hotel hallway,” she reminded him.
He studied her for several seconds, his steady gaze shooting tingles down her spine. “The fluorescent lights made your reddish hair look like spun gold.”
He’d said those words to her that night. For the first time in her life she’d felt beautiful.
A self-conscious-sounding laugh escaped him. “I knew you were Rory’s girl, but I took a step toward you anyway.”
As if to illustrate, he slid closer.
Prim’s heart gave a lurch.
“And I,” Prim inhaled the intoxicating scent of his shampoo and soap, “took a step toward you.”
“Then I,” Max gently brushed a strand of hair back from her face with the palm of his hand, “did this.”
He pressed his lips against hers, and she found his mouth just as warm and just as sweet as it had been back then.
Prim slid her arms around his neck, weaving her fingers through his silky hair. When his tongue swept across her lips, she opened for him and he deepened the kiss.
The pressure of his arousal through the thin fabric of her shirt should have been a wake-up call. Instead it was as if kerosene had been tossed on an already roaring fire.
“You’re so beautiful,” Max murmured against her mouth as his fingers cupped the nape of her neck.
His other hand flattened against her lower back, drawing her up against the length of his body.
Prim gave in to impulse and planted a kiss at the base of his throat. His skin was salty beneath her lips.
She didn’t care if this made sense or not; right now being in Max’s arms was the only place she wanted to be.
“M-om. Boris won’t move.”
Prim stiffened. It was Connor’s voice. The dog had obviously sought refuge in the boy’s bed. Prim had been down this road enough times to be confident if she didn’t respond, he would keep calling and wake his twin. Callum would not hesitate to search for her.
“I should go.” Max’s hands dropped to his side but he made no move to get up.
Prim drew in a steadying breath. With the last ounce of common sense she possessed, she stood and moved to the door, opening it for him. “Thanks for everything, Max.”
When he stepped onto the porch, he raised a hand as if to cup her cheek, let it fall without touching her. “Anytime.”
Before he could turn away, Prim lunged at him, wrapping her arms around his neck, holding him tight, so tight. She buried her face in his shoulder.
His hand cupped the back of her head and his cheek rested against her hair.
Prim let herself cling, let herself lean, let herself believe this was a man who would stick.
A man worth taking a chance on.
Chapter Ten
Prim was the only thing on his mind when Max awoke the next morning. Still in bed, he rolled over and grabbed his phone from the nightstand.
Everything okay? he texted.
All good, she texted back. Thanks for coming to my rescue last night.
Always.
Once he’d confirmed all was well in Prim’s household, Max was up and out the door. He’d promised to help Beck set up tables in the town square for a pancake feed that would follow the popular Hometown Heroes parade.
This parade, intended to honor those who’d served in the military as well as those currently serving, always made him think of his father. Brian Brody had been killed in action in Bosnia when Max had been in kindergarten.
The sad thing was, he didn’t remember his father. But he would honor him and all other soldiers today. Max’s patriotic pride stirred the second he stepped from his house and saw all the American flags flying from porches.
The Independence Day celebration was a month-long event in Good Hope. The gazebo that anchored the town square had already been decked out with patriotic fan bunting. Strategically placed red and white geraniums in bright blue pots encircled the perimeter of the white-lacquered wood building. Small American flags on pencil-thin sticks had been placed in each pot.
Typical small-town stuff, Max thought, experiencing a surge of pride in the community he called home.
The large flag, which fluttered year-round from a twenty-foot flagpole, was currently being raised by members of Boy Scout Troop #1022. A lump formed in Max’s throat as he watched the pint-size flag bearers salute the stars and stripes.
As far as Max was concerned, every boy should be a scout. Like his father, he’d made it all the way to the rank of Eagle Scout. He wondered if Prim planned to get the twins involved in scouting. Because of their adventurous spirits, Max had no doubt Callum and Connor would enjoy the varied activities the organization had to offer. At six, the twins were the right age to start. He would mention the possibility to Prim the next time he saw her.
Max turned his attention away from the scouts and focused on the activities around him. The pancake machine had been set up and was being checked. The warming ovens had been turned on in preparation for the sausage links that would be brought from the Muddy Boots kitchen at regular intervals.
Stacks of vinyl-covered tablecloths striped in red and white and edged in blue with white stars sat piled on chairs, ready to cover long, rectangular tables. That, of course, couldn’t happen until the truck came and he and Beck got the tables unloaded.
As if thinking about the task had conjured up the vehicle, a truck bearing the logo of a local rental business rolled up and parked. For the next hour he and Beck removed eight-foot-long banquet tables from the back. The tables, with their folding legs, ended up being more awkward than heavy.
Unfortunately, the physical labor didn’t keep Max’s mind as occupied as he’d hoped. His thoughts kept returning to Prim.
What had he been thinking, kissing her that way? If one of the boys hadn’t called out, clothes may have hit the floor, along with his common sense.
Though Max ached to make love to her, he didn’t think that would be wise. But damn, he wanted her.
“Something on your mind?”
Max jerked his head to the s
ide and found Beck’s dark eyes on him. All around them people hustled, including nearly eighty high school band members. High-pitched teenage chatter and laughter mingled with the squeaks and squawks of instruments being tuned.
“Are there more tables to unload?” Max blurted out the first thing that came to mind, then realized it was a stupid question considering the truck was now empty.
He expected Beck to laugh. Instead a thoughtful look crossed his friend’s face. “Let’s get some coffee.”
“And food.” Filling his empty belly seemed something positive to focus on.
“Ami sent me off this morning with a bag of scones.”
“What kind?”
Beck grabbed a white sack and glanced inside. “Looks like lemon blueberry.”
“That works.”
Grabbing a cup, Max filled it from one of the commercial coffee machines that had been set up near the refreshment area.
“Is there anything else that needs to be done before we take a break?” His stomach growled as he fixed his gaze on the sack Beck held between his fingers.
“We’ve completed our assignment. The first one, anyway.” Beck motioned to a couple of chairs under a large shade tree. “Once the parade starts we’ll move to our stations for the pancake feed. For now, it’s relax and recharge.”
Max dropped down into the empty chair and accepted a scone from Beck. One quick bite told him the pastry was up to Ami’s high standards. “Where is the little woman this morning?”
Beck grinned. “I dare you to call her that to her face.”
“No way.” Max chuckled. “She’d cut me off at the knees.”
They both laughed, knowing that sweet, good-natured Ami Bloom-Cross would never cut anyone off at the knees. But she might restrict access to her mouthwatering pastries and desserts. That was an even more frightening prospect.
“I just wondered where she was keeping herself this fine morning.” Max took another bite of scone and chewed. “You and she are usually joined at the hip.”
“My wife,” Beck lingered on the word as if simply saying it brought him pleasure, “and I enjoy spending time together. But she had a couple of things to finish up at home. She’ll be here shortly to man the pancake machine.”