THIS PERFECT STRANGER

by Barbara Ankrum

  She heard his bike start up with a roar and listened as it pulled out of her yard and onto the highway. But not toward Fishhook. The other way. Toward Marysville.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, still feeling his mouth on hers. "Way to go, Maggie," she said to the empty room. "You show him you've got principles."

  She walked to the door and closed it, turning the lock with a final-sounding click. "Now just try to remember what they are."

  * * *

  Chapter 8

  « ^ »

  The Crazy Eights Bar and Grill was thirty minutes and a million miles away from Fishhook and Maggie. Sitting at the long, mahogany bar, Cain stared into the amber-colored whiskey swirling in the glass in front of him. Above him, the Braves were at bat in the bottom of the fourteenth against the Dodgers on the muted satellite TV and the Judds wailed from the jukebox something about love building a bridge.

  But Cain wasn't paying much attention. He was unsuccessfully working on not thinking at all. But Maggie's face kept swirling in his glass of whiskey, and being an idiot made him thirsty.

  He signaled the bartender for a water back and tightened his fingers around his glass of booze, contemplating destruction.

  One minute he'd been talking about Annie, and the next he was kissing Maggie. That alone would've probably qualified him for some kind of Clod of the Year Award. Forget that he hadn't mentioned Annie's name to anyone in years. Or that Maggie made him forget—on a regular basis—his habit of keeping the details of his life to himself. And, as if that wasn't bad enough…

  She was starting to matter to him.

  "Aren't you gonna drink it?" asked a female voice beside him.

  Cain looked up to find a woman smiling at him from two seats away. At first glance, he guessed thirty, but on second, he figured thirty-five. Her skirt was short enough to reveal a nice, firm pair of legs, and her blouse, tight enough not to hold any secrets. With two fingers, she brushed her sable brown hair behind one ear and tilted her head.

  "You've been staring at it for nearly an hour," she said again, indicating his drink. "Aren't you gonna drink it?"

  He glanced down at the whiskey. "Haven't decided."

  She got up, moved a seat closer and stuck her hand out to him. "I'm Daisy. Daisy Kelleher."

  Cain took her hand and shook it. Her nails were long and smooth as the rest of her hand. "Hi, Daisy."

  "And you're…?"

  "Cain," he answered after a moment. "Just Cain."

  "Well, Just Cain, since you can't decide whether or not to drink that whiskey, could I interest you in a dance?"

  Cain glanced around at the dark end of the bar where a handful of couples were dancing on a parquet floor beneath some colored lights. He looked back at Daisy, who was still smiling at him behind her plum-colored lipstick.

  "I'm not much of a dancer," he said, not really interested in making a bigger fool of himself tonight than he already had.

  "Can I just say," she began with a lift of her perfectly plucked brows, "that that is totally beside the point?"

  Cain smiled. Well, wasn't that the damned truth? "Then I'd be happy to dance with you, Daisy Kelleher."

  Daisy smiled and got to her feet, sliding her hand around his bicep. "Where you from, Just Cain?"

  "Far away," he said, walking with her toward the colored lights. "No place you'd know."

  * * *

  She'd dreamed about water, the deep caress of a river's current. It flowed over her like Cain's touch, lifting her and gliding her deeper and deeper into the dark eddies. She didn't need air or light to know the danger here wasn't in the water. It was him. Beckoning her. Calling her name.

  Maggie.

  She rolled toward the sound, feeling the sweet, familiar coolness of it against her skin. She wasn't ready to breathe yet. Not yet.

  "Maggie, wake up."

  She opened her eyes slowly to find him leaning over her in the dark. With a languid blink, she smiled up at him. He was frowning. And it slowly dawned on her that she was breathing.

  Maggie sat up with a start, taking in her surroundings with the muzzy-headedness that came from being awakened from deep sleep. Her fingers closed automatically around the smooth, hard wood of the baseball bat she was clutching in her sleep. "What?"

  Cain flinched and stepped back. "Whoa! Put that thing down. It's me."

  Maggie lowered it and groaned, rubbing her temple. "I … must have fallen asleep."

  "That for me?" he asked, indicating the bat.

  "No." She leaned it against the side of the couch beside Jigger, who'd wandered over to nudge himself between the two of them.

  "What are you doing up? I told you not to wait."

  She shifted on the couch trying to make her voice sound indifferent. "I wasn't waiting. What time is it anyway?"

  "Three."

  "In the morning?" She blushed there in the dark at the decidedly un-indifferent nature of her remark.

  He took her elbow and helped her up. "Yeah." He guided her toward the stairs across the dark living room.

  Then it hit her. It wasn't booze she smelled on him as she'd expected. It was perfume. Cheap perfume.

  She couldn't help it. She stopped stock still and stared at him.

  "What?" he asked.

  She exhaled sharply and started up the stairs. "Nothing."

  "What?" he repeated, following her.

  "Forget it."

  "Then you wanna tell my what you were doing sleeping on the couch with a bat in your hands?"

  "I was practicing my swing."

  He grabbed her arm and turned her around. "Imagining my head as your target?"

  "Why would I do that?"

  He was so close he was practically holding her up. "You tell me."

  She hated it that his voice sent a shiver of wanting through her. "I wasn't waiting up for you."

  "Are you afraid to be here alone, Maggie?" Jigger paused on the next step up, watching them both expectantly.

  "I'm a big girl, Cain. I can even sleep with the light off." She turned and started up again, only to be stopped again by the pressure of his hand.

  He swore softly. "Look, I didn't know. I should have, God knows, after meeting Laird Donnelly, but—"

  "Stop, right there. Let's get this straight. I don't need a keeper, Cain. You're not a prisoner here. We have an arrangement."

  "Nothing happened, Maggie."

  "Right. But the next time, nothing happens," she said, heading back up the stairs, "I'd appreciate it if you'd wash off the perfume before you come home."

  * * *

  Cain sent the fly sailing out over the water in a three-four rhythm and set it down precisely where he'd aimed it, the surface of a deep pool under the shade of a bank of red cedar. He flicked the end of his rod, tugging it back. The thigh-high water climbed up the waders he wore, and even through the thick polyurethane, he could feel the glacial cold of the water. It never really warmed up this far north, he suspected. It was as unbearable in August as it was in December. But standing in it was just what he'd needed today, he decided, tossing the line again at a spot where he's seen a speckled brown trout leap minutes before.

  The gear had belonged to Ben, Maggie had informed him when she'd handed the stuff over to him this morning and insisted he go. There had been a million chores to do, but she'd reminded him that Sundays were supposed to be a day of rest and that even he needed R and R now and then. She'd instructed him to catch something for dinner, and abruptly abandoned him to it.

  More than a week had passed since his botched foray into Marysville. He and Maggie had made a tentative peace, though the topic had been carefully avoided since. It had occurred to him belatedly that jealousy might have inspired the crack about the perfume, but he'd since decided that wasn't possible. She'd been the picture of politeness since that day, with nary a glimmer of the heat from their kiss in the kitchen that night before.

  He thought about Daisy Kelleher and the way he'd left her standing at her door wondering w
hat she'd done wrong.

  Cain clenched his jaw. Daisy had become his type: pretty, willing and not hung up on goodbyes. Any other night she would have met every criterion he had for a quick roll in the hay.

  God knew, he'd gone with that intention. He'd wanted exactly that—a quick, anonymous fix for the tension roiling in his gut. And elsewhere. The woman had invited him up to her place. But before he'd hit the door, he'd changed his mind. Because standing there amidst the fireflies swarming the single bulb above her porch, it hit him. It was Maggie's hands he imagined when Daisy touched him. Maggie's mouth, not Daisy's he'd wanted to taste. Slow and deep and sweet.

  He hadn't wanted that with anyone since Annie and it scared the hell out of him. Maggie was right about one thing, though. Sometimes, it felt like he and Annie had only existed in his dreams. The more time passed, the more it seemed true.

  It seemed the only way he could fight that was to feel nothing. Anything else seemed … wrong. Because he was still here and Annie wasn't. And where was the justice in that?

  But Maggie had a way of sliding beneath the numbness he'd fixed around himself. And all he could think about was holding Maggie against him and pretending that his past wouldn't matter to her.

  A sharp tug on his line drew his thoughts away from Maggie as something grabbed his hook and started running. Cain braced his legs against the swift current and tugged back. Whatever it was, it felt big. Big enough, perhaps, for dinner for two. Or maybe he'd just build a little campfire right here and eat it himself.

  He worked the line sideways and around following the fish's struggle, reeling it in little by little. He felt along the rocky stream bottom for his footing as the fish hauled him downstream with the strength of a pike. He reeled it closer, and backed onto the bank to reach for the net. The fish jumped and arced in the water. The sun caught the rainbows on its belly. It was a beauty—three and a half pounds if it was an ounce!

  He dipped the net into the water to scoop it out and promptly lost his balance. He landed butt first in the shallows, holding the fish aloft like a prize.

  The sound of female laughter from the bank behind him drew his humiliated gaze. Maggie was standing in the trees above the river's edge, with her hand clapped over her mouth. He had a face full of dog a second later as Jigger bounded up, mistaking him for a salt lick before splashing into the river for a cool drink.

  Perfect.

  Cain slogged up out of the water like a wet bear.

  "Is that a new netting technique?" she asked when she could almost keep a straight face.

  "Yeah," he said. "And did you happen to notice the fish?" He held it aloft.

  Containing her mirth, she moved down toward the bank. She wore a day pack and was dressed for hiking. "Wow. Where are the others?"

  He straightened his shoulders and sent her a thin smile. "It's the only one. But it's a big one."

  "Size matters, I suppose," she said dryly.

  "Only if you're hungry," he answered with a lift of his brows. She had sun on her nose and the flush of a good walk on her cheeks. She looked so damned pretty. "What are you doing here? I thought you wanted to get rid of me."

  She had the good grace to look offended as she took the day pack off and unzipped it. "You went off without food, and I brought you lunch. But you're not very grateful, so maybe I'll just eat it myself."

  Cam slid the hook from the fish's mouth and set him back in the water on a stringer he clipped to a fallen pine in the river. He stripped off his waders and sat down beside Maggie. She was already eating her sandwich. Tuna. Cain's stomach growled.

  "Did you just come out here to torment me then?" he asked, rolling up his soaked sleeves past his elbows.

  "Mmm." She stared out at the hoards of caddis flies darting across the sun-dappled surface of the river.

  He kind of liked this playful Maggie. "So if I tell you I'm starving, will that buy me lunch?"

  She shrugged coyly but gestured with a little you - can - do - better - than - that wiggle of her fingers.

  "Uh … you're a goddess in the kitchen?"

  She tilted her head appreciatively. "Warmer."

  He braced his elbow on his knee with his palm up for an arm wrestle. "Best two out of three?"

  She grinned and reached into the pack for the sandwich. "That's unfair. But I'll give you points for ingenuity."

  Cain unwrapped the sandwich, took a bite and sighed. Beside him, Maggie unscrewed the top of a thermos of lemonade and took a swig. Then she passed it to him. "Thirsty?"

  It was a small thing. The intimacy of sharing a drink, but it struck him just the same. He took the thermos and drank deeply, then handed it back. Her gaze flicked away.

  "I should be doing books," she said, staring out at the water, "but I couldn't face them and decided it was too beautiful to be inside today. Besides, Jigger needed a walk."

  The dog was happily splashing through the riverbank, nosing stones out of the mud. "How'd you find me?"

  "Jigger found you. This used to be Ben's favorite fishing spot."

  Ah. "It's a fine spot."

  "Did you used to fish in Texas?" she asked.

  "When I was younger. It's been years. But there's nothing in Texas like—" he gestured at the dramatic rock walls fingering up from the river and the scores of pine trees lining the bank "—this. I never imagined a place like this."

  She smiled and nodded, listening to the sound of the water. "I love it here. Even in winter when the snow's up to here and the river almost disappears between banks of snow."

  He could almost see it as she did. This place was magical and as untouched as anyplace he'd ever seen. It was probably no different than it had been three hundred years ago with trout leaping away at a meal on the surface of the water and the current cutting its way through millenniums of granite. There was a feeling of permanence here. One Maggie desperately wanted to hang on to. It made him all the more determined to save it for her.

  The scent of crushed pine needles and the wild river lulled them as they ate. Overhead, a bald eagle drifted on the air currents, watching them. A few months ago, his only view was through the bars of his cell and the scenery was surrounded by barbed wire and high walls. He owed Maggie the truth about himself, he knew, but he could predict how she would react. It was better just to keep things as they were. Friendly, uncomplicated and platonic. That was definitely the best tack.

  But when she'd finished, she started to strip off her hiking boots.

  With a frown, Cain asked, "What're you doing?"

  "Take off your shoes," she said, tugging off one boot and starting on the other.

  "My shoes?"

  "Yeah. Take 'em off."

  He looked at the swift-flowing, glacial water. "I'm not going in there."

  "It's great. What are you, chicken?" she challenged.

  "Hey…"

  "Then take 'em off."

  He narrowed his eyes, but began undoing the laces on his running shoes. "Okay. Okay. They're coming off."

  She grinned as she got to her feet. "See that rock down there?"

  He squinted at the hulking slab of granite twenty feet up river that sat poised in the sun ten feet from the bank at the end of a series of precarious-looking stepping stones. He threw off his first shoe. "Why do I think this is going to be painful?"

  "Last one on top cooks dinner."

  Laughing, she took off at a sprint.

  "Hey!" He hopped on one foot, tugging off his other shoe as she splashed into the water up to her knees. A few seconds later, he splashed in after her and she shrieked at the sound.

  Rocks stabbed at his feet as he plowed through the current up to his knees. "Ooh! Ow!" he hollered, limping along behind her as she expertly leapt onto the first stepping stone.

  "Bwakk-bwaaaw-bwwaak!" she taunted.

  He lowered his head and charged. Seconds behind her, he ignored the pain and decided to win. She had the distinct advantage of having navigating this course before. Many times, he suspected.
>
  But brawn won out. He was on her in another five steps when she faltered over a rock. She dove for the slab only a heartbeat before he did, only to lose her footing on the slippery side of the rock. Cain grabbed her and pulled her up with him. Breathless and laughing, they sprawled onto the sunny surface tangled together.

  Their clothes were soaked and his skin tingled with the icy cold, but he felt … alive.

  She turned her head his way, still laughing. "You cheat. Your legs are longer."

  "I gave you a head start."

  "Okay, okay, I admit defeat."

  He rolled onto one elbow, smiling down at her. "So what's for dinner?"

  Maggie grinned impishly, watching him slide the moisture off his tanned face with one hand. "Chicken?"

  He shook his head, flexing a brawny bicep in a Tarzan pose. "Man catch big fish for woman," he grunted, pointing to the stringer on the bank. "Me clean, you cook."

  She couldn't help but laugh at him.

  Smiling, he hovered over her, blocking the sunlight. He tucked a wet strand of hair that had fallen across her cheek behind her ear.

  Maggie's heart beat faster and the smile faded from her lips. She'd spent the last week thinking about that last kiss, wondering if she'd just imagined how it had made her feel and equal time wondering what would have happened if she hadn't stopped it. She could see the same questions in his eyes now.

  But abruptly, he sprawled back onto the rock, away from her.

  Maggie waited for a moment before she rolled his way, propping her cheek on her palm. His eyes were closed and he'd tucked one hand beneath his head.

  "Cain?"

  "Mmm?"

  "Were you going to kiss me again?"

  He sighed. "Yeah, well, can't blame a guy for thinking, can you?"

  "I've been thinking about it for most of the week myself."

  He rolled a look at her, but didn't say anything.

  "I've missed you," she said simply.

  A smile softened his mouth. "Me, too."

  "Truce? Let's put last weekend behind us."

  "Truce," he agreed.

  Jigger splashed up onto the stepping stones, appearing from his foray down river. He leapt on the rock where they lay and began to spin dry. Maggie shrieked and they both lurched up, laughing again. The dog whoofed and licked her face. Maggie hugged him and got to her feet.