The Summer He Came Home

by Juliana Stone

  Maggie would have asked for more information, but the doctor had frostily asked for quiet so he could finish his examination. He’d narrowed his eyes at the nurse. “BlackRock, is it? Sounds like a bunch of nonsense to me.” He’d nodded as he probed Maggie’s neck gently. “Now, Hank Williams, he was a legend taken before his time.”

  Nurse Tracy had looked annoyed with the doctor, and as soon as she could, she’d fled, eager for a chance to talk to Cain and get her picture taken with him.

  “I told you so, Mom,” Michael had said with the greatest of pleasure. He’d held up his hands, with only his pinky and forefinger showing—like the points on a devil’s head—stuck out his tongue, and shouted, “Rock star.”

  Uh, not quite, but she wasn’t about to burst her son’s bubble. He’d taken a weird kind of interest in the man, which made Maggie frown, because one thing was certain. Cain Black was someone she wanted to steer clear of.

  Except that he was walking toward her, his eyes intense and focused. He moved like a predator, with the easy grace of a cat, and instantly her back was up.

  “So, everything check out?” Was he asking out of concern or guilt?

  “She has a confession,” Michael answered.

  Cain’s mouth quirked in a quick smile. “You mean concussion?”

  Michael nodded. “Yep, that’s what I meant. The doctor said she can’t go to sleep for too long, and if she pukes or her head still hurts in the morning, she needs to come back and see him.”

  “It’s not as bad as it sounds.” Maggie gripped her son’s hands. “Thanks for bringing me to the hospital, Mr. Black.”

  “Come on, Maggie…it’s Cain.” He stepped closer, and though she didn’t move, everything inside Maggie screamed retreat. He was too big, too male…and she was very much aware of the fact. “Mr. Black is cold, makes it sound like we’re not friends.”

  “We’re not friends. I barely know you.”

  Cain smiled down at her, and in that moment she caught the full, devastating effect of his charm. It curled inside her belly and flushed her skin there with a heat she’d never felt before.

  “Well, I’m thinking I’d like to be your friend…” He paused, his voice low, caressing the air between them. “Maggie.”

  He said her name as if they were sharing a secret. As if she was the only one in the room with him, when in fact they were the object of over a dozen pairs of eyes and whispers shared behind hands.

  Was he flirting with her? His gaze lingered just a little too long and then dropped to her mouth.

  He’s flirting with me.

  This was all kinds of wrong. She changed the subject quick as she could, flustered and hoping it didn’t show. She didn’t do flirting. Especially not with a man like Cain Black.

  “I need to see about my bill.” Maggie winced as pain shot through her head, and she licked her dry lips. “You don’t have to wait. Michael and I will call a cab.”

  “The bill’s been looked after. It’s the least I could do, considering this whole mess was my fault.”

  Instantly her hackles were up. “I can look after my own affairs. I don’t need your charity.” She was annoyed, and though a part of her was secretly relieved, she sure as heck didn’t want to owe him. She would not owe anyone anymore.

  “I’ll pay you back.”

  “If you’re ready”—he ignored her comment and nodded toward the exit—“I’ll take you home.”

  A heavy feeling pressed on her chest, everything tightened, and Maggie exhaled a ragged breath. She was being pushed into a corner and didn’t like it at all. It seemed as if the ghosts of her past were circling hard. “I…Michael and I will get home on our own. Really, you’ve done enough.”

  Cain glanced at Michael. “What do you think, buddy? A ride in some smelly old cab or a quick trip in my truck?”

  “Mom, if we call a cab, we’ll have to wait forever, and I’m really hungry.”

  Okay, that was cheap. Using a child. She glared at Cain before turning to her son.

  “Michael—”

  “Please, Mom? Why pay for a cab when we can get a free ride? You always say we need to be smart about money ’cause we don’t have a lot, right?”

  “Michael,” she tried again, hating that her cheeks burned as Cain studied her in silence. She was embarrassed, flustered, and tired. And her head throbbed like a son of a…

  “Listen, I get that you think you’re somehow putting me out, or you want your independence, or—”

  “Maybe I just don’t like you.”

  Surprise flickered across his face. His chocolate-colored eyes narrowed, but the easy smile that lay upon his lips never wavered. “Okay, I suppose that could be a valid argument, but you need to let me take you home. Trust me, I’m not pulling a Tarzan on you. It’s more of a self-preservation thing.”

  “Really.” She sounded petulant but didn’t care.

  “My mother may look harmless, but she’d kick my ass all over Crystal Lake and back if I left you here.”

  “Come on, Mom.” Michael tugged on her arm. “I don’t see what the big deal is.”

  Traitor.

  “Please?” Her son smiled, his dimples pronounced as he looked up at her.

  Two against one wasn’t fair. Maggie bit her lip and glanced around the emergency room. The covert glances and quick whispers had more than doubled. Nurse Tracy pointed toward her and said something to the woman at her side. Both of them stared at her as if she had two heads.

  Crystal Lake was a small town, and she knew by nightfall most everyone would know she’d been to the hospital with Cain Black.

  She wanted to be home, locked inside the safe confines of her house away from all the prying eyes and speculation. Like a balloon that had been punctured, her resolve faded. It slipped away and left her weak. “All right,” she mumbled.

  “Sweet!” Michael led her toward the exit. Cain was a few paces behind. She knew this because all the women huddled in adoring little groups were focused behind her, their shy smiles and quick little waves nauseatingly coy. Ugh. The man sang and played guitar. He wasn’t curing cancer or saving lives. He was not a god.

  Even if he looked like one.

  She followed Michael outside and waited for Cain to grab his truck. It was now early evening and the promised humidity had moved in, coating everything with a fine mist of warm, damp air. It settled in Maggie’s lungs and slithered across her skin. She looked up at the sky where dark clouds had gathered, blocking the sun and leaving a dull gray instead of the bright blue of a few hours ago.

  They were definitely rain clouds.

  She quickened her steps, even though she still felt a little fuzzy, and would have slid into the backseat, except there was a large guitar case in the way. Michael climbed in on the other side, and she carefully slid into the front. It wasn’t as if she had a choice.

  Cain pulled away from the curb. “What street do you live on?”

  “Linden…the last house on the right.”

  “Old Man McCleary’s place.”

  “So I’m told. His daughter collects my rent checks.”

  “He still alive?”

  Why do you care?

  “His wife died a few years ago. He’s in the retirement home.”

  “Sorry to hear that. She was a nice lady.”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “How long have—”

  “Can we not do this?” Maggie interrupted.

  He arched an eyebrow, and she didn’t like the grin that claimed his mouth. “This?”

  “This thing…whatever it is.” She exhaled slowly and winced. She knew she sounded like an ungrateful bitch, but she couldn’t help it. At the moment she did feel bitchy. “Look, thanks for the lift home, but seriously, we don’t need to do the small-talk thing. It’s all right.

  “Besides…” She turned away from him, closed her eyes, and rested against the soft headrest. “I don’t feel like talking.”

  Cain navigated his way around the hospital pa
rking lot and back onto the street. He turned up the radio, and she settled into blessed peace, her eyes half-open as she gazed out the window.

  It was nearly seven in the evening, and traffic was heavy. Friday nights were always busy, with folks spilling into the small town from the surrounding larger cities, some driving from as far away as Detroit. The town of Crystal Lake supported a flourishing cottage-rental industry, with boating, fishing, and relaxation being key selling points to prospective vacationers.

  Maggie was toying with the idea of picking up a few seasonal clients, but it meant she’d have to clean Saturday mornings. She was undecided if the time away from Michael was worth the extra cash.

  She closed her eyes. Michael and Cain chatted, but their words melted together into a soft whirl of masculine sounds. She couldn’t be bothered to listen to their conversation. Her head ached, and damn, but she was tired.

  “We’re here.”

  Maggie’s eyes flew open at Cain’s words. She must have dozed off, which was surprising, considering the ride from the hospital to her home didn’t take more than ten minutes.

  He stood beside the truck with the door open, his eyes intense as he stared down at her. The skies had opened up and rain fell steadily, coating his hair with beads of moisture that glistened against the dark waves.

  How long had he been standing there? His T-shirt was wet. It clung to his chest, emphasizing powerful muscles and broad shoulders.

  Long enough.

  If she took the time, she was sure she’d be able to count each and every ab. His jeans were low-slung, held up by a wide leather belt and intricate buckle that drew her attention.

  “See something you like?”

  Maggie’s cheeks burned as she glanced up at him. “I…” she stammered, embarrassed.

  “Hey, I was just teasing.” His eyes glittered, their dark depths awash with a dangerous light.

  Her mouth was dry. She tried to swallow but choked instead. She’d never felt so out of sorts before.

  “I…where’s Michael?”

  His hand reached for her. “He’s inside already. Let me help you.”

  “No,” she answered quickly. “I can manage.”

  “God, you’re stubborn.”

  His hand lingered in the air for a few seconds, and then Cain moved aside. She slid from the truck, took a few steps, and stopped. Why was he following her?

  Maggie turned and pasted a smile she didn’t feel onto her face. “Thanks again for bringing me home. Tell your mother I’ll do my best to get the bloodstains out of the carpet. There’s a new product that I’m certain—”

  “Cain!”

  What now?

  Maggie glanced toward her small porch. Michael was jumping up and down, a huge grin spread across his face.

  “There’s tons of eggs.”

  “Eggs?” She looked at Cain.

  “Mom, Cain said he makes the best breakfast for supper you could ever even imagine.”

  “Breakfast?” Okay, did she sound as confused as she felt?

  “I told Michael I’d make him something to eat.”

  She shook her head—it was still fuzzy—ignored the pain of it, and pursed her lips. No way.

  Cain was inches from her now and nodded toward the porch. “He said he was fond of omelets, and I just happen to be the king of eggs.”

  “No thanks,” she whispered. “But, I’ll…” She hissed as a jolt of pain ripped through her head. She massaged her temple and winced.

  “You won’t, and I will.” His hands were at her back, gently nudging her forward, and the tone of his voice told her he wasn’t taking no for an answer. “I’m not leaving until I’m positive you’re all right. Concussions are nasty, and I know the drill. You need supervision for the next little while, and you’ll need to be woken up every few hours tonight.”

  “You are not staying here tonight.” Her belly rolled over at the thought.

  They were on the porch now.

  Michael had disappeared back inside the house, and she chanced a glance at Cain. Wrong thing to do. Something shifted between them, a subtle change in the air. He was inches from her, and yet the heat from his body slid across her skin like a caress of fire. She felt it. Everywhere. And it scared the crap out of her.

  She’d stored those kinds of feelings away years ago, and damned if someone like Cain was going to rip them from the box.

  “Fine,” he said silkily.

  Maggie swallowed, surprised he’d given up so easily. “Okay,” she answered.

  “I’ll make supper while you relax, and when I’m satisfied you’re all right, I’ll go.”

  She started to protest, but his finger was on her mouth before she had a chance to react. He was much too close. So close that the spicy scent of him hung in the air and fell into her lungs as she inhaled a shaky breath. It was earthy and basic and male…and way too damn good.

  “I’m not negotiating.”

  He walked past her, and just like that, Cain Black invaded the one space she’d managed to call her own for the last year.

  Maggie swore under her breath and followed him inside. She closed the door and took a second to calm her nerves. Breathe. She could do this.

  Michael assaulted Cain immediately, and the two of them were already in the kitchen. Pots and pans banged and the fridge door slammed shut. Her son babbled excitedly, and Maggie slid onto the sofa, a bittersweet feeling heavy in her throat.

  She couldn’t lie. It bothered her that Michael seemed so keen on having Cain around. Was he that starved for a male figure in his life? That thought alone made her feel awful, but she pushed it aside. Her head hurt too much to think about that kind of stuff.

  Her bungalow was open concept, so she had a clear view of the kitchen area. Michael balanced on a step stool, and still his head barely reached Cain’s shoulders. His curls bobbed as he listened to Cain explain his fabulous omelet recipe, and his giggles filled the silence.

  “Mom, these are gonna be awesome!” He looked back and grinned before grabbing a bowl off the counter to hand to Cain.

  Her heart constricted as she watched her son. He looked so small, so incredibly vulnerable, next to Cain. As always, she was humbled at the miracle that he was. Her little man.

  Cain turned around. “Can I get you anything? Something to drink?”

  “No,” she whispered.

  His eyes lingered a little too long, a smile tugging the corners of his mouth.

  Maggie leaned back and closed her eyes.

  Cain Black was all kinds of wrong for so many reasons. She didn’t know what kind of game he was playing, but she knew she couldn’t play along. Not that she was interested, and even if she was, he was way out of her league.

  It wouldn’t end well.

  And Maggie didn’t know if she could survive another loss.

  Chapter 6

  “Where the hell have you been?”

  Cain closed the door behind him and stared across the foyer at his mother. The lighting was muted, small beams filtering in from outside through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The evening shadows on her face made her appear almost ethereal. She was dressed in an old pair of denim shorts and a plain white T-shirt, with her long blond hair tied back in a ponytail.

  She stepped forward, and as always, his heart softened at the sight of her. The woman was free of makeup and she looked much younger than her fifty-two years. He smiled. How many times had he warned his bass player, Dax, that his mother was off-limits?

  At the moment, however, anger marred her classic features into a dark frown. “I’ve been calling your cell for the last three hours.”

  Shit. He opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off.

  “I realize you’re a grown man and not used to answering to anyone, but you could at least let me know where you are and when you’ll be home.” Lauren’s hands were on her hips, and her arched brow still managed to make him uncomfortable. “When you’re with Mackenzie and Jake, things tend to go off, and I just…”
She shrugged. “I’d like a little warning is all.”

  “Sorry, I turned my phone off at the hospital—”

  “Hospital?” Her anger vanished as she crossed the room. “Are you all right?”

  Cain nodded. “I’m fine. Maggie tripped over my crap downstairs, and her head met the wrong end of the desk. She’s okay.”

  “What about Michael?”

  “They’re both good. I took them home.”

  The look in Lauren’s eyes changed. It was subtle, but he could see the wheels turning behind them, spinning until they narrowed thoughtfully. He shifted beneath her direct stare.

  “When did this happen?”

  He shrugged and walked past her toward the kitchen. “Fourish…maybe?”

  “Cain.”

  Here we go.

  “What are you doing?”

  A candle burned at the center of the dark granite island. She slipped onto a stool, leaning her elbows on the counter as she continued to study him with her all-knowing eyes.

  He crossed to the fridge and opened the door, keeping it propped open with his hip as he perused the contents. He wasn’t hungry. Hell, he’d eaten more than his share at Maggie’s, but it was habit to come home to his mother’s and head straight for the fridge.

  The door closed behind him as he turned, definitely not interested in anything inside. It looked like his mother’s health kick and vegan status was still intact.

  He met his mother’s stare and folded his arms across his chest. “I took her to the hospital because there was no one else, and afterward I helped out a bit.”

  “Helped out,” was her dry response.

  His mother cocked her head but remained silent as she waited for him to explain himself. A sliver of resentment riffled through him, and he rubbed his scruffy jaw. How the hell did she do it? After all this time?

  No longer was he a mature man of thirty. Hell no, he was once more a shadow of his teenaged self—the one who’d never become immune to the eyebrow and the pursed lips.