Page 70 of Second Chances

Text to Liam

Where the hell are you?

She flung her car door open and tossed her phone into her bag, not expecting a response. Her phone hit a pack of cigarettes at the bottom. She hadn’t smoked one in two weeks, her longest streak yet, and she should throw them away, but keeping them nearby brought her comfort. Her phone pinged. Oh, god this wasn’t what she wanted, she thought.

Text from Boyd

Hey, angel face.

You never told me if I should meet you for the wedding dance?

Absolutely not. Puffing out her cheeks, she exhaled heartily. Boyd, another link in her chain of poor decisions. When she’d first returned to South Dakota, she had stayed with her grandma and grandpa in Clover Lake, where Boyd had relentlessly pursued her; he was hard to avoid, since he managed the town’s only grocery store. One night last year, while she was house-sitting, he asked her out. Flattered by his attention, they ended up dirty dancing in some seedy biker bar on the outskirts of Clover Lake. She’d been so lonely that his touch had been welcome. Very welcome. However, the next morning, when she’d woken up next to him, she’d felt only remorse. She had confided in Effie, who then relayed a story about her terrible date with Boyd, lecturing her on the necessity of keeping away from him. Effie had apparently been wiser and less desperate than Cait, because every now and then, when Cait couldn’t face another long night of emptiness, she turned to Boyd. Though he was attractive enough, he was no Prince Charming, too often an asshole, and had an ex-wife with a jealous streak.

Fuck it, she thought, pulling out the pack of smokes and tearing off the band at the top. Tapping one into her hand, she put it in her mouth as she searched her purse for a lighter, remembering with despair that she had thrown all of her lighters out right after buying the cigarettes. Idiot! But, wait! “Please be there, please be there, please be there,” she chanted, pulling open the back door of her car. Reaching under the seat, she slid her fingers around, only to be found wanting, except…what was this? An envelope under her seat?

With tears pricking her eyelids, she clutched it to her chest, unable to bring herself to open it, already knowing what it held. She couldn’t read it. Not again. Another shove put it back under the seat. The unwanted letter had gone missing the day of the street dance, and she’d been relieved, taking it as a sign that what was in the past should remain there, so she never looked for it. Now it was just trash in her car. Trash, which was how she felt after reading it.

Slumping down on the grass next to her car, probably in the same spot her brother had gotten his pants stained, she closed her eyes, afraid of the memories that surfaced whenever she allowed herself any peace. Holding her cigarette between two fingers, she whispered, “I’m so stupid.”

“Need a light?” The deepest voice she’d ever heard spoke behind her, but she didn’t bother to turn around. When she didn’t respond, a large hand with hairy knuckles held out an old-fashioned lighter, gold, with some kind of monogram embellished on it. The flame met the end of her cigarette after he flicked it, and she inhaled deeply, giving herself over to the nicotine, cursing her inability to stay clean. “Those things’ll kill you, ya know,” he lectured as she exhaled.

“Thanks for the heads-up,” she caustically replied, her head dropping back to rest on her car, not caring that she would undoubtedly look a mess, with her own stains on the back of her dress from sitting on the ground, and hair either flattened by her car or hiding chunks of mud from the side panel. After another puff, she said, “Not that it’s any of your business, but I am trying to quit.”

“Yeah? Good for you. Me, I’ve never smoked,” he chuckled, the resonant sound shocking her.

“No? Then why are you carrying around such a fancy lighter?”

“Well, I think that’s a story for another day.” She kept her eyes shut, hoping her new friend would take the hint to leave, desperate for her solitude. Instead, he continued, “Not that it’s any of my business, but why are you sitting on the ground, over here by yourself?”

“You’re right—it’s none of your business, so why don’t you get the hell away from me? You’ve done your good deed for the day.” Dragging again on her cigarette, annoyed that she could hear him breathing above her, she finally opened her eyes, shocked to see the man in the flannel from the wedding. Lana’s brother. Montgomery. With his rugged, stocky build, he was the complete opposite of the men in her family. Up close, his blue eyes were so dark his pupils almost disappeared in the sunlight, and hair she’d thought dark brown was actually black, like a raven’s wing. His face lacked the lean grace her brother possessed, but the man was undeniably attractive. Flannel, though? Who the hell wore flannel to a wedding? For that matter, who the hell wore flannel in August, when temperatures routinely soared above eighty degrees. With what she suspected were powerful arms bulging beneath his shirt, Montgomery gave off serious blue-collar labor vibes, even if he wasn’t a true lumberjack. What the hell did she know, though? Black stubble lined his cheeks, making her wonder when he’d last shaved. Not that she cared, of course, for he was definitely not her type—too raw, too unrefined.

“Caitriona!” Oh hell, not her mom, she thought, throwing her partially smoked cigarette under her sandal to hide the evidence. One of her greatest fears was her mother discovering that she smoked…that she used to smoke, she amended. Not anymore, despite the smoke tendrils drifting up from her foot testifying otherwise. After starting in college, she’d kept her smoking a secret for years. Rarely coming home had made it easy to hide her nasty habit from her mom. Take the stereotypical Southern belle, but make her Midwestern; that was Nora Kinsale Livingston. Old money (for South Dakota), genteel manners (no swearing, ever), and immaculately put together at all times (no frizzy hair for her), Cait often felt like a watered-down version of her perfect mother.

Hastily rising, Cait stumbled over a slick spot in the grass, and a pair of hands clutched her elbows, murmuring, “Easy, princess.” An involuntary shiver ran down her spine, and the warm breath on her neck made her skin prickle.

Jerking away, she huffed, “I’m fine. Thanks for nothing for the light. If my mom finds out I’ve been smoking, it’s on you,” she snarled. After all, she’d told him she was trying to quit. Why had he enabled her?

“Caitriona, please,” her mother called from just inside the park. “We need you and your brother for pictures!”

Scurrying back into the park, to her annoyance, Montgomery was at her elbow. She stopped dead in her tracks. “Were you following me?”

To her consternation, he laughed. “Following you? What are you talking about?”

Frustrated, she grumbled. “When you showed up at my car—did you follow me there?”

Lumberjack’s wide mouth twitched, as if holding back a smile. “I’m not sure if you noticed, but this is a public park. I saw you at the wedding, and-” he began.

She glared at him. “Wow, your observational skills are commendable, aren’t they? I mean, you’d have to be blind not to have seen me, since I was in front of everyone, leading the entire thing.”

“Little surly, aren’t you, on a day that should be filled with goodwill and cheer?”

Cait gaped. Who the hell was this guy? “I didn’t ask for your company, so if I’m not perky enough for you, why don’t you leave me the hell alone?”

He held his hands out in surrender. “Listen, you’re right about one thing. I did see you leave the park. Someone said that you’re Liam’s sister, and since I’m looking for my sister, Lana, I thought you might know where he is. Or where they are. I presume they’re together, and I didn’t know who else to ask. Sorry, I should have introduced myself. Montgomery Miller.”

Ignoring him as pieces of the puzzle fell into place, Cait cursed, “Shit.” Glancing around, she saw Sam had returned, but still no sign of Liam. Or Lana. “DAMNIT!” Could Sam have taken Lana over to her brother’s house?

Montgomery asked, “What? What is it?”