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Good question. “I just got in a few minutes ago.” He nodded to the boy’s hand. “What’s that?”
The little guy’s mouth tightened as he unclenched his fist. His face screwed up in disgust. “It’s a tie. My mom made me wear it, but I hate ’em.” He glanced at the long settee off to the side. “Thought I’d hide it so I didn’t have to wear it the rest of the day.”
Cain laughed out loud. “Good call. I’m not really a tie man myself.”
“You won’t tell her?” The kid grinned and ran to the settee, where he promptly stuffed the offending piece under the seat. He carefully placed the cushion in the exact way he’d found it and stepped back. “Do you think she’ll know?”
“I’m pretty sure she won’t.”
Cain walked over to the boy and paused. They stood in front of a large bay window, and he heard voices—muffled of course, but he knew there was a good-sized crowd in the house.
“Did you know him?”
The child’s question hit a nerve, and Cain clenched his jaw tight, fighting the emotion that beat at him. Know him? He was like a brother.
“What did you say your name was?” he asked the boy instead.
His reflection in the window didn’t look promising. He’d been on a plane for hours, and then there’d been the long drive from Detroit. He hadn’t showered since before the show in Glasgow. His jaw was shadowed, his clothes rumpled—the black shirt, faded jeans, and heavy boots were not exactly appropriate either.
He looked like shit and knew he’d hear it from his mother, but until now none of that had mattered. His only thought had been to get home in time for the funeral, which he’d failed to do. As it turned out, he’d been damn lucky to make the reception.
“My name’s Michael.” The boy’s eyes were huge as he looked up at Cain. He shoved his small hands into the pockets of his pants and scuffed his shoes along the worn wooden floorboards. “Mom says he was a hero. I never met a hero before.” He squared his shoulders. “Did you know him?”
Christ, but the kid looked earnest. His pale skin was dusted with light freckles, his round cheeks rosy.
“Because I didn’t.”
Cain looked inside but couldn’t see shit. The reflection of the sun didn’t allow it.
“Yeah, I did.” A wistful smile crossed his face, and he glanced down at the kid. “Your mom’s a smart lady. He was a bona fide hero.” He nodded. “I was about your age the first time I met the Edwards twins.”
The young boy smiled, but it faded as he glanced toward the door. “I should go. My mom is gonna wonder where I am.”
They both turned when the front door opened and a slender woman stepped onto the porch. She wore a simple black skirt cut to just above her knee, a fitted blouse in a muted moss green, and low-heeled shoes. Her hair was held back in a ponytail—one that emphasized the delicate bone structure of her face—and was dark, a shade between crimson and brown, more like burnished amber shot through with bits of sun. Her skin was the color of cream, and when she turned toward them, Cain felt a jolt as their eyes connected.
Hers were blue—like liquid navy—feathered by long, dark lashes and delicately arched eyebrows. She was, without a doubt, one hell of a looker. A little on the thin side for his tastes, but Cain’s interest was piqued.
Her eyes widened for the briefest of moments, and then she turned to the boy, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. “Michael John O’Rourke! What are you doing out here”—her voice lowered—“and where is your tie?”
She had a slight Southern drawl that rolled beneath her words. It was melodic and soft.
“It was tight and, uh, I took it off and I, um…” He tapped his foot nervously and shrugged. “Well, I’m not sure where I left it.”
The boy shot a quick look his way, and it took some effort for Cain to keep a straight face.
The woman sighed. “Michael, this is a serious occasion.” She walked over to them, ignored Cain, and bent forward to fix a stray curl that rested upon the boy’s forehead before fastening the top button of his shirt.
Her scent was subtle, fresh with a hint of exotic. Cain liked it.
“I know, Mom. But, like, can’t I be serious without a tie?”
A ghost of a smile tugged the corner of her mouth and Cain smiled. “He’s got a point.” Cain motioned toward his tieless shirt.
She straightened, though her hand never left her son as her eyes traveled the length of him. Gone was the smile. The lady was all business. “And you are?”
Cain opened his mouth and then closed it. What to say? Obviously she wasn’t a townie, because he’d sure as hell have remembered someone like her. For the moment he didn’t feel like sharing his relationship with Jesse, didn’t feel like owning up to his hell-raising days.
“A friend of the family,” he answered instead.
