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“I think maybe we should just put him in his bed.” Maggie flicked the curl that fell against Michael’s forehead. His long lashes swept low against his cheek, and his breaths fell in long, deep exhales. She was pretty sure he’d be out for the night. “It’s this way.”
Maggie led the way toward Michael’s room and watched as Cain carefully laid her son on his bed. She couldn’t lie. It was bittersweet, watching the man treat her son like a treasure. It was something his father had never done.
Cain doffed Michael’s shoes and tossed them before grabbing the afghan that lay at the foot of the bed. He draped it across Michael’s small form and stood back, staring down at him for a few moments.
His cell phone went off at that moment and he cursed, tossing a sorry Maggie’s way before striding past her.
She closed the door to Michael’s room and followed Cain into her living room. His back was toward her and he was talking rapidly into the phone, though his words were muted and she had no clue whom he was talking to or what it was about.
He slipped the phone into his pocket and turned. His dark eyes were serious, his mouth set tightly, and Maggie got the feeling that his mood had just done a complete 360.
“Is everything all right?” she asked finally.
“It’s good.” Cain exhaled and rolled his shoulders. “Sorry we’re so late. We just kinda lost track of time.”
“Oh, don’t apologize. I’m sure Michael had a great day.” She shrugged. “Beats cleaning houses with Mom.”
Silence fell between them. She heard the ticking of the clock from the kitchen, the slow, steady beat of it getting louder and louder as Cain stared at her, his expression unreadable.
“I gotta…” he began, and he swore under his breath as he shook his head. “I gotta go, Maggie. I got this thing…to take care of, and I…”
“Oh.” She nodded quickly, swallowing a lump of disappointment as she moved to the door. “Of course, don’t worry about it. Michael’s out for the evening anyway, so…”
“I hope you didn’t go to any trouble.”
“No, not at all.” She shook her head and glanced away. “I didn’t really have time to do much.” She shrugged. “Don’t worry about it.”
He was there, inches from her, his crisp, male scent teasing her nostrils as he took another step closer. He hesitated, but she kept her gaze lowered and moved aside. “I’m tired myself, so…”
“We’ll do this again, okay?” His voice was gentle, cajoling, and for some reason that pissed her off.
She remained silent but nodded.
An awkward moment passed, and then Cain walked through the door and was down her front steps faster than a wino downing a bottle of booze.
He ran to his SUV and yanked the door open, grabbing for his cell again as he did so. He looked up as if it were an afterthought and crooked his head. “I’ll be in touch.” His phone was buzzing in loud, rapid bursts, and he hopped into the truck before she had time to answer.
Maggie closed the door, not sure what the hell had just happened. A shiver rolled over her arms and she wrapped them around her midsection, squeezing what bit of warmth she could before heading to the kitchen. She was suddenly cold, which was odd, considering the temperature was still in the high seventies.
The slow ticktock of the clock grated on her nerves. She glanced up at it and frowned. It was so…ominous. A sliver of sadness rippled through her, and she angrily shoved it aside. What was the point? And why did she care so much?
She sighed and crossed to the small table that had been set for three and stared down at the place settings. What an idiot. She’d even folded purple napkins into hats.
On the counter beside the dessert that had long cooled stood a bottle of white wine—an impulse purchase. She considered pouring herself a glass but carefully corked it instead and then cleared the dishes before tossing her now-limp salad into the trash.
Her appetite was long gone.
She turned out the light and stood in the early-evening shadows, lost in the silence that was her life.
Chapter 10
Cain pulled into the parking lot behind the Coach House, Crystal Lake’s only bar that featured entertainment, and not the dancing kind either. Sal was too classy to have girls in there during the day, strutting their stuff, even though, surely, he’d make a killing. The Coach House was a large, rambling building on the edge of town that had absolutely nothing to do with its name. There was no coach and there was no house. There was only brick, mortar, and an aging expanse of blacktop. It had been a dive years ago, and as he glanced around he noted it hadn’t changed at all.
He ran his hand across the roughness of his chin, thinking the five-o’clock-shadow look was getting old.
The Coach House had been the local watering hole they—the Edwards twins, himself, and Mac Draper—had claimed as a home base of sorts. It had an unlimited supply of booze, was sketchy enough that the atmosphere rocked, and most importantly, had live entertainment every weekend.
This was where Cain had honed his skills, both as a guitarist and a performer. It was the site of his first-ever live gig, the first place he’d gotten drunk, and the place where he’d lost his virginity to Shelli Gouthro. It had been a quick and amorous act performed behind the big oak tree on the far side of the parking lot.
