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“That’s great. Give him my best.”
Mary’s eyes crinkled in her plump face, and she laughed. “I will, but I’m sure you’re not here to talk about Frank. What can I do for you?”
“I’d like some flowers delivered this afternoon, if possible.”
“Sure, that won’t be a problem. Do you know what you want?”
Cain smiled and nodded. “Tulips if you have them. Deep red ones.”
“Let me check the cooler. I think we might be able to help you out.”
Mary popped back out after a few moments. “I’ve got two bunches, and if we need more, my supplier is due in a few hours, so we’re in luck.”
Tulips were simple and elegant and totally Maggie. She’d mentioned they were one of her favorites, a little tidbit he’d stored away.
“Can you arrange them in a container of some sort? I’m not sure what she has.”
“Of course.”
Cain reached for his credit card and handed it over.
“Is there a specific time you’d like these delivered to your mom’s?”
He signed the receipt. “Ah, they’re not for my mom. I want them delivered to Maggie O’Rourke. Not sure of the proper address, but she’s renting Old Man McCleary’s house.”
If Mary Avery was surprised, she didn’t show it. “Why yes, I know Maggie. Lovely girl, and that son of hers is such a polite young man.”
“Great! Thanks for this, and hopefully I’ll see Frank around.”
Mary’s pale hazel eyes were intent as she stared at him. “What would you like on the card?”
“Nothing.” Cain turned. “She’ll know who they’re from.”
One down, two to go.
He decided to leave his truck parked where it was and walked to Jack’s Hut, which was located at the end of the main drag. It was exactly what the name implied—a small dwelling with a thatched roof that looked out of place in northern Michigan. But the beer was cold, they served the best damn wings he’d ever had, and he was hoping the jukebox still worked.
The owner owed him a favor from way back, and he was kind of hoping it wasn’t too late to cash in.
Twenty minutes later he’d finished his business at the Hut and crossed the street, his eyes fixed on the Super Drug Store that was up the way.
Large glass automatic doors slid open for him, and Cain walked inside. A wall of cool air greeted him, and it felt damn good. He glanced around. The place hadn’t changed at all. It still held that antiseptic scent t
hat, if inhaled for too long, was nauseating.
The store was well lit and busy. Shit. He kept his head low and cursed the fact that his trusty Bruins cap was on the seat of his truck.
He paused for a moment, not liking the uncomfortable feeling that settled in his belly. It had been so long since he ran an errand like this that he felt like a damn teenager. With Natasha there’d been no need, and while on tour, well, there were always roadies to do this sort of thing.
Cain slid through the aisles, his focus on the last one to his right. If his memory was correct, that’s where the condoms were. And Lord knows his evening wouldn’t progress the way he wanted unless he was equipped. He somehow didn’t picture Maggie as the type of woman to keep a box full of rubbers by her bed.
He sidestepped an elderly man—“Sorry”—and peeked into the aisle. Yep. There they were. Right beside the jock-itch powder—and Mrs. Lancaster. Her pink and red dress was damn hard to miss, but it was the white hair and black rubber boots that gave her away.
He groaned inwardly and glanced at his watch. It was now nearly two in the afternoon. He’d told Maggie he’d pick her up at five. Time was running out, and though he’d have liked nothing better than to grab them and go, there was no way in hell he was going to pick out a shiny box of condoms while Mrs. Lancaster stood inches away.
He scowled. And really, why the hell were the boxes so damn shiny anyway?
He headed down the next aisle, not really focusing on anything and hoping like hell Mrs. Lancaster would leave already.
