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“I didn’t do anything.” His fingers pushed a long strand of hair off her wet, heated face.
“It feels good to be free of that secret.”
Cain carried Maggie back to her room and slid into bed with her. She turned on her side and settled her body against his. He held her for a very long time, listening to her breathe, and was nearly asleep himself when she murmured, “Green.”
“What was that, babe?”
“My favorite color is green.”
With that heartfelt admission, he was a goner. In that moment he knew there was no one else for him but Maggie. She’d claimed his heart without even trying.
He inhaled her scent and kept her close.
There was still a ways for them to go. Her trust was a fragile thing. Maggie was holding back. There was the whole question about Michael’s father. He knew about the violence but nothing else. Where was the guy? Had they been married? Were they divorced?
But as his mother used to say, baby steps…you have to crawl before you can walk. Damn straight.
Cain would do whatever it took to release Maggie from her demons. Even if it meant crawling to hell and back.
Chapter 27
The smell of sawdust filled the air along with the sound of hammers and saws—a handyman’s paradise.
Cain’s cell phone vibrated. Again. It had been going off intermittently, and he couldn’t ignore it anymore. He grabbed it from his pocket and stared at the LA exchange. It was Natasha, and from the looks of it, she’d called at least a dozen times over the past hour.
“What’s up?” Jake paused on his way by, arms full of lumber. It was early afternoon, Thursday, and they were in the middle of building a suitable stage for the festivities on Saturday. So far the job was going well, considering. The “too many hands in the pot” thing hadn’t become a detriment—yet.
“Nothing.”
Cain pointed toward Dax. The Brit had insisted on helping build the stage, and Cain wasn’t so sure it was a good idea. If he didn’t lose a finger it would be a miracle. “No, that’s plywood. Mac needs the lumber from the other pile for the frame.”
The Brit made a face, cursed a string of foul words before turning around, and dumped his load of plywood in favor of the heavier framing lumber. Cain’s cell phone rang once more. He swore, powered it down, and slipped it into the front pocket of his jeans.
Screw Natasha. He didn’t have time for her bullshit.
“Everything all right?”
He turned to Mac. “Right as rain.” He nodded to the skeleton of a stage. “So, we on schedule or what?” The plan was to get the staging built Thursday, and then Friday the production was to arrive. Sound check and all the final details had to be dealt with before Saturday.
Mac nodded. “Pretty sure we’ll get it done.” Mac’s eyes narrowed. “As long as your British peacock manages not to screw things up.”
Cain snorted. Peacock was about right. Dax’s choice of wardrobe was somewhat eccentric, to say the least. He’d arrived at the site wearing Union Jack pants—leather Union Jack pants, no less, in this heat—a silk dress shirt to match, and his infamous top hat. White cowboy boots finished the ensemble. Dax wasn’t exactly the type for manual labor. But his heart was in the right place.
Michael and Tommy ran by them, arms waving madly as they dragged a cooler in their wake, off to dole out some cold drinks to the workers. Maggie had let Cain take the boy for the day, and the two kids were having a blast.
“So, things with Maggie are good, I take it?”
Cain followed Mac to the staging area. He grabbed a hammer and adjusted the sack of nails that hung from his waist.
“Yeah, things are good.”
“So what are your plans?”
“Plans?”
“How long you sticking around?”
“We’ve got the cottage for the summer, Mac.”
