Teague

by Juliana Stone

  “But—”

  “Put the plain chips back or you get nothing.”

  This time her tone was sharp and when his bottom lip trembled a bit, she felt like crap, but dammit, was it too much to ask for them to get through their grocery order quickly so she could get back to the cottage? All she wanted was a quiet night on the sofa with a book she’d pretend to read and a glass of wine to calm her nerves.

  She watched Harry march across the aisle and place the plain potato chips back on the shelf before returning to her side and putting his precious dill pickle chips on top of everything else.

  “Are we done?” he asked, eyes downcast. “I’m hungry.”

  She blew out a long breath, tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and ran a critical eye over her cart. “I think so.” If she forgot anything, a quick trip back to town in the morning was a better idea than spending one more minute here tonight.

  “Let’s go.”

  Sabrina glanced behind her and then darted a look back to Harry. “Where’s your sister?”

  He looked behind Sabrina and pointed. “She was right there looking at the cookies.”

  Irritated, tired, and now a little anxious, Sabrina pushed her cart forward. “Let’s find her and go home. I’ll get takeout from Burger Mania. Sound good?”

  Harry said something, but Sabrina wasn’t exactly sure what it was because as she rounded the end of the aisle and went down the next one, her anxiety mounted. Morgan was nowhere in sight. She continued past the rice and pasta aisle and turned down the next one. Again, no Morgan.

  Trying not to panic, she increased her speed, whispering fiercely at Harry to keep up. Her heart was beating erratically, like a drum—thump, thump, thump—and as a wash of heat rolled over her, she leaned into her grocery cart because she felt dizzy.

  Oh my god! Where is she?

  Sabrina squeezed her eyes shut for a second, desperately trying to blot out the nightmare she’d been having off and on since Brent passed away. The fear of losing her children—the fear of being alone—made her gag and with a strangled grunt she broke out into a jog and pushed her cart toward the dairy aisle, eyes wild as she continued forward.

  What if someone had snatched her precious Morgan while she was arguing with Harry over a stupid bag of chips?

  “Morgan,” she whispered fiercely, eyeing a young couple a few feet away. “Have you seen a little girl? Dark braids and blue eyes?” she asked. “She’s wearing a Spiderman T-shirt?” They shook their heads and she didn’t bother to reply as she raced toward the produce aisle. If Morgan wasn’t there, she didn’t know what the hell she’d do.

  “Mommy,” Harry shouted, trying to keep up.

  “Not now,” she snapped.

  The elderly man she’d seen earlier was bent over a bushel of tomatoes and a bunch of teenagers were nearby, gathered around the apples and oranges. A couple of the girls kept glancing to their right, elbowing each other and giggling. Sabrina followed their gaze and spied Teague Simon.

  He’d shaved and showered—that much was obvious—was dressed in faded khaki shorts, an old Rolling Stones T-shirt, and flip flops. A Yankee ball cap kept half of his face hidden, but the generous mouth and masculine jaw was unmistakable. His height, broad shoulders, and tattoos gave him an air of danger so she got the girls interest.

  But she didn’t care about any of that. All she cared about was…

  The little dark-haired girl who was talking animatedly and staring up at him with a look Sabrina knew all to well. Her daughter was on a mission and what that mission happened to be, Sabrina had no idea. But Morgan was in the thick of it.

  Her daughter’s hands were on her hips and her little mouth moved a mile a minute. Any other time, Sabrina would have taken a second to enjoy the spunkiness of her mini-me. But right now, the panic of nearly losing her was all too real and she moved forward, a heavy frown in place when she brought her cart to a halt.

  “Morgan Anderson Campbell,” she said, the words strangled a bit because she could barely catch her breath. “How many times have I warned you never to wander away? Jesus.” Sabrina ran her hands across her forehead. “You had me scared silly.”

  Morgan’s eyes widened, immediately filling with tears. “Mommy, I’m sorry. I was following Tigger and—“

  “Tigger?” Sabrina asked.

  Morgan nodded and pointed at Teague. “I wanted to say sorry for sneaking up on him in his underwear.”

  “She’s pretty adamant about wanting to let me know how sorry she is.”

  Teague’s deep, raspy voice caught her attention and she glanced up at him, a frown still firmly in place. His eyes were in shadow and she couldn’t get a read on him, but his body language was much more relaxed than it had been this morning.

  “I’m sorry she bothered you again,” Sabrina said, motioning toward Morgan. “We’re done and we need to go so that I can get some dinner into you.”

  “Burger Mania,” Harry shouted.

  “But Mommy, I was just telling Tigger—“

  For the love of Pete. Sabrina took a minute to calm herself. “His name is Teague.”

  Morgan’s eyebrows furrowed and she turned back to the man in question. “But he said that I could call him Tigger. Like from Winnie the Pooh. It’s going to be his nickname and he tolded me that he doesn’t mind.”

  “Morgan,” Sabrina bit out, but her daughter’s attention was on Teague.

  “My great-granny says that nicknames are special. She likes hers. We call her Ninny. But I think it’s because she hates her real name.”

  “And what’s that?” Teague asked, eyes on Morgan.

  Morgan scrunched up her nose and giggled. “Enid.”

  “Huh,” Teague replied, a small smile on his face as he tossed a bunch of bananas into his cart. “I guess that makes sense.”

  He turned his attention back to Sabrina, pushing the brim of his hat up a bit. For one second their eyes met, and something strange happened. She became hyper aware as if all of her senses suddenly were on full alert. She felt the cool air circulating from the vents above her. Heard the old man rummaging through the vegetable bins. And those eyes of Teague’s were relentless. It felt as if he could see right through her and the sensation was disturbing.

  Harry might have pulled on her arm. Morgan might have jumped up and down. Or maybe nothing happened at all because in that moment, a rush of something rolled through Sabrina. Whatever it was made her heart speed up. Her breathing quickened. Her stomach rolled painfully.

  And she was hot.

  Confused she glanced away, exhaling and trying to get her wits together. This day had been too long. She needed it to be over.

  “Your daughter was just telling me that I should eat a banana every day.”

  “Did she,” Sabrina managed to say, eyes on Morgan.

  “I did Mommy. I told him that if he ate bananas and blueberries, he wouldn’t get the cancer because they’re good for you. Right Mommy?”

  And there it was. The thing that she could never get away from. The ‘C’ word. Sabrina’s heart twisted. Her children had heard and seen so much in their short lives. Things they could never un-see or un-hear.

  Their father weak from chemo and struggling just to walk. Or puking in a bowl while they watched television.

  An awkward silence fell between them and then Harry yanked on Morgan’s arm. “Come on! Mommy’s taking us to Burger Mania and then she said we could watch a movie before bed. Like the whole movie until the end and everything.”

  Morgan skipped toward Sabrina, the sweetest smile on her face when she looked over her shoulder at the man who stood watching them in silence.

  “Goodbye Tigger,” she squealed, running after her brother.

  Sabrina cleared her throat and turned the cart to follow her kids up to the cashier. “I’m sorry, she’s full of beans.”

  His eyes were dark and direct and the gold flecks made them luminous. She saw something in them. Something she recognized and she swallowed, m
outh suddenly dry. She was filled with the urge to run which was ridiculous. Sabrina was an adult. But Teague Simon was much too intense and she was way too tired to deal with him.

  “I was an asshole this morning.”

  Sabrina took a moment. In fact she took a couple before smoothing the front of her T-shirt and clearing her throat. She didn’t look up because she couldn’t. Because she didn’t want to.

  “Yeah. You were.” She said no more because she had nothing else, and headed to the front of the store with her kids.

  Hours later, she stood alone in the dark, eyes on the water. It was quiet with only a few stars to light the night sky, and she shivered, cold from the damp. She couldn’t shake the heaviness inside her, and damn, but it weighed a lot. It wrapped around her shoulders and settled in like an old friend.

  It made her so weary; so tired of everything. And sometimes it made her tired of life. If it wasn’t for her kids…

  Sabrina gave herself a mental shake and pushed back from the railing that ran the length of her deck. She couldn’t go down that road again. Not now. She knew that if she did, she would lose herself. Hell, she’d barely made it back the last time.

  Instead she turned, but paused, catching the scent of tobacco—a cigar if she wasn’t mistaken. Eyes on the Simon cottage, she spied the soft glow from the tip of a cigar and the silhouette of a man.

  She watched him draw from the cigar once more as he too faced the darkness and the lake, blowing lazy circles of smoke into the air. In the distance an owl hooted, it’s eerie cry echoing across the water.

  Teague turned and Sabrina’s heart nearly beat out of her chest. She stepped back, grateful for the darkness that fell across her deck. For several moments, he stared up at her place and then with another draw on his cigar, he disappeared from sight.

  Blowing out a long breath, Sabrina made her way back inside her quiet summer home. She blew out the honeysuckle candle in the kitchen and locked the doors. She checked on her sleeping children, kissing two foreheads and rumpling two heads of hair. She left their nightlight on and bypassed her bedroom without a thought. She hadn’t been able to sleep in that particular room since, well, not since Brent.

  Sabrina eyed the open bottle of Malbec on the counter, but with a sigh, corked the wine and slid onto the sofa. She grabbed the old, worn, plaid throw that laid across the back and wrapped it around her shoulders. She held it against her face, nuzzling the edge, inhaling deeply, and then closed her eyes.

  She liked to think that she could still smell Brent, but in truth, his scent was long gone. She liked to imagine that the thought of him wrapped in this blanket gave her comfort. That the memory of his laughter, the way his eyes crinkled in the corners, could lift her spirit. It used to.

  But on this night there was nothing but that heavy weight. Nothing but that silence and the darkness pressing in. There was nothing but the loneliness.

  Sabrina turned into the sofa and curled into a ball. She bit her lip, hating the sting of tears in the corners of her eyes, and prayed that sleep would come soon. But as it had for most nights over the last year, she stared into the dark and prayed for hours.

  When she finally fell asleep, her tear-stained cheeks stung and the sound of birds greeting the dawn was the last thing she heard.

  Chapter Three

  The damn morning dove woke him again. Its soft coo echoed inside his bedroom from the open window and Teague knew the bird was just getting started.

  “I’m going to shoot that thing,” he muttered.

  He flung back his covers and slid out of bed. It was still dark but a hint of light rode the horizon over the lake and he padded forward, rolling his shoulders, trying to ease the tight muscles.

  His sheets were a tangled mess but he didn’t give a shit. There was no one here to impress and even if there were, it wouldn’t matter. By his count he’d gotten maybe three hours of shut-eye. The dreams, or rather nightmares, that had haunted him for months had come back with a vengeance.

  Guess the damn sleeping pills weren’t working. He glanced over to his bed and spied an empty bottle on the floor.

  Neither was the whiskey.

  The morning dove sounded again and he squinted into the early morning gloom, catching sight of the bird perched on top of the boathouse. He stared at it for several moments and then it flapped its wings and took off for parts unknown.

  It would be back. There were some things that were inevitable.

  The clock beside his bed told him that it was five a.m. but Teague knew sleep wasn’t on his schedule anytime soon. He frowned and ran a hand across the stubble on his chin as he gazed out at the calm water. It was silent—so quiet out there—and yet his head was filled with noise.

  Explosions and gunfire. Voices that belonged to ghosts. Voices that wouldn’t let him go.

  Wearily he exhaled and leaned against the window frame, eyes on the boathouse. It took more than a few minutes but eventually the noises faded and he took a step back. His body glistened with sweat and the muscles across his shoulders were still tight.

  He couldn’t take another day of nothing. Of sitting on the deck with a bottle for company. He’d always been a man of action and this retreat shit wasn’t cutting it anymore. Restless he reached for his cargoes and pulled them on. But what to do?

  He heard the morning dove once more. The call of a loon. A splash from the dock.

  Fishing. Yeah. That might work.

  Striding from his room Teague made a thermos of coffee, grabbed a couple muffins from the bag he’d not bothered to put away and snatched his worn ball cap from the table near the front door before heading to the boathouse. He couldn’t find his tackle box or his old fishing reel but his father’s would do.

  The water was calm and the air crisp as he steered his boat out of the bay toward the lake. He’d grabbed the one that he and Tucker had been given for their fifteenth birthday. It had a small outboard motor, but he used an oar to get going and waited until he was far from shore before firing up the engine. No use in making more noise than he had to.

  In less time than it took to drive to town, he was gliding into a small, protected cove where the fishing was always good.

  Teague cut the engine and settled back into the boat for a moment, content to sip his hot coffee and let the silence of the Muskokas roll over him. He stared out at the forest that crept down to the lake and then over to the sheer rock face farther up the way. A rare smile lifted the corners of his mouth as a memory washed over him.

  “You jump first. You lost the bet. ”

  Teague jabbed his twin Tucker and would have pushed him over the edge of the jumping rock, but his older brother Jack stopped him.

  “Mom is going to kill all of us if she finds out we ’re here, ” Jack said.

  “So don ’t do something stupid, ” Teague ’s other brother Beau warned, making a face.

  Just like Beau to ruin all the fun.

  “You don ’t want to ruin your pretty face, ” Teague retorted, glaring at the golden boy who stood a few feet from him.

  “You ’re a dumbass, ” Beau replied.

  “Yeah? ” Teague puffed out his chest. His brothers were older but he and Tucker could take them if they had to. Tucker was wiry and quick as a cat, while Teague was strong, but more importantly, devious as hell and willing to do whatever it took to win.

  “Guys, ” Tucker interrupted. “Why don ’t we just jump? It ’s what we came here for. Everyone has done the jumping rock except us. ”

  “That ’s because mom will kill us when she finds out, ” Jack said peeking over the edge.

  Teague took a few steps closer and glanced down, a wicked grin on his face. “You first, ” he said, pushing Jack before his brother could react. They watched the oldest Simon brother sail over the edge and disappear beneath the surface. For a moment there was quiet, followed by a whole lotta words from below —words their parents wouldn ’t like coming from Jack Simon ’s mouth.

  The three remaining b
oys laughed and with a shrug, Beau followed suit.

  Then Tucker.

  Then with a loud whoop Teague jumped off the rock. He felt free as a bird and stronger than anyone. He felt invincible, like Superman. In that moment he felt as if nothing could touch him.

  Beau was right. What a dumbass he’d been. He’d hit the water. Hard.

  And lost his swim trunks.

  Swim trunks that his brother Jack got to before Teague could, and damn if he hadn’t had to run home through the bush with his junk hanging out. Wouldn’t have been so bad except he’d run through poison ivy and well…

  With a snort, Teague shook off the memory and reached for his gear. No sense in dwelling on a simpler time—a time when the only thing he’d had to worry about was the jumping rock and poison ivy. The world he lived in now was about as far away from that as you could get.

  “No going back,” he muttered, sending his line out into the calm water.

  The next few hours saw the sunrise and the lake slowly come to life. By the time boats were zipping along the open water, pulling skiers and tubers, Teague was done. He’d had a good morning and his large cooler held four good-sized pike and two largemouth bass.

  He tied up the boat and gathered his gear together and then headed into the boathouse. Once everything was put back where it belonged, he returned for his cooler, intent on cleaning the fish and getting them ready to eat.

  A kid was sprawled on the dock, peering over the edge into Teague’s boat. The blond curls were unmistakable. Harry.

  Teague took a step closer and paused as a puppy came hurtling his way along with another kid.

  Morgan.

  Both of them were in pajamas—seemed the superhero thing was a big deal in their house—and Morgan’s hair was a mess. He glanced up at the cottage.

  Irritated, he tried not to show it and kept his voice level. “Where’s your mother?” he asked, kneeling beside Harry so that he could retrieve his cooler. Bingo jumped up and tried to lick his face, and with a scowl, he gently pushed the dog out of the way.