Teague

by Juliana Stone

  “Thanks for the heads up.”

  “Maybe I should wait? I don’t want to be responsible for two cranky kids if they don’t catch some sleep.”

  “No,” Sabrina answered quickly, moving to pack up the remains from lunch. “Go ahead. They’ll be out cold in ten minutes.”

  “Wish it was that easy for me.”

  He spoke the words more to himself and Sabrina didn’t know how to respond. She wanted to say she knew exactly what he meant but she kept quiet and gathered up the kids empty drink boxes.

  “Is your family coming north for the holidays?” The Simon clan had been coming up to Gravenhurst for the Canadian/American celebrations for years. Even though she’d been a townie, she hadn’t met the family until she’d started dating Brent. He was from the city and his family owned the cottage. He came up for the summers and it wasn’t until she was in her late teens that she’d met any of them.

  “Tucker was going to come up with his fiancée, but I….” Teague sighed and ripped off his aviators, rubbing his temples. He glanced out at the water and for a few moments, she was able to study him unobserved.

  He looked tired. And conflicted. He also looked fed up and she knew this man was hurting. He was fighting some demons. But then, weren’t they all?

  “You convinced him not to come?” she asked lightly, snapping the cooler lid into place.

  “You could say that.”

  “Wish I was that lucky,” Sabrina muttered.

  “What was that?” Those dark eyes were settled on her once more and she shivered at the intensity there. There was nothing light or easy about this man.

  “I just…” She shrugged. “My mother-in-law is insisting on a visit and no matter what I say, she won’t leave me alone. She’s coming Thursday and considering Saturday is Canada Day, she’ll be here at least until Monday.”

  A ghost of a smile curved his lips. “Is she that bad?”

  “No.” And she wasn’t. “Let’s just say that Morgan’s unfiltered mouth is something she comes by honestly. I love Brent’s mother, but she likes to butt in where she has no right to butt in. It was bad before, I mean this is the woman who had me in tears on my wedding day, but since Brent…”

  Her gaze slid away and she shrugged. “Well, since Brent passed, she’s been worse. She thinks that it’s time for me to move on. Says that I can’t grieve forever. What she doesn’t understand is that right now, it’s all I’ve got. As crazy as that sounds, it’s better than nothing.”

  He was silent for a few seconds and when he spoke, his voice was subdued. “Sometimes the pain or grief or whatever you want to call it, is the only thing that makes us remember that we’re still alive.”

  “Because it hurts so damn much,” she murmured. “Enough to poke through the fog.” He got it.

  Teague slipped his aviators back into place, his sculpted features hard, closed off. “I just wanted to let you know I’ll be using a hammer for the next few hours.”

  He didn’t give her a chance to reply but instead turned abruptly, making his way back to the Simon side of the beach. There were more scars visible across his back—some large, some small, but all of them angry looking.

  Sabrina imagined that her invisible scars—if she could see them—looked exactly like his.

  The kids slept for nearly two hours during which time Sabrina did laundry and caught up on some housework. Once they were awake, she spent the afternoon on the dock, pretending to read while her twins played in the sand and the puppy happily joined in.

  Directly across from her, Teague repaired some wind damage to the roof of the gazebo and by dinner, his sweat-slicked body had become Sabrina’s main focus.

  Thank God for sunglasses.

  The man was built like a god. There was no denying it. His shoulders were wide, his chest impressive and the eight-pack he sported attested to the fact that he was extremely physical. He had lean hips and those damn shorts did nothing but emphasize the cut that most women drooled over.

  Sabrina wasn’t drooling. She was just…appreciating. Or something.

  It had been a while.

  She watched him wipe sweat from his brow and when he glanced over to her, she froze. For a long while, the two of them stared across the beach at each other, and even though the large dark sunglasses she sported kept her eyes covered, there was no way he couldn’t know she’d been staring.

  “I’m hungry,” Harry said, tossing his purple plastic pail into the bin on the dock.

  “Okay,” she murmured, dragging her eyes away from Teague. She packed up her bag and stowed away the chairs before leading her kids back to their cottage, all the while hypersensitive about the man a few hundred feet from her. Was he watching her?

  But that would be silly. And besides, what did she care?

  Sabrina didn’t look back and busied herself with the children. She barbecued hamburgers and pretended not to notice when Teague hopped into his truck and left around seven. The kids had baths and then she let them watch a favorite movie until nearly ten before tucking them into bed. Bingo was equally tired, and the puppy squirmed his way onto Harry’s comforter and snuggled in for the night.

  Once they were settled, she stood in the living room, distracted and at odds with herself. That familiar ache was back and yet it was different. It wasn’t just the loneliness—it was something else. Why couldn’t she shake the images of Teague from her mind?

  Sabrina changed into a camisole and cotton shorts and then poured a glass of wine. She didn’t want to read. She didn’t want to watch TV. And she sure as hell didn’t want to sit here by herself.

  Kinda sucked that those were her only options.

  In the end, she shut off all the lights, grabbed the rest of the bottle of open wine and wandered out to the deck, falling into the chaise lounge. There was a slight breeze off the water, but it felt good against her skin because, holy hell she was hot.

  Hot and restless.

  She tipped her glass back and drained the wine, sitting up a bit when she heard a truck in the neighboring driveway. It had to be pushing eleven. Was it creepy to watch Teague from her safe and dark spot? If it was, she didn’t care. She cranked her neck so that she could see and held her breath, eyes barely adjusted to the gloom, but enough to make out a tall shape.

  He strode from the truck and disappeared into the cottage. Alone. Huh. She poured herself another glass of wine. What happened to Candace?

  No lights went on inside the cottage and after a few moments, Sabrina took a sip of the Malbec she’d taken a shine to.

  The night was heavy, the air thick with heat and her hair stuck to the side of her neck. She moved it away, and hissed at the friction from her nipples rubbing against her top. A glance down told her that they were puckered.

  She stared at her chest, fascinated by the distinct hardness as her breaths came faster. Her hand trailed down from her neck and after a slight hesitation—and a glance to either side of her—she rubbed her nipples through the cotton, stifling a soft groan because it felt that good.

  How long had it been since she’d been touched?

  The scent of tobacco drifted over to her and she glanced at the Simon cottage. There were no stars out tonight, nothing to light the dark in this part of the world, but she knew Teague was outside. The cigar gave him away.

  She wondered what he’d done in town. Had he met up with Candace?

  An image flashed in her mind, an image of Teague, naked, entwined with the redhead, and she shook her head.

  “Dammit Bree, get a grip.”

  It took some effort but eventually Sabrina relaxed. She finished her glass of wine and decided against pouring another. It was obviously making her crazy. Instead she gazed up into the dark sky, inhaling the sweet scent of Teague’s cigar, and she tried to ignore the heaviness that settled over her again.

  It was hard though. Loneliness was the heaviest kind of weight that there was and these days it seemed as if it was the only friend she had.

  “I
t has to get better,” she said softly, voice catching as her eyes slammed shut.

  Of course there was no answer. No one to tell her that yes, it would get better. There was none of that.

  On account of her being alone.

  Chapter Seven

  Teague should have known that his brother wouldn’t do the right thing and sit this vacation weekend out. He couldn’t have been more frank when he’d last spoken with Tucker. What part of, ‘stay the hell away’ didn’t his twin understand?

  “Apparently none of it,” he muttered. His brother’s head was as hard as a two-by-four and twice as thick. It was a trait all the Simon men shared, so Teague should have known better, especially considering his own constitution was equally stubborn. But still…

  He’d been hoping for relative quiet.

  It was Friday morning and the sun had been up for a few hours. Just back from an early morning run, Teague had planned on a solitary breakfast and a day out on the lake. Alone. Good God, it had been hard enough escaping the kids and the dog from next door—Harry and Morgan were the most inquisitive children on the planet and Bingo thought he belonged to Teague.

  And then there was the grandmother.

  Louise, Brent Campbell’s mother, had shown up two days earlier, and it wasn’t a compliment to say that Sabrina had been right about the woman. She liked to poke her nose into places it didn’t belong and she did so with a smile and a gentle voice that was hard to argue with. Hell, he’d barely been able to finish working on the gazebo and decking because Louise had taken a shine to him and wouldn’t leave him alone.

  She was forthright and fierce and it was obvious Sabrina and her grandchildren meant the world to her. He got that—family and blood above all else. Even though he’d come to like her company (in small doses), she really needed to focus on something other than his personal life.

  Louise: Are you seeing anyone?

  Teague: Not really.

  Louise: What ’s that mean?

  Teague: It means not really.

  Louise: Sounds like a bullshit answer to me.

  Teague: That ’s pretty blunt.

  Louise: Blunt, but true I ’d say.

  Teague: I guess you got me there.

  Louise: Well what are we going to do about that?

  Teague: We ’re not going to do anything.

  Louise: Don ’t be a smartass.

  How could you argue with that kind of logic? He couldn’t win with her and Sabrina was no help. She seemed relieved that her mother in law’s focus had shifted from Sabrina to Teague.

  His time up here had gone from being too quiet, to dealing with a bloody puppy that liked to shit on his deck—God help the little bastard if he caught him in the act. A couple of kids who talked more than anyone he’d ever met in his life, and an older woman who seemed intent on getting him laid.

  And now this.

  “Shit,” he muttered.

  He sipped his coffee, a scowl firmly in place as he watched his brother pull up behind Teague’s truck. It was the last day of June and there had been a steady influx of cottagers into the area looking to relax on this Canadian long weekend. There were quite a few Americans up as well and he knew from experience the partying would last until after the 4th of July.

  Abby Mathews slid from Tucker’s truck and Teague took a moment to admire his brother’s fiancée. A tall redhead, she moved with the natural grace of an athlete and had a smile that could knock most anybody’s socks off. His brother was one lucky son-of-a-bitch because she was, without a doubt, a keeper.

  Tucker was also damn lucky he’d brought her along for the weekend because if not for the pretty woman at his side, Teague would have told his brother to turn the truck around and leave. He’d come up here because he was sick of being coddled. Sick of the pitying looks that were sent his way when they thought he wouldn’t notice. He was done being looked at like he was some kind of tragic figure.

  None of them knew what had really happened over there.

  None of them.

  Teague tossed the rest of his coffee over the side of the deck and waited for Tucker and Abby to climb the stairs.

  “This is my fault,” Abby said, holding up a plain brown paper bag. “Don’t get mad at your brother.”

  Teague’s eyes shifted from Abby to Tucker. His brother was dressed in faded jeans, Birkenstocks, and a Foo Fighters T-shirt that had seen better days. He hadn’t shaved in a while (though Teague couldn’t fault him for that since he was sporting pretty much the same look) and his hair was longer than normal.

  Tucker Simon was also pissed.

  “Don’t start,” Teague warned.

  “Start? As far as I’m concerned, we never finished our last conversation on account of you hanging up on me. Which honestly is pretty damn immature.” Tucker’s eyes narrowed. “So technically I’m not starting anything and don’t pull that crap with me.”

  “Really?” Abby took a step forward so that she was between the two men. “We’re going to do this now?” She poked her fiancé in the shoulder. “You told me you weren’t going to get into it with your brother. It was the only reason I let you tag along.”

  Score one for the fiancée, Teague thought to himself.

  “You let me tag along?”

  “I was fully prepared to come up here by myself.”

  “You wouldn’t come up here without me.”

  “Sorry to burst your bubble, Tucker, but yes I would have. I don’t need you to navigate my way out of the United States into Canada. Any moron with a passport and a GPS can get here.”

  Any other time and Teague would have been amused by the expression on his brother’s face, but as it was, he was just plain irritated by it all.

  “Unbelievable,” Tucker growled. “Since when did this become about me?”

  “I told you that if you didn’t behave, there would be consequences.”

  “Consequences.”

  “Damn right,” Abby said, turning to Teague with a smile. The bag was still in her hand. She offered it to Teague, though her words were for his brother. “Keep that up and no sex for a week.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.” Tucker’s brows were furrowed and the look he gave Teague was ferocious.

  “Muffin?” Abby asked.

  “Sure,” Teague replied. “I’ll take one.” He grabbed the bag and rooted through the contents until he found a banana nut—his favorite. He took a bite and savored the flavor—it was still warm so he knew it was from the bakery in town.

  Abby took a step toward Teague. She reached up and kissed his cheek, cradling his head between her hands. She leaned in and whispered. “He loves you and you’re going to have to let him in because he’s driving me crazy.” She took a step back. “Trust me Teague, you don’t want to deal with crazy Abby.”

  She glanced back at Tucker. “We’re good?”

  The boys didn’t answer and with a look of exasperation, she disappeared inside the cottage.

  Tucker sighed and walked over to the railing. He leaned against it and gazed out at the water.

  “You might want to give Mom a call. You know how she gets.”

  Teague opened his mouth but closed it just as fast. What could he say? His brother was right.

  “I’ll call her later today.”

  Tucker turned around. He cleared his throat. “You don’t look as bad as I thought you would.”

  “That’s a half-ass compliment.”

  “Wasn’t meant as a compliment.”

  “Good to know.”

  “Don’t get me wrong. You still look like shit, just not the kind of shit I saw a few weeks ago.” Tucker watched him for a few moments. “You getting much sleep?”

  Teague shrugged. “Some nights are better than others.”

  “I see you’ve done some work on the gazebo. Your shoulder must be good.”

  “Like new,” Teague replied. Damn thing hurt like hell sometimes, but that was to be expected considering a bullet had ripped into muscle and nicked
bone. At least his leg had healed from a similar wound.

  The brothers settled into a familiar silence and for a bit at least, Teague got some of the peace he’d been craving. Of course it didn’t last long.

  “Richard Bowen stopped in at the office to see me a few days ago.”

  Teague’s head shot up. He wasn’t expecting that.

  “Said he’d been trying to get ahold of you. Said he’d been trying since last week. I take it he’s still trying?”

  Teague shrugged. “My cell’s been dead for days and I haven’t bothered to charge it.”

  “That’s probably a good thing.”

  Teague ignored the comment. Richard Bowen didn’t exactly have a fan club in the Simon household. “What did he want?”

  Tucker’s mouth tightened. “I can tell you what he didn’t want.”

  “Tuck—“

  “He sure as hell didn’t give a shit whether or not you were doing all right. Hell, he didn’t even ask about your injuries.”

  Teague wasn’t surprised. Richard Bowen wasn’t the kind of man who thought about anything beyond the next story and adventure. The guy ran on pure adrenaline and was on the road to crazy town. But he was one hell of a journalist and had been Teague’s wingman on many an assignment. The two of them had traveled to the most dangerous places on the planet, reporting and documenting for various publications including Time Magazine and Vanity Fair.

  They’d seen and done a lot together and if Bowen was sniffing around…

  “What did he want?” Teague asked again, back ramrod straight. His muscles were tight and restless, he walked the length of the deck, eyes never leaving his brother.

  Tucker sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “He didn’t say exactly but it’s obvious isn’t it? He’s got another gig and he wants you along for the ride.”

  Teague stared out across the water. Was he ready to go back out in the field? After the disaster that had been Syria?

  “You’re not seriously considering going out again are you? You told Mom that you were giving it up. That you wouldn’t put yourself in danger again.” There was accusation in Tucker’s voice and Teague rounded on his brother, fists clenched tight.