by Cindy Miles
His black T-shirt was just snug enough that she could see his chiseled chest and biceps. Muscles flexed at his unshaven cut-in-stone jaw as he studied her. How had her prank-playing, skinny little childhood friend turned into this man?
Then his handsome face hardened. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
Emily blinked, stung by his brusque, sharp tone. Hard, somewhat cold, Matt’s eyes did not welcome her. Not at all.
What had life done to her old best friend?
CHAPTER TWO
EMILY. QUINN. WHAT the hell? Matt couldn’t say anything. Couldn’t do a damn thing but stare. She was the last person he’d expected to find. Green mossy algae?
“I live here now,” she began. She seemed...unchanged. Bouyant. Beautiful. But he saw the flash in her eyes at his sharp tone. “Can you believe it? After all these years. And what are you doing here?” She cocked her head to the side and looked up, studying him, so it seemed, her strawberry-blond ponytail sliding over her shoulder. Her face drew closer, her gaze narrowed. “Why do you look so cantankerous?”
Matt Malone stared into the soft hazel eyes of his childhood friend.
Not a kid anymore. But apparently still as unfiltered as before.
His face pulled into an even deeper frown. “I’m not...that.” Even as a kid she’d used words no other kid did. Seemed to be a trait she hadn’t lost. Taller than most girls, but not as skinny as she used to be. Same long tanned legs. He spotted some ink on her shoulder. A tattoo. Free spirit. She’d had that same spirit as a kid—that was for damn sure. Apparently, she’d never lost it, either. He was glad of that, for some reason.
Her head tilted more. “Matt? Why are you here? And how did you get here so fast? I just spoke to your dad a few minutes ago.”
He cleared his throat. “I just got home. Dad sent me over. Said it was an emergency. I took the path.” Running his hand over his stubbled hair, he drew in a slow breath and exhaled. “They didn’t tell me it was you.”
Emily hadn’t taken her eyes off him, waiting for his answer, he guessed, so he hooked his thumbs into his jeans pockets and studied her hard. This was Em. They went way back. Back before Iraq, Afghanistan. Just...Emily.
“It’s been a damn long time, Emily,” he finally said. “You look...different.”
Without thought, his eyes dropped to her breasts, which were pushing against the material of her shirt. Those definitely weren’t there the last time he saw her.
Emily’s giggle made Matt snatch his gaze back to hers. “Well, I hope I look different,” she said.
Her smile widened, and her eyes softened. She still had that deep dimple in one cheek. As a kid, he remembered thinking it was kind of weird. Maybe not so weird anymore.
“Since I was only twelve when we last saw each other,” she added. Her gaze moved over him, and she crossed her arms. “You sure look different, too, Matt Malone.” She pointed at his arm. “I used to have bigger muscles than you.” Her lips quirked. “And I see that scar never faded.”
Idly, his finger grazed the mark through his left brow. “Nope.”
“Forever proof of my victory that day on the dock.” The laughter was still there in her voice.
Matt pursed his lips to keep a straight face. Which was a new sensation for him. “Yeah, I guess so.”
Emily’s lips curved up.
He could hardly believe he was standing here, in her old kitchen, talking to her.
Just then, her cell phone screeched. She pulled it from her pocket and looked at the caller. She glanced up. “Sorry, just a second.”
Matt nodded, and waited.
“Hello,” she said as she answered the call.
Matt looked at her and jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the open front door, indicating her Jeep. She understood and nodded, and while she continued her conversation he wandered over to the doorless driver’s side, popped the hood latch and moved to the front. While he peered at the engine, he couldn’t help but catch pieces of Emily’s discussion with the estate attorney as she walked outside. She smiled, nodded and thanked him for sending out a cleaning crew.
She ended the call, stuck her phone into her back pocket and rested her forearms against the Jeep’s fender. “So, any idea what’s wrong with it?” Her ponytail slid over her shoulder.
“Why don’t you start her up and let me listen to it?”
“Okay,” she said. Sliding into the driver’s seat, she turned the key. The engine sputtered a few times, then started. After a little more inspection, Matt stepped around the hood.
“All right, you can turn it off.”
She did, and slid back out. “Well? I’m in trouble, aren’t I?”
He rubbed his hand over his head and looked at her. Her eyes were wide, soft. “Might be your alternator.”
“Oh, man,” she said. Then, her brow lifted. “Your dad signed you up to be my fix-it man and mechanic. You still up for the job?”
Matt rubbed his chin and studied her. “Yep. Won’t be cheap, though.”
Emily fake scowled, with her brows slashing together. “Your dad said not to let you charge too much or else.”
God, the way her face screwed up into that silly frown, it made her look twelve again.
“I’m the cheapest you’ll find. But you’re going to need a loaner car for a few days until I can order the parts and get the job done.”
She smiled. Instant relief softened her features. “Deal. I’ll call my insurance company right now.” Pulling her cell from her back pocket, she started to tap the front of it.
Matt stilled her hand with his. Her skin felt soft beneath his fingers. Soft, and warm. “Nope,” he said. “You’d have to go to King’s Ferry to pick one up. You can use Jep’s old truck for a few days.”
“You’re sure he won’t mind?” she asked.
Matt shook his head. “That old dog lives on the water. He’s out on the trawler with Dad and Nathan every day.” He pressed his lips together to keep from smiling at her like an idiot. “He won’t even miss it.”
The uneasy lines by her eyes and mouth relaxed. It almost completely transformed her face. Funny, how worry did that to a person. He’d seen enough of it to know.
“That would be so supergreat,” she said. “Thanks, Matt.”
“No problem,” he answered.
“And did Owen tell you about the fix-it part of the job?”
“He said you had a crater-sized hole in your dock.”
Emily’s laugh hadn’t changed too much over the years. Not too loud, or obnoxious, but definitely infectious. “Yeah, that’s true.” She turned her head toward the marsh, and Matt studied her profile. Slender neck, straight little nose, firm jaw, full lips. And not a lick of makeup on. Little Emily Quinn had grown into a natural beauty.
“I’m afraid the whole dock needs repairing.” Her eyes returned to his. “And the dock house. And from what the estate attorney said, minor repairs need to be made to the house and to the café.”
Matt lifted a brow. “So you’re taking over the Windchimer?”
A bright smile lit up her face. “Sure am.”
“I guess you’re moving back to Cassabaw?” Stupid question, Malone.
She glanced at the house, and back at the marsh before answering. “I am.” Pride shone in her eyes. Made her smile widen. Made his damn heart lurch.
“For good?” he repeated.
Emily’s eyes softened again and she glanced around before returning her gaze to his. “I can’t see myself ever leaving again. This is home.” Her slight shoulders lifted. “Always has been, I guess. It just took me a while to remember that.”
A breeze came in from the marsh and brushed Emily’s ponytail off her shoulder, exposing the tattoo.
Matt rubbed his chin. “You’re going to be a busy girl, then.”
She cocked her head. “I sure hope so. And what about you? I didn’t see you at Aunt Cora’s funeral.”
Matt rubbed his jaw and shrugged. “Wasn’t here. I’m on a da
y-by-day agenda at the moment.” What it really depended on was whether his ex-commander proposed any special-op missions to him. Matt missed the corps. Missed his role in it.
“Well,” she said, fidgeting with the charm on her necklace, “now that I’m lined up with who Owen Malone claims is the best mechanic and fix-it man around Cassabaw, I’m all set.” She nodded at the house. “The power will be turned on by five this afternoon. The truck will arrive tomorrow with all of my stuff.”
Matt fought a grin. “Stuff, huh?”
That barely there laugh left her throat and shot straight through him, leaving his insides feeling...weird.
“Yeah, all my spectacular stuff. I need to take inventory at the café, order supplies and check on repairs.” Her hazel eyes narrowed. “Are you sure you’re up for all this? I mean, do you have other work planned on that day-to-day agenda of yours? Your dad said you were in the marines?”
Emily probably thought he was some sort of loser drifter. He didn’t know how much of his special-ops past Owen and Jep had told her, but the less she knew, the better.
“Been in the corps since I turned eighteen. Two tours in Iraq, two in Afghanistan. The last one left a load of shrapnel in my shoulder from a blast. Was just released a few weeks ago.” That’s all she’d need to know about his military history.
“God, Matt—I didn’t know. I mean, Owen didn’t say you’d been injured.” Her gaze moved over him, and her eyes softened again. She chewed on her bottom lip and leaned a little closer, as if she wanted to touch him. Instead, she hugged herself. “Looks like we made it back home together then, huh?”
He met her gaze and held it. “Looks like it,” he responded.
A quiet stretched between them. Beneath the shade of the trees, the breeze grazed the back of his neck. The brine of the marsh ran through his lungs, and it reminded him of simpler times. He ran his hand over his head, breaking their trance.
“Well,” he said, and cleared his throat. “We’ve got work to do.”
“We do!” A spark lit her eyes. “What to tackle first? I guess you’ll want to go over everything and then give me an estimate?”
Matt grabbed the hood and closed it. “Yep. But I need to take your Jeep for a spin, see what’s up, then get it over to our place and on the lift so I can see what’s going on with it.” He glanced out over the way he came. “Let’s drive it on over and you can bring Jep’s truck back.”
The smile she gave him was brilliant, full of hope, full of light.
“Sounds like a plan. Are you all mechanics now, too?”
He shrugged. “We’ve always done our own mechanic work. Trawler, trucks, cars. Started working on a project in high school with Jep and Dad. An old Nova. Never finished it.”
“Do you still have it?” she asked.
“Under a tarp in the shop.”
Her smile was wide. “Well, you should definitely finish that project, now that you’re home. There’s good money in classic-car restoration.”
“I guess so.”
“So did you cut through on our old path to get here?”
“Yep,” he answered. “The brush is overgrown, a lot of vines and oyster shells in the lane. I’ll take a machete to it as soon as I can.” He moved to the driver’s side, and Emily climbed in on the passenger side. How crazy was it that after fifteen years they were riding in the same vehicle?
As Matt started the engine after several tries and put the Jeep into Reverse, Emily giggled. He backed up, then paused. “What?”
“It’s so weird to see you driving,” she said, echoing his own thought. Then, she reached over and punched him in the arm. “Matt Malone.” Again, the dimple.
As he shifted into First, he shook his head and he couldn’t help the tug of his lips. “Emily, I’ve been driving for twelve years.”
“You used to smile and laugh so easily,” she said. “Such a hot dog, doing anything it took to make other people laugh.” From his peripheral, he watched her turn her head to stare out the window as they moved down the gravel drive. “Growing up just plain sucks.”
His eyes fell on her now, and to the ink he’d noticed earlier on her shoulder. He couldn’t see all of it, but it looked familiar. Flower petals or something, floating away. Farther down her arm, he noticed another tattoo on the inside of her wrist. Before he could stop himself, he grazed it with his fingers. “What’s that?”
As they bumped down the driveway, Emily turned her wrist and lightly touched the number inked into her skin with a long, delicate finger. “It’s the year my parents were born.”
Matt nodded as he braked and shifted gears at the road. Pulling out onto the two-lane highway, the Jeep sputtered as it tried to catch a gear. Finally, it did, and he picked up speed and shifted again. “What about the other one?” he asked.
Emily’s hand moved to her tattooed shoulder. “It’s a dandelion. My mom’s artist mark.”
He nodded. “I thought I knew it from somewhere. Cassabaw’s welcome sign.”
As Matt pulled into the Malone driveway, his damned eyes found Emily again. At once, questions flooded his mind. Did she have a boyfriend? A husband? He didn’t think she’d had kids. As he watched, her eyes followed the drive, taking in the sight of the big stilted river house Jep’s father had built over a century ago. Sitting beneath a canopy of aged pines and live oaks draped in Spanish moss, it was much like the Quinn place, only a lot older. He’d missed it.
Matt studied Emily, from her ponytail to her shoulder, and farther down those long, tanned legs. Jesus.
This was definitely not the same Emily he’d gone mud bogging with, or crabbing at the mouth of Morgan’s Creek. Not the same girl he’d lain on the dock with and stared up at the stars. This was a grown-up Emily. And they’d spent years apart. Strangers.
“I’ll drop you off and pull the Jeep around to the garage.” Even to his own ears he sounded harsh and businesslike. Maybe it’d be best, at least for him, to keep things that way.
Emily placed her hand on his, oblivious to his brusque dismissal. She squeezed. “Thanks, Matt. I’m so glad you’re here.”
He glanced at her delicate hand resting over his rough one and had no words to answer her. So he just half grunted—a noncommittal type of answer to a statement he had no idea how to respond to.
As Matt drove to the side of the house and stopped to let Emily out, he watched his new employer climb from the open door, throw him a grin and hurry over to his dad, Jep and Matt’s older brother, Nathan.
“You remember my oldest boy, Nathaniel, don’t you, Emily?” Owen asked.
“I sure do,” Emily said. “Hey, Nathan! Boy, your hair’s long. I really like the color.” She ducked behind him, inspecting. “It reminds me of a samurai warrior, only sun-streaked instead of black.”
Nathan laughed. “Well, that’s a first! Come here, girl, it’s been a long time,” Nathan said. “Look at you! All grown-up and pretty!”
His brother’s big arms went around her slim frame as they exchanged hugs.
“You got plans for supper, missy?” Jep croaked. “If not, maybe you can cook us something.”
“Dad,” Owen chided, “cut it out. Emily, you have supper with us tonight. Eric’s picking up chicken. There’ll be more than enough.”
“Sounds great,” Emily replied, throwing a wave Matt’s way.
Matt put the Jeep in Reverse, backed up and then drove it around to the shop. He shifted into Neutral and climbed out, pulling the chains to open the fifteen-foot metal door. He stood there for a second, glancing over his shoulder toward the house, his family and Emily Quinn. A long, exhausted sigh pushed out of his throat.
Jesus Christ, this was going to be one long damn summer.
CHAPTER THREE
EMILY COULD BARELY believe she was standing inside the Malones’ river house after so many years. Everything was exactly the same. The decor favored a true authentic nautical theme at its rawest. On the walls, an old cast net and faded blue-and-white wooden paddles decor
ated the space way above the brick fireplace. It had been fishing gear once belonging to Jep’s father. Known by everyone on Cassabaw, Patrick Malone had been the island’s very last lighthouse keeper. Emily remembered black-and-white pictures of him. Straight from Galway, Ireland, Patrick and his wife, Annie, had brought little Jep to Cassabaw when he was only seven, and from there, the Malone legacy grew.
An old red-and-blue faded buoy leaned against the hearth, and a restored seaman’s chest served as a large coffee table. Two large, dark leather sofas took up the space in the middle of the open room. Not bad at all for a bunch of guys. Then again, Owen and Jep had been in the Coast Guard. And Matt in the marines. Orderly. Neat. It was a trademark.
“Just like you remember?” Nathan asked.
Emily smiled and faced him. “Exactly like I remembered. Even smells the same. And has the same record player in the corner.” Jep always played old music from the twenties and thirties. It probably was why Emily grew to love the vintage melodies and orchestras of the time.
Nathan, too, had turned out to be a handsome guy. As tall as Matt and just as broad and muscular, he was two years older. He was the oddball of the Malones, with longer dark blond hair streaked by the sun, and half of it pulled into a short ponytail. And he did remind her of a samurai warrior. His skin was swarthy and tanned, but those trademark Malone green eyes stared down at her, curious. They differed from Matt’s, which were cautious, sharp and a bit angry. Sad, maybe? Even when he smiled, she could see it in there. She couldn’t help but wonder.
Her eyes searched for Matt, who still hadn’t come inside. She found it sort of funny that she was inadvertently looking for him.
“I remember you and Matt throwing plastic army men from the railing up there and bombing me and Eric while we watched cartoons,” Nathan continued. He rubbed his head as if he’d just been hit by one. “Those damn little things are hard as hell, and hurt.”
