The Summer He Came Home

by Juliana Stone

  “The things I’m going to do to you, Maggie, just might be illegal in some states.”

  Cain turned and headed toward his truck, keys jangling in his hands loosely. “Make sure you get lots of sleep,” he tossed over his shoulder. “Because you’re sure as hell gonna need it.”

  Chapter 17

  “Do not cut any of that hair off!”

  The loud words startled both Maggie and the hairstylist who held a good chunk of Maggie’s hair between her fingers.

  It was Monday afternoon, later in the day, and A Cut Above was buzzing with clientele, stylists, manicurists, and shampoo girls. The shop was located downtown, near the clock tower, just east of the town hall. Out front every single parking space was filled, and the sun glanced off the windshields, blinding anyone who cared to look.

  Maggie’s one client of the day, Annabelle Jenkins, was done—her three-bedroom bungalow only took a few hours—and on impulse, Maggie had decided to treat herself to a pedicure and a haircut. It had been months since she had anything done with it. In fact, the last time her locks were trimmed, it had been a work of art created by her son.

  Lori Jonesberg appeared in the mirror behind her, her expression focused, intense. “I’ve had a cancellation, Sandra, so I’ll look after Ms. O’Rourke. The clean towels have just been delivered and need to be put away.”

  Sandra stepped back and let Maggie’s hair fall from her fingers. “Sure, Lori.” The tone was respectful, but Maggie caught the narrowed eyes before Sandra disappeared from view.

  Lori’s fingers threaded into Maggie’s hair, and she lifted the heavy weight, checking the ends thoroughly before letting the tendrils fall again. “I’ll have to take about an inch off the bottom but no more.” Her dark eyes crinkled. “They look damn good, considering you use the cheapest product on the market.”

  “I…” Maggie started.

  “It’s all right. You don’t have to thank me. I really did have a cancellation.” Lori winked before turning to one of the girls behind her. “Grab my tray and bring a coffee for Maggie.”

  The young teen scurried to do Lori’s bidding. The owner of A Cut Above was petite, standing five foot five in her four-inch spikes, but she was a dynamo nonetheless. Maggie studied her in the mirror. She was also no longer a solid brunette. Lori’s chic cut was now dyed a deep chestnut with blond and red highlights.

  “I heard the garage sale did huge business.” Lori’s gaze was still focused on her hair as she spoke.

  “Uh, yes, Luke said they raised a significant amount of money.”

  “That’s good,” Lori murmured as she cocked her head to the side and lifted a piece of Maggie’s hair. “So what are we doing today?” Lori frowned as she studied Maggie’s head.

  “I thought a cut?”

  Lori shook her head.

  Maggie bit her lip “Maybe? I was thinking something different. I’ve had it long for years, and I”—she shrugged—“thought that a change could be good.” At Lori’s frown, she arched an eyebrow in question. “Or not?”

  “No.” Lori shook her head again. “No, we’re not going to take much off. Trust me on this.”

  Okay. Maggie was a little unnerved at the sudden attention and the woman’s desire to make her over.

  The young teen appeared at Maggie’s side just then and handed her a steaming cup of coffee. She rolled up a tray beside Lori and left as quickly as she’d come.

  “We’re not?” Maggie asked.

  “Nope.” Lori leaned in close to her ear. “Guys like Cain, rockers? They like their women to have long hair.”

  Heat stained Maggie’s cheeks as a slow grin rolled over Lori’s face. The woman tugged on her hair. “They need something to hold on to, you know, when—”

  “Lori,” Maggie interrupted, embarrassed.

  The petite brunette laughed and reached into her tray. “Don’t get your knickers in a knot. I’m just teasing.” She cocked her head, and their eyes met in the mirror. “I’m right, mind you, but if you don’t want to talk about the fact that you’re having sex with Cain Black, I’m fine with that.”

  “I’m not,” Maggie sputtered, suddenly aware of the glances and whispers aimed in her direction.

  “Honey, don’t bother denying. Because if you haven’t done the nasty yet”—Lori held up a large swath of hair—“you will.” She fingered the piece, let it drop, and smiled at Maggie. “I’m going to add a few layers to give you some shape. Your color is gorgeous, but we’ll add some highlights, some blond and a few darker pieces. It will make the texture shimmer and add depth.”

  Rebecca Stringer-Hayes strode into the salon at that moment, spied the two of them, and walked over. “Lori, I was hoping for a quick trim.” The blonde’s gaze lingered on Maggie, a cool smile in place as she adjusted her large bag across her shoulders. It was Gucci, and not a knockoff either.

  Lori shrugged and secured a cape around Maggie’s neck. “The salon’s busy, Rebecca. We don’t have a lot of slots for walk-ins.”

  “Kate Andrews told me she had to cancel.”

  “She did, which is why I’m working on Maggie.”

  Rebecca was irritated. Her glossy lips pursed tight and her foot tapped rapidly on the tile floor. “And how long will that take?”

  “Long enough. If you’re desperate for a trim, sit in my chair, and Sandra will be more than happy to snip away.”

  “But Sandra isn’t my person. You are.” The whine was nasal, and Lori grimaced.

  “I suggest you make an appointment then. I have one or two openings the week after next.”

  Rebecca stopped tapping her toes and gripped the edge of her purse so tightly, her knuckles were white. “You can’t fit me in for a trim.” Disbelief colored her words in a throaty layer, and Maggie shifted in the chair, uncomfortable with the other woman’s behavior and the interest they were creating.

  Lori swore under her breath. “No, Rebecca, I can’t.”

  “Fine, but if you have a cancellation before then, I want it.” Rebecca turned and then paused, her voice loud as she glanced over her shoulder. “I need you to stay later tomorrow, Maggie. The grout in the bathrooms is horrendous, especially around the toilets, and they’ll need to be scrubbed by hand—all four of them.”

  Irritation flared inside her. Maggie looked at Rebecca through the mirror and shook her head. “I don’t visit until Wednesday afternoon, Rebecca.”

  “Whatever.” Rebecca waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Just make sure you do them when you come. They’re a disgrace.”

  Rebecca left the salon in a cloud of perfume and attitude. Maggie watched her go, amazed at how much of a cliché the woman was. Blond, skinny and…

  “She’s always been a bitch. Don’t let her bother you.”

  Maggie glanced at Lori in surprise.

  Lori grabbed pieces of foil and pinned a large chunk of Maggie’s hair on top of her head. “Seriously. That one was born high on herself, and she’ll never change.”

  The heat that sat in Maggie’s cheeks spread. She didn’t want this. She couldn’t afford this. Like a mind reader, Lori patted Maggie on the shoulder and leaned in close once more.

  “Don’t worry about the cost. I’ll only charge you for the cut. Besides, it’s all you booked for.” She shrugged. “Not your problem I feel like playing around with your head.”

  “Why are you doing this?” Maggie was curious. It wasn’t like they were great friends. They were acquaintances, had been on a few school trips together with their children.

  Lori’s face softened, and she spread some of the mixture along a piece of hair before securing it inside the foil. “Most people would be shocked to know this, but I’m a fairy-tale kinda girl.” She grabbed another piece and began applying the mixture. “You just seem like someone who could use a Prince Charming in her life. And if he happens to be a rocker with to-die-for abs and a killer smile, well, that’s all the better, don’t you think?” Lori pinned that piece up and grabbed for another. “Oh, and before I for
get.” Lori made a face and looked at Maggie’s toes in horror. “We’re going to redo the color. Pink passion is for old ladies. Just sayin’.”

  Approximately two and a half hours later, Maggie left A Cut Above humming a tune, her steps light. Her hair was layered and highlighted with funky chunks of peekaboo color that shimmered as the wind picked up and lifted the tresses into the air. Her toes were no longer pink, but sported a vibrant navy color—one that she totally loved and kept admiring as she slowly made her way toward the bus stop.

  Maggie shouldn’t have been surprised when she nearly mowed over someone—or rather not someone, but Jake Edwards. He’d just exited the bank, and she sidestepped at the last second, barely missing him.

  She turned back. “Oh, Jake, I’m sorry. I…” She stopped talking. His eyebrows were furled, all scrunched up as if he was deep in thought. He nailed her with a look that was not happy. In fact, that was an understatement. Jake Edwards looked pissed off and angry as hell.

  “Do you have a minute?” His voice was as sharp as his features. His mouth was tight, and she shifted beneath his steady gaze. For whatever reason, Jake Edwards made Maggie nervous. He was like an elastic band strung way too tight, and she had a feeling he was going to snap. Soon.

  She glanced at her watch. “Uh, it’s late, and Michael’s home alone. I really need to get his supper on.”

  Jake strode toward her and grabbed her elbow. “Good. I’ll give you a lift. We can talk on the way.”

  Okay, he was kinda scaring her now.

  Maggie yanked her arm from his. Granted, the man had been through an unbelievable trauma, but that sure as hell didn’t give him the right to manhandle her or order her around.

  “I can get home on my own, thanks,” she answered stiffly.

  A flurry of emotion rippled across his features, and he ran his hands through the short crop of hair atop his head. The motion drew her eyes to the tattoos on his arm. They were strange symbols she couldn’t place, but one she knew—Gemini, the sign of the twins.

  “I’m sorry, Maggie. I don’t mean to come across like such an ass. I just really want to talk to you about something.” He frowned and pointed to a truck parked up the way. “It’s important.”

  Was he going to warn her away from Cain? Did he think she wasn’t good enough for his friend?

  “God, I’m screwing this all up.” His dark eyes settled on her with a cold intensity that made her swallow and want to step back. “It’s about Raine and her cock-and-bull idea to get pregnant.”

  “Oh.” She hadn’t seen that coming, and for a second was at a loss for words. “I don’t—” She started to shut him down cold, but stopped at the bleak look that crossed his features. Something inside her softened. She wasn’t wholly sure of what his relationship with his brother’s widow entailed, but from what little Raine had said, she knew it was complicated. She also knew his feelings for the widow ran deep, and she wasn’t sure they were all that appropriate. “Jake, I don’t feel comfortable discussing Raine’s personal business with you.”

  His mouth shut tight and his eyes glittered. “So it’s true then,” he growled. His hands fisted and he shook his head. “Is she fucking crazy?”

  He slowly unclenched his fists and let out a long shuddering breath as all emotion disappeared from his face. “All right then. Whatever,” he muttered.

  A horn honked, and his name was shouted from the passing vehicle. Jake smiled and waved, but it was false. There wasn’t anything light or happy in his eyes when they returned to Maggie. “I’m sorry if I came across like an asshole. She just…” He frowned and shook his head. “Raine pushes all my buttons, ya know? And she’s not thinking straight right now. Having a kid is huge. Hell, she can’t even look after a goddamn cat, for Christ sakes. Who the hell do you think has Casper?”

  Casper was the large white cat that lived at his parents’ home.

  “Why don’t you tell her that?” she said softly.

  Jake stared down at her for several long minutes and then shrugged. “Nah, it wouldn’t do any good. Raine always does exactly what she wants, and there’s no one who’s ever been able to convince her otherwise except Jesse. And he sure as hell ain’t around.”

  Maggie didn’t know what to say to that. She hoisted her purse onto her shoulder and took a step toward the bus stop. “I’m sorry,” she said simply. “I have to run, Jake.”

  “Hey, I’m still good for a lift. Sorry about being all crazy and shit. It’s been a long few weeks.” The sad attempt at a smile tugged her heartstrings, but Maggie shook her head.

  “Thanks for the offer, but I like the bus.”

  “You sure? Cain would kick my ass if I didn’t ask, or at least he could try.” Jake tried to make the situation light, but it only led to an awkward silence.

  “I’m good, Jake, and I hope…” She cleared her throat of all the emotion that sat at the back of it and hoped he knew how sincere she was. “I hope you find some peace soon.”

  He cocked his head, dug his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, and shrugged. “That’s something I gave up on a long time ago. But thanks.”

  She caught her bus with minutes to spare and walked through the front door of her home into the waiting arms of her child. He’d spent the day at Holy Trinity, the local church, participating in the youth group, and he’d been dropped off an hour earlier. Maggie held her son close, even as he squirmed and tried to wriggle from her grasp.

  “Hey, your toes look cool. They’re like the color of Harry.”

  She glanced down into his expressive face, and tears filled her eyes as the love she felt for her son hit her in the chest. She cleared her throat. “Harry? My toes remind you of… Who’s Harry?”

  “He’s a fish.” Michael giggled. “Tommy’s fish.”

  Maggie snorted and ran her fingers through his curls. “Tommy has a fish?”

  Michael followed her into the kitchen. “Yep, his name is Harry, and he’s a Chinese fighting fish. He’s so cool, and Tommy’s brother Zachary told me that he can’t have any friends in his tank because they’d kill each other.”

  “Oh, Harry sounds just lovely.” Maggie made a face and reached in the fridge for the casserole she’d baked that morning.

  “He’s not lovely. That’s a sissy word, Mom. He’s a fighter.”

  “Aha.” She spooned some of the casserole onto a plate and threw it in the microwave. “Grab the milk, honey.”

  By the time Michael had fetched the milk from the fridge and poured himself a glass, she had a steaming plate of food on the table.

  “So, you didn’t forget that I go camping with Tommy tomorrow, right?”

  “I didn’t forget.” That was an understatement.

  Her son opened up for another mouthful and paused, spoon frozen in midair. “His mom is picking me up in the morning. They want to be at the campsite by lunchtime.”

  “What time will Sharon be here?” The butterflies started almost immediately. Tomorrow. No child. Date night. Cain.

  Maggie twirled the fork around her plate, not really hungry but thinking she should at least make the effort.

  “Right after Batman.”

  She smiled at her son. Batman was his favorite cartoon, and he watched it every morning. “All right, so I think when you’re done eating, you should hit the shower and get that out of the way before bed.”

  “Yep, and I’ll pack my bag too.”

  “Good idea.”

  “Mom?”

  Maggie gave up on the casserole and rested her chin in her hand. “Yes?”

  A grin spread wide across his face, and her heart jerked, full of love as she gazed into his twinkling eyes. “I like your hair. You look extra pretty tonight.”

  She rose from the table and dropped a kiss on his forehead. God, how she loved him. He was her life, and at the moment, her life was pretty much perfect.

  Chapter 18

  Cain slid his ’68 Gibson Les Paul across his lap and leaned back in the chair as he looked o
ut over the pristine blue lake in front of him. It was another gorgeous summer day, the breeze was slight, and the water was dotted with boats pulling skiers and tubers alike.

  His long fingers slid up the rosewood fretboard, and he absently picked at the low E, caressing the note into a fullness that came naturally to him.

  For as long as he could remember, the guitar had been an extension of his arm. His mother had given him an acoustic when he was eight. She’d gotten it free at a garage sale, along with a bunch of how-to magazines.

  Cain had felt an immediate connection to the instrument. He’d tossed the magazines and taught himself how to play. It became an obsession, something he did every day, and for a child of eight, that was saying something. From then on, his life consisted of music, football, and his buddies.

  All of it had led him to where he was today.

  The notes he pulled from those six strings and the melodies he created were like magic. He lived for the thrill of creating something unique. He wrote songs from the heart, hard-rocking tunes, and soulful ballads. His unique voice—a blend of whiskey blues and hard-edged rock—bent and colored the melody in a way no one else could.

  Cain Black sang the way he did everything else—at full tilt and full of passion. He’d never been afraid to put it out there…but would he be able to write without Blake? Would he be able to come up with the words that would blend perfectly with the melody? Did he have it in him?

  These were sobering thoughts, and he frowned as the lightness he’d enjoyed for the morning disappeared. He’d done his best not to think about the band and what was in store for him when he returned to LA.

  Christ, if he couldn’t carry his weight—write songs that were hits—would his dream be over before it had a chance?

  He strummed a few more chords. Blake was the lyricist—had always been that guy. Could Cain do it?

  “That something new?”

  Mac strolled onto the deck, dark glasses covering his eyes and two days worth of beard shadowing his jaw. His GQ hair, however, looked perfect.