The Summer He Came Home

by Juliana Stone

  “You look like shit.” Cain ran a pentatonic scale, fingers flying over the strings, and shook his head. “How much vodka you throw back last night?”

  Mac stretched and groaned. “Too much.”

  Cain wanted to say more but decided to keep his mouth shut. Truthfully, he was worried about Mackenzie and thought that maybe he was hitting the sauce a little too heavy. But as Jake had pointed out the night before, Mac had always done things his own way and, if pushed, tended to hit back.

  It was better to let him deal with his demons on his own terms, and if things got messy, they’d intervene.

  “So what’s on for tonight?”

  Cain’s fingers stilled. “I’m taking Maggie out for dinner.”

  “The little redhead.”

  Cain nodded.

  “The little redhead of the sexy little boy shorts.”

  “Yeah, that would be the one.”

  Mac sank into the chair a few feet away and took a bite out of a large green apple. “So what do you got planned, Romeo?”

  Cain’s fingers plucked out a soft melody—one filled with major notes, happy notes, and grinned. Oh, if he could only share the images in his mind.

  “I thought I’d take her to Jack’s Hut.”

  “You’re kidding me, right?” Mac removed the shades from his face and shook his head. His eyes were bloodshot and he looked evil, with his forehead crinkled in disbelief. “Jack’s Hut is a dive. Why don’t you take her to Le Rouge at the Pine Resort? I’ve heard their food is phenomenal.”

  “Nope. Jack’s Hut is more my style.” Cain snorted. “Besides, I don’t speak French.”

  “You’re gonna blow it. This girl is going to think she’s not worth your time.”

  Cain rose from his chair, the Les Paul cradled carefully in his hands. “Thanks for your concern, but I’ve got it covered.” He nodded. “I’ve got a couple errands to run in town, but I’ll be back later for a shower. What’s Jake got planned? You guys hooking up?”

  Mack finished his apple and shrugged. “No clue. I’ve got some work to do, a few loose ends to tie up on my last project, and I might swing by the Edwardses’ later. He’s not going back to Afghanistan—you knew that, right?”

  Cain nodded. “Yeah, he told me, gave me some technical term about the last surviving child that got him out of the rest of his tour.”

  “Something’s up with him and Raine. It’s not good.”

  “Was it ever? I mean, for Jake?”

  Mac grimaced. “It’s more than all that old shit.” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “God, we’re a sorry-ass bunch.”

  Cain flipped his middle finger in salute. “Speak for yourself. My immediate future is looking pretty damn fine.”

  “Don’t rub it in.”

  Cain disappeared inside and put the guitar back in its case. The Goldtop Deluxe was his pride and joy. He’d bought it privately from a collector, had paid a hell of a lot for it, but didn’t care. It was signed by Les Paul himself, the legendary guitarist and designer of the instrument, and honestly, he’d have paid triple what he had.

  It was nearly noon. He grabbed a bite to eat, pulled a T-shirt over his head, and slid into a pair of jeans. His clothes had finally arrived a few days earlier, and he was thankful to have his own stuff and not have to borrow Jake or Mac’s shit. He’d only brought a few things with him when he arrived for the funeral. Hell, he hadn’t planned on staying longer than a few days, and sure there was a stash of clothes at his Mom’s, but most of it was old and ratty.

  Springsteen was on the radio, “The River,” blasting through the speakers as he pulled out of the driveway and navigated up the narrow lane. Tall evergreen trees bordered the road and gave the impression of deep woods. With the lake behind him and cottages hidden like a secret, Cain welcomed the absolute wash of peace that surrounded him.

  His mood was light as he drove toward Crystal Lake, and it didn’t take long for him to cross the small bridge that led to the northern side. He hadn’t been downtown yet and whistled as he feasted his eyes on the new and improved center of town. It had had a complete redo, with an emphasis on quaint, an obvious attempt to lure the tourists who spent their dollars and propped up the local economy. All the storefronts had new facades, and the light standards that lined the streets resembled something out of Dickens’s England.

  Cain pulled into an empty space in front of the Rose Garden and cut the engine. The sidewalks were full, couples strolled hand in hand, and he was happy to see the town thriving.

  The bell that tinkled when he walked through the door of the Rose Garden alerted the woman behind the counter that she had a customer. Mrs. Avery pushed her glasses higher up her nose and smiled heartily when she spied him.

  “Cain Black! I heard you were in town. So nice to see you.” She moved from behind the counter, beaming.

  “Hi, Mrs. Avery.” He nodded. “Feels good to be back.”

  She shook her head. “It’s Mary. I feel silly having a grown man call me Mrs.”

  “How’s Frank?” Her son Frank had been a bit of a hell-raiser back in the day. He was a few years older than Cain, and they’d played ball together a couple years.

  Mary’s face glowed. “Oh my goodness, he’s wonderful. His wife, Robin Travers…remember her? She’s about to have their third child—a boy! They’ve got two girls, so we’re quite excited about this little one.”

  Son of a bitch. Frank Avery—the punisher, as he’d been called on the field—was a dad.

  “That’s great. Give him my best.”

  Mary’s eyes crinkled in her plump face, and she laughed. “I will, but I’m sure you’re not here to talk about Frank. What can I do for you?”

  “I’d like some flowers delivered this afternoon, if possible.”

  “Sure, that won’t be a problem. Do you know what you want?”

  Cain smiled and nodded. “Tulips if you have them. Deep red ones.”

  “Let me check the cooler. I think we might be able to help you out.”

  Mary popped back out after a few moments. “I’ve got two bunches, and if we need more, my supplier is due in a few hours, so we’re in luck.”

  Tulips were simple and elegant and totally Maggie. She’d mentioned they were one of her favorites, a little tidbit he’d stored away.

  “Can you arrange them in a container of some sort? I’m not sure what she has.”

  “Of course.”

  Cain reached for his credit card and handed it over.

  “Is there a specific time you’d like these delivered to your mom’s?”

  He signed the receipt. “Ah, they’re not for my mom. I want them delivered to Maggie O’Rourke. Not sure of the proper address, but she’s renting Old Man McCleary’s house.”

  If Mary Avery was surprised, she didn’t show it. “Why yes, I know Maggie. Lovely girl, and that son of hers is such a polite young man.”

  “Great! Thanks for this, and hopefully I’ll see Frank around.”

  Mary’s pale hazel eyes were intent as she stared at him. “What would you like on the card?”

  “Nothing.” Cain turned. “She’ll know who they’re from.”

  One down, two to go.

  He decided to leave his truck parked where it was and walked to Jack’s Hut, which was located at the end of the main drag. It was exactly what the name implied—a small dwelling with a thatched roof that looked out of place in northern Michigan. But the beer was cold, they served the best damn wings he’d ever had, and he was hoping the jukebox still worked.

  The owner owed him a favor from way back, and he was kind of hoping it wasn’t too late to cash in.

  Twenty minutes later he’d finished his business at the Hut and crossed the street, his eyes fixed on the Super Drug Store that was up the way.

  Large glass automatic doors slid open for him, and Cain walked inside. A wall of cool air greeted him, and it felt damn good. He glanced around. The place hadn’t changed at all. It still held that antiseptic scent t
hat, if inhaled for too long, was nauseating.

  The store was well lit and busy. Shit. He kept his head low and cursed the fact that his trusty Bruins cap was on the seat of his truck.

  He paused for a moment, not liking the uncomfortable feeling that settled in his belly. It had been so long since he ran an errand like this that he felt like a damn teenager. With Natasha there’d been no need, and while on tour, well, there were always roadies to do this sort of thing.

  Cain slid through the aisles, his focus on the last one to his right. If his memory was correct, that’s where the condoms were. And Lord knows his evening wouldn’t progress the way he wanted unless he was equipped. He somehow didn’t picture Maggie as the type of woman to keep a box full of rubbers by her bed.

  He sidestepped an elderly man—“Sorry”—and peeked into the aisle. Yep. There they were. Right beside the jock-itch powder—and Mrs. Lancaster. Her pink and red dress was damn hard to miss, but it was the white hair and black rubber boots that gave her away.

  He groaned inwardly and glanced at his watch. It was now nearly two in the afternoon. He’d told Maggie he’d pick her up at five. Time was running out, and though he’d have liked nothing better than to grab them and go, there was no way in hell he was going to pick out a shiny box of condoms while Mrs. Lancaster stood inches away.

  He scowled. And really, why the hell were the boxes so damn shiny anyway?

  He headed down the next aisle, not really focusing on anything and hoping like hell Mrs. Lancaster would leave already.

  “Hey Cain.” It was Dave Edmonds, his old football coach. The gravelly voice was distinct though not as robust as he remembered.

  It seemed his delicate mission was going to be interrupted by every damn person he knew. Figures.

  The man shuffled over from the pharmacy counter, and they chatted for several minutes about the weather, football, music, and the upcoming fundraiser. Coach Edmonds had aged, but his humor was as sharp as ever, as was his opinion, which was strong on most every subject imaginable. He thought Cain’s music was crap and that he’d be more successful if he had a banjo in his band. And a fiddle.

  “Well, sorry to bother you, Cain. I’ll let you get back to whatever it is you’re doing.”

  He shook Coach’s hand and then gestured crazily. “Thanks, I’m just trying to find the right ones…” His words trailed off as Cain took a second to glance at the shelves in front of him. They were crammed full of products—feminine products, to be exact, in all shapes, sizes, colors, and—he cringed—wings. What the hell? His eyes narrowed. They even had them for thongs?

  Coach Edmonds frowned and shook his head, a weird look in his eyes. “Sorry. This is beyond my scope. I can’t help you with this.” Coach took a step and paused, laughter underlying his words. “Good luck with that.”

  Cain grimaced and nodded. “Yeah, thanks.” He waited until Coach was gone and crept to the end of the aisle, a smile widening his mouth as a memory rushed through him.

  The first time he ever bought condoms, it had been a group effort. He’d come in with the boys—Jesse, Jake, and Mac. It had been late, a Friday night. The Super Drug was open until midnight, and they’d waited till Brenda Borstrano had left for the night, leaving only one of their schoolmates at the register. If not, she’d have spread it all over town that the Bad Boys were rubbering up.

  They’d had no clue what to buy and in the end had grabbed a box of every kind that there was. Size large, of course.

  He smiled at the memory. They’d spent a small fortune, and as it was, most of the condoms they bought had never been put to use. Even then their dreams had been larger than their reality.

  Cain pretended to walk by the aisle, shot a covert glance toward his prize, and was happy to see that Mrs. Lancaster had moved on from the jock itch. He turned quickly and headed straight for the rack of condoms. His eyes scanned the variety that was there, and for a second he was that kid from back in the day. Confused and entirely way too excited.

  He had no idea there was so much to choose from, mostly because he’d only ever had straight-up, normal condoms.

  Where to start? Christ, there were glow-in-the-dark condoms, flavored condoms, studded-for-his-and-her-pleasure condoms, and warming condoms. Warming?

  Shit. He grabbed the closest one and raised an eyebrow at the name emblazoned along the side of the box in bold neon green, Rough Rider. It was somehow…appropriate. A grin cracked his face and he chuckled. It was one of the studded brands. Why the hell not?

  Another box caught his eye. He hesitated and then grabbed it too. He’d never even heard of a vibrating condom ring before, but hell, it couldn’t hurt to try. He smiled wickedly at the thought. It sounded very interesting.

  He turned and nearly ran over Mrs. Lancaster. The woman was scrunched near the display of antifungal creams, and there was no way he was getting around her. He was about to head the other way when she spoke.

  “You played football, didn’t you, Cain?”

  He glanced down at the box in his hands and froze. The neon color seemed to pulsate beneath the harsh fluorescent lights above. Damn, anyone other than her and he’d have been fine. But Mrs. Lancaster? The pastor’s wife?

  “Cain, are you deaf, my dear?”

  He turned, kept his right hand behind his back, and smiled. “Mrs. Lancaster, sorry, didn’t see you there.” He nodded. “Sure, I played some ball.”

  “You ever get the jock itch?” She straightened and peered up over her glasses.

  “No, ma’am.” He chuckled. “I never had a problem in that area.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Hmm, well, this isn’t common knowledge, so I’d appreciate it if you could keep it under your hat, but my Franklin sweats a lot.”

  Okay, that’s not what he’d been expecting to hear. “Ah, sorry to hear that, Mrs. Lancaster.”

  “Yes, well, it’s been his cross to bear”—her eyebrow arched—“so to speak.” She pointed toward the display behind her. “I Googled it.”

  “It?”

  “Jock itch. He’s got this rash, and it’s something fierce to behold.”

  “Oh.”

  “Playing football and all, I thought you might have a suggestion as to which antifungal cream or spray is better.” Her face was screwed up into an intense frown, as if this was a life-and-death decision. “There’s powder too, but I’m just a little confused.”

  “Sorry, Mrs. Lancaster, I don’t know which is the best, but I’m sure they’re all equally effective.” He shrugged. “Maybe a cream?”

  Or a shot of something in the ass? He hid the smile that accompanied that thought.

  She nodded. “Yes, that’s what I was thinking.” She shrugged. “He’s an old man with an itch. This can’t be rocket science.”

  “Well, I’ve got to get going, so…”

  She grabbed a tube of cream and chuckled. “Goodness, of course. I’m sure you’ve got much more important things to do than discuss such a thing with an old lady.”

  Cain let her pass, his face hot. He swore everyone in the damn store was staring at him. He clutched the box in his hands tightly. Mrs. Lancaster kept up a pleasant chatter all the way to the front cashier, and he followed behind.

  “I hope Pastor Lancaster feels some relief soon.” He smiled tightly. Crap, Rebecca Stringer was heading his way. He needed to get the hell out of the store.

  “I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

  Cain stepped by her and stood just beyond the cash register, his intent to inch past.

  “I’m sure he will, but Cain, you might want to pay for those before you leave.” Her gaze moved to his hands, and she smiled, a devilish twinkle in her eye. “Stealing is a sin, son, among other things.”

  He looked at the shiny black box in his hands and swallowed. Not cool to be caught by the pastor’s wife with a box of big-ass studded condoms, and a vibrating condom ring to boot.

  Rebecca was nearly to the cashier, a determined look on her face. His blood pressure rose signific
antly. He so didn’t want to deal with her right now.

  “Do you want to…” Mrs. Lancaster motioned in front of her. “I’m sure you’re in much more of a hurry than I am. Why don’t you pay for your purchase first.” She winked and whispered, “You might want to ask for a paper bag, though you should know they charge a quarter for them now.”

  He forced a smile and clutched his Rough Riders.

  Sure, he’d get right on that.

  Chapter 19

  Maggie had changed at least six times in the last half hour, and at the moment, her bedroom was a disaster. Clothes were strewn everywhere, and shoes littered the floor. She didn’t have a whole lot in her closet, so the mess represented most of what she owned.

  Her fingers smoothed the soft lines of the skirt she wore. She’d forgotten about it, mostly because she’d had no reason to wear it for the last few years. It was an older piece, but hugged her curves in exactly the right way. She glanced around. The mess was worth it. She felt sexy, anxious, and excited. Things she hadn’t felt in years.

  Her hair was loose, fell past her shoulders in a curtain of crimson that she’d carefully straightened. The subtle highlights Lori had added shone like slivers of gold, and when she turned her head, her eyes were luminous, emphasized by the new makeup she’d purchased.

  It was amazing how a little bit of mascara coupled with dark, smoky shadow made her eyes pop. Light blush across her cheekbones and some gloss on her lips, and she was good to go.

  The skirt was a wraparound, plain black and short, falling halfway down her thigh. She’d joined it with a soft green silk halter and black sandals that she’d borrowed from Raine. She was braless and a little nervous about the fact, but she didn’t have one of those fancy crisscross halter bras.

  Her fingers ran over her chest lightly, and her nipples hardened, their rigid tips very much in evidence. She thought of Cain’s hands on her and blushed when she thought of how boldly she grabbed him between the legs. He’d felt so big and strong.

  As the image lingered, the slow, heavy ache she’d been fighting for days intensified. Good God, she had no need for color on her cheeks. Her natural embarrassed tone would be more than enough.