"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 f.u.c.king 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 pa.s.sing 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 a.s.shole. She just..." He frowned and shook his head. "Raine pushes all my b.u.t.tons, ya know? And she's not thinking straight right now. Having a kid is huge. h.e.l.l, she can't even look after a G.o.dd.a.m.n cat, for Christ sakes. Who the h.e.l.l 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 h.e.l.l 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 s.h.i.t. 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 a.s.s 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 c.o.c.ked 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, partic.i.p.ating 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 ca.s.serole 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 ca.s.serole 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 gla.s.s, 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 b.u.t.terflies 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 ca.s.serole 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. G.o.d, 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 out 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 pa.s.sion. 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 gla.s.ses covering his eyes and two days worth of beard shadowing his jaw. His GQ hair, however, looked perfect.

"You look like s.h.i.t." 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. .h.i.tting 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 s.e.xy 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 s.h.i.t." He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "G.o.d, we're a sorry-a.s.s bunch."

Cain flipped his middle finger in salute. "Speak for yourself. My immediate future is looking pretty d.a.m.n 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 h.e.l.l 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 s.h.i.t. He'd only brought a few things with him when he arrived for the funeral. h.e.l.l, 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 d.i.c.kens's England.

Cain pulled into an empty s.p.a.ce 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 gla.s.ses 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 h.e.l.l-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 b.i.t.c.h. 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.