"My father disappeared. He stopped living. He started drinking, and after a while he just gave up on everything. His job, his friends. Me." She paused. "He hated me."

What the h.e.l.l?

"Why would he hate you? That doesn't make sense."

She bit her lip and fingered the edge of a throw blanket. When she spoke her voice was barely above a whisper. "He told me once when he was drunk that he couldn't stand the sight of me."

"Oh babe, that's rough, but I'm sure he didn't mean it. People say a lot of stupid things when they're in pain. Throw alcohol into the mix, and it's ten times worse."

She nodded. "I know he didn't mean them, not really. But they hurt. Really hurt. He was broken, you know, and I...I was a constant reminder of why. Every time he looked at me, he saw her, and it must have killed him."

He kissed the top of her head. "Maggie, we don't have to...you don't have to do this."

She turned in his arms, and he was struck silent at the fragile beauty that he held, though really, he knew that was a smoke screen. Cain believed that Maggie O'Rourke was the strongest person he'd ever met.

"At first we just learned to live without communicating all that much. I threw myself into school, and he drank his way to the bottom of every bottle he came across. When we lost the house and moved into an apartment, I thought my life had bottomed out." She shook her head. "I was wrong. He lost his job and started drinking his way through whatever money we had. I tried to help out...got a job waitressing, but it wasn't enough, and besides, the more money I brought into the house, the more he drank. When I was sixteen he told me to go. To leave and not to come back. He said I could apply for social a.s.sistance like all the other welfare girls did and get my own place on 'baby alley,' which is where a lot of young mothers lived."

Something cold thrust its way inside him-anger for this faceless man who'd abandoned his child like garbage.

"What did you do?"

Her eyes were puffy, her skin blotchy, from crying. "I left," she whispered. "And I haven't seen him since."

"Christ, Maggie. I had no idea."

"Oh G.o.d, I've never"-she shuddered-"I've never shared this with anyone, not even..."

"Who?"

"Michael's father," she whispered.

Cain waited for her to continue, but she didn't. He was surprised at how disappointed he was that she didn't trust him enough to share everything. She closed her eyes and he held her.

Later, much later, he heard her whisper, "Thank you."

"I didn't do anything." His fingers pushed a long strand of hair off her wet, heated face.

"It feels good to be free of that secret."

Cain carried Maggie back to her room and slid into bed with her. She turned on her side and settled her body against his. He held her for a very long time, listening to her breathe, and was nearly asleep himself when she murmured, "Green."

"What was that, babe?"

"My favorite color is green."

With that heartfelt admission, he was a goner. In that moment he knew there was no one else for him but Maggie. She'd claimed his heart without even trying.

He inhaled her scent and kept her close.

There was still a ways for them to go. Her trust was a fragile thing. Maggie was holding back. There was the whole question about Michael's father. He knew about the violence but nothing else. Where was the guy? Had they been married? Were they divorced?

But as his mother used to say, baby steps...you have to crawl before you can walk. d.a.m.n straight.

Cain would do whatever it took to release Maggie from her demons. Even if it meant crawling to h.e.l.l and back.

Chapter 27.

The smell of sawdust filled the air along with the sound of hammers and saws-a handyman's paradise.

Cain's cell phone vibrated. Again. It had been going off intermittently, and he couldn't ignore it anymore. He grabbed it from his pocket and stared at the LA exchange. It was Natasha, and from the looks of it, she'd called at least a dozen times over the past hour.

"What's up?" Jake paused on his way by, arms full of lumber. It was early afternoon, Thursday, and they were in the middle of building a suitable stage for the festivities on Sat.u.r.day. So far the job was going well, considering. The "too many hands in the pot" thing hadn't become a detriment-yet.

"Nothing."

Cain pointed toward Dax. The Brit had insisted on helping build the stage, and Cain wasn't so sure it was a good idea. If he didn't lose a finger it would be a miracle. "No, that's plywood. Mac needs the lumber from the other pile for the frame."

The Brit made a face, cursed a string of foul words before turning around, and dumped his load of plywood in favor of the heavier framing lumber. Cain's cell phone rang once more. He swore, powered it down, and slipped it into the front pocket of his jeans.

Screw Natasha. He didn't have time for her bulls.h.i.t.

"Everything all right?"

He turned to Mac. "Right as rain." He nodded to the skeleton of a stage. "So, we on schedule or what?" The plan was to get the staging built Thursday, and then Friday the production was to arrive. Sound check and all the final details had to be dealt with before Sat.u.r.day.

Mac nodded. "Pretty sure we'll get it done." Mac's eyes narrowed. "As long as your British peac.o.c.k manages not to screw things up."

Cain snorted. Peac.o.c.k was about right. Dax's choice of wardrobe was somewhat eccentric, to say the least. He'd arrived at the site wearing Union Jack pants-leather Union Jack pants, no less, in this heat-a silk dress shirt to match, and his infamous top hat. White cowboy boots finished the ensemble. Dax wasn't exactly the type for manual labor. But his heart was in the right place.

Michael and Tommy ran by them, arms waving madly as they dragged a cooler in their wake, off to dole out some cold drinks to the workers. Maggie had let Cain take the boy for the day, and the two kids were having a blast.

"So, things with Maggie are good, I take it?"

Cain followed Mac to the staging area. He grabbed a hammer and adjusted the sack of nails that hung from his waist.

"Yeah, things are good."

"So what are your plans?"

"Plans?"

"How long you sticking around?"

"We've got the cottage for the summer, Mac."

"That's not what I meant."

Cain chuckled and followed Mac to the stage. Most of the framing was in place; it wouldn't take long to finish.

"I know what you meant, and I don't know what I'm going to do." He shrugged. "It depends."

"On what?"

His answer was simple. "Maggie."

"s.h.i.t." Mackenzie grinned. "You're so gone."

Cain said nothing.

"You're totally gone for her."

Cain turned to the task at hand and nodded. "Yeah, I guess I am."

The rest of the afternoon flew by, and it was nearly five when they called it a day. The stage wasn't fancy but it was solid and, thanks to Mac, had been designed so that it could be broken up into sections, rolled away, and stored for future use.

Things were moving along, and Cain was in a great mood. They'd ordered pizza and wings-Cain's treat, courtesy of his buddy at Jack's Hut-enough to feed all the volunteers who'd stuck around to the end. Michael sat at his side happily stuffing pizza into his mouth. Tommy and his dad had left a few hours earlier. They were heading into the city to visit his grandfather, so it was just Cain and the boy.

He glanced down at Michael. He was fine with that. In fact, he was more than fine with that. The kid had managed to burrow into his heart in pretty much the same way his mother had.

He stood and stretched, worked out a kink in his neck. His muscles protested, but he liked the burn. He was in shape, but it felt good to get his hands dirty again. Nothing like an afternoon of hard physical labor to soothe the mind and work the body. It was good to get back to basics.

"Who's that?"

Cain followed Jake's line of vision, and his mood darkened. Instantly.

Son of a b.i.t.c.h.

A man lurked near the edge of the field, but it wasn't the man who angered Cain as much as what he was carrying. A camera. A big honking camera. He glanced down at Michael. Christ, if he'd taken the kid's picture...

"Michael, you stay here with Salvatore, okay?"

Had this been what Natasha meant? She'd called him several times the week before because she wanted to visit. The woman was insane. He'd finally told her that he'd met someone, that her pipe dream of hooking up with him again was ridiculous. She'd been livid and had threatened to ruin his summer.

He'd cut her off and hadn't thought anything of it. The woman had blown steam throughout most of their marriage, and it had never meant anything. But the paparazzi? They had no interest in him per se, and the only reason they'd be here was if Natasha had pointed them in this direction.

He'd f.u.c.king kill her.

"You need help dealing with this a.s.shole?" Jake clenched his hands and stood.

"I'm good."

Cain strode toward the interloper, his features blank, though inside his anger roiled. He was p.i.s.sed and really didn't have time for this s.h.i.t.

The paparazzo fiddled with his equipment and, from what Cain could tell, was most likely packing up for the day, which meant he'd gotten what he came for. Cain's anger spiked. Children were hands-off, and if this guy had crossed that line, he was going to be one sorry son of a b.i.t.c.h.

As he got closer, Cain frowned. He recognized the slimy b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Dirk was his name. He was the a.s.shole who'd sold pictures of him and Natasha on their honeymoon. The man was a weasel with no moral integrity at all.

He was nearly upon him when Dirk turned, his pinched features tightening into what was supposed to be a smile, but Cain took it for what it was. A big f.u.c.k you.

"Give me the camera." Cain wasn't playing around.

Dirk's long hair hung in dreads halfway down his back. His caramel skin was as fake as the hair he'd paid huge money for. His skinny arms hung like pencils at his side, the camera held loosely in his long fingers. He was such an arrogant little p.r.i.c.k.

Cain's hands fisted and he squared his shoulders.

"Dude, it's a free country. I'm just out taking shots of"-he sneered-"the scenery. No biggie."

"Give me the camera, now." He spit the words out.

Dirk took a step back, and the pencil-necked douche's eyes narrowed as he glanced behind Cain. "Cute kid. Secret love child?"

Cain's temper exploded, and he lunged forward. Dirk was surprised. In all their previous encounters, Cain had never reacted this way.

But then, he'd never had a child to protect.

His hand closed around the camera, and he yanked it easily from Dirk's fingers. Dirk tried to twist away, but he was no match for Cain. Cain's fingers dug in, and he had him by his shirt.

"Hey, you can't..."

"I can and I will." Cain was inches from his face. There was no mistaking the level of anger that he felt. "I suggest you get your a.s.s out of town and don't come back."

"What's going on here?" Jake asked, his voice light. Deceptively so. The soldier's muscles bulged as he flexed his arms. "We got a problem, Cain?"

A squeak escaped Dirk's lips as Cain applied a touch more pressure, and a flash of satisfaction rushed through Cain. "I think we're good." He pushed the paparazzo away and studied the camera in his hands. After retrieving the memory card, he asked, "Does this have an internal hard drive?"

Dirk shrugged, his thin face screwed up something fierce as a wave of red colored his sunken cheeks.

"You know what? Doesn't matter. I'm taking this."

"You can't-"

"Don't push me. That kid's face is not going to be plastered all over some trashy mag because you think you have the right to take his picture." Cain leaned forward, and Dirk stumbled backward.

Smart man.

"Call Natasha. I'm sure she'll be more than happy to replace your equipment." There was no surprise, and Cain knew he was right to surmise Natasha's involvement. h.e.l.l, she'd probably sold them out on their d.a.m.n honeymoon for the publicity alone.

Dirk glared at him and opened his mouth, but Jake interrupted. "If you were smart, you'd be gone already."

Dirk's gaze dropped to the camera Cain held, and it took everything inside of Cain to refrain from smashing the d.a.m.n thing in his slimy, sweat-slicked face.