Part 26 (1/2)

”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 s.h.i.+rt 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.”