The Thing About Trouble (Crystal Lake 1)

A couple of teens walked past them and into the boutique. “I should get back inside, but I’ll see you Tuesday?”

Blue nodded. She took a few steps, her eyes drawn to Cam and the little girl. He was still squatting, talking to her, and the child was listening intently. Her head dropped, and she scraped her toe along the ground, slowly, back and forth. Something about the way she looked tugged at Blue’s heartstrings. She was so small. So delicate and precious. So incredibly vulnerable.

So much like…

Blue trembled so badly, she nearly dropped her bags. No. She shook her head violently, exhaled, and looked away. She wouldn’t go there. She couldn’t go there. She closed her eyes, and it took a bit for her to reach a place of calm. When she opened them again, a jolt of energy ran through her, and she flinched. Cam Booker was looking straight at her. He was standing now and had the little girl by her hand, but his eyes were on Blue.

She stopped breathing, and the world narrowed down to one beam of vision. There was Cam and the child, and nothing else. She didn’t know how long they stared at each other, but one of the teenagers exited the boutique and slammed into the back of her, breaking the spell and nearly sending Blue to her knees.

There were embarrassed apologies and smiles and assurances that all was good. When Blue glanced back, Cam was gone. She took a few steps and turned in a full circle, but there was no sight of him or the little girl. Which was probably a good thing considering Blue didn’t do well around young children.

At least, not since she’d lost her own child.

3

Cam Booker’s mother was the kind of woman who stuck to routine and rarely wavered from it. Maybe it was because of her job as a nurse at the hospital—routine was a way of life there. Or it could have been part of her upbringing. Her father was a military man, after all. Whichever the reason, her life was predictable, or as much as a person’s life could be. Today was no different. On every Sunday she wasn’t working, Lisa Booker pulled into her driveway at exactly half past twelve, after attending church with her sister Tish.

At exactly twelve thirty-five, Cam pulled in and parked behind her car. His father’s truck was missing from the garage, but he didn’t think on it too much. It was his mother he’d come to see, after all. He cut the engine and glanced at Tawny. She’d gotten ice cream in her hair, and the sad excuse for pigtails he’d managed hours ago looked sadder. And tangled. And uneven. He frowned. Who knew that brushing out a five-year-old would be harder than using a miter saw?

The little girl sat there with her hands clasped in her lap, small legs dangling over the edge of the seat, thin shoulders hunched forward as she looked out the window. Her pink bag she’d insisted on bringing was on the floor, and the stuffed bear hung out one of the pockets. Cam wasn’t exactly sure what else was inside, other than the yellow dress Tawny had pulled out this morning. He didn’t know much about fashion—he was a jeans-and-T-shirt kind of guy—but even Cam could tell the little girl needed some new clothes.

From the backseat, Rufus nudged Cam’s elbow, and he cleared his throat, reaching for the door. “Let’s go, kiddo.”

“Who lives here?” she asked, a solemn expression on her face as she gazed up at the house.

“My parents.”

Slowly, she turned to him. “Are you going to leave me here?” Her voice was small, but the words hit him like a sledgehammer.

“No,” Cam replied carefully. “But I need to speak to my mom, and I thought you might like to meet her.”

Tawny seemed to mull over his words. She picked at the frayed edge of her dress and shrugged, reaching for her bag. “Okay.”

And that was that. She climbed out of his truck and waited for Rufus to follow. When Cam rounded the vehicle, she clutched at his hand, her small fingers digging into his palm with a strength

that surprised him.

They walked through the white picket fence that encircled the house and up the stone path that led to the porch. Cam didn’t knock, but walked inside and called for his mother.

“In the kitchen, hon.”

He led the way down the wide hallway to the kitchen, which ran the length of the back of the house. It was his mother’s pride and joy, and the main gathering place for the family. It was warm and inviting, with lots of natural light, and he smiled as the scent of fresh apple pie reached his nostrils. He could almost close his eyes and go back in time to when he was a kid, running in from Sunday school, eager to dig into his mother’s famous dessert.

He stopped just inside the entrance to the kitchen and spied his mother at the sink. She had a tea towel tossed over one shoulder, and her blonde hair was up in a loose bun. She was still in her church clothes, a light pink floral dress that complemented her complexion and figure. She turned with a smile, and her eyebrow rose questioningly when she spied Tawny. She dried her hands, tossed the tea towel, and made her way over to them.

“Cam. This is a surprise. I thought you’d be at your brother’s place.”

Shit. Cam grimaced and shook his head. Now Cam knew why Nash had called him twice in the last hour. He’d declined each call and let them go straight to voicemail because he didn’t feel like answering a million questions in front of Tawny.

Nash had invited him for a day of boating, and his wife, Honey, had invited Marissa, a new server at their bar, the Coach House, to join them. Cam had stopped at the Coach House for a beer a few days earlier, and Marissa made no secret she was looking for more than just a boat ride. Cam had been looking forward to taking her back to his place to give her the kind of ride she was looking for. It had been a while.

He didn’t answer his mother’s question since he figured there was no point. Instead, Cam nodded to the little girl at his side. “Mom, this is Tawny.”

“Nice to meet you.” His mother bent low so her face was level with the little girl’s. “That is a pretty name.”

“It was my mommy’s favorite.”

“Well, your mommy has great taste.” Lisa Booker winked.