The Summer He Came Home (Bad Boys of Crystal Lake 1)

She followed Michael outside and waited for Cain to grab his truck. It was now early evening and the promised humidity had moved in, coating everything with a fine mist of warm, damp air. It settled in Maggie’s lungs and slithered across her skin. She looked up at the sky where dark clouds had gathered, blocking the sun and leaving a dull gray instead of the bright blue of a few hours ago.

They were definitely rain clouds.

She quickened her steps, even though she still felt a little fuzzy, and would have slid into the backseat, except there was a large guitar case in the way. Michael climbed in on the other side, and she carefully slid into the front. It wasn’t as if she had a choice.

Cain pulled away from the curb. “What street do you live on?”

“Linden…the last house on the right.”

“Old Man McCleary’s place.”

“So I’m told. His daughter collects my rent checks.”

“He still alive?”

Why do you care?

“His wife died a few years ago. He’s in the retirement home.”

“Sorry to hear that. She was a nice lady.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“How long have—”

“Can we not do this?” Maggie interrupted.

He arched an eyebrow, and she didn’t like the grin that claimed his mouth. “This?”

“This thing…whatever it is.” She exhaled slowly and winced. She knew she sounded like an ungrateful bitch, but she couldn’t help it. At the moment she did feel bitchy. “Look, thanks for the lift home, but seriously, we don’t need to do the small-talk thing. It’s all right.

“Besides…” She turned away from him, closed her eyes, and rested against the soft headrest. “I don’t feel like talking.”

Cain navigated his way around the hospital pa

rking lot and back onto the street. He turned up the radio, and she settled into blessed peace, her eyes half-open as she gazed out the window.

It was nearly seven in the evening, and traffic was heavy. Friday nights were always busy, with folks spilling into the small town from the surrounding larger cities, some driving from as far away as Detroit. The town of Crystal Lake supported a flourishing cottage-rental industry, with boating, fishing, and relaxation being key selling points to prospective vacationers.

Maggie was toying with the idea of picking up a few seasonal clients, but it meant she’d have to clean Saturday mornings. She was undecided if the time away from Michael was worth the extra cash.

She closed her eyes. Michael and Cain chatted, but their words melted together into a soft whirl of masculine sounds. She couldn’t be bothered to listen to their conversation. Her head ached, and damn, but she was tired.

“We’re here.”

Maggie’s eyes flew open at Cain’s words. She must have dozed off, which was surprising, considering the ride from the hospital to her home didn’t take more than ten minutes.

He stood beside the truck with the door open, his eyes intense as he stared down at her. The skies had opened up and rain fell steadily, coating his hair with beads of moisture that glistened against the dark waves.

How long had he been standing there? His T-shirt was wet. It clung to his chest, emphasizing powerful muscles and broad shoulders.

Long enough.

If she took the time, she was sure she’d be able to count each and every ab. His jeans were low-slung, held up by a wide leather belt and intricate buckle that drew her attention.

“See something you like?”

Maggie’s cheeks burned as she glanced up at him. “I…” she stammered, embarrassed.