Those Cassabaw Days. Cindy Miles

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СКАЧАТЬ insisted on it. She was just a kid. But she never answered his letters, and he’d written dozens of them.

      He knew it sounded stupid as hell, but his memory of the day she left was crystal clear. The pain had resonated within him for a long time after. He’d never told anyone, but it had.

      Maybe that’d been part of the reason he’d joined the marines? To escape? Feel a little self-worth? Who knew.

      Outside, crickets chirped beneath his window, and the yard lamp filtered in, casting an arc of light on the far wall. He and Emily had both inadvertently broken their promises and left Cassabaw. Yet both had ended up right back in the same place, at the same time. Home.

      Emily Quinn. Em.

      How in the hell was he ever going to get used to her being grown-up and living next door again?

      Or, Christ. Being his boss?

      After what seemed like an endless night of tossing and turning, Matt finally punched his pillow, got up and made his bed. Jesus, it looked as though he’d had a UFC fight in the sheets. He’d made note of the tide times the night before and knew low tide would be at 7:23 a.m.—in an hour. He planned on checking out the damage to Emily’s dock—mainly the pilings—before the river started to rise. Rifling through his chest of drawers he found a ripped pair of shorts he usually used for crabbing, and crept downstairs, where he pushed his feet into a pair of beat-up sneakers. Quietly, he slipped outside.

      * * *

      EMILY’S EYES POPPED open at the steady purr of a boat motor. The sound, at first distant, grew closer and closer. Quickly she rolled off the sofa she’d slept on and made her way to the kitchen. At the sink she looked out and stared into the early-morning haze, through the marsh and toward the Back River.

      Soon a figure emerged, a darkened silhouette of a broad-shouldered man at the back of an aluminum boat navigating Morgan’s Creek at low tide. A smile touched her face when she recognized Matt, and Emily pushed away from the sink and hurried to her backpack, where she pulled out a pair of white shorts and a blue tank.

      As fast as she could, she threw them on, brushed her teeth and slipped her feet into her old blue Vans. She was pulling her hair into a ponytail as she made her way down the path that led to the dock. Just as she was walking up, Matt ran the aluminum flat-bottom boat aground.

      “Morning,” Emily said. She put her hands on her hips and grinned. “You’re up early.” He was bare from the waist up, and still she couldn’t believe the size of him. Muscles cut across his chest and arms as though air-brushed on. Divots etched into his hips, ridges into his abdomen. She noticed his dog tags, and again wondered what he’d experienced in the marines. Things he’d probably always keep to himself.

      Matt gave her a quick glance before he tossed the anchor onto the ground at the bow. “Habit.”

      “Want some help?” she asked.

      The skeptical look on Matt’s face almost made her laugh. “I got it. Thanks.” He climbed out of the boat, leaned down and grabbed it by the bow and pulled it farther onto land. His biceps, shoulders and back muscles pulled tight with the movement, and Emily noticed something she hadn’t before.

      “Whoa,” she said, and stepped closer. Raising a hand, she grazed his shoulder. A large, intricate compass with a prominent North Star in the middle was inked into his skin, complete with N, S, E and W. When she looked up at him, he was already staring at her, and she smiled. “That is just magnificent, Mattinski.” As kids they’d add inski onto everything—their names, pets, places—whatever crossed their minds, and it was funny, and they did it so much it used to drive Jep completely out of his mind.

      A vague movement lifted the corner of his mouth, so Emily knew he remembered. But as fast as she’d noticed the almost smile, it disappeared. “Keeps me grounded,” he answered instead. He inclined his head. “Stay here. Dock’s too shady for two people. It won’t hold my weight and yours.”

      “Will do,” she answered. “I’ll stand by with the boat. In case you fall in and need me to rescue you.”

      Matt’s brows burrowed into a frown and he didn’t say anything as he turned and sauntered onto the dock, just shaking his head.

      Emily kept her eye on him as he slowly inspected the rotted wood slats, the pilings, until he reached the large gap.

      Slowly Matt made his way to the end of the dock, then disappeared into the dock house. After a few moments he reappeared once more and stood, hands on hips, inspecting.

      Emily admired him. Lord, she couldn’t help it. Even from where she stood Matt Malone cut a sexy figure in the early-morning sun. Broad, thick muscular shoulders and arms tapered to a narrow waist, ripped stomach, slim hips, muscular thighs and calves. All accentuated with that alluring compass tattoo on his shoulder.

      It keeps me grounded. She wondered what that’d meant, exactly?

      Suddenly, he’d disappeared. One second Emily had her eyes on him, the next—gone. She waited for a moment, and unlike before, he didn’t reappear.

      “Matt?” she called out. “Hey, are you okay?”

      No response.

      Worry propelled Emily onto the dock, even though Matt had instructed her to stay put, and she carefully but quickly picked her way over the sun-bleached slats. What if something had happened? Maybe Matt was hung up on a piling? Her eyes scanned the water and muck below, and at the same time she searched for Matt.

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