Those Cassabaw Days. Cindy Miles

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      “Do you still have it?” she asked.

      “Under a tarp in the shop.”

      Her smile was wide. “Well, you should definitely finish that project, now that you’re home. There’s good money in classic-car restoration.”

      “I guess so.”

      “So did you cut through on our old path to get here?”

      “Yep,” he answered. “The brush is overgrown, a lot of vines and oyster shells in the lane. I’ll take a machete to it as soon as I can.” He moved to the driver’s side, and Emily climbed in on the passenger side. How crazy was it that after fifteen years they were riding in the same vehicle?

      As Matt started the engine after several tries and put the Jeep into Reverse, Emily giggled. He backed up, then paused. “What?”

      “It’s so weird to see you driving,” she said, echoing his own thought. Then, she reached over and punched him in the arm. “Matt Malone.” Again, the dimple.

      As he shifted into First, he shook his head and he couldn’t help the tug of his lips. “Emily, I’ve been driving for twelve years.”

      “You used to smile and laugh so easily,” she said. “Such a hot dog, doing anything it took to make other people laugh.” From his peripheral, he watched her turn her head to stare out the window as they moved down the gravel drive. “Growing up just plain sucks.”

      His eyes fell on her now, and to the ink he’d noticed earlier on her shoulder. He couldn’t see all of it, but it looked familiar. Flower petals or something, floating away. Farther down her arm, he noticed another tattoo on the inside of her wrist. Before he could stop himself, he grazed it with his fingers. “What’s that?”

      As they bumped down the driveway, Emily turned her wrist and lightly touched the number inked into her skin with a long, delicate finger. “It’s the year my parents were born.”

      Matt nodded as he braked and shifted gears at the road. Pulling out onto the two-lane highway, the Jeep sputtered as it tried to catch a gear. Finally, it did, and he picked up speed and shifted again. “What about the other one?” he asked.

      Emily’s hand moved to her tattooed shoulder. “It’s a dandelion. My mom’s artist mark.”

      He nodded. “I thought I knew it from somewhere. Cassabaw’s welcome sign.”

      As Matt pulled into the Malone driveway, his damned eyes found Emily again. At once, questions flooded his mind. Did she have a boyfriend? A husband? He didn’t think she’d had kids. As he watched, her eyes followed the drive, taking in the sight of the big stilted river house Jep’s father had built over a century ago. Sitting beneath a canopy of aged pines and live oaks draped in Spanish moss, it was much like the Quinn place, only a lot older. He’d missed it.

      Matt studied Emily, from her ponytail to her shoulder, and farther down those long, tanned legs. Jesus.

      This was definitely not the same Emily he’d gone mud bogging with, or crabbing at the mouth of Morgan’s Creek. Not the same girl he’d lain on the dock with and stared up at the stars. This was a grown-up Emily. And they’d spent years apart. Strangers.

      “I’ll drop you off and pull the Jeep around to the garage.” Even to his own ears he sounded harsh and businesslike. Maybe it’d be best, at least for him, to keep things that way.

      Emily placed her hand on his, oblivious to his brusque dismissal. She squeezed. “Thanks, Matt. I’m so glad you’re here.”

      He glanced at her delicate hand resting over his rough one and had no words to answer her. So he just half grunted—a noncommittal type of answer to a statement he had no idea how to respond to.

      As Matt drove to the side of the house and stopped to let Emily out, he watched his new employer climb from the open door, throw him a grin and hurry over to his dad, Jep and Matt’s older brother, Nathan.

      “You remember my oldest boy, Nathaniel, don’t you, Emily?” Owen asked.

      “I sure do,” Emily said. “Hey, Nathan! Boy, your hair’s long. I really like the color.” She ducked behind him, inspecting. “It reminds me of a samurai warrior, only sun-streaked instead of black.”

      Nathan laughed. “Well, that’s a first! Come here, girl, it’s been a long time,” Nathan said. “Look at you! All grown-up and pretty!”

      His brother’s big arms went around her slim frame as they exchanged hugs.

      “You got plans for supper, missy?” Jep croaked. “If not, maybe you can cook us something.”

      “Dad,” Owen chided, “cut it out. Emily, you have supper with us tonight. Eric’s picking up chicken. There’ll be more than enough.”

      “Sounds great,” Emily replied, throwing a wave Matt’s way.

      Matt put the Jeep in Reverse, backed up and then drove it around to the shop. He shifted into Neutral and climbed out, pulling the chains to open the fifteen-foot metal door. He stood there for a second, glancing over his shoulder toward the house, his family and Emily Quinn. A long, exhausted sigh pushed out of his throat.

      Jesus Christ, this was going to be one long damn summer.

CHAPTER THREE

      EMILY COULD BARELY believe she was standing inside the Malones’ river house after so many years. Everything was exactly the same. The decor favored a true authentic nautical theme at its rawest. On the walls, an old cast net and faded blue-and-white wooden paddles decorated the space way above the brick fireplace. It had been fishing gear once belonging to Jep’s father. Known by everyone on Cassabaw, Patrick Malone had been the island’s very last lighthouse keeper. Emily remembered black-and-white pictures of him. Straight from Galway, Ireland, Patrick and his wife, Annie, had brought little Jep to Cassabaw when he was only seven, and from there, the Malone legacy grew.

      An old red-and-blue faded buoy leaned against the hearth, and a restored seaman’s chest served as a large coffee table. Two large, dark leather sofas took up the space in the middle of the open room. Not bad at all for a bunch of guys. Then again, Owen and Jep had been in the Coast Guard. And Matt in the marines. Orderly. Neat. It was a trademark.

      “Just like you remember?” Nathan asked.

      Emily smiled and faced him. “Exactly like I remembered. Even smells the same. And has the same record player in the corner.” Jep always played old music from the twenties and thirties. It probably was why Emily grew to love the vintage melodies and orchestras of the time.

      Nathan, too, had turned out to be a handsome guy. As tall as Matt and just as broad and muscular, he was two years older. He was the oddball of the Malones, with longer dark blond hair streaked by the sun, and half of it pulled into a short ponytail. And he did remind her of a samurai warrior. His skin was swarthy and tanned, but those trademark Malone green eyes stared down at her, curious. They differed from Matt’s, which were cautious, sharp and a bit angry. Sad, maybe? Even when he smiled, she could see it in there. She couldn’t help but wonder.

      Her eyes searched for Matt, who still СКАЧАТЬ