Riverbend Road (13 page)

“You must miss him very much.”

She thought of Wyatt, always laughing, always the life of the party. They looked enough alike that uninformed people often asked if they were identical twins. After a while neither of them had bothered to go into explanations about fraternal versus identical and how male/female twins biologically could only be the former.

It didn't much matter to them. They felt like two sides of the same zygote.

“He was a terrific brother and an amazing person. I'll always be sad the world lost him so young.”

“I'm very sorry for your loss,” Andrea said softly.

“I'm lucky enough that I still have two brothers left to boss me around. You'll probably meet Marshall. He lives in Shelter Springs but he's around Haven Point all the time.”

“I'll look forward to it,” Andie said.

“Well, I should get out of your hair and let you get some rest,” she said. As if on cue, her phone rang.

“That must be a signal,” she said with a grin. She wriggled her phone out of the front pocket of her shorts. A quick check of the caller ID had her shoving the phone back into her pocket.

“It's fine with me if you need to answer that,” Andrea said.

She made a face. “It's my mom. If I answer, I'll be on the phone for a minimum of half an hour.”

Andie smiled, clearly under the misconception that Wyn was joking. “Thank you again. The words are inadequate. You've been a lifesaver.”

“It was truly my pleasure.” Wyn hugged Will one more time, kissed the top of his head and set him on his feet. “I'll see you all very soon.”

“Will you bring Pete next time?” Chloe demanded.

“Cross my heart,” she promised.

She headed out into a lovely June afternoon but waited to dial her mother back until she was planted on the back deck with some iced tea and a magazine to leaf through if the conversation dragged.

“Sorry I couldn't take your call before,” she said after greeting her mother. “At the time, I had my hands full.”

It wasn't a lie; she had been holding a very adorable freckled little boy with curly auburn hair and a sweet smile.

“I know how busy you are,” Charlene said cheerfully. “I'm just glad you were able to find any time for me at all.”

Oh, her mother. So good at laying on the guilt. Wyn forced a smile and focused on Pete, sniffing for interlopers at the edge of the yard.

“What's going on?”

“I'm just checking to see what time is good for you Sunday.”

She scanned her mental calendar, trying to figure out what Charlene might be talking about. “For?” she was finally forced to ask when nothing immediately sprang to mind.

“Your brother's birthday! We talked about this.”

“I'm sorry. You're right. I guess it slipped my mind, after all the excitement of earlier this week.”

“I understand. It's not every day you almost die.”

“No, it's not.” It also wasn't every day that she saved the lives of two little boys. “So you're having a party for Marshall on Sunday?”

“Yes. Does seven thirty work? It seems late for dinner, but that's the earliest he can be here.”

“That's the important part, isn't it? He's the birthday boy. Our schedules should work around his, not the other way around.”

“I suppose.” Charlene paused. When she spoke again, her voice had a funny little note to it. “Your uncle Mike offered to grill some of that yummy honey-lime chicken he does. Won't that be nice?”

“Yes. That sounds delicious. He always does a great job with it.”

Her father's longtime widower brother had been a huge support to the whole family during the two hellish final years of John's life. Like Cade, he had visited John religiously in the care center and helped her mom around the house when Marshall, Katrina or Wynona couldn't get to things.

“Do you think you can come early to help me set up?”

“My schedule's pretty free right now, so that shouldn't be a problem.”

She had only four days of suspension left—and Friday would be taken up with a trip to the campus in Boise if she kept her appointment, but she chose not to mention that to her mother.

“What can I bring?” she asked instead.

“That pasta salad you make would be perfect and would go well with the chicken.”

“No problem.”

“Plan for about eight people,” Charlene went on.

“Eight?”

“That's right.” Her mother went through the list like she was ticking off her fingers. “Aunt Jenny, Mike, me, you, Katrina and that boy she's been dating lately, and Marshall.”

“That's only seven.”

“Who am I forgetting?” Charlene paused to think and then spoke. “Oh Cade. That's right.”

“Cade,” she repeated slowly. She couldn't seem to escape him, even when they weren't working a few feet apart.

“That's right. I bumped into him at the gas station this morning, so of course I had to invite him.”

“Why?” she asked. “Last I heard, you were mad at him for suspending me!”

“I know, dear, but this is your brother's birthday and Cade is part of the family. You know he's been like a brother to Marshall since they were boys.”

“Right,” she murmured. That didn't make him like a brother to
her
.

“So you can come early?”

“I'll be there,” she answered reluctantly. She spoke a few moments more with her mother, but Charlene seemed in an unusual rush to end the call. When she hung up, Wyn leaned back on her deck, listening to the river.

She couldn't escape him.

It was bad enough that she lived down the street from the man and worked with him day in and day out. Something was seriously out of whack in the universe when she couldn't even go to her own family parties without running into the man.

When she was constantly thrust into his presence, how in the world was she supposed to convince herself she didn't have feelings for him?

CHAPTER TWELVE

C
OMING
BACK
TO
this trim and tidy house on Lakeside Drive always made him feel like he was twelve again—lost, angry, hurting.

How many times had he stood on this doorstep, hoping like hell that he could come up with a good enough excuse to explain the latest bruise?

He walked up the steps, reminding himself he was worlds away from that kid who felt completely powerless to change his circumstances. No one—least of all
him
—would ever have guessed back then that one day he would be the chief of police in Haven Point.

The flower baskets hanging from the porch overflowed with blossoms and scented the air with sweetness. Like the rest of the yard, it was lush and pretty. Charlene Bailey was a master gardener who seemed to know exactly what plants went together for maximum impact. She seemed to have a particular skill for coaxing beautiful things to blossom, even in the most barren soil.

Not that he considered that a metaphor for the impact she and John had had on his life or anything.

He didn't know much about flowers, but he kept his own tidy little garden in the backyard. Everything he knew about tomatoes and beans and cucumbers, he had learned from Charlene, when she would put him and his brothers to work with her own kids, weeding a row of corn or picking raspberries or washing cucumbers to be pickled.

She would also send bags and bags of fresh produce home with Cade, both of them pretending he was doing her a favor by taking away things she couldn't use. Both of them had known it was likely the only fresh food he would have to fix for Marcus and Wes. It wouldn't have surprised him if she planted extra, just to take care of the Emmett boys.

Given the choice, he would have spent every waking moment here, where he knew his brothers could be safe and fed—especially in the summers when the days stretched out endless and bleak.

He shifted the bag of vegetables and the fruit tray he had picked up at the grocery store to his left hand so he could ring the doorbell with his right. He never knew what to bring to these things and figured produce was always a safe bet.

Nobody answered for several minutes. He was about to ring it again when the door finally opened and a vision—er, Wynona—appeared in the doorway.

She wore one of her frilly, feminine summer dresses, this one a blue-and-white flowery thing that looked like something a 1940s pinup girl would wear. Her hair was piled up on top of her head, just begging for the right guy to come along and mess it up.

All the spit dried up in his mouth and he wanted to toss the fruit tray to the floor, scoop her up and carry her home.

“Oh. Hi.” It was all he could manage.

She wiggled her fingers. “You're late. The party's already started. Lucky for you, the guest of honor isn't here yet. Marsh called ten minutes ago and he's still another twenty out. I guess he got held up by a jackknifed trailer that spilled a load of feed corn on the highway.”

“I heard chatter about it on the scanner earlier.”

She shrugged. “Work. What can you do? Come in. Everybody's either in the kitchen or out on the patio.”

Under other circumstances, he might have given her a friendly social peck on the cheek but he didn't trust himself. Not today and not with her.

Instead, he awkwardly held out the fruit plate. After a pause, she reached for it. As he handed it to her, their fingers brushed and he thought he saw her cheeks go pink.

“You can go outside to the terrace with Katrina and her latest guy. Carter. He's a rock climber.”

“Professionally?”

She smiled a little. “I haven't figured out if he actually has a job yet. He's gorgeous, don't get me wrong, but I'm beginning to suspect he's operating a few carabiner clips short of a full rack, if you know what I mean.”

What kind of guy did she consider gorgeous? He had to wonder. He knew she dated here and there, but as far as he knew, she hadn't been in a serious relationship since she came home. Why not?

Because of what happened to her in graduate school?

None of his business, he reminded himself sternly, even as he felt that familiar ache in his chest.

“I should probably say hello to your mother first, before I head back to talk to Katrina and the ditzy climber. Which, incidentally, would be a really good name for a rock band. Katrina and the Ditzy Climbers.”

She laughed, which he had intended, and some of the awkwardness between them seemed to ease—for the moment, anyway.

“Mom is back in the kitchen. She'll be glad to see you.”

She headed down the hallway to the kitchen at the rear of the house. He did his best not to watch the hypnotic sway of her skirt.

Damn it.

He hated that everything had changed between them, all because of that kiss. Time. That's all they needed, he told himself. Soon enough, things would return to normal.

He would forget how perfectly she fit into his arms, how delicious she tasted. One day he might even be able to walk out onto his deck again without seeing her there.

The kitchen was warm and smelled of potatoes and caramelized onions. Charlene Bailey, as trim and tidy as her house, beamed broadly when she saw him. “Cade! Hello, my dear!”

Affection for her washed over him, as sweet as her hanging flower baskets. He leaned in and kissed her cheek, this woman who had mothered him and his brothers since he was twelve—and from whom he had taken so much.

“I swear, you get more handsome by the minute,” she exclaimed. “However do you manage to fight off all the girls?”

“Yes, Cade. Do tell,” Wynona murmured.

He gave her a dark look but didn't answer.

“What's this?” Charlene gestured to the tray. “I told you not to bring anything!”

“It's good manners, isn't it, to bring something to a party?”

He didn't add that everything he learned about good manners he'd picked up in this very kitchen from her and from John.

He held up the bag. “I've also got a couple of early tomatoes from my garden.”

She looked suitably impressed. “Have you? Already? How on earth did you manage that? It's not even July! Mine are weeks away from producing anything!”

“It's an early-girl hybrid—and I started them inside in February. I've got that nice south-facing window in the spare bedroom and vegetable starts grow like crazy in there. Plus I put a water cage over my plants to keep them warm at night.”

“How are your beans doing this year? Mine have got some kind of a bug.”

“Aphids? Maybe cutworms?”

He broke off when he realized Wyn was gazing at him with an odd expression—a weird mix of baffled amusement and something that made him feel oddly breathless.

“What? I like growing fresh vegetables. Nothing wrong with that, is there?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Wyn assured him.

“Everyone who can should grow a garden,” Charlene declared. “There's nothing more calming at the end of a hard day than sticking your hands in the dirt. Wynona, why don't you slice Cade's tomatoes for us? We can add them to the salad and keep a few out for people who just want to nibble.”

“I can do it. I'm the one who brought them.”

“Don't be silly,” Charlene said. “You're a guest here! Go visit with Katrina and her cute friend.”

He was aware of a sharp pang, the same one he'd had around her for the last two and a half years, since her husband's injury. On the surface, Charlene treated him with the same warmth she showed when he was that twelve-year-old kid, but there were subtle differences he was sure no one else noticed.

Once, she had treated him like part of the family, just another one of her boys. When they got in trouble, she would yell indiscriminately. She'd dispensed hugs and discipline in equal measure.

Something had changed after John was shot, some shift in their relationship, like a thermostat that had been turned down a degree or two. Not enough to make a huge difference but enough that he couldn't help but notice.

They had never talked about it.

Did she blame him for the shooting as much as he blamed himself?

Why the hell hadn't he acted on his instincts that day...or earlier? Greasy, familiar guilt churned in his gut, especially when he only had to shift his gaze from the kitchen down the hallway, where two large portraits hung on the wall—Wyn's twin brother, Wyatt, and John Bailey. Both wore their dress blues, Wyatt in the Idaho State Police uniform and John in his Haven Point PD uniform. They both had the same nose, the same piercing blue eyes.

Wyn's twin had been her best friend. He wasn't sure she had ever really recovered from losing him so suddenly.

“When do you go back to work?” Charlene asked her daughter.

“Tomorrow, bright and early.”

Charlene's jaw tightened and he saw Wynona pick it up too. She suddenly looked like she was having a tough time not grinding her back teeth.

“I can't wait,” she said in a cheerful voice he suddenly realized didn't ring quite true. She studiously avoided looking at him, focusing her attention on the tomatoes she was slicing.

“No more disobeying direct orders or running into burning buildings, young lady,” her mother said sternly.

The knife in her hand smacked down a little harder than strictly necessary on the cutting board.

“Right. What she said,” he drawled.

She lifted her gaze from his tomatoes long enough to give him the skunk eye. “I was doing my job,” she said stubbornly.

“So was I when I suspended you,” he retorted. “It's my job to do all I can to make sure my officers don't take unnecessary risks.”

“The key word there is
unnecessary
,” she retorted. “I don't believe I did that.”

“Gotta say, I'm on Cade's side on this one,” someone said from the doorway to the kitchen.

“Marshall!” Charlene exclaimed. She bustled to her son and hugged him.

Marsh still wore his sheriff's department uniform. His dark hair stuck out in tufts like he'd just taken off his hat and he looked like he hadn't slept in about seventy-two hours.

Wyn and her mother hugged and fussed over him in turn—and then Katrina came in and repeated the process. When he extricated himself from the last of the women in his family, Marshall made his way to Cade, where they exchanged back slaps.

“Happy birthday,” Cade said.

“Thanks for making the time.”

“Are you kidding? I wouldn't miss it.”

“And thanks for keeping my baby sis in line,” Marshall said, with a meaningful look at Wyn. “She thinks she's invincible and always has.”

“Hey!” she protested.

“True story,” Katrina said.

“Oh, the trouble you and Wyatt used to get into,” Charlene said. “If you weren't jumping off the roof with a blanket for a parachute, you were taking your dad's canoe out onto the water by yourself when you hadn't even started school yet. Picture me with four kids under the age of six, including twin terrors who never stopped moving.”

“And you're still getting into trouble,” Marshall said.

Before she could answer, their uncle, Mike Bailey, came in from the back door wearing a striped blue apron and carrying tongs.

“This chicken is close to perfect. How we doing in here?”

“We were just finishing up,” Charlene answered. “I think we're ready when you are.”

“Do you mind grabbing me a clean platter for the birds?”

Charlene reached into the cabinet next to the sink and pulled out a large platter with enameled cherries on it. “Here you go.”

Their hands brushed as she handed it to him—just like his had with Wynona earlier over the fruit. If he hadn't been watching their interaction, he might have missed the way Charlene blushed a little and the tender smile her former brother-in-law gave her before he trotted back outside.

The air was just about sizzling with electricity between Charlene and her late husband's brother, if he wasn't mistaken.

How long had
that
been going on?

And did her children know?

Cade glanced at the others to see if any of them noticed but Wyn and Marshall were still bickering about her suspension and Kat was grabbing salad bowls to carry outside to the patio tables.

“Cade, grab those plates and take them out, will you?” Charlene asked.

He nodded and picked up the stack she indicated. Another thing that wasn't his business. Charlene had said it herself. He was a guest, not part of the family, and he would do well to remember that.

* * *

D
INNER
WAS
,
PREDICTABLY
,
DELICIOUS
. The only time he ever ate home-cooked meals this good was right here, at this comfortable house on the lake with the view of the Redemption Mountains.

He was just finishing up his second piece of moist, flavorful chicken when he finally had the chance to talk to Marshall.

“You've had a busy week, from what I've been hearing on the scanner,” he said to Marshall.

“So have you. Boat rescues, house fires, the whole gamut.”

“Summer tourist season is never boring, is it?”

Laughter rippled across the patio, and he looked over to see Wynona smiling at something her aunt Jenny said. Though it was cloudy, a shaft of sunlight seemed to find her with unerring precision. She had her head tilted to the side and some of her hair was slipping from her topknot. From here, he could see the curve of her jaw, the long, graceful column of her neck.

In that flirty, soft little dress, she looked like every fantasy he'd never known he had come to life.

As if she felt his gaze, she shifted her gaze to him. He couldn't seem to look away and he saw her lips part slightly, her breathing quicken.

“Seriously,” Marshall said, jerking his attention back to their conversation, “thanks for watching out for our Wynnie.”