Counting on Cayne (Hallow River Book 1) (3 page)

I ran my fingers along
the edge of the slanted ceiling and lay down on the twin bed that was covered
with a soft handmaid quilt in pale shades of pink and green. Staring up at the
ceiling was like looking into the face of an old friend. Every knot and
splinter above my head was a window onto the past. I must have spent thousands
of hours as a teenager in exactly this position, gazing upward and wondering
about the future.

My purse lay discarded
on the desk chair. My phone buzzed once more from within it. I got up and
retrieved the phone, seated myself on the edge of the bed, and took a deep
breath.

 The screen showed
seventeen messages and five missed phone calls from Granton Langley. A part of
me knew that I should erase the messages and put the phone away. Nothing good
would come of allowing myself to be dragged back into his orbit, even with all
of the miles now between us. Another part of me was so accustomed to letting
him dictate the terms of my existence that my fingers operated with a
compulsion that I could not control. I also needed to know whether he had any
clue as to my whereabouts. I hastily swiped open the messages and began
reading.

Where are you?

Seriously where the
fuck are you?

You better come home
soon. I’m not fucking around.

I know your suitcase
is gone.

You can’t leave
without my permission. You know that.

You worthless bitch.
You took my fucking car.

If you stole anything
else, I will fucking kill you.

Who do you think you
are? You think I won’t find you?

You’re going to
fucking pay for this. Worse than ever.

I can destroy you.

If you come back now,
I’ll forgive you.

How could you do this
to me? To us? This is all your fault.

I never did anything
to you that you didn’t deserve.

Worse is coming. You
just wait.

You can’t escape. I
won’t allow it.

I’ll trace the car
and find you. You can’t hide.

I know where you are.
I’m coming for you.

The last message caused
a flutter of panic in my stomach. I pictured him storming around his penthouse
in a designer suit, furiously typing out messages and burning with frustration
at the knowledge that I had finally slipped from his iron grip. In my mind’s
eye, I saw his coldly handsome face going scarlet with anger and his hand
whipping feverishly through hair that he normally kept coiffed in perfect
formation. In moments of extreme rage, he often reminded me of an irate child. I
would stifle a perverse urge to chuckle just before a fist slammed into my
cheekbone or fingers grabbed my throat, plunging me back into reality with the
shock of an ice bath.

Still, I suspected that
he was bluffing. My past, or really any aspect of my life, was never a priority
for him. He may have asked once or twice about my origins in the early days of our
relationship, but I was certain that the information flew swiftly out of his
brain as soon as I spoke. My value to him was never as a person with a unique
history, but as a tool to be manipulated. There was no way he would remember
the name Hallow River. He wouldn’t know to look for me here, at least not yet.

As for the car, it was
not exactly stolen. I had my own key. He’d purchased it as a “gift” the
previous year, my reward after an especially vicious assault left me with
several broken ribs and a chipped incisor. He owned it, of course, but he permitted
me to drive it around the city, always keeping within the narrow bounds of his
allowance. How many times did I sit behind the wheel, freedom at my fingertips,
skirting the edge of the open road, only to turn around and go back?

We existed in a constant
seesaw between abuse, threats, and violence on the one hand, and protestations
of love and remorse on the other. Time after time, I returned to him despite
the voice in my head that told me to run away for good and never look back. His
gifts always came with an apology and a tear-stained promise that he would
never hurt me again. One of them now hung around my neck – a circular gold
pendant etched mockingly with the word “LOVE.” I did not wear it out of sentimentality,
but as a haunting reminder of the evil that can lurk behind sweet words and shiny
things. It was also a promise to myself that I would never again be so cruelly
deceived.

I placed the phone on
the nightstand, lay back on the bed, and drifted off to sleep. I hoped that tomorrow
would begin a new life without Granton Langley’s shadow darkening my every
footstep. It was a naïve hope. I should have known better.

TALBOT AUTO BODY. The
sign had the gloss of a fresh paint job. I found the place with no trouble.
Hallow River looked largely the same as when I’d left it. A few more shop
windows were boarded over with planks, but the essential landmarks remained in
place. The town square still featured a central bandstand with a statue
memorializing beloved World War I dead. Girls in short-shorts still giggled and
whispered in front of the ice cream shop. Boys in backwards caps still bounced
basketballs toward the nearby courts.

I eased into a space in
front of the shop. A few mechanics in grease-stained overalls leaned with their
backs to me under open car hoods. I smoothed a few flyaways of hair in my
rearview mirror, tucking one section behind my ear, and stepped out onto the
gravel driveway. My wedge heel immediately sunk into the uneven surface, and my
knee buckled awkwardly.

“Whoa, watch out there!”
said a voice from behind.

I reached for the
driver’s side door and attempted to right myself. I felt ridiculous for having
worn these shoes, along with the gauzy periwinkle sundress that stuck to my
thighs in the heat and rode dangerously up toward my crotch. I’d chosen my
outfit that morning with half-formed notions of impressing Cayne. Those notions
now seemed silly and stupid. Was I seriously prettying myself up for a guy
whose existence I had nearly forgotten until yesterday?

“You ok, ma’am? We
didn’t rake this driveway with fancy shoes in mind.” The voice sounded deep and
droll. A hand wrapped securely around my waist. I spun around in surprise, my
heel once again dipping into the gravel. My arms flew out in panic, and I found
myself gripping a pair of solid biceps in a thin gray cotton t-shirt. I looked
up into a set of amber-flecked green eyes as a second strong hand grabbed the
other side of my waist.

“Well, if you wanted to
dance, you should have said so.” His mouth curled into a sideways smirk, a
dimple appearing in his right cheek. “Though I think your footwork could use
some help.”

“Umm, hi,” I stammered. Noticing
that I was still clasping his sturdy arms, I jerked my hands away in
embarrassment like I was recoiling from a hot stove. “I’m looking for Cayne
Talbot.”

“Are you now?” He leaned
backwards with the same dimpled smirk still in place. His eyes traveled down
the length of my body. A warm flush rose from my neck up into my face. My dress
suddenly felt too tight and flimsy over my breasts and far too short where it
curved over my hips. My bare legs were exposed and pale from the city summer.
“And what would you want with Cayne?”

One of my slim dress straps
had slipped off as I tottered in the gravel. He pinched it between his fingers and
delicately replaced it, the skin of his palm brushing lightly against my shoulder.
When we both stood straight, my eyes were level with his chest muscles. I could
see the outline of his pecs underneath the t-shirt that I now realized was a
faded relic from Hallow River High School, the letters “HRHS” half-obliterated
by time but still detectable.

“I ran into his sister
yesterday. My name is Bri---”

“Brinley LeClare,” he
interrupted.

“Cayne?” I said in
disbelief. “You’re Cayne?”

“Don’t look so
surprised.” He spread his feet apart and crossed his arms over his flat
abdomen. “Would you recognize me if I were choking on a soda?” I winced at the
memory, but his robust laughter dismissed any lingering awkwardness. “Relax,”
he said. “I’ve changed a lot since then.”

This seemed like quite
an understatement. How could the hulking figure before me actually
be
the same person as that scrawny teenager from long ago? Ten years had worked a
transformation in Cayne Talbot that bordered on the surreal.

Gone were the owlish
glasses. Cayne’s green eyes sparkled with mischief as his dimple dissolved and
reappeared with each shift of expression. His formerly skinny physique was
replaced by a strong and virile form, the once bony back now encased within an
armor of well-worked muscles that rounded his shoulders and snaked down into
his forearms. His skin was smooth and tan. Part of a tattoo peeked out from his
shirt sleeve. His dark brown hair was cut short, but a small section dipped
rakishly over his forehead. He exuded an air of calm self-assurance and an
undeniable sex appeal.

I suddenly realized that
I was staring. Cayne cocked his to the side and smiled.

“I never would have
recognized you in a million years,” I said breathlessly.

“Well, good,” he
replied, shuffling some gravel with the toe of his boot and gazing at me from
under his brows. “I would have known you anywhere, Brinley. You haven’t changed
a bit. Beautiful as always.”

My heart did a small
flip of elation. Aunt Lu’s warning echoed in my brain –
Be careful with that
one
. Cayne had clearly turned into a charmer in the years of my absence. I
certainly did not want to make a fool of myself. Still, after being treated
like a non-entity for so long, I could not help but melt a little with his
compliment.

“So, what can I do for
your today, Brinley LeClare? I know you didn’t come all the way back to Hallow
River just to say hi to me.” He edged a bit closer. I inhaled a whiff of engine
grease. His jeans were frayed to threads in places and splotched dark on the
thighs from a thousand absent-minded swipes with oil-stained hands.

I looked bashfully at my
shoes, now steadied on the treacherous gravel, and straightened the hem of my
uncooperative dress. When I raised my eyes again, I saw that he was staring at
the gold “LOVE” pendant hanging just above the crease of my cleavage. It stuck
to my chest, damp with sweat under the summer sun, and flashed like a signal. I
instinctively wrapped my fingers around it and clutched its burning heat within
my palm.

“I’m here about the
car,” I said. “The engine was making rattling noises all the way down from New
York yesterday.”

Cayne turned toward the
car, ran a hand over the roof and whistled. I didn’t know much about cars, but
I knew that this one was a rare model and had set Granton back a considerable
sum. Not that he cared. Money flowed like water for him. The silver finish
gleamed with a metallic flash. The contours ran fluidly from front to back,
giving an impression of speed even when parked.

“Damn, that’s a nice
car. It’s yours?” Cayne raised one eyebrow quizzically.

“Yes.” The words
threatened to catch in my throat. “It was a gift.”

“A gift, huh?” He
appraised the car’s body from top to bottom in much the same way he had
unselfconsciously appraised my body only moments earlier. “What does a girl
have to do to get a gift like this?” That tantalizing dimple appeared again as
he grinned sarcastically. He walked to the front of the car, lifted the hood,
and peered into the nest of machinery.

I froze. “
Get punched
in the face by a monster
” was probably not an appropriate answer under the
circumstances. I pursed my lips and hid behind my cocktail party face, a
well-practiced mask that often helped me escape from painful conversations with
the wives and consorts of Granton’s Wall Street colleagues at stuffy social
gatherings. They would inform me in conspiratorial whispers how “lucky” I was
to have “snagged” Granton and how he so clearly “adored” me. In response, I
would adopt the blankest slate that my facial features could assume and take
another swig of martini. I shook off the memory and changed the subject.

“So, Cami seems to be
doing very well. I was shocked to see her all grown up. I was also shocked that
she remembered me.”

Cayne leaned forward
with one hand perched on the lifted hood, the stretch of his arm accentuating a
network of rippling muscles. He straightened and dropped his hand, briefly
swiping the road dust over the back pocket of his jeans.

“We all remember you,
Brinley. You made quite an impression.” He suddenly sounded very serious, any
trace of the mocking tone discarded. We stood in silence for a minute, a light
breeze lifting a few wispy tendrils of hair across my vision. I smoothed them
back into place and cleared my throat. Cayne broke the spell by dropping the
car hood with a decisive thud.

“The shop is a little
busy, as you can see.” He gestured to the cars already in the garage and the
crowd of mechanics bustling around them. “I can’t promise you any set time
frame, but I will certainly take a look at this little beauty.”

His leering grin
returned. His eyes traveled once more down to my bare legs, where the breeze played
at the edge of my dress. My cheeks grew warm. I pulled at my hem like a shy little
girl, attempting to control the dress where it batted against my thighs and
nearly revealed an unexpected peek at my peach lace panties.

“Do you need me to drive
you anywhere? I hate to leave you high and dry without wheels. You’re welcome
to wait here while I check out the damage, but our coffee is terrible and the
reading material is mostly car mags.”

“No, that’s fine,” I
said hastily and with instant regret. “I can walk.” I could have sworn that his
posture sagged a bit with disappointment.

“Alright then, Brinley.”
He pulled a phone from his back pocket. “Give me your number and I’ll let you
know when I have some news on the car.”

His serious tone returned.
My own posture wilted a little in response. I recited my number and felt an
immediate buzzing in my purse. I automatically flinched at the sound and
sensation. My racing pulse slowed to a normal beat when I realized that the call
was coming from Cayne.

“There,” he said with a
wink. “Now you have my number too.”

I opened my mouth to
respond, but a squeal of tires erupted behind me, and a spray of gravel hit my
ankles.

“Hey, baby!” yelled a
sharp female voice with a molasses-thick drawl.

Cayne’s lips curled into
a devilish smile. His green eyes glinted at something over my right shoulder. I
turned to see a young woman hanging half out of the driver’s side window of a cherry
red pickup truck. She wore bronze aviator sunglasses. Long wavy sections of her
honey blonde hair cascaded down, framing a set of abundant sun-kissed breasts
that were barely contained within a tightly stretched and practically
transparent white tank top.

“You get on over here!” She
slapped the car door like a command.

Cayne exhaled a chuckle
through his nose and shook his head. He gave my arm a friendly pat and edged
around me.

“I’ll give you a call
later,” he said without even glancing in my direction. I turned just in time to
see him remove the girl’s sunglasses and tenderly push a thick blonde curl behind
her ear while she giggled and snapped her gum.

***

The virtue of such a
small town was that I could reach almost any destination with no more than a
fifteen-minute stroll. Cayne’s breezy dismissal at the auto shop still stung a
bit, but I tried to put it aside. I didn’t know this new version of Cayne who
leered like a playboy and oozed masculine energy. I could not honestly expect
him to hold a candle for me through a decade of absence. Regardless, comments
from Cami and Aunt Lu hinted that he was exactly the kind of cold womanizer of
which I should steer clear, especially given my recent track record.

As if on cue, my phone
buzzed. A tiny flicker of excitement sparked at the thought that it might be
Cayne. That flicker was extinguished when I remembered that it was probably
Granton. I braced myself and reached into the front pocket of my purse.

Hey gurl. It’s Cami.
Hope you’re settling in. Wanna go drinking tonight?!?! :)

Granton had neither
called nor sent any messages since the previous night. His silence was oddly more
unnerving than his threats.

Finding myself only a
short distance from the diner, I headed over to see Cami in person. The same
tinkle of bells announced my arrival in an empty vestibule. In the mirror, I
noticed that my nose and cheekbones were starting to redden from the high
summer glare, and a pink scoop on my chest traced the neckline of my sundress.

“Brinley!” Cami’s
cheerful call sounded from across the diner. She nearly dropped a plate of chicken-fried
steak and mashed potatoes onto the linoleum as she waved toward an empty stool
at the counter. “Sit down!  I’ll be right over!” A flannel-clad trucker looked
on hungrily. She spun and deposited the plate with a clank. I took a seat as
directed.

“Good Lord,” she said
with a tired huff as she bellied up to the counter and eased onto the cracked
green leather stool beside me. The curls around her temples were damp. She
ironed them with her palms and attempted to press them out of her face, but
they sprang back like rubber. The spinning ceiling fans were doing a poor job
of cooling the room. “It’s damn hot and damn busy in here.” She slapped my knee
jovially. “But how are you?”

“I’m fine. I stopped by
and saw Cayne today.”

“Oh reeeeeally.” Her
hazel eyes danced with mischief.

“Yeah,” I responded
tersely. “He’s taking a look at the car.” I declined to mention the girl with
the healthy breasts and the red pickup.