Teague (3 page)

Teague turned and Sabrina’s heart nearly beat out of her chest. She stepped back, grateful for the darkness that fell across her deck. For several moments, he stared up at her place and then with another draw on his cigar, he disappeared from sight.

Blowing out a long breath, Sabrina made her way back inside her quiet summer home. She blew out the honeysuckle candle in the kitchen and locked the doors. She checked on her sleeping children, kissing two foreheads and rumpling two heads of hair. She left their nightlight on and bypassed her bedroom without a thought. She hadn’t been able to sleep in that particular room since, well, not since Brent.

Sabrina eyed the open bottle of Malbec on the counter, but with a sigh, corked the wine and slid onto the sofa. She grabbed the old, worn, plaid throw that laid across the back and wrapped it around her shoulders. She held it against her face, nuzzling the edge, inhaling deeply, and then closed her eyes.

She liked to think that she could still smell Brent, but in truth, his scent was long gone. She liked to imagine that the thought of him wrapped in this blanket gave her comfort. That the memory of his laughter, the way his eyes crinkled in the corners, could lift her spirit. It used to.

But on this night there was nothing but that heavy weight. Nothing but that silence and the darkness pressing in. There was nothing but the loneliness.

Sabrina turned into the sofa and curled into a ball. She bit her lip, hating the sting of tears in the corners of her eyes, and prayed that sleep would come soon. But as it had for most nights over the last year, she stared into the dark and prayed for hours.

When she finally fell asleep, her tear-stained cheeks stung and the sound of birds greeting the dawn was the last thing she heard.

The damn morning dove woke him again. Its soft coo echoed inside his bedroom from the open window and Teague knew the bird was just getting started.

“I’m going to shoot that thing,” he muttered.

He flung back his covers and slid out of bed. It was still dark but a hint of light rode the horizon over the lake and he padded forward, rolling his shoulders, trying to ease the tight muscles.

His sheets were a tangled mess but he didn’t give a shit. There was no one here to impress and even if there were, it wouldn’t matter. By his count he’d gotten maybe three hours of shut-eye. The dreams, or rather nightmares, that had haunted him for months had come back with a vengeance.

Guess the damn sleeping pills weren’t working. He glanced over to his bed and spied an empty bottle on the floor.

Neither was the whiskey.

The morning dove sounded again and he squinted into the early morning gloom, catching sight of the bird perched on top of the boathouse. He stared at it for several moments and then it flapped its wings and took off for parts unknown.

It would be back. There were some things that were inevitable.

The clock beside his bed told him that it was five a.m. but Teague knew sleep wasn’t on his schedule anytime soon. He frowned and ran a hand across the stubble on his chin as he gazed out at the calm water. It was silent—so quiet out there—and yet his head was filled with noise.

Explosions and gunfire. Voices that belonged to ghosts. Voices that wouldn’t let him go.

Wearily he exhaled and leaned against the window frame, eyes on the boathouse. It took more than a few minutes but eventually the noises faded and he took a step back. His body glistened with sweat and the muscles across his shoulders were still tight.

He couldn’t take another day of nothing. Of sitting on the deck with a bottle for company. He’d always been a man of action and this
retreat
shit wasn’t cutting it anymore. Restless he reached for his cargoes and pulled them on. But what to do?

He heard the morning dove once more. The call of a loon. A splash from the dock.

Fishing.
Yeah. That might work.

Striding from his room Teague made a thermos of coffee, grabbed a couple muffins from the bag he’d not bothered to put away and snatched his worn ball cap from the table near the front door before heading to the boathouse. He couldn’t find his tackle box or his old fishing reel but his father’s would do.

The water was calm and the air crisp as he steered his boat out of the bay toward the lake. He’d grabbed the one that he and Tucker had been given for their fifteenth birthday. It had a small outboard motor, but he used an oar to get going and waited until he was far from shore before firing up the engine. No use in making more noise than he had to.

In less time than it took to drive to town, he was gliding into a small, protected cove where the fishing was always good.

Teague cut the engine and settled back into the boat for a moment, content to sip his hot coffee and let the silence of the Muskokas roll over him. He stared out at the forest that crept down to the lake and then over to the sheer rock face farther up the way. A rare smile lifted the corners of his mouth as a memory washed over him.

“You jump first. You lost the bet.
”

Teague jabbed his twin Tucker and would have pushed him over the edge of the jumping rock, but his older brother Jack stopped him.

“Mom is going to kill all of us if she finds out we
’re here,
” Jack said.

“So don
’t do something stupid,
” Teague
’s other brother Beau warned, making a face.

Just like Beau to ruin all the fun.

“You don
’t want to ruin your pretty face,
” Teague retorted, glaring at the golden boy who stood a few feet from him.

“You
’re a dumbass,
” Beau replied.

“Yeah?
” Teague puffed out his chest. His brothers were older but he and Tucker could take them if they had to. Tucker was wiry and quick as a cat, while Teague was strong, but more importantly, devious as hell and willing to do whatever it took to win.

“Guys,
” Tucker interrupted.
“Why don
’t we just jump? It
’s what we came here for. Everyone has done the jumping rock except us.
”

“That
’s because mom will kill us when she finds out,
” Jack said peeking over the edge.

Teague took a few steps closer and glanced down, a wicked grin on his face.
“You first,
” he said, pushing Jack before his brother could react. They watched the oldest Simon brother sail over the edge and disappear beneath the surface. For a moment there was quiet, followed by a whole lotta words from below
—words their parents wouldn
’t like coming from Jack Simon
’s mouth.

The three remaining boys laughed and with a shrug, Beau followed suit.

Then Tucker.

Then with a loud whoop Teague jumped off the rock. He felt free as a bird and stronger than anyone. He felt invincible, like Superman. In that moment he felt as if nothing could touch him.

Beau was right. What a dumbass he’d been. He’d hit the water.
Hard.

And lost his swim trunks.

Swim trunks that his brother Jack got to before Teague could, and damn if he hadn’t had to run home through the bush with his junk hanging out. Wouldn’t have been so bad except he’d run through poison ivy and well…

With a snort, Teague shook off the memory and reached for his gear. No sense in dwelling on a simpler time—a time when the only thing he’d had to worry about was the jumping rock and poison ivy. The world he lived in now was about as far away from that as you could get.

“No going back,” he muttered, sending his line out into the calm water.

The next few hours saw the sunrise and the lake slowly come to life. By the time boats were zipping along the open water, pulling skiers and tubers, Teague was done. He’d had a good morning and his large cooler held four good-sized pike and two largemouth bass.

He tied up the boat and gathered his gear together and then headed into the boathouse. Once everything was put back where it belonged, he returned for his cooler, intent on cleaning the fish and getting them ready to eat.

A kid was sprawled on the dock, peering over the edge into Teague’s boat. The blond curls were unmistakable.
Harry.

Teague took a step closer and paused as a puppy came hurtling his way along with another kid.

Morgan.

Both of them were in pajamas—seemed the superhero thing was a big deal in their house—and Morgan’s hair was a mess. He glanced up at the cottage.

Irritated, he tried not to show it and kept his voice level. “Where’s your mother?” he asked, kneeling beside Harry so that he could retrieve his cooler. Bingo jumped up and tried to lick his face, and with a scowl, he gently pushed the dog out of the way.

“Sleeping,” Morgan answered, joining her brother, those big eyes of hers meeting his. She pointed to the cooler. “What’s in there?”

“Fish, you dummy,” Harry replied, pushing to his knees. “Right? You went fishing this morning?”

Teague didn’t reply—he just gave a quick nod. He had other things on his mind… like a hearty breakfast. The muffins didn’t cut it and he was hungry as hell.

“I like to fish,” Harry said standing up and rubbing his tummy. “But Mommy doesn’t like to take us out in the boat.”

“That’s because she can’t,” Morgan said with a frown.

“Can’t?” Teague asked, grabbing the cooler.

Harry shrugged. “She can’t swim and only goes in the boat with Daddy. And since Daddy is in heaven she…” Harry snuck a glance at his sister, who was nodding in agreement.

“Since Daddy is in heaven, there’s no one to take us on the boat.” Morgan sounded matter of fact, but something in her eyes made Teague uncomfortable. She’d gone through a lot for someone so young.

He cleared his throat and nodded toward their cottage.

“You guys shouldn’t be down here alone. Maybe you should head back up to the house until your mom wakes up.”

“But she’s sleeping in the family room and we don’t want to wake her,” Harry piped up, moving to Teague’s side. “Bingo is loud.”

Morgan nodded. “She doesn’t sleep that good.”

I know the feeling, Teague thought.

“Sometimes she cries in her sleep.” Harry kicked at the dock with his bare toe.

Teague’s gut tightened and he glanced away. How the hell did you deal with kids who said exactly what was on their minds? Things that he—basically a stranger—had no right to know.

“I’m hungry,” Harry said.

“Do you have eggs?” Morgan asked, reaching for his hand.

Startled, Teague didn’t move and when the small fingers tried to thread through his, he let them. What the hell? Christ, he’d refused to hold his own niece a few weeks back. The baby was too damn small and he was too damn nervous. What if dropped his squirmy niece? He didn’t relate to kids. End of story. Not these ones anyway.

The kids over there? The ones who’d been raised to kill? Those ones he understood.

“Do you?” Morgan asked again, shaking him from his thoughts. “I can help. I like to swoosh them around in the bowl though Mommy doesn’t like me to cook.”

“That’s because you started that fire,” Harry said, poking her in the shoulder. “And the fireman had to come.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Morgan shoved back at her brother. “It was an accident. Even the fireman said so.”

Fire. Great.

Teague stared down into two earnest faces that looked up at him and for a moment, he didn’t know what to do. Shit. The manners he’d been brought up with told him to take the kids back to his place and feed them. Make sure they were okay. Make sure the mother was okay.

But hell, he wanted to be alone, not dance around an awkward situation. And their situation was awkward. Sabrina Campbell didn’t like him. He got it. These days not many folks did.

Morgan yanked on his hand.

Except apparently these two.

With a frown he took a few moments to think things over. Truthfully all he wanted to do was crank some Creedence Clearwater, inhale the smell of a fresh pot of coffee and have some steak and eggs.

He didn’t want to talk to anyone and he sure as hell didn’t want to listen to two chatty kids.

“Tigger.” Morgan tugged on his hand. “Can we have some bananas and blueberries too? They go good with eggs.”

“Look,” Teague finally said, letting the little imp pull him toward the path leading from the boathouse. “I’ll make you guys breakfast but then you need to clear out as soon as your bellies are full. Got it? I’ve got lots to do today.”

“Like what?” Harry shouted, running past Teague, which had Morgan letting go of his hand so that she could take off after her brother. “We can help.”

“No damn way,” he muttered, with one more glance up at the silent cottage to his left.

At the moment Teague had no idea what he was going to do with his day, but one thing was for certain…whatever it was wouldn’t involve two kids. He was many things, but babysitter wasn’t anywhere on that list.

The phone rang and Sabrina woke with a start. She lay still for a few more seconds, enjoying the breeze coming in off the lake, but the phone rang again and the moment passed.

With a sigh she slid from the sofa and winced. The kink in her neck was bad, but not as bad as the wrinkled clothes she hadn’t bothered to change out of the night before; or the reflection that peered back at her from the window as she reached for the phone.

Ugh. She looked like crap.

“Hello?” she managed to say, pushing the word past the frog that was stuck at the back of her throat.
What time was it?
She glanced to the digital display on the oven but her blurry eyes wouldn’t focus.

“Sabrina?”

The male voice wasn’t exactly familiar but…

“Yes.”

There was a sound, like wind in a microphone and she thought whoever was on the other end of the line was outside. “It’s Josiah Duff.”