him away from his immediate anger. “Sonny, Junior, just leave, okay?”
Sonny and Junior. Nick remembered them well. Two brain-dead little teenagers who’d helped Chad Spencer in making Nick’s life hell.
He clenched a fist.
Nick knew his temper was upsetting Meggie, and that’s the last thing he wanted. Idiot. Why had he even come in the bakery? He should’ve just strolled into Spencer’s Bank and gotten his information there. Meggie would never approve of what he wanted to do to Spencer. At least, not the Meggie he used to know, the butterfly who preferred skimming the high grass of distant meadows to giving Spencer the justice he deserved.
The cronies hesitated, then, with a nod from Sonny, they left with threatening glances. All but one, that is. The smallest guy lingered, then followed his friends.
Now that the trash had been taken out, Nick turned around to watch Meggie again. Hell, he couldn’t get enough of her. Same stubborn chin, same ribbon-curled red hair, same marble-green eyes. Yet now, with the passage of years, her chin seemed lowered, her hair a less vibrant shade, her eyes clouded with a pain he wanted to brush away. And her willowy body, once so free and spirited, wasn’t the same. The Meggie he knew had never worn baggy gray sweaters. Her evident loss of childlike wonder clutched at his heart, but he was experiencing a totally different, unexpected feeling at the same time. A pull, a pounding in his belly. More than the innocent companionship a summer friend had felt.
He averted his gaze from her, thinking he had no right to feel anything for Meggie. She no doubt remembered a fourteen-year-old boy who’d been thrown out of town for bombing Chaney’s Drugstore. Why would she possibly welcome him back to Kane’s Crossing?
And, most important of all, he wondered what those cronies had meant by calling her “Chad’s castoff.”
Nick hoped to God it didn’t mean what he thought it did. He wasn’t sure he could stand the thought of his childhood friend in the arms of the enemy.
When he turned back to her, Meggie was shaking her head, fists propped on her hips. Nick felt a powerful heat steal through his body at this glimpse of her returning feistiness.
She said, “I can’t believe this.”
He ducked his head, feeling like a dog being reprimanded for chasing skunks. “Sorry, ma’am.” Maybe he could play this down, just leave, pretend as though he’d never stood outside the bakery, staring at the sign, wishing he could see Meggie again.
“Nick Cassidy?”
Her voice broke on the end of his last name. It wasn’t the one he’d been born with, but who the hell cared. He’d located his real parents years ago, and the disappointment of their reality still ripped his self-respect to shreds every time he thought about it.
A haunted shade cooled Meggie’s gaze. He’d give anything—the millions of dollars he’d made from his ridiculously successful business ventures, even the shirt off his back—to still her sadness. Usually, words rammed against his lips, anxious to escape from the prison of his mind. But, right now, he was truly speechless, and the silence weighing over their heads felt even more oppressive.
He wanted to walk to her, run his thumb over her soft-looking skin, trace the light freckles he remembered. He wondered if she still had those playful flecks of color on her cheeks. If he could just get close enough to smell the strawberry-tart scent he remembered so well, he’d be able to see for himself. But he didn’t dare. Best to just leave.
Nick started to turn around, to exit the bakery and make Meggie a distant memory, but the elderly man from the corner booth blocked his way. He seemed so familiar…
“Cassidy?” the man asked, watery eyes intense with a purpose Nick didn’t understand.
Nick fit his thumbs into the belt loops of his jeans. It was habit. An I-don’t-give-a-hoot gesture he’d perfected through the journey of too many foster homes.
The old man’s mouth twitched, then he grunted and left the building. The bells echoed through the air, mocking Nick with their laughter.
“That was Mr. Chaney,” said Meggie. “You probably remember him.”
Was that accusation in her voice? Of course. When they’d hauled him out of town, with Spencer and his buddies snickering behind the sight of red-and-blue cop car lights, Nick had never gotten the chance to talk to anyone—not his foster mom or dad…not even their son, Sam.
Or Meggie.
He’d never been able to explain that Spencer had invited him to Chaney’s Drugstore to fight, but, instead, had set off a homemade bomb. Everyone in Kane’s Crossing had believed Spencer when he accused Nick of exploding the device. Nick had been there, he’d seen it destroy the building, and who was going to believe the rantings of the town hard-luck case when the town golden boy was accusing him of a crime?
His foster parents had been so sick with disappointment, they’d refused to see him; they’d even called off their plans to adopt him into their family. Even Sam, whom Nick had just about worshiped with a younger foster brother’s devotion, had refrained from contacting him. The state of Kentucky had moved Nick to another home after he’d served some time in a juvenile delinquent facility.
But now he was back in town to right some wrongs. The car crash he’d lived through mere months ago had given him some perspective, had made him realize that there was a little town in the middle of America that still thought the worst of him. He couldn’t live with himself knowing that he’d never erased this falsehood. Clearing his name and serving justice to Spencer on one of his own silver spoons became top priority.
He gritted his teeth. What the hell, Meggie deserved at least some explanation. “I see this place hasn’t forgotten my name.”
“How could they? You’re an urban legend in a provincial town. Almost a celebrity.”
Her tone teetered on the edge of sarcasm, and his crusade against Spencer increased twofold. Even Meggie had been infected by Spencer’s lies. Nick felt something in the area of his heart crack, but he stiffened his jaw and narrowed his eyes to fight the feeling. “You’ve made up your mind.”
Meggie’s eyes flashed, and she stepped to the end of the counter. For the first time, Nick saw the slight roundness of her stomach. He felt the wind get knocked out of him.
Do ya feel like buyin’ a magical cupcake from Chad’s castoff?
Say, Witchy Poo, where ya hidin’ that bundle of joy?
Dear, God, please have him be wrong.
She said, “It’s pretty easy to form an opinion over the course of years. Have you finally come back to explain yourself, Nick?”
Explain himself? He didn’t play the explaining game. “Whatever I have to say would fall on deaf ears.” He couldn’t stop his gaze from straying to her belly.
A short laugh cut the air when she noticed his scrutiny. “Oh, great. You’re curious, too. Don’t even ask.”
He kept his mouth shut. It’s what he knew how to do best, and it frequently kept him out of more trouble than he was worth.
“So?” She reached up to skim a red curl away from the corner of
