Relocating is what they’d used to call their teenage habit of taking things from someone’s yard and placing them somewhere else in town. Never destructive, never malicious, always got a laugh.

He eyed her. “Where?”

The exaggerated way she shrugged and rolled her eyes toward the sky in a faux-innocent way scared the crap out of him. In a good way.

“What do you have up your sleeve?” he asked.

“Just get over there and pick up that heavy end.” She gestured to the thicker part of the caber, the tip that first struck the ground after it was thrown.

“This is vandalism, you know,” he said as he unclamped the metal ring holding the caber.

“Yeah, and you’re the one who taught me how to do it and laugh about it.”

He had, hadn’t he? All those years ago, he’d been the one to suggest taking the Thistle’s outdoor furniture and relocating it to the parking lot of the market. Bev hadn’t been happy, but after the town had got a good chuckle and Leith and Jen had moved all the furniture back, he’d caught Bev smiling.

Jen had a bit of trouble getting the narrowed end of the caber down from the metal cradle, having to push up onto her tiptoes. Once she steadied it in her hands, her tongue stuck out in concentration, there was such a fantastic glimmer in her eyes, all he could do was stare.

“I never get to do this anymore,” she said.

“Do what?”

“Have fun.”

She said it all casual in the way you might say, “Have a sandwich.”

He saw it then: an emptiness that decorated the edges of her soul. A sadness that he couldn’t remember having seen before. Maybe with age her resolve to hide it had cracked. Or maybe it was him. Maybe it was that part of her he thought he knew, but didn’t.

The way she clutched the caber twisted her tank top. The moonlight settled into the lines of her arm and chest muscles, and made her dark hair gleam in a way that seemed almost magical. Moonlight had always been her friend.

Moonlight and a sky full of stars, sprayed over the open top of a Cadillac.

He cleared his throat, trying to clear his head in the process. “So now what, genius?”

She nudged her chin back toward town, the sparkle returning. When she smiled, there was the tiniest of crinkles along one side of her nose. “To your truck.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

He blew out a breath, but he could feel his smile getting bigger and bigger. “Lead the way.”

So she did. Together they balanced the caber between them, jostling its weight, shifting between their hands, bursting into laughter as they tried to negotiate the nineteen-foot stick around the park hedgerows, then laughing so hard they had to rest when a car full of people rolled down the street, their eyes wide and fingers pointed.

Finally they managed to hobble and wobble the thing to where he’d parallel parked his truck in front of the closed and dark gas station.

“My God,” she said as he shifted the caber to one shoulder. “It’s huge.”

“What is?” He lofted his end over the side of the truck bed, making the thing bounce. “My truck? Or my caber?”

She let out a really unfeminine snort that did decidedly masculine things to his body. “Get up in there and hold the thing. I’m driving.”

“No. No. No one drives my truck except me.”

“You had, like, six beers.”

“And I’m two hundred and forty pounds.”

She patted the side of the truck. “I can’t hold that over the cab. Get up in there and hold it while I drive. I’ll go slow and careful. I promise.”

“This is eight million kinds of illegal, you know, driving around with big stuff not strapped down.”

She made a dramatic glance up and down the empty streets, then peered down the long stretch of Route 6, where there were no lights. No cars. “Who’s going to see? And besides, you’re Leith MacDougall. Come on, big guy. Pretty soon you’ll be in Connecticut and you won’t be able to go five miles over the limit before you’re thrown in the slammer. Enjoy your freedom, my friend.”

Though he rolled his eyes, he hopped up into the cab and gripped the caber, swinging it up so the narrow tip rested on the truck cab and the thicker end was wedged well into a corner. He crouched, holding the whole thing in place. “Where to now, boss? Where are we relocating this thing?”

He didn’t like the way she smiled at him, so full of secrets. “Keys?”

After a slight pause, he dug into his pocket and tossed them down to her.

“Just up the road,” she said. “Hemmertex. You’re going to throw that big stick for me.” 

Chapter

12

He wasn’t going to throw. There was no doubt about that. Yet he crouched in the back of his truck as the thing thundered under his boots, going where Jen was driving him. Because he’d lost the silly darts game? Partly. Because he didn’t want to let her go tonight? Most definitely.

The caber was tilted up and over his head, his fingers latched around it from underneath. Funny how the weight and length of a caber could differ from place to place, competition to competition, but the feel of the wood was so similar.

Jen kept her word and drove like an old lady on the way to church. She flicked on the brights as she pulled off Route 6 and headed down the long drive onto Hemmertex land. She crossed the empty parking lot on a diagonal, angling for the large lawn on the northeast side of the building. She killed the engine but kept the headlights blaring into the darkness.

He stood as she exited the cab, and he felt like a giant looking down at her upturned face.

“The athletics field is going to be just beyond that line of bushes. I need to know if it’s big enough.”

“Isn’t that Duncan’s job as AD?”

She grinned. “Duncan isn’t here.”

“We couldn’t do this tomorrow?”

“No time. Booked solid pretty much every minute of daylight from now until the games. I need you tonight, Dougall.”

There was something else in those words, something he’d been looking for, dying to hear. Just yesterday she would have looked away after having said something like that. Just yesterday she would have glossed over it, pretended she hadn’t inserted a hidden meaning. Ignored her own intentions, her own desires.

But right then, she seemed to remember very well how he’d kissed her.

“So.” She planted a hand on the back hatch. “Go on out there, throw the thing and tell me if I have enough room.”

She was damn sure she had enough room. In fact, he could pretty much bet that she’d already been out there with measuring tape and survey equipment and a GPS system to ensure the place was absolutely perfect. She was just playing with him, thinking she was lightening the mood, trying to get him to smile after all the sadness she’d seen inside Da’s house.

They’d had an incredible evening; every second, every laugh, every word nudged them close together. He wasn’t about to let the big giant elephant wedge itself between them. He’d talk her out of throwing. He’d distract her by what they both wanted.

Putting one hand on the side of the truck, he launched himself over, landing heavily on the cracked asphalt. Straightening, he saw her catch her breath. Saw the way her eyes had gone a bit glossy, a bit lost. Good. He felt pulled toward her from deep inside, as though the very essence of him, down to his molecules, was calling to her, and she was answering.

“Wow,” she whispered. Or maybe it was more like an exhale, with a curse unknowingly tagged on.

“What?”

She threw an exasperated hand at his chest. “No one should look as good as you do in a green plaid shirt. It’s a ridiculous thing to wear. I mean, really.”

Suddenly it was his most favorite shirt in the whole world. “I can’t throw, Jen.”

“Sure you can.” She reached over and flipped open the truck hatch. The caber, having been braced by the hatch, slid out.