Hometown Honey

Her parents had owned a boat, which was moored at Town Lake. It was an old, twenty-foot cuddy cruiser. Her father’s idea had been that they would fix it up, then take it to Lake Texoma. When Cindy was little, they used to close the restaurant on holidays and spend a day or two on the lake, floating aimlessly on the water while they sanded and painted and sewed curtains. But then their interest had waned. No one had used the boat for years and Cindy had been meaning to sell it.

She’d surely never mentioned the boat to Dex. It might be the one asset he’d overlooked. And though it was small, it had a sleeping cabin with a real bed and a tiny galley with a one-burner stove and a marine toilet. She’d recently paid for six months’ dock fees at the marina.

Maybe it wasn’t a great plan, but it beat sleeping in her car.

Cindy started packing. She found a few boxes and suitcases in the attic and filled them with clothes—she didn’t have many—toiletries and Adam’s favorite toys. She did laundry—no telling when she’d have her next chance. She loaded everything in her car, along with Adam’s collapsible playpen.

Lastly, she packed up her food—every crumb. It was enough to last her a few more days. She put the stuff from the fridge in a cooler, along with some ice.

“Well, baby,” she cooed to Adam, “I said I wanted adventure. Guess I should be careful what I wish for, huh?”

Adam laughed and made a grab for her earring. She was glad he was too young to understand, too young to share the insidious fear that had crept into every cell of her body.

Broke, homeless, jobless and with a child to support. What a mess she’d gotten herself into.

Chapter Three

Luke watched from a distance, lurking in the shadows at the marina behind a houseboat. He’d heard a rumor that Cindy and Adam were living here on her parents’ old boat, but he had to see for himself.

Sure enough, the canvas cover had been removed from the old cuddy, which was called the Cindy-Lou—Cindy’s childhood nickname. It looked as if someone had cleaned the worst of the grime off the boat. Carlo Bruno, the marina manager, had told Luke the boat had been docked here for years, with only the lightest routine maintenance to keep it from sinking.

He saw no other signs of life. He decided it was his official duty to check on Cindy again and to keep checking on her until he was sure she was okay. She’d been in a fragile state when he’d seen her a few days ago.

He remembered a time when his own mother had been in a similar fix. He’d been about four at the time, and his mom had been evicted from her grungy apartment in Tyler. They’d been forced to live in the car for a while. He remembered a highway-patrol officer shining a flashlight into the car, where they’d been parked in a parking lot trying to sleep, bundled up in blankets. And this upstanding law-enforcement officer, sworn to serve and protect, had told them without an ounce of concern that they would have to move on, that it was illegal to sleep there.

He wished someone had tried to help his mother back then, when she hadn’t yet been beyond help.

At any rate, he wasn’t going to be like that state trooper.

He stepped on board and knocked on the hatch. It suddenly occurred to him he’d spent a lot of his life knocking on doors, waiting for Cindy. Even when she’d been in love with him, she’d always kept him waiting.

Eventually the hatch opened. He was gratified to see that Cindy looked much better than she had a few days ago. No puffy eyes. Her hair was sparkling clean and pulled back in a loose braid, and she wore jeans and a pale pink T-shirt, the V-neck showing just a hint of cleavage. She’d put on a little weight, he noticed. And it was in all the right places.

“What are you doing here?” she asked suspiciously.

“I heard you and Adam were living here. I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

“I’m fine. Everything’s fine. You can tell that to all the town gossips. Man, they must be having a field day with this.”

“Cindy, if you think your friends and neighbors are getting enjoyment out of your bad luck, you’re wrong. Everyone who knows you is worried. Can I come in?”

With a careless shrug, she retreated down the short staircase and he followed. The boat wasn’t as bad as he’d feared. She’d obviously been cleaning, because the whole place smelled like oranges.

“You want some coffee?” she offered grudgingly. “It’s instant, not like what I serve at the café, but the caffeine still works.”

“Sure, I’ll have some. Where’s Adam?”

“Still asleep. We’ve been busy the last couple of days trying to get settled in here.”

She moved into the tiny galley, which was only a couple of steps away. In fact, nothing was more than two steps away. It was a cute and cozy boat, he’d give it that. The carpeting and upholstery all looked new, the paint surprisingly fresh. Everything was tidy and efficient—except for the stack of boxes shoved to one side of the living room.

Moments later, Cindy handed him a steaming cup of black coffee.

“What, no biscuit with honey?”

“You know, a few days ago I was complaining about all the biscuits I had to bake. Now I’d give anything to be back in that stifling kitchen with flour all over my hands.”

“Maybe you can get it back.”

“How? I don’t even know where to start.”

“To start, you need to talk with Sonya and Brenna.”

“You mean they’re still here?”

“They’re trying to pick up as much information as they can about Marvin, but they don’t have much without you.”

“I’m not sure what the point is.” She sank onto one of the miniature built-in sofas opposite him and sipped on her own coffee. “Everything I know about him is a lie, apparently.”

“But maybe not. Con men often use bits and pieces of the truth to make themselves sound more authentic. You might know more than you think. For instance, his car. You spent a lot of time in it. Do you recall the license plate or any distinguishing features like dents or scratches? We might be able to trace him that way.”

Cindy’s brow furrowed. “It all seems like a blur. But I’ll try to remember.”

“Talk to the ladies.”

“Oh, all right.”

He hesitated to press her further, but there were questions he had to ask. “Cindy, what are you going to do? You can’t live here.”

“Why not? I have a kitchen.” She pointed to the one-burner stove, a single cabinet and about one square foot of counter space. “I have a bathroom.” She indicated a closed door marked Head, which probably housed only a marine toilet and sink—no bathing facilities.

“Where do you sleep?”

“There’s a compartment in the bow. You can see for yourself.”

“I don’t want to wake Adam if he’s—”

“It’s really time he got up.”

Luke put down his coffee and worked his way to the front of the boat. He had to stoop slightly—he couldn’t even stand upright, the ceiling was so low. He pushed open a couple of louvered doors and found himself in the “bedroom”—a tiny triangular area with sheets and blankets spread out over oddly shaped cushions. Adam was already awake, sitting up in bed, looking out the porthole. Most babies he knew of started screaming the instant they awoke. But from what he’d seen of Adam, he was an easygoing kid.

“Hey, there, sport,” he said softly. Adam turned and studied Luke, appearing neither scared nor pleased to see him. More curious. “I bet you’re ready for some breakfast.”

“Do you mind bringing him out?” Cindy asked.

“If he’ll let me.” But when Luke reached for Adam, the baby held his arms out, perfectly accepting. Not that Luke was a complete stranger. But the baby had seen him up close maybe half a dozen times in his young life. Luke wrapped his arms securely around Adam’s warm body, dressed snugly in Carter’s pajamas. Adam babbled happily and snuggled against Luke.

Luke felt an odd sensation holding that baby. If things had gone the way he’d once hoped, Cindy’s child would also be his child. They’d have had a houseful by now.