Page 27 of The Locksmith's Promise

Wracking my brain for more questions, I landed on the obvious. “Do you play any instruments?”

He perked up. “We haven’t had the money for lessons yet. Mom says she’ll look into it once we’re settled.”

My heart lurched in my chest. “What do you want to play?”

“Guitar,” he paused. “Maybe the bagpipes.”

I looked up and grinned at Maggie, gratified to hear her laugh. “Bagpipes?”

He shrugged. “I think they’re cool. Do you play anything?”

“Guitar, bass guitar, and harmonica. I can get by on the piano but not well.”

His face lit up. Feeling like a hero, I continued, “I was even in a band.”

Maggie’s gaze sharpened, her pretty features tightening.

Heat infused my face.

I knew how it looked. Like I went on with my life without looking back, but nothing could have been further from the truth.

“That’s so cool,” he breathed. “Are you still in the band?”

I shook my head. “I left it to come home.”

He nodded sagely. “Because your father died.”

“Cor,” Maggie admonished.

“It’s okay,” I intervened. “I came back for your mom.”

8

This Side of Moose Lake

Maggie

The first time he said it I convinced myself I was hearing things.

The second time, there was no mistaking his words. Or what they did to the foolishly naïve organ in my chest.

I came back for your mom.

For what exactly?

And why did it run me out of my own house?

The fiery carpet of fallen leaves crunched under my feet as I left my kid with a man I hadn’t seen in over a decade.

It didn’t matter that he was his father.

It didn’t matter that I’d never known him to be anything other than kind.

It didn’t matter that I could not remember a time when my soul didn’t recognize his, or the fact it still did.

I sighed and gave a gentle tug on the end of Jeff’s lead.

None of it mattered.

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