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Cathryn
Shannon Waverly
CIRCLE OF FRIENDS: May the circle be unbrokenWhen the original Good Girl falls for the ultimate Bad Boy…Cathryn McGrath has a reputation to uphold in Harmony, Massachusetts–as the perfect wife, homemaker, mother and friend. Until her husband has an affair with another woman, and walks out on Cathryn and their kids…Tucker Lang has a reputation to overcome in Harmony–as the town's bad boy, tough guy and all-around rebel. He's been away for years, but reputations like that tend to stick, especially in places like Harmony. He's back now…just in time to catch the pieces of Cathryn McGrath's shattered life.He becomes involved, deeply involved, with her and her kids. And he shows her that there's life after betrayal, love after divorce.
“I’m going out,” Cathryn announced
“What?”
“Out. I don’t want to stay in tonight. I don’t want to be—” she looked around her living room with the eyes of a hateful stranger “—here.”
“Where are you going?” Tucker expected her to say Lauren’s or Julia’s, but instead she just shrugged.
“Out,” she repeated, heading for the bathroom. She returned a short while later with her makeup repaired. “It’s Saturday night, and I’m tired of playing by the rules. Why should I? No one else has.” Including my ex-husband, she might have said—but didn’t.
Uh-oh. Tucker’s eyes swept over her for about the thirty-seventh time, and a premonition of disaster hit him. “Maybe that’s not such a good idea.”
“Don’t try to stop me, Tuck.”
Tucker knew she was angry and in a hell-raising mood. But then, why shouldn’t she be? She had a right to rage for a night. And actually, a bit of rage might do her some good.
As long as she had someone to watch over her.
He lifted his hands in surrender. “No, I wouldn’t do that. I just want to go with you.”
Dear Reader,
During the writing of Cathryn, several people asked me how I could possibly create a romance novel featuring an overweight, happily married stay-at-home mom whose hobbies include square dancing, sewing and choir. That was the Cathryn McGrath they knew from her brief appearances in Julia and Lauren (published in November 1998 and December 1999 respectively). Each time I was asked, my response was a rather smug “You’ll see,” accompanied by a slightly dirty laugh.
I knew something, or rather someone, they didn’t—Tucker Lang, bad boy extraordinaire, who drops into Cathryn’s life needing to change his ways just when Cathryn needs to change hers. From the very first line of the book, I recognized the potential within such a situation. With that line I also began my most enjoyable writing experience to date. I absolutely loved being with these two buoyant people.
Cathryn concludes CIRCLE OF FRIENDS, my series about a group of people who share the unusual experience of having grown up together on a small fictional island off the coast of Massachusetts. I hope you enjoy it.
My best to you always,
Shannon Waverly
Cathryn
Shannon Waverly
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Paula, who took a chance on me fifteen books ago. For your always-judicious editing, lofty standards and human understanding (especially each time I was late with a manuscript), thank you.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE (#ue97cdde2-057f-518a-802b-aaddde42fb2a)
CHAPTER TWO (#u4f3ff6f4-a38d-5015-8fa6-b4045dcbadeb)
CHAPTER THREE (#uccda649b-12f0-5418-bad8-7b64826467c0)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u58cd767c-d120-54de-87da-6f8ca63fa6e7)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE
TUCKER LANG wasn’t the sort of guy good girls cared to be seen with. Not if they valued their reputations. Good girls went out with clean-cut, law-abiding guys, the ones who stayed in school and went to church and had plans for the future.
Being with Tucker Lang was another matter, however—as long as no one found out—and by the time he left Harmony at the age of twenty-one, not many girls remained who hadn’t joined him for a walk on the wild side. Tucker was trouble, all right, and nothing was more alluring than trouble.
Tucker even looked like trouble, from his long black hair to his scuffed biker’s boots, which he wore both winter and summer and even to the beach. He also favored shark-tooth jewelry, black leather jackets, and sleeveless T-shirts, to display his sinewy musculature.
The vehicles he drove, both of which he’d rebuilt himself, looked like trouble, too. The first was a big, loud Harley-Davidson; the other, a Trans-Am with flames painted on the sides. Auto repair was, in fact, his trade while he lived on Harmony, one he’d stumbled into simply because it happened to be the family business. His great-uncle Walter, who’d brought him to the island from the Bronx when he was thirteen, operated the island’s only garage, Lang’s Auto Repair.
To the distress of Walter and his wife, Winnie, trouble ran deeper than just appearances with Tuck, right from the get-go. He set off stink bombs in school, encouraged his classmates to smoke and swear, and pilfered candy and magazines anywhere he found them for sale.
Another reason the Langs turned gray so fast, beyond the fact that they were both sixty when they took Tucker in, was that he seemed perpetually involved in dangerous activities, usually on a dare. One day, for instance, he dived off Little Harbor Bridge—nothing unusual for island kids, except that in Tucker’s case his hands were tied behind his back. He once camped out all night in Morgan’s Hollow, where if the ghosts didn’t get you, the deer ticks would. But the incident that made Tuck an irrevocable Harmony legend was his getting struck by lightning, a gigantic bolt that passed right through him, yet left him totally unharmed.
Tucker was combative, too, a trait that became more prominent as he grew older and began hanging out in bars. He wasn’t the largest or strongest guy on the island, but he was arguably the toughest, and he never backed down from a fight.
In addition to all this, Tucker drank hard, swam nude, danced dirty and spent more than his fair share of nights in jail paying for his sins, the sum of which, alas, only added to his appeal and, in turn, the sullying of even more female reputations.
Not mine, though, thought Cathryn McGrath a bit smugly as she drove across Harmony on a slushy, colorless Valentine’s Day. She was on her way to attend the afternoon visitation at D’Autell’s Funeral Home where Walter Lang was laid out. Cathryn’s virtue had remained intact—although, to be honest, Tucker had never tested it.
For one thing, she’d been off-limits. She’d gone steady with Dylan from the age of fifteen until they were married four years later, and Tucker had respected that. Also, her parents and the Langs were neighbors. They did what good neighbors do—traded news and recipes and tools, and lent each other help whenever it was needed. For some odd reason, that bond seemed to affect Tuck’s attitude toward Cathryn. That, and his being four years older. When he wasn’t ignoring her, which he often did, he unfailingly treated her like a kid sister, someone meant to be endured and occasionally protected, but not seduced.
But even if he had hit on her, she was positive nothing would’ve come of it, because, quite frankly, the appeal of Tucker Lang, bad boy extraordinaire, was lost on her. Although other girls had swooned over his dark eyes and rugged unshaven jaw, Cathryn had much preferred Dylan’s blond and blue-eyed all-American looks. In fact, Tucker’s aggressive demeanor had sometimes scared her, and his behavior had positively turned her off.
She didn’t find Tucker Lang exciting or irresistible, the way other girls did. Cathryn’s idea of irresistible took the form of respect, loyalty, industriousness and being family-oriented, all of which Dylan possessed in spades. Rather, she considered Tucker confused, immature and pitiable, and the girls who allowed him to use them were fools.
Slowing her van for the stop sign at Four Corners, a central marker on the fifteen-square-mile island, Cathryn’s rambling remembrances also came to a stop, and she realized with some annoyance that she’d spent an unwarranted amount of time thinking about Tucker Lang today. She hadn’t seen the man in nearly fifteen years, and before that they hadn’t exactly been bosom buddies. He probably didn’t even remember her. Yet, from the moment she’d heard about his uncle’s death and realized he’d probably be home for the funeral, he’d been drifting through her thoughts like a low-grade obsession. Probably because, despite all his shortcomings, I liked the guy, she thought with a slow smile. We were oil and water, but we always got along.
Cathryn set her van in motion again and soon arrived at D’Autell’s, located near the cemetery rather than within the touristy harbor district, which the Chamber of Commerce seemed to appreciate.
There weren’t many cars in the parking lot, Cathryn noticed as she shut off the engine. Most people probably intended to pay their respects during the evening visiting hours. She sighed in dismay as she gathered up her purse. It would be easier to leave quickly and unnoticed if there was a crowd, and she definitely wanted to leave quickly. She was eager to get home and continue decorating the dining room.
Because it was Valentine’s Day, she’d planned a special dinner—beef stroganoff, Dylan’s and the kids’ favorite, with a heart-shaped raspberry-chocolate cake for dessert. Actually, she wasn’t aiming to make this Valentine celebration special; she was aiming to make it perfect. She already knew what Dylan intended to give her, and only perfection on her part would do.
She’d found the gift by accident last week. Normally she didn’t go into Dylan’s business files, but a supplier had phoned with a question about an order, Dylan had been out and she’d figured the information must be somewhere in the drawer.
It was. So were the diamond earrings. Not rhinestone, not cubic zirconia. Diamond, the real McCoy. The sales slip was in the bag, as well, and when Cathryn saw the bottom line, she’d suffered serious heart palpitations. Dylan’s landscaping business was doing well—but eight hundred dollars for earrings? Was he out of his mind?
But then she’d found the card, also hidden under the files, its verse so romantic and intimate it had brought tears to her eyes. And at that moment she’d decided that being impractical once in a while was perfectly forgivable in a man. In fact, it was perfectly…perfect.
She’d kept the discovery a secret, even from her best friends, Julia and Lauren, but it had been difficult. Heavens, diamond earrings! Usually Dylan’s Valentine gifts ran to flowers or chocolates. Was he finally going to say, yes, he’d like to have another child? Was this his way of making up for the disagreements they’d had whenever she’d broached the subject? God, she hoped so.
When Bethany, their youngest, had entered first grade in September, Cathryn had thought she might get herself an outside job. Dylan had thought the time was right, too. But after considering several positions and becoming mysteriously anxious and depressed, she’d come to the conclusion that she was just a natural-born, stay-at-home mom, a one-hundred-percent throwback to another era. Trying to be otherwise was fighting against type.
Her family and home were the core of her life, and unlike a lot of women she knew, she loved taking care of them. She loved everything domestic and was never happier than when she was cooking or sewing, gardening or helping with homework. And having a toddler underfoot just seemed like an integral part of the picture.
Smiling, Cathryn recalled that there was one more reason having another child would be fun. Last summer she’d jokingly proposed to Lauren and Julia that they all have babies at about the same time. That way, she’d said, they could share prenatal joys and woes, and later help each other with child-rearing. She’d seen the arrangement as great fun and a wonderful way to broaden their already deep, lifelong friendship. Her friends, however, had predictably considered the idea absurd. At the time, Julia had been content simply being a newlywed, and Lauren hadn’t even been dating anyone.
Well, Lauren’s baby was due in August, and, to no one’s surprise, Julia had recently announced that she was two months along. Now it was Cathryn’s turn, and she had a strong hunch that was the message behind Dylan’s extravagant gift. He’d just needed a little time to get used to the idea.
Cathryn suddenly felt the urge to skip the wake and hurry home. Unfortunately, though, some things couldn’t be sloughed off. Paying final respects to an old neighbor was one of them.
She angled the rearview mirror toward her, fluffed her long sandy bangs—and squeaked in horror. She was still wearing her Valentine earrings, the dangling hearts that looked exactly like candy. One said, Kiss Me, the other, Be Mine. Not quite right for a wake. After removing them and tossing them on the dash, she fingered off a tiny smudge of pink lipstick from the corner of her mouth and tried not to think about how much heavier Tucker was going to find her. Each of her three pregnancies had left her with ten extra pounds, then a couple more. Sly devils, had slipped in all on their own. Ah, well. There was nothing she could do about it right now. With a resigned sigh, she opened the door and stepped out into the slush.
Inside the foyer, Cathryn signed the guest book and took a bolstering breath before walking into the viewing room. It was overly warm and smelled of carnations and dusty velvet. Serene harp music, meant to create a celestial ambience, drifted from speakers poorly hidden behind the coffin. To Cathryn’s chagrin, her attention zoomed straight to Tucker. Not to poor Walter, the reason she was here. Tucker. He was sitting in the first chair in a short receiving line of relatives, talking quietly to the elderly woman on his right, Walter’s sister-in-law Sarah from Barney’s Cove Road.
Oh, Lord. He looks like a Mafia hit man, Cathryn thought. It was the maroon shirt that did it. With a white or otherwise pale shirt, Tucker’s charcoal sports jacket and fitted black pants might almost pass for normal. But that shirt, all that head-to-toe darkness, distinctly marked him as an underworld figure. Maybe not the underworld, but an underworld nonetheless.
Cathryn’s first glance also registered that he’d grown a beard, a feature that in her opinion added absolutely nothing to his appeal. Moreover, in disregard of current fashion, he still wore his hair long.
Cathryn changed her mind. Tuck didn’t look like a hit man; he looked like an aging rock star.
He was neither, of course.
She remembered her father once remarking that Tucker, being unusually charismatic and street-smart, had the potential to become somebody really special someday, a top-flight salesman, for instance, or a politician—if he got the right breaks. But with bad breaks, getting involved with the wrong people, for instance, he could turn into a bum, a hood or even a criminal. He was walking a precarious fence rail, her father had theorized. Tuck’s life could fall either way.
Like most people grafted to Harmony’s grapevine, Cathryn knew that Tucker had drifted through several trades before settling into the one that currently occupied him—stock-car racing. According to Walter, it was an occupation that provided Tuck with a good living and the opportunity to travel, so Cathryn surmised he’d “fallen” well. Not that she condoned his racing. She knew how much the old widower had worried about his great-nephew’s safety, but at least Tucker wasn’t living out of a shopping cart or doing time in San Quentin.
As for his personal life, Winnie and Walter had long ago given up on his ever getting married or settling down. They’d gone to their graves believing he’d be a skirt-chaser forever. And they were probably right.
Cathryn’s curious perusal, which couldn’t have taken more than a few seconds, was cut short when Tucker turned to see who’d just entered. Quickly, she shifted her attention to the casket.
After saying a short, silent prayer and wishing Walter well in the hereafter, Cathryn made her way over to the family. Tucker got to his feet, one knee cracking.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” she began with automatic formality, gripping Tucker’s hand while staring at the small garnet stud in his left ear.
“Thank you. It’s kind of you to…” His polite response trailed off, and suddenly his dark eyes took on a rich gleam, their outer edges creasing as he broke into an unabashed smile that erased her earlier cynicism about his looks. “Shortcake?” he exclaimed, loudly enough to elicit chuckles from several people.
Heat climbed up Cathryn’s neck. Not that she disliked the nickname Tuck had pinned on her when she was young. The character Fonzie on the old TV sitcom Happy Days used to call Joannie Cunningham “Shortcake,” and that was clearly an expression of brotherly fondness.
“Hi, Tucker,” she said, dropping the formality. “I wasn’t sure you’d remember me.”
“Not remember you? How long did we live next door to each other?”
“Eight years,” Cathryn answered and then winced, realizing the question had been rhetorical. “You’re looking well,” she said. And he was. Trim, fit, tanned.
“So are you,” he replied, and before she could refute him, added, “Married life agrees with you, I guess.” It seemed more a question than a statement.
Tucker had disapproved of her becoming engaged while still in high school. In fact, he’d called her crazy for agreeing to marry the only guy she’d ever dated.
“Yes. I’m very happy,” Cathryn replied.
He lifted his broad shoulders in a concessionary shrug. “You were right.”
“Uh-huh,” she hummed slowly and with just enough needling for him to hear her unspoken “And you were wrong.”
He asked, “Where are you living these days?”
“West Shore Road.” When his brow furrowed, she explained, “It’s new since you left.” Although she was brimming with questions, she was beginning to feel self-conscious. Standing in the condolence line at a wake was not the proper place for such a conversation. “Maybe we should catch up later, Tuck?”
“Oh. Sure.”
“Again, I’m really sorry about your uncle. He’ll be missed.”
Tucker nodded and let her move on to his great-aunt Sarah. Cathryn extended her sympathy, then told Sarah in an undertone, “I brought my coffee urn and warming trays.”
The elderly woman’s plump face crinkled with a smile. “Oh, wonderful. Thank you for remembering.” With a rustle of black crepe, Sarah turned to Tucker. “Cathryn’s lending us some buffet things for tomorrow’s brunch. Do you think you could move them from her car to yours?”
Tucker flicked a brief smile at Cathryn. “Sure,” he said. “Whenever you’re ready to leave.”
She nodded, made her way down the line quickly, then hurried to the back row of chairs. About a dozen people, all friends and neighbors, sat ahead of her conversing quietly, and some not so quietly. Walter had lived a long, full life and would’ve been the first to say there was no need to overmourn his passing.
The minutes ticked by slowly. When Cathryn checked her watch and found that a respectable amount of time had elapsed, she began to button her coat. Simultaneously, Tucker left his seat and headed in her direction. They said nothing until they were outside, under the portico at the front entrance.
“I thought you’d never leave,” he grumbled, reaching inside his jacket. “I’ve been dying for a smoke.”
“You haven’t quit yet?” Cathryn exclaimed incredulously as he struck a match and lit up. He didn’t bother replying, just took in a lungful of smoke. Watching him, Cathryn felt the urge to cough on his behalf.
He tossed the extinguished match toward the receptacle by the door. “You still ready to chew my head off?” He squinted at her, looking fierce, and for a moment Cathryn found herself holding her breath. But then his mouth tipped up at one corner, deepening a groove that on a less masculine face might be considered a dimple.
“You bet. You shouldn’t smoke, Tucker. It’s a terrible habit. It’ll take years off your life. And anyway, it’s so passé. Nobody finds it attractive anymore.”
