Chapter One - Maddox

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Maddox Granger rolled into Camden Grove on a Friday afternoon, restlessness swelling in his chest like a slow-rising tide. The unseasonably warm November weather, comfortable enough for him to remove the Jeep’s soft top, had done little to settle his doubts. For every mile he traveled closer to the small town, he also drew nearer to openly acknowledging things he knew would change his life—the kind of things that people don’t turn away from.

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Plenty had shifted in six years. The last he’d seen of Paige Westerfield, they were just kids really and, as it would seem, bound for two different paths. He hadn’t even known those paths had a common thread until three months ago. Or that without his help, that thread entered the world only nine short months after he left for boot camp, seaming them together with a stitch tighter and more substantial than some long-put-aside young love. He didn’t know that fact six years ago, and in all honesty, he didn’t know with total confidence whether he wanted to know it now.

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The silver maples lining Main Street flickered, now bearing the unremarkable colors of burnt sienna on their underbellies. A few fell like feathers against the pavement as he came to a stop at the corner light of the courthouse square.

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He’d trained for some of the most mentally and physically challenging conditions endurable as a Marine Raider, but no special ops training in the world could have shored him up for the mission he had now in the little spot in the world called Camden Grove.

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Businesses lined the streets like a variety of stacked cereal boxes—The Herbs Shoppe, Cash and Carry, a dime store with frontage that looked like it hadn’t seen change since the 50’s. Baker’s Hardware showcased a bright red snow sled in its window for the wishful kids of a snowless town too far south.

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As he rounded the square, a little shop with a fashionably distressed sign advertising Dawson’s Creamery caught his attention. It seemed a likely place to start looking. Maybe he could get a cup of coffee there, too. Though it wasn’t his drink of choice, he wanted something a little stouter to cinch up his nerves than the watered-down soda in his cup holder.

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The whole way to Camden Grove from North Carolina had left him in a tumult about how to confront Paige. He’d summoned every scenario he could imagine, worked through all her responses in his head. His job had taught him to cover every contingency before he approached a volatile situation, but this wasn’t some military exercise. It was much closer to home. He had no idea how she would react. He’d been trained to assume the worst.

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If he’d known out of the gate that another living human with his DNA was on the horizon, maybe things would have been different back then. He had arguably loved Paige. Other things had just claimed him long before she did. That, and he’d been deceived.

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With the distance of six years, they’d both gone on with their lives.

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Maybe by now, she had somebody new in her life. Likely, she did. He suspected she wasn’t married, though. His search had led to evidence that she still used her maiden name. Whether or not that was a reliable indicator, something in him hoped she wasn’t in a relationship. It would make his visit less complicated.

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Tapping the wheel, he waited for a car to vacate a parking spot.

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He just needed to make her understand he wasn’t a deadbeat. Maybe if he told her the truth—that only recently he’d found out about their daughter—from there, he could offer whatever financial help was his responsibility to handle, be as passive a parent as she likely wanted him to be, and return to the life he’d built in the service. Get in, do the job, and get out. It was the way of a Raider.

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He pulled into the diagonal parking space in front of the Creamery beside a pickup the likes of which he might’ve seen at a juiced-up truck show. The hydraulics propped the cab at an angle as if it were ready to bounce to its cranked audio.

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The door of the shop jingled as he entered, and at two small, joined tables in the front of the store, a group of teenagers huddled in a mumbling cluster.

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They each scanned Maddox as he passed their table. He sensed them sizing him up. He was a stranger in their neck of the woods.

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“Maybe she can get a date with him.” One of the girls laughed. She’d spoken loudly enough to be overheard.

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A quarterback-sized kid with a letterman jacket sitting center stage didn’t care if he was heard or not. “No way. He’s got to be thirty somethin’. Nobody over twenty wears denim shirts anymore. He might as well be sportin’ Velcro shoes and have food in his teeth.”

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Giggles burst into full-scale cackling as Maddox glanced over his shoulder toward the group.

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The second girl, whose fake eyelashes matched the length of her acrylic nails, found a need to contribute. “He’s not half bad looking, though, so, yeah, you’re probably right . . . no chance.”

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A mirrored logo hung against the wall of the shop opposite the huddled group. Maddox turned away from them and watched their reflection as the three boys bumped fists. The jeers and squeals died down to a mumble as the young girl behind the counter approached Maddox at the cash register. She wore a pink T-shirt and a matching visor. The embroidered slogan on each read, I’ve got the scoop at Dawson’s Creamery.

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“Can I help you?” she muttered, her face bent against her tormentors. Unmistakable splotches of red beneath her eyes confirmed what Maddox already suspected.

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“Just a cup of coffee.” He pulled out his wallet and glanced a second time at the group through the reflective logo.

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When she set the steaming Styrofoam cup on the counter in front of him, he put a five down and shoved the change she gave him in the tips cup beside the cash register.

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“Thanks.” He gestured with the lift of his cup, then leaned in, noting her name tag. “So . . . Gabby . . . since you’ve got the scoop around here, you wouldn’t know a woman named Paige Westerfield who lives in the area, would you?” He felt his denim shirt pocket. He’d forgotten the old photo in the console of the Jeep.

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The girl never looked up, but shook her head and wiped down the counter.

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Maddox persisted. “She has a little girl, about five years old. I thought they might come in every once in a while.”

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“We have a lot of people with little kids come into the store, mister.”

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“I have a photo I could show you. It’s just in the—”

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“It wouldn’t really matter.” The girl cut off his comment. “I don’t pay much attention to what people look like.”

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Maddox nodded at the top of the girl’s head, her chin tucked low. “Right. Thanks anyway.”

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The banter behind him had never stopped. He turned and made his way to a booths with a sure view and, after a few seconds of sipping on his steaming cup, pulled out his phone and began recording. Why he did it, he didn’t really know. He’d planned to come into town, keep his nose to the task, and take care of business, but something about helping the underdog had been one reason he’d become a Marine. The girl behind the counter? She was in an underdog situation, if he’d ever seen one. And the bully mentality never had set right with him.

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Oblivious to his observation, the teens at the two tables howled with another prod at the girl’s expense. She set her cloth in the basin behind the counter and retreated to the farthest corner of the shop.

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After a few more minutes, Maddox stood and tossed his half-empty cup in the waste bin. Walking toward the door, he told himself the whole time he should leave well enough alone, but, when the whiny voice of Lashes and Nails pierced his ear with a snide “I told you she didn’t have a chance,” he stopped in his tracks.

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Stepping up to their table, Maddox didn’t give them time to wonder why he was there. “You know, what you’re doing is not cool.”

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The girls’ giggles melted into annoyed smirks. Quarterback cocked his head and threw a glare at Maddox. “What business is it of yours?”

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“I’m just asking you to stop.”

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“Ask away, but that won’t get you very far.”

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Get in. Get the job done. Get out. Maddox took a deep breath. He’d wanted to come into town quietly. Something told him this was going to get loud. “One of you guys own that hopped-up truck out there?”

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Quarterback raised his eyebrows, confused at first. Then he nodded with a sneer of pride. “That’s mine.”

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“Some kinda ride you got there. How much did you pay for it?”

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The kid’s expression turned from pride to contempt. He hesitated, eyes narrowing in sleepy defiance. “A lot.”

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Maddox smiled, his voice as calm as a rippling brook. “You don’t know how much because you didn’t pay for it. Daddy buy that for you? Did his boy need an ego stroke to compensate for his shortage of brains?” Maddox did the sizing up this time, scanning Quarterback and friends with a look of boredom.

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The smiles around the table straightened to shock. Lashes and Nails nearly dropped her fountain drink between her talons as Quarterback stood up, shoving his chair across the floor.

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Maddox casually shrugged his shoulders, turned, and walked out.

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Before he got past the front of the truck outside, the door of the shop behind him slammed open, rattling its metal frame. From the sound of the girls’ clicking heels, Quarterback and his followers spilled out of the shop onto the sidewalk behind him. Maddox caught sight of the ringleader reflected in the chrome of his truck’s grill.

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The kid started toward Maddox in a run.

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Within an inch of contact, Maddox turned, caught the boy’s punch in his hand, twisted his arm behind him, and shoved him face down to the hood of his own truck. The kid’s face contorted. Maddox then set his phone in front of the boy’s nose and played the clip he’d recorded inside. As their voices howled with laughter from the phone’s speaker, Quarterback’s friends stood against the wall of the store as if they’d been chained there.

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Maddox drew close to the boy’s ear. “This,” he tapped on the phone, “is called harassment.” The jeers and squeals from the footage came after each abuse they’d inflicted on the girl inside. “Not only is it grounds for you to lose that football scholarship you’ve most likely got lined up, but it’s also plenty of motivation for legal action if my niece in there should take offense at things like I do.”

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Maddox had become proficient at persuasion with all his training. He’d also mastered the use of necessary lies when they were told for the benefit of a mission. In the last 15 minutes, as sorry as it was, this had become the small-town version of a mission. Nevermind that it was a sidestep to the one he’d originally set out to complete.

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With little effort, he held the boy in place as he tried to move beneath his weight. It was a shame the kid didn’t have the self-respect of a jarhead. He could probably have been a decent private with a little discipline.

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The kid wiggled some more. “Man, I didn’t know she was your niece!”

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“Should that matter?” Maddox waited for an answer, then encouraged one with a little nudge at the boy’s shoulder blade.

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“No,” he yelped. “No. Okay? You satisfied?”

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“Not really. In fact, I suggest that you and your buddies go inside, apologize, and then find another after-school hangout. Sound like a good idea to you? And if you or any of your friends give so much as a cross look to Gabby in the future, I guess I’ll have to show that clip around until I find somebody who cares.”

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He nudged the Quarterback’s shoulder again until he called out to the others, “Apologize to her!” he panted. “Dude’s gonna break my arm.”

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The group of teens ran back inside as Maddox dropped the boy from the hood. “That was a little dramatic, don’t you think? I still had a good thirty pounds of pressure before it would’ve snapped.”

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“You could be arrested for assault!” Quarterback spewed his fury, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

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“You’re not having the best of luck with recordings today.” Maddox calmly pointed across the street. “My bet is those cameras over there at the hardware store would tell a different story. Convenient, that they’re pointed right this way. Didn’t you come at me with my back turned?” He nodded at the Creamery door. “You should go on and take care of business.”

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The boy disappeared inside as the others spilled back out of the shop and scattered. Maddox waited in the Jeep.

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When Quarterback returned, he cut Maddox a noxious look. Then, without further suggestion, he jumped in his truck and squealed tires toward the east side of the square, leaving a set of black streaks in his wake.

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Maddox leaned back against the headrest and closed his eyes, trying to refocus on the reason he’d come to Camden Grove in the first place. He didn’t have time to clear his thoughts before the girl from the shop stepped outside and walked up to the passenger-side door. She looked into his eyes for the first time. “You’re not my uncle.”

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Maddox dropped his gaze. “No, but they didn’t know that, and if I did have a niece, I’d want her to be treated right.”

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A smile twitched to life beneath her blotchy, red eyes. “Thanks . . . Well, the next time you come in, the coffee and a scoop of ice cream’s on me.” She turned to go inside, but then stepped back. “Hey, that lady you’re looking for. What’s her name again?”

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Maddox took a deep breath. “Paige Westerfield.”

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“You’re not any kind of stalker, are you?” The girl gave him a cautious glance.

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Maddox shook his head and grinned. The memory of a similar question from long ago colored his thoughts. “She’d probably say I’d forgotten her altogether. We lost contact a few years back, but I found out she moved here recently.” He pulled the worn photo from the console and handed it to her. “This is an old picture, but any chance you might’ve seen her around?”

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“She’s pretty.” The girl hesitated. “Yeah, I’ve seen her. She comes in with a little girl every once in a while. Seems nice. I had to go with my mom to the doctor’s office about a month ago. She works there. It’s the new place down on Brewster Street off the south end of the main drag. I think she’s an office worker.” She handed the photo back.

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“Thanks, Gabby.”

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“Yeah.” She stepped back. “See you around.”

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After she opened the shop door and disappeared inside, Maddox glanced again at the photo. Two younger versions of himself and Paige filled the frame with guarded smiles.

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He tucked the photo in a seam of the dashboard, gripped the steering wheel with an anxious hand, and put the Jeep in reverse. Stopping at the ice cream shop had been a stroke of luck, one he could only hope would continue. As he drove onto Main Street and picked up speed, the photo quivered against the dashboard, and he tried for the hundredth time to shake off the lingering shock of the truth that on the night he’d snapped that photo, his daughter was conceived.

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