More to Give (5 page)

Or maybe he didn’t.

Callie gave her full attention to the messy file drawer and ignored the knot of jealousy that last thought had created.

By five o’clock, Callie and Yvonne had transformed the office into
something almost workable. They’d put four banker boxes full of older documents in a storage closet, filed documents dated with the current year into the file drawers, and Yvonne had even swept the floor.
The desk was bigger than it had looked hidden beneath the mess, and Callie had several ideas of how to make the space her own. With a feeling of accomplishment, she strolled across the street to her ne
w abode.

The cottage was larger than the word implied, with an open floor plan, whitewashed paneling, and shiny hardwood floors. The kitchen was a wide galley style, with new appliances that retained a retro look. Dark, narrow beams ran along the high ceiling in the living room at what looked to be three-foot intervals and gleamed in the light brought in from the wall of windows along the back side. French doors led out to an expansive deck that provided a gorgeous view of the ocean.

Callie looked forward to watching the sunrise with a mug of hot tea in hand and fresh salt air blowing through her hair. She didn’t know how long this dream home would be hers, but she intended to enjoy every moment of her stay. Sam might expect her to rent her own place in town once the renovations were done, which was only fair.

That was, if he kept her on afterward. The position had been for someone to turn the place around, not become its caretaker beyond that. It was highly possible that once her initial job was finished, Callie would have to seek employment elsewhere. And for some reason she couldn’t fathom, the thought made her sad. She hadn’t even seen most of the village yet. There was no reason to feel so attached already.

Pushing thoughts of the future aside, she kicked off her shoes, leaned back on the soft blue suede armchair, and crossed her ankles on the matching blue ottoman. Tense muscles loosened as the chair enveloped her, as if giving her a warm, welcoming hug and promising to never let her go. And then the phone rang and Callie realized she’d never called her mother.

She looked at the caller ID on the handset.

How did she get this number?

“Mother?” she answered.

“So you
do
remember I exist. Did you forget how to use a phone? Calliope Mabel, I have been worried sick.”

What was it with moms and the first-plus-middle-name thing?

“I’ve been a little busy, Mother,” Callie said, ignoring the guilt in her chest that her mother nurtured more than she’d ever nurtured her daughter. “I meant to call this morning, but there’s no cell service here on the island.”

Evelyn’s voice turned doubtful. “I suppose you expect me to believe that.”

“It’s true, Mother.” Callie sighed.

“I’ll check for myself once I get there.”

Callie jerked up in her seat. “What do you mean, when you get here?”

“I’m coming with Henri to bring your belongings,” Evelyn said. “I assume, since you haven’t called to say you’re on your way home, and I was informed by the friendly woman at that Anchor Inn place that you were living in some cottage with this number, that you got the job.”

“Yes, I did. But why are you coming with Henri? There’s no need for you to travel all this way.” Callie tried applying logic. “You don’t like traveling long distances by car, remember?”

“You’re my daughter, and I need to make sure you’re somewhere safe. Please tell me this cottage has running water and electricity.”

Callie took a deep breath, squeezing her eyes tight as she pinched the bridge of her nose. “Mother, I’m thirty years old. I don’t need you to make sure I’m safe. I’m fine, I promise.” Flopping back in her seat, she added, “The cottage is large and clean and fully equipped with all the required utilities. I’m practically living in luxury.”

“We’re leaving first thing tomorrow morning,” Evelyn said, barreling through her daughter’s arguments. “I’ve ordered Henri to pick me up by seven. I estimate we’ll be there between four and five in the afternoon.”

Callie didn’t bother to argue further. Once Evelyn Henderson made up her mind, there was no getting around her. She was like a giant boulder, rolling where and when she wanted, and to hell with anything in her path.

“Fine,” she said, sinking deeper into the comfy chair. “I’ll email Henri directions to the cottage.” Callie considered calling her cousin to suggest she conveniently forget Evelyn, but Henri might actually do it, and that would lead to more guilt.

And her mother would still find a way to land on her doorstep within the day. She’d probably fly in. By broom.

“I assume you’ve made sure this cottage allows pets,” Evelyn said. Her questions always came out as statements. A trait that had been annoying to Callie as a child, but maddening as an adult. “Or maybe you’ve forgotten about Cecil already.”

She had not forgotten about Cecil, though she might have failed to mention him to Sam.

“Cecil will be fine,” she said, jotting down a note to ask Sam about the cottage’s pet policy. “He’ll have a lovely view.” Callie glanced through the wall of windows to her right. The ocean stretched as far as the eye could see.

“Good. I need to go feed him and pack his things,” Evelyn said. “We’ll call when we reach the island.”

“Unless you stop and find a landline, you’re not going to be able to call.”

Evelyn snorted, though she’d never admit to doing something so unladylike. “We’ll see.”

The line went dead. Callie pressed the
END
button on the handset and sank even deeper into the chair, until she was nearly horizontal. Twenty-four hours of peace before Hurricane Evelyn arrived. Enough time to buy provisions. Now to figure out where to get wine.

CHAPTER 5

S
am wasn’t sure what had compelled him to drive over to the Sunset Harbor Inn on Wednesday afternoon. As he pulled into the parking lot, he reminded the questioning part of his brain that he didn’t need a reason to visit his own hotel. A hotel that was about to undergo a full-on renovation. A renovation that had to be finished in less than three months.

Hitting that deadline would require his full attention, and Callie would have it whenever she needed it. He’d agreed to turn over
some
of the decision making, but on such a tight schedule, he couldn’t afford for Callie to make a major purchase that didn’t fit his vision, only to find out after it was too late to choose an alternative.

Or so he rationalized.

As he stepped out of his Murano, something caught Sam’s eye from across the street. There was an older-model green pickup parked in the cottage driveway, and two women unloading boxes and suitcases. One of them was Callie, but all Sam could make out of the other was a shock of white-blond hair and dark clothing.

Curiosity carried him the short distance to the cottage; he told himself the entire way that he was not being nosy. They might need him to help carry something. Big, muscly man to the rescue and all that.

Sam had never fancied himself a Neanderthal, but even he recognized the caveman idiocy in that thought.

As he reached the tailgate of the truck, the platinum-haired stranger stepped off the porch. “Hello,” she said with a smile, curiosity glowing in her chestnut eyes. “I’m guessing you’re not a well-dressed bandit looking to steal my cousin’s meager belongings from the back of my truck.”

“No,” Sam said, extending a hand. “I’m Sam Edwards. If Callie is the owner of these boxes, then I’m your cousin’s new boss.”

“That Sam, huh?” The eyes turned knowing, and he opted not to comment further as they shook hands. “I’m Henri,” she said. His thoughts must have shown on his face, since she added, “Cal’s mom and mine are sisters. They like old-fashioned names. Henri is short for Henrietta.”

Sam nodded. “Pretty name.”

“Old name,” Henri said with a laugh. “I assume you’re here to see Cal. Grab that box.” She pointed to a large one in the corner of the truck bed. With a wink she said, “I’ll get the door.”

He’d wanted to play caveman. Now was his chance.

The box was heavier than Sam expected and sent a jolt of pain shooting up his back as he lifted it. He dropped it back down and caught sight of Henri’s raised brow. “Slipped,” he said.

“Sure,” she said, crossing her arms and patiently waiting for him to move things along.

Sam lifted with his knees, holding in the groan as much as possible, and followed Henri into the cottage. Thankfully, he didn’t have far to go before he set the box atop another, but the moment he stood up, something green flew at his head.

“What the—”

“Cecil!” Callie yelled. “Come back here!”

The green menace flew at Sam again, this time scraping a claw along his hair as he passed. If he hadn’t known any better, Sam would have thought the bird was trying to kill him.

“No men allowed,” cawed a voice that sounded computer generated. “No men allowed,” echoed again as the bird headed straight for Sam’s face.

He ducked in time to avoid a direct hit but felt a puff of wind from the deadly beast’s wings dance across his right ear.

“Mother, how could you teach him that?” asked Callie as she charged after the bird while waving a cracker in the air.

“Why are you blaming me?” asked an older, well-dressed blonde sitting on the couch, filing a fingernail as if there weren’t a maniacal fowl on the loose. “He’s your bird.”

Callie ignored the woman as she cornered the flapping dive-bomber in the corner, speaking in soothing tones, presumably to calm the beast. Whatever she said seemed to work as the creature settled enough for her to get her hands around him.

“I’ve got you now, buddy,” she said. “Everything’s all right.”

“ ’S’all right,” the bird chimed. “ ’S’all right.”

Sam knew a talking bird wasn’t all that unusual, but he’d never actually seen one in person before. At least not outside a variety show or circus. Callie held the bird perched on her right hand now as she crossed the large living room toward him.

Sam tensed for a new attack.

Wings spread as if ready to take flight but relaxed when Callie stuck the cracker under the bird’s pointed beak. It didn’t take a genius to know a peck from that beak would hurt like hell.

“Cecil, this is Mr. Sam. He’s given us this wonderful place to live.” Callie ran a hand along the parrot’s back as she spoke, keeping her eyes on the pet. “Say hello to Mr. Sam.”

Cecil munched on his cracker, which he now held in one talon, and nodded his head up and down. “Hello, Mr. Sam.”

“Hello, Mr. Sam,” echoed a far sexier, more feminine voice. “It’s so nice to see you again.” Evelyn Henderson extended a hand, palm down, as if expecting Sam to kiss it. He shook it instead.

“Nice to see you, too,” he said, struggling not to step back as the older woman invaded his space. He strove to be polite without offering encouragement.

Evelyn Henderson didn’t need encouragement. Sliding her hand around his elbow as if they were entering a ballroom some hundred years ago, Callie’s mother led Sam to the sofa, sat down, then pulled him down to sit beside her. She had a strong grip for a woman pushing retirement age.

“Since I doubt she’s done it herself, I’d like to thank you for giving my daughter this opportunity. And myself even more reason to visit this quaint little island of yours.” She was leaning into him now, her linen-clad leg pressed firmly against his own.

Sam looked to Callie for rescue and caught her rolling her eyes. “Mother, I haven’t needed you to speak for me in more than fifteen years, and I’m sure Sam would appreciate it if you’d give him a little space to breathe there.”

Evelyn shot an unfriendly look in her daughter’s direction. “I’m showing the man proper gratitude for taking pity and giving my daughter a job. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Callie closed her eyes, and Sam could almost see her counting to ten. Gripped with a strong urge to defend his new employee, Sam extricated himself from the older woman’s grip and returned to his feet.

“I can assure you, Ms. Henderson, there was no pity involved. Callie is the most qualified person for this position, with a proven track record to recommend her. It is more her taking pity on me by accepting my offer instead of pursuing a more prominent position elsewhere.”

A weighted silence settled over the room, broken seconds later by the less-than-tactful bird. “
He told her
. Need another cracker.”

Callie carried Cecil to a large white cage in front of the wall of windows that led to the deck, then dropped in several crackers before closing him in. The color on her face was heightened when she turned back Sam’s way.

“You have no idea what that means to me,” she said. “Could we step into the kitchen for a moment?”

With that flush on her cheeks and look of hero worship in her eyes, Sam would have followed Callie anywhere she wanted to take him. Without a word, he stepped in line behind her, leaving the huffing mother and smiling cousin alone in the living room.

As soon as Callie reached the retro stove he’d searched for a week online to find, she turned and let out a whoosh of air. With one hand on her hip, she lifted her ice-blue eyes to his and rewarded him with a smile that made Sam feel woozy.

“I wasn’t kidding. Thank you for saying that. Especially to my mother. I doubt she believes you, but I couldn’t care less at the moment. Did you mean what you said?”

There he was again, his latent white knight rearing his damn noble head. Valiant or not, Sam saw no reason to lie.

“I did mean it. Granted, I’ve never visited any of the facilities you list on your résumé, but I did my homework. The before-and-after images I could find online were impressive, to say the least. And your references didn’t so much recommend you as rave about your talents.” The more he spoke, the more animated Callie’s features grew. He found himself enjoying putting that look of joy on her face.

“You could find work anywhere you wanted,” he said. “You can’t tell me you doubt that.”

Callie shook her head, but the smile never faltered. “I could
assist
anywhere I wanted, but I’ve interviewed at nearly every transitioning hotel east of the Mississippi, and no one is willing to let me take lead.” Her eyes beamed at him. “Except you.”

Sam spoke without thinking. “Then they’re all idiots.”

Her burst of laughter filled the galley kitchen. “That’s what Henri says. Only she threw a four-letter word in for added punch.”

He couldn’t help but smile along with her. Callie being professional was sexy. Callie relaxed and happy threatened to short-circuit his brain—though he was feeling the effects much lower.

For maybe the first time in his adult life, Sam didn’t know what to do next. He knew what he wanted to do, but that was a line he had no intention of crossing. Instead, he stared at the black-and-white floor tiles as their laughter faded into a comfortable silence.

“I wanted . . . ,” he started.

“I guess . . . ,” she said at the same time. “I’m sorry. What were you going to say?”

Sam cleared his throat to extricate the frog that had taken up residence there. “I wanted to let you know why I stopped by. This project is important, and I do understand I’m asking a lot. I’ll be available whenever you need me. Day or night.”

Why in the hell had he said that?

“Anyway,” he added before Callie could reply, “I’d better be going.”

“Sure.” Callie’s brows were drawn, and she looked both confused and a bit dazed. He was feeling both himself, which was all the more reason to cut and run. “You should probably go out the back door to avoid my mother,” she said.

“Good idea. I’ll see you Friday morning to discuss the proposal for the inn. If you need anything before then, contact Yvonne and she’ll take care of it.”

Callie nodded as he crossed the kitchen to the side door. He was stepping over the threshold when her words stopped him.

“I know I keep saying it, but I really do appreciate this chance, Sam.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, then felt the urge to clear something up. “I didn’t offer you this job because of our connection. I thought I was hiring a highly qualified stranger before you walked into my office. You got the job because of those qualifications and nothing more.”

She rewarded him with a half smile before Sam closed the door between them. He considered stepping into the cold surf in search of his sanity but opted instead for a lukewarm shower and a glass of scotch at home.

Christmas could not come soon enough.

Callie wasn’t sure how long she remained there in the kitchen, leaning on the counter edge, staring at the checkered floor. What exactly had just happened? One minute she’d been thanking Sam for seeing her true value and giving her the opportunity she needed to create the future she longed for. The next they’d been laughing together and the whole world had fallen away.

She’d never considered how intimate shared laughter could be, but something had changed. Sam wasn’t the buttoned-up hotelier. She wasn’t his eager-to-prove-herself employee.

They’d been . . . friends. Friends with a spark of something they’d spent one night six years ago exploring. Callie had wondered a few times if they would have gone further had Sam not disappeared, but she’d convinced herself his leaving had saved them both from an awkward morning-after exchange.

Or maybe only delayed it. Though they were both dancing around the topic, the awkwardness was there every time they were together. If their professional relationship was going to work, they were going to have to drag the elephant out of the shadows and do something with it.

But what did one do with a six-year-old invisible elephant carrying the weight of two broken hearts and a lifetime supply of insecurity? Even though that insecurity was all her own.

“You okay in here?” Henri asked, ducking into the kitchen. “Aunt Evelyn is over her fit and suggested we go out to dinner. I assume she was including the man you came in here with. Where did he go?”

Callie nodded toward the door where Sam had exited. “He left. He came to give me a message about the hotel renovation.”

“Is that why you look like you’ve been run over by a bulldozer?” Henri wasn’t the type to avoid the obvious. She was more a face-things-head-on kind of person. “I can see why you fell into bed with him all those years ago.”

And Henri had a good memory.

“We fell into bed with each other. It was a rough time for both of us.”

“After what your shitty spouses did, you both deserved a night of consolation.”

Callie snorted. “Consolation sex. My therapist used to get pissed when I called it that. She deemed it an ‘understanding through intimacy.’ Didn’t make much sense to me, since I didn’t understand anything about what happened back then, least of all between Sam and me.”

“How do you feel about him now?” Henri asked, leaning her hip on the edge of the counter. “Are you mad at him for leaving?”