Hannah cracked a smile. “You are an optimist.”
“Not really.” Callie was mostly a pessimist.
Before Frederick, her life had been a series of disasters and disappointments. She’d simply learned how to move forward in life, no matter what happened. A person could take a lot of hits and still get up.
Hannah went back to counting the cash. “I’ll be fine. I’m glad I know. Thank you for telling me.”
“Do you want to stop for a drink somewhere? We could grab something to eat.” Callie had planned to meet Deacon after work for the sixth night in a row. But she was sure he’d understand if she cancelled.
“No thanks,” Hannah said. “Do you mind if I take home a couple of the red velvet cupcakes?”
“Take as many as you need.”
Hannah gave a brave smile. “Nothing a little buttercream won’t fix. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.”
Callie’s phone pinged with a text message.
“That’ll be your hot guy,” Hannah said.
Callie checked. Sure enough, it was Deacon. The message said he was out front waiting.
“Go do something wild,” Hannah said. “I’m going to live vicariously through you for a few weeks.”
“Something wild, huh?”
“Tell me all about it in the morning.”
“If it’s what you want, I will gladly share.” Callie texted back to Deacon that she was on her way.
Then she logged out of her computer and headed through the dimmed dining room.
It felt good to see Deacon’s face.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, as she locked the door behind herself.
“Long day.” She forced a smile. “I’m glad you’re here.”
He swung an arm over her shoulders. “I’m glad to be here.”
They took a few steps along the sidewalk, but Deacon slowed, stopping.
“Tell me,” he said.
“Tell you what?”
“Your shoulders are tense. Tell me what’s wrong.” He turned to face her head on.
She didn’t want to tell him, but she didn’t want to hold back either. “I had to talk to Hannah about Hank.”
Deacon’s eyes narrowed. “Hank?”
“At the meeting Thursday. I didn’t want to make a big deal about it. But she’s had a thing for him for a while now, and after what he said to me on Thursday...”
“About the rose garden?”
“Partly. He also...” Callie hesitated. She wasn’t sure telling Deacon was the right thing to do. “He kind of, sort of, propositioned me.”
Deacon drew back, his expression turning to thunder. “He what?”
“It wasn’t exactly that blatant. He suggested a relationship between the two of us. He seemed to think I would be a political asset, and he could use his power as Mayor to solve problems for me.”
Deacon was still. “What did you tell him?”
The question surprised her. “That I wouldn’t even consider it.”
“In those exact words?”
“Yes.” Then she rethought the vehemence of her answer. “I mean at first, yes. That’s what I said. But I may have hinted later, a little bit, that I’d think about it. But—”
“Are you thinking about it?”
“It was a ruse. I wanted to get out of the conversation.”
Deacon leaned in a bit. “Does he believe you’re still thinking about it?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m not.”
“Don’t.”
“I won’t.”
“Good.”
“Deacon?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you angry?”
He looked angry. “No.”
“That wasn’t very convincing.”
He wrapped her hand in his and started walking again. “Hank ticks me off.”
“I used to think he was a decent guy.”
“He’s not.”
“I know that now.”
“You shouldn’t—” Deacon raked his free hand through his hair and gave his head a quick shake. “You know what? We’re not going to talk about him anymore. Home to the boys?”
She liked the way that sounded. It was a relief. “Yes. Home to the boys.”
* * *
Deacon knew he had to speed up his plan. Hank wasn’t going to go away quietly. He was going to use every bit of leverage to win Callie over. She might not particularly like Hank, but Deacon couldn’t be sure what factors she’d take into account. He couldn’t afford to wait for Hank’s next move.
Though it was too early in their relationship, making it more of a risk than Deacon would like, three days later he headed into a jewelry store.
It was quiet and cool inside. Thick grey carpet cushioned his feet, and he was surrounded by bright turquoise tones and curved glass display cases that sparkled under suspended lights.
“Can I help you, sir?” A crisply dressed and very professional-looking thirtysomething woman approached him.
“I need something fantastic,” he said. He didn’t have a particular style in mind. He only knew he wanted to knock Callie’s socks off when she opened the box.
“In a ring?” the woman asked.
“An engagement ring,” he clarified.
She gave him a warm smile. “You’ve definitely come to the right place. Were you leaning toward traditional or modern?”
“I was leaning toward fantastic.”
Her grin widened. “Did you have a price range in mind?”
“No. If it’s the right ring, price doesn’t matter.”
“Okay.” She gestured to a round display case in the middle of the store and moved gracefully to it. “Let me show you what we have here in the ‘fantastic’ case.”
Her joke got him to smile, and he felt himself relax. It was a strange situation to be sure. But there was no reason he couldn’t be friendly with the clerk.
“Please do,” he said.
She slipped through an opening into the middle of the round display. Then she unlocked a glass door and selected one...and then two...and then three diamond rings.
“These are the most common solitaire shapes,” she said. “Round, emerald and marquis. If you’re interested in overall brilliance, the round cut is most popular.”
“What about quality?” he asked.
She pulled out a fourth ring. “This is a D flawless, excellent cut.”
She handed him a magnifier.
He dutifully took it, and he had to admit the diamond looked great. But he didn’t think Callie would look that closely.
He handed back the magnifier and set down the ring. “How about this? If I was asking you to marry me, which ring would you want me to buy?”
The sales clerk looked surprised by the question.
“You must have a favorite,” he said.
“I have a few favorites. What are you trying to say? Beyond the proposal itself, what are you trying to say to her with the ring?”
“That I’m the best choice, and I’ll take care of her and her children forever.” The answer popped out before Deacon could think it through.
“Ahh.” The woman’s eyes danced with delight. “I know just the ring.”
She crossed to the opposite side of the display, slid open another case, before returning with a snow-white leather box. It held a ring with a large, round center stone, set within a whimsically swirled and twisted band of platinum and yellow gold, further decorated with tiny diamonds.
“It’s our finest stone,” she said, her voice almost reverent, as she leaned forward to look with Deacon. “In a timeless but modern setting.” She drew back. “I’d marry you if you gave me that.”
Deacon chuckled. “Sold.”
“Really? Do you want to know the price?”
He drew out his wallet to extract his credit card. “Not particularly.”
She laughed as she took the card. “I’d so marry you.” As she backed away, she waggled the card in his direction. “If she turns you down, keep me in mind.”
Deacon grinned in acknowledgement of her joke, but inside, he was anxious all over again. Callie could turn him down. She could easily turn him down.
The sales clerk rang through the purchase and packaged the ring. She seemed to see something of the uncertainty in his expression.
“It is returnable within sixty days,” she told him gently.
“I’ll know the answer a whole lot before then.”
“Good luck.”
“Thanks.” He returned his credit card to his wallet and his wallet to his pocket.
On the way out of the store, his phone rang.
A glance at the screen told him it was Tyrell. He didn’t want to talk to the man right now.
He had good news. Tyrell would be thrilled to know Deacon was about to propose. But Deacon didn’t want to share that information.
He wanted Callie to be the first person to hear.
The ring box tucked in his shirt pocket, he pulled his rental car from the parking space and entered the downtown traffic. Downright Sweet was only ten minutes away, and he’d arranged to meet her for a late lunch.
A fancy candlelight dinner might be a better choice. But he didn’t want the audience they’d have in a restaurant. He could ask her at home, after the boys went to sleep. But as much as he found the toy-cluttered living room relaxing and comfortable, it didn’t exactly shout romance.
He’d take her to the patio of the View Stop Café. They could take the winding river path from the parking lot. They could step off into the flower garden. Amongst the bright azaleas and the swaying willow trees, he’d pop the question.
He drove to Downright Sweet and saw Callie standing on the sidewalk. She was gorgeous in the sunshine, her hair freshly brushed and taken down from her usual ponytail, a soft white lace-trimmed blouse topping a pair of fitted dark slacks.
She’d changed her shoes. He knew she wore flats in the bakery, but she was wearing a pair of strappy black heeled sandals. They accentuated the length of her toned legs and showed off her pretty feet.
He came to a halt.
Before he could hop out and open the door, she was inside, buckling up.
“Having a good day?” he asked.
“Hank came by.”
“What? Why? What did he do?” The last thing Deacon wanted to think about today was Hank.
“I didn’t come out of the back. Hannah gave him the cold shoulder. He didn’t stick around long.”
“He’ll be back.” Of that, Deacon was sure.
Deacon touched his hand to the bulge in his shirt pocket. He wanted Hank out of the picture for good.
“View Stop Café?” he asked.
“Perfect.”
Deacon drove the mile to get them there. Traffic was light that summer afternoon, and the lights seemed to be in his favor. He was breezing through the second green in a row, counting his good fortune, when a white pickup barreled through the intersection, against the red, heading straight for Callie’s door.
Deacon spun the wheel to turn her out of the way a split second before the pickup smashed into the back quarter panel, sending them into an uncontrolled spin. His car slammed into a light pole on the passenger side, all but folding in half.
Deacon shook his head to clear his vision as he turned to Callie. “Are you all right?”
She moaned.
“Callie?” He was afraid to touch her.
He released his seatbelt and leaned around to look at her. People were rushing to the windows, shouting at him from outside. He barely heard them.
Callie’s eyes were closed, she was slumped sideways and her forehead was bleeding.
* * *
Callie had only been stunned for a couple of minutes. She tried to tell the ambulance attendant that she was fine, but he only responded with soothing words, telling her to lie back on the stretcher and relax. Eventually she gave up, closing her eyes while the vehicle swayed beneath her.
She didn’t hear sirens. She had to think that was a good sign.
Her head did hurt, but it wasn’t unbearable. She reached up to touch the spot, but the attendant gently grasped her hand, stopping her.
“You’ll need stitches,” he said.
She opened her eyes again. “Really?”
“Only a few. Your hair will hide the scar. Does anything else hurt? Can you wiggle your fingers and toes?”
Callie tested. Everything seemed to work fine. “I think I hit my shoulder.”
“You did,” he said. “You have a bruise. But it doesn’t seem to be broken. They’ll x-ray you at the hospital.”
“I don’t need a hospital.” Now that the shock was wearing off, embarrassment was setting in. She was about to arrive at the hospital on a stretcher. It really was overkill.
“Deacon is okay?” She looked for confirmation. “The driver?”
She remembered him talking to her in the car, and then she’d seen him speaking to the police while she was wheeled away. He’d looked okay, but she didn’t know for sure.
“I can tell you there was only one ambulance called to the scene.”
She assumed that was good.
“Here we are,” the paramedic said.
The ambulance slowed and came to a stop.
The back doors opened, and sunlight flooded in.
Callie closed her eyes against the glare. The movement of the stretcher made her dizzy, so she kept them closed.
She could feel the temperature change when they entered the hospital. She heard voices, a nurse directing them and then the swoosh of a privacy curtain closing. The movement stopped, and she opened her eyes.
There was a woman standing over her.
“Hello, Mrs. Clarkson,” she said. “I’m Dr. Westhall. You’ve been in a car accident.”
“I remember,” Callie said.
“Can you tell me what day this is?”
“Wednesday. It’s May 30th.”
“That’s good,” the doctor said, flashing a little light in Callie’s eyes.
“I didn’t lose my memory.”
“I’d be surprised if you had. But you’ve had a good bump, and you’ll need three or four stitches.”
Deacon suddenly appeared beside the doctor, his face pale, his expression grave. “Callie. Are you all right?” He took her hand.
“Are you Mr. Clarkson?” the doctor asked.
A pained expression crossed Deacon’s face. “No. I’m her boyfriend.”
The words surprised Callie. Her boyfriend? Deacon considered himself her boyfriend?
Her chest warmed, and she couldn’t hold back a smile.
He sat down on the opposite side of the bed to the doctor and held Callie’s hand in both of his.
“I’m fine,” she said.
“I’m so sorry.”
“It wasn’t your fault. The guy ran that light.”
The doctor wrapped a blood pressure cuff around Callie’s arm, and it whined as it tightened.
“I should have seen him coming.”
“You turned,” she said. She had a sudden memory flash of the truck’s heavy duty grill coming straight at her. “If you hadn’t turned...” She would have been crushed.
He pressed her hand against his lips.
“I’m going to put in some freezing,” the doctor told her as she inspected Callie’s forehead.
“Sure.”
“I’m thinking I’ll go with five stitches. The smaller the scar, the better.”
“I’m not worried about a li
ttle scar,” Callie said.
Deacon’s attention went to the cut. “Your hair will probably cover it.”
“I’m really not worried.” She wasn’t sure why everybody seemed so concerned about a little scar on her forehead.
Life happened. People got banged up. Nobody stayed pristine.
“When I’m done, we’ll take an X-ray of that shoulder.”
The concern came instantly back to Deacon’s face. “You hurt your shoulder, too? Anything else?”
“It’s just a bruise,” Callie told him. She could feel the freezing start to work, and the stinging went away from her forehead.
“I’ll feel better when we get an actual medical diagnosis. What else did you hit?”
“Everything else feels normal. Did you call Hannah? Can Pam stay with the boys?” Callie glanced at her watch. She didn’t know how long an X-ray would take, but Pam was due to drop the boys off at the bakery at four.
“I’ve talked to Hannah. And I’ve talked to Pam. She has plans, but I’ll pick up the boys. I can take them home. Unless you want me to bring them here?”
“No.” She started to shake her head.
“Hold still,” the doctor said.
“Sorry. Don’t bring them here. I don’t want to scare them.” Callie couldn’t help but think that the last time her sons were at a hospital, their father had died.
Not that Ethan remembered. But James might.
“I’ll arrange for a car to take you home,” Deacon said.
“I can call a cab.”
“I’ll set something up.”
His offer warmed her. She felt cared for. It was an odd experience.
From her earliest memory, she’d struggled to take care of her sickly mother. Her older brothers had been lazy louts. At eight years old she’d already been cooking and cleaning for them.
Frederick had been wonderful. But his physical limitations meant she was the caregiver. She was the one who managed the physical necessities of life for herself, the boys and Frederick.
But now Deacon was her boyfriend. That’s what boyfriends did. They took care of their girlfriends, and their girlfriend’s sons. She couldn’t help but smile again.
The Illegitimate Billionaire (Whiskey Bay Brides Book 4; Billionaire & Babies) Page 10
