by Terri Osburn
“Yes.” Callie cringed. “She shook your hand and said if only she was twenty years younger, you two could have some fun.”
His deep chuckle set butterflies loose in Callie’s midsection. “Interesting lady.”
“That’s one word for it.” But Callie didn’t experience the usual annoyance she felt when thinking about her mother. Standing this close to Sam, sharing a moment from the past, she felt lots of things, but none of them was annoyance.
Several amicable seconds passed, and then Sam’s eyes dropped the few inches to Callie’s lips. She stopped breathing. Stopped thinking. Waited.
Then a door slammed down the hall and Sam stepped back.
“I think we have a good plan of attack here,” he said. “I’d like to see a full proposal by Friday.”
Callie nodded, hugging the notepad to her chest. It wasn’t much, but she needed something to hold on to.
“I’ll have it for you first thing in the morning.” Desperate for space and fresh air, she stepped into the hall and led the way to the lobby. Callie could feel more than hear Sam following behind her. She picked up the pace. “You offered to send Yvonne over to help with the office,” she said, stopping near the front desk. “When can I expect her?”
The storm-gray eyes were serious again. The grin vanished. Whatever had just happened down the hall must have been a figment of Callie’s imagination.
“I’ll send her over this afternoon.”
She’d thought he would leave immediately, but Sam lingered near the entrance. “I forgot to ask, is everything good with the cottage? Seemed the right place to put you, considering its proximity to the inn.”
Callie hadn’t expected Sam to be concerned about her comfort, but she certainly had no complaints about the cottage. “It’s wonderful. Perfect, in fact. I think I’ll be quite happy there.”
A glimpse of the smile returned. “Good,” he said. Another brief hesitation, and then, “I’ll see you Friday morning at nine.”
Callie nodded, then watched Sam walk to his car. The words she’d last spoken played on a loop in her mind. There was definitely a chance she could be happy here. Though she did hope the rest of the islanders were friendlier than the checker players outside had been. Still, Callie preferred to think positive. As her cousin Henri liked to say, you never know what might happen if you keep an open mind.
And an open heart.
Sam walked into the Anchor Inn still contemplating his encounter with Callie. She’d always been honest, but brave was not something he would have called her six years before. It had taken incredible courage for her to walk into his office, not sure what he would say or do when he realized who she was.
What astounded him more, though, was the fact that she had yet to bring up the last time they’d seen each other. Hadn’t asked him why he’d left without so much as a note the morning after they’d been together. Truth be told, after six years, Sam still didn’t have an answer, even for himself. That part of his life was a blur of anger, confusion, and hurt. He could express the anger, but Callie had given him a way to express the hurt. Or at least put a bandage over it for one night.
The next morning, he’d simply needed to get away. To start over. He’d never meant to fall into bed with Callie that night. Sam had needed a friend. Someone who would understand what he was going through. Callie had seemed like the only person on the planet who might know how he’d felt.
And she had. She’d said all the right things. Given him exactly what he’d needed. Maybe what they’d both needed. The memory, which had come back like an assault the moment he’d stood next to her in that bedroom, revived the feelings he’d long ago buried.
“Mr. Edwards?” Yvonne said, jerking Sam out of his reverie.
Sam stopped before walking into a chair. He glanced to his left to find Yvonne watching him with concern in her yellow-gold eyes.
“Sorry,” he said, stepping up to the counter. “My mind was someplace else.” Somewhere he’d spent six years avoiding. “Are you going to lunch soon?” he asked.
Yvonne checked the clock on the wall behind her. “I planned to leave in about ten minutes. Did you need me to stay and handle something?”
“No, I need you to spend the afternoon helping Ms. Henderson organize the Sunset Harbor office.”
Yvonne nodded. “Not a problem. I’ll have Rachel cover the desk while I’m gone. Do you know if Ms. Henderson needs any sort of office supplies? File folders and the like?”
Sam didn’t know anything. He hadn’t even bothered to look in the office to assess the damage for himself.
“I’m afraid not. Give her a call and see what she needs. Take her anything she asks for.”
“Yes, sir,” Yvonne responded, though still eying him as if he might plow into a wall.
With a quick tap on the counter, Sam nodded, then headed for his office. His suit jacket hit the coat stand in the corner and his tie was loose before his ass hit the leather seat. In less than forty-eight hours, Callie Wellman—Henderson now—had surprised, debated, cajoled, and aroused him. He shuddered to think what the hell she might do next.
Callie had moved to her third pile of invoices, customer receipts, and unopened mail when Yvonne knocked on her office door. Resisting the urge to hug her would-be savior, she offered the woman a seat instead.
“I brought everything you asked for except the graph paper,” Yvonne said, setting a stack of printer paper, file folders, pens, highlighters, and labels on the only corner of the desk Callie had been able to clear. “We didn’t have any in the supply room. But I called in an order and we should have it tomorrow.”
Somewhere in her upper twenties by Callie’s guess, Yvonne was quite beautiful, with a runway-ready body and a distinct air of confidence, as if she felt completely prepared to take on the world and win.
What Callie wouldn’t give for that trait. Or that body.
“Is there an office supply store on the island?” Callie asked, noting again that she needed to take a day to explore her new surroundings.
“Not on Anchor, no. But there’s a store farther up the Outer Banks willing to deliver down here if we order enough.” Yvonne shrugged. “I put all of this on the order as well, since we’ll need it again eventually.”
“Thank you so much.” Callie indicated the stacks on the desk. “I’m not sure where to begin. The place looked as if this Cheryl person purposely threw every piece of paper into the air before she left.”
Yvonne looked as horrified about the mess as Callie had been when she’d first entered the office. “I had no idea she was this pissed off,” she said, shaking her head.
Yvonne’s combination of mocha-colored skin and amber eyes made her look like a one-of-a-kind work of art. Callie had never seen eyes that color before. They were mesmerizing.
“How about I start with the piles,” Yvonne offered, “and you assess the file drawers? Did she leave anything in them at all?”
Callie opened the desk drawer to her left. Papers were wedged in every which way, many folded or mangled completely. “She did.” Callie sighed. “Your plan sounds as good as any. Stack by year, then by expense. Was payroll handled out of this office as well?”
Yvonne shook her head. “No. All payroll for both hotels is handled from the Anchor.”
“Thank God.” The task ahead felt overwhelming, but at least she wasn’t in this alone. “Let’s get started. Once we get this mess organized, I can make sure everything is in the system before we archive. Keep your fingers crossed the database doesn’t look nearly as bad as this office.”
As the two of them went to work, Callie was tempted to ask why a woman like Yvonne was on Anchor Island, instead of gracing runways in Milan. She also wondered how Sam managed to resist his office manager’s exotic beauty.
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 new 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
Sam 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.
