by Nicole Helm
They were a clichéd image of dark and light. Em with her blonde curls and blue eyes. She was shorter and rounder than Callie. A feminine contrast in a floral, floaty skirt and pink fussy top, to Callie who wore jeans and a black T-shirt liberally smudged with grease along with her forearms and face.
Then there was demeanor. Em was calm and elegant grace—kind, sweet, thoughtful. He’d never met anyone who didn’t like Emerson Baker, or anyone who wasn’t surprised over her and Callie sharing a father.
“I’m just saying my da—Tom could talk to Dana on our behalf,” Em said, standing in the middle of the greasy chaos of the shop looking pristine and untouched.
Trevor watched Callie’s face. The peace melted away into resentment, presumably over the fact Em called her stepfather dad.
“I don’t need Tom or anyone to intervene. I can handle it. I have another meeting with her tomorrow. I’ll get it figured out.”
“Callie, please don’t be upset over this. I’m trying to do what’s best. We have to get this permit.”
Callie’s mouth hardened into a thin line, her gaze glued to the engine in front of her. Her muscles tensed as she worked with something difficult. “I know.”
Since Trevor didn’t know what they were talking about, he tuned the rest of their conversation out and watched Callie. There was a kind of grim focus he found ridiculously appealing. As much as Em and Callie were contradictions, Callie was a contradiction herself. Those hard lines softened by round curves, masculine work somehow made alluring because she was doing it.
Either it was about ninety degrees hotter in the shop than it was outside or emotional distress was no match for his hormones.
He’d only been home for a week and already the next six months seemed like forever. And it wasn’t just busybody neighbors, crying sisters and nothing to do that was getting to him.
It was new Callie. There had always been reasons to ignore his attraction to old Callie. She was too wild, too unpredictable, but mostly, Callie Baker had always scared him. All those repressed hurts and desperate attempts at masking pain. He’d never known what to do with it all except help when she got in trouble, or ride out the storm by her side as she tried to transform her grief into something else.
Getting closer always seemed too much of a risk, and he preferred to take his risks when he was legally authorized to carry an assault rifle and wear a bulletproof vest.
But new Callie wasn’t quite as scary, and that was a problem. Because whether she had finally healed or not, getting mixed up in some fulfillment of teenage fantasy would only make things more complicated when he had to leave.
“Going to stand there staring all night?” Callie called out, not bothering to look up.
Em turned, her confusion quickly turning into a warm smile. “Trevor. We didn’t see you there.” She crossed over to him, resting her hand on his arm. “How are you doing?”
Trevor watched as Callie rolled her eyes. New Callie still wasn’t perfect. Thank God for that.
“I’m doing all right. Thanks for asking. And thanks for the casseroles. Shelby mentioned you and your mom have been keeping her fed the past few weeks. It means a lot to us.”
“No problem. How is Shelby?”
Trevor looked up at Callie, thought about the reason for his visit. “She’s got a lot to deal with.”
Em nodded sympathetically. “Of course. Let me know if I can help with more than just food. I’d be glad to.”
Trevor looked down at his feet. “Sure thing.” Em would be more understanding, definitely more of a nurturing help than Callie, but Em had never lost her mother. In Trevor’s mind, the only option for honest to goodness help and understanding with Shelby was Callie.
“I’m going to head down to the cabin. Callie, we can talk about this tomorrow.”
Callie didn’t say anything, just nodded. On a sigh, Em left the shop.
“Before I came home I recall you mentioning you and Em were getting pretty close. That didn’t look like sisterly devotion.”
Callie tossed a tool into the box next to her, the clink of metal on metal echoing through the shop. “Not seeing eye to eye at the moment. It happens when you work with family.”
“I think it was more than that.”
Callie shrugged, continued to work on the plane. Trevor maintained his silence. If he knew Callie the explanation would come tumbling out if he only gave her a few moments to mull over it silently.
One… Two… Three….
“I hate that she always does that.” Callie gestured to where Em had disappeared. “Starts to say Dad then fixes it to Tom. Like I can’t deal with her calling him Dad. So, she’s completely forgotten our dad. So what? Her business.”
“Yeah, you’re dealing really well.”
She pointed her new tool at him, scowling. “Okay, maybe it pisses me off she gets to pretend our dad never existed. Maybe I’m almost thirty and I still get a little jealous that she got some semblance of a family and I’m left with…” Callie tossed the tool into the box, jumped off the stepladder and began to pace. “What is wrong with me?” she demanded before sinking onto a bench and covering her face with her hands. “What the hell is wrong with me?”
Well, shit. He just seemed to attract female hysterics. What he’d done to deserve this punishment he didn’t know, but it must have been bad to have Callie as the newest perpetrator.
“There’s nothing wrong with you.”
She looked up at him and scowled. “Don’t give me that placating bullshit.”
“Okay, so you’re not perfect.” Trevor sunk onto the bench next to her. “Who the hell is?”
She shook her head, and Trevor was glad she wasn’t crying. He’d only ever seen Callie cry at funerals and he was so not ready to deal with another female’s tears tonight.
“Things were so much easier before this whole ‘new leaf’ crap. I didn’t think about any of this. I drowned my sorrows in something else, and you know what? I liked it better. I liked it better than hurting all the time.” She rested her elbows on her knees, stared at the ground. “And if I thought AIF would survive, I’d go back to being a complete fuck-up. It was so much easier.”
Trevor draped his arm across her shoulders. “Personally, I like this new leaf a lot better than the old one.”
She looked up at him and there was that something. That something he’d been ignoring with Callie since he’d been thirteen and realized girls weren’t so gross after all. He’d kind of forgotten about that in the four years away, or maybe pushed it to the recesses of his mind. Now it was in the forefront again.
Trevor cleared his throat and looked at the doorway where the light was quickly disappearing. “You never thought back then. Now you’re thinking, and it’s probably harder, but I bet you come out the other side feeling a lot better. Maybe actually a little happier. Bad Girl Baker might have been easier, but she wasn’t happy.”
“Bad Girl Baker. Haven’t heard that one in a while.” He looked down at her and her lips were curved into a smile. “She wasn’t happy, but she wasn’t such a pansy ass. I miss feeling strong. I don’t want to be this depressed, pathetic, whiny mess.”
“There might be a happy medium between BGB and GGB.”
She chuckled. “GGB? Good Girl Baker?”
Trevor grinned down at her. “Yeah. You take the strength of BGB and the maturity of GGB and then maybe you’ve got a decent human being who feels the way a woman almost turning thirty should.”
“As ridiculous as that sounds, I think you might actually be on to something.” She smiled up at him, then his eyes rested on that sexy mouth.
Shit. He really needed to be careful about where exactly he looked when it came to Callie. Eager to change the subject, or at least the subject in his head, he blurted out the reason for his visit. “I need your help with Shelby.”
Trevor certainly knew how to pull the rug out from under her. Callie had forgotten that. Before he’d moved away how many times had she sat there thinki
ng something was about to happen only to have him hammer her with something completely different?
Six months was going to feel like forever, but he just sat there trying to figure out her reaction, so Callie had to focus on this new topic. “You’re joking, right?”
“You know what she’s going through.”
Callie stood, needing to get some space. Needing to get his arm off her shoulders. “Trevor, I don’t remember my mom. And Dad died when I was eight. It’s different.”
“Maybe, but Callie…” He sat there looking so dejected and miserable she almost went back to sit next to him. “She just starts crying. We’ll be talking and out of nowhere. Bam. And she wants to go back to school tomorrow. How am I supposed to know what to do with all this? I need help. I need you.”
She turned to focus on the plane, sympathy making her uncomfortable and unsure. She didn’t want to be drawn into this. Not only would getting through to Shelby be nearly impossible, but even if she succeeded it meant rehashing her own loss.
“I know Shelby isn’t your biggest fan.”
“She hates my guts. Let’s not dance around that.”
“No. It’s not hate.”
Callie snorted. She was pretty familiar with people hating her, and Shelby was definitely on that long list.
“I was never a teenage girl without parents. You were. I need your help. I can’t do this alone.” He looked around the shop. “I know you’re swamped here, and I hate to put another thing on your shoulders but…”
There weren’t a whole lot of times in her life when she’d had the opportunity to help Trevor. Probably none where he’d ever come out and said he needed her. Mr. FBI Agent wasn’t big on needing what he couldn’t provide himself. Then there was the fact she still hadn’t asked him about her own favor. If she agreed to this maybe him helping out at AIF would be more of a fair trade. Not that she didn’t owe him already for a million past transgressions.
“Okay, fine, I’ll help, but I don’t know what you think I’ll be able to do. Grief is a personal thing. You have to get over it on your own. Opening up to people might help, not that I’d know, but I doubt Shelby will open up to me.”
“Hang out with us. She’ll warm up to you and then maybe, I don’t know. I’m playing this by ear, which you know I suck at.”
“Yeah.”
“Come over for dinner tomorrow night. We’ll sit around and talk. I’m not hoping for miracles, just some advice on what to do. I don’t know. I need help. You’re the best person for the job.”
What a joke. The only job she was best for was the one she’d been doing before Em and then Trevor had interrupted her. “Fine.”
He stood, crossed over and gave her a quick, friendly hug. “Thanks, Cal. You’re the best.”
She didn’t feel like the best. All that hope she’d gotten thinking maybe Trevor was right, maybe she could still be part of her old self, dissolved into feeling like a fake and a failure.
“Well, as long as you’re feeling all warm and fuzzy, I’ve got a favor to ask you myself.”
He was smiling, and it was a genuine one. Handsome and accommodating and, ugh, fucking perfect. So annoying.
“Before I ask, I want you to know this was Em and Mary’s idea. I thought it was a terrible one, but they insisted.”
“Spit it out.”
Callie pulled out a screwdriver, ran it through her fingers and kept her eyes on the tool as she explained. “Since you’re home for a few months and not working they thought maybe you’d be able to help out around here.”
“Sure. I’m surprised you didn’t think of it yourself.”
Callie frowned up at him. He wasn’t just genuinely smiling now, he was grinning. “You’ve got a lot going on.”
Trevor shrugged. “What better way to take my mind off of it than getting out of that damn house most days?”
Of course he would be happy to help. It was her who was the ungrateful bitch who didn’t ever feel comfortable doing anything for anyone else. “It’ll be all the crappy grunt work we don’t want to do or have time to do and we’re not paying you.”
His grin didn’t falter. “Good. I think crappy grunt work will be exactly what my mind needs.”
She turned to her plane. “That was a hell of a lot easier than having to seduce you,” she grumbled.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Never mind. Just mumbling.” She reached up to examine the cowling, but Trevor’s hand rested on her shoulder, turned her around.
“No, I think I want to hear this explanation.”
“It was a joke.” Callie rolled her eyes and flung her arms in the air so his hand fell off her shoulder. “Mary thought if you said no I should seduce you. Ha ha. Get it?” It felt completely un-joke-like at the moment. So much so a warm blush crept into her cheeks.
“Well, maybe I’m sorry I was such an easy yes.”
“Oh, whatever.” She refused to examine the low, melty way he spoke or the little fluttery feeling in her stomach as a response. “Go home, Trev. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow.” He chuckled to himself all the way out the shop door, which left Callie scowling after him.
She had a bad feeling about this.
Chapter Three
Wearing a pink shift dress wasn’t why Callie was pissed off enough to punch something, though it was part of the reason. Pink. Even though the blazer she wore over it was black, the dress—borrowed from Em’s mom—was pink. A disgustingly pale, girly pink.
Her hair was down instead of pulled back. She’d worn a little makeup and had tried really hard to project a together, professional appearance.
But makeup and the damn dress hadn’t convinced Dana Caldwell that Callie was a responsible enough part owner of AIF and therefore worthy of the parking permit needed from the county for the fly-in. Dana was determined that if AIF was going to get anything, it would have to come through Callie begging on her hands and knees.
Not fucking likely.
Callie whipped her car into the AIF parking lot and slammed to a stop in front of the shop. She really needed to bang on something before she went to report to Em, because if she didn’t get some of the aggression out she was going to explode all over Em’s well-meaning concerns and questions.
Callie stomped all the way to the shop before remembering she was wearing borrowed clothes. A borrowed pink dress of all damn things. She couldn’t do any work dressed like that.
When she turned on a heel to go back to the car, she collided right into a hard wall of muscle. Trevor. He was in grungy clothes streaked with dirt from whatever work Em had him doing that afternoon, but Callie was in no mood to deal with anyone right now.
Let alone someone who looked all rumpled and handyman sexy and took in her appearance with wide-eyed amusement. “Holy—”
Callie pushed past him, anger vibrating. “Don’t say a word.”
“Seriously, you have to indulge me in at least a few comments. You are wearing a pink dress.”
“I know what I’m wearing.” She kept walking toward her car, and Trevor followed her.
“It’s cute. Who knew pink was your color? I might fall in love.”
Even as she was doing it, she knew spinning around with her fist cocked was not the right reaction, but frustration eroded any sense of listening to that reasonable part of her brain. Luckily, before her fist could connect with his jaw as she’d irrationally intended, Trevor snatched her wrist and pulled her arm behind her back.
“What the fuck?”
She looked at the green grass in front of her and tried to even out her heavy breathing and blink away the idiotic tears stinging her eyes. Everything was piling up and all the little holes she’d plugged over the past two years seemed to be springing leaks again.
Why couldn’t one damn thing go right?
It took a moment to realize Trevor was still holding her in place, his strong hand wrapped around her wrist. “You certainly got better at dodging a fist,” Callie muttere
d, hoping the snide comment would take away the threat of tears.
“FBI agents know how to avoid a punch. Besides, a guy generally only lets a girl clock him once before he learns how to avoid it. You got your one and only success senior year.”
Callie thought about that. Different reasoning but similar. Frustration at a boiling point. Trevor being there at the wrong time with the wrong comment. Didn’t she have a lovely habit of going after the few people who cared about her? On a tired sigh, Callie tried to free her arm. “You can let go of me now.”
“You sure about that?”
Callie drew in a breath and slowly let it out. “Yeah.”
He let her hand go and moved so they were facing each other. She was glad to see he was angry despite his calm voice. She deserved for him to be really angry.
Arms folded across his chest, his blue eyes stared at her with what she imagined was a look he’d honed in the FBI. It was the kind of look you gave criminals or scumbags. “Want to explain that little outburst?” he asked, his voice a calm contrast to the look.
“I’m sorry.”
Surprise softened the hard expression. “Well, that’s more than I got when you actually connected.” Then concern worked its way over his face and his arms dropped to his sides and Callie felt about an inch tall. “What’s up, Cal?”
“Just…” She would not cry. Not in front of Trevor. Not at all. She was not a crier. “Bad day.”
He cocked an eyebrow and she knew she wasn’t getting away without an explanation.
“Dana Caldwell is in charge of one of the permits we need for the fly-in. I’m supposed to get this permit, but Dana keeps finding ways to put me off.” Callie kicked a heel behind her and pulled off the stupid too-small shoe borrowed from Em. She repeated with the other foot until she stood in her bare feet on the grass.
“Wait a second. Dana Caldwell is Sheila Evans’s older sister.”
“I know.”
“The Sheila Evans who you—”
“I know. And I’m sure this is some sort of payback for all the horrible things I did to Sheila.”
“You didn’t do anything Sheila didn’t deserve or start. Except maybe the flyer with Sheila’s head on a cow’s body you hung all over the town.”
