by Nicole Helm
It was weird seeing Callie act unsure, almost vulnerable, but Shelby refused to soften, even as Callie continued.
“I had friends who were so uncomfortable they would ignore me altogether. I was younger, but when my grandma died your brother was the only one who treated me the same. Not like I was a leper or a charity case. He was probably one of the few things that got me through.”
Shelby didn’t want Callie of all people to understand, but it seemed she did. Still, Shelby held on to the resentment that Trevor had given Callie comfort, but he’d failed her. Except failed wasn’t the right word. He’d been letting her cry all over him since the funeral. But he’d lied to her. He obviously didn’t want to be around her.
Forgetting her previous mission to write off Trevor, Shelby focused on the fact Callie always managed to get her hooks into Trevor and steal him away. Like Mom always said. Callie had some kind of unhealthy hold on Trevor, and it was their job to break it.
Realizing Callie was studying her in the silence, Shelby shot her a nasty look. “Maybe I have better taste in friends than you did.” Nope, but Callie didn’t need to know that.
“Maybe.” Callie shrugged again, didn’t seem hurt by the statement. “Look, I know you have it in your head that I’m not good enough to take out your trash. Your family is into the college thing and the law-abiding do-gooder thing and I never fit that mold, so I get it. I’m not good enough for Trevor so you hate the fact we’re friends. I’m willing to put that aside and help you if you need it. Maybe you don’t.”
Maybe some of that were true, but not all of it. Maybe Shelby did need help, but not from Callie. Not from some community college dropout loser. “Why would you want to help me?”
“Because I figure after everything your brother has done for me, I owe him.”
“Good to know this isn’t actually about me then.” Shelby poked at the food on her plate with a fork.
“You’ve been nothing but a bitch to me your whole life. Why would it be about you?”
Shelby had no earthly clue why that made her want to smile. She refused to indulge. “Whatever. I’m fine. I don’t need your pity or help.”
“Fair enough, but if you change your mind you know where to find me.” Slowly, Callie made her way out of the room. Shelby did her best to bite her tongue, but half the question tumbled out like it had a will of its own. “Do you think…?”
Callie stood in her doorway, knob still in hand. She didn’t prompt or leave, just stood there.
Two choices: tell Callie to leave and ignore the burning curiosity to get someone’s opinion who knew what it was like or to take a chance that Callie might be honest and give her some perspective.
She was too emotionally wrung out to suppress anymore, so, keeping her eyes glued to the plate of food, Shelby went ahead and asked. “Do you think if I go to prom it’ll be weird and awkward?”
Callie was quiet for a moment as if she was giving it some serious thought. Shelby wished she’d kept her stupid mouth shut. She wished Callie would answer the question already.
“It’s your senior prom. If you want to go, it shouldn’t matter if other people are weird or awkward about it. I regret not going to mine.” Callie smiled, but it was a nasty kind of smile. “But you’re so much smarter and better than I am, maybe you wouldn’t regret it.”
“Maybe I’m a bitch to you because you’re such a bitch to me.”
“Maybe, but I don’t think that’s it.”
No, it wasn’t. She’d been nasty because Mom hadn’t liked Callie. Mom had always been nice to Callie’s face though, and Shelby thought someone should act how they felt.
“Well, see you around, Shelby. If you have any other questions, you can ask, even if you’re bitchy about it. Your brother is desperate to know what to do with you, so I’ll answer.”
The sentiment was nice in a veiled way, but it filled Shelby with guilt over what she’d said to Trevor earlier. Maybe he really was trying, maybe he did actually care, and maybe she should cut him some slack. He was, after all, giving up a big portion of his life to be there for her, even if it was only for a short period of time.
Shelby scowled down at the plate of food. She really hated Callie Baker. That woman always ruined everything.
Chapter Four
Callie headed to the main office to find Em for lunch. The freakishly hot late April day had sweat trickling down her back and she was in serious need of some air conditioning.
Mary was on the phone when Callie stepped into the office, so she skirted the glass display cases and took the stairs to Gramps’s upstairs office.
The steps were narrow and walking up them had memories crowding Callie’s mind. When she’d been young, she’d raced up the stairs after a long day at school to see what Gramps had for her to do.
He’d been gone two years now and the large upstairs office still smelled like his cigars and old magazines. Callie usually avoided it if she could because the memories were too painful in this particular place, but Em had been working up here all morning looking for some book.
Callie crested the stairs and looked around. It was the same. Piles of mail, magazines, newspapers everywhere. Airplane knick-knacks scattered throughout. They hadn’t gone through his things. It had been a silent agreement to let everything stay where it was unless they needed something. Should Lawson ever come back and take his rightful spot that might change, but for now there was something sadly comforting about coming upstairs and knowing it would be like Gramps was still around.
Across from the stairway a window took up almost the whole wall. Beneath the window was a long bench Gramps used to take naps on. When a person sat on that bench, they could look out and see the majority of AIF. It was one of Callie’s favorite spots. Or had been.
And that’s where Em was—sitting on the bench with her nose pressed against the glass. She looked back at Callie and grinned, her gaze quickly returning to the window. “Come look.”
Callie crossed the cluttered office to the big window. Em pointed to the grass runway below. The riding lawn mower was parked and next to it stood Trevor.
Shirtless.
“Um.” Like Em, Callie’s eyes were immediately transfixed. He was using his T-shirt to wipe the sweat off his forehead, and the motion caused muscles to move and bunch under sweat-slicked skin. He could use some sun, but other than that Trevor was pretty much flawless.
“So far this is the best part of Trevor being a volunteer.” Em practically giggled.
“How long have you been watching him?” Though the question held some accusation, Callie wasn’t walking away from the window either. In fact, she was pressed against the glass almost as close as Em was.
“Just a few minutes.” Em waved a hand briefly in Callie’s line of sight, but Callie’s gaze didn’t falter.
“Not creepy at all, Emerson.” Sarcasm dripped from the words, yet she was doing the same thing. She should look away now. Step back from the window. And she would.
In a few minutes.
“Callie. Seriously.” Em pointed toward the window, her gaze never leaving Trevor. “Look. At. That.”
Couldn’t stop if she wanted to. It wasn’t that Trevor was super hot or something. Okay, maybe he was, but she was a woman and any woman with a beating heart would want to watch that. Any woman would feel a certain amount of lust over flat, hard abs and strong, powerful shoulders. Didn’t mean a woman had to act on it. She was just having a normal reaction.
Except that reaction was being caused by her best friend. A guy she was determined not to think about naked. Anymore. Mustering all her strength, Callie pushed away from the window and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?”
When Callie looked over her shoulder, Em’s nose was still pressed to the glass. Callie grunted in disgust. “To tell Fabio down there to put a Goddamn shirt on.”
“But—”
Callie tramped down the stairs, unable to hear Em’s argument. Without a glance at Mary, s
he cut through the back of the office and the Canteen to make it to the runway, focused on the task at hand. Callie tried to reach the itch between her shoulder blades. A weird, uncomfortable feeling was lodged there.
Trevor was still standing next to the silenced mower, shirtless, except he was now gulping down water from a big thermos. His neck moved with each gulp and the close up view of a shirtless Trevor?
Hot damn.
Old Callie fought to break free and do something really stupid, like—good God—get within touching distance, but new Callie wouldn’t acknowledge one dirty thought. Not one.
“This isn’t a soap opera,” she shouted. If she was keeping a distance between them it was just because old Callie seemed to be getting stronger. And old Callie’s fantasies made every inch of her as hot as Trevor looked.
“Come again?”
She planted her feet, mustered her best intimidating look. “Put a shirt on, Steele.”
“Why?” He set the thermos down on the seat of the mower and began crossing over toward her. “It’s hot.”
Oh, yeah, it definitely was. “I’m your boss. Just follow orders.”
Trevor leaned against the fence a few feet away from her. “Why? You enjoying the view?” He waggled his eyebrows.
Callie rolled her eyes, hoping she could rationalize the pink on her cheeks being from the heat of the day. “Please. You’d need a few more muscles and some tattoos to affect me.” He really didn’t, but she would never admit that to him. Let him think she had a thing for muscle-bound bad boys instead of lean, rangy good guys.
“Who says I don’t have any tattoos?”
Callie narrowed her eyes, studied him. Her pulse jumped. “You don’t have any tattoos.”
“Just because I don’t have any above the waist doesn’t mean I don’t have one.” He cocked his head, grinned.
Something strange and unnerving clutched in Callie’s gut, but she ignored it and matched his grin with a skeptical smile. “All right. Prove it.”
Trevor began to unbuckle his belt and Callie thought her heart was going to jump right out of her chest, but then he stopped. “Okay, you got me. No tattoo.”
Callie realized her mouth was hanging open. She quickly snapped it shut.
“What about you?”
“What about me?” she asked, really wishing she had a drink of water at this point. Her throat was so dry she couldn’t swallow and she was having trouble settling on a coherent thought. Damn heat.
“Any tattoos?”
“You’ll never know.” She got a weird and uncomfortable feeling Trevor was flirting with her. Which was crazy. The heat was messing with her brain. Obviously. She hadn’t been acting like herself since Em had told her to come look. The thought of Em watching from above reminded her of her purpose, which was definitely not looking at how low Trevor’s jeans hung at his hips.
“Em’s up there drooling all over you, and I’d prefer it if we could get some actual work done today.”
Trevor looked up at the window and Callie watched as Em ducked out of view. Served her right.
“Em’s drooling all over me?” His grin grew wider.
The new feeling that worked through her was not lust, interest or fighting old Callie, but it was an emotion she wanted to ignore just as much as those.
“You would get a perverted thrill from Em drooling all over you,” Callie muttered with a disgusted wave of the hand. “She’s blonde and pretty and perfect, just your type.”
Trevor now stood only a few inches away from her, and Callie used every ounce of willpower to keep her eyes on the trees in the distance. Okay, maybe she peeked at his bare chest, but only for a second. Just long enough to note the smattering of dark chest hair.
Jesus. Maybe she was having a stroke.
“If I didn’t know you as well as I do, I’d say that sounded almost like jealousy.”
Callie snorted. “In your dreams.” She turned on a heel and began to stomp back into the office. If her heart beat a little harder at the accusation it was only because…
Damn it, she was running out of rationalizations. She picked up the pace, hoped Trevor didn’t notice.
“I’m not a teenager anymore, Callie,” he called after her. “I prefer a woman with a bit of an edge these days.”
She kept walking. He was going to have to stop this pseudo flirting or old Callie might get her way after all.
When she walked into the Canteen, Em was moving toward her with an uncharacteristic frown on her face. “I am so mad at you right now.”
“What?”
“You told him I was looking at him!”
“So? You were looking at him.” Callie brushed past Em, an uncomfortable weight squeezing her lungs so she couldn’t get a full breath.
“So were you.”
“Well, he was quite thrilled with the idea of you looking at him, so why don’t you go bat your eyelashes at him and I’m sure he’ll ask you out.” Callie had no idea why she felt so angry, so out of control. Had no idea why these stupid, jealous-sounding words were coming out of her mouth. She was not jealous. She was not crazy. And she was not going to let the sight of one man shirtless get her worked up like this. Pathetic.
“Oh, get a grip, Callie.”
Callie stopped in the doorway between the Canteen and the office and took a deep breath in then out. “On what exactly?” she asked, managing to make her voice sound syrupy sweet.
Em stepped into view, her uncharacteristic frown now matching the uncharacteristic irritation reflected in her bright blue eyes. “Even if Trevor had eyes for anyone but you, I wouldn’t go out with the guy you’re practically in love with.”
“In love with?” Callie sputtered. What a ridiculous accusation. She was not the fall-in-love-with-your-best-friend type. Especially when he was a goody-goody. A freaking FBI agent. The former mayor’s son. It was crazy to think someone like her would be in love with someone like him.
No matter how good he looked without a shirt.
Jesus.
“Yeah. In love with.” Em planted her feet as if to block the doorway, slender hands resting on her hips.
“You’re so far out of your mind, Emerson.”
“Am I?”
“Yes, and you’d think after everything Luke did to you, you’d be over all these stupid romantic fantasies. It was one thing when you were a teenager, but grow up.”
Em’s face paled, but the battle light didn’t go out of her eyes. “Luke has nothing to do with this or with me. But if you want to be a bitch and bring it up to change the subject, fine. It only proves my point.” Em turned and walked out of the room, her long, pink skirt swishing behind her.
Callie sank into one of the chairs. She wasn’t quite sure what Em’s point was, but she was positive the sinking feeling in her stomach had everything to do with hurting Em’s feelings and nothing to do with what Em had said.
Nothing at all.
For three days Shelby hadn’t said one word to Trevor, and he’d have been lying if he said it wasn’t kind of nice. When they weren’t talking, he didn’t have to worry about mopping up tears or hearing nasty accusations.
As much as it was less pressure to live in the silence, each day without true interaction, the guilt twisted deeper. His only respite was AIF. He didn’t know what he’d do without it. Even on days where he spent the majority of his time on a mower, he felt useful. Shelby made him feel ineffective, useless no matter what he tried to do.
Still, he made sure he got home before Shelby every day. Of course, today he’d miscalculated how long grabbing a six pack and some cookies from the grocery store would take since about five people stopped him and asked how he was doing, how Shelby was doing, and what they could do to help.
Trevor knew it was kindness, but he’d never understood the small town penchant for sticking your nose in other people’s business. No matter how many times Dad had tried to explain how that was the great thing about small communities.
He wanted his pri
vacy, and if he needed help he’d ask for it. He didn’t need DeeDee Hawbeker clucking her tongue over him buying beer and cookies and nothing else.
So not only was he late, he was also irritated by well-meaning people and his dead father’s words. If Shelby was still freezing him out when he went inside, so the hell be it.
Trevor stepped into the house already feeling deflated. Damn, he wanted to get back to Seattle.
“You are a crappy brother,” he muttered aloud, tossing his keys onto the little end table near the door. He should be thinking about Shelby, not himself, but he couldn’t manage the selfless guardian role.
Trevor moved into the living room and it took him a minute to realize sounds and smells were coming from the kitchen.
He stepped into the room to find Shelby baking cookies. And some guy sitting at the kitchen table.
“You’re home,” Shelby practically sang, her smile bright and kind of creepy. The boy looked up at Shelby nervously. Though Trevor knew he shouldn’t be okay with his kid sister having some guy in the house without any kind of supervision, the skinny kid with scruffy hair and black-framed glasses didn’t pose much of a threat.
“Yeah, I’m home.”
“This is Dan.” Her voice was still oddly chipper as she bent over to shove a pan of cookie dough into the oven.
Dan stood, wiped palms on his pants that were too tight in Trevor’s estimation and held one out. “Hi, Mr. Steele. It’s nice to meet you.”
Trevor shook the boy’s hand, but before he could verbally respond, Shelby jumped in.
“Call him Trevor.” For the first time, there was no pleasantness in her voice, just edge.
Trevor was about to tell this Dan kid that he could and should call him Mr. Steele, before it dawned on Trevor why Shelby didn’t want Dan calling him Mr. Steele.
