Always a Temp

by Jeannie Watt

  “True.” Nate propped his head on his elbow. “Maybe you should stay here.”

  “I, uh…”

  “Is that scarier than facing Mitch?” he asked, watching her expression shift from wary to warier.

  “No. Of course not. It’s just that I’ve never really depended on anyone for anything, except for Grace.”

  He reached out and pulled her to him. It took her a moment to settle at his side, her head on his chest, but her muscles weren’t fully relaxed. “What do you do when you fall in love?”

  “I try not to do that,” she said softly, her breath teasing his skin.

  “Why?” he asked. Why couldn’t she let herself fall in love with him?

  “It’s the way I am.”

  He was getting tired of hearing that answer. Nathan didn’t buy absolutes.

  “Do you think it has something to do with being a foster kid? With security?” he ventured, tossing out the obvious theory, the one he’d always believed was at the bottom of Callie’s wanderlust.

  She settled her head again. “Grace gave me all the security I needed. If she hadn’t, then I wouldn’t exactly be the type to gallivant around the world, would I? Especially with my father being an unsolved missing person case.”

  They’d discussed her father and the possibilities innumerable times as teens. She’d always seemed so matter-of-fact about the situation, so accepting of what she couldn’t change, even if that meant accepting that her father had probably been murdered. Even now her tone was dispassionate.

  “And you don’t think what happened to him might affect your sense of security?”

  “Whatever happened to him had nothing to do with me. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time, or maybe even involved in the wrong profession. The only thing that possibly relates is he needed to travel. Just like me, so I guess I inherited that trait from him.”

  Funny that the trait never showed up until graduation, after Nathan had told her he loved her.

  “No offense, Callie, but I’m not buying it.”

  Her fingers curled on his chest and he felt her inhale deeply, then exhale. “Don’t psychoanalyze me, Nate. Does it really matter why?”

  “If you know the reason, then you can change.”

  She brought her head up suddenly. “Who says I want to change?”

  “Is it healthy to run every time someone gets too close?”

  “I don’t run because people get too close.”

  “Then why? And I don’t want to hear it’s the way you are. There’s a reason and I don’t for one minute believe it’s in your DNA.”

  Callie’s expression was a mixture of anger and pain. “Why are you ruining things? Why can’t we just enjoy what we have?”

  Because we could have so much more.

  Nathan bit back the words. For now. After he’d remained silent for a few moments, Callie finally relaxed and curled up against him again, her cheek and her lightly clenched fist resting on his chest. She stared pensively off across the room until finally her eyes drifted shut and she slept.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  NATHAN AND HIS BROTHERS took their father out for an early breakfast before work. At first John acted as if the breakfast was a setup, but eventually he let down his guard—right up to the point when Garrett reordered for him, nixing the country fried steak, fries and gravy for an egg white omelet and fruit.

  “He’s supposed to be the killjoy,” John grumbled, stabbing a finger at Nathan. Nate shrugged it off. As always. He’d developed a fairly thick skin over the years, which had proved handy in a journalism career.

  “I want to be the killjoy next time,” Seth declared. John growled at him and picked up his glass of ice water.

  They discussed the fire at Callie’s place, which John had not been involved with, until the food came, then launched into the parts of the investigation Garrett could discuss. In other words, the parts that Nathan was free to print. Garrett mentioned that he’d arranged for additional patrols in that neighborhood, then shot a look at Nate before adding that he wasn’t entirely certain they were needed.

  “She slept at her place last night,” Nathan said, not mentioning that he’d been there, too. They hadn’t discussed the past or the future. They’d simply given each other as much pleasure as possible. In fact, they’d barely spoken. Things had changed since he’d told her he didn’t buy the genetic wanderlust theory, and Nathan had no idea what the outcome would be. He was certain, however, that he and Callie would never have any chance of a future until she faced whatever it was that made her run.

  John jerked his gaze up from the fruit he’d been pushing around the bowl. Nathan waited for him to say something—anything—disparaging, because this time it was not going unchallenged. His dad pulled in a deep, disapproving breath, but said nothing.

  All in all, it was a crappy father-sons meal, and Nathan was glad to escape to his stressful job. He’d been there almost five minutes when Joy brought in a cup of tea—the caffeinated kind—and two aspirin. Nathan hadn’t asked for aspirin, so his sleepless night coupled with breakfast with his dad might have showed. He thanked her and she left, after giving him one final worried look. A few seconds later she buzzed him.

  “Mr. Michaels on line one.”

  Nathan wished he had that flask of Laphroaig. He pushed his hair back off his forehead, then picked up the office line.

  “Marcenek.”

  “Nathan, I wanted to touch base concerning these unfounded accusations against Mitch.”

  “There were witnesses.” And Nate had already written the story.

  “One of whom was eight years old. And we both know the veracity of eyewitnesses. What they saw was someone who looked similar—if they saw anyone at all. Mitch was home with the family.”

  Funny how rich people’s sight was more dependable than other people’s. And Nathan wasn’t going to bring up the distinctive sports car Mitch drove, which several people had spotted in the area. There were only two in town and Garrett had checked the other one out, too.

  “Your boy needs help, Vince.”

  “One more remark like that and you’re no longer an employee of our news family.” Which was very likely going to happen whether Nate made another remark or not. He was so ready to move on.

  “You want me to pretend this didn’t happen.”

  “There is no concrete proof it did happen.”

  The guy sounded as if he was practicing a speech.

  “I have to report the news. If the sheriff questions a person of interest in a felony, it’s news. It’s up to the sheriff whether or not he releases the name.”

  Vince’s voice became flintlike. “Keep Mitch out of this. He wasn’t involved. Not a word.” Vince ended the call without saying goodbye.

  Nathan set the phone on his desk and brought up his computer screen. He started to type but his fingers stilled on the keyboard after a couple of sentences.

  So what did he want to be when he grew up? He should probably make a decision on that, because he would eventually be printing Mitch’s name, if Garrett was correct in his assumptions, and then he’d no longer be the editor of the Wesley Star.

  He reached for his cell and found Suzanne’s work number.

  “I need a job,” he said without a hello.

  “It’s about time. Too bad you didn’t need a job last month.”

  “Things have changed. Got any leads?”

  “I might. The guy they just hired isn’t going to last.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because the editor is going to kill him. He writes like a dream, but he’s all ego. Real prima donna and it isn’t going over well. The guy is oblivious.”

  The wonder of the superego. “Is it wrong of me to hope for the worst?”

  “Naw,” Suzanne said. “The guy is digging his own grave fast. I’ll call when there’s a development, and in the meanwhile…maybe you could get away for a day, come and meet some people?”

  “Yeah. I can do that.” And, whi
le he waited for a job opening, he had some resources to support himself. He’d received an injury settlement for his leg, which he’d invested. His house payment was low enough that he could rent the place for the cost of the payment and then some. If he wanted to head off to the city to try his hand at freelancing—either editing or writing—until something permanent opened up, well, he could do it.

  So…what did he do about Callie?

  NATHAN WAS A QUIET GUY, but tonight he was too quiet for Callie’s peace of mind. They were in his bed, where they seemed to spend most of their time together, laughing, talking, making love. Only tonight they weren’t laughing or talking.

  Something was on his mind. Something more than what they’d just finished doing, which was uppermost in her mind at the moment.

  “What’s up?” she finally asked, tracing a pattern in his chest hair until he caught her fingers and brought them to kiss his lips.

  “I’m trying to get a job in Seattle.”

  Callie’s head came up. “When?”

  He continued to hold her hand loosely in his own. “As soon as I can.”

  She settled her cheek back onto his chest. They’d discussed Vince threatening to fire him and she really hoped Nathan sued for wrongful dismissal if that happened. He had an article coming out in this week’s paper, but the sheriff’s office hadn’t officially named a suspect. They figured Nate would be employed right up until a suspect was named and Nate reported it.

  “What do you think about Seattle?” he asked.

  She frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I was thinking that maybe you wouldn’t mind going there.”

  “I…uh…”

  “It wouldn’t have to be a big commitment, Callie.”

  She moistened her suddenly dry lips. He wanted her to go with him. It would be like it was now. Only in Seattle.

  Why was that so scary?

  Because he was talking as if they would live together and maybe depend on each other and…

  “I don’t think that would be good.”

  “Why?” he asked in a no-nonsense voice.

  “Because if I wanted to leave and we had gone there together…”

  “Then I imagine you would just do it.” He rolled over and took her face in his hands. “Do you care about me, Callie?”

  “You know I do,” she whispered back. “You’re my best friend.”

  “But you don’t trust me.”

  Or was it that she didn’t trust herself?

  Callie pulled away from Nate and got out of bed. She needed to move, to do something. “I have to go.”

  Nate didn’t try to stop her. She put on her clothes while he lay in bed watching her, his expression blank, as if this was exactly what he had expected.

  “You can’t run forever. We need to talk about this.”

  “Talk about what?”

  “What makes you run.”

  “I know what makes me run, whether you believe it or not.”

  Nate got out of bed and started getting dressed himself.

  “Sometimes I wonder which of us is more scarred,” he muttered as he stepped into his jeans.

  “I am not scarred. You just can’t accept who I am.”

  “But I do love you.”

  Callie froze for a split second, then forced herself to shove her feet into her shoes, her arms into her jacket sleeves. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard words that frightened her more.

  “YOU ARE THE LUCKIEST SOB I know,” Suzanne said.

  Funny, but he wasn’t feeling all that lucky since having his Seattle conversation with Callie the night before. But the paper had come out with the article about the unnamed arson suspect, and Vince hadn’t fired him for that, so maybe he did have a little luck going his way.

  “Did they get rid of the ego guy?” Nathan asked, shuffling through some hard copies on his desk.

  “No. Jessica McCrae quit. She got accepted into law school and she’s outta here.”

  Nate let out a low whistle.

  “She gave notice today and they want to fill the position immediately.” Suzanne paused before saying, “I, uh, took the liberty of tossing your name into the ring. Reynolds would like to see a résumé and a warm body if you can swing a quick trip up here.”

  “Marcus Reynolds?”

  “The same.”

  Marcus had been Nate’s immediate boss before he was injured, and they had always seen eye to eye. “Give me a date and time and I’ll work something out.”

  “Fax a résumé and I’ll get back to you.”

  Nathan hung up the phone. He was fond of Wesley, understood the people, and he liked living close to his brothers. But he wasn’t an editor at heart. He was a writer and reporter.

  Which left the question…did he quit? Or wait to get fired? Because he had no doubt he was going to be fired in the near future. Vince trusted him to do exactly as he was told—that point was driven home when his boss hadn’t demanded to see the last edition of the paper before it came out—so Vince was going to be furious when Nathan eventually defied his orders and printed Mitch’s name as a suspect. On the plus side, if he got fired he’d get severance, but just how much of an effect would that have on his chances in Seattle?

  Reynolds would understand.

  The phone rang just as Nate turned back to the keyboard.

  “Day after tomorrow,” Suzanne said. “Can you do it?”

  Chip could take over his job for two days. Three if he had to, and Nathan probably wouldn’t be working for Vince Michaels by that time.

  “I can do it.”

  NATHAN HADN’T SEEN CALLIE in two days—not since he’d told her he loved her—when he stopped by her house. There was a For Sale sign on the lawn, but the Neon was still out front. He knocked on the door.

  Callie answered almost immediately. When she saw it was him, her lips compressed, but she stepped back to let him in.

  He looked down at her, wishing there was some magic way to get beyond this barrier Callie didn’t believe in.

  “I’m going to Seattle.”

  Callie’s mouth dropped open. “Travel safe,” she finally said.

  “Will you be here when I get back?”

  “I don’t know. I had an offer for a travel story that might last two weeks. Argentina.”

  “Is that what you want, Callie?”

  “It’s what I do. I travel.” She tilted her chin defensively.

  “You’re just like your father,” he said softly.

  “I know.”

  “He abandoned everyone, and you do the same thing.”

  Callie’s head jerked as if he’d slapped her. “My father didn’t abandon me!” she snapped. “He always came back, until the trip when he couldn’t come back.”

  “You know that how…?”

  “I…” Callie closed her mouth.

  “Even if he was a crime victim, the fact remains your father dumped you with whoever was available, while he went off to wherever he used to go. That’s abandonment. You aren’t hardwired to travel, Callie. You’re hardwired to protect yourself. You live this way because it helps you believe your father was an okay guy. It helps you feel close to him.”

  “My father was an okay guy.”

  “Okay guys don’t dump their kids with whoever’s available and take off. Why do you think you were so upset about the Hobart kids?”

  She turned her head sideways, looking away.

  “All I’m saying is that maybe you’re trying to justify your father’s actions by living them. And maybe you don’t have to do that anymore.”

  Callie pushed her hand up over her forehead as if she had a headache.

  “Callie—” He reached to touch her face, but she stepped away.

  “Go on your trip, Nate.”

  Nathan let his hand drop back to his side. “Will you be here when I get back?”

  “I don’t know, and that’s as up front as I can truthfully be right now.”

  Ten minutes later, N
athan made the turn onto the highway to Elko, his mind absorbed with Callie—as it would be all night. And the next day. Smooth. Really smooth.

  He wondered if he’d ever see her again.

  CALLIE CLEARED EVERYTHING out of the house in preparation for the sale. She boxed up the dishes she’d been using, the teapot and extra towels, and took them over to Alice, who was planning a yard sale and was quite thrilled to have additional items.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to give you the money they bring in?” she asked for the second time. The kitchen was now empty except for paper plates and plastic forks.

  “No. This is a thank-you for being such a good friend to Grace,” Callie said. Then she went back to rake the backyard, which she’d finally gotten mowed. The man across the alley, who’d also rebuilt the fence for a reasonable sum in less than half a day, had taken care of the job.

  She threw herself into the work. It gave her body something to do while her mind ran wild. Try as she might, she could not shut out the things Nate had said to her.

  She wanted him to be wrong. She didn’t want her father to be a guy who abandoned her. She wanted him to be the same kind of gypsy she was.

  And Nathan had no reason to question the theory that her dad had been the victim of foul play. Grace had believed it, and Grace was one of the most intelligent women Callie had ever met. She was a woman who liked to learn things. She read broadly and when she didn’t know about something, she researched.

  She must have done the same in the situation with Callie’s father. Callie couldn’t imagine Grace doing less. She also couldn’t imagine her not prodding the police to find answers.

  Yet Callie didn’t recall any information in Grace’s extensive files, the ones that had taken her most of a day to sort, on unsolved police cases. And Grace had told her she hadn’t known where her father was headed on that fateful trip.

  Did that make sense? Would Grace take Callie without knowing where her dad was going? What if there had been an emergency? What if Grace had had to get hold of him?

  That didn’t add up.

  Damn Nate for bringing this up. Callie had dealt with the loss of her father long ago. She didn’t need to be obsessing about it now.