Callan

by Bartel, Sybil

  Shocked into stunned silence, Theodore, his wife and her daughter stared as the angel stepped out of the house and pulled the door closed behind her.

  Taking my wrist again, she led us to a hanging swing at the end of the wide porch. “Sit,” she ordered before softening her voice. “Please.”

  Offended, I stood.

  “Okay.” She glanced around the porch as she nodded to herself. “I totally get it. You’re more comfortable standing.” She sucked in a breath and looked up at me. “Look, we don’t know each other, but I do know what it’s like to have a father abandon you.” She pointed toward the house. “But that man in there has never been anything but a saint to my mom. I know you probably don’t want to hear this, but people do change. I am so, so incredibly sorry about your sister. I can’t even process that kind of grief.” She shook her head. “But maybe, just maybe, you can come inside and have something to eat?”

  If I was not standing there, I would not believe the words I had just heard. “You are defending him.” It was not a question.

  “Yes.” She did not hesitate.

  “You want me to break bread with him.”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  A female. Defending a man. “What do you gain by this?”

  She sank to the swing, and her breasts rose with an inhale as she stared at her hands in her lap. “When we met…” Her voice got quiet. “You were living at River Ranch then, weren’t you?” She did not look up.

  I said nothing.

  She lifted her head. “You grew up in River Ranch?”

  I nodded once.

  Her hands twisted. “Do you… still live there?”

  I did not answer her question. Instead, I gave her another truth. “I think of you.”

  Her throat moved with a swallow. “Oh.”

  “I went back.” I held her gaze. “Every month.”

  Her eyes widened. “To the gas station?”

  I lifted my chin.

  She frowned. “Why?”

  She had been direct with me. I gave her the same respect. “To see you.”

  Heat flushed her cheeks. “I, um…” She bit her lip. “I wasn’t there.”

  “I know.” Disappointment was the seed of contempt. There was no room in life for circumstances you could not change. I had allowed myself a moment of disappointment once a month for the past year, but now I was gifted another opportunity, and I did not want to waste it. “I wanted to kiss you. At the gas station,” I clarified.

  Her cheeks bloomed, and she sucked in a sharp breath as the front door opened.

  The wife looked at first her daughter, then me. “Please.” She smiled kindly. “Won’t you join us for dinner?” She opened the door wide. “We have plenty, and we were just about to sit down.” She stepped back as if to let me pass.

  Using his wife as a shield, Theodore stood behind her. “Nobody cooks a roast like Marie.”

  The blonde sister glanced at her sibling then settled her gaze on me, staring like she wanted my seed. The wife looked at me like she wanted to mother me, and Theodore waited like an eager canine.

  They all disgusted me.

  Except the gas station angel.

  She gave me none of those looks. For the second time in my twenty-seven trips around the sun, a woman did not look at me with need. The need for protection, the need to breed, the need to mother, the need to eat—none of it shown in her expression. Instead, just as she had at the gas station, she looked at me with innocence and purity. Her expression said she believed in a better life, and the combination, just like last time, made possessive desire stir.

  This was not a meal about reconciliation.

  This was about twelve months of hoping against hope.

  This was about fate.

  This was about taking an opportunity when one was presented.

  I tipped my chin at my gas station angel. “I will stay.”

  Her answering smile was as exactly as I had remembered.

  THREE WORDS AND IT felt like the biggest victory I’d ever had, but it still was completely eclipsed by I wanted to kiss you.

  Ignoring the hard stare from Phoebe, I smiled at my gas station god—correction, my stepbrother. My stepbrother who wanted to kiss me and who I wanted to kiss, so badly, but that would be wrong. Really wrong. But worse, I was starting to ask myself if I cared. Oh my God, I was so screwed.

  His eyes on me, he held his hand out for me to precede him.

  Heat flaming my cheeks, wishing I was wearing anything other than old jeans, I walked in to the house and glanced at Mom. “I’ll set another place.”

  “Yeah.” Phoebe smirked. “You do that.” She smiled at Callan. “We’re eating on the porch. Come on, I’ll show you.”

  Ted, looking like he’d been raked over the coals, glanced helplessly at Mom.

  Mom winked discreetly at me. “Phoebe, I need your help in the kitchen. Emily will take Callan out back. Ted, I need you to pick out a wine, then help carry the heavy roast pan outside.”

  His expression guarded, Callan looked at my mom. “What can I do?”

  My mom’s face melted. “Nothing, dear. Go with Emily. Take a load off.”

  God bless my mom.

  Glancing at Callan, I tried so hard not to stare. “This way.” I didn’t wait to see if he followed. I willed my knocking knees to carry me the few yards out back without falling on my face.

  Ducking under the doorway, he followed me, then closed the door behind him. He scanned the backyard, the tree line, the porch, then his gaze wandered back to me.

  I took a seat at the table and fought for small talk. “My mom really is a good cook. Please.” I indicated the chair across from me. “Have a seat.”

  He pulled out the chair next to me. Precise and efficient, but somehow incredibly graceful, he lowered his huge frame into the seat, angled his shoulders to face me, and studied me a moment. “I am not here for them.”

  My blush returned a thousandfold. “I-I don’t understand.”

  “Yes you do.” His knee touched mine under the table.

  I jumped. “I, um, I….” Oh God.

  “Did you think about me?” His voice, so deep it was quiet, filled the space between us, and I wanted to lean in to him.

  “You’re my stepbrother,” I blurted. My stepbrother who wanted to kiss me.

  A line formed between his eyebrows. “I am of no relation to you.”

  He smelled like the forest after a fresh rain, and his eyes were so blue, like aqua blue, with a darker circle around the edge. And the dimple in his chin, oh my God, I wanted to trace my finger over it. Staring at him, wanting to embrace what he’d just said, my thoughts were a jumble of right and wrong as his hand landed on my thigh under the table.

  My heart caught in my throat. “What are you doing?” I whispered.

  “Not wasting any more time.” His gaze didn’t waver.

  Awareness shot straight up my leg and landed low in my belly. His firm grasp on my leg generated so much heat, I wanted to feel his hands all over my body. Instead, I closed my eyes. I couldn’t look at him and not want him, but holy shit this was insane. And wrong. This was Ted’s son. My stepfather’s son.

  I desperately searched for a different subject matter. “You cut your hair.”

  His breath brushed across my cheek, as if he had leaned closer. “So did you.”

  I felt his fingers sift through my hair, and my heart leapt as my eyes popped open. Like he knew the very second I looked at him, his eyes locked on to mine.

  He was right, I had trimmed my hair, but only a few inches. Not like him. The shoulder-length, thick blond hair he’d had at the gas station was gone, and now he had a buzz cut that showed off the angles to his face, making him even more striking. “Callan.” I exhaled, fighting in my head between the right words I should say and the wrong ones I wanted to say. “If you’re implying what I think you are, this is wrong.” It had to be wrong. But oh God, I was struggling for an answer why fate would throw us together
again like this.

  He ignored my statement. “Do you know what I thought when you first smiled at me?”

  I ignored his question. I had to. Men who looked like him didn’t look twice at women like me. I was plain and ordinary. I wasn’t even trying to be sexy. I didn’t know how to be sexy. The eyeliner and mascara I’d put on at seven this morning before I’d worked all day was the best it got. But he was looking at me like I was beautiful. More, he was looking at me like no one else existed, and oh my God, I wanted to be everything he was seeing right now. I wanted it so bad. But I wasn’t going to reach for that kind of hope.

  Forcing myself to pull my leg away from his touch, I sat up straighter in my chair and pretended like he hadn’t just opened a door I swore I would never walk through. “They’ll be out soon.” I tried to smile. “I hope you’re hungry.”

  “I thought you looked like an angel,” he answered his own question as if I hadn’t spoken. “No one had ever smiled at me without wanting something from me.”

  Oh God. “Callan.” Then I didn’t know what to say.

  His statement was so incredibly sad, and telling, and yet, I didn’t want to embarrass him by feeling sorry for him. I didn’t know a thing about him, but I could tell he was proud, unwaveringly proud. Knowing how he grew up, knowing what little I had read about River Ranch, hearing those words from him, seeing his reaction to his own father—my heart was breaking. “You made me smile.” That was all I had. The truth. No man had ever looked at me like he had that day. Like he was looking at me right now.

  Before he could respond, Phoebe came out with an extra place setting. Looking between us, she smirked. “Okay, one of you better fess up what the hell’s going on before the ’rents get out here.” She plopped into a seat and set the plate down with the silverware on top. Her pointer finger popped up and she waved it between us. “Something’s going on.” She tried to scare Callan with a look. “She tells me everything. Why didn’t she tell me about you?”

  For the first time since he knocked on the door, Callan really looked at Phoebe. “I do not speak for her.”

  Phoebe rolled her eyes, then looked at me. “Spill it. No one keeps something this hot to themselves.” She checked Callan out, dragging her gaze up and down his chest before looking back at me. “Where did you meet him?” Except she didn’t ask it kindly, or even with honest curiosity. She drew the first word out and said the rest of the words with accusation.

  Despite saying he did not speak for me, it was Callan who answered. “If she had wanted to tell you before this, she would have.”

  I couldn’t ever remember hearing a man stand up to Phoebe. I couldn’t help it, I smiled.

  Phoebe eyed Callan. “Did you just tell me to fuck off?”

  “I am not so ignorant that I need to use those words with a female.”

  My respect for Callan grew exponentially.

  “Female, huh?” Phoebe shook her head. “But you’d tell a man to fuck off?”

  His stare lethal, he delivered his quiet response with the force of a bomb dropping. “I do not need to use that vernacular with anyone.”

  “Well, good for you.” Phoebe belligerently threw her silverware into a haphazard place setting as the back door opened.

  Mom walked out with wine and glasses, followed by Ted with the roast.

  Ted set the pan down and looked at Callan like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Glad you’re here, so—” He caught himself midword and cleared his throat. “Just glad you’re here.”

  “Phoebe”—Mom smiled, setting the open bottle of wine down and placing the glasses around the table—“help me with the rest of the dishes.”

  Phoebe rolled her eyes but followed Mom inside.

  As Ted sat, Callan’s shoulders stiffened and a sudden tension filled the entire back porch.

  Ted clasped his hands in his lap and leaned forward. “How did you find me?”

  “I followed you from your shop.” No hesitation, Callan gave the answer without shame.

  Ted nodded once. “You still living out at the ranch?”

  Callan stared at Ted like he was looking for hidden meaning in his question. “Yes, but I have put the land up for sale.”

  Ted looked surprised. “You’re selling the land?”

  Not dissimilarly to his father, Callan nodded once. “I inherited River Ranch.”

  Ted blinked. “River Stephens left you his land?”

  Callan studied Ted for a second. “He left me everything.”

  Ted whistled low. “There’s a lot of acreage out there, son.”

  “I am aware, and I am not your son.”

  Shaking his head, Ted dropped his gaze to his lap. Inhaling deep, he looked back up at his only biological son. “I’m not asking you to forgive me. I’m just now trying to wrap my head around the enormity of my mistakes. But I would like to ask you for your time. I’d like to get to know you, and seeing as you came here, I’m hoping a part of you wants that too. Even if it’s a small part, I’m willing to work with that.”

  “I did not come here for you. I came looking for a twin I never knew I had until six months ago.” Even though his voice was controlled and quiet, every word out of Callan’s mouth was an accusation.

  I couldn’t blame him, but I did feel like I was intruding. “I should let you two talk.” I started to stand.

  Callan’s hand landed on my arm. “Stay. I have nothing more to say.”

  Awareness shot up my entire arm as goose bumps raced across my skin.

  Ted’s gaze immediately cut to Callan’s hand, and his jaw clenched. “How do you two know each other?”

  His hand still on my arm, Callan didn’t buckle under Ted’s challenging stare. “We met at a gas station.”

  “Twelve months ago,” I blurted.

  Ted looked at me. “Did you know who he was?”

  “No, not at all.” But now I knew why he’d looked so familiar.

  Crossing his arms, Ted leaned back as he glanced between us, like he was trying to catch us in a lie. “You seen each other since?”

  I shook my head.

  Callan dropped his hand. “No.”

  The sudden loss of warmth made me feel… adrift.

  Ted’s gaze, so similar to his son’s, cut to me. “He must have left quite an impression if you convinced him to stay for dinner after only meeting him once.”

  “She is the one who left an impression,” Callan corrected.

  I wasn’t pissed off that Ted was being a jerk, I almost understood it. I would be a mess of emotions if my bio dad walked in off the street. But I didn’t like the way his tone was accusing. I felt protective of Callan, and if anyone here deserved the benefit of the doubt, or kid gloves, or whatever you wanted to call it, it was Callan. He’d just learned a sister he never knew he’d had was gone, and I wasn’t going to let him take Ted’s indignation all on his own.

  “We both left an impression on each other. And since he’s here and decided to stay for dinner, maybe can leave the questions for another time and just enjoy Mom’s cooking.” I smiled, aiming to defuse any response Ted might have.

  Pressing his lips into a thin line, Ted nodded as Mom and Phoebe came back with the rest of the food and set the dishes by Ted.

  Phoebe pulled her chair out and opened her big mouth. “So what juicy shit did I miss?”

  “Phoebe, language,” Mom chided.

  “Oh please, like this situation doesn’t call for a little swearing? How often does the prodigal son return?” She picked her plate up and handed it to Ted.

  “I am neither wasteful, nor returning,” Callan clipped.

  Mom smiled at Callan. “Please excuse her, she isn’t versed in scripture.” She handed her plate to Ted.

  Phoebe smirked. “And he is?”

  Everyone but Callan turned to glare at her.

  “What?” She glanced around the table. “Just because he grew up in a cult doesn’t mean he’s read the Bible cover to cover.” She nonchalantly picked up
my plate and handed it to Ted. “Come on, guys, get a grip.”

  You could have heard a pin drop.

  “Growing up,” Callan’s smooth, deep voice filled the awkward silence, “we referred to River Ranch as the compound, not a cult.” He glanced at Phoebe with barely concealed disdain. “And I have read the Bible cover to cover. Your comparison was inaccurate.”

  “Great.” Dripping sarcasm, Phoebe snatched Callan’s plate. “I got a hot new stepbrother and he’s a fucking Bible thumper.” She dumped the plate on the pile in front of Ted.

  The clank echoed around the shocked silence of the table.

  HIS FACE RED, THEODORE unceremoniously picked up a plate. With angry, uncoordinated movements, he dished out food from each bowl then passed it. He repeated the process until all plates were full.

  Men did not serve food to the females on the compound. They provided it. The women cooked and served it.

  The belligerent sister set a plate in front of me without looking at me. “Bon appétit,” she said caustically.

  “Phoebe,” the wife scolded. “Be polite.”

  “What?” She jabbed a fork into her meat. “He can’t enjoy his meal? This shit is already awkward as hell, and you all aren’t making it any less tense by sitting around in shocked silence staring at him. You think he wants to talk about the Bible and compound shit? Please.” She looked at me. “I bet you don’t. The past is the past. Am I right?”

  My disdain for her eased marginally. “You seem to have no problem filling the silence.” Unlike her sister.

  The wife smiled uncomfortably again. “Phoebe’s always been a talker.” She picked up the wine and filled everyone’s glasses.

  Where I was from, that would not be a compliment. Saying nothing, I glanced at the food on my plate. Meat in a brown sauce, carrots in a shiny sauce, and green beans in a white sauce. I recognized none of the preparations except the potatoes. They were mashed into a paste like the women on the compound made for the smaller children.