by Diann Hunt
“Come on, Ryan, you know good and well what I’m talking about. Brianna purposely sent me to that hair place because Callie Easton works there.”
“She does?”
“Oh, no, you don’t. You of all people should know lying doesn’t work.”
“Okay, so we knew she worked there. What’s the big deal? It’s still a great place for a haircut. You needed a recommendation, and Brianna gave you one. What’s the harm?”
A growl rumbled in his throat.
“Listen, little brother, I’d like to talk with you, but Brianna’s just put dinner on the table. You know how she is when dinner gets cold. Talk to you later.”
“Oh, that’s nice. Real nice.” Brad tossed his phone on the seat and sped off. His gut coiled. The last thing he wanted was for Callie to think he was interested. Okay, so he’d flirted with her at the bakery. But knowing she was a plant of his brother’s changed things and the princess image didn’t sit well with him, either. No matter how much her blue eyes sparkled in the sunlight, and her soft hands felt warm against his skin.
Once home, Brad stepped into his office. He handled all his paperwork for his jobs from his office at home, saving him the expense of a secretary. Keeping expenses down and doing some extra carpentry work on the side afforded him the opportunity to oversee the Make a Home projects and save money to go back to work in South America. He may not be rich, but he enjoyed his life—as a bachelor.
He went out now and then, but he hadn’t met anyone he would want to share his life with. In fact, he’d given up on the idea. He could think of worse things than bachelorhood. Besides, he’d been too busy to think about women lately.
Hammer trotted into the room and gave Brad’s leg a nudge. He reached down and rubbed his back. “How you doing, boy?”
Sticking two invoices into their appropriate files, Brad sharpened a couple of pencils, stuck them in his caddy and took a final glance around the room. Satisfied that everything was in its place, he walked out.
“Come on, boy,” he called to Hammer, closing the door behind them. “Let’s go see Mom.”
Ryan could push all he wanted. Brad was standing firm. He had a good life, and he didn’t need a woman—especially a woman with painted nails and a punctuality problem. “I’ve seen plenty of pretty women in my day. She is just one more.”
End of story.
Callie couldn’t make sense out of Brad’s visit to the salon. Did he really just want a haircut? She’d like to think he came there on purpose, but he was obviously surprised to see her. Was that an act? Was he checking up on her? Working undercover? If so, why? She disregarded a couple of parking tickets, for crying out loud. Was that a crime? Well, maybe it was a crime, but it wasn’t exactly a felony.
She pulled her car into her aunt and uncle’s driveway. She could use some distraction from thinking about Brad Sharp.
“Come on in, honey,” Aunt Bonnie said as she opened the front door.
The spicy scent of herbed pork chops and buttery potatoes filled the air. Callie followed her nose to the kitchen.
“Smells awesome,” she said.
Dressed in jeans, a pink flowing blouse and a full-length apron, Aunt Bonnie was leaning over, peering into the oven. “Looks good.” She closed the oven door, then walked over and gave Callie a hug. “Oh, you’re getting skinnier.”
That’s why she loved her aunt.
“So, how was your day?”
“Why—why do you ask?” Callie stammered.
With a confused expression, Bonnie pulled off her oven mitts. “Well, I didn’t have much chance to talk to you at the salon, and I was just wondering how your community service has been going.”
Callie hated to be suspicious, but sometimes Aunt Bonnie was innocence, sometimes snoop queen. Right now, Callie wasn’t sure which.
“It was fine, really. Building a house is pretty amazing. I had no idea how much went into it.” Callie grabbed some glasses and filled them with ice and water, attempting to forget the humiliation of yesterday morning, the look on Brad’s face, his biting words. At least she’d made it on time this morning.
“Any handsome young men working there?” Aunt Bonnie’s eyes twinkled with mischief.
“Why, are you in the market?”
Aunt Bonnie giggled. “Oh, you,” she said.
“Uncle George home yet?” Callie placed the glasses on the table.
“No, but he should be home any second.” Bonnie gathered serving spoons. “Are you trying to change the subject?”
Just then they heard the garage door open and Uncle George’s car creeping into his parking spot. Not that it was hard to do. He kept an immaculate garage. Callie wished his organizational skills had rubbed off on her.
“There are my girls.” Uncle George hung his keys on a wooden peg by the door, walked over and kissed Aunt Bonnie soundly on the lips, then gave Callie a peck on the cheek. “How’s your community service going? Any eligible bachelors?”
Callie sighed.
Uncle George laughed and shrugged. “Just wondered.”
They were hopeless romantics, no doubt about it.
Callie slid into her chair and placed her napkin on her lap. “If you must know, it was fine.” They stared at her. “And, um, no reason to get your hopes up.”
Their shoulders slumped in unison.
Uncle George said grace over their meal, scooped out a dollop of mashed potatoes, then passed the bowl to Callie.
“You got your new work crew lined up for the ice-cream shop, Uncle George?”
“I’m working on it. I still have one more position to fill, and I’m not real happy with the applications I have left. It’s hard to find good help these days.”
Callie suddenly imagined Brad saying the same thing.
Once dinner was over, Callie and Aunt Bonnie cleaned the table and washed the dishes while Uncle George went into the living room and relaxed in front of the television. He was as sweet as they came, but when it came to kitchen duties, he was fully convinced they were a woman’s job. Aunt Bonnie said he made up for it by helping with the laundry.
Callie wanted a man who wasn’t afraid to do both. An image of Brad in an apron popped into her head. Yeah, that would be the day.
“What are you thinking about?” Aunt Bonnie asked while maneuvering a long pan into the cupboard.
“Nothing much.” Callie worked her fingers through the soap bubbles for more silverware.
“I don’t know why we just didn’t load the dishwasher,” Aunt Bonnie said.
Callie shrugged. “I thought it might soften my hands after working construction for two days.”
Her aunt laughed.
“Aunt Bonnie, do you think Dad ever thinks of me?”
The older woman closed the cupboard door and walked over to Callie. “I’m sure he does, every single day, honey.” Bonnie reached up and stroked Callie’s cheek, her soft hand protective and maternal. “I’ve no doubt he would love to see you, but he’s waited so long that now he probably wouldn’t know how to do it.”
Callie dried her hands and sat down at the clean table. “I wish I knew how to contact him.”
With her warm brown eyes fixed on Callie, Bonnie sat across from her and patted her hand. “I know, Cal,” she said softly. “Something stirring up thoughts of your dad lately?”
“Oh, working at the house, smelling the lumber, hearing the pounding hammers, all that, I guess.”
A pensive look in her eyes, Aunt Bonnie hesitated a moment and nodded. “I can see how that would make you think of him.” A pause hovered between them.
“No one stays around,” Callie said, slumping further into her chair. “Except you and Uncle George, of course.”
Aunt Bonnie smiled. “There is One who never leaves.”
“I know.” Callie didn’t want to get into another deep talk about God. She knew the scriptures and all that “He’ll never leave you or forsake you” stuff. She wanted to believe it, but doubts plagued her. Her dad had left,
her fiancé, Jeremy, had left—what was to stop God?
Bonnie grabbed Callie’s hand. “Look, I know things have been a little dry for you lately. Talk to Him.” With that, Aunt Bonnie released Callie’s hand, gave it a pat and went back over to the oven. “You know, when you were a kid, you used to help your dad around the house.”
Callie perked up. She always loved to hear stories about her family.
“Until one day, you pounded a little too hard when hanging a nail for a picture and there was no stud. Your hammer went clear through the drywall.”
Callie winced. “I haven’t improved in my home-building skills all that much.”
Aunt Bonnie chuckled. “Well, community service will be over soon enough.”
Callie didn’t know what to think about that. Part of her wanted to run from it because it reminded her of her father, and another part of her wanted to run to it, because the memories were all she had left.
If only people she loved wouldn’t leave.
“Hey, Mom.” Brad stepped into his childhood home, the stale odor of a house closed up assaulting him. He thought his staying in town for a while would help her, but she was sinking deeper into despair.
“Hi, Brad.” Annie Sharp pushed herself to a sitting position on the sofa, propped the pillow behind her and worked her fingers through shoulder-length brown tangles.
In her late fifties, his mom still didn’t have a smidgen of gray. With her big dark eyes and trademark thick locks, men once sought after his mother. But these days she looked too thin, and even he could tell her hair needed professional help. No doubt the same could be said of her inner self.
Brad walked over and pulled open the living-room curtains. Late afternoon sunlight chased away the gloom. He could see Hammer waiting patiently in the truck.
“Aw, Brad, why did you do that?” She shielded her eyes. “That gives me a headache.”
“Mom, you need to let some sunshine in. It’s a beautiful day out there.”
She rubbed her eyes and yawned. “What time is it?”
“It’s five. Have you started dinner—more important, have you had lunch?”
“Now, Brad, don’t you start.”
He sagged into the cushion beside her and took her limp hands into his. “Mom, you have to take care of yourself.”
With her eyes cast down, she whispered, “I know.”
“Are you taking your vitamins?”
She shrugged.
“Let me take you out to dinner.”
She glanced up. “Oh, no, no, Brad. I’m a mess.” She absently ran a hand over her hair again.
“So go get cleaned up.” He wondered how long she’d been in those wrinkled clothes.
“Thank you, honey, but I’m too tired to go anywhere.”
“Mom. When was the last time you left this house?” Stray wrappers, newspapers, paper plates and empty glasses littered the room. Guilt speared him. He needed to make sure she got out once in a while. He should have been coming over more often. Work had gotten in the way of his good judgment—again.
She shrugged.
“You need to get out.”
“I will. I have to go to the nursing home soon and see your grandmother.”
She leaned back against the sofa as though she barely had the strength to talk.
“How’s Gram doing?” He hadn’t been over there in a while, either.
“’Bout the same. She misses Princess.” Princess was a nickname Nicole had been given as a small child. To Brad, the name had been prophetic. She had fallen into what he called the “princess curse,” where women think they have to have the perfect bodies, yet in their minds their bodies are never good enough. That curse had killed his sister, and left a huge hole in their family.
“We all miss her. But Nicole would want us to go on, Mom.” He told himself that every day.
She lifted dark, watery eyes. “I try. I really do.” Tears slipped down her cheeks.
“I know.” He pulled her frail body to him. “Let me take you to see Gram tomorrow.”
She finally pulled away, teetering a moment, then dabbed her nose with a tissue. “You have a job to do.”
“Well, how about I pick up dinner and then take you to see Gram, after I get off work?”
“I don’t know.”
He looked at her tattered clumps of hair. “I could even take you out to get your hair done, to make you feel better.”
For a moment he thought he saw a flicker of excitement. But she said, “I’m not ready for that, Brad.”
Disappointment flooded him. What could he do to help his mom? Right now she looked so…old. Lifeless.
“But if you’ll take me to see your grandma in the next day or two, that would be good.”
He’d take what he could get. “Great. In the meantime, I’m running to that Chinese restaurant down the road that you love. I’ll pick you up some dinner. Be right back.”
As though she were too weary to argue, she leaned back into her pillow. “Okay, honey.”
He suspected she would drift back to sleep before he pulled out of the driveway.
“How you doing this morning?” Heather’s hyper voice said she’d already downed two cups of coffee. Callie could hear the whir of her car engine and the swishing of traffic in the background.
“It’s just so wrong that you’re this happy in the morning. Please don’t tell me you’re already on your way to work.” Callie settled onto the foot of her soft bed blanketed with billowy comforters. Chaos, her sandy-haired cocker spaniel puppy, trotted over to her and tried to get on the bed. With the mounds of blankets, it was too hard for him to jump up. Callie snatched her pooch and snuggled into his silky fur.
“Okay, I won’t tell you.”
Callie giggled when Chaos tried to lick her face. “Stop.”
“Are you listening to me or playing with that dog again?”
“Guilty on both counts.”
Heather sighed. “Tossed aside for a puppy.”
“You’re not as cute.”
“Can’t argue with you there.”
“So, why are you off and running this morning?” Callie asked.
“I’ve got an early hearing.”
“Well, I’m in no hurry to do my community service, but you’ll be happy to know I’m making an effort to get there on time.”
“That a girl.”
“They’d better save me some coffee, that’s all I’ve got to say.”
“Well, behave yourself. I don’t have time to represent you on any criminal charges just now.”
“Thanks for the heads-up. I’ll certainly keep that in mind before I go out and commit my next crime.” Tucking himself into a perfect circle, Chaos settled onto her lap.
Heather laughed. “So how do you like working with Brad Sharp?”
“Wow, I’m impressed that you remembered his name.”
“Oh, uh, well—”
“Hey, wasn’t that the judge’s last name? Sharp?”
“Uh, yes—yes, I think it was.” Heather was stuttering. Heather never stuttered.
“I smell a rat.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Is he related to Judge Sharp?”
“Well, it is entirely possible. They both have the same last name, after all.”
“Wouldn’t that be a conflict of interest or something?” This whole matter did not sit right with her. Something was going on.
“Just because he’s having you do community service on a project with his brother does not merit a conflict of interest.”
“Aha, so you admit it!” Callie was incensed.
“Well, yeah, I do. So Brad is his brother. What’s the big deal?”
“Just seems like they’re in cahoots about something. And actually it seems like you might be involved, Heather. Do you know Brad?”
“What? I can’t hear you, Callie. You’re breaking up,” Heather said.
“Did you have something to do with—”
“Listen, I�
�m at the office, and I can’t hear you anyway. Gotta go! Talk to you later.”
Callie had a sneaking suspicion that Heather could hear her just fine. She donned her boot-cut jeans and a royal-blue-and-white-striped T-shirt. Once her hair was dried to satisfaction, she put Chaos in his crate, then grabbed her straw bag with blue matching trim before heading out the door.
Something strange was going on, and Callie was determined to find out what it was—even if it meant talking to a man who probably wanted nothing to do with her.
Brad watched Callie give the board one final thump with the hammer, and then admire her handiwork. Just then, she glanced over at Brad, making him drop the box of nails he was holding, scattering them across the concrete floor.
They both fell on their knees and started gathering the runaway nails before someone tripped on them.
“Over here,” she said, laughing.
All around them, people crawled around the floor in search of the nails. In a rippling effect, one-by-one, people started laughing, until the entire crew was nearly hysterical.
Brad quickly stood, blew out a ragged breath and put his silent cell phone to his ear. Clomping his way through the rough terrain, he moved away from the job site. He needed a minute to think, to try and figure out what had gotten into him.
He kicked a clump of dirt out of the way. He was an idiot, and a clumsy one at that. Hammer stepped away, walked behind him and ended up on his other side.
Brad had tried to avoid her. He wanted nothing to do with her, thanks to his brother. Yet when he noticed how hard she was working, sunlight glistening in her golden hair, cheeks flushed, tongue peeking out of the side of her determined mouth with every measured swing, well, he tried to look away, but he couldn’t.
“Hey, are you all right?” The soft touch of Callie’s hand on his arm made him whip around as though she were an enemy to be reckoned with.
“I’m fine.” He glared at Hammer for not letting him know someone was approaching.
“Didn’t mean to startle you. I just wanted to apologize. I wasn’t, um, laughing at you. It was just a funny situation.”
A sliver of vulnerability shone in her eyes, pulling him in. The slight sprinkle of freckles across her nose gave her a childlike quality, though he knew from experience she had no trouble standing up for herself. Not that that was bad. She was the perfect blend of independence and softness. He liked that in a woman.
