She probably would know. He dragged his mind away from hay bales and castration to consider what he should say. If anything... No, it had to be something. Shelby wasn’t just going to let him walk away from this.
“Buck’s anemic,” he told her. Not his best effort at responding, but sadly, it wasn’t his worst, either. And it was true.
She blinked. Opened her mouth, then closed it. Before the breath of relief swooshed out of her. Sugar, cinnamon breath, and there was so much of it that it must have made her a little light-headed because she sagged against him. Callen caught her in his arms because it seemed as if she might slide right to the ground.
“Anemic,” she repeated. The relief was in her voice, too. She repeated it a couple more times, paused again, and then she looked up at him. “You’re not lying to me, are you?”
“No.” He managed a straight face, too. “Buck really is anemic.”
She kept looking at him, processing that and probably trying to decide if it was true. “If it’s just anemia, then why did he want you back here?”
Okay, this would take some even-deeper semi-lying. He’d been right when he thought swearing himself to secrecy would come back to bite him in the ass. It would have been a much more pleasant experience if Shelby had been the one doing the ass biting.
Something that he wished hadn’t popped into his head.
Callen steeled himself up, looked her straight in the eyes. “The anemia is causing Buck to get tired. His doctor said so,” he added. Well, at least that much was true. Of course, he was withholding the biggest truth of all. A tumor. Possible cancer.
She kept staring at him as if trying to climb into his head. “Really?”
He nodded. “Buck wanted me here to help out with things,” Callen went on. Good. So far, the things coming out of his mouth had been the truth. That might quell Shelby’s BS meter. “He’s worried, what with the fatigue, that he’s not able to keep fostering Mateo and Lucy, and he wanted me to help find a good placement for them.”
Now her staring went up a whole bunch of notches. “I could have helped with that.”
Callen nodded again and carefully considered how to put this. “He’s worried you already have a lot on your plate.” And he left it at that.
“Gavin,” she snarled. “He thinks it’s because of Gavin.” She kicked another rock. Stopped. Paused. Stared some more. “Did you actually agree to help Dad? Here?”
The addition of here didn’t help the tornado that was going on in his head since it was a reminder that here was the place he didn’t want to be, doing things he especially didn’t want to be doing.
But Callen nodded.
Best not to try words right now since they might come out like a croak with his throat clamped shut like it was.
“You’re staying,” she said on a rise of breath.
Another nod. “For a short while.” And, yes, he croaked a little.
If she noticed the break in his voice or that he’d just told her a smidgen of the truth, Shelby didn’t show it. She smiled, and before he could suss out exactly what the smile meant, she came up on her toes and kissed him.
His brain turned to mush. Hot mush. And he sank right into that cinnamon-flavored kiss. Sank, and just kept on going until... Yeah, he made it French.
Oh man. It was good. The kind of good that could get him in trouble very, very fast. He didn’t remember that he was standing out in the open with their mouths fused together and their tongues playing around. Hell, he didn’t remember his own name.
But Shelby obviously did because she said it on that same silky rise of breath. “Callen.” Her mouth was still against his.
The next part wasn’t so breathy or silky, though, when she eased back. “We have an audience.”
Once he got his eyes uncrossed he glanced around and confirmed that Shelby was right. Rosy was watching them from the kitchen window. Rayna from upstairs. Mateo from the corral. Heck, even the mare was watching.
“Welcome home,” Shelby whispered, and she smiled again as she strolled away.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE KISS HAD stayed with her. In one of those itchy, “I want more” kind of ways that she hadn’t been able to act on for the past three days.
But the itch scratcher wasn’t there.
Shortly after the well-witnessed kiss, Callen had headed back to Dallas to clear up some business stuff and gather some things for the next wave of his homecoming. A homecoming to help her father.
Or so Callen and her dad had said.
She’d leave it at that for now. Or at least until Callen had settled into the Lightning Bug Inn, where he not only intended to sleep—something about a lumpy bed at the ranch—but where he was also setting up a temporary office that, according to the gossip, he’d be using until the wedding.
Well, actually not gossip. Shelby had called Havana in Dallas and had got the scoop from her. Havana had confirmed that Callen was indeed committed to helping Buck even though it meant returning to a town he’d vowed never to step foot in again. Foot stepping aside, he was back, or at least on his way back, and Havana had added something about hell freezing over at the prospect of her boss voluntarily spending time in Coldwater.
Shelby hadn’t told Havana that the voluntarily should have an asterisk next to it since she figured her father had applied his own version of arm-twisting to get Callen to do something that others could have done.
Her, included.
That meant Buck was dealing with much more than anemia and he wanted Callen around to help him pick up the pieces when the truth came out. Or Buck was possibly matchmaking. The second option sounded a lot more fun and might get her itch scratched, but the first option loomed over her like a cloud filled with broken glass, ready to rain down on her and everyone else who loved Buck.
That brought on a heavy sigh and would have even spurred a tear or two if she hadn’t been on Main Street, where plenty of folks could see her. Any visible tears now wouldn’t be connected gossipwise to Buck but rather to her breakup with Gavin.
Callen could help with that, too. That was why she’d driven to the Lightning Bug to see if he’d made it back yet. Just being with him, even in a superficial kind of way, would turn the gossips in a different direction. She’d no longer be Buck’s bless-her-heart, poor thing! daughter, who’d got dumped by Gavin. She’d be the bless-her-heart, poor thing! woman who was nailing Callen in what folks would see as a rebound affair.
Baby steps. Rebound affair vs. poor pitiful Shelby. It wasn’t even a close decision. Especially not after that kiss. And especially since it wouldn’t actually be a rebound. Still, she wouldn’t stand a chance convincing anyone of that.
She drove to the teeny parking lot of the inn only to find it full. The rental Jeep Callen had used on his last visit wasn’t there, but there were some unfamiliar vehicles. A candy-apple-red Mustang, a gleaming silver luxury SUV that had almost certainly come with some serious sticker shock and an old dark blue Ford truck. Like the SUV, the truck gleamed a little, probably because of a good wax and paint job, but it looked...
She froze.
Considered.
It looked like the truck Callen had driven away in fourteen years ago.
No. It couldn’t be. He wouldn’t have hung on to something like that. Would he?
With that question in her head and now joining the itch in her body, Shelby took a spot just up the block and got out of her truck. She frowned at the sleet that pinged down on her as she dragged on her gloves. With the yucky, cold weather, she obviously wouldn’t be able to say she was out for a stroll and popped in to see how things were going. Callen, if he was there, wouldn’t have believed that anyway.
She had nearly made it to the inn when a man popped out from the alley. He moved so fast that at first, he was a blur. Then he wasn’t as he stopped in front of her. It was Gopher Tate, a
nd he threw open his heavily lined raincoat to flash her.
He had a blue bow tied around his wrinkly junk that was covered by a pair of whities that weren’t so tight. They were at least three sizes too big, and the elastic in the waist was shot.
“Really?” she griped. She would have thrown up her hands if she still hadn’t been putting on the gloves. “Flashed and mooned in less than a week. Sheez, am I lucky or what?”
“Lucky?” Gopher said, sounding both hopeful and uncertain.
Shelby gave him a glare that was colder than the sleet pelting his thinly covered privates. “Close your coat, Gopher, before you have to explain to the ER folks why you got frostbite on your wanger.”
She walked off, figuring Gopher would put a speedy end to his flashing since she could see the cruiser coming toward them. Kace. He gave her a nod in greeting before aiming what she could only believe was a huffing scowl at Gopher. Shelby didn’t wait around to see the arrest. She hurried the rest of the way up the block to the inn and ducked inside.
There was some chaos going on in what was usually a quaint, quiet place with its antiques, flowers galore and the undercurrent of lemon furniture polish. There were two men, strangers, who, according to their shirts, were from Shetland Deliveries, and they were talking with Ozara Proctor, the silver-haired clerk who was seated at one of the inn’s prize antiques. A Victorian desk that Shelby had always thought looked too fragile and puny to have survived all these years, but then she could say the same thing about Gopher’s junk.
Some things were just a puzzle never meant to be solved.
And speaking of puzzles, she spotted one. Callen. He was in the small café tucked just behind the reception desk. He appeared to be having coffee, smiles and conversation with a redhead whose breasts strained against a sweater that was nearly the same color as the Mustang in the parking lot. Maybe her car, but Shelby was betting she’d come in the overly priced SUV.
She found herself frowning again. Heck. She hadn’t asked Callen if he was involved with anyone. She’d brought up the marriage/engaged question in Dallas but not the are you nailing anyone on a regular basis one. So maybe she wouldn’t get that itch scratched after all.
With that dismal thought ruining her already-sour mood, Shelby turned to leave and nearly ran into Havana, who was coming down the stairs on the other side of the tiny foyer.
“This man with a very saggy weenie flashed me this morning,” Havana greeted her. She hugged Shelby as if they were the old friends that Shelby had imagined they might become.
“Gopher. He flashed me, too, but don’t worry—the sheriff arrested him.”
“I hope he tacks on being stupid to the charges. Anyone who flashes in this weather is about as sharp as a bowling ball.”
She nodded. That described Gopher, all right.
Shelby tipped her head to the delivery guys. “Callen’s?”
“Yep. He brought in some furniture to use as a makeshift office. That’s to complete the makeshift life he’s creating here. I gotta hand it to you. I didn’t think you could talk him into coming back.”
“I didn’t. That was my father’s doing.” Shelby studied Havana to see if she knew something about that, but her face was blank. At least it was until she looked in the dining room.
“I see Miss Thunder-Tits found her way here.”
Shelby arched an eyebrow. “I’m guessing that’s not her real name?”
“No, it’s Charmaine Wokingham. Old money and now in charge of her daddy’s big ol’ ranch.” She slipped right into an exaggerated Texas drawl. “And, of course, she’ll only do business with Callen. They’re not lovers,” she added as if taking a peek into Shelby’s green-eyed thoughts. “But she’d sure like to be.”
Shelby didn’t doubt that. Not the way Charmaine was leaning in with those thunder-tits. “He must know that she’s throwing herself at him.”
Something that Shelby knew a little about since she had planned to do the same thing to Callen. She just wouldn’t be leading the charge with massive breasts.
“Oh, he knows, all right,” Havana assured her, “but Callen never mixes business with pleasure. If Charmaine ever figures that out, she’ll quit buying cattle from him, and then try to jump him. Even then, he’d turn her down.” She paused, gave Shelby a sideways glance. “How’d that French-kiss suggestion work out for you?”
Shelby smiled, suddenly feeling in a much-better mood now that she knew the redhead wasn’t her competition. “It worked out well, as a matter of fact. Thanks.”
Havana gave her an elbow nudge. “Now, to get to the part when he moans out your name during sex.”
Shelby turned, looked at her. “Are you, uh, always inappropriately interested in Callen’s personal life like this?”
“Always,” Havana said in a whisper just as Callen and Charmaine stood to walk out into reception.
Callen spotted her, of course. She would have been impossible to miss in the eight-by-eight-foot space. And Charmaine noticed her, too, and she slid chilly blue eyes from the top of Shelby’s sleet-frizzed hair to her suspiciously stained boots. Shelby had considered gussying herself up a bit, but she hadn’t wanted to be too obvious.
As opposed to being a little bit obvious, which she’d done just by coming here.
“Shelby,” Callen greeted her. He glanced at the deliverymen, then Havana. “Is everything set up?”
“Just about. I’ll give them a push so they’ll hurry. Apparently, there’s some concern about where to store the things they removed from the room so they could get your desk in there.” Havana stepped away, giving Shelby a thumbs-up as soon as she was behind her boss.
“Shelby, this is Charmaine Wokingham,” Callen said. “Charmaine, this is Shelby McCall.”
Shelby had never thought her name sounded, well, plain, until it was said in the same breath as the redhead’s.
“Callen and I are old...friends,” Charmaine purred, offering her hand for Shelby to shake. Shelby hadn’t missed the perfectly timed pause before friends, which, of course, was meant to make her believe they were much more than that. “And Callen and you are...?”
She wanted to say that Callen and she had once lived together. Not a lie. They had lived under the same roof. But Shelby doubted that Callen would want his childhood secrets smeared around all for the sake of her winning a one-upmanship competition.
“We’re friends,” Shelby said, but the compromise of holding back on the snark had her feeling even more snarky.
Apparently, it had the same effect on Charmaine’s jealous eye because her snooty expression jumped a couple of rungs higher on the ladder. “Well,” Charmaine said, managing to give Shelby a condescending, dismissive glance as well before she turned to Callen and brushed a kiss on his cheek.
The woman let her mouth linger there a moment, maybe to make sure Shelby had caught it, or perhaps she was hoping Callen would shift a little so she could turn it into a real kiss. Callen didn’t fall for it, though, which was perhaps why Charmaine’s next glimpse at Shelby went all the way to the top on the mean-expression ladder.
“I can lift a hay bale by myself,” Shelby blurted out as the woman glided away.
“I’ve never known anyone so proud of an accomplishment like that,” Callen said as he moved to Shelby’s side to watch Charmaine leave.
“Well, you take the accolades where you can get them,” Shelby mumbled, and was pleased when it caused him to smile. One day she’d tell him that his smile was foreplay. Maybe she could tell him when and if he ever moaned out her name.
“So, you’re setting up a temporary office here?” she asked to shift the conversation—though she couldn’t think of a good segue to kissing and such.
He nodded, checked his watch. “Some of my clients are willing to come here. I’ll have to go to others, but I’ll try to stick to business as usual while I help Buck.”
At the mention of her father, she eyed him until he looked directly at her. Then she eyed a few more seconds. “Just checking to make sure you told me the truth about my dad and anemia.”
“I did. Did you ask him about it?” Callen countered.
“Many times. He’s taking iron supplements and probably some other meds that he’s hiding from me. He knows with my mad Google skills that I’d look up any meds to see what they’re for.”
Callen made a sound of agreement, tipped his head to the stairs. “Come with me. I need to check out the office space, and you can continue to try to use your brain-piercing radar to see if I’m lying to you.”
He smiled.
Well, shoot. That was playing dirty. Hard to use brain radar when your own brain had gone to mush.
“Did you come to talk about that kiss?” he asked as they went up the stairs.
“No. Possibly,” she amended. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No. Actually, I want to do more of it, but it’s not a good time. I have another client coming any minute now. Best not to do business with the taste of you clouding my senses.”
And there it was. The melting puddle. Her, not him. He looked so cool, not capable of self-melting, only being the cause of it for others. It bothered her more than a little that he could do that to her. It bothered her, too, that she wanted him to do it.
He led her to the room at the top of the stairs, where all the bedroom furniture had indeed been moved out, and in its place was a sturdy desk already loaded down with a laptop, in and out baskets, and file folders.
Shelby slid her hand along the smooth wood of the desk before she went to the window. And the view of the parking lot. Definitely not the flash and glitz of the Dallas skyline. However, the SUV was gone, which meant she’d pegged it right—it did belong to Charmaine.
Lone Star Christmas Page 8
