by Day Leclaire
Her eyes misted over. "Oh, Julian, I'm so sorry."
He pulled her back into his arms and held her close. "Forget it. I'm here now and that's all that matters." He shook his head. "I can't believe she's gone. Tell me what happened."
She made a helpless gesture. "It was her heart. They took her straight to the hospital, but there wasn't anything they could do. You would have been proud of her. She made all these lists of things for me to take care of after... After..."
"God, Callie."
"She knew, Julian." Her voice wobbled. "She knew she was going to die. The doctor said he'd warned her a year ago that it was only a matter of time. And she never said a word. Never so much as hinted there was a problem."
"I'm sorry I wasn't there. I'd have come if I'd known," he said gruffly. Guilt ate at his expression. "Hell, I'd have visited every weekend if I'd know she wasn't well."
"I know you would have. And you did come a lot this past year. Nearly every month." She moved out of his arms and swiped at her damp cheeks. "When she had her heart attack, I texted you immediately. By the time I realized I'd been texting the wrong phone number and you hadn't received any of my messages, it was too late. She'd already gone."
His lips quirked upward, some of the tension fading from his face. "Ah, yes. Your text." He reached into his pocket and retrieved his cell phone. "You must mean this strange jumble of words that defies intelligent comprehension." He handed her his phone. "Since you texted it, perhaps you can explain it."
She scrolled to the message and read it aloud. "Where are you? AM gone. Will celebrate Fri. 3 p.m. Park. Black out." She shrugged in bewilderment. "What didn't you understand?"
"Pick a sentence," he said, amusement coloring his words. He took the phone from her and reread the text. "'Where are you?' seems plain enough, I suppose. And though I didn't want to believe it, I suspected the meaning behind 'AM gone.' Assuming my guess about Aunt Maudie was correct, 'Will celebrate Fri. 3 p.m. ' did strike me as a trifle callous—"
"That's a terrible thing to say," Callie said reproachfully.
"My thoughts exactly. I found nothing worth celebrating in Maudie's passing. Let's see now, where was I? Ah, yes. We're up to 'Park' and 'Black out.'" He slid his sunglasses back on. "I have to admit those two stumped me completely."
Julian was right about the text, she acknowledged with a twinge of discomfort. It did lose something in the translation. At the time she'd sent it, she'd thought it made perfect sense. But maybe she'd been a little too brief. Running late might have had something to do with that. Or perhaps their communication issue had something to do with the way he read it. He tilted his head to one side and lifted an eyebrow. Callie gave a guilty start, realizing he was waiting for an answer. Julian didn't wait well. He never had.
She sighed. "I guess it is a bit confusing, isn't it? You see 'Park' meant—"
"I believe I've since managed to figure that one out. Try 'Black out,'" he prompted.
She couldn't meet his eyes, a blush warming her cheeks. "Well you see 'Black out' meant, um..." Callie cleared her throat, her gaze dropping to the top button of his black suit. "'Black out' meant, don't wear black because Maudie wanted everyone to dress in bright colors."
"Right."
"Instead of mourning her death, Maudie wanted us to celebrate her life," Callie attempted to explain. "She requested we gather here and remember the happy times, rather than the sad. Which is why she didn't want anyone wearing—"
"Black," he finished for her. "I'm sure it makes perfect sense. To everyone but me, that is. So what's next on the agenda?" he asked, staring at the crowd of people busy with food and conversation. "What are we supposed to do?"
"We're supposed to stay for the picnic. Are you hungry? I have plenty for both of us if you'd care to share it with me." She sensed his hesitation and knew he planned to refuse. "It's expected of us, Julian. I realize I'm probably the last person you want to be with—"
His brows drew together. "Why would you think that?"
Callie twisted her hands. "I know you must still be angry at me about Gail, but—"
"Gail?" He considered her words and she could almost see his brain kicking into high gear. "You think I'm still angry about that? Whatever for?"
"Because Gail—" Callie broke off and shrugged uneasily.
"Ended up in the lake?"
"Yes." The word escaped in a whisper. Remorse flooded through her at the memory of Julian's perfectly groomed fiancée tumbling off the dock and into the cold green depths of the lake.
"Is that why you've spent the past year doing your best to avoid me?" he demanded in disbelief. "Because of what happened to Gail?"
She nodded. To her horror, she felt quick tears sting her eyes again. She looked down, blinking to help chase them away. "You were so angry," she said in a muffled voice. "Not that I blame you. If it hadn't been for me, you and Gail would be married by now."
Julian gave a choked laugh. "Heaven forbid." He touched her shoulder, his hand warm and comforting. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I didn't realize you were still worried about it. I never held that incident against you. As far as I'm concerned it's water under the bridge, so to speak. Or perhaps I should say, water under the dock."
She smiled uneasily. He didn't know the entire story or he wouldn't say that. Nor would he be so understanding, so kind. And yet, she owed him an explanation.
"Julian—"
He stopped her before she said anything further. "I didn't mean to come here and give you a hard time. Not today, of all days. I'd love to have a picnic with you. In fact, I'm starving."
She peered up at him uncertainly. "Really?"
"Really. Friends now?"
Her confession could wait for another day, she decided, not wanting to destroy the unexpected accord between them. "Friends," she agreed with a grin. She'd missed Julian over the past year. It felt too good having him back to risk losing him again over uncomfortable revelations. She slipped her hand in his. "Come on. If you're hungry, I've got just what you need."
She tugged him toward the shade of a broad sycamore. Beneath it she'd spread a blanket and picnic basket. Kneeling, she threw the basket open, revealing plastic containers, plates, and silverware, all protected against the heat with icepacks.
"You weren't kidding about there being enough for two." He unbuttoned his jacket and shrugged out of it, lowering himself gingerly to the blanket. "It's been ages since my last picnic."
"You've been busy."
"Too busy." He scanned the park, a faint smile easing the lines beside his mouth. "The difference between Chicago and Willow is amazing. I bet I could name every person here. Remember all the picnics we used to have when we were teenagers?"
"One or two of them seem to stick in my mind." She laughed. "Like the time we got caught in that thunderstorm. I thought Maudie would skin us alive."
"We were celebrating your sixteenth birthday," Julian recalled. "And Helene missed it. You were miserable and I thought a picnic would help cheer you up. Instead I brought the Wrath of Maudie down on our heads."
"She did seem a bit ticked off, didn't she?" Callie offered him a plate. "Like some cookies?"
"Thanks. How long is this..." He raised a questioning eyebrow, gesturing around him with a cookie. "This..."
"Celebration."
"Right. How long will this celebration go on? What time is it scheduled to end?"
Callie shrugged. "Whenever. Whenever people are tired and decide to leave." Noticing his frown, she added, "You're welcome to stay as long as you like, but I have to go home to Brutus before it gets too late." She delved into the picnic basket, unearthed a jar, and twisted off the lid. "Brutus wanted to come. In fact, he's not going to be very happy when we get home. But Maudie said absolutely not." She offered Julian the jar. "Pickled herring?"
He caught her wrist in an iron grip and moved her hand—and the jar—away from his nose. "Maudie said?"
"Well, yes. Before she... When she told me how to handle the celeb
ration and everything." Not wanting to dwell on such a painful memory, she continued, "But it wouldn't have been a problem bringing Brutus. At least, I'm pretty sure it wouldn't have. People aren't all that angry with him. Not anymore."
He studied her with amused suspicion. "I'm almost afraid to ask. What aren't people all that angry about anymore?"
She shifted uncomfortably, pulling out a plastic container of Poppers. "Like one?"
"What are they?"
"Jalapeño peppers stuffed with cream cheese, chili powder, anchovies, honey and wrapped in bacon."
"I'll pass."
"No?" she asked, surprised. "They're awfully good. Anyway, I think people have stopped being angry about the picnic last Founder's Day. Brutus acquired a taste for the German malt and got a little... Well, to be perfectly honest..." She hesitated, popping a hot pepper into her mouth.
Julian closed his eyes briefly. "By all means. Let's be honest."
She glanced around and dropped her voice, leaning a little closer to him. "He got flat-out soused," she confided. "You'd be amazed at the amount of damage one person can do on half a keg of beer."
"Especially when that person is a two-hundred-pound St. Bernard. The imagination boggles."
Her laughter bubbled up, free and easy. "You don't need much imagination at all. The local television station has every spectacular second on video. Don't get the wrong idea. The kids all adore Brutus. My kindergarten class loved it when I brought him in. It's the adults who feel somewhat unsettled whenever he's around."
"Imagine that."
"Oh, Julian, be serious. Now that Maudie's gone, you could get custody of him. He's going to be offended if you keep making cracks like that."
He became the stern stranger again, aloof and exacting. "Callie, Brutus is a dog. Just a dog, nothing more. Perhaps it amuses you to pretend otherwise, but I find it annoying, to say the least."
Callie pulled away, indignation darkening her eyes. "I'm not pretending, Julian," she protested. "Brutus really does understand what I tell him."
"I seem to remember you saying the same thing about your daffodils when I caught you talking to them."
She considered talking to plants a perfectly normal activity. He just didn't understand. She lifted her chin. "There's scientific evidence it helps them grow. You might also remember my flowers were larger than anyone else's in town. And I do know the difference between daffodils and dogs."
He chuckled. "I can't tell you how relieved I am to hear that." He gave her nose a tender flick to take some of the sting out of his teasing.
"You can be as skeptical as you like, Julian Lord," she informed him, refusing to be mollified. She folded her arms across her chest. "But it won't change the facts. Brutus does understand people, so don't say I didn't warn you."
"I wouldn't dare. Not after four years of hearing you sing the same song."
She eyed him in exasperation. "If we can't agree on simple issues like Brutus, how do you expect us to work out the major ones, like Willow's End?"
Julian raised his eyebrows. "How is Willow's End an issue?"
"Didn't I mention?" She selected another pepper and popped it in her mouth. Yum. "Either you get custody of Brutus and the house. Or I do."
"Ownership. The word is ownership, not custody. And how do you know who inherits Willow's End?"
She waved a Popper in the air. "Maudie told me. Sort of." She wrinkled her nose at him. "No offense, but I hope it's me. Willow's End won't do you much good in Chicago."
"True. Tell you what I'll do. I'm a reasonable man. If I inherit, I'll give you the mutt," he offered magnanimously. "As for Willow's End..." He thought about it for a minute. "You're right. I can't give the place the time and attention it deserves. If I inherit it, consider it yours for as long as you want it."
"Really?" Callie struggled for the words to thank him, overwhelmed by his benevolence. "I don't know what to say."
"Say yes," he suggested.
"Yes. Yes. Yes! Oh, Julian!" She launched herself into his arms, scattering Poppers across the blanket. "You are the kindest most generous man I know. Once we find Maudie's will, everything will be perfect."
Julian loosened the stranglehold she had on his neck. "Find Maudie's will?" he repeated in a tight voice. His brows lowered. "Find the will? What do you mean find it? It's missing?"
She studied his grim expression in bewilderment. "It's not exactly missing. It's—"
"What's this? Only an hour together and you two are already at each other's throats?" Valerie grinned from one to the other. "Sorry. Am I interrupting something?"
Chapter 2
Rule #4:
Planning is the key that unlocks all doors.
"Yes!"
"No!" Callie frowned at Julian, before greeting her friend. "Your timing is perfect, Valerie," she said warmly.
"Her timing is not perfect," he contradicted. "She did interrupt something. And I'd like to know what you mean by missing."
Valerie opened her eyes wide. "Oh, dear. Shall I leave?"
"Since you offered—"
"Don't be silly!" Callie gave him a none-too-gentle nudge. "He's just teasing. Aren't you?"
"No."
"I'm relieved to discover some things never change." Valerie's dark eyes gleamed with a wicked light. "And hello to you, too, Julian. Quite some suit you've got there. A bit black, isn't it?"
His mouth eased into a lazy smile. "How nice of you to notice." He eyed Danny. "I guess you decided to keep the little monster, after all. Couldn't even give him away, huh? That's rough."
"Cretin!" Valerie cradled her son protectively against her shoulder. "Just stay away from him. I wouldn't want anything to rub off." She made a point of turning her back on Julian and winked at Callie. "Do me a favor, will you? Watch Danny for a few minutes? I have a thousand and one things to get done and it's impossible with a baby attached to my hip."
"Sure." Callie reached up to take Danny, cuddling the drooling baby in her arms. He grabbed at her nose with a wet hand and she chuckled, tickling his tummy until he let go.
Julian raised an eyebrow. "That may not be the most disgusting thing I've ever seen, but it's darned close. Can't you control that son of yours, Val?"
"He's only a baby," she protested indignantly. "Callie doesn't mind. Do you?" She looked at her friend for confirmation, continuing before Callie had time to respond, "Is it all right if people stop by and pay their respects? They wanted to give you two some time alone, but you've had enough of that, haven't you? Oh, I almost forget to ask, Callie," she added, never once drawing breath. "Mrs. Samuel wanted to know if you're still willing to bake those cakes for the school fundraiser and the mayor needs another body on his Save the Belfry committee. I said yes to everybody for you. All right?"
Callie nodded, long accustomed to Valerie and her ways. "Yes, yes, and yes. Don't worry about a thing. I've got it covered." She put Danny on the blanket beside her, offering him a rice cake from the picnic basket.
"In that case, I'll see you later," Valerie promised. With a quick flick of her fingers, she hurried off.
Julian watched her go, a pensive expression on his face. "What's with all the favors? Are you doing penance or something?"
She gave him a questioning look. "What do you mean?"
"All these projects. Valerie dumps her kid on you, and then has you sitting on a committee only Mayor Fishbecker could dream up. On top of all that, she's got you baking fundraiser cakes. If you ask me, it's damned presumptuous, especially considering recent circumstances."
"But I didn't ask you," she pointed out. "And presumptuous? Valerie doesn't know the meaning of the word."
"Get her to look it up sometime. Her picture will be right there, plastered alongside the definition with a 'wanted for crimes of mass presumption' stamped across her mug."
Callie fought back a smile. "You can't believe how supportive she's been the past few days." Apparently, her claim cut no ice with him. "Besides," she added, determined to make him un
derstand, "I like helping worthy causes."
"Save the Belfry is a worthy cause?"
"Yes, it is," she said with more assurance than knowledge. "As for Danny. I've been babysitting him since he was two weeks old and will probably continue to babysit him until he gets married."
"Well, before you marry him off, would you mind taking that bug out of his mouth?"
She looked at the grinning baby and scooped him back into her arms, peering into his mouth. Any bug that might have found its way in there was long gone now. "He probably mistook it for a raisin," she said after a moment. "Please, don't say anything to disillusion him."
He raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, a raisin with legs. I've got news for you. That isn't what junior just ate. And don't tell me protein is protein."
Callie laughed. "You took the words right out of my mouth." She flicked an ant away from the picnic basket, ignoring Danny's shriek of protest at the loss of a potentially tasty morsel.
"Later, pet. You'll upset your Uncle Julian if you keep this up." She deliberately changed the subject. "By the way, Josiah Hankum said to get the apple story from you."
For a minute she didn't think it would work. Then he nodded, switching gears. "So I heard."
"Well? Will you tell me about it?"
He rubbed a hand over his hard flat middle. "Only if you feed me. I'm starving. And not pickled herring, Poppers, or ants."
With an effort, Callie tore her gaze away from the hypnotic play of his long slender fingers. She reached into the picnic basket for another container, unwilling to acknowledge the strange frisson of awareness that caused her to fumble when she attempted to open the can. Good grief. She'd understood the feeling at sixteen, could totally justify the excess of hormones, especially considering neither of them had ever considered the other a true sibling. But eight years later, those hormones should have settled down.
Unfortunately, they hadn't.
"Here," she offered generously, holding out the tin. "Have a sardine. Now will you tell me the apple story?"
Julian examined the oily tidbit with distaste, swatting at a fly that found the sardine far more appetizing than he did. "You have a thing for fish, don't you?" he asked.
