“All right,” Callie said, glancing his way with a sly look. “We’ll see about that.”
Her expression was so comically skeptical that Finn couldn’t help laughing again, which set her off, and the two of them were still giggling like school kids when they found themselves back at the baseball field.
All kidding aside, it did strike him as a heck of a coincidence that Callie had just been climbing out of the car when he had made it to his truck to fetch the extra balls he’d left on the floorboard of the passenger seat, just in case. He'd forgotten to bring them along with him to the diamond, so of course, the guys had hit all the balls they’d brought out into the great beyond. Now, he had the bag of balls swinging loosely by his side, letting them hit him in the thigh as they walked. When they turned one last corner, revealing the little playing field and all its lights, Callie groaned again, louder this time.
“Good Lord, this was right around the corner?” she asked, her disbelief evident. “I’m really never going to live this down, am I?”
"We'll just have to see about that, won't we?" he said, smiling to himself. "For now, why don't you have a seat on those bleachers there? Our little collection of fans congregates on the far side."
Callie nodded meekly and headed toward the group of girlfriends and wives that routinely showed up to watch the Broncos’ baseball games. Finn walked several steps behind her, taking in the expressions of both the women and the other players, all of whom were hanging out around home plate. The looks on their faces ranged from surprise to curiosity to something more along the lines of “you devil, you,” and Finn suddenly felt strangely jumpy. He could only imagine how it must look. Went out alone, came back with a pretty young woman in tow, whose face was flushed with excitement and nerves. If he’d been one of the onlookers, he knew what he’d be thinking.
“What’s this now?” Finn asked loudly, grabbing the attention of Mel, who usually acted as the manager of the Broncos. “I go to get some more balls, and you guys lose the last one we have? I can’t leave you alone for a minute, can I?”
“Nah, probably not,” Mel agreed, looking at Callie over his shoulder, “but we’re not just being lazy at the moment. Ron got a call from his old lady. Seems their plumbing decided this would be the night to give out. He had to skedaddle, which means we don’t have enough men to play. We’re gonna call the game a tie, try and pick it up next time.”
"So what you're saying is you don't need these balls after all?" Finn asked, hefting the bag and grinning sheepishly, although he couldn't exactly say why.
“Nope, not unless you want to bring ‘em with you to the ol’ watering hole,” Brandon, another of their number said, then glanced at Callie, “but you can feel free to bring your new lady.”
“What?” Finn asked quickly, his voice a whole lot sharper than he’d meant it to be. “She’s not my lady. It’s not like that—she’s the new nanny. Nothing fishy going on here. We didn't even plan on meeting up. She went in search of some—”
“Nah,” Mel interrupted, guffawing in a way that made Finn want to deck him, “sorry, bud, I’m not buying it. I think you’re protesting too much, you know? Whatever that saying is.”
"Ha ha, very funny," Finn said lamely. "Believe me, I ain't that interesting. I've got enough on my plate, and you can take that to the bank."
“You should think about that one,” Brandon said, more serious now than a moment before. “She looks like a sweetheart. If I were to channel my wife, I’d say the two of you look good together. And God knows, if anybody deserves a little happiness, it’s you. All you’ve been through.”
"Appreciate your saying so, Brandon, but like I said, it's strictly professional. She was getting boxes for when she moves at the end of the summer, and the house she was looking to pick them up at was next to my truck. Just one of those funny things."
“Fine, fine,” Mel said with a shrug, “whatever you say. But if there’s a better man out there, I don’t know him.”
“All right, now,” Finn said uncomfortably, waving away the compliment.
The guys on the team got like this sometimes. They liked to remind him of all of the “good” things he did for his community. As far as Finn was concerned, he wasn’t doing anything but what a good person should. He fed the hungry when he had food to give, went driving the streets on cold nights with blankets to hand out to people who didn’t have a place indoors to rest their heads, that sort of thing.
He did it because, directly after Alexandra had died, he had gotten his first real glimpse of what it was like to be on the edge. She had left him behind, and he had stood on the precipice. He understood better than most how easy it could be to go from that kind of desolate to finding yourself with nothing left at all. By the grace of God alone, he had come out the other side— mostly—and he did what he could for those who never found their way out. He wasn't a fan of people bringing it up in conversation.
Brandon knew that all too well. He clapped a hand on Finn's back and shot him a mischievous grin. “Here’s what I say,” he said in an exaggerated whisper. “I say, seeing as your nanny missed out on the pleasure of watching one of our games, the least you can do is invite her to the Pub for some aftergame festivities. Make sure her entire night isn’t a bust.”
“Sure,” Finn mused, looking toward where Callie sat, laughing prettily with Brandon’s wife. “I guess I could do that. Let me go and ask her.”
He left the guys standing in their tight circle, gossiping enough to put any gaggle of middle schoolers to shame. Callie saw him coming, got up, and trotted toward the fence, her face questioning.
“What’s up?” she asked. “I thought I was going to get to see a real ball game here.”
"You were, but one of our players had to go. Husbandly duties and all that, so there's been a change of plans."
"Oh?" Callie asked, her head tilting to one side. Her tone was casual enough, but Finn thought there might be something else there, too, something like disappointment. Honestly, he didn't want to think about it too hard one way or the other. If he did, he might have to think about how he felt about the disappointment, and if he did that, he might have to turn right around and walk away.
"That's right. Me and the boys decided to skip the rest of the game and go straight to the celebrating part. We're headed to a little joint called the Pub. It's a hole in the wall, but the beer is cold, and the jukebox is good."
“Sounds like the perfect place for celebration,” she said with a small smile.
“It does the trick,” Finn agreed, “and I was thinking you might like to come along.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Callie started to say, hugging her arms around herself self-consciously and looking mighty unsure.
“Sure,” Finn said, holding up his hands to show he meant no harm, “no pressure. I do feel that it’s my duty to let you know, though, this bar’s chock full of empty boxes ripe for the taking. You know, if that sways your decision one way or the other.”
“Does it now?” she asked, suddenly gracing him with a smile so radiant it made Finn feel he’d had the wind knocked out of him. “Why didn’t you lead with that? That’s a game-changer, indeed.”
Nine
“Well, shoot. This isn’t quite what I was hoping for. Maybe it’s not bars that have all the empty boxes lying around, after all. Maybe it’s liquor stores. Shoot!”
Callie looked at Finn, standing at the mouth of the alleyway with his thumbs tucked into his belt and one serious frown on his face. Callie did her best to be respectful of his obvious distress, but it was too much. She slapped her hands over her mouth, feeling sure her eyes were as wide as saucers, and started to giggle.
"You think this is funny, huh?" Finn asked, though he was grinning again, too.
“I...I’m sorry,” she gasped, her stomach hurting from the laughter bubbling up inside. “No, definitely not. It’s just...you should see your face right now.”
“Well, we’ll see how funny you think it is when it
’s time for you to move and you’ve only got grocery bags to pack your things in,” Finn said, looking at the mess of wet, smelly boxes tossed aside and forgotten behind the bar. “Shoot, I’m sorry about this. Feel like I got you here under false pretenses. Want me to go and check out the Craigslist house? Take one for the team?”
“No,” Callie smiled, “definitely not. Now that I’m away from that place, I realize the error of my ways. I won’t go snooping around strange houses again. I’ve learned my lesson.”
“Well, if you’re sure,” Finn said, “but you’ve got to let me buy you a beer as an apology.”
“An apology?” Callie asked, startled. “What on earth for?”
"For dragging you on this wild goose chase," Finn said matter-of-factly, starting out of the alleyway again and motioning for her to follow.
She had to trot to keep up with his long, sure strides. Her heart was beating hard, and although she told herself it was because of the unexpected exercise, she knew that wasn't true. She was in good shape; no way five seconds of jogging was going to get her heart rate up. But the alternative was that the reason for the sudden increase in her heart rate was Finn, not something she was prepared to admit, even to herself.
"You didn't drag me anywhere!" she said when she caught up to him, allowing him to hold the door open for her and usher her to the bar. "I wasn’t doing anything. Well, except searching for free boxes. If it wasn't this, I would be back at the house, trying not to crash Stacy and Wendy's date."
“Aw, crap!” Finn groaned, smacking himself in the forehead. “I totally forgot to tell you about that! I’m not the best roommate, am I?”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Callie answered, flushing a little. For some reason, hearing him call her his roommate made her stomach do a funny little jig, and the inside of the bar felt a little too warm.
If Finn saw it, though, he didn't let on. He leaned across the bar, raising one finger to get the attention of the older man working there. “You know what, Callie?” he said while the bartender ambled in their direction. “I don’t know your drink. Tell me, what’s your poison?”
"I think I'll have whatever you're having," she answered, her flush deepening despite her determination to ignore it. She didn't believe she had ever ordered a beer at a bar before, the few times she had chosen to frequent one, but tonight it sounded like just the thing. Maybe it had to do with baseball, where beers were almost mandatory. Another part of it might be the memory of their shared beers at the picnic, as silly as it felt. That had been the best night she could remember having in a long time, and she couldn't help wanting to recreate something of it.
Fifteen minutes later, Callie found herself sitting knee to knee with Finn, laughing raucously at something he'd just said. She hardly even knew what the joke was, let alone got it, but she laughed all the same. She couldn't take her eyes off him, not when he was like this. It was as if a light had come on inside him, and he was the only one who didn't realize it. He was animated, easy in posture and voice, and every few seconds, somebody stopped to say hello. From the looks of it, he knew just about everyone in this bar, and every single one of them treated him like one of their best friends.
While he was talking, Callie allowed her gaze to travel around the bar. She would have been embarrassed to admit it, but she found the place utterly fascinating. She had so little experience with bars in general and practically zero experience with places like this one. This was a legitimate dive bar, through and through, down to the sawdust and cigarette butts on the floor. The people behind the bar were anything but polished, but they knew Finn, and Callie could tell from the way they talked to him that they loved him. She could tell they trusted him, so much in fact that they had no problem coming to him and asking for help with things normally reserved for employees.
"Man, I'm sorry to interrupt you," the grizzled old bartender said, tipping Callie a little wink that made her squirm on her stool, "but I was wondering if you could help me out with something back behind the bar."
"Course I can, Chuck," Finn said, jumping up from the stool without a moment's hesitation. "Just name it, and I'm there."
“It’s only my no-good son-in-law,” Chuck said with distaste. “He was supposed to show up and help me move the kegs from the back so’s the delivery guy can get ‘em on the truck.”
“And he decided not to show,” Finn said with a grin. From the look of it, this was part of an old, ongoing conversation.
Chuck nodded, the expression on his face now like he was smelling something truly foul. “Course he did. What else would I expect? Who even knows what he’s got himself into these days? I wish to God my Marcy had married a man like you. She could have just married you and left the rest of those good-for-nothings in the dust.”
“That might have been a little awkward, seeing as how she’s almost as old as my mother,” Finn said with a grin, “that, and I had a sweetheart of my own.”
"Yeah, yeah," Chuck grumbled, "details. Anyhow, want to give me a hand? There'll be a little something in it for you at the end if you don't mind helping me out right now."
“I’ll do it for free, Chuck—you should know that by now. Mind holding down the fort for a bit, Callie? Won’t take but a couple minutes.”
“No, of course not!” Callie said brightly. “I’m not going anywhere. I can’t promise that I won’t drink your beer, though, so don’t be surprised if you come back to an empty glass.”
"That's a chance I'm willing to take," Finn said with a grin. He hurried past her, but not before he took a moment to squeeze her shoulder affectionately. Callie was gripped by a full-body shudder when he did that, and she was glad he didn't stick around to see it. She had no idea why she kept reacting to him this way, but she didn't seem to be able to keep from doing it, and seeing him like this wasn't helping that particular matter at all.
She found everything about being around him in the hot, smoky bar fascinating. She had seen plenty of him over the past year, certainly enough to think she had basically known who he was. Now she was almost ashamed of herself for being so presumptuous. She should have known better. She knew only a fraction of him, a snapshot of how he acted at the school. As it turned out, Callie didn’t think that fraction was particularly representative of the man, and she was humbled at beginning to learn how much more there was to him.
The first part had come when she'd heard Stacy explain how terrible things had been when his wife had died, allowing her to have more sympathy than she'd had before. What she was getting now, though, was rounding him out as a whole man. She thought she was finally seeing what Finn must have been like in the old days, before the weight of worry and the world had settled on his shoulders. She was seeing his humor, his wit—seeing how handsome he looked when he smiled, which had been often since they had gotten to the Pub.
“Stop it,” she chastised herself, her face burning as if the people sitting on the stools next to her could hear her inner thoughts.
She took a big gulp of her beer and looked over her shoulder. She tried to concentrate on her beer and on the pleasurable novelty of finding herself out on the town, but she kept looking around restlessly, only to worry that people must be wondering what was wrong with her. Did they realize she was looking for Finn? She shook her head, firmly reminding herself that most of the time, people were paying far more attention to themselves than they were to others.
It wasn’t only his lightheartedness that had her so surprised, even a little shaken. It was the many relationships he seemed to have with the people around them crowding the bar. Callie had always seen Finn Henry as a good-looking but basically solitary guy. Every interaction she’d had with him during their parent-teacher conferences had found him pacing the room, clearly counting down the seconds until he would be able to get up and go. She had deduced—wrongly, it seemed—that he was like that with everyone.
Now, she saw that people couldn't seem to get enough of him. He’d finished moving the kegs after ten minutes, but he�
��d hardly gotten three steps from the back of the bar before somebody else asked him to come and help get his buddy into a cab. Next, one of the girls who sometimes picked up a shift or two asked for help jerry-rigging the jukebox. It was utterly captivating, watching the way people gravitated to him. Callie didn't realize Chuck was standing behind her until he cleared his throat loudly.
"You take care of that man right there," he said, his voice serious and his eyes locked on Finn helping somebody to get the pool table set up correctly. "That guy is the definition of a modern-day prince, if you asked me, and I ain't exactly one for poetry."
“Oh!” Callie exclaimed, so startled and embarrassed that she jostled her glass, spilling what little remained of her beer onto the bar. “Shoot, I’m sorry about that.”
“No need for apologies,” Chuck said, giving her a nod to show the sloppiness was forgiven. “The two of you have a whole pitcher headed your way presently. No need to worry yourself over the dregs.” At that moment, the waitress swooped in with a tray, plopping down two fresh glasses and a foaming pitcher. Chuck winked, poured a glassful, and pushed it over to Callie.
“Oh,” Callie stammered, “thank you, but I didn’t order that.”
“That’s right, young lady, you didn't. It’s on the house. It’s the least I can do for my boy Finn, there. And I’m happy for you to partake, just so long as you mind what I said. You take good care of Finn. He’s been through a heck of a lot these past few years. You treat that man right. Ain’t nobody deserves it more.”
"Please, I think you've misunderstood," Callie said desperately, horrified by the idea that Finn would choose this moment to return to his stool, overhear the conversation, and get the idea that she was claiming a position she had no right to call hers.
“Did I now?” Chuck asked, one eyebrow raised, as he picked up a cloth and began to polish a spot on the bar. “Mind telling me how so?”
"It's just that Finn and I aren't together. I mean, we came in together, but we're not a couple. He's my boss, actually, although it sounds weird to say it. I taught his daughter last school year. She's a brilliant little girl, and when I told him she could do with a whole lot more than a public school can give her, he needed help. Long story short, I'm leaving at the end of the summer, but I agreed to be his nanny for now, until he figures out something more long-term."
The Rancher’s Unexpected Nanny Page 7
