The Price He Paid

by Jean Brashear

  He couldn’t say if he’d loved her when they were kids. He’d felt sorry for her, but then, lusting after her, acting on it, had robbed them both of the chance to grow into love. They’d hopped on the high-speed train to adulthood when neither was ready for it.

  They’d survived the train wreck, but just barely.

  He’d teed off on her unfairly the other day, accusing her of ruining his life. His attraction to her, his own decisions had done that.

  But here she was in his life again, and she wouldn’t get the hell out. Her courage was as magnetic as her beauty, and he could afford to respond to neither.

  She was too damn gutsy for her own good, and he couldn’t explain to her why he would have to keep shoving her away.

  The stakes were too high if he didn’t.

  Callie washed her breakfast dishes and couldn’t help looking out the window over the sink more times than she should have.

  David was on a ladder, reattaching the gutter to one corner of the house. From a sheer physical standpoint, he was an impressive specimen.

  From a personality standpoint…not so much.

  She heard a shout, and his head whipped around. When Jessie Lee skipped into view, his face was transformed by his smile, and Callie’s hands fell slack as she watched.

  He became another person with Jessie Lee, grinning and teasing as the girl danced around the ladder, gesturing wildly as if telling a story that amused both of them.

  Callie couldn’t have been more shocked. Or more seized by longing. This was the man her David could have grown up to be.

  Was she the difference, the reason he was so surly and distant? Was his resentment reserved solely for her?

  Not that she could blame him. The chain of events that led to his prison sentence wasn’t yet clear to her, but there seemed no question that her arrival in Oak Hollow that fateful summer had been the first link. If she hadn’t gone out of her way to strut herself in front of him—the town’s golden boy, an irresistible target for a girl who fancied herself bad to the bone—would he have granted her a second’s attention?

  She’d never understood exactly why he’d wanted to spend time with her back then, except for the obvious attraction a willing girl presented to a hot-blooded teenage boy. He’d kept his hands off her with amazing restraint, though, until they’d formed a bond made of long walks over these mountains and quiet conversations of a surprising depth. By the time they’d gone all the way, she’d fancied herself in love with him, even knowing that their romance was drawing to a close.

  If it had all ended there, how would they have remembered each other? Who would they be now?

  Callie watched David with Jessie Lee and couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was about him that drew her so.

  Deeply unsettled by him, whatever the reason, she finished the dishes without looking outside again. Then she headed for the phone to call Randy Capwell to make a case for her participation in David’s defense.

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Chambers,” Callie said to Jessie Lee’s grandmother a little while later.

  The older woman fingered her apron. “If it’s about the rent…”

  “It isn’t. We’re here to inspect the condition of the property. I want to have a full picture of what repairs need to be done.”

  Mrs. Chambers glanced past Callie to the silent man at her side. Callie might not have noticed the slight shake of his head had Jessie Lee not spilled the beans when they first met. Callie started to speak but glimpsed Jessie Lee’s pleading eyes.

  Callie frowned but went along. “Mr. Langley has agreed to help me survey the properties, since what I know about construction wouldn’t fill a teacup.” She smiled to put the older woman at ease. “My guess is that as Miss Margaret’s health declined, she might not have expended as much energy maintaining the properties. If you have concerns, please let me know.”

  “House is fine, just fine.”

  Even a unpracticed eye could see that the outside needed painting, so Callie persisted. “Are you certain there’s nothing?”

  Mrs. Chambers’ hand tightened on her apron. “I’m positive. No need to spend any money here.” Even Jessie Lee and David tensed.

  Then it hit her what the problem might be. Hadn’t she been a renter often enough herself to know that when landlords had to pay out money, the rent went up? “Might I speak with you in private, Mrs. Chambers?”

  The older woman didn’t answer immediately. Squaring her shoulders as if to ward off a threat, she stepped aside in the doorway. “Come in. Jessie Lee, you stay outside with David.”

  Callie felt the protest from the man in question, though not a word was spoken. She shrugged it off. She was the outsider and not to be trusted. If she were to cross that hurdle, she had to do it on her own. “Your home is lovely,” she said to soften the awkwardness. It was painfully neat and scrubbed within an inch of its life, the shabby furniture softened by a jelly glass full of flowers on the coffee table.

  “Would you like some coffee?”

  “No, thank you. I’ve already exceeded my limit.” Callie smiled and sat. “Please, Mrs. Chambers. I’m not here to cause you problems, I promise.” Observing the guarded expression, she went on. “First of all, let me tell you that I have no intention of raising the rent.” At the woman seemed to relax slightly, Callie heartened. “I’m new at this, Mrs. Chambers. I’m just feeling my way. I’ve never owned a home, nor did my mother. I can only imagine what it’s like for you to be raising a growing child, and it’s not my intention to make your life harder.” She paused to smile. “She’s a wonderful girl. You must be proud.”

  That broke the ice as nothing else might have. “She’s a good child, that one. A blessing to me.”

  Callie seized the opening. “As is David, I would imagine. The help he’s given you here.”

  The woman’s eyes darted toward the porch, and her mouth tightened. “Girl talks too much.”

  “She asked me to help him with his recent troubles, Mrs. Chambers, and she believes you’d want me to, as well. Why shouldn’t I know about the good he’s been doing?”

  A shrug. “It’s his choice. Don’t know what I’d do without him.”

  “Do others know?”

  “He says it’s nobody’s business.”

  “But if they did, people might not treat him so badly.”

  “You can’t let on that you know, Miss Hunter. Not unless he changes his mind.”

  Callie decided to go for broke. “Do you know what happened to David? The boy I knew…” When the older woman’s lips pursed, Callie veered from that path. Bringing up her past wasn’t likely to help. “Do you think he’s guilty of beating up Mr. Carson? Of starting the fight?”

  Rheumy eyes sharpened. “I most certainly do not.”

  “I don’t, either,” Callie said. “And I intend to help clear him.”

  “Good for you.” A nod of approval. “Boy needs someone to care.”

  “Will you help me?”

  “How would I do that?”

  “I’m not sure yet, but he certainly isn’t making it easy.”

  “Why do you want to get involved?” The older woman looked at her curiously.

  “Maybe I owe him.”

  Another nod. “Maybe you do.”

  Callie chose not to take offense as she had when David’s mother had first charged her with that debt. “All right. I won’t mention that I know he’s been helping you. Will you let us poke around? You’ve got enough on your plate, raising Jessie Lee, without living in an unsound structure.”

  “You really won’t raise the rent?”

  “Would Miss Margaret have?” Callie turned the question around on her.

  “Margaret wasn’t a softheaded fool, but she was fair. She tried to work with us as much as she could.”

  “That’s what I want to do, Mrs. Chambers. I want to be fair. Will you give me a chance?”

  The older woman studied her for a bit, then she smiled. “I do believe I will.”
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br />   “Good. Let me go get David and we’ll begin.”

  Chapter Ten

  By the time he returned home, David thought a jail cell might be preferable to another day spent in Callie’s company. Not that she wasn’t pleasant to be with; to his surprise, they’d actually worked together surprising well, even peacefully at times. Getting along was worse, though—she was so damned beautiful, so tempting. He was aware of her every second. In another life…

  But he was mired in this one. They’d covered only about one quarter of the homes on her list, and he’d wanted to shake her. Couldn’t she see that having him accompany her was like attending a tea party with a viper draped around her shoulders? None of those people, with the exception of Jessie Lee and her grandmother, wanted him within a mile of themselves or their families. That Callie insisted on acting as though he were simply her construction advisor and not the most reviled man in town was an advertisement for either her blindness or sheer pigheadedness.

  He suspected the latter. He couldn’t imagine why she was putting herself through this. She had a job and a life in Philadelphia. She hadn’t bothered with Miss Margaret since the day she’d left.

  Why, he asked himself for the thousandth time, was she getting so involved? He knew about the thirty-day provision of the will, but she seemed to be getting deeper into this than she needed simply to satisfy Miss Margaret’s condition.

  She was so different from the girl he’d known, and he couldn’t get a bead on her. She was stronger and more confident, yes, but there was something vulnerable, almost wounded, about her. He’d considered digging to find out, but they’d be better off with less between them, not more. She didn’t need to climb into this tar pit with him.

  He roamed the house that evening, edgy and itching for something he couldn’t define. He didn’t feel like reading, and television held no appeal. He thought, for a second, of his carving knife and almost went to the shed out back to search for wood.

  Callie kept bringing up that angel, the last piece he’d done. He glanced outside and thought there might be enough light left for him to go take a look at it. See what he thought, years later. He hadn’t visited the baby’s grave since he’d returned.

  He told his mother not to wait up, and though she appeared worried, she only nodded. He set out, needing to burn off energy he was surprised to possess after a long day’s exertions.

  At last he crossed the grass and stood, thumbs hooked in his jeans pockets, staring at a boy’s attempt to smooth out the tangle of his feelings. A part of him lay beneath this ground, and sometimes he felt as if he couldn’t draw a enough breath as he recalled that pale, still form. My son, he thought, barely able to wrap his mind around the notion. Did I love him? He couldn’t say. He’d been so young, so confused. Callie had been inconsolable, and he’d tried to bury his own emotions to reach out to her, but he’d never had the words, never been able to ease her grief.

  My son. His dad, the man David remembered as a smiling, laughing, all-powerful presence in his life, had spoken those words proudly. When he’d died, David’s mother had wept many a night in her bed. David had tried to be the man of the house, as much as a boy of eight could understand what that meant.

  He saw now that he’d been a child who’d grown up very fast. He’d known the love of a father, and he’d thought to provide the same to his own child, even though he’d had no idea if he could be any good at it.

  There was still, David discovered, a dark, empty place inside him where the father in him should have set roots.

  Was every parent stunted by the loss of a child? Did they all feel amputated? For him, there was also the shameful scrim of relief he’d felt that he could continue being a kid, that he could go to college—if not with the scholarship that had been promised—believing that a different world, a bright future awaited.

  But nothing had worked out that way. Callie’s mother took her back to South Carolina one day without giving him a chance to even say goodbye. He’d gotten lost inside his confusion and his grades had continued to plummet. He’d even gotten into some fights.

  Then his mother had married Ned Compton to give him a father figure, she’d said, but Compton’s version of fatherhood bore no resemblance to that of the man David had adored. On top of everything, Compton moved them into his fancy house and turned David’s mother into someone David did not know anymore.

  David had been lost, so lost. He’d found himself visiting a baby’s grave, a baby he hadn’t really wanted, and many a night had he tried to speak to that little lost soul. I’m sorry. I would have done right by you, I swear. Although maybe it was more accurate to say he would have tried.

  In an act of contrition, he’d sought to ease his sense of failure by carving this angel to watch over the child he’d been so ill-prepared to protect.

  David squatted before the angel now, his fingers itching to touch it, to trace the lines of it like a blind man. To see if the contact could smooth away the burred edges on his heart.

  “It’s beautiful, David.”

  Callie’s voice startled him to standing. “What are you doing here?” he said more harshly than he should have.

  She retreated a step, looked away from him and into the distance, sadness a heavy veil over her features. “I’m sorry. I’ll leave you to it.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I—” He swallowed hard. “It’s your right to be here.”

  She shifted and stumbled on the uneven ground. He grabbed her to steady her.

  At the contact, both of them went preternaturally still.

  It was an innocent touch, holding her upper arm, his palm absorbing the warmth of her skin. Yet the feel of her was like a door opening to a room with a crackling fireplace and the heady scent of welcome.

  He’d been cold for a long, long time.

  This was the time of night called the gloaming, when shadows were purple and details disappeared, but she was as real to him, as vivid as at high noon.

  Safely shielded inside the violet and umber cocoon, he could focus on her wide eyes, the pupils dark and huge, and hope she didn’t notice. He felt the stir of a sense of possibility, the slightest tendril of hope.

  “Callie…” His voice wasn’t even a whisper, but her nostrils flared. Her lips parted a little, and he leaned toward her until her face blurred and it would be so easy to forget, to cast out doubts, to lose himself…

  “David…” Her voice soft and husky, her breath sweet on his face. Her hand rose, touched his side.

  Brushed a bruise and plummeted him into the present.

  He released her and backed away.

  “Please don’t.” But she, too, closed in, her shoulders rounding. “Don’t go yet. I won’t…” Her voice trailed off, but he knew what she had been going to say. Won’t touch you again.

  He hungered for the contact, though, the humanity. For kindness, but anyone extending that would pay a price. However misguided her good intentions, he couldn’t let her fall into that trap. He should be looking for a way to send her running.

  Right now he was desperate to be alone, and it was almost completely dark. “It’s been a long day.” He managed to make his tone carefully neutral, didn’t meet her gaze. “Come on. I’ll walk you back.”

  After a brief hesitation, she fell into step beside him. They walked side by side, if separate in their thoughts, for nearly a mile, the moon their only light. When a rut in the road loomed, he took her elbow to guide her around it, letting go the second she was past.

  Not a word was exchanged between them, but the night hummed with all they weren’t saying. He was unequal to the task of sorting out his own emotions, much less those she might have.

  “I would have been a terrible mother,” she said suddenly.

  He heard the wobble in her voice and stirred himself to respond. “You’d have done fine.”

  A sad chuckle. “Your memory must be impaired. Don’t you remember how utterly screwed up I was? What on earth did I think I could
bring to a baby?”

  Love, he started to say, but everything he’d felt tonight was choking down his chest, squeezing his heart until a response was impossible.

  She didn’t speak again for a minute or two, then, “What happened after I left, David?”

  For an instant, he actually considered unburdening himself, but the instinct shouting Danger! was far too loud. He forcibly reminded himself that he did not know this Callie, could not afford to trust her no matter what yearning this night had stirred in him. He noted their position with relief. “Here’s your place. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “David—” But she didn’t finish, and he didn’t respond before he turned away.

  But he felt her eyes on him every step down the road, cursing himself. And fate.

  And Ned Compton.

  Callie watched David go, fighting the impulse to race after him, but she didn’t know if she wanted to invite him in or yell at him or simply hold him. Be held by him again.

  When last their bodies had come together, it had been the night they’d buried their child. That night, filled with heartache and pain beyond measure, wasn’t one she cared to relive. Especially here and now when she’d stood with him once more over the baby’s grave, had seen David reaching out toward the angel as if some sort of salvation waited.

  He touched me. Willingly. For a second it had almost been like before.

  No, nothing like before. They were different, both of them, but at last—at last—the gap had been bridged, if only for seconds.

  Some part of him wanted her. Maybe needed her. The yielding of his body, the longing that had arced between them…oh, how very sweet, how fraught with possibilities.

  Her body still echoed with need and yearning. She hadn’t been a nun while in Philly, but there had been no one special. No one who touched her where David had, deeper than the physical.

  If only she hadn’t touched him where he was almost certainly still bruised from the beating, likely reminding him of his present reality. That had to be why he’d turned away so abruptly.