She fits in well with my family.
I loosen my tie and watch the small town pass by as we drive back to Sebastian’s lake house. A few cars are parked downtown, and a handful of people walk on the sidewalks, most likely making their way from pub to pub. Once upon a time, I would have joined them.
But the party life no longer appeals to me. The frivolity of being careless, reckless even, is firmly in my past—and has been for several years.
I’m still restless but in a different way. Ironically, that restlessness seems to subside when I’m in the company of a certain café owner, one Aspen Calhoun.
When we pull into the lake house’s driveway, Alice is standing by the path leading down to security headquarters, smiling with excitement.
“Hello, darling,” she says to David when we step out of the car. “I was excited to see you and thought I’d meet you here.”
“Did you have a nice evening?” David asks his wife before kissing her on the forehead.
“I did. I baked some treats for tomorrow’s breakfast.”
“Alice, I have a favor to ask,” I say, an idea taking shape in my mind. “Would you mind building me a picnic tomorrow? Dinner for two? Well, three if you count this guy.” I point to David, who just smirks.
“Of course, I will. I’ll have something wonderful ready by midday if that suits?”
“That would be perfect, thank you. Have a good night, you two.”
I turn to walk away, but David stops me.
“Callum, I have something for you.” He reaches into the car and comes back with a file folder. “Sir, you know I never try to interfere in any way when it comes to the women in your life…”
He swallows hard, and I narrow my eyes, listening.
“However, you need to read this file in its entirety. There are things about Aspen Calhoun that you should know before you pursue her any further. For your sake, and for hers.”
He passes me the folder.
“I’ll read it tonight,” I reply and then pause. “Is she in danger?”
“No, sir,” he assures me. “She’s safe.”
I nod and then walk down the path to the water. I can hear David and Alice walking behind me, but I pay them no mind as I reach the boathouse, key in the code to the door, and climb the stairs to my flat above.
The staff left the light on over the sink. I flip it off and walk in the dark to the bedroom, where I strip out of my suit and exchange it for a white T-shirt and a pair of athletic shorts, then I pad barefoot into the kitchen, fetch a Guinness from the fridge, and carry the folder to the sofa.
I flick on the lamp next to me and open the file. David has organized the information we have on Aspen chronologically by age. Her name then wasn’t Calhoun, but Hansen. I skim over school reports and medical records from Tennessee and stop when my eyes see the words foster care.
I lean forward, my elbows on my knees as I read through report after report of Aspen being moved between homes until she turned sixteen.
It seems she was emancipated at that tender age and taken out of the system.
What isn’t in these reports is emotion. I can’t interview anyone or ask questions. I can’t ask why a child of sixteen was sent off on her own to fend for herself the way an adult would. How did this happen? I regret that Aspen’s beginnings started this way, and I wonder what atrocities she endured at the hands of the adults who were supposed to protect her.
I feel the burn of anger simmering in my gut for the young girl who would become such an amazing woman.
I turn the page and blink several times, sure that what I see is wrong.
A death certificate for a Greg Calhoun. And another for Emma Calhoun. Emma was seven. They died five years ago. The cause of death is listed as: accidental.
I swallow the bile in my throat and look up from the paper, staring into the darkness.
Aspen was married. She had a child.
I read on in horror as newspaper articles describe in detail what happened to Aspen’s family. A tragic boating accident while camping. Search and rescue were called in, and the bodies weren’t discovered for two days.
I rub my hand over my face. Jesus, what a bloody mess.
The last piece of paper in the folder is the proof of purchase for Drips & Sips several years ago. It seems Aspen left Tennessee to start a brand-new life in Montana.
I close the file, set it aside, and reach for my stout. I would rather have heard about this from Aspen herself. Spending late nights in the dark listening to her sweet voice as she tells me about her past. Holding her, consoling her.
But I understand now why David was concerned and wanted me to read it for myself.
First and foremost, it’s a warning to tread lightly with Aspen. To be careful.
And to be aware that her past could muddy up any relationship I might choose to pursue with her, at least in the eyes of the press—and potentially my family.
I lean my head back and feel fatigue set in. Aspen’s past doesn’t put me off in the least. If anything, it only makes her stronger and more resilient in my eyes. I have no intention of backing away.
But I do have questions, and I hope to have them answered very soon.
Drips & Sips is busy when I walk through the door the next afternoon. I hoped to snatch Aspen away a little early, talk Gretchen into closing for her, but what I find instead is a full café, and Aspen working by herself.
“Hey there,” she says when she sees me approach the counter. I love that she doesn’t call me Your Highness. She’s casual with me. It’s a breath of fresh air and just one more thing I enjoy about her. “What can I get for you?”
“I was actually hoping I could steal you away,” I reply.
Aspen shakes her head. “Sorry, I can’t leave. Gretchen has the day off, and my other helper, Kelli, called out sick. I’ve been running around like crazy this afternoon.”
I immediately turn to David, who’s never more than six feet away. “I’m going to help her. The picnic is postponed.”
“You’re going to help her?” he asks.
“Indeed, I am. And you might, as well.” I turn back to Aspen. “What do you need us to do?”
“Excuse me?”
“We’re at your disposal. What do you need?”
She blows out a breath and checks the time. “Well, we close in thirty minutes. I still have a full dining room. As people leave, I need their tables sanitized, and—”
I walk behind the counter and retrieve the rag she keeps in the bucket, wring it out, and pass it to David.
“We can do that. What else?”
She stares at me like I’ve gone mad. And maybe I have.
“You don’t have to do this. I’m fine. It’s not the first time I’ve run this show by myself, and it won’t be the last.”
“But you don’t have to,” I reply and drag my knuckles down her cheek. “And I admit, I have ulterior motives. I’d like to spend some time with you today. So, just tell me how to help you.”
She sighs, and then with a chuckle and a shrug, says, “Okay. Thank you. First…”
Over the next half hour, David and I clear tables, wipe and sanitize, and stock supplies while Aspen cleans her coffee machine. When the last patron leaves, David locks the door and grins at us.
“I have to admit, this was different for us. And most likely against protocol. But it was fun.”
“Most people didn’t even give us a second glance,” I say as I watch Aspen.
“It helps that you dress casually and blend in,” Aspen says, glancing our way. “Now, if you were in suits, and if David was packing an AK-47, you’d get some looks.”
“I only pack the AK-47 on Tuesdays,” David says with a wink. “I’ll be right over here when you’re ready to go.”
He walks over to the far corner of the shop to look out the window and give Aspen and me some privacy.
One of the reasons I love having David on my detail is his discretion.
“I have a plan,” I
begin and watch as Aspen raises a brow. “I’d like to take you somewhere special for dinner.”
She glances down at her jeans and T-shirt, both a bit of a mess after working all day.
“I’m not dressed for that.”
“Actually, for what I have in mind, you’re absolutely perfect. Besides, you’re gorgeous in anything you wear.”
“You’re quite charming, aren’t you?” she asks.
“Not at all, I’m just being honest. Come with me to a special place for dinner.”
She chews her lip but then nods. “You’ve talked me into it.”
“Brilliant.”
“Okay, I admit,” she says as I lead her down a path toward the river. I can hear the water flowing just past the trees and bushes ahead. “I didn’t expect you to bring me up to Glacier National Park for dinner.”
“I wouldn’t think so,” I say with a wink. “Where is that blasted picnic table?”
“It’s right over here,” she says, pointing to the right.
“You’ve been here?”
“Of course.” Her eyes are full of mischief as she smiles at me. “I come up here about once a week when the weather allows, which is only about four months out of the year.”
I want to sigh in defeat, but I just nod and follow her to the picnic table Sebastian told me about. I set our basket on top and take a moment to breathe in the fresh air and look at the beautiful river flowing not ten feet from us.
“Do you have anything this beautiful in Europe?” Aspen asks as she takes a seat at the table and watches the water lazily rushing by.
“Well, yes,” I reply. “But it’s different. Montana is special; I’ll give you that.”
“It really is,” she says. “What kind of food did you bring? I’m starving.”
“Let’s have a look, shall we?”
“Do you mean you didn’t pack this yourself?” She feigns shock and then giggles. “So, I should give Alice a kiss of gratitude for our meal?”
I narrow my eyes and open the basket, finding a traditional American picnic inside: fried chicken, potato salad, and way more fruit than two people could possibly eat.
David is just a few yards away, also eating dinner. I’ve told him time and again to join us, especially in moments like these when there isn’t anyone else around, but he always insists that it’s against protocol.
He loves the word protocol.
“This is so good,” Aspen says as she takes a bite of her potato salad. “I really will kiss Alice for this.”
“I don’t love the idea of you kissing anyone, love.”
She snorts and takes another bite. “Thank you for this. I love being up here, and the season is growing shorter by the day. This time next month, we won’t be able to get this far into the park.”
“It’s interesting to me how quickly the weather turns here,” I reply.
“On a dime,” she agrees. “It’s something I had to get used to when I moved here from Tennessee. I lived near the mountains there, so it got chilly in the winter, but nothing like Montana.”
“When did you move from Tennessee?” I ask, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear it from her.
She glances at me with a look that says, really? “Don’t you have a file on me? I’m sure you know this.”
I shrug a shoulder. “I’d like to hear it from you.”
She looks back at the water.
“A few years ago,” she says. “I saw a documentary about the park a few years before that and wanted to see it. One day, I just decided…what the hell? I’ll move there.”
“And so you did.”
“And so, I did,” she confirms and takes a deep breath. “Emma would love this.”
She frowns as if she didn’t mean to say that out loud.
“Tell me about her.”
She purses her lips, thinking it over. “They went camping and—”
I stop her. “No, that story is for another time.” I lean in closer and take her hand. “I want to know about Emma, not the way she died.”
Aspen frowns and tilts her head. “No one’s ever asked me that before.”
“Shame on them,” is all I say as I wait for her to talk.
“She was so funny,” she says. “And she had one hell of a temper on her. Of course, she was a redhead like her mama, and we’re known for our fire.”
“So I’ve been told,” I say, my voice dry as sandpaper. I watch as Aspen laughs.
“She would get this look on her face and puff out her cheeks. Give you major side-eye, even when she was a toddler. When she was super annoyed, she’d give this little growl, which never failed to make me laugh. Of course, that only frustrated her more. She gave me a run for my money, that’s for sure. It’s a good thing I was so young when I had her, or I would never have been able to keep up with her. She was a whirlwind.”
She pauses and pops a piece of watermelon into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully.
“And Emma was no girlie-girl. She wanted to play in the dirt and explore. I couldn’t keep the child clean. And her father—” She stops and looks at me. “I’m sorry, you probably don’t want to hear about him.”
“He is an important part of your life, Aspen. So, yes. I want to hear about him. And anything else you’d like to share about your past.”
She swallows hard and glances down at our linked hands.
“I haven’t talked much about this in years.”
I wait. I’m a patient man.
“Greg and Emma were inseparable,” she says. “They loved to play and be outside. She would have lived outside if she could. But with the adventurous spirit came a softer side. She loved to snuggle with me. I used to read to her for hours. Not just at bedtime, but anytime. And she liked to bake cookies with me. Cowboy cookies were her favorite.”
“You sell those in the café,” I say.
“And I always will. It’s honestly a long, sad story, Callum. Longer than I can share in one late afternoon. But there are so many happy memories, too. I miss them both. I don’t know if Greg and I would have made it for the long haul. I hate to admit that out loud, especially since the poor man is dead. We married painfully young, and well, who knows what might have happened if they hadn’t gone camping that weekend? But he was a good man and a great father. He was my best friend and the one constant I had in my life from the time I was fourteen.”
She clears her throat, seemingly determined not to cry.
“Well, this conversation came out of nowhere,” she says with a little frown. “But to bring it full circle, Emma would love this spot. She loved picnics, and of course, being outside. She would have asked if we could fish in the river.”
I smile and imagine a little girl with Aspen’s red hair asking to throw a line into the water.
“Thank you for sharing a little of her with me.”
Aspen’s green eyes fly to mine. “You’re welcome.”
“I just have one more very important question about your past, Aspen, and then we’ll leave it be for the time being.”
Her green eyes look guarded as she waits for the question to come.
“Did you ever have swimming lessons?”
She blinks rapidly. “Of course.”
“Good.”
I pick her up, sling her over my shoulder, and walk right into the cold water, making Aspen squeal and thrash.
“Callum! Holy shit!”
I squat so she’s in the water, and then laugh as she comes up sputtering.
“You’re going to pay for that, Charming.”
I cock a brow at the nickname. “Oh? And how will I do that, love?”
She launches herself at me, sending me backwards into the water. We swim and splash, laugh and play.
And when we finally trudge our way out of the water and back to the table, I pull Aspen into my arms and kiss her. I don’t care that we’re both sopping wet and getting a chill from the river.
I need my lips on hers.
And by the way she holds on
to my arms as I deepen the kiss, I’d say it’s mutual.
When I pull back and smile down at her, her eyes are still closed, and she has a soft smile on her lips.
“Are you okay?” I whisper.
“Yeah,” she whispers back. “I’m just soaking it all in.”
“The sunshine?”
“The moment. I’m basking in the moment.”
Chapter 7
~Aspen~
“Kelli called out again,” Gretchen says with a roll of her eyes as she joins me behind the counter. “Seriously, why is it so hard to find good help these days?”
“If I could clone you four times over, I would,” I reply with a sigh. “Did she claim to be sick?”
“Yeah, it’s a headache this time,” she says. “She gives me a headache. I won’t leave you alone this afternoon. I’ll cover it.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“It’s no biggie. Just do me a solid and find someone who actually wants to work.”
“I’ll have a conversation with Kelli, but I have to be careful because there are labor laws.” I sigh and watch as a kid walks over to the coffee station where I have sweeteners and self-serve coffee set up, along with creamers and such. I watch in horror as he decides he should pour half and half all over the floor.”
“Daniel!” his mother yells, her eyes wide and cheeks pink with embarrassment. “What in the world? Ask Aspen for a rag to clean this up.”
“Sowwy,” Daniel says. He’s not sorry. But I grab a rag and walk around to where he’s standing.
“I’ve got this.”
“He should clean it up.”
“He’s three,” I remind Cindy with a shrug and a sympathetic smile. I remember what it’s like to have a toddler. “I’ve got it.”
I quickly wipe up the mess. When I turn back around, I see Gretchen looking at her phone with a corny smile on her face.
“Don’t tell me.”
“I met someone,” she says.
“I said, don’t tell me.”
Gretchen laughs as she tucks her phone back into her pocket. “His name is Miles Johnson. Do you know him?”
Taunting Callum: A Big Sky Royal Novel (The Big Sky Series Book 7) Page 7