by Renee Ryan
“Now that’s just false humility.” Mrs. Singletary all but stomped her foot in outrage. “You are anything but ordinary. I never want to hear you say such a thing again.”
Callie bristled.
Mrs. Singletary laid a gentle hand on Callie’s shoulder, her gaze holding her eyes with deep sincerity. “You are a beautiful child of God, never think otherwise.”
What a lovely thing to say. How she adored this woman. Mrs. Singletary had come into Callie’s life when she’d been at her lowest, when the three most important people in her life had left her without a backward glance.
She could have returned to her family’s ranch. But she couldn’t see herself there anymore.
She couldn’t see herself anywhere.
Where do I belong, Lord?
“Tell me, dear, why do you hide your true self from the world? What are you afraid of?”
If the widow knew what Callie had done, she would dismiss her on the spot. Mrs. Singletary may have a reputation for being unconventional in business matters. But she was an upright, faithful Christian woman who lived a blameless life. She would expect nothing less of her companion.
“I asked you a question.” The words were spoken as gently as if she was speaking to a hurting child.
She knew Mrs. Singletary meant well. The widow only wanted to help, but Callie hesitated still, fearful of relaxing her guard and thereby spilling the entire story.
Her foolishness was not something she wanted to revisit, ever. The gullible belief that she was the most important woman in a man’s eyes had nearly been her ruin. How foolish she’d been, falling for the famous actor’s ploy. But Simon had only wanted her as a temporary substitute, until he could marry the woman he truly loved.
“I dress this way because it is respectable.” Too late, an ugly voice in her head whispered. It is far too late to regain respectability now.
“What happened to you? What terrible trauma did you suffer that has made you afraid to embrace who you really are?”
“You...you wouldn’t understand.”
“You might be surprised.” The widow closed her hand over Callie’s. “I have my share of secrets and I’ve certainly made mistakes in my day. You’ll find no judgment from me, no condemnation. You can tell me anything.”
“I...I...wouldn’t know where to start.” That was certainly true. “It’s complicated.”
“Now I understand. The cause was a man.”
“Yes.” The cost of admitting that was so great tears welled in Callie’s eyes. She stiffened her spine, refusing to allow even one to fall.
“However he betrayed you—”
“I didn’t say he betrayed me.”
“You didn’t have to.”
As if sensing her distress, Lady Macbeth hopped on her lap. Callie hugged the animal close, burying her nose in the thick, silky fur.
In much the same way she would pet the cat, Mrs. Singletary ran a hand over Callie’s hair. “Whoever he was, he didn’t deserve you.”
Callie lifted her head, felt the burn of tears in her throat and dropped her face back to the cat’s neck.
“There is a man out there just for you,” the widow said. “He will love you and care for you. Even the most mundane details of your life will matter to him. He is out there, Callie, and I will find him for you. I promise.”
“No, Mrs. Singletary.” Callie’s voice hitched over the words. “Please, don’t try to match me with anyone. I—” Give her a reason. Any will do, even the truth. “I...I’m not ready.”
Crouching in front of her, the widow waited for her to look into her eyes. She studied Callie’s face longer than was comfortable, her eyes searching, boring in as if she could read the very secrets of her soul. “No, perhaps you aren’t ready,” she decided at last. “Not yet. But you will be soon.”
* * *
Reese went straight to his office after leaving Mrs. Singletary’s home and shut the door behind him. He needed privacy, craved it as badly as air.
He laid out the contracts on his mahogany desk and began reviewing the changes he’d scribbled along the margins. He lost himself in the process, managing to focus for several hours before his mind wandered back to his morning meeting across town.
What had he been thinking? Agreeing to allow Beatrix Singletary to help him find a suitable bride?
He blamed the weak moment on the melancholy he’d been unable to shake since his disastrous evening at the opera.
Now he was stuck.
If he cried off from their agreement at this point, Mrs. Singletary would only continue her quest without his assistance. He’d seen her do it before. Several times, in fact. She wouldn’t rest until she had him happily married off.
Reese wasn’t opposed to getting married again. But he’d already had his chance at happiness. It had slipped away like water through splayed fingers. A split second had been all it took. One unseen root in the ground and Miranda’s horse had gone down hard, landing on top of her after the initial tumble, crushing her delicate body.
Reese had spent the next three days at her bedside, holding her in his arms even as it tore at his heart to watch her life slip away one strangled breath at a time.
Shutting his eyes against the memory, Reese drew in a slow breath of air. He would never love again. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he didn’t know how to go at it half measure. He’d learned during his brief marriage to Miranda that he was a man who felt too much, gave too much, needed too much in return. Unspeakable pain accompanied such uninhibited emotion.
Thus, he would insist the widow keep to their agreement, and only suggest women who met his specific requirements.
With that in mind, he pulled out a fresh piece of paper and began constructing his list. He came up with seven items, the number of completion.
Fitting.
A familiar, rapid knock, knock, knock had him folding the list and setting it aside. “Enter.”
The door swung open and his father’s broad shoulders filled the gap. Other than the graying at the temples and the slightly leaner frame, it was like looking into a mirror and seeing himself twenty-five years from now.
As always, Reese Sr. got straight to the point. “I need to speak with you immediately.”
Unsure what he heard in the other man’s tone, Reese pushed away from his desk. “Of course.”
He started to rise.
His father stopped him with a hand in the air. “Don’t stand on my account.”
Reese settled back in his chair.
Face pinched, his father strode through the room, then flattened his palms on Reese’s desk and leaned forward. “I’m worried about you, son.”
“There’s no need to be.”
“You left the theater abruptly last night.” He searched Reese’s face. “I need to assure myself you are well.”
“I had contracts that required my final review.”
“That wasn’t the reason you left early.” Pushing back, the older man stood tall. “I haven’t seen that look on your face since...”
He hesitated, seeming to rethink what he’d been about to say.
“Since when?”
“Since Miranda’s accident.”
Reese’s stomach took a hard roll. They never spoke of Miranda, or the accident that had taken her away from him. Now, after last night at the opera, Reese couldn’t stop thinking of her, or how he’d sat at her bedside, willing her to stay alive, begging her to come back to him, praying for God to intervene.
She’d woken but briefly, said his name in a soft, wheezing whisper and then died in his arms.
She’d been eighteen years old. He the same age. They’d had only one month of happiness together. Thirty days.
Not enough.
And yet, far too mu
ch. He knew exactly what happiness looked like, felt like and, more important, how quickly it could be taken away.
“I don’t wish to speak of Miranda.”
“You can’t run from the past.”
He had every intention of trying. “Was there anything else you wanted to discuss with me? Something important?”
“This is important.”
Reese said nothing.
His father came to stand next to him. “You need to get married again. I think it will help you.”
Was the man in collusion with Beatrix Singletary? Impossible. Though they were polite with one another on most occasions, the two rarely saw eye-to-eye on most subjects. “I attempted to marry again, but—”
“You chose the wrong girl.”
Although he’d come to realize that himself, his father’s quick response gave Reese pause. “I believed you liked Fanny. You’ve been friends with her parents for years. If I remember correctly, which I do, you said you would welcome a match between myself and Cyrus Mitchell’s daughter.”
“I meant the other one. There is substance to Callie Mitchell, something far more interesting than most see when they first meet her. I thought you agreed.”
His heart gave a few thick beats in his chest. Oh, Reese agreed there was much lurking beneath Callie’s sensible exterior—a wild, perhaps even passionate streak that, if unleashed, could possibly lead to a life of recklessness.
He knew far too well how that ended.
A tap on the doorjamb heralded Reese’s law clerk. A thin young man with regular features and an eager smile, Julian Summers was detail-oriented and thus invaluable to the firm. “Mrs. Singletary’s companion is here to see you, Mr. Bennett.”
His father lifted an ironic eyebrow.
Ignoring this, Reese stood and circled around his desk. “Send her in, Julian.”
“Yes, sir.”
A handful of seconds after the clerk disappeared in the hallway, Callie appeared, head high, spine ramrod-stiff, chin at a perfect ninety-degree angle with the floor. At the sight of her, Reese went hot all over, the inexplicable sensation similar to a burst of anger.
She was the same woman she’d always been. Yet, not. The past few hours had produced a remarkable transformation. Her cheeks had gained color. Her eyes sparkled.
Her skin glowed.
Simply because she no longer wore that gray shapeless garment from this morning but a blue silk dress that complemented her lean, lithe figure and brought out the green in her eyes.
The effect was devastating. Disconcerting.
Any words of greeting vanished from his mind.
There was something unreal about Callie now, something vulnerable and highly appealing. The impact of her beauty nearly flattened him.
Confounded by his reaction to a simple change of clothes, he blinked at her. “Miss Mitchell, I...” His brain emptied of all thought. Why was she here, looking like a fairy-tale princess? “That is, I wasn’t expecting you.”
She shifted from one foot to the other, then snapped her shoulders back. Ah, there she was. The Callie Mitchell he knew. “Mrs. Singletary sent me to pick up a package you were to have ready for her this afternoon.”
He couldn’t think of what package she meant. He remained silent so long his father cleared his throat.
Still, Reese couldn’t make his mind work properly.
“Well, if it isn’t Callie Mitchell.” His father shoved around him. “How are you, my dear?”
“Mr. Bennett.” She hurried to him, reaching out her hands to clasp his in greeting. “What a wonderful surprise to see you here today.”
He smiled broadly. “You are utterly captivating.”
Her face brightened at the compliment. “What a sweet thing to say.”
“Only the truth, my dear. Only the truth.”
Until this moment, Reese had forgotten how well his father and Callie got along. Watching the two interact so easily, their heads bent at similar angles, he found himself stewing in an unpleasant rush of...
Jealousy?
Absurd. Reese couldn’t be jealous of his own father.
And yet, he had to take slow, measured breaths to prevent himself from walking over to the pair, shoving his father aside and insisting Callie pay attention to him. Only him. As if he was some sort of spoiled, selfish child with no manners or common sense.
He managed to avoid stooping quite that low. “Callie.” He barked out her name. “A word, please, in private.”
One stilted sentence and Reese had crossed several unimaginable lines.
His father’s responding grin spoke volumes. As did Callie’s reaction. Had she stiffened at the familiar use of her name? Or because of the inappropriate request itself?
Reese wasn’t sure he wanted to find out. But he made no attempt to retract his words. This conversation had been coming on for some time.
No turning back now.
Chapter Four
Years of practiced restraint kept Callie from gasping at Reese’s request. But...but...glory. He’d just asked to speak with her. Alone.
She couldn’t think why.
And that, Callie decided, was the primary source of her distress. Her shoulders wanted to bunch. Her knees threatened to give way beneath her. But she remained perfectly still.
Perfectly.
Still.
No easy task. Not with Reese looking at her with all that intensity. He was so focused on her she had a sudden, irrational urge to rush out of his office without a backward glance.
Callie had never been one to run from a difficult conversation. She would not start now.
Still, Reese’s command, spoken so abruptly, was out of character. Why would he wish to speak with her, alone?
Seeking a clue—any would do—she slid a covert glance over his face. His chin jerked, very faintly, a sure sign that he’d shocked even himself with his words.
“Well, then.” A corner of the elder Mr. Bennett’s mouth curled upward. “I believe that’s my cue to depart.”
Callie started. She’d forgotten Reese’s father still held her hands. Had he noticed the faint tremor in her fingers?
“There’s no need to leave so soon,” she said on an exhale. Even to her own ears, her voice sounded exceptionally calm, almost detached, with the emotional depth of a stone. Perfect. “I’m sure whatever your son has to say can be expressed in front of you.”
She hoped.
“Perhaps. But alas, I have another appointment calling me away.” With a fatherly smile, he gave her hands a quick squeeze before releasing her. “It was a pleasure running in to you, my dear. We must make this a more common occurrence.”
The kindness in his voice, as much as the sentiment itself, calmed her nerves considerably.
“Oh, yes, Mr. Bennett.” She managed to get both sides of her mouth to lift in a responding smile. “That would be lovely, indeed.”
She’d always felt comfortable around this man, as though he was a second father. Callie desperately wanted him to stay but couldn’t think of a reason why he should, other than to beg him to serve as a shield between her and his son.
Callie Mitchell was made of sterner stuff.
“Reese.” Mr. Bennett gave his son a short nod. “We will continue our discussion another time.”
A muscle knotted in Reese’s jaw as he returned his father’s nod with one of his own.
Another smile in Callie’s direction and the elder Mr. Bennett quit the room.
She remained precisely where she stood, twisting the handle of her reticule between her fingers. She hated this anxious, almost panicky sensation spreading through her. Unfortunately, it couldn’t be helped. Simply standing in the same room with Reese caused her anxiety.
She should not be here, alone
with him.
She wanted to be nowhere else.
Time slowed. The moment grew thick with tension, the silence between them so heavy that Callie could hear their individual breathing.
“I don’t think this is a wise idea, Mr. Bennett,” she said, mostly to herself, and meaning it with all her heart.
“Callie.” His lips flattened in a grim line. “At this juncture in our acquaintance, perhaps it’s time you called me Reese.”
She looked at him blankly, absently noting the way sunlight from the window emphasized the dark, rich brown of his eyes, the color of freshly brewed coffee. “Oh. But I—”
“I insist.” His tone was both gentle and firm.
A dangerous pang snatched at her heart and the rebellious part of her thought, Well, why not, we’ve known one another for years?
“If you insist.” She lifted her chin a fraction higher. “Then, yes, I should very much like to call you Reese.”
His name came from low in her throat, and sounded really quite wonderful, as if she’d been meant to say his name, just that way, all her life.
She sighed. “Was that all you wished to say to me?”
“No.” He rubbed a hand across his forehead. “Forgive me for not getting to the point sooner. I’ve spent the majority of the afternoon pouring over legal briefs and my mind is still half on the pages.”
His confession softened her guard and Callie found herself feeling a moment of deep affection for this man. “My brother is much the same way,” she said. “After a long day of pouring over contracts, Garrett is the worst conversationalist imaginable.”
Reese visibly relaxed at this. “Then you understand my abruptness earlier.”
“Indeed I do.”
A shadow of a smile played across his lips.
Callie responded in kind.
For that one moment, everything felt right between them, comfortable even, a solidarity that went beyond words.
But then...
Reese’s brow creased in thought. His brow often creased in thought, she realized, rather liking the result. The studious look made him appear half as stern as usual, twice as appealing. And so very, very handsome.