More to Give (An Anchor Island Novel)

by Terri Osburn

  Sam tensed for a new attack.

  Wings spread as if ready to take flight but relaxed when Callie stuck the cracker under the bird’s pointed beak. It didn’t take a genius to know a peck from that beak would hurt like hell.

  “Cecil, this is Mr. Sam. He’s given us this wonderful place to live.” Callie ran a hand along the parrot’s back as she spoke, keeping her eyes on the pet. “Say hello to Mr. Sam.”

  Cecil munched on his cracker, which he now held in one talon, and nodded his head up and down. “Hello, Mr. Sam.”

  “Hello, Mr. Sam,” echoed a far sexier, more feminine voice. “It’s so nice to see you again.” Evelyn Henderson extended a hand, palm down, as if expecting Sam to kiss it. He shook it instead.

  “Nice to see you, too,” he said, struggling not to step back as the older woman invaded his space. He strove to be polite without offering encouragement.

  Evelyn Henderson didn’t need encouragement. Sliding her hand around his elbow as if they were entering a ballroom some hundred years ago, Callie’s mother led Sam to the sofa, sat down, then pulled him down to sit beside her. She had a strong grip for a woman pushing retirement age.

  “Since I doubt she’s done it herself, I’d like to thank you for giving my daughter this opportunity. And myself even more reason to visit this quaint little island of yours.” She was leaning into him now, her linen-clad leg pressed firmly against his own.

  Sam looked to Callie for rescue and caught her rolling her eyes. “Mother, I haven’t needed you to speak for me in more than fifteen years, and I’m sure Sam would appreciate it if you’d give him a little space to breathe there.”

  Evelyn shot an unfriendly look in her daughter’s direction. “I’m showing the man proper gratitude for taking pity and giving my daughter a job. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  Callie closed her eyes, and Sam could almost see her counting to ten. Gripped with a strong urge to defend his new employee, Sam extricated himself from the older woman’s grip and returned to his feet.

  “I can assure you, Ms. Henderson, there was no pity involved. Callie is the most qualified person for this position, with a proven track record to recommend her. It is more her taking pity on me by accepting my offer instead of pursuing a more prominent position elsewhere.”

  A weighted silence settled over the room, broken seconds later by the less-than-tactful bird. “He told her. Need another cracker.”

  Callie carried Cecil to a large white cage in front of the wall of windows that led to the deck, then dropped in several crackers before closing him in. The color on her face was heightened when she turned back Sam’s way.

  “You have no idea what that means to me,” she said. “Could we step into the kitchen for a moment?”

  With that flush on her cheeks and look of hero worship in her eyes, Sam would have followed Callie anywhere she wanted to take him. Without a word, he stepped in line behind her, leaving the huffing mother and smiling cousin alone in the living room.

  As soon as Callie reached the retro stove he’d searched for a week online to find, she turned and let out a whoosh of air. With one hand on her hip, she lifted her ice-blue eyes to his and rewarded him with a smile that made Sam feel woozy.

  “I wasn’t kidding. Thank you for saying that. Especially to my mother. I doubt she believes you, but I couldn’t care less at the moment. Did you mean what you said?”

  There he was again, his latent white knight rearing his damn noble head. Valiant or not, Sam saw no reason to lie.

  “I did mean it. Granted, I’ve never visited any of the facilities you list on your résumé, but I did my homework. The before-and-after images I could find online were impressive, to say the least. And your references didn’t so much recommend you as rave about your talents.” The more he spoke, the more animated Callie’s features grew. He found himself enjoying putting that look of joy on her face.

  “You could find work anywhere you wanted,” he said. “You can’t tell me you doubt that.”

  Callie shook her head, but the smile never faltered. “I could assist anywhere I wanted, but I’ve interviewed at nearly every transitioning hotel east of the Mississippi, and no one is willing to let me take lead.” Her eyes beamed at him. “Except you.”

  Sam spoke without thinking. “Then they’re all idiots.”

  Her burst of laughter filled the galley kitchen. “That’s what Henri says. Only she threw a four-letter word in for added punch.”

  He couldn’t help but smile along with her. Callie being professional was sexy. Callie relaxed and happy threatened to short-circuit his brain—though he was feeling the effects much lower.

  For maybe the first time in his adult life, Sam didn’t know what to do next. He knew what he wanted to do, but that was a line he had no intention of crossing. Instead, he stared at the black-and-white floor tiles as their laughter faded into a comfortable silence.

  “I wanted . . . ,” he started.

  “I guess . . . ,” she said at the same time. “I’m sorry. What were you going to say?”

  Sam cleared his throat to extricate the frog that had taken up residence there. “I wanted to let you know why I stopped by. This project is important, and I do understand I’m asking a lot. I’ll be available whenever you need me. Day or night.”

  Why in the hell had he said that?

  “Anyway,” he added before Callie could reply, “I’d better be going.”

  “Sure.” Callie’s brows were drawn, and she looked both confused and a bit dazed. He was feeling both himself, which was all the more reason to cut and run. “You should probably go out the back door to avoid my mother,” she said.

  “Good idea. I’ll see you Friday morning to discuss the proposal for the inn. If you need anything before then, contact Yvonne and she’ll take care of it.”

  Callie nodded as he crossed the kitchen to the side door. He was stepping over the threshold when her words stopped him.

  “I know I keep saying it, but I really do appreciate this chance, Sam.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said, then felt the urge to clear something up. “I didn’t offer you this job because of our connection. I thought I was hiring a highly qualified stranger before you walked into my office. You got the job because of those qualifications and nothing more.”

  She rewarded him with a half smile before Sam closed the door between them. He considered stepping into the cold surf in search of his sanity but opted instead for a lukewarm shower and a glass of scotch at home.

  Christmas could not come soon enough.

  Callie wasn’t sure how long she remained there in the kitchen, leaning on the counter edge, staring at the checkered floor. What exactly had just happened? One minute she’d been thanking Sam for seeing her true value and giving her the opportunity she needed to create the future she longed for. The next they’d been laughing together and the whole world had fallen away.

  She’d never considered how intimate shared laughter could be, but something had changed. Sam wasn’t the buttoned-up hotelier. She wasn’t his eager-to-prove-herself employee.

  They’d been . . . friends. Friends with a spark of something they’d spent one night six years ago exploring. Callie had wondered a few times if they would have gone further had Sam not disappeared, but she’d convinced herself his leaving had saved them both from an awkward morning-after exchange.

  Or maybe only delayed it. Though they were both dancing around the topic, the awkwardness was there every time they were together. If their professional relationship was going to work, they were going to have to drag the elephant out of the shadows and do something with it.

  But what did one do with a six-year-old invisible elephant carrying the weight of two broken hearts and a lifetime supply of insecurity? Even though that insecurity was all her own.

  “You okay in here?” Henri asked, ducking into t
he kitchen. “Aunt Evelyn is over her fit and suggested we go out to dinner. I assume she was including the man you came in here with. Where did he go?”

  Callie nodded toward the door where Sam had exited. “He left. He came to give me a message about the hotel renovation.”

  “Is that why you look like you’ve been run over by a bulldozer?” Henri wasn’t the type to avoid the obvious. She was more a face-things-head-on kind of person. “I can see why you fell into bed with him all those years ago.”

  And Henri had a good memory.

  “We fell into bed with each other. It was a rough time for both of us.”

  “After what your shitty spouses did, you both deserved a night of consolation.”

  Callie snorted. “Consolation sex. My therapist used to get pissed when I called it that. She deemed it an ‘understanding through intimacy.’ Didn’t make much sense to me, since I didn’t understand anything about what happened back then, least of all between Sam and me.”

  “How do you feel about him now?” Henri asked, leaning her hip on the edge of the counter. “Are you mad at him for leaving?”

  “My anger was always reserved for Josh, though a good dose of it was toward myself.” Callie turned to swipe a mug from the cupboard behind her. “I ignored what was right in front of me, believing that if I tried hard enough, I could make Josh happy.”

  Henri stepped forward, taking the mug from Callie’s cold fingers. “You and I both know nothing that happened back then was your fault. Josh didn’t have an affair with Meredith because you weren’t enough. He’s the one who wasn’t enough.”

  “Maybe you should be a therapist,” Callie said, feeling better, as she always did when Henri was around. “Knowing that and believing it are two different things.”

  “You still didn’t answer my first question.” Henri poured coffee into the mug that Callie had pulled from the cupboard. “How do you feel about Sam now?”

  “I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “I mean, there’s an attraction.”

  This time Henri snorted. “You’d have to be dead or gay not to be attracted to that. I’m gay and I still felt a little quiver when he showed up in the driveway.”

  Henri always could make her laugh, no matter what was going on. “I’m sure he’d be flattered to hear that. I was going to use that mug for tea, but I guess I’ll get another one.”

  “I spent nine hours traveling alone with your mother today,” Henri said. “You’re lucky this isn’t rum instead of coffee.”

  “Fair enough,” Callie said, closing the cupboard she’d opened. “There’s a bar and grill in the village. I bet they have amazing seafood.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Henri took another swig of coffee and scrunched up her face. “I forgot Aunt Evelyn made this. Does she carry tar in that Kate Spade purse of hers?”

  “I think it’s ground coal.”

  Henri poured the coffee into the sink. “I would not be surprised. Now, let’s go find me some alcohol. You’re buying.”

  Following her cousin back toward the living room, Callie said, “It’s the least I can do.”

  CHAPTER 6

  The jukebox was playing Bob Marley and the Wailers as Callie, her mom, and Henri walked through the entrance of Dempsey’s Bar & Grill. A combination of gleaming dark wood, soaring wood beams, and picture windows, the place was both fancier and more interesting than Callie had expected. There was also quite a crowd for so late in the season.

  If this was the crowd in late September, she couldn’t help but wonder what the place would look like in the heart of July.

  “Give me two seconds, ladies, and I’ll be right with you,” said a young, dark-haired waitress as she breezed by, carrying a tray full of drinks as if it weighed no more than a feather.

  Standing beside Callie, Henri watched the pretty girl walk away in her denim shorts, which showed a significant amount of leg. “I like this place already.”

  Callie leaned close enough to whisper, “You know my mother will have a conniption if she has to witness you hitting on a woman. I’m not sure I could endure one of her fits tonight.”

  “Relax,” Henri said, watching a tall, blonde waitress stroll through the middle of the room. “I’m sightseeing. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do on vacation?”

  Callie glanced her way with one brow raised.

  “I’ll behave,” Henri promised. “Scout’s honor.”

  “You were never a Girl Scout.”

  “No, but I like their cookies.”

  “Hi there,” said the brunette as she stepped up to the podium before them. “Sorry for the wait. Welcome to Dempsey’s. Are we looking for a booth or a table tonight?”

  “A booth,” Callie and Henri said in unison.

  The waitress smiled, grabbed three menus, along with three sets of silverware wrapped in white napkins, and headed for the wall of windows to the far right. “Here you go,” she said, dropping the menus and silverware onto a table in the center of the wall. “Daisy will be your server, and she’ll be with you in just a minute.”

  “Thank you,” said Callie, climbing in to allow her mother to sit on the end.

  “Enjoy your meal,” the waitress said, then disappeared into the crowd.

  The group focused their attention on the menus in front of them. Evelyn flipped the pages with the tips of her fingers as if she might catch a germ. She looked uncomfortable and unhappy, but then, Callie’s mother always looked that way. Unless she was at her country club, and even then she was usually glaring disapprovingly at another woman who had the nerve not to match her shoes with her handbag.

  Callie had given up trying to please her mother long ago, which made ignoring her distaste for their choice of restaurant a matter of habit.

  “At least they have a large selection,” Evelyn said, a thin line of tolerance in her voice. “I would assume the seafood is fresh. Now let’s hope someone in that kitchen knows how to cook it.”

  “I doubt this crowd is here because the food sucks, Aunt Evelyn.”

  “Using vulgar language makes you sound vulgar, Henrietta. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

  “Maybe a couple hundred more and it’ll sink in, Aunty.”

  Callie cringed. The only thing her mother hated more than Henri’s language was being called Aunty. Instead of arguing, Evelyn gave Henri what she called the cut. She huffed, kept her eyes down, and pretended her irritating niece was no longer there.

  By all accounts, Evelyn Henderson had been born in the wrong century. She’d also been born into the wrong family, considering she was a sharecropper’s daughter and not the child of a powerful politician. So she’d simply married one to change her circumstances.

  Unfortunately, Callie’s father had died of a heart attack less than a year after his daughter’s birth, leaving Evelyn as a single mother with grand aspirations and no way to reach them except to groom her child to be the first female president. Needless to say, Callie had turned out to be a disappointment in all areas.

  Evelyn had remarried twice before Callie’s twenty-first birthday and stood stoic in black as she watched each husband get lowered six feet into the ground. Unwilling to take another chance, the professional widow had avoided a walk down the aisle for the last ten years. Callie almost wished her mother would find another husband so she’d have something else to focus on besides her disappointing offspring.

  “I think I’ll have a burger,” Callie said.

  “You should stick with a salad, dear,” replied her mother. “Your jeans are looking tighter than usual.”

  The cousins exchanged a look, and Callie sighed, counting the hours until Saturday morning, when this little visit would come to a blessed end.

  She could not wait.

  Sam had found that the shower and aged liquor weren’t enough to get him through the evening and turned t
o physical exertion. Not the kind he’d have preferred, as he reminded himself for what must have been the tenth time that he was not crossing that line with Callie.

  Again.

  Instead, he’d made the trek to Island Fitness for a good workout. He vowed to continue doing sit-ups until the image of Callie occupying his bed was burned from his system. He’d counted past one hundred when Randy Navarro joined him at the weight bench.

  “You going for a record?” Randy asked, sporting an enormous grin that matched the rest of him.

  Roughly the size of a large building, the gym owner matched Sam in height but had him beat in every other area. Arms the size of Sam’s thighs. Shoulders broad enough to block out the fluorescent lights shining down from the ceiling.

  Sam removed his legs from the barbell, dropped his feet to the floor, and sat up on the bench, accepting the towel Randy offered. “Going for a clear head is all.”

  Sweat dripped from a lock of dark hair dangling over Randy’s brow. “Anything I can help with?”

  Unless the man could exorcise demons or conjure up a time machine, there was little he could do. “Afraid not, but thanks for the offer.”

  Of all the people he’d met on Anchor Island, Randy Navarro was probably the closest Sam had to a friend. The men worked on a committee together to increase tourism on the island, and it hadn’t taken long for Sam to realize that not liking the big man was simply impossible.

  Whereas his size could seem intimidating, the personality was all friendly concern and generosity. Which were likely the reasons he’d landed the mysterious heiress from the north.

  That and the biceps.

  “Will came to see me yesterday. She seemed a bit . . . wired.”

  “Let me guess,” Randy said. “She was drinking coffee.”

  “Yvonne gave her some when she arrived at the hotel.” There was no reason to take credit for providing Will with the caffeine fix. Especially if her large and protective fiancé didn’t want her to have it.