by Terri Osburn
Racing through the front door, Sam looked over to the counter on his left, making eye contact with the wide-eyed teenager behind it. “Where are they?”
John or Jack or whatever his name was pointed toward Callie’s office.
Sam nodded in thanks, crossed the lobby, and entered without knocking. The scene that greeted him was not what he’d expected. If he hadn’t known any better, Sam would think Callie was throwing a tea party.
“Hello, Mr. Edwards,” his employee said, rising from her chair with a smile. “Mrs. Withers and I are having a lovely chat.” Smiling at the older woman still sitting at the edge of the desk, cup in hand, pinky in air, Callie said, “Did you know this building started as a warehouse for smuggled goods? Isn’t that fascinating?”
As the floor seemed to shift beneath him, Sam struggled to get his bearings. “That’s how the legend goes,” he said. “I always assumed it was local lore created to entertain the tourists.”
Rosemary tsked. “It’s as true as the chair I’m sitting in. I told you he didn’t understand, dear,” she said to Callie. “He doesn’t appreciate the history like you and I do.”
These two were a team now? Exactly how long had Rosemary been here? Maybe that bicycle of hers could fly. A fact that wouldn’t surprise him in the least.
“Now, Mrs. Withers, I happen to know that Mr. Edwards has great care for the history and character of his properties. When I was researching whether or not I’d like to work for him, I found an article about a factory he transformed into a hotel in downtown Charleston, South Carolina, in which he salvaged all the wrought iron and original wood floors of the structure. And all of it was repurposed and incorporated into the new plans.” With a complete lack of guile, she fluttered her eyelashes in his direction and asked, “Is that story true, Mr. Edwards?”
Maybe he’d stepped into a play. Callie was certainly putting on an award-winning act. “Yes, it is.” The hotel hadn’t been his, but he’d been in charge of the renovation, and salvaging the building materials had made sense from a financial standpoint, as well as appeased the local historical society.
“You see?” Callie said. “We’re all on the same page here. Preservation is key.”
Getting the best product was key, but Sam had recovered his wits enough to know now was not the time to voice this fact. “Of course,” he said instead. “Preservation.” The word sounded less than sincere to his own ears, so Sam accompanied the statement with what he hoped would pass for a sincere smile.
Rosemary didn’t look convinced. “Forgive me if I remain skeptical of Mr. Edwards,” she said, pinning him with one of her evil-librarian glares. As she turned her attention to Callie, the weathered face softened. “But I trust that you’ll keep him in line, my dear.”
Sam nearly choked from the effort of keeping his mouth shut. If letting Rosemary believe that Callie could in any way “keep him in line” would keep the preservation society off his back, he’d gladly let the old woman have her illusions.
“There will be no need for that,” Callie said, earning herself bonus points. “Mr. Edwards has already approved the proposal I submitted, which took all of the historical aspects of the hotel into account. In fact, he insisted on the Brookside shade of green for one block of rooms, specifically for its heritage as a historic American color.”
Sam had insisted on the color to counter the more feminine shades Callie had proposed. Another point to Callie for creating the proper spin to appease Rosemary. She could have a future in politics if she ever left the hospitality field.
Rosemary’s bushy gray brows nearly touched her hairline. “Really? Well . . . ,” she said, looking as if she were sucking on a sliver of lemon. “Perhaps I judged Mr. Edwards too harshly.”
He should be gracious, but Sam couldn’t resist the temptation. “Apology accepted, Mrs. Withers. We all make mistakes now and then.”
Callie shot him an unfriendly glare of her own, reminding him of their purpose here.
“We do appreciate your willingness to share your extensive historical knowledge with us,” he said to Rosemary, bowing in her direction. “Your input is very important to us.”
This insipid bit of acting seemed to put him firmly back in Callie’s good graces, if the grin she gave him was any indication.
“Now, I do hate to put you off, but Mr. Edwards and I have a few details left to discuss before work begins next week.” Callie helped Rosemary from her chair, then escorted her to the door. “I hope it’s okay that I contact you with any questions as the project progresses?”
“Of course, my dear,” Rosemary said, beaming and preening as if she’d been asked to consult on a Ken Burns documentary. “Call anytime. I’ll leave my number with that sweet young man at the front desk.”
“Perfect.” Callie opened the door and nudged Rosemary into the lobby. “You have a wonderful day, Mrs. Withers.” As she closed the office door again, Callie let out an audible sigh, her shoulders dropping as if a giant weight had been removed. “That woman is a piece of work.”
“And you are one hell of an actor,” Sam said. “Did she mention that she came to see me before coming over here?”
“She mentioned it,” Callie said, returning to her seat. “How did you know she would head this way?”
Sam lowered into the chair Rosemary had vacated. “She smiled,” he said. “Rosemary never smiles at me, so I knew she had to be up to something.”
“She wasn’t smiling when she got here.” Callie laughed as she gathered the teacups, cream, and sugar onto a tray. “And Bernie’s referring to her as the spawn of Satan didn’t help.”
“Bernie?” Sam asked.
“Bernie Matheson. You don’t know him?”
The name didn’t sound familiar. “Afraid not. Does he work here?”
Callie’s brow furrowed. “Not for the hotel, exactly. He’s going to be taking lead on renovations of the exterior work. How long have you been on Anchor Island?” she asked.
“Going on three years now. Why?”
“This is a really small island. I guess I expected most everyone who lived here year-round to know each other.”
That might be true in some cases, but Sam wasn’t big on socializing. “I know most of the business owners, but I don’t encounter the other residents very often.”
“Oh,” she said. “Okay.”
Something about her answer bothered him. “I’m not avoiding them,” he said, not sure why he felt the need to defend himself. “I was focused on renovating the Anchor when I got here and then building it into the best hotel on the island. That didn’t leave much time for bake sales and community picnics.”
Callie’s eyes softened as she propped her elbow on the desktop. “Do they really have community picnics? I had hoped but thought maybe that kind of stuff only happens in the movies.”
There was nothing movie-like about snot-covered rug rats running around screaming their heads off and taking strangers out at the knee. Unless you liked that sort of thing, and Sam did not.
“There’s always something going on in the park,” he said. “I can hear the noise from my back deck.”
Callie stood, lifting the tray with her. “That reminds me,” she said. “I don’t know where you live. Is it close to the Anchor?”
“Not far,” he said, watching her carry the tray to the door. “But then, nothing is far on this island. I’m in a small cabin on Fig Tree Lane.”
Balancing the tray against her hip, Callie spun in his direction. “Is that on the water?”
Sam shook his head. “No.”
“Hold on a second.” Callie opened the door, disappeared into the lobby, then returned empty-handed. “I’m confused. Why would you live in a small cabin in the village when you have that amazing property across the street?” She dropped back into her chair. “Or are you renting that on my behalf from someone else?”
One manicured brow went up. “You called picnics in the park ‘noise.’ ”
She was making him sound antisocial. “A large gathering with live music tends to sound like noise from a distance.”
Both elbows on the desk this time, she said, “There’s music, too? This keeps getting better.”
“If you like pirate shanties and steel drums.”
“And you don’t, I take it?” She was teasing him. Sam wasn’t used to being teased.
“Not my favorites, no.” He had yet to eat lunch and opted to use the fact as an escape. Not that he was running from anything. “I was on my way to lunch when Rosemary sidetracked me. I’ll have to grab something on my way back to the office now.”
“That brings us back to the subject at hand,” Callie said. “Why did you race over here? You looked ready to do battle when you charged through that door.”
He had been ready to save Callie from Rosemary’s clutches. But that had really been about his property and his choices to renovate it. Not about Callie at all.
Keep believing that, big guy.
“Rosemary demanded I give her approval of the renovation plans. I have no intention of doing so, but you didn’t know that.”
Callie’s lips curled up on one side. “You could have called me to let me know your wishes over the phone.”
He couldn’t have played the gallant knight saving her from a history-spewing dragon over the phone. “Yes, I could have. As I said, I was on my way out to lunch and not in my office when she caught me. I guess that didn’t occur to me.”
Neither of them believed what he was saying. Sam could see that on Callie’s face. But that didn’t mean he was going to change his story. Checking his watch, Sam said, “I’d better go.”
“Of course,” she said, rising when he did and following Sam to the door. “You wouldn’t want to get in trouble with the boss.”
She was teasing him again. He played along this time. “No, I wouldn’t. Our boss can be a bit of a jerk at times.”
“But he looks out for his employees,” she said, walking beside him to the front entrance. “You have to give him credit for that.”
When they reached the door, they turned toward each other. “Yes, he does. His people are important to him.” A lock of golden hair fell loose along her temple. Sam fought the urge to tuck it behind her ear. Leaning in and lowering his voice, he whispered, “He isn’t really a jerk. He just wants people to think he is.”
Callie nodded. “That’s what I think, too.” Ice-blue eyes danced behind dark lashes, her cheeks slightly pinker than they’d been before. “But let’s not tell him we know.”
He laughed then. Sam couldn’t help himself. “Deal.” They shared a smile, and something sizzled between them. The teen behind the counter coughed, jerking Sam back to his senses. “I’ll be going, then.”
Before he could reach the handle on the door, the large slab of wood came flying at his nose. Sam stepped back in time to see Evelyn Henderson stepping through.
“Oh, good,” she said. “We’re all here.”
CHAPTER 9
Callie cringed at the look in her mother’s eyes. She knew that look. That look was bad.
“What are you doing here, Mother?”
“I’ve come to meet you for lunch, of course. I told you last night I want to try that little sandwich shop we passed the other day.”
Why couldn’t her mother be forgetful, like other people her age?
“You did, but I didn’t realize you meant today,” Callie said.
Evelyn propped a hand on her hip. “Well, I’m leaving tomorrow morning. When else did you think I meant?”
Of course. The old why haven’t you learned to read my mind yet? thing. Another shortcoming on Callie’s part.
“Then we’ll go,” she said, knowing it was easier to comply than to argue. And she did need to eat. “Is Henri coming with us?”
“Your cousin is out gallivanting around the island somewhere.” Her mother’s nose lifted an inch higher in the air. “She wanted to explore before we leave tomorrow.” Lowering her voice, Evelyn added, “I told her not to rush back.”
This meant lunch alone with her mother. Callie felt a severe headache coming on.
Sam had remained silent throughout this exchange, a choice for which Callie gave him extra points. He had to be aware that drawing any attention to himself could be dangerous. Evelyn already saw him as prey. Something she could toy with, like a cat with a cute, helpless little bunny.
Not that Callie would ever describe Sam as helpless, but her mother was a professional huntress and could make the bravest of adversaries run for their lives.
If only Callie had the option. To run as far away from her mother as possible. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a corner on Earth where Evelyn wouldn’t track her down. As evidenced by her very presence on this speck of an island.
“Fine,” Callie said. “I have a couple things to wrap up here, and then I’ll be over to get you.” She shuffled her mother onto the porch. “I won’t be long. I promise.”
“But what about Sam?” her mother asked.
Callie froze. “What about him?”
“He has to come with us.”
“Why does he have to come with us?”
“Because I’m leaving tomorrow.” Evelyn rolled her eyes before adding, “Sometimes I wonder if you ever listen to me.”
Callie heard every word her mother ever said. She just never understood them.
“Mother,” she started, resisting the urge to inform her matriarch that she was nuts, “Sam is not required to entertain you while you’re here. I’m sure he has more important things to do.”
Ignoring her daughter’s perfectly sane response, the blonde menace marched up to Sam. “You’re going to lunch with us, aren’t you, Sam?”
After a brief hesitation, during which his eyes flew to Callie, then back to his attacker, Sam said, “Yes, ma’am.”
“As I said.” Evelyn turned away to prance down the porch steps.
Callie looked at Sam and mouthed, “Why did you do that?” to which Sam mouthed back, “What could I do?” with a shrug of his wide shoulders.
“Don’t dally,” Evelyn chirped from the parking lot. “I’m assuming Sam drove over here. He can drive us to lunch. Which vehicle is yours, Sam?”
“The red Murano,” he answered, though the only other vehicles in the parking lot were an old, rusty blue pickup and a dented silver Civic. It wasn’t as if assigning ownership to the vehicles required possession of a genius IQ.
“You don’t have to do this,” Callie whispered after Sam pulled the door shut behind them and the pair walked together toward his car.
“It’s one lunch,” he said. “How bad could it be?”
He might as well have asked how hot could a raging volcano be? How cold could January in the Arctic be? How bad could an eternity in hell be?
Evelyn was climbing into the passenger seat as Callie whispered, “Imagine having your wisdom teeth pulled with no anesthesia.” When Sam’s brows rose, she added, “Times ten.”
As Callie had predicted, lunch with Evelyn Henderson had been an excruciating experience. Sam had been raised in the South by an unaffectionate mother and a demanding father. He’d endured cotillions, mind-numbing dinner parties, and silent family affairs where disappointment and repressed anger hung in the air like the seagulls hovered over sand, dive-bombing anything that moved.
Yet lunch with Callie’s mother had felt exactly as she’d described it would. Like surgery without anesthesia. Except instead of losing his wisdom teeth, Sam felt more like he’d lost his liver. And surgery had been conducted with a butter knife.
>
“I’m really sorry,” Callie said for the fourth time since they’d dropped Evelyn at the cottage. They were sitting alone in his Murano in front of the Sunset Harbor Inn, both too shell-shocked to get out. “I tried to warn you.”
“She pinched my ass,” he said, still stunned by the unexpected attack. “I feel like I need a shower.”
Callie sighed. “I have to admit, I didn’t think she’d go that far. I knew she had it in her, but jeez.” Dropping her chin to her chest, she said again, “I’m so sorry.”
Then the absurdity of the whole thing hit him. And Sam started to laugh. Really laugh. Something he hadn’t done in longer than he could remember.
“Oh my God,” Callie said. “She broke you. Sam, are you okay?”
He laughed harder, nodding his head. “I’m fine,” he managed to say. “Just fine.”
Soon Callie was laughing with him. “I guess it’s better to laugh than to cry.”
As their amusement faded, Sam looked over to see diamond-blue eyes staring at him. Blinking, she said, “I needed that.”
Sam agreed. “So did I.”
“There is one bit of good news in this,” she said, choking back a giggle. “She’ll be gone tomorrow.”
Another round of laughter followed that statement. Clearly, they’d both lost their marbles, driven insane by a pushy Southern belle who believed the world danced to her tune. Sam could only guess what it must have been like to grow up as Evelyn Henderson’s daughter.
The thought snatched the laughter from his lips. Not that his own mother had been a prize, but she’d never embarrassed him in front of others. Or belittled him in any way. She’d simply set high expectations.
And Sam had done his best to hit every one of them.
Something told him Callie could discover the cure for cancer and Evelyn would have little to say except “It took you long enough.”