More to Give (An Anchor Island Novel)

by Terri Osburn

  The idea was brilliant and further proof Callie knew what she was doing. Right now, though, she didn’t look brilliant. She looked like a woman about to snap.

  “You’re back,” she said, twitching more than she’d been earlier.

  “I am.” Sam plopped a large bag of tacos onto the counter. The two teens lingering behind the check-in desk perked up as the scent hit their noses. “And I brought food.”

  Callie ran a hand through her hair. “I’m not really hungry—”

  “No working on an empty stomach,” Sam interrupted, tossing another bag to the boys. “This one has paper plates, utensils, and napkins. Is there someplace we can all sit to eat?”

  “All?” the taller kid asked. Dark hair run with a shock of white hung over one eye as he hugged the bag he’d caught to his chest. Brown eyes darted from Sam to Callie and back again.

  Chewing on her bottom lip, Callie shrugged at the teen, then slid her hands into her back pockets. “We could sit on the old chairs in the dining room that Olaf hasn’t gotten to yet.”

  “Works for me,” Sam said. He dragged the bag back off the counter. “Lead on.”

  Thirty minutes later, the boys he now knew as Jack and Lot had eaten four tacos apiece and departed the dining room to return to their work. Jack had called it hurling duty, but Callie explained they were discarding the old carpeting through a window to be carried around to the Dumpster at the end of the building.

  That sounded a lot better than the image that had first come to mind.

  Once they were alone, Sam asked, “Why aren’t we stepping over a work crew at this point? I’m assuming you didn’t plan to do everything yourself.”

  “The winter festival,” Callie answered, as if he should know what the hell that meant.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “They’re all over in the village, setting up for the winter festival coming up this weekend.” She collected the empty taco wrappers the boys had left near their seats and tossed them into one of the bags. “It’s only for a few days, and then they’ll be back.” Keeping her face averted, she added, “I hope.”

  Sam ignored the last bit. For now.

  “The outside looks good.”

  “Doesn’t it?” Some light returned to her eyes, revealing the capable, reasonable woman who was still in there somewhere. “Bernie says they should finish with the shingles in the next day or so, then they can start on the porch.”

  Having the exterior finished before the brunt of winter arrived was a good sign. “Where do we stand on the interior?”

  Callie’s errant twitch returned. “Well . . . ,” she hedged. “About that.”

  Adding his own trash to the bag, Sam said, “Show me the plans marked up to where we stand right now. I know you’ve got it on paper, so show me.”

  “Of course I have it on paper,” she said. “But it’s on my office wall. You’ll have to come see it.”

  As he followed her, Sam noticed how good her bottom looked in the tight-fitting jeans. The denim showed off the curve of her hips in a way fancy skirts did not. And no heels were needed to put a swing in Callie’s step. By the time they reached their destination, Sam had to remind himself why he was there.

  And then he saw it.

  On the back wall of Callie’s office was a giant blueprint of sorts of the entire Sunset Harbor Inn. Both floors were broken out, one on top of the other. All rooms were numbered and included the color scheme, as well as the décor pieces and even what area rug would go in each. She’d cut out pictures of the curtains and linens and pinned them to their intended destination.

  All the guest rooms on the bottom floor were marked as PAINTING COMPLETE.

  “So, once the workers return, they’ll begin painting the second-floor rooms?” Sam asked, marveling at the precision and detail of the diagram.

  “That’s right.” Callie stepped up beside him. Pointing at the rooms at the far end of the bottom floor, she said, “The flooring is complete in the two end rooms, but it’s slow going. Since we can’t start putting things together until the floors are in, I’m afraid this is going to be our biggest speed bump.”

  “Why so slow?”

  Callie sighed. “I could only find two people on the island with any experience installing this kind of hardwood flooring. They’re actually quite quick, but we couldn’t start until the painting was done. By then, Elder was in the middle of another job, so we had to wait.”

  “Elder Wonnamack?”

  “That’s right,” Callie said. “He and Frank Ledbetter are doing the floors. You know them?”

  “I had Elder do some repair work at the Anchor. I didn’t realize he installed floors.”

  With brows drawn, Callie asked, “How much work did you put into the Anchor to renovate it? And where did you find the workers?”

  “Thankfully, the Anchor didn’t need as much work as this one does,” Sam said. “I brought a crew in during the off-season and put them up over here.”

  Ice-blue eyes went wide. “You didn’t use locals?”

  “I wanted a trusted crew I knew would do the job right.” Sam hadn’t thought much about it at the time. “The only reason I didn’t suggest we do the same over here is that we’re still doing steady business at the Anchor and I didn’t want to tie up the rooms.”

  Callie rubbed her hands over her face, emitting what sounded like a groan between her fingers. Then she shoved them into her hair and said, “Let me get this straight. You brought in outsiders, bypassing any skilled local workers who might have been available.”

  “I . . . ,” Sam started, but Callie held up a hand to silence him.

  “It’s no wonder these people don’t like you.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Several of the villagers have refused to join the crew.” Callie paced the small space behind her desk. “I couldn’t figure it out before, but now it makes perfect sense. I wouldn’t want to work for you either.”

  “What are you talking about?” Sam asked.

  “It’s you!” Callie exclaimed, poking him in the chest. “All this time, I thought they didn’t want to work on a job run by a woman. I was so pissed I could barely sleep. And I couldn’t tell you because I was already a complication you didn’t want to deal with, so why give you more reason to replace me?”

  The pacing resumed, quicker this time. “All that stress for nothing. It’s you they have a problem with, not me.”

  Sam didn’t care who liked or didn’t like him, so long as his peers respected him and his businesses did well. Life had never been a popularity contest, and he wasn’t about to play that game on this inconsequential little island to keep the natives happy.

  “Are you done now?” he asked, once Callie had finished her rant. Sam took her huff as a yes. “I did what I had to do to bring the Anchor Inn up to my standards and get back to business as soon as possible. I don’t need approval from you or anyone else on how I choose to do things. The existence of a high-quality hotel with spotless views and incomparable amenities for an island this size directly contributes to bringing more tourists to town, which in turn benefits every person in that village.”

  Pausing to rein in his temper, Sam attempted to button his suit jacket before realizing he wasn’t wearing one. Crossing his arms instead, he said, “I will not have my tactics questioned. Not by anyone.”

  Callie stared at him for several seconds. Her eyes searched his, for what Sam didn’t know.

  “You really believe that.” The words were a statement, instead of a question, so Sam held silent. “You don’t know how to be part of a community.”

  “I don’t give a shit about community,” Sam growled, tired of feeling judged. He’d endured enough of that in his early years. “What I care about is business, and getting this one back up and running in time for that wedding in six weeks.”

  “And if we�
��re going to make that deadline, we need bodies,” Callie said matter-of-factly. “Solid, hardworking bodies, of which there are plenty on this island.”

  “So hire them and get on with it,” he said.

  “There’s only one way I can do that,” Callie said, a devious smile spreading across her face. “You’re going to make them like you.”

  “The hell I am,” Sam barked. “I told you, I don’t care what these people think of me.”

  “Well, I have a job to do,” Callie argued, pointing to the giant diagram on the wall. “And unless you make an effort, it’s going to be the two of us attempting to whip this place into shape in the next six weeks.”

  Sam had no intention of doing the heavy lifting on this project, and he would never expect Callie to do so either.

  “How do you suggest I make them like me?”

  Callie tapped the side of her nose. “I have two words for you: Sam and Cecil.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Contrary to what Sam proclaimed, Callie had not, in fact, lost her mind. If anything, she’d found it. She needed villagers willing to help put this hotel back together, and if Sam was the reason they refused, then it was his responsibility to change their minds.

  The man would become a social butterfly, friend to the common man, and supporter of the community if it killed her. And based on the look on his face, it just might.

  “I am not doing this,” Sam repeated for the fifth time. “I am not making a fool of myself because some small-minded islanders don’t like me.”

  “I highly recommend you not call them that while entertaining their children.”

  Sam rolled his eyes while throwing his hands in the air in exasperation. They’d taken the conversation from the inn over to Callie’s cottage, where the other half of the act resided. Callie stood beside Cecil’s cage, while Sam remained obstinate on the other side of the room.

  “How would you like to meet some new friends, Cecil?”

  “Rather have a cracker,” her pet squawked.

  Callie expected this response. “What if these new friends gave you crackers?”

  “New best friends,” he chirped enthusiastically. “New best friends.”

  “That bird is going to be a solo act,” Sam said, looking ready to bolt.

  Callie shot Sam a narrowed look, but it was really an excuse to look at him. The man who always looked pressed and ready for the boardroom cut a striking image in worn denim and a tee that hugged his shoulders like a second skin. Though he’d worn jeans to the dinner party, as Callie had suggested, those must have been his dress jeans.

  Today Sam wore his get-dirty jeans, and they were giving Callie plenty of dirty thoughts. Just because they wouldn’t be exploring a more physical relationship didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy a little mental fantasy about the man. It wasn’t as if he would know.

  “Stop looking at me like that,” Sam barked. She feared he could read her mind until he added, “This circus-act idea is never going to happen.”

  “Fine,” Callie said. “Then call Will Parsons and tell her the Sunset Harbor Inn will not be open for business until spring.”

  Sam’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he stalked across the room like a lion ready to attack. Callie couldn’t help but admire how he moved. Maybe she should make outlandish demands more often.

  Stopping on the other side of the cage, he said, “There has to be another way. I’ll donate to the preservation society. Or buy a new scoreboard for the high school football field.”

  Throwing money into the community might help his case, but Callie doubted a donation would do enough to garner the immediate reversal they needed. “They don’t want your money, Sam. They need to get to know you as a person, not this hermit-hotelier image they have of you.”

  Sam frowned. “Hermit hotelier?”

  “That’s what they call you,” Callie said, hoping a poke to his ego would gain his cooperation. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

  He looked to be considering the idea. “I’ve been called worse.”

  The man had to have a weak spot. Callie grasped onto the stories she’d heard about his uncle. “Did you know Morty well?”

  The change of subject seemed to take him off guard. “Of course I did. He was my uncle. I spent every summer here with him when I was a kid. At least, until high school, when my mother felt I needed to do internships with the larger family properties.”

  “Wait. You came here as a kid?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “Do the natives know that?”

  Sam shook his head. “I have no idea. If they were around and remember me, maybe. I don’t walk around talking about it.”

  “But that’s a connection,” Callie said. “You weren’t new to this island when you took over the hotels. Do you remember the stories your uncle used to tell the kids in the village?”

  “I don’t know.” Sam dropped into Callie’s favorite blue chair and ran his hands over his face. Leaning back, he kicked a leg up on the ottoman. She’d never seen anything sexier. “But it doesn’t matter. I’m not the storyteller he was. And I don’t have the patience to deal with children.”

  Callie doubted that was true. He may not have much experience with them, but her woman’s intuition told her Sam would be great with kids. Once he stopped treating them like miniature adults.

  Unable to help herself, Callie sat down next to Sam’s leg on the ottoman, resting her hand on his knee. “Would it be so bad for people to like you, Sam? To see you not as a buttoned-up hotel owner but as the nice guy you really are?”

  Leaning forward until their faces were mere inches apart, Sam stared into Callie’s eyes. “I have my reasons for not reaching out to the people on this island. For not ingratiating myself with this community.”

  “Why?” she asked, feeling a bit drunk from the heat of his body so close to hers.

  Sliding his knuckles along her jawline, he said, “Because I have other plans.”

  The statement made no sense to Callie, but that might have been because she’d lost the ability to think clearly. Or breathe normally. Or concentrate on anything other than Sam’s full lower lip and his eyes, the color of a storm cloud over the sea.

  “That’s good,” she mumbled, referring to something that had nothing to do with the current conversation.

  Sam leaned closer, saying, “To hell with it.”

  And then he kissed her. An onslaught of feelings and emotions, pent-up passion and forbidden longing, crashed into Callie’s system. His lips were hot and demanding, and she gave the same in turn. Her head was swimming, her senses coming alive.

  Sam leaned back in the chair, pulling Callie with him until she was draped across his body—his big, powerful body that was hard in all the right places, while his lips were soft and his hands kneaded her bottom, pulling her tighter against his arousal.

  Oh, yes. He was definitely hard.

  Callie couldn’t get close enough. She slid her knee up and over his hip, grinding against him. Sam drove a hand into her hair and moaned in response. Finding the bottom of his T-shirt, Callie dragged her nails over his abs, feeling the muscles bunch and twitch beneath her touch. She wanted to taste those abs. To run her tongue along his skin until he was begging for more.

  “Don’t forget the condom,” Cecil chimed, jerking them both back to reality.

  Holding her by the shoulders, Sam panted, and his now-dark-gray eyes stared up at her as if surprised to find her there.

  Without a word, he shifted Callie gently to the side, set his feet on the floor, and dropped his head into his hands. After what looked to be a silent argument with himself, Sam bolted off the chair. “This is what I was trying to avoid.”

  The adrenaline pumping through Callie’s veins turned to anger. She wanted him and she knew very well he wanted her. She could still feel his hands on her sk
in. Taste him on her lips. Feel him throbbing between her legs.

  “We’re two single, consenting adults, Sam. Stop trying to avoid what you know we both want.”

  “You work for me, Callie,” he argued, turning to face her. “I will not take advantage of that.”

  “Then I’ll take advantage of you,” she replied, rolling off the chair and closing the distance between them. Sam looked as if he wanted to step back, but she knew his ego wouldn’t let him. “I’m not screwing you to get a job, and you’re not screwing me as part of my job description. There’s no reason we can’t fall into bed together.”

  The storm continued to rage in his eyes as Sam fought the messages his body was sending. She knew he was weakening when his hands flexed open then closed. As if he were struggling to keep them off her.

  “I have no intention of marrying again,” he growled, as if that would put her off.

  “Good,” Callie said. “I don’t want to have your babies, I want to have sex.”

  And she meant it. The uterus twitches were annoying and real, but Callie had no intention of letting some instinct as old as time override rational thought. This wasn’t the 1800s, for God’s sake. Sam stared in stunned disbelief, as if she’d suggested they steal a car and drive off a cliff.

  “You can’t deny you want me,” she said, exploiting her advantage. “Loosen up, Sam. Have a little fun.”

  He didn’t move when Callie slid her hands beneath his shirt. He didn’t so much as flinch when she slid her nails along his rib cage. But when she reached for the button on his jeans, he grabbed her hands.

  In a ragged voice, he said, “I’m not sure I remember how to have fun.”

  Callie gave him her most seductive smile. “Then let me remind you.”

  Sam wanted to argue. To set her away from him and do the right thing. Only in that moment, doing Callie felt like the right thing.