The Way U Look Tonight

by Dianne Castell

  Callie looked closer. “Bonnie’s wearing the dress with the pink bunnies that Keefe bought for her.” She set the paper by the camera. “So, when did I have her dressed in that? And I’ve never even seen Georgette with a camera, so that rules her out for taking this picture.”

  Callie flipped through her pictures of Bonnie again, none of the bank or Bonnie in that particular dress. What was going on? Were the newspaper article and Mimi somehow related? Callie finished packing, then took a shower hoping to clear her head, but none of this made sense. Why would someone write this article at all? She had a motive, and so did Georgette, but neither of them did the deed. So who? And why?

  Callie slipped into pajamas and tied on a robe. The clock in the hall chimed midnight, but no Keefe. Probably spending the night at Sally’s or Digger’s or Hastings House. Any place far away from her. Well, that was just. . . fine!

  She could leave now and be home in four hours, but she wanted to say good-bye to Rory and see Bonnie one more time. She went downstairs, pausing at the bottom, hand on the newel post, remembering Keefe and the best sex of her life, except it was more than that. She was falling for him. Heck, she done fell and look where it got her.

  Before tonight she’d trusted him because he’d trusted her about writing the article, she’d admired him because of his devotion to his family and friends and the theater, she’d respected him because he stood up for what he believed in and who he believed in.

  Too bad those feelings weren’t returned! The only time they understood each other was in the sack or some version thereof. A relationship built on sex wasn’t much of a relationship.

  She got orange juice from the fridge, fed Max and Dusty treats and went into the living room, searching for something to read to get her mind off everything. Did such a book exist? Lightning flashed outside the big windows. The wind kicked up sending the trees into a frenzy, another storm on the loose. She lit a Tiffany lamp on the sideboard and studied a picture of Bonnie and another picture of Rory with a lovely woman in his arms. Mimi probably. How sad that they weren’t all together tonight upstairs snuggled in bed.

  A family album sat beside the pictures, and Callie opened it. O’Fallon’s Landing 1860—wooden docks, painted sign, big white stern-wheeler on the Mississippi in the distance. A faded poker chip was tied with a frayed ribbon and looped through a cut in the page. What was that all about? Incredible. She loved this stuff, seeing what came before and how people got to where they were now.

  “That’s great-great-grandparents Joshua and Kathryn O’Fallon,” Keefe said from his prone position on the couch, hands clasped behind his head, shoes off, surprising the heck out of her. She hadn’t even seen him there.

  He continued, “Joshua won Kathryn in a poker game. That was the last chip he had when he made the bet. She was the love of his life, and her daddy wouldn’t let her marry Joshua. He bet that chip and his Landing, and Kathryn’s daddy was so sure he could best Joshua at anything that he went along with it. Joshua won. That’s their two sons, Thayer and Owen. They say I look like Owen.”

  Callie glanced back at the page. “He is a handsome devil, and God knows you’ve got the devil part down pat, and just for your information I’m not leaving O’Fallon’s Landing till I prove I’m not the one who wrote the article.”

  She had no idea where that suddenly came from. Maybe inspiration from Joshua having the guts to risk all to get what he wanted. Or Kathryn’s daddy being a total dick and needing to be set straight. “I’m staying on if I have to live in my car and eat cheese doodles. I’m not running away because you think I betrayed you, which I didn’t. Do you remember when Bonnie had on that little pink bunny outfit you bought for her?”

  “Who gives a damn?”

  “I do, you arrogant bastard. Do you remember or not?”

  “She had it on the day LuLu came to town. She commented on it having a baseball cap instead of a bonnet, a guy thing. What difference does that make?”

  “It’s the outfit Bonnie has on in the photo in Soap Scoops.”

  “So you took her picture then, so what?”

  “You were with me in front of that bank. Did you see me take pictures?” Callie closed the album. “You don’t know me at all. You don’t know one darn thing about me.”

  He sat up, his eyes dark and a little dangerous through the dim light. More lightning lit the outside as the first drops of rain plopped against the porch roof. “I know you have a place behind your left ear that makes you tremble in my arms, I know your breasts get warm and full when I suckle them and that you like for me to cup your bottom when I make love to you.”

  “If you really knew me, you’d know I would never take such a mundane, boring picture of Bonnie in front of the bank. I work for a magazine, I take photos all the time and I have more panache than that. And if you had half the pluck of Joshua O’Fallon or your dad, you’d believe in me no matter what the odds.” She studied him. “We don’t make love, Keefe. We screw, and there is a world of difference.”

  She turned and headed back to her room, oj in one hand, album in the other and leaving Mr. Keefe O’Fallon behind her with every intention of keeping him there.

  ———

  Keefe knew it was morning even though little sunlight came through the windows. He dragged his sorry butt off the living room couch and stood as a hard rain beat against the French doors that opened onto the front porch. It was one of those all-day rains, the kind that soaked the earth and made puddles and turned the world gray.

  His back ached. He was getting too old to spend nights on the couch, but the thought of sleeping upstairs with Callie there was out of the question. Blast her for publishing the article and blast her double for making him care about her. And he did care, dammit. He didn’t realize how much till he saw the article and felt so completely betrayed.

  She needed to be editor, he got that, but to do it this way, at the expense of his family, hurt one hell of a lot. He slogged his way into the kitchen and got coffee going, even put in an extra measure for a bigger shot of caffeine to combat the situation and rainy day.

  He felt Callie’s presence behind him before she said, “I’ll be out of here as soon as the new sitter shows up.”

  “I can manage.”

  “Don’t want Rory to think I just up and left him and Bonnie for no good reason.”

  “Oh, I think having their life splashed over the front page of Soap Scoops is reason enough.”

  She got a cup from the cabinet and poured herself some coffee. “That’s your opinion.”

  Rory’s silhouette posed at the back door. “Open up, dang it. It’s us. Raining cats and dogs out here.” Keefe let his dad and Max inside. Max shook, sending a spray everywhere, and more water dripped from Rory’s hat and slicker that looked as if he’d gained twenty pounds. Then he popped open the snaps, and a grinning Bonnie stuck her head out.

  Callie laughed, Bonnie giggled, even grumpy Keefe couldn’t keep a smile from his face. Rory said, “Had to keep sweet pea here dry, and putting her in this carrier thing worked just great. It was . . . Thelma’s idea.”

  Keefe got a towel for his dad and dried Max with another. Rory hung his slicker by the back door and undipped Bonnie, then handed her off to Callie. “She’ll need some more breakfast, didn’t feed her all that much at Thelma’s, and she needs a bath. Digger called, and the Annabelle’s headed upriver and lost a barge, blast it all anyway. Digger’s going out after it on one of the tows, but I got to . . .” His voice trailed off, and he looked from one to the other. “What the hell’s going on between you two now? We could freeze ice in here with the looks you’re giving each other.”

  Callie strapped Bonnie into her pumpkin seat and set it on the kitchen table. Keefe took a copy of Soap Scoops and handed it to his father. Rory looked at it and shook his head. “Well, if this don’t beat all. We’ll get every soap fan within a hundred miles coming on down to check you out and see Bonnie. Damn inconvenient, that.”

  Callie poured c
ereal for Bonnie, and Keefe said, “And it will keep Mimi from making contact, afraid someone will recognize her.”

  Rory stroked his chin. “Yeah, that, too. But what does this have to do with you two?”

  “Callie’s a reporter for this rag, Dad. When she came she traded her baby-sitting skills for an interview with me with the understanding the interview be only about me and not Bonnie and you. We didn’t tell anyone because if the word got out, everyone would be after her to put them in the story.”

  “Well, what about me?” Rory poked his chest. “You could have told me.”

  “Wasn’t any need to. The story was supposed to be about me and only me. Then this article appeared.”

  “Which I didn’t write,” Callie said while tying a bib around Bonnie.

  Rory shrugged. “So?”

  “So she spilled the story anyway.”

  “Hogwash. If Callie gave her word she wouldn’t write the story, she didn’t. If I didn’t think she had more gumption than that, I never would have left sweet pea with her. Besides, I knew who she was all along. Had that PI fellow find out. Can’t just turn my baby over to any stranger; you got to be dang careful about those things.”

  Callie stopped dead. “Why didn’t you say something?”

  Rory rolled his broad shoulders. “Well now, you two didn’t say anything, so I figured you had your reasons. Besides, I can’t go telling you everything, now, can I? No fun in that. And Bonnie thinks you’re the berries, and that PI fellow said you had a good reputation which in your business must be as rare as a hen’s teeth. What’s going on with me and Mimi and Bonnie isn’t top secret, and there are people all over this town who could write this if they had a mind to.”

  “But—” Keefe started, but Rory finished, “Seems to me somebody got the story and turned it in to do just what’s happening now, cause a brouhaha in this here family. Someone who doesn’t like us all that much, and to tell the truth, there aren’t all that many. I try helping folks more than hurting them, but people get their dander up over almost anything, so who knows.”

  “Callie has a motive, Dad. If she got the story, she had a good chance to be editor of the magazine. You’re blind to the obvious, there is no other explanation.”

  Rory headed for the stairs, Max at his side. “And if you choose to believe that, you’ve got less brains than this here pup.” Max whined, and Rory apologized, feet and paws retreating up the stairs.

  The front doorbell rang. Keefe swore and headed down the hall calling, “Try not to cause any more mayhem in my family till I get back, Cahill.”

  “Eat dirt and die, O’Fallon.” She fed Bonnie a spoonful of cereal and gave her some juice from a sippie cup. “Another milestone in the life of Bonnie O’Fallon.”

  Keefe came back into the kitchen, a young woman in a trench coat and heels behind him. “This is the baby-sitter from Tot Tenders.”

  Callie’s heart dropped to her toes. This was it. Time to say good-bye. Even if she wasn’t leaving town, she wouldn’t be feeding Bonnie cereal and giving her a bath and watching all those cute firsts . . . peaches, sippie cup, first step. “Thought she wasn’t supposed to be here till noon.”

  The woman said, “I just finished another job and was in the area, so they sent me over.”

  “Do you live around here?” Callie asked.

  “Uh, Nashville area.” She opened her purse and flashed some identification card, then stuck it back in her purse. She took off her coat and laid it across a chair and looked at Callie. “I can feed the baby.”

  Callie thought she was going to be sick. But Bonnie was not hers to get sick over. If looks could kill, Keefe O’Fallon would be dead as a tombstone right now. “Fine,” Callie said as she stood. She passed the spoon to the woman, who was not exactly dressed to feed a baby. A suit? Good grief.

  Keefe said to Callie, “I’ll get your luggage.”

  “I can manage on my own just fine.” She squared her shoulders and pushed past Keefe and up the stairs, feeling his gaze boring into her. She got her luggage and snagged her computer and ran into Keefe in the hallway. He said, “I understand why you did it, I really do, and I forgive you.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive, you big jerk. To think I fell for you, tried to think of how we could be together in New York, give what we have a chance ... I must have been out of my freaking mind. I’ll come back for Dusty.”

  “Forget New York, stay here,” Rory said as he came into the hall, and Keefe said to him, “There’s a new babysitter downstairs to watch Bonnie, from a good agency in Memphis, highly recommended.”

  Rory looked from Callie to Keefe, rain pelting the windows and roof, thunder rolling down the river valley. “Well, I don’t give a flying fruitcake how highly recommended she is. Callie’s taking care of my Bonnie, and that’s the bottom line. I don’t rightly know how this story got in that magazine, but I’ll find out.”

  Rory yanked her suitcase from her hand and all but tossed it back into the room. “Now, I got me a business to run.” He turned to Keefe. “And you can help Digger with that barge, make yourself useful as well as ornamental and causing problems around here. I’m going downstairs and fire that sitter and get to work, and you two figure out how you’re going to make this all happen so you don’t go killing each other and driving me nuts.” He turned in a huff. “Dang kids!”

  Rory trotted down the steps and made for the kitchen.

  Callie shrugged. “Well, now what do we—”

  Rory appeared at the bottom of the stairs. “Okay, where is this blasted baby-sitter, anyway?”

  Keefe said, “In the kitchen feeding ...”

  Rory suddenly looked pale. “Ah, fuck.”

  Keefe raced down the stairs, pushing past Rory, Callie following. She looked in the living room and dining room. She came back into the hallway as Keefe said to Rory, “You take the road past town. I’ll take the river road. She couldn’t have gotten far. Callie, you stay here. We’re looking for a gray SUV.”

  Callie ran out the side door, rain beating down, plastering hair and clothes to her body. She jumped in the Jeep, Keefe right behind, Rory already squealing tires, backing his Suburban out onto the road. Keefe raced toward the river road, windshield wipers on supercharge. She cinched her seat belt hard to keep from sliding around as Keefe took the turn, then down a hill, Hastings House looming through the stormy gloom . . . and an SUV off in the gully, door wide open, engine running, headlights blazing.

  Keefe skidded the Jeep to a stop, and together they ran to the SUV. Bonnie sat in the back in a car seat, playing with her plastic rattle, blowing baby bubbles. Keefe sagged against the car. “Ohthankgod!”

  Callie yanked open the back door and touched the baby’s cheek, feeling light-headed with relief. Keefe said, “You take care of Bonnie; I’m going after the baby-sitter. Call Demar,” he yelled through the rain as he took off down the road. “And someone needs to find Dad before he has a heart attack.”

  Keefe didn’t wait for Callie to answer, knowing she’d take care of Bonnie and the rest. She was like that, his equal, doing the job without a bunch of whining and crabbing. But right now he had to find that damn sitter. If he didn’t do another thing with the rest of his fucking life, he was finding her and getting to the bottom of all this fucking crap.

  He tore down the road, but when he turned the bend and could see a distance there was no sign of the sitter. He stopped, catching his breath. She could have gone toward Hastings House or into the woods. The Mississippi was off to the other side, and no one would run toward a river in a storm. He ran up the drive for Hastings House as Callie bolted out the front door. “You take the grounds to the front; I’ll do the woods in the back. Thelma has Bonnie, and no one’s getting that baby through her. Georgette called Digger. Demar’s getting your dad. Bases covered.”

  Callie ran for the back of the house toward the woods, and Keefe followed. “I’d say she’s in here. Best place to hide is the woods.”

  Callie nodded, and
they took off across the grass to a narrow path disappearing into the trees. Water streamed between the leaves, but at least it wasn’t a full cascade. They swiped their faces, mud slowing their progress as the woods sloped down a hillside. Ferns, undergrowth, made getting off the path difficult. He caught Callie as she tripped on a root; she grabbed for him when his foot snagged a rock. Light diminished. Callie stopped short. “Horses galloping? Where’s that coming from?”

  “It’s raining, and two Southerners are running around in his woods. This is not a happy time for Ulysses. If you hear halt, just keep going.”

  “I’m not in the mood for ghosts.”

  “Are you ever in the mood for ghosts?”

  “They make great stories.”

  Keefe followed Callie to the creek, the gently flowing brook now an angry torrent of rushing dirty water and debris.

  “Help me,” came a voice from downstream. The sitter held on to a tree trunk for dear life, thigh deep in water, hair streaming down, caked in mud. “I can’t get out, current’s too fast and the creek side’s too steep.”

  “We’ll get you.” Keefe stepped off the path, and the woman wailed, “Oh, God, don’t leave me. It’s getting deeper, and I can’t hold on much longer and . . . and this place is haunted. Dear God, is it haunted. You got to get me out of here. I’ll tell you everything.”

  Keefe held Callie’s hand tight. “Grab on to me, and whatever we do, we don’t fall in that creek.”

  She nodded, the water getting worse by the second. They made their way along the bank through the brush and rocks till they got to the woman. Callie said, “Now what? The bank is really sharp.”

  Keefe took the waistband of Callie’s jeans, clenching tight. “I’m going to hold on to you and this tree. You’re going to reach in and pull out the baby-sitter. Let her go, and she’s done for, got it? But for God’s sake don’t fall in yourself.”