by Casey Dawes
“Mommy? Who’s that?” Kelly Anne pointed her wand at Reese.
“Remember, sweetie, this is my boss, Mr. Moore.” A bitter taste seeped into her mouth along with his last name. “Reese, you remember my daughter, Kelly Anne.”
“I sure do. Hello, Kelly Anne.”
With pursed lips, her daughter stared at him for a few moments before turning back to Findlay.
“Grandma said he was mean to you. Should I turn him into a frog?” She held up her wand and frowned.
Findlay choked.
Reese scrunched down to Kelly Anne’s level.
“You’re right. I was mean to your mommy once.”
“Did your mommy punish you? My grandma says being mean makes people cry.”
“Your grandma is a very smart woman,” Reese said. “Yes, my mother punished me.”
“Did she spank you?”
“No. It was worse than spanking.”
“Mommy says spanking is bad. She sends me to my room. Does your mommy do that?”
“How did you know? That’s exactly what she did.”
“I just did.” She nodded sagely, before spotting something in the distance. “Mommy!” she yelled, pointing to another little girl. “I want my face painted—just like her!”
The girl had a tiny dog painted on one cheek, a flower on the other.
“I know just where you can do that,” Reese said.
“Oh! Show Mommy! Please!”
“I’ll do that.” Reese stood up. “This way, ladies.” He held his hand out to Kelly Anne, who grabbed it immediately.
When he did the same for Findlay, she hesitated.
He arched an eyebrow.
Her throat constricted, but she did it anyway.
It wasn’t the zing so often characterized in love stories, but a slow burn of awareness that slid up her arm when he touched her.
He smiled—the same smile he’d had whenever they’d met as teens.
She blinked away the tears from her eyes. This wasn’t possible. Opening herself to being hurt by the same man twice was merely stupid.
“See! See!” Kelly Anne pointed to the artists adding color to small children’s faces.
“Yes, dear.” The line was long, but it would be worth the wait.
Reese studied the artists.
“We’ll wait for that one.” He pointed to a redhead at the far right.
“Why?” Findlay asked.
“She’s the best.”
“You know that how?”
“Because she’s a professional artist. I know her—actually you do, too.”
“Gretchen.” She’d hated Gretchen in high school. Well, not hated, because the girl was truly nice, as well as talented. But she’d been good friends with Reese, and Findlay had always wondered if it had ever gone beyond that.
When they got to the station, Gretchen gave Reese a warm smile.
“This is Kelly Anne,” he said. “You remember Findlay from high school. Kelly Anne is her daughter.”
“Of course I do.” The grin beamed at Findlay.
“I want a dog and a flower,” Kelly Anne said as she tugged at Gretchen’s smock.
“I think we can do that.” The artist glanced up at them. “It’ll take about ten minutes.”
“Okay,” Findlay said.
All around her, people were greeting each other as long-lost friends, which they probably were. Montana summer fever scattered natives to the four winds as they squeezed every ounce out of the short season.
“Gretchen’s a great gal,” Reese said. “She spends a lot of time teaching art to kids through various organizations and works with therapists to provide art therapy.”
“Sounds like a wonderful person.” She tried to sound enthusiastic.
“We dated for about six months,” Reese said with a grin. “It never clicked though. So we went back to being friends.”
“Like high school.”
“Are you jealous?” Reese put his hands on her arms and grinned at her.
“Nothing to be jealous about.”
“Reese.” Mom’s voice made him drop his hands from Findlay’s arms. “How nice to see you again. Thank you for taking Findlay to the airport the last time. Your mother says your father should be back in the saddle after the first of the year. Will you return to Paris then?” There was a note of hope in her voice.
“Hello, Mrs. Callahan,” Reese said, extending his hand. His tone was wary. “This is actually a permanent move. I’ve given up diplomacy to help with the company.”
“How nice for your father. Although I suppose it requires a different kind of tact.”
Her nice, sweet mother was being bitchy.
“It certainly does,” Reese said. “How have you been? We didn’t get to talk much when I picked up your daughter.”
“As well as can be expected. I was chatting with your mother. Such a good-hearted woman.”
The implication that Reese was not was clear in her words.
“Mother, can I talk with you?” Taking her elbow, Findlay steered her away from Reese. “What is up with you?” she hissed.
“I thought you two weren’t involved.”
“We’re not. I just ran into him.”
“I’m not blind. I see how he looks at you.” Her mother wagged her finger in Findlay’s face. “He will never hurt my little girl again. You tell him if he does, I’ll eviscerate him.” Her mother nodded to add the point.
“Mother!” Her mind protested outrage, but her heart warmed.
“Bet you didn’t know I knew the word, ‘eviscerated,’ did you?” Her mother chuckled.
Who was this person?
A far distant memory of her parents laughing about something she hadn’t understood flashed in and out of her mind. This was a side of her parent she hadn’t seen in a very long time.
“Be careful. I’ll keep my knives sharpened just in case he does something stupid. I’ll go take care of Kelly Anne. You ditch him.”
Findlay stared after her mother as she bustled over to the line and said something to Reese.
He paled before turning toward her, shaking his head, a small smile playing on his lips.
“Did she say anything about knives to you?” Findlay asked.
“No. No knives. She did tell me I better not hurt you or else. Will there be stabbing involved if I do?”
“Probably.”
“Then I will make sure to be very, very careful with your heart.”
She sucked in a breath.
His smile was gone.
Suddenly, she wanted to kiss him more than anything else in the world.
“Findlay, I . . . ” His fingers reached toward her cheek.
“Look, Grandma!” Kelly Anne’s high-pitched voice pierced the veil.
“Don’t, Reese.”
“You’re right.” His hand dropped. “Wrong place, wrong time.”
“Wrong girl.”
“Nope. Right girl. I’m going to prove it to you.” He took her by the hand and dragged her back to where Kelly Anne and her mother stood.
“Mrs. Callahan, I’d like your permission to ask your daughter out for a date. I promise not to hurt her. Please. It’s important.”
“Reese, really . . . ” Findlay said.
“Hush. Let’s hear what your mother has to say.”
Her mother frowned.
“I like play dates,” Kelly Anne said. “Can I come, too?”
“Sure, why not? You can be our chaperone,” Reese replied.
“What’s a shap . . . shap . . . What’s that thing?”
“It just means you can go, too,” Mom said.
“Does that mean yes?” Reese asked.
“Oh, go ahead. Just remember . . . ”
“I know. Findlay said it involved knives.”
Her mother nodded solemnly.
“Did anyone think to ask me?” Findlay asked.
“Your answer will be ‘no,’ so . . . ” Reese crouched down. “Miss Kelly Anne, would you like
to come with me to a movie?”
Her daughter furrowed her head. “A movie for kids?”
“Yep.”
“Cool! I know just what I want to see!” She frowned again. “But you won’t like that. Daddy says those movies are just for kids so Mommy has to take me.”
Reese glanced up at her and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head before turning back to the little girl. “Say, Kelly Anne. Do you think it’d be okay if your mom came with us?”
Her daughter lifted her face up to her, lips pursed, and arms akimbo as she contemplated the question.
“You’re in so much trouble,” her mother whispered, nodding toward Kelly Anne.
“I know.” Her daughter was going to be a handful in her teens.
“Okay,” Kelly Anne finally said. “She can come. But I get my own popcorn.”
“Deal.” Reese rose to his feet and cocked his head. “Well?”
Did she really have a choice?
“Deal.”
• • •
“I thought you hated Reese the way you were acting,” Findlay fumed at her mother once they’d gotten Kelly Anne to bed that night. “How come you said he could go out with me?”
“Oh, dear, I never hated him, and besides, no matter what I said, you will make up your own mind. I was disappointed in him, that’s all. Over the years I’ve realized he was only sixteen, a time in a boy’s life when his father’s foibles haven’t totally knocked him off the pedestal. Reese seems interested in making up for past mistakes. I figure I should give him a second chance. After all, his father was a decent man once.”
“What happened to Brian?” Findlay settled herself on the couch with her tea while her mother’s needles clacked steadily.
“Life, I guess. Some people adapt—some people break.”
“But why, specifically? What made him break?”
“I’m making Kelly Anne a new hat for Christmas.” Her mother checked her pattern.
“She’ll love it.” The variegated yarn was in her daughter’s two favorite colors: blue and yellow.
Her mother often took a roundabout way of getting to a subject, especially if it was a painful one.
“Your father was getting uncomfortable with the way the company was going—thought Brian was cutting corners too much. That his goals had stopped being about creating something valuable that would promote industry in Missoula and were more about getting rich. That wasn’t ever in your father’s plan.”
She dropped her knitting in her lap and smiled.
A good memory.
When her mother picked up the yarn and needles again, the smile faded.
“They were arguing about something the day before the embezzlement was discovered. That’s what made the whole thing ironic. There was your father, pressing for more caution at the expense of profit, and he’s the one Brian accused of being greedy.”
“Do you think Brian could have had something to do with it—that it was just a way to get Dad out of the company so he could run it the way he wanted?”
“I’ve thought about that off and on, but I couldn’t ever believe it. As much as Brian lost his compass, he wouldn’t deliberately hurt your father.”
“But he did.” She set the teacup on its saucer with a clang.
“Not intentionally.”
Who cared? Whatever way, her dad was dead.
“Give it up, Findlay. There’s no way to prove your father was framed all these years later. Enjoy your life. Have fun on your date with Reese.”
“It’s not a date.”
“Oh, that’s right. Reese is taking Kelly Anne out. Kelly Anne is letting you come.”
Findlay let out a smile. “Kelly Anne is something, isn’t she?”
“I thought she did really well with all the people there.”
“It helped she had a friend. Plus, Missoula gatherings are . . . non-threatening.” Unless too much alcohol was involved.
Her mother glanced at the clock and clicked on the television.
Conversation was over. Findlay picked up her teacup and went back to the kitchen. Her mother was a creature of habit—things that had kept her sane after her husband had died.
No matter. Despite her mother’s prod to let sleeping dogs lie, Findlay was more determined than ever to figure out what had happened. It was the only way she could vindicate her dad and prove her own innocence.
She’d go out on this date and remind Reese of his commitment to help her uncover what had really happened.
The truth was the only way they had any shot at a future, whether alone or together.
• • •
Requisite popcorn in hand, Reese settled into his movie seat next to Kelly Anne with Findlay on the other side of her daughter.
Not the configuration he would have chosen, but Findlay had deftly made the arrangements. The lights dimmed, and he shared a smile with her over Kelly Anne’s non-stop narrative.
A movie had been a terrible idea. How was he supposed to ask her out again with the gap of a chattering child between them?
A tug on his sleeve reminded him Findlay came with an appendage. A cute appendage, but another human being nonetheless.
“Thank you for the popcorn, Reese.” The “s” in his name came out as a quasi-lisp.
“You’re welcome,” he whispered. “Look, the movie is about to come on.”
“Goody!”
Heroes and princesses, villains and sidekicks flowed across the screen in front of him, but it was memories that filled his mind’s movie. The first date he’d had with Findlay had been walking around the mall, sharing an ice cream from Dolce Cafe, and he purchased a small stuffed bear to remind her of him. For the next six months, their “dates” had been planned accidental meet-ups.
Then he’d bucked up enough to ask her out on a real date. Her father insisted he show up a half hour early so he could discuss what was what with him.
Good thing Frank Callahan hadn’t believed in guns.
Not until he’d found one for his final act.
A waste.
Not the time to think about such things.
Both Findlay and Kelly Anne peered intently at the movie as the hero sang of lost love and heartache.
Even though he didn’t know the words, he knew how the song had played in his own life.
“That was sooo good,” Kelly Anne proclaimed as they threaded their way down the hallway after the end. “Thank you, Reese.”
“We’ll have to do it again some time.” He crouched down. “You were a great date, Kelly Anne.”
“I had fun. But I think you’re too old for me. I’m only five. How old are you?”
“Older than that,” he said. “I think your mommy might be the right age for me though. What do you think?”
“I already have a daddy.” Kelly Anne’s forehead wrinkled.
“I don’t want to be your daddy, honey,” he said, lifting the little girl’s chin and looking into her eyes. “I’d like to be your friend. And your mommy’s friend. Maybe make her smile again.”
Kelly Anne considered that for a moment before nodding her head.
“Okay. Make Mommy smile.”
“I’ll do my best.” He stood up.
Findlay shook her head, but the smile he’d been looking for was there.
“Dinner?” he asked.
“Coffee,” she stated flatly. “After we return from Seattle. Then we can discuss how to proceed with our other little project.”
He’d better get hustling.
Chapter 12
“Reese, you’re staying for dinner, right?” his mother called into the garage where he was sorting through some of the boxes he’d been storing since college. A lot of trash, but it was a good excuse to stop by. To see if he could pry any information from her.
Unfortunately, he’d seen very little of her. Mostly, he’d been stuck in the garage while she worked in the office upstairs, organizing the fifteen or so committees she managed.
He chuckled. Mom
was a force that couldn’t be ignored.
She should be satisfied. Four bags of trash, a box for Goodwill, and a box he’d take with him to sort more carefully. There had been some stuff from Findlay he’d spotted. He’d started to go through it, but the memories had been too alive to deal with inside this concrete bunker.
How was he going to tackle his mother without making her suspicious? He’d promised Findlay he’d find out what had happened back then.
As long as the markers didn’t point back to Frank Callahan.
Drifting into the kitchen, he was glad to see his mother poking around the refrigerator for dinner makings. He rinsed off his hands, grabbed a glass from the cupboard, and filled it with fresh tap water before leaning against the counter.
How to get her started?
“You were involved in the company in the beginning, weren’t you?” he asked.
“That was a long time ago, dear. Things have changed so much,” she muttered at the acorn squash she pulled from the crisper. “This should be enough for the three of us, shouldn’t it?”
“Undoubtedly.” He hated squash in any form, except maybe carved pumpkins, something his mother always forgot.
“But you did the books when the company first started, right?” he asked, jerking his mind back to the task on hand.
“I got Findlay’s mother to do it. Your father and Frank weren’t good at tracking receipts and whatever. She was good at tracking them down. I was more interested in what they were doing in the laboratory.” She took a lethal-looking knife from the wooden block in which they were stored.
What was it with women and knives?
“Well,” she continued. “Frank wasn’t too bad at receipts. Your father was hopeless. Still is.” She chuckled. “He thinks that he’s the one who made us financially comfortable. If I hadn’t kept track of where the money was going, we’d be living in one of those wannabe California developments—houses with no lawn where you learn too much of your neighbor’s business.”
“How’d you get the money for start-up?”
“We pooled together. Sam came along at the right moment with his investment. I had to do a lot of the research on how to set it up. I was on the phone for hours with lawyers in California who understood start-ups and government officials in Helena who understood Montana. My head hurt perpetually.”