by Casey Dawes
“That would be great,” she said with a smile, meaning every word.
With a little bit of luck, maybe she could recapture a tiny bit of the innocence she’d had before her world had been flushed down the toilet.
“What did you find out from your mother?” she asked.
“Just general stuff.” He stared at the plank table that provided a shelf between them and the garage door windowpanes.
“Nothing specific?”
“Not really. I don’t know. Just a feeling. Sam was a lot more involved in the company in the beginning than I’d thought at first. He was a silent investor early on.”
“Odd. You’d think he’d have more of a managerial position then.”
“Apparently, he’s a money guy. He always wanted to know where every penny went. Still does.” Reese glanced at her. “He was the one who brought the discrepancy to me in the first place.”
“Wonder if he was also the one who noticed it before they accused my dad of . . . .”
“I don’t know.”
The barista called out his name, and he rose to get their coffees.
The steaming brews were artistically finished with a leaf drawn in foam on the top. Almost too pretty to disturb.
Kind of like life. It could be really soothing if all you did was look at the surface.
Where did Sam fit in all of this? While he could be gruff at times, she’d never thought he’d been anything but honest.
But she’d been wrong about men before.
What if he’d done more than uncover the problem?
“Whoever is doing this had to be working for the company when my dad was framed.”
“Probably.” Reese took a sip of his coffee, leaving a wisp of white foam on his upper lip.
She grinned at him and pointed.
His eyes steady on hers, he licked it off.
A riot of emotion pinged through her body.
Down girl. It’s just coffee. Sexy coffee but still only coffee.
With a little bit of foam.
“I want to take you on a real date,” Reese announced.
“This is a real date. You’re here. I’m here. My daughter isn’t.”
He shook his head.
“Anything else is out of the question,” she said. “Your father would have a fit. Probably bring on another heart attack.”
“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”
“What are you, twelve? No matter how many people live here, Missoula’s still a small town. Someone will let him know, just like Mrs. Temple called your mother when you clipped some of her prize roses when you were ten.”
“I wanted a bouquet for you,” he said matter-of-factly.
“You didn’t even see me when you were ten.”
“Oh, yes, I did, Findlay Callahan. Yes, I did.” He traced a figure eight on her hand.
“Did not!” Her laugh came out like a snort. “You only had eyes for Delores Cunningham.”
“Who?”
“Delores Cunningham. Skinny. Cute. Flirty. The queen of fourth grade.”
“I don’t even remember her.”
“Right. You and every other boy lapped her up like cat’s cream.”
“And where is Miss Cunningham now?” he asked.
“No idea.”
“Exactly.” He took her hand. “While you, my lovely fourth grade crush, are sitting right next to me.”
His eyes were bright, despite the gloom outside.
A small breath escaped her. All she could do was look at him. He’d been her everything when she was sixteen. Apparently, she’d belonged to him a lot longer than she’d thought.
“I thought all you wanted was friendship.”
“I did . . . I do,” he whispered. He leaned in and stole a kiss from her lips.
She had to break the spell.
“Go out on a real date with me, Findlay. Better yet, let me cook you dinner.”
She shouldn’t. Couldn’t. Disaster was down that road.
“I can’t,” she said.
“Can’t? Or won’t?”
“Does it matter?” She stared at her coffee, the foam leaf diffusing from neglect.
“Only if I can change your mind.” He drank his coffee, his gaze never leaving her.
She shrugged and picked up her cup.
Damn. It was good.
She smiled at him.
“Told you,” he said. “So. How about it? How do I change your mind?”
“Clear my father.” And me.
“Isn’t there a smaller task—you know, something reasonable, like world peace?”
She stared outside at the sidewalk, fairly deserted on a Saturday. During the week, the streets would be teeming with students from a nearby high school.
Must all be at the football game or working with their parents to prepare for the onset of winter.
Or hunting.
Other lives—normal ones—not like the screwed up one she’d lived.
Time to change all that. She had to show her daughter what true courage looked like.
“Nope. That’s it.”
“You’re tough.” His voice was still teasing, but an edge had crept into it. “How about this?” He beat a rhythm on the cup. “We both agree that the person who did this had to have worked at the company both when your dad was there and now.”
“Yes.”
“How about I go back through the records and find out who those people are? It may be someone we haven’t even thought about.”
“How are you going to get access to those records?”
“I’m the boss, remember? Sam had all the old records digitalized when he took over the finances way back when. He’s nothing but efficient.”
“Do you think Sam is involved?” The man seemed nice enough, but since he’d been the one to point out both errors, he could have been the one who caused them.
“I don’t know. That’s what we’re going to find out,” Reese said. “I’d hate to think it was him—he’s like an extra uncle: odd, but always underfoot. It doesn’t make sense, either. What does he gain? That’s who we have to find—someone who has been here since the . . . um . . . earlier problem and had something to gain by this intricate plan.” He touched her hand. “Sooo, if I get this list, would you reconsider and come to dinner?”
She should say no.
“Please.” The caress on her hand continued, and she watched his fingers in fascination. What would they feel like on the other parts of her anatomy?
She used to feel so safe with him. Before.
“I’ll think about it.” She drank some of her coffee, set it down, and checked her phone. “I need to pick up Kelly Anne from her play date.”
“Now?”
“Yes.” She’d made the arrangement with the other parent to insure she’d have an excuse to leave.
Not that she wanted to leave right now. But between the kiss at Maclay Flat and the touch of his hand now, it was better that she did. She had to keep her distance for her daughter’s sake. The therapist had been right about that. It was too confusing otherwise.
“I’ll see you at work.”
“And dinner.”
“Maybe. You need to get the list.”
“Oh, I will. You can count on it.”
She stood, waved good-bye, and started to head out.
He held her arm and spun her back. Pulling her close, he kissed her.
Only this wasn’t a quick brush on her lips. This was a PDA right in the middle of the coffee shop, a kiss full of heat and magic.
She wanted to resist, but who was she to fight against a sorcerer?
Too soon, he released her.
“That,” he said, “is my promise.”
• • •
Reese stared at the list of about thirty names personnel had delivered. Many of them, still in the old plant, he didn’t know. But there were a handful who’d made the transfer to the tech division once his father had purchased the new company.
Of cour
se, Sam was on that list, but so was a woman named Gayle who worked in payroll. She wouldn’t have been the one to change the actual code, but she may have had a partner. John Potter, the team lead who’d solved one of the problems, was in Findlay’s group. The rest were scattered about the departments, primarily collecting and reporting on data for sales, marketing, and operations.
His bet was on Grace or John. Only problem was that it seemed too easy, and from what he knew, they were both steady, unimaginative employees.
“Anita Little Bird just told me you asked for a list of employees who were here at the beginning. Why did you do that?” Sam asked as he strode into the office.
Of course that meek little mouse from HR would go running to Sam.
“Why do you want to know?” he asked.
“Because it’s a damned odd request.”
Reese gestured to the chair in front of him.
Sam remained standing.
He was going to have to throw him a bone or Sam wouldn’t give up.
“I was curious. A few pennies missing here and there sounds a lot like what happened a long time ago.”
“Frank Callahan did that. We know it. His resignation and suicide prove that.” Sam finally sat.
“But what if he didn’t? The same thing is going on today, and Frank is long gone.”
Sam studied him.
“It’s that Callahan girl. That’s why you’re causing all this turmoil. I would have thought you’d be beyond her by now. She was a silly high school romance. Didn’t you have someone in Paris?”
“That’s beside the point.”
Even though it wasn’t. It was exactly the point.
He needed to head Sam off.
“I’ll figure all this out before my father returns,” he said. “If all these problems still exist when he gets back, he’ll have another heart attack.”
He looked at Sam. “Can’t have that, can we?”
“No matter where the trail leads?” Sam asked.
“No matter where it leads.”
“I assume I’m on that list.”
Reese nodded.
“I trust you’ll investigate me thoroughly, even though I had nothing to do with it,” Sam said.
Where was this going?
“Yes,” he said.
“As long as you give equal vigor to the Callahan woman, I’m okay with that.”
“She wasn’t here.”
“Her father was. He could have told her how to do it, left notes—he was always scribbling in one of those damned journals.”
A lot of vehemence for ancient history.
“Okay,” Reese said.
“Fine.” Sam stood, adjusted the crease in his pants, and left the room.
At some level Sam was right. Reese needed to be equally fair. Not that Findlay had anything to do with it.
She couldn’t.
She was the girl he had loved.
Maybe he still did.
• • •
Reese fumbled for his keys, his cloth bags heavy with vegetables, chicken, and wine. It had taken several days of persuasion, but Findlay had finally agreed to his dinner invitation.
He plunked the bags on the granite countertop. The remodeled kitchen was one of the reasons he’d chosen the rental. The fabulous meals in Paris had inspired him to take a series of cooking classes. As his skill grew, he’d found the effort rewarding and relaxing.
This was the first time he’d cooked for anyone since he left Paris. He’d suggested his dinner-making skills several times to his mother while he still lived with his parents, but she’d been horrified at the thought of a man in her kitchen.
Looked like Findlay didn’t have the same problem.
While the bacon sizzled in the heavy Dutch oven, he laid out the chicken and patted it dry then chopped onions and carrots.
Eyes stinging, he gratefully dumped the veggies in the pan. Why did Montana onions need to be so pungent?
A half hour later, all the ingredients were in the pot and the coq au vin was cooking in the oven. He plated some smoked salmon, olives, crudités, and dip, set out wineglasses, and opened the Pinot Noir to breathe.
He should have taken the French linens he’d sent his mother when he left the house. She’d never used them, and as far as he could tell, never intended to, preferring to use what she’d amassed over the years for her fancy dinner parties.
Which she almost never had any more.
No matter.
The doorbell rang.
He wiped his palms on his jeans and walked to the door.
“Hi,” he said to Findlay. “Can I take that?” He indicated the bagged bottle she’d thrust in front of her like a knight’s lance. “Unless you’re intending to defend your honor with it, of course.”
“Uh?” She wrinkled her forehead then looked at the bottle. “Oh. No, here, you can take it. It’s a Pinot something.”
He peeked in the bag. A red.
“Pinot Noir. Good choice. We’re having coq au vin.”
“That’s what you said. The lady at the store recommended this.”
She looked so young and carefree standing there, like a girl ready for a high school football game with her best friends.
“Um . . . are you going to invite me in?” she asked.
“Duh. Sorry.” He moved out of the way and held the door for her. “Let me take your coat.”
She started when he closed the door behind her.
“Easy,” he said. “It’s only dinner.”
“Sure. Yeah. Okay.”
How long had it been since she was alone with a man?
Once he’d taken her outer garb from her, he gestured to the secondhand couch and chair he’d cadged from his parents’ storage unit. Secondhand was a misnomer. They looked brand new.
“Have a seat. I’ll be right back.” He tossed her garments on his bed and hurried back to the kitchen where he deposited her bottle and filled the two glasses with the wine he’d opened earlier. In his haste, he hit one of the rims.
Crap. He grabbed it.
Nabbed it.
He took a deep breath. He’d never been this nervous on a first date before—not since he’d picked Findlay up for their official first one, a high school football game.
Smiling, he picked up the glasses and brought them to the living room.
She was sitting on the edge of one of the chairs, feet planted, hands on her knees, as if ready to bolt any second.
He hid a grin. It had obviously been a long time since she’d seriously dated. Good thing he wasn’t the only one with nerves. Maybe a glass of wine would calm them both down.
“This is from a bottle I already had open,” he said. “Do you want some snacks?”
“No. Yes . . . whatever you want.” Her eyes darted everywhere before resting on his face. “What do you want?” A trace of fear underlaid her words.
More than being out of practice. He sat cautiously beside her.
“Just to be with you. Friends, remember? What happened? What are you afraid of?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” She twisted her fingers. “Well . . . when Chris and I were together, I always had to make sure guests were comfortable and taken care of. If we were out, I had to attend to his needs and make sure I didn’t do anything to set him off. He needed everything just so.”
“Oh, honey.” He set the glasses on a side table. “Chris was—is—an ass.” Should he put his arms around her?
She smiled.
Good. He’d obviously said the right thing.
He settled for putting his hand on hers.
She jerked.
“Come back here, honey. It’s okay. I promise. I’ll take care of everything. All you need to do is eat.” He grinned. “Or not.”
“What if he wins?”
Reese’s distraction hadn’t worked.
“I can’t believe the courts will do that.”
“He thinks he’s doing the best thing. Says I’m too easy on her. What if he’s rig
ht?”
God, there was so much he didn’t know about raising a child with special needs.
“I’m sure you guys can work it out after the court stuff is over. He may have a point, but you can consider it once the custody thing is settled. I’m sure you’ll do the best for Kelly Anne. I’ll help you any way I can. We’ll fight harder than they do to win.”
“We?”
“Yes, we.” He released her hand and gave her one of the glasses. “We’re in this together.”
“I don’t see how you can help me with Chris. Short of being married, there’s no other leverage I can bring.”
“I’d marry you in a heartbeat.” He grinned.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Well, if that’s the way you feel . . . ” He tried to make a joke, surprised at how much the comment had stung.
“No, no.” She put a hand on his arm. “I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. It’s just that . . . well, given our history, it would take a while before we even got to that point, if ever. I’d never spring anything like this on Kelly Anne. She’s going to be freaked out enough as it is when he marries the woman he’s supposedly dating. You know, kids always hope their parents will get back together. Remarriage kills that.”
She was right.
“Not only are you smart and beautiful, Findlay Callahan, you are a wonderful mother. The judge will see that.” He kissed her cheek. “Stay here. I’m going to get something for us to nibble.” Anything to distract her.
“Okay.” She attempted a brave smile.
Quickly, he returned with the food plate and placed it on the coffee table in front of her.
She hadn’t moved.
His hope for a romantic candlelight dinner was fading fast. But this was important to her.
“Okay. What do you want to tackle first?”
“What?”
She was a million miles away.
“Do you want to figure out how to defeat Chris or look at the list I’ve got?”
“I don’t know. The list, I guess.”
“Okay, I’ll get it.” He gestured to the plate in front of them. “Eat something.”
When he returned with the piece of paper, she was staring at a carrot stick in her hand.
“The dip’s good,” he said. “Prelude to the meal.” He checked the clock on the wall, a reproduction of a Provence timepiece. Still another half hour to dinner.