Paris or Bust!

by Kate Hoffmann

  From what she’d heard, Vegas could be a lot of fun, particularly if you scored tickets to the top shows. It wasn’t Paris, though. Paris was a fantasy, a dream of shrugging off the little disappointments and obligations that sometimes weighed on her spirit. It meant one last, glorious chance to fly.

  All her life, Jody had been a good sport and the sporting thing to do right now was to cooperate. But she didn’t feel sporting. She felt determined.

  Five years ago, Callum had made such tender, passionate love to her that he’d nearly spoiled Jody for any other man. Then, after she turned down his offhand suggestion that she pull up stakes and run away to California with him, he’d left without a backward glance.

  The only reason he’d returned now was because she’d accidentally created an awkward situation for him. He expected her to give up the chance of a lifetime just as a favor? Not likely.

  If she signed on the dotted line, he’d smile, thank her, slosh back to his pathetic rental car and drive out of her life forever. Although that was what she wanted, Jody refused to let him off the hook.

  “Forget it,” she said. “I’m a finalist because I deserve to be one. I want that trip to Paris and that shopping spree. I’m going to enjoy buying some pretty dresses on my trip and, once I get home, I’ll hang them on the walls and enjoy the sight of them forever.”

  She caught her breath, taken aback by her own defiance. Surely Callum, whose jaw had dropped open at her tirade, would respond with the scorn she’d always secretly suspected he must feel toward the homespun, unglamorous woman who’d briefly been his lover.

  “Well, if we can’t come to an agreement,” he said, “I guess I’ll have to bring my suitcases in and stay for a while.” Before she could stop him, he retrieved two bags from his trunk and walked into the house ahead of her.

  The sky had fallen, Jody thought. What was she going to do now?

  CHAPTER TWO

  C ALLUM HADN’T HAD an easy trip. Airport security had searched him right down to his Italian leather shoes, his connecting flight in Dallas had been delayed and the sole vehicle available for rent in San Angelo might have served as a prop in the film American Graffiti.

  The downpour had added injury to insult. Stymied by a truculent convertible roof, he’d plowed on for miles through rainswept ranchlands, certain that mildew was forming even as he drove and too uncomfortable to scout for potential magazine articles. Thank goodness his suitcase and laptop had been locked inside the trunk.

  Callum knew he should have called Jody ahead. She had every reason to be grumpy with him. He didn’t blame her for refusing to withdraw from the contest, although he hoped she would change her mind.

  Besides, he was glad for the excuse to stick around and get reacquainted with his old friend. He decided not to mention the children yet. For one thing, she would probably laugh him out of the house when she learned he’d imagined even for a moment that he might be the father. Also, it might be a sore point about the real dad-whoever he was-not being her husband.

  The guy must be crazy to give up a woman like Jody. Even in her overalls, she had more earthy appeal than most models and actresses, whose bones stuck out.

  He and Jody entered the airy house through a sunken living room. Three steps led up to the kitchen and dining area, where she poured coffee from a half-full carafe. Callum set down his cases, tossed his jacket over the back of a chair and went to towel off in the bathroom. He returned a few minutes later, slightly less damp.

  “I don’t remember your house looking like this when we were in high school.” He was certain it had been a conventional ranch-style structure.

  “It was falling down. My parents decided to rebuild six years ago.” Jody gestured him to a butcher-block table, where he took a seat.

  “You said in your essay that you inherited the place last year.” Although Callum disliked mentioning what must be a painful subject, he wanted to acknowledge her parents’ passing. He’d been fond of the elder Reillys.

  “They died in a car crash on their way to a stock show in San Antonio.” She offered cream and sugar.

  “I’m sorry.” After helping himself, Callum savored the chicory-laced brew, although his usual taste ran to mocha lattes. “So you gave up teaching?”

  “It was that or sell the ranch. I couldn’t do both.” Jody went on to tell him about her forewoman, Gladys, and how well they worked together.

  As Jody talked, he cataloged the small changes since they’d last met. She’d acquired a rancher’s tan even this early in the season, and she held herself with a new maturity.

  Beneath it all, however, she was the same breezy girl who’d played trumpet alongside him in the high school band. She’d nearly blown his socks off, literally, when she stumbled while marching during their first rehearsal and sent a blast of air along his pant leg. They’d both laughed so hard they had to sit down on the football field. Although the coach wasn’t amused, Callum had been smitten.

  He’d loved her honesty and valued her advice. And he’d missed her keenly, more than he’d allowed himself to acknowledge until now.

  “Where on earth did you get the idea that you were a wallflower?” he asked.

  She stopped in midsentence and he realized he’d interrupted a description of how she was learning to clean and oil the farm machinery. “What?”

  “In your essay, you said you were a wallflower in high school,” he said. “That’s not true. Lots of boys had crushes on you.”

  Jody let out a hoot. “Name three!”

  “Me, me and me.”

  “You’re kidding.” She studied him as if seeking confirmation that this was a joke. “Come on, Callum, all the girls wanted you. I was your buddy.”

  “You were my girlfriend,” he said.

  “I was not! When did we ever go on a date?”

  “We went to the prom,” he reminded her.

  “You took pity on me. I said I didn’t have anyone to go with and you said, ‘How about me?”’ Jody’s forehead puckered. “Besides, you couldn’t wait to get out of town. You were just marking time, hanging around with me.”

  “That’s not true. We went together all through college.” They’d both graduated from the University of Texas at Austin. “We dated for four years.”

  “Study dates don’t count,” she said. “When did you ask me out for a romantic dinner?”

  “You’d have laughed in my face.” Callum’s pride wouldn’t let him mention that he’d lacked money for such luxuries. The son of a feed store owner, he’d had to work his way through college and pay off student loans afterward.

  “You should have tried me.”

  “Okay, I’ll try you now,” he said. “May I take you out for fine dining and dancing, Madame?”

  “Where? At the Downtown Café?” It was the fanciest restaurant in Everett Landing. That’s because it was the only restaurant.

  “Just a minute.” Callum checked his watch. “It’s nearly five. People eat early in the country, don’t they?”

  “Oh! That reminds me. I’ve got to start cooking.”

  “Don’t move. Tonight you’re dining at Il Ristorante Callum, the finest Italian trattoria in Everett County.” Ignoring her halfhearted protest, he whirled into action.

  As he’d expected, Jody kept her kitchen well stocked. In no time, he’d put a large pot of water on a burner, retrieved spaghetti and sauce ingredients from the pantry and set to whipping up dinner.

  A man of the world knew how to cook and cook well, Callum had concluded long ago. With the food editor at Family Voyager contributing to his education, he’d honed his skills. Thanks to his interest, the magazine now included recipes with its feature stories on restaurants.

  Jody watched with her chin resting on the heel of one hand. “I never thought of putting black olives in my spaghetti sauce.”

  “Wait’ll you taste it.” The tomato mixture simmered, filling the air with the scents of basil, thyme and oregano. The salad, into which he’d tossed artichoke
hearts and diced cucumber, stood ready on the counter. Careful not to break the strands of spaghetti, Callum stirred some into the boiling water.

  With dinner under control, he skimmed down the abbreviated staircase to the living room and flipped through Jody’s CD collection. Once he bypassed the Sesame Street stuff and some old-time country classics that must have belonged to her parents, there wasn’t much left.

  One label caught Callum’s eye and he extracted the jewel case. “Would you look at this! Everett County Regional High School Marching Band’s Greatest Hits. What a long title. And since when did we have any hits?”

  “It was a fund-raiser,” she said. “Remember? It came out the summer we graduated.”

  “How were sales?” He hadn’t kept track, but he suspected Jody had.

  “We made enough to buy the band new uniforms.”

  “Outstanding!” Callum put the CD into play. “I wonder if we can dance to it.”

  “I’m not even going to ask if you’re kidding, because you’re crazy enough to mean it,” Jody said. “So tell me. How does one dance to a march?”

  “By doing what the band director accused us of doing all along.” He pulled her to her feet. “Ignoring the rhythm and just going with our instincts.”

  Laughter bubbled out of Jody as Callum drew her close. Small but lushly built, she flung her arms around his neck the way she used to in high school.

  As they swayed together, ignoring the occasional flat blat of a trombone and the rousing beat suitable for a football halftime, Callum felt her breasts press into his chest. Through his shirt, he noticed the tips harden. Just like in the old days, his body sprang to full attention.

  He buried his face in her hair and relished the fresh scent of hay. Let the pasta turn to goo and the salad wilt. He only had an appetite for the woman in his arms.

  JODY HAD ALMOST FORGOTTEN how much fun Callum could be. He filled her house with a sense of magical adventure.

  “This is better than a trip to Paris.” Quickly, she added, “Almost.”

  “How would you know?” he murmured into her ear. “You’ve never been farther than Santa Fe.”

  “You read my whole entry?”

  “All two hundred and fifty words of it.”

  “Tell me about France,” she said. “You’ve been there, haven’t you?”

  “Several times.” Judging by the lilt in his voice, Callum had found something new and wonderful every time he’d visited. “The whole city comes alive from early morning until late at night. The streets smell like fresh-baked bread. In the sidewalk cafés, people debate issues as if they held the fate of the world in their hands.”

  “I can’t wait!”

  “After Paris, we should go to Rome,” he murmured, as if they were really planning to travel together. “We could dine beside the Spanish Steps and dance at a smoky little club I know. What else would you like to see? Venice? Sorrento? Perhaps Granada. There’s a beautiful city.”

  He’d visited all those places, Jody thought dazedly. She could have gone with him if she’d accepted his offer five years ago to accompany him back to L.A. And, of course, if she hadn’t been pregnant. But even if he’d somehow managed to keep the magazine going while supporting a family, their relationship would never have lasted. Kids apparently didn’t mean much to Callum. He hadn’t even asked about hers.

  Speaking of the boys, it was time they came in for dinner. Reluctantly, Jody separated from Callum. “I have to go get Ben and Jerry.”

  “Great! I love ice cream.”

  “No, my children.” From beyond the kitchen, she heard the side door slam. The boys still hadn’t learned to close a door quietly. “Oh, there they are.”

  She hurried through the kitchen. In the hall, she found her two little guys wriggling out of their jackets. Despite traces of dirt on their jeans and shirts, both had shining clean faces and hands.

  “Louise made us wash at the pump,” Ben said.

  “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.” Jody took a deep breath. Her decision not to notify Callum about her pregnancy had seemed the best choice at the time for both of them. She’d had second thoughts, third thoughts and fourth thoughts as she watched the boys grow up without a father, but until last year their grandfather had done his best to fill that role.

  She had no idea how Callum might react when he learned the truth. Had it even occurred to him on reading her essay that the boys might be his? If so, he’d given no indication of it since his arrival. But then, he hadn’t seen Benjamin and Jeremy yet.

  It was too late to turn back now. At some level, she’d been hoping for, and dreading, this moment ever since she entered the contest.

  Gathering her courage, Jody shepherded her sons into the kitchen. Callum stood in profile, draining the pasta into a colander.

  Although he’d stopped the music, he was humming to himself and his hips swiveled as if he were dancing. Like the twins, he was never completely still except when sleeping. And not always then, as Jody had reason to know.

  “Wow,” Ben said. “He looks like us.”

  The tall man glanced up, his gaze riveted on the boys’ hair. Silver-blond, it was identical to his own.

  A stubborn streak inside Jody urged her to deny the obvious. If she made up some plausible story about a long-vanished blond lover, she knew Callum would believe it because he trusted her. He would never discover how intrinsically his life had become interwoven with hers. Maybe, just maybe, she’d escape from this encounter with her self-control intact.

  She couldn’t do it. Fibbing to nosy townspeople was one thing. Lying to the man she loved would be intolerable.

  “Mine?” He mouthed the word as if unable to speak aloud.

  Jody nodded. “Callum, meet Benjamin and Jeremy.” She pointed to each in turn. Since Ben preferred red shirts and Jerry’s favorite color was blue, he should have no trouble keeping them straight.

  Callum stood there staring at them. For once, he’d lost his aplomb.

  “Who’s he?” Jerry demanded. “Why is he wearing our hair?”

  Approaching the newcomer, Ben reached up boldly. With a bemused smile, Callum bent so the boy could finger his stylish cut. “It feels soft,” the boy said.

  Tentatively, Callum rested one palm atop the boy’s head. “So is yours.” He turned to Jody, his expression that of a man lost in a wilderness. A bright and shining wilderness, perhaps, but one with no known pathways. “What do we do now?” he asked.

  “I’d suggest we eat dinner.” She waited tensely. Callum wasn’t the sort of man to explode at her in front of the boys. In fact, she couldn’t recall him ever losing his temper, although he did get a bit edgy sometimes. But he had every right to be angry.

  Although four years ago she’d believed she was doing the right thing, she could see now that she’d been protecting herself as much as him. And it hadn’t been fair to the boys. The older they grew, the plainer that had become.

  Callum pulled himself together. “I hope you guys like spaghetti,” he said.

  “It’s my favorite!” When Ben grinned, he looked like an exact miniature of his father. His father. A lump formed in Jody’s throat.

  “I like mine plain.” Jerry planted himself firmly next to Jody.

  “How plain?”

  “No sauce,” the boy said. “Just cheese.”

  Galvanized into action, Callum transferred the pasta to a glazed bowl and poured the tomato sauce into a separate container. “I’ll tell you what. We’ll serve the sauce on the side and you can suit yourselves. Do they eat salad?”

  “Surprisingly, yes.” Jody wasn’t sure how she’d been lucky enough to get children who liked vegetables. “As long as it has ranch dressing.”

  They gathered around the table. Callum and the boys bowed their heads while Jody said a prayer, and she was pleased to see her sons minding their manners as they ate. That didn’t prevent a fair amount of tomato sauce from spattering across Ben’s shirt, but since it was already bound for the l
aundry, she didn’t care.

  As the twins chattered about the new puppy, Callum stared from one boy to the other, wearing a puzzled half smile. Jody admired the way he’d kept his poise after being hit with a revelation that would have sent many men into either a towering rage or a mad scramble for the exit.

  “Freddy asked Gladys whose car was in front of the house,” Ben said between mouthfuls of salad. “She told him Mommy had a handsome visitor.”

  “Who’s Freddy?” Callum had mastered the art of twirling his pasta smoothly around his fork, while Jody’s spaghetti kept slipping off her utensils. Finally she gave up and chopped it into pieces.

  “Freddy Fallon is our full-time assistant,” she answered. “He lives in the bunkhouse next to Gladys’s place, past the machine shop.” Because of the unpredictable hours and the distance from town, it was customary for full-time employees to live on the property. “He’s one of those fellows I mentioned in my essay.”

  “One of your admirers?” Callum’s jaw jutted forward.

  “You could call him that. We went square dancing once.” Jody had agreed in hopes of pacifying the man, who’d been tagging after her like a lovesick hound. It hadn’t worked.

  “He’s got a brother,” Jerry said. “Frank works on Mr. Widcomb’s ranch.”

  “Frank likes Mommy, too.” Ben helped himself to more spaghetti from the bowl, trailing a few strands across the table. When he reached for the sauce, Jody grabbed it first and ladled it onto his plate.

  “Who else likes your mommy?” Callum asked.

  “Everybody likes Mommy,” Jeremy said.

  “Mr. Landers from the newspaper brings her flowers,” Ben said.

  Callum’s eyebrows shot up. “Old Mr. Landers? He must be nearly seventy.”

  “No, his son, Bo,” Jody said. “Don’t you remember him? He was a year behind us in high school.”

  “That’s right, he worked on the school paper.” Callum drummed his fingers on the table. “Skinny kid with braces, wasn’t he?”