by Cate Cameron
“Is he meeting people? You know—making friends?” There was something awkward in her voice, something strange.
Was Zara Hale asking him if her brother was getting laid? Judging by the stricken expression on her face, the way a lovely tinge of pink was blossoming on her cheeks, he was pretty sure she was.
“He’s met a few people,” Cal said cautiously. Zane had left Woody’s with a woman the other night, but maybe he’d gone back to the Hale house afterward, or maybe he’d spent the night and Zara hadn’t noticed because they were working different shifts. Or maybe he’d walked the lady home like a true gentleman and then returned to drive himself back to the country. It was none of Cal’s business, and probably none of Zara’s, either.
Because she wasn’t really interested in her brother’s sex life, he didn’t think. At least, he hoped she wasn’t. Her curiosity was just a symbol, a small part of her larger concern. “He’s doing okay,” Cal reiterated. “He’s meeting people, settling in. I’m sure it’s a—I don’t know, a challenging transition. But he’s making it.”
“And you’d tell me if he wasn’t?” She sounded almost pleading. “If something goes wrong, I can help! I can—I can do whatever I need to. I will do whatever I need to. As long as I know it’s happening, I can fix it.”
It was a strangely distorted version of the conversation Cal’d had with Zane. Cal wanted to protect Zara, Zara wanted to protect Zane. And Zane was probably doing okay all on his own. “He’s a big boy, Zara. He can take care of himself. I really think he’s doing fine.” And then he added, “But, yeah, I’ll let you know if I see something to worry about.”
She nodded, and her shoulders lowered a little. “Thank you.”
He felt almost bashful, like her thanks had been a gift and he was a schoolboy too shy to know how to receive it. Which was just stupid. He needed to get control of himself, so he changed the topic a little. “And you? I know, the center’s ‘fine.’” She had the grace to look a little sheepish at her previous lack of engagement. So he pressed a bit further, giving her a warm smile and leaning in just a little. “But what about your head? The concussion? Is it—”
The transition was quick. Her face shuttered again as she said, “My head is (a) none of your business. And (b) just fine.”
So much for sheepishness. Before he caught up to whatever had just happened, Zara had turned away from him. “You were right. It’s cold over here. I’m going to the fire.”
And she was gone, leaving Cal looking after her. What the hell? He pushed himself to his feet. He had no idea what the problem was, but he was going to find out.
* * *
ZARA made her way around the fire, practically stalking Zane, willing him to eat faster so they could get the hell out of there. She stopped walking when she heard him laugh. It was free and easy and relaxed; she hadn’t heard him laugh like that in ten years.
He was having fun. Making friends. He needed to stay.
She took a few steps backward then turned, though she wasn’t sure where she was heading.
She almost collided with Calvin Montgomery. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly.
“I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
“No, not about that. About before. For what I said.”
Damn it, she was too on edge for this. She turned to him and stared, the same gaze that told her opponents they were in over their heads. “What did you say? What are you sorry for?”
He paused before saying, “For being nosy maybe? I’m honestly not sure. But whatever—I don’t know. Whatever made you decide to leave. I think it was me, and I’m sorry for whatever it was.”
It was so easy for him. He could just expose himself like that, make himself vulnerable with such a wide-ranging apology, because he was confident he wouldn’t be attacked. Not him. No, he was safe from all that. But she wasn’t, and she wasn’t going to be stupid enough to take off her armor just because he was able to. “Yeah, you were nosy. You should back off. But it’s no big deal.” She turned away, and felt his hand on her shoulder. Not holding her, not really, but more contact than he had any right to be making. She knew just how it would feel to turn around and drive her fist into his solar plexus.
But he was going to help her with Zane, so he was an ally. Not a friend, her inner voice reminded her, not someone you can trust. But she hadn’t needed to hear that. She knew it well enough already. So instead of hitting him, she demanded, “What?” and gave him another glare.
He leaned against a nearby rock, lowering his head so they were on the same level. She wondered if he was deliberately trying to appear submissive and nonthreatening or if it was all instinctive for him.
“What?” she demanded again.
He said, “I feel like we keep—I don’t know. I guess mostly I feel like I keep pissing you off. And I just want you to know that it’s totally accidental. This isn’t like some juvenile ‘tease the girl you like’ scenario. I’m not trying to banter with you, or flirt or whatever. I don’t know what you don’t like, but I want you to know that I don’t do it on purpose.”
Her laughter surprised even her. “You aren’t trying to—Jesus, of course you’re not trying to flirt with me! I mean . . .” She laughed again, more relaxed this time. The surprise of it all had taken the edge off her resentment. Off her fear. “Why would you think that? Seriously, are you that bad at flirting? You do it and women take off? Is that your history?”
“No,” he said, and he was laughing a little himself. “I’m not bad at flirting. I’m pretty good at it, really. I was just trying to figure out why I keep making you angry, and that’s all I could think of. I thought maybe you were feeling sexually harassed or something.”
“Did you think that through at all? I mean, you know how I was raised, you know I work in an almost all-male environment with some guys who are pretty damn rough, you know I get my picture taken when I’m wearing a sports bra and tight shorts, you know I was in Maxim, for God’s sake, all tarted up and presented for the viewing pleasure of every pimply fifteen-year-old on the continent. And you think I’d get all worked up about someone asking me how I was feeling? Seriously?”
“Okay, when you put it that way, it does sound a bit stupid.”
“A bit?”
He grinned again, casting his eyes sheepishly toward the ground. Then he looked back up. “It sounds really stupid. It was just the only thing I could think of.”
She sighed. Why the hell was she getting into this, and with Calvin Montgomery of all people? But apparently her judgment was taking a short vacation, so she said, “What would your interpretation be if I was a guy? If you couldn’t just flip to your ‘wow, women are so delicate and sensitive’ bullshit?”
“I guess maybe I’d think you were a delicate, sensitive guy?”
“Or?”
He stared at her for a moment, then said, “I might think I’d hit a sore spot. Something you didn’t want to talk about.”
She should leave it at that, but she wasn’t going to. “But it’s not your fault, right? It was just an innocent question. No way you could know I don’t want to talk to you about my head. It’s not like I . . .” She trailed off and looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to fill in the blanks.
Which he reluctantly did. “Not like you’ve told me to mind my own business every other time I’ve asked about it.”
“No, of course not. I mean, if I was a guy—or, hey, just for fun, let’s say I’m a woman. But one that you actually respect, rather than just steamrolling over whatever she says—if I was someone like that and I’d told you repeatedly to leave a topic alone, and you just kept coming back to it? Damn, what would that make you?”
“An asshole?” he guessed glumly.
And now she really should leave it, but the killer instinct that made her strong in the ring wasn’t easy to turn off in other situations. “And what would a polite response be, for
someone dealing with an asshole in a public place?”
He nodded as if accepting his medicine. “It would be totally polite and reasonable for a person to leave the area in order to get away from the asshole.”
She looked at him then. Really looked. Not at the kid she remembered, the one who’d treated her like an unwanted hanger-on. Not the teenager he’d been, abandoning his best friend at the worst possible time. And not her stereotype of who he was now, pasted together from what she remembered of his family, the town, and other men who were big fishes in little ponds. She looked at him. Too handsome, still. Too preppy and proper looking. And the way he carried himself was too confident, too secure in his own status and strength.
But here he was. He was looking up at her with humility, listening to her with real attention, and seemingly taking her words to heart. How did that fit in with the kid she’d known or the stereotype of who he was now?
It didn’t fit, not at all, and she needed to think about that. But not right then.
“Okay,” she said quietly. “So that’s why I left. It’s not a big deal, but it’s not any of your business, either.”
“Come over to the fire,” he suggested. “I’ll leave you alone. I promise.”
She was tempted. She knew better, but there was something drawing her in. Not him. No, that couldn’t be it. “It’s been a long time since I’ve sat around a fire,” she said slowly. “I used to really like them. But in the city—I guess rich people have fireplaces. But there’s nothing like this.”
“No,” he agreed quietly. And then he just stood there, waiting.
The guy with the guitar set his plate down and picked up the instrument, and he strummed gently. Not loud enough to disturb anyone’s conversations, just a quiet backdrop to the party.
“That’s Theo, one of Josh’s cousins,” Calvin said. “He usually plays in a band at Woody’s but he took the night off to be here.”
She nodded, and took a half step forward. The sun was almost down, and in the dim light, people didn’t look as strange as they had earlier. They weren’t staring at her; most of them were looking at the fire, or at each other.
A little kid, maybe four or five, was walking around the edge of the bonfire and stumbled over something on the ground. For a moment, he wobbled, and Zara drew in a quick breath. The fire was a hazard. The kid was going to fall into it. But an adult hand reached out and steadied him, and the boy smiled at his rescuer and let himself be pulled away from the flames.
“Come sit down,” Calvin said, still quiet.
Zara wanted to. That was the scariest part. “I’m going to go help tidy up,” she said, and as soon as she said the words, she knew they were right. She needed to keep her mind sharp, and Calvin Montgomery was not good for that. Yes, it was a good decision.
Still, as she headed toward the long tables set up by the house, she waited to feel his hand catch her shoulder again to stop her from running away. She could almost feel its warmth, and its gentle weight.
And when it didn’t come, she was disappointed.
Seven
“SO YOU HAD a good weekend?” Michael’s voice was casually neutral, but he was watching Cal too intently for the illusion of relaxation to be convincing.
“I guess, yeah.” Cal waited for his brother to clarify whatever point he was trying to make. They were in Cal’s office and Michael had come all the way down the hall from his own space for something more important than chitchat. They weren’t the sort of brothers who just hung out.
“You were spending time with the Hales, I hear.”
Was Cal supposed to be impressed with Michael’s spy network? Half the town had been at Josh’s barbeque and it wasn’t like Cal had been sneaking around. So he just shrugged.
But Michael clearly wasn’t ready to let it go. “Ten years ago, Zane Hale called you for help, and you turned him in to the police.” Michael’s voice was still calm and conversational. If anything, he sounded pleased with Cal’s decision in the past. “Maybe Zane was so desperate for visitors while he was in prison that he made himself forgive you, but Zara? She’s just forgotten it all?”
Cal wanted to react. He wanted to explain, justify, say that Zane had actually thanked Cal for turning him in because it had kept him from getting in more trouble. He wanted to insist that he’d thought Zane would get help, or a slap on the wrist, not be locked away for a decade. He’d been naïve, sure, to think Zane would be treated like Cal would have been. Zane’s father didn’t golf with judges and Zane hadn’t been in school or been able to afford a good lawyer, and had been too proud to let Cal pay for one. Cal hadn’t known the consequences of his decision would be so horrible.
But Michael wasn’t the one Cal should be offering explanations to, and he didn’t want to give his brother the satisfaction of knowing he’d gotten a reaction. So he just shrugged. “I don’t know. She’s never mentioned it.” He smiled blandly. “Did you look at that report from Lawrence? I’m inclined to go along with his ideas, up to a point, but I really think he’s being a bit alarmist in some of his projections.”
Michael waved a hand dismissively. “Lawrence is always looking for a reason to panic. Ignore him.” He leaned forward in his chair and said, “Don’t you think that’s a potential problem?”
“Ignoring Lawrence?”
“No. The thing with Zara Hale.”
“We’re at work here, Michael. Do you think maybe we could have a work-related conversation?”
“We’ve already had the conversation. You should ignore Lawrence. Now, for other matters . . .”
“I don’t think we should ignore Lawrence. He’s got a lot of good analysis in there.”
“Okay,” Michael said easily. “Put a memo together, outlining what you think we should do, and you can use Lawrence’s analysis as support if you want, just as long as you’re careful with his conclusions. Now, on to other matters. Zara Hale—”
“Is none of your business.”
Michael raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think so?” He shook his head in disappointment. “You keep forgetting that you’re a Montgomery, Calvin. And that Montgomery Holdings is a family company. Whether you’re at work or out on the town, you represent this company and this family.”
“Oh, come on,” Cal said. “Are you serious about this?”
“Dead serious. Look, you get away with a lot. The younger son, without all the responsibility . . . it must be nice. But you don’t get away with everything. And spending time with a convicted felon and his prizefighter sister? It’s going too far.”
“Too far for what?”
“For your role in the family.” Michael sat back in his chair as if he had this all thought out and was ready to educate the ignorant youngster. “Dad wants to retire, you know.”
“Mom wants Dad to retire,” Cal corrected.
But Michael shook his head. “No, Dad, too. He’s told me so. He’s said he’s getting tired, and he wants to hand the company over. But he sees it as a sacred trust. Great-grandfather Montgomery started the company, it’s been handed down through the years, getting stronger with each generation. Dad wants to be sure it’s strong when he passes it to us, and he wants to be sure it stays strong.”
“You are not telling me that hanging out with the Hales threatens the strength of this company.”
“Because a company’s reputation means nothing?” Michael asked sarcastically. “All that fancy education and you somehow missed the importance of branding?” He shook his head. “Montgomery Holdings is branded as a conservative family company. We sell real estate to conservative people, provide vacations in our conservative, family-friendly resort properties. Even the furniture we make is conservative. Ex-cons and prizefighters?” Another head shake. “Not conservative.”
“What about valuing people for who they are? Is that not a ‘family value’ we could be promoting?”
&n
bsp; “You tell me, Mr. Bigshot MBA. If this was one of your case studies, would you say it would be good for the company if one of the two heirs presumptive was cavorting with”—he stopped and wrinkled his nose with a show of fierce distaste—“with people who would not appeal to our target market?”
“No one’s ‘cavorting,’” Cal said lamely. He had no other response. It wouldn’t be good for the company for him to be publicly linked to either Hale. He could see that. But he didn’t want to admit it, and not just because he didn’t want to give his brother the satisfaction of being right.
“Dad can’t retire until we’re stable,” Michael said. His voice was quieter now that he knew he’d won. “And doesn’t he deserve to take a break? He’s worked his ass off for the last forty-five years, Calvin, building this company into what it is today. He’s done all that for us. Shouldn’t we be trying to repay the favor?”
He stood up then, but his mercy was coming too late for Cal’s peace of mind. “Think about it,” Michael said as he left, shutting the door quietly behind himself.
Cal leaned back in his chair and stared out the window. Yeah, he was going to think about it. Damn it.
Eight
“ZARA! ZARA! WATCH me kick!” Donny Black was so excited he was hopping.
Zara crouched down. She hadn’t been working with kids for long, but she’d already figured out that it was hard to really understand their movements from above their eye level. “Yeah, okay, buddy, let me see it.”
The six-year-old started from a good position but lost his balance partway through, ending up with a sort of splat of his foot against the heavy bag, after which he stumbled backward and fell down. But he was immediately on his feet again, beaming at Zara. “See that?”
“I did, yeah. That was—you were really balanced at the start. That part was good!”
“Yeah!” Donny roared, and lined up for another kick.
Maxine, the manager of the center and instructor for the children’s MMA program, wandered over and watched Donny’s next attempt. “How’s he doing?” she asked Zara softly.