by Day Leclaire
The front of his shirt brushed across the front of her sundress and she caught her breath at the unexpected sensation. What an odd reaction, she thought, only to feel an even odder one the instant his hands closed around her waist.
"Hold on to my shoulders," he instructed, apparently as unaffected by her proximity as she was affected by his. "Dresses aren't made for climbing through windows. But if you sit on the sill and slip your legs in first, you should remain decent enough. And don't worry, I'll be here to catch you if you lose your balance."
She did what he ordered, resting her hands on the broad expanse of his shoulders, the warmth of his skin burning her palms even through his shirt. She frowned in confusion. This was only Julian. At one point in their lives, he'd been her brother, nothing more. Even when their familial status changed after only nine short months, they'd remained good friends.
And he was still her friend, she told herself. Yet she couldn't quite suppress the realization she'd always wanted more.
"Callie, you're going to have to help a little. If you cling any harder, they'll need a crowbar to get us apart."
"Sorry." She forced her fingers to loosen their death grip on him and pulled back.
"Ready?" At her nod, his grip on her waist tightened and he lifted her, propping her on the edge of the windowsill. "You all right?"
"Yes." She cursed the breathless quality of her voice, but she couldn't help it. She could feel his chest, firm and broad, pressed against her legs. His arms slid from her waist to rest protectively on either side of her thighs. For one insane instant she was tempted, horribly tempted, to lean forward and allow herself to tumble into his arms.
"Callie?"
She swallowed. "Yes?"
"I'm sure the view from up there is very pleasant. And I certainly wouldn't want to interrupt anything. But move it, would you?"
A bucket of cold water in the face couldn't have caused her to react any faster. Callie ducked her head beneath the raised window, and slipped her legs over the sill and into the house, her skirt catching on a splinter of wood. The sound of ripping cloth resounded in the warm night air.
A deep chuckle floated up. "I told you so," he called. "That will be twenty-five cents."
She considered slamming the window and leaving Julian locked outside for the night. But knowing him, he'd find some reasonable solution to his predicament and get in, anyway. Julian was very results oriented.
"So what else is new?" she muttered. She hastened from the bathroom into the main hallway, flipping on lights as she went. "Brutus?"
She caught the sound of a light snuffling, followed by a funny little groan. An instant later, Brutus lumbered into view. She hurried to him and sank to her knees. Shoving his ornamental brandy cask out of her way, she wrapped her arms around his massive neck.
"Hello, sweetheart," she whispered into his floppy ear. She traced the stripe of white hair that ran down the center of his head. "You poor thing. Has it been horrid for you, stuck here all alone?"
He whined a reply, and buried his face against her shoulder, his breath warm and gusty on her skin. He flipped his tail back and forth and it thumped noisily each time it hit the hallway walls.
For a long while they sat there, Brutus "talking" to her with light sighs and tiny yips and Callie responding, telling him every detail she could recall of Maudie's memorial service. Suddenly a loud prolonged banging rattled the house, reminding her of Julian's presence. With a little gasp, Callie jumped to her feet.
Brutus barked in protest.
"Don't say it," she ordered. "I know you're not happy with him right now, but he has reason to be a wee bit annoyed at you, too."
With a snort, Brutus turned his head away.
The noise coming from the front door let her know she'd better get there soon or they'd need a new door. "I'm coming!" She gave Brutus a final look of warning, a wasted effort since he continued to sit with his back to her.
"Callie! Open this door! If you don't open up right now—" She unlocked the door and swung it wide. He stood on the doorstep, glaring at her, his dark eyes burning with fury. "What the hell kept you? No, don't tell me. Let me guess. That stupid mutt. You two got all wrapped up in chatting about your day and forgot you'd left me locked outside."
"Well, yes," she admitted.
"Move." When she continued to stand, staring at him blankly, he repeated his command, his voice firm and final. "Move. Keep your distance and move out of my way. First. I want you to clear a path of all living objects from this door to my bedroom or I won't be responsible for what happens to them. Second. When the pizza man arrives, just send him on up. I'll take care of the tip myself. Third—"
"Julian—" She broke off at his expression and backed out of the way.
He took one step across the threshold and stopped dead, staring in disbelief.
He took in the huge holes punched in the hallway walls, wires hanging from the gaping wounds like confetti. Black spray painted lines and arrows marred what remained of the plaster. Several oak boards, pried from the floor, littered one corner. A fine layer of gray dust covered everything. Julian looked around in horror, then walked to the nearest door and flung it open.
"Good God, Callie. No wonder you took so long letting me in. Have you called the cops yet?"
"What?"
He grabbed her arm, backing them toward the front door. "Come on. Stay behind me. We're getting out of here. They could still be in the house."
"Who?"
"Who? The people who trashed this place, of course. Come on. Call that hellhound if you won't go without him, but we're leaving. Now."
She resisted his attempt to hustle her out of the house. "Oh. You must mean the redecorating. I know it looks a trifle messy, but it always does when you first pull it apart. Once we get the walls back up—"
"That's not funny," Julian bit out.
Callie blinked in surprise. "It wasn't meant to be. You haven't seen the study yet. How do you think I found Maudie's note? Once we haul the plaster away and hammer on some sheetrock, it'll be gorgeous. Honest."
Words temporarily failed him. "This is deliberate? How could you? The home I grew up in, the house I love—" He glared at her. "The house I love with its walls on. The house that's been in my family for nearly one hundred years, you did... You did this to it? On purpose?"
She tried not to look as insulted as she felt. "Well, of course. Maudie said—"
"Move."
"What?"
"Move. Keep your distance and move out of my way. First. I want you to clear a path of all living objects from this doorway to what's left of my bedroom or I won't be responsible for what happens to them. Second. When the liquor store man arrives, just send him on up. I'll take care of the tip myself. Third. Don't tempt me to tell you what's fourth and final."
Chapter 3
Rule #11:
A list is the ladder you use to reach your goal.
Callie crept along the front walk, struggling to pick her way without turning on the flashlight. A fitful moon peeked from behind the scattered cloud cover, lending its assistance for a brief moment, only to steal it away again when the next cloud drifted by. She paused halfway to the door to stare up at Willow's End. Every night for the past few nights she'd done the exact same thing. She'd crept outside to look at the house in order to make sure nothing had changed. Tonight, returning from a clandestine visit to the cemetery, finally convinced her.
The clouds parted and the huge old house glowed softly in the moonlight, bestowing a warm, benevolent sense of welcome. It should seem different now, empty and sad without Maudie. But it didn't. It still gave Callie the same message it had nine years ago when she'd first arrived there. Come in. You'll be loved here. I'll protect you.
She wrapped her arms about her waist and sighed, a tiny smile curving her lips. She'd been so afraid that without Maudie she'd find the soul missing from the house, like a light switched off. But the special inner warmth lived on. She still had her home.
Brutus signaled his annoyance with another bark and she put a restraining hand on his muzzle. "Please, Brutus, not so loud. You'll wake him." She hesitated by the front door, her hand on the knob, and listened. The vibrant trilling of the insect population, which had seemed so romantic before, now threatened to deafen her. How could she hear anything over all that racket?
Taking a deep breath, she twisted the handle and pushed open the door. She stuck her head inside and peeked around. "Okay, it's all clear," she whispered over her shoulder. "You can come in."
The dog's instant obedience caught her off guard and off balance. Not waiting for her to move, he plowed into her, his huge head hitting her square in the middle of the back. She sprawled across the doorstep while Brutus released an excited yelp and charged into the house. In his eagerness to gain entry, he stumbled over her legs and crashed down onto the parquet flooring next to her.
A light came on.
Callie lifted her head, staring at the row of ten naked toes lined up mere inches from her nose. Her gaze moved upward over two large feet followed by a long pair of legs encased in gray sweatpants. Next came a broad, bare chest, tanned to an attractive shade of teak, a nicely sculpted neck, and last of all a head and face. The face looked a bit grim.
"Darn."
"Mild, but accurate," Julian concurred. "Too bad. I was convinced this time I'd caught a burglar. So I brought this with me." He hefted a baseball bat.
One look at the bat and Brutus took off at a dead run. He skidded on the dusty wood flooring, spun in a circle and slammed against the wall at the end of the hall. It took three scrambling attempts before he managed to get around the corner and out of sight.
"Traitor," Callie shouted after him. She sat up and shoved her hair out of her eyes, shooting Julian a disgruntled look. "As much as I love him, Brutus is a flat-out coward. And you take advantage of it. In fact, you always have."
"Me? I simply came down here to do battle with a thief. How could I know it wasn't a thief at all, but my own dear sister, sneaking in after a wild night of illicit whatevers."
"In case you've forgotten, I am not your sister," she informed him. "When my mother divorced your father, you and I were also divorced. We're... We're exes, just like they are. Plus, you told me yourself, we're now friends. And I did not have a wild night of illicit whatevers."
His lips twitched in amusement. "Then where were you?"
She continued to sit on the floor, pulling her knees up to her chest in a protective gesture and wrapping her arms around them. "I took Brutus to the cemetery."
Julian frowned. "Callie, it's past one in the morning. What in the world were you doing there at this hour?"
"I know it's late, but I couldn't go any other time." She dropped her chin to her knees. "You see, they don't allow pets at the cemetery. And they don't seem to understand that Brutus isn't a pet. He could only visit if I snuck him in at night."
Julian shook his head in disbelief. "You mean to tell me you broke into the cemetery so that overgrown flea trap could... What? Visit Maudie?"
"Well, yes. No. Not exactly. You see, the women from Maudie's church circle arranged to have a marker erected in her memory, and Brutus wanted to see it."
Julian took a practice swing with the bat. "Brutus told you that, did he? The mutt gets more talented every day."
Callie buried her face in the black denim covering her knees, his sarcasm more than she could handle right then. The tears welled in her eyes and she fought to keep them back. It was late and she'd finally reached the end of her rope. She'd used every spare bit of energy in her possession to get through the past few days. She'd tried the best she knew how to do what she thought Maudie wanted. But she was exhausted, certainly too exhausted to spar with Julian.
The bat hit the floor with a noisy clatter and he swore beneath his breath. "Hey, sweetheart, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you cry." He knelt at her side and his strong arms encircled her shoulders.
"I'm not crying," she denied in a husky whisper. A solitary tear slid down her cheek. Lord help her, but his arms felt good. More than good. Strong. Protective. Deliciously masculine.
"So I see." He thumbed away the tear, the merest hint of gentle humor creeping into his voice. "Come on. Tell me all about it."
"I can't. We're exes, remember?"
He lifted her into his arms and crossed to the steps leading upstairs. "We may be ex-siblings. But we're not ex-friends. It can still be like old times. We'll sit right here and you can tell me all your problems. We can talk." A small sob shook Callie's frame and he amended, "Or cry."
His compassion was the final straw. She buried her face against his bare shoulder and wept. The grief she'd kept bottled up inside through the frantic time preceding Maudie's death and the days immediately following came pouring out. Out and all over Julian. Not that he seemed to mind. He pulled a tattered tissue from his pocket and offered it to her.
"Thanks." She took the tissue and scrubbed at her cheeks and blew her nose. "You're soaking wet," she thought to mention, brushing her hand across his shoulders. "I didn't mean to drown you."
"No problem. Drip-dry shoulders are a prerequisite for both exes and friends. Although I much prefer a drenching for Maudie's sake than Tommy Lee Taylor's."
"Tommy Lee? Oh, I remember. I haven't thought about him in years." She sighed. "I was seventeen and heartbroken all because Tommy invited Cynthia Bentley to the prom instead of me. You found me down by the lake crying my eyes out." She bit her lip, experiencing a pang of remembered guilt. "You missed your final and almost flunked your accounting course because of that."
"The only 'C' I ever received and I'm damned proud of it, too." He ruffled her hair with a gentle hand. "Besides, I managed to escort the prettiest girl in all of Willow to her senior prom and save our trout from a salty death."
A hiccupped laugh escaped her. "A regular knight in shining armor, aren't you?"
"That's me."
Callie peeked up at him. His glasses rested on top of his head, half buried in his hair. The short crisp strands, so dark a brown they could have passed for black, curled stubbornly about the rounded frames. Without his glasses his face appeared sharper, his gaze more piercing. Yet strangely, their absence also made him less the aloof businessman and more the Julian who'd captured every girlish heart at South Willow High.
"This whole business hasn't been easy for you. I'm sorry." Regret overflowed every word. "I wasn't there when you needed me and I'd give anything to change that."
Unable to resist, she snuggled deeper into his embrace. "Don't apologize. I managed. And at least Maudie's first request is taken care of."
"Maudie's first request?"
Callie cleared her throat. "Oh, that's right. I haven't mentioned the requests yet, have I?"
His tone turned wry. "I have a funny feeling I'd remember if you'd told me."
"True enough." She twisted her hands together, betraying her nervousness. "Would you like me to tell you about them now?"
He sighed in resignation. "Please."
"Before Maudie died she requested I use her notes and reminiscences for the memorial service."
"Her celebration."
Callie nodded. "That part—the celebration—was the easiest of her requests to honor."
He raised an eyebrow. "Easy? I doubt that. To stand there all alone, in front of a huge crowd of people, and speak about Maudie the way you did? It must have been very difficult."
"Not as difficult as her next request will be."
"Let me guess. It has something to do with the house repairs. Am I right?"
She fought to keep from rubbing her cheek against the broad
expanse of his bare chest. For some reason, she wanted to rub herself all over him. Where had the urge come from? And why now, of all times?
"Callie?"
She fought to sit perfectly still. No. Rubbing. "Yes, it has something to do with the house repairs. When Maudie first started on them, she wrote out everything she wanted done. She left dozens of notes about it. In the hospital she asked me to finish the project." Callie shrugged. "I couldn't refuse."
"No, of course you couldn't. I'm not sure you'd know how."
She offered him an impish smile. "I know how. I just haven't had a lot of practice at it."
"At least you'll have my help on this request. It bothers me to think of your dealing with all these problems on your own." A muscle jerked in his cheek. "What happened to my father and your mother? No doubt they had their reasons for not coming to the memorial service. What was Dad's excuse this time?"
She hesitated. She'd much rather explain about Maudie's third request, but now might not be the best time. Julian didn't seem in the mood to hear about juvenile delinquents and community service hours. Maybe she'd tell him tomorrow. She answered his question instead.
"Your father's off on a dig in some remote area of South America and couldn't get away."
Julian didn't bother to hide his derision. "So what else is new? He's always off on a dig in some remote part of the world. What about your mother? I don't suppose memorial services-cum-picnics are her scene. She still in L.A.? Or is it London?"
"New York."
"And she couldn't manage to spare a day out of her busy schedule? She just left you to handle it all on your own?" A fierce edge cut through his voice, his words more a condemnation than a question.
"She sent flowers."
Callie suspected his anger was only partially aimed at their respective parents. They both knew what Helene and Jonathan were like, just as they knew their parents wouldn't change. But Julian had always possessed a strong sense of duty. At a guess, he directed the greater portion of his anger at himself, for his failure to be there when she and Maudie most needed him.