A Mom for Callie (12 page)

She sat in the exact same spot she'd sat the first day, a blanket spread beneath her. Only this time, instead of sitting untouched in its bag, her computer was alive and well, smack-dab in the middle of her lap.

The words were flowing for the second time that day, only instead of being propelled by anger, they were being spawned by a different emotion. Sadness.

Try as she might to get Kyle out of her mind, she couldn't. And try as she might to concentrate on the cruelty of his words, she couldn't dismiss the reason they were there. Experience.

She wished she could be angry that he was holding her feet to a fire of someone else's making, but she couldn't. Because, in a sense, she was doing the same thing to him—shying away from her feelings for fear of a tragedy that someone else befell.

In quiet moments like now, with Paxton Bridge as her writing backdrop, it all made sense. The peace that emanated from the stone structure and its parklike surroundings helped her to see clearly. But when she was alone in her head with her memories, or acutely aware
of her heart as she was whenever Kyle was around, fear took over, dictating her words and ruling her actions.

It had to stop.

With her fingers poised above the keyboard, she looked up, marveled at the way the afternoon sun lent a magical aura to the stones that arched across the small, picturesque lake. There was no denying it. Something about Paxton Bridge calmed her soul, allowed her to consider things from a different perspective, finding hope in the process.

Whether Kyle Brennan was worth pursuing was a mystery. They both came with baggage that affected the way they saw each other. Whether it was baggage they could discard before they ruined the undeniable spark between them was anyone's guess.

But question mark or not, it was something that had to be done. For herself.

If nothing else, her time with Kyle was proof she didn't want to spend her life alone. Not if there was someone out there who could make her feel. Really, truly
feel.
She'd missed out on that with Mark. And he'd missed out on that with her.

She swallowed over the lump that rose in her throat at the realization. It had been so easy to dwell on the fact that she'd felt empty every time her husband had walked out the door to hang with his friends at the firehouse rather than spend time together. But Mark must have felt it, too. If he hadn't, he wouldn't have left as often as he did. It was a freeing thought, a revelation that removed some of the guilt she'd carried for far too long.

Sliding her laptop to the grass, she pulled her knees to her chest and rested her chin on them. As silly as it was to admit, she owed Paxton Bridge more than a little gratitude. Somehow, someway, its gentle arch had
provided her first glimmer of hope in entirely too long. The hope, in turn, had freed her mind of the weight that had prevented her from writing. The decision to stay in Cedar Creek while she worked on her next book had enabled her to meet Kyle. And Callie.

Her lips spread upward at the mere thought of the little girl, a child so happy and so sweet that it was impossible not to love her. She was a tribute to her father whether he realized it or not. Children like Callie didn't just fall from trees. They were nurtured and loved and taught right from—

“Miss Anderson? Is that you?”

Betsy lifted her head and turned toward the voice, her smile growing ever wider at the sight of her latest round of woolgathering. “Hi, Callie, isn't this a wonderful surprise!” Peeking around the little girl, she scanned the immediate vicinity for Kyle but to no avail. She looked back at Callie. “Where's your dad?”

“He's working. I had a half day today so my grandma brought me here to play.” Callie pointed at Betsy's laptop. “Are you writing?”

She glanced at the computer and nodded. “I was. But I guess I just needed a break.”

“What kind of break?”

“A thinking break mostly.”

“I take those sometimes, too.” Callie cocked her head to the left and studied Betsy closely. “Whatcha thinking about?”

“Lots of things, I guess. My book, that bridge—” she gestured toward the Paxton “—and you.”

“Me? Really?”

She couldn't help but laugh at the excitement in the child's face. “Yes, you. I was thinking about how sweet
you are and how lucky your daddy is to have a daughter like you.”

The little girl beamed. “My grandma is back there—” she said, pointing over her shoulder, “talking to Mrs. Walters. But she said I could go down by the bridge and see if there are any frogs hopping around. Wanna come?”

“Frogs?”

“Uh-huh! Big ones!”

“Big ones?”

Callie nodded, her smile nearly splitting her face in two. “So…do you?”

“I—I…well, I guess. If you want.” Betsy looked from her computer to the bridge and back again. “But I'll need to keep an eye on my computer while we're down there, okay?”

“Okay.” Reaching her small hand outward, Callie took hold of Betsy's arm and fairly tugged her to her feet. “C'mon, let's go!”

Caught up in the child's excitement, Betsy followed Kyle's daughter down to the kidney-shaped lake, Paxton Bridge spanning the narrow-most part of the water. As they neared the base of the bridge, Callie pointed, her small index finger guiding Betsy's attention to a series of black marks just inside the water-side of the footbridge. “Is that gaffidy?”

“Gaffidy?”

“That stuff people paint when they're not s'posed to?”

Her head snapped up. “Oh…you mean, graffiti.” She took hold of Callie's hand as they drew closer. “It sure looks that way.”

“Daddy's not gonna be happy. He says people need to paint on paper like I do.”

With each step forward, the markings transformed into letters and the letters came together to form words….

“Look, Miss Anderson! It says Brennan…just like my last name!” Callie lurched forward with excitement, her tiny hand nearly slipping from Betsy's grasp as she tried to run closer.

Instinctively, Betsy tightened her grip, pulled the child close as her own gaze focused on the words that stretched their way along the interior arch.

Brennan Will Pay.

She heard the gasp as it escaped her mouth, felt the child still beside her. “What's wrong, Miss Anderson?”

Like a moth to a flame, she read the words again…and again…and again.

Brennan Will Pay.

“What's that mean, Miss Anderson?”

Realizing the child was reading along with her, she turned on her heels and headed back toward the blanket, Callie's hand firmly in her grasp. “I think they forgot a few letters. That's all.”

“Like what?”

The child was nothing if not persistent. First the cookies, now the graffiti. “For starters…an
L
for
play.
” She cast a sidelong glance in Callie's direction as they walked, hoped her attempt at diversion worked.

“Brennan will play?” Callie asked.

“And I think it was supposed to say Shannon…not Brennan.”

“Hey! I know a Shannon. She's in my class at school. And she really, really likes to play.” Skipping along on
the grass beside her, Callie kept on chattering, her voice mingling with the white noise in Betsy's head.

She had to tell Kyle. Had to warn him. But not now, not with his daughter in the park.

“Could you do me a favor?” She stopped at the base of her blanket and swung Callie to a stop in front of her.

“Okay.”

“Could you go find your grandma? I just realized I have a really important call to make and I don't like the idea of you playing by the lake with no one watching.”

“But what about the frogs?” Callie protested.

“Uh…how about we save that for another day? We can even make a whole day of it. First frogs, then shopping. And then, if you're really good, we'll even get ice cream.” Slipping her hand inside her pocket, she pulled out her cell phone and flipped it open. “What do you say? Will that work?”

“Well—hey! There's Peter!” Callie pointed toward the playground not far from where her grandmother stood talking to another gray-haired woman. “Peter is in my class.”

She sent up a silent prayer of thanks. “Then you go on and play. We'll do frogs next—”

In a flash, the little girl was gone, her strawberry-blond ponytail bouncing against her neck as she ran toward the playground. For the briefest of moments, Betsy simply stood there and watched, her heart completely captivated by the ball of energy that was Callie Brennan.

A ball of energy that needed to be protected at all costs….

 

I
T WAS NEARLY NINE O'CLOCK
when he knocked. The family room was shadowed in a darkness peppered only by the candlelight scattered about. She'd lit the candles in an attempt to calm her nerves, to bring a sense of peace where there was none.

The rational side of her mind told her he was fine, that the graffiti sighting she'd called in had simply kept him busy. The other side—the part that always made things worse—told her the call had led to a showdown with the perpetrators and that he had been hurt.

Silly, really, but there it was.

She closed her eyes with relief as he knocked again, the staccato sound a welcome reprieve from an evening spent watching and worrying. If she had a dime for every time she'd jumped from the couch when a car slowed on the street, she'd have no need to write. Yet if she'd had to return said dimes for every time it hadn't been Kyle, she'd be right where she was, pounding the keyboard morning, noon and night.

But he was finally here—alive and well and standing on her front porch. Knocking.

And waiting.

“Betsy? Are you there?”

For her…

Jumping from her sentry post on the love seat, Betsy nearly ran to the screen door. As she drew closer, her feet slowed despite the opposite effect on her heart.

Kyle Brennan was gorgeous. There was no getting around that fact. She'd known it since day one. Yet it seemed as if the stress he was under not only increased his appeal but jettisoned it into a smoldering hotness that brought a flush to her face and a tingle to places that hadn't tingled in a very long time. His eyes were still breathtakingly blue, but now, with everything going on,
they held a steely determination that she found arousing. Especially when they were trained on her.

She stopped just inside the door and swallowed. “Hi.”

It was a pathetic greeting and she knew it. But it was all she could think to say against the pounding of her heart.

“Hi, yourself.” His gaze flickered across her face before slipping slowly down, the appreciation in his expression impossible to miss.

She swallowed again. “Hi.”

He laughed, the sound so real, so rich she couldn't help but crack a smile, as well. “You already said that.”

“And I can say it again, too… Hi.” Unable to hold back the questions any longer, words began to pour from her mouth, the intensity enough to make a person's head spin. Including her own. “Are you okay? Did Angela tell you? Were there any problems?”

Smacking his left forearm with his right hand once and then twice, he raised an eyebrow skyward. “I can—and want to—answer every single one of those questions, I really do. But is there any chance I could come inside? The bugs out here seem fairly determined to have me for dessert.”

“They're not the only ones,” she muttered under her breath as she wrapped her fingers around the handle and pushed. Realizing she'd shared one of her fantasies aloud, she coughed and tried again. “I'm sorry…come on in.”

She sucked in her breath as he stepped into the house, his hip grazing hers as he passed. “Would you like something to drink?”

His voice was husky as he stopped beside her. Leaning
forward, he cupped her face in his hands. “There's a lot of things I want right now. Things I want to say. Things I want to do. Having a drink is definitely not one of them.”

She searched his sapphire-blue eyes for something to discount the meaning she was deciphering from his words, but there was nothing. Nothing except the same raw desire that was making her hands moisten and her mouth grow dry.

“You are beautiful, do you know that?” His words echoed in her ears as he brought his lips to her forehead and held them against her skin, his breath warm and exciting and oh so very sexy. “I…”

“C'mon, let's sit.” Stepping back, he dropped his hands from her face, his right seeking the small of her back instead and guiding her toward the family room. When they reached the doorway, he stopped. “Candles?”

“I needed them.” It was all she could think to say. The memory of his breath on her skin had short-circuited any ability she had for intelligent speech.

For a moment there was only silence as she felt his gaze roaming over her body once again, a visual inspection she not only enjoyed but welcomed, as well. “I know something about need.”

She looked up, felt her knees weaken at the sight of the naked longing in his eyes. Suddenly nervous, she rushed to explain, to counteract the sexually charged atmosphere with something a bit less heavy. Yes, she wanted Kyle.
Needed
him, even, if the yearning in her body was to be believed. But it was the need she felt growing in her heart that frightened her most.

“I was worried. I tried watching some TV, but that
didn't work. I just kept flipping the channel back to news and dreading what they might say.” She glanced down at the floor, her bare feet barely visible in the glow from the candlelight. “I tried reading, but I'd get to the end of a chapter and realize I hadn't absorbed a thing. I tried writing, but that was no use, either.”

His hand inched up her back until it was at the base of her neck. “So what did you do?”

She met his eyes with her own as she turned toward him. “I lit the candles to calm my nerves and I listened.”