More to Give (9 page)

“Of course, my dear,” Rosemary said, beaming and preening as if she’d been asked to consult on a Ken Burns documentary. “Call anytime. I’ll leave my number with that sweet young man at the front desk.”

“Perfect.” Callie opened the door and nudged Rosemary into the lobby. “You have a wonderful day, Mrs. Withers.” As she closed the office door again, Callie let out an audible sigh, her shoulders dropping as if a giant weight had been removed. “That woman is a piece of work.”

“And you are one hell of an actor,” Sam said. “Did she mention that she came to see me before coming over here?”

“She mentioned it,” Callie said, returning to her seat. “How did you know she would head this way?”

Sam lowered into the chair Rosemary had vacated. “She smiled,” he said. “Rosemary never smiles at me, so I knew she had to be up to something.”

“She wasn’t smiling when she got here.” Callie laughed as she gathered the teacups, cream, and sugar onto a tray. “And Bernie’s referring to her as the spawn of Satan didn’t help.”

“Bernie?” Sam asked.

“Bernie Matheson. You don’t know him?”

The name didn’t sound familiar. “Afraid not. Does he work here?”

Callie’s brow furrowed. “Not for the hotel, exactly. He’s going to be taking lead on renovations of the exterior work. How long have you been on Anchor Island?” she asked.

“Going on three years now. Why?”

“This is a really small island. I guess I expected most everyone who lived here year-round to know each other.”

That might be true in some cases, but Sam wasn’t big on socializing. “I know most of the business owners, but I don’t encounter the other residents very often.”

“Oh,” she said. “Okay.”

Something about her answer bothered him. “I’m not avoiding them,” he said, not sure why he felt the need to defend himself. “I was focused on renovating the Anchor when I got here and then building it into the best hotel on the island. That didn’t leave much time for bake sales and community picnics.”

Callie’s eyes softened as she propped her elbow on the desktop. “Do they really have community picnics? I had hoped but thought maybe that kind of stuff only happens in the movies.”

There was nothing movie-like about snot-covered rug rats running around screaming their heads off and taking strangers out at the knee. Unless you liked that sort of thing, and Sam did not.

“There’s always something going on in the park,” he said. “I can hear the noise from my back deck.”

Callie stood, lifting the tray with her. “That reminds me,” she said. “I don’t know where you live. Is it close to the Anchor?”

“Not far,” he said, watching her carry the tray to the door. “But then, nothing is far on this island. I’m in a small cabin on Fig Tree Lane.”

Balancing the tray against her hip, Callie spun in his direction. “Is that on the water?”

Sam shook his head. “No.”

“Hold on a second.” Callie opened the door, disappeared into the lobby, then returned empty-handed. “I’m confused. Why would you live in a small cabin in the village when you have that amazing property across the street?” She dropped back into her chair. “Or are you renting that on my behalf from someone else?”

“I own it.” Uninterested in explaining his complicated relationship with Peabody Cottage, Sam said, “I’m fine closer to the Anchor. It’s nice in the village.”

One manicured brow went up. “You called picnics in the park ‘noise.’ ”

She was making him sound antisocial. “A large gathering with live music tends to sound like noise from a distance.”

Both elbows on the desk this time, she said, “There’s music, too? This keeps getting better.”

“If you like pirate shanties and steel drums.”

“And you don’t, I take it?” She was teasing him. Sam wasn’t used to being teased.

“Not my favorites, no.” He had yet to eat lunch and opted to use the fact as an escape. Not that he was running from anything. “I was on my way to lunch when Rosemary sidetracked me. I’ll have to grab something on my way back to the office now.”

“That brings us back to the subject at hand,” Callie said. “Why
did
you race over here? You looked ready to do battle when you charged through that door.”

He
had
been ready to save Callie from Rosemary’s clutches. But that had really been about his property and his choices to renovate it. Not about Callie at all.

Keep believing that, big guy.

“Rosemary demanded I give her approval of the renovation plans. I have no intention of doing so, but you didn’t know that.”

Callie’s lips curled up on one side. “You could have called me to let me know your wishes over the phone.”

He couldn’t have played the gallant knight saving her from a history-spewing dragon over the phone. “Yes, I could have. As I said, I was on my way out to lunch and not in my office when she caught me. I guess that didn’t occur to me.”

Neither of them believed what he was saying. Sam could see that on Callie’s face. But that didn’t mean he was going to change his story. Checking his watch, Sam said, “I’d better go.”

“Of course,” she said, rising when he did and following Sam to the door. “You wouldn’t want to get in trouble with the boss.”

She was teasing him again. He played along this time. “No, I wouldn’t.
Our
boss can be a bit of a jerk at times.”

“But he looks out for his employees,” she said, walking beside him to the front entrance. “You have to give him credit for that.”

When they reached the door, they turned toward each other. “Yes, he does. His people are important to him.” A lock of golden hair fell loose along her temple. Sam fought the urge to tuck it behind her ear. Leaning in and lowering his voice, he whispered, “He isn’t really a jerk. He just wants people to think he is.”

Callie nodded. “That’s what I think, too.” Ice-blue eyes danced behind dark lashes, her cheeks slightly pinker than they’d been before. “But let’s not tell him we know.”

He laughed then. Sam couldn’t help himself. “Deal.” They shared a smile, and something sizzled between them. The teen behind the counter coughed, jerking Sam back to his senses. “I’ll be going, then.”

Before he could reach the handle on the door, the large slab of wood came flying at his nose. Sam stepped back in time to see Evelyn Henderson stepping through.

“Oh, good,” she said. “We’re all here.”

CHAPTER 9

C
allie cringed at the look in her mother’s eyes. She knew that look. That look was bad.

“What are you doing here, Mother?”

“I’ve come to meet you for lunch, of course. I told you last night I want to try that little sandwich shop we passed the other day.”

Why couldn’t her mother be forgetful, like other people her age?

“You did, but I didn’t realize you meant today,” Callie said.

Evelyn propped a hand on her hip. “Well, I’m leaving tomorrow morning. When else did you think I meant?”

Of course. The old
why haven’t you learned to read my mind yet?
thing. Another shortcoming on Callie’s part.

“Then we’ll go,” she said, knowing it was easier to comply than to argue. And she did need to eat. “Is Henri coming with us?”

“Your cousin is out gallivanting around the island somewhere.” Her mother’s nose lifted an inch higher in the air. “She wanted to explore before we leave tomorrow.” Lowering her voice, Evelyn added, “I told her not to rush back.”

This meant lunch alone with her mother. Callie felt a severe headache coming on.

Sam had remained silent throughout this exchange, a choice for which Callie gave him extra points. He had to be aware that drawing any attention to himself could be dangerous. Evelyn already saw him as prey. Something she could toy with, like a cat with a cute, helpless little bunny.

Not that Callie would ever describe Sam as helpless, but her mother was a professional huntress and could make the bravest of adversaries run for their lives.

If only Callie had the option. To run as far away from her mother as possible. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a corner on Earth where Evelyn wouldn’t track her down. As evidenced by her very presence on this speck of an island.

“Fine,” Callie said. “I have a couple things to wrap up here, and then I’ll be over to get you.” She shuffled her mother onto the porch. “I won’t be long. I promise.”

“But what about Sam?” her mother asked.

Callie froze. “What about him?”

“He has to come with us.”

“Why does he have to come with us?”

“Because I’m leaving tomorrow.” Evelyn rolled her eyes before adding, “Sometimes I wonder if you ever listen to me.”

Callie heard every word her mother ever said. She just never understood them.

“Mother,” she started, resisting the urge to inform her matriarch that she was nuts, “Sam is not required to entertain you while you’re here. I’m sure he has more important things to do.”

Ignoring her daughter’s perfectly sane response, the blonde menace marched up to Sam. “You’re going to lunch with us, aren’t you, Sam?”

After a brief hesitation, during which his eyes flew to Callie, then back to his attacker, Sam said, “Yes, ma’am.”

“As I said.” Evelyn turned away to prance down the porch steps.

Callie looked at Sam and mouthed, “Why did you do that?” to which Sam mouthed back, “What could I do?” with a shrug of his wide shoulders.

“Don’t dally,” Evelyn chirped from the parking lot. “I’m assuming Sam drove over here. He can drive us to lunch. Which vehicle is yours, Sam?”

“The red Murano,” he answered, though the only other vehicles in the parking lot were an old, rusty blue pickup and a dented silver Civic. It wasn’t as if assigning ownership to the vehicles required possession of a genius IQ.

“You don’t have to do this,” Callie whispered after Sam pulled the door shut behind them and the pair walked together toward his car.

“It’s one lunch,” he said. “How bad could it be?”

He might as well have asked how hot could a raging volcano be? How cold could January in the Arctic be? How bad could an eternity in hell be?

Evelyn was climbing into the passenger seat as Callie whispered, “Imagine having your wisdom teeth pulled with no anesthesia.” When Sam’s brows rose, she added, “Times ten.”

As Callie had predicted, lunch with Evelyn Henderson had been an excruciating experience. Sam had been raised in the South by an unaffectionate mother and a demanding father. He’d endured cotillions, mind-numbing dinner parties, and silent family affairs where disappointment and repressed anger hung in the air like the seagulls hovered over sand, dive-bombing anything that moved.

Yet lunch with Callie’s mother had felt exactly as she’d described it would. Like surgery without anesthesia. Except instead of losing his wisdom teeth, Sam felt more like he’d lost his liver. And surgery had been conducted with a butter knife.

“I’m really sorry,” Callie said for the fourth time since they’d dropped Evelyn at the cottage. They were sitting alone in his Murano in front of the Sunset Harbor Inn, both too shell-shocked to get out. “I tried to warn you.”

“She pinched my ass,” he said, still stunned by the unexpected attack. “I feel like I need a shower.”

Callie sighed. “I have to admit, I didn’t think she’d go that far. I knew she had it in her, but jeez.” Dropping her chin to her chest, she said again, “I’m so sorry.”

Then the absurdity of the whole thing hit him. And Sam started to laugh. Really laugh. Something he hadn’t done in longer than he could remember.

“Oh my God,” Callie said. “She broke you. Sam, are you okay?”

He laughed harder, nodding his head. “I’m fine,” he managed to say. “Just fine.”

Soon Callie was laughing with him. “I guess it’s better to laugh than to cry.”

As their amusement faded, Sam looked over to see diamond-blue eyes staring at him. Blinking, she said, “I needed that.”

Sam agreed. “So did I.”

“There is one bit of good news in this,” she said, choking back a giggle. “She’ll be gone tomorrow.”

Another round of laughter followed that statement. Clearly, they’d both lost their marbles, driven insane by a pushy Southern belle who believed the world danced to her tune. Sam could only guess what it must have been like to grow up as Evelyn Henderson’s daughter.

The thought snatched the laughter from his lips. Not that his own mother had been a prize, but she’d never embarrassed him in front of others. Or belittled him in any way. She’d simply set high expectations.

And Sam had done his best to hit every one of them.

Something told him Callie could discover the cure for cancer and Evelyn would have little to say except “It took you long enough.”

Unsure how to express what he was thinking, Sam blurted the words, “You’re pretty well adjusted considering that woman raised you.” Not exactly the best way to put it, but the words were true.

Callie took a deep breath. Her shoulders rose, then fell. She kept her eyes on her knees for several seconds, then faced him again, with a sad, self-deprecating grin this time. “Therapy does wonders.”

He couldn’t help but smile. “Maybe I should try it someday.”

“Let me know,” she said, reaching for the handle on her door. “I can recommend a good one in the Charleston area.”

“If it makes you feel any better, you aren’t the only one with a hard-to-please parent.”

Callie’s door remained closed as she turned back to him. “Oh yeah?”

Tapping on the base of the steering wheel, Sam nodded. “Yeah. Eugenia Edwards has some pretty high standards.”

The snort was unexpected. “Then you must have been her dream child. Intelligent. Handsome. Total overachiever.”

“True,” he said, attempting to make a joke. Callie’s laughter felt like a prize. “But I’m an overachiever out of necessity, not natural tendencies.” Sam didn’t know why he was telling her all this. He never talked about his childhood. To anyone.

But for some reason, he desperately wanted to make her feel better.

“I suppose I should thank her, though. Who knows what I’d be today if it weren’t for Mother’s high demands?”

“You call her Mother?” Callie asked, her blue eyes sparkling like icicles in the sunlight.

With a grin, Sam leaned toward her. “Not always.”

Callie choked on a giggle as she reached for her door handle again. “Thank you,” she said. “For enduring lunch with my mother, and for trying to make me feel better.” One heel hit the gravel before she turned back his way. “And about thanking your mother? You’d still be the successful man you are today, Sam, no matter what she was like. I don’t doubt that for a second.”

Sam watched Callie climb out of his car with a mixture of feelings—protectiveness and a sense of peace—two things he hadn’t felt in many years. As he watched her walk away, a feeling of unease came over him.

The return of Callie Henderson into his life was turning out to be more dangerous than Sam had first suspected. He’d worried she’d churn up old memories. Open old wounds. But if he wasn’t careful, she might inflict some new ones.

“You need to land that fish, young lady,” Evelyn yelled through Callie’s bathroom door. “While you still have the looks to do it.”

Standing at the sink in nothing but jeans and a bra, Callie fought the urge to smack her forehead against the porcelain. Maybe she could knock herself unconscious and not wake up until after her mother had left the island.

“I know you can hear me in there.”

“Of course I can hear you, Mother. They can probably hear you in China.”

“Don’t you sass me, Calliope Mabel.”

What kind of name was that? Calliope Mabel. She’d come to terms with the Calliope part years ago, but Mabel? The two names didn’t even sound right together. If she ever had a daughter, Callie would name her something pretty. Like Olivia Jane or Isabelle Marie. No Mabels.

“And hurry up,” Evelyn snapped. “We’re going to be late for dinner.”

Saturday morning could not come soon enough.

Out of spite, Callie took another fifteen minutes. She spent most of that time reading a magazine article about the newest trends in interior design. When she emerged from her private powder room, she found Henri sitting on her bed, reading a magazine of her own.

“You abandoned me today,” Callie said, not yet ready to forgive her cousin for leaving her and Sam in Evelyn’s clutches.

“If you think I can in any way control your mother, I’m going to suggest you cut back on the crack.”

“At least with you around she has someone other than me to criticize.” Expecting anyone to volunteer to spend more time with her mother was mean, but Callie was feeling too bitter and embarrassed to care.

“And I have to endure that criticism for nine hours tomorrow.” Henri snapped the magazine shut. “Whatever she did must have been bad, to get you this pissed. Do I even want to know?”

Callie gave Henri a droll look. “She insisted Sam come to lunch with us.”

Henri gasped. “No. And he went?”

“She didn’t give him much choice.”

“The poor guy.” At Callie’s glare, she added, “And you. Poor you.”

Callie tossed her work clothes into the hamper. “When she wasn’t hitting on him, she was suggesting that he and I would make beautiful babies together. She kept asking about his
vast holdings
of hotels and all but demanded to know his net worth.”

Henri cringed. “That sounds like Evelyn.”

“And then . . .” Callie hesitated, steeling herself against the image playing on a loop in her mind. “She grabbed his ass on the way to the car.”

Her cousin had the gall to collapse into fits of laughter on the bed.

“I’m glad you find this amusing.”

“Come on,” Henri said, returning to a sitting position. “That’s cheeky even for Aunt Evelyn. How did Sam take it?”

Dropping onto the bed, Callie smiled. “Oddly enough, he found it hysterical.”

“He
is
the perfect man,” Henri murmured.

“Not at first, of course,” Callie said. “But after we dropped her off, we were sitting in his SUV and he started laughing. Out of nowhere. Uncontrolled mirth!”

Henri bumped Callie with her shoulder. “You have to admit. It’s kind of funny.”

Callie bumped back. “I was mortified. I still can’t believe she did it.” She fell back on the bed with a moan.

“Come on, Cal,” Henri said. “She’s done worse.”

Eyes shut tight, Callie answered, “Never to one of my bosses.”

“Sam isn’t just another boss,” Henri reminded her. “You’ve boffed him.”

Callie jerked upright. “Shhhhh . . . My mother doesn’t know that, and neither does anyone else around here.”