A Camden's Baby Secret (12 page)

Then, as if he'd decided to put a positive spin on it, he said, “So I brought out a little something in you, too?”

Him and her anniversary and a lot of booze.

But now that she was adding him to the list, she couldn't deny that—like Patrick—Callan
had
brought something out in her.

“I guess so,” she admitted, more under her breath than not, because realizing it was slightly unnerving. Callan and Patrick were
not
alike. So why did she respond to Callan in some of the same ways? Especially when there was so much about him that didn't recommend him?

“So can I assume—considering Hawaii—that you at least aren't some long-suffering widow who's thrown herself on her late husband's pyre?” he asked then.

“I'm not exactly sure what I am these days.”

Pregnant—that's what she was.

“Because who could compete with a guy like you lost,” Callan guessed. “Let alone some stranger you just met on a beach. But you ended up in my hotel room anyway, and that doesn't fit.”

He was perceptive. And right.

But at that moment she didn't like the sense that he could see into her head.

“I didn't think anyone could compete with Patrick, no,” she said.

“Past tense? You've changed your mind?”

Sometimes it seemed it was changing on its own.

But she didn't want to admit that, so she only said, “I'm still in flux in some ways. I thought...” Livi shrugged again. “I just thought I'd settled in to the way things would be from here on.”

“Being a widow? Alone? You didn't think you'd ever find anyone else or
be with
anyone else?”

“It just didn't seem...likely,” she admitted.

“Ever?”

“I couldn't picture it ever happening, no. But Hawaii...confused things.”

“Because you found out that you're still alive and well and kicking.”

She shrugged once again, thinking—reluctantly—that in four years that
had
happened only with him. And that just made it more confusing.

Too confusing for her to want to keep exploring right then.

They'd finished their dessert and Callan had paid the check, so Livi pointed out that with a crowd of people still waiting for a table, they should probably go.

Their conversation seemed to have left Callan with a lot on his mind, too, because he was less talkative than usual as he drove his SUV back to her house. They chatted a little about Greta and if she would make it through the night at the sleepover, but not much else.

Then they reached Livi's two-story, white, Cape Cod style house.

Callan walked her to her door and along the way she fretted.

She was inclined to ask him in. But she was also worried about what it would be like if he accepted. How would she feel if she brought a man into the house she and Patrick had designed and built and lived in together?

But before she'd resolved her dilemma, Callan said, “I suppose I'd better get home. Even though Greta is gone for the night, I still have the Tellers there. And since I was in trouble last night for not going home...”

Livi seized that excuse and agreed that it was probably best for him to limit his time away.

Then she said, “My family has a big Sunday dinner every week at my grandmother's house. GiGi asked me to invite you and Greta and the Tellers tomorrow. It's a whole lot of Camdens, but there's always other people, too. And good food. GiGi thought it might be a way for the Tellers to get out a little, to meet some folks their own age. Kinsey is included in the invitation, so she could still look after Maeve, and there's plenty of room for the wheelchair. I just didn't know if there was any chance you might risk consorting with even more of us...”

And why did she sound—and feel—so hopeful that there was a chance?

“I think I can take the risk,” Callan said facetiously. “But I'll have to run it by the troops. Can I text you when I know where everyone stands?”

Not an immediate acceptance, but not a no, either.

“Sure.”

She should have said good-night then, but there she was, lingering, gazing up at him in the glow of her porch light, wondering why he had to be so great-looking with all those chiseled angles of his face and those dark eyes and that hair...

He was studying her just as intently when a small smile appeared. “So...” he said, his voice lower and more confidential. “I'll try not to let it go to my head.”

“You'll try not to let
what
go to your head?”

“You know—I might not be
the
one-and-only, but I am the one-and-only guy in the last four years to wake up Sleeping Beauty. I mean, look at you—there have to be a lot of single guys lined up hoping for a shot with you.”

“Not that I'm aware of.”

“Because you were Sleeping
Beauty and were focused on dealing with your own stuff. But trust me, they've been there waiting for a chance and you just haven't noticed.”

It was nice that he thought so, but she didn't agree. Instead of arguing, though, she goaded, “You've decided you're one in a million, but you're trying not to let it go to your head.”

His smile turned into a grin that wasn't even slightly humble. “Hey, don't take away the little bit of one-and-only status I have. I'm playing out of my league, up against the memory of the greatest guy who ever lived.”

He said that as if it was a fact, without any sarcasm, and since it was the way Livi knew she'd portrayed Patrick, she didn't take offense.

She also didn't tell Callan that in some ways Patrick wasn't in
his
league...

She'd worn her hair loose, the way she usually did, and he raised a hand to the side of her face, smoothing back a strand. Then his hands ended up on her shoulders, squeezing firmly, comfortingly, consolingly. But there was more than that to the touch, too—a sensuality. Or maybe she was imagining things.

But she wasn't imagining how good it felt to have those big, capable hands on her.

“I'm sorry for the tragedies and losses that hurt you,” Callan said in a quiet voice. “But I can't say I'm sorry that it landed us here...”

Here, where his big hands steadied her as he leaned forward and kissed her.

He pulled her to him once his mouth was on hers, wrapping her in his arms as his lips parted and the kiss deepened.

It was such a powerhouse of a kiss that it actually washed away all that they'd talked about tonight. And everything else that had brought them there, leaving Livi with her eyes closed and her mind adrift, lost to everything but the feel of his lips urging hers to part, too.

She was aware only of his arms around her, holding her tight, bolstering her when that kiss weakened her knees. Of the intoxicating scent of his cologne. Of how very good he was at kissing—so good that she didn't think twice about welcoming his tongue when it came to greet hers. About accepting and reciprocating that added intimacy.

Her hands went from his chest around to his back, and that allowed him to bring her in closer still, holding her against him, showing her suddenly how sensitive her breasts were. And how nice it felt to have them burrowing into him.

For a while she even forgot that they were standing on her front porch, out in the open, under the spotlight of the lanterns on either side of her door where any of her neighbors could see. There was only his mouth on hers, his muscular arms holding her, their bodies pressed together as their tongues toyed with each other.

Until the sound of a car driving down her street made her remember with just enough of a jolt for Callan to register it.

Still, his tongue didn't bid hers a hasty farewell. Instead it was a reluctant one, retreating and letting that kiss become softer and sweeter before he brought it to a conclusion. Then returned to kiss her again. And again.

And even after that he didn't let go of her. He kept holding her while he looked down into her eyes and she looked up into his.

After another moment he took a long pull of air that raised his shoulders, and then dropped them with his exhale. Clearly, he wasn't happy accepting the fact that the night had to end. “Isn't there supposed to be some kind of appeal to having people to go home to?” he joked.

“There is,” Livi confirmed, even though the last thing she wanted at that moment was for him to leave.

“So...I should do it.”

“You should.”

He kissed her again, a long, deep kiss that caused her to think about stepping into the shadows of her porch, where they wouldn't be so much on display and could keep kissing awhile longer.

But then he ended that kiss, too, and took his arms from around her. “I'll text you about tomorrow,” he promised.

Livi nodded and opened her door. But even with one hand on the knob she didn't go in. She stood there and watched Callan return to his car, drinking in the sight of him, before she closed the door between them.

Then she stood in her entryway, looking around at the house she alone occupied, and imagining what it would have been like if Callan
had
come in.

But while she expected that image to have a negative impact on her, for it not to feel right, she discovered something entirely different.

She found she
could
picture Callan there.

And more than that, she was wishing he was...

Chapter Eight

“O
h. Hey. Morning,” Callan said when he came out of his at-home office on Sunday for his second cup of coffee. He was surprised to find John Sr. sitting on one of the bar stools at the island counter in the kitchen.

“You up before me again?” the older man grumbled, as if it was a competition he resented losing.

“Work to do,” Callan answered tersely, leaving out the part where he was having trouble sleeping because Livi was occupying his mind.

After that kiss on her porch last night he'd been even more stirred up and wide-awake and restless than every other night since they'd reconnected in Northbridge. Finally, he'd just given up the fight and decided to get something accomplished rather than go on trying to sleep, wrestling with thoughts he knew he shouldn't be having.

“Guess you didn't get all you got layin' 'round in bed,” the older man concluded.

There
was
a scenario in which Callan would have liked to be lying around in bed. But it included Livi. Without Livi and alone there, thinking about her, wanting to repeat Hawaii so bad it was nearly driving him crazy, he found his bed was like a torture chamber these days.

But while that was something he would have said to J.J., it certainly wasn't something he would say to John Sr. So instead he asked, “How come you're up so early without cows to milk and animals to feed?”

“Habit. Don't even need an alarm clock anymore.”

Callan nodded toward the mug on the counter in front of John Sr. “Got your coffee okay?”

“Yep.”

“I just came out for my second.”

The elderly man made no comment and Callan went around the island to the coffeemaker while silence hung in the air.

Instantly, Livi was on his mind again.

But this time he wasn't thinking about how shiny her hair was or how blue her eyes were. About how much he liked the sound of her voice, her laugh, how soft her skin was or how much he wanted to get his hands on her. He wasn't thinking that he had no business thinking any of that, given that he was fresh out of a marriage he'd tanked, and had his hands full with the Tellers and Greta. He wasn't even thinking that Livi was a Camden and he should be trying for distance from her rather than the opposite.

This time he was thinking about the things she'd said to him on Friday night. And he knew that if she saw what was going on between him and John Sr. at that moment, she'd blame Callan for dropping the ball, missing a chance to break some ice.

And he knew she would be right.

So once his coffee was ready, rather than taking it back to his office, he turned to drink it standing at the island facing John Sr.

Who scowled and stared at him through narrowed eyes as if he was up to something.

Callan ignored the suspicious glare. But seeing it and knowing the man, he also paused a moment to consider what he was going to say before he said it. Because he knew that if he didn't handle this conversation delicately he could aggravate him, injure that pride Livi had talked about and do more harm than good.

So Callan considered carefully before he said, “I'm thinking that I could use help with some things.”

“That so?”

“It is. Greta needs to be taken to school in the mornings and picked up in the afternoons. And I'm guessing there will be supplies she'll have to have for projects that come up, and times she wants to go to friends' houses or after-school things and will need rides. She'll probably have to be taken to a doctor or the dentist now and then—all of it during my work hours. And there's Maeve—I know how she likes to cook and I'm looking forward to coming home to that when she gets well. But I also know she'll need trips to the grocery store and what not.”

“There can be a lot of running around, that's for sure,” John Sr. agreed.

“So I was wondering if you would, uh, consider taking care of stuff like that if we got you a car and I showed you around, got you familiar with streets and routes to everywhere?”

Even though it didn't seem possible, John Sr.'s eyes narrowed even more and bored through him assessingly.

Callan expected the worst. A tirade about how the elderly man didn't need anyone buying him a car and wasn't taking any charity. About how he didn't need to be shown how to drive anywhere as if he was a punk kid with a new driver's license. About how Callan was asking him to do his own job as guardian, because Callan was a lazy, no-good something or other.

But instead, after a moment, John Sr.'s bushy gray eyebrows arched a little and he said, “I could probably do that.”

Feeling as if a door had opened a crack, Callan nudged it a bit wider. “I'm sure there's a branch around here of that lodge you used to go to in Northbridge—wheels would get you there, too. You might find yourself a poker game.”

“Need to keep up my membership in the Cattlemen's Association, too,” he said.

“Sure. I guess there are meetings and whatever. Maybe they could use a man like you during the Stock Show...”

“Happy to lend a hand,” the elderly man said, in a way that didn't make it clear whether he was happy to lend a hand to Callan or the Cattlemen's Association.

Callan thought it was more likely the latter, but what
he
was happy about was that John Sr. was so willingly—in his own way—accepting Livi's idea of getting him driving again here.

“Think about what kind of car you'd like to have,” Callan said then. “Something heavy and able to get you around even in the winter snow. I have a car guy we can go see...maybe tomorrow night?”

“Got nothin' else planned.”

But the elderly man did seem to have a new attitude. He almost looked chipper. At least as chipper as Callan had ever seen him.

“Great,” Callan said with some relief. “I figure we're all family now and whatever it takes to get things done, we'll get them done—together.”

“Makes sense.”

“Good then...” Callan was stumped for anything else to say. He'd already talked to the Tellers about Sunday dinner at the Camdens when he'd come home last night, and they wanted to go. Livi hadn't given him a game plan for more than talking to John Sr. about a car, so he was at a loss. And certainly John Sr. didn't seem to have any more to say.

So Callan decided to take his win and go. “I should probably get back to work.”

The elderly man didn't speak. He merely raised his chin in acknowledgment.

Without another word between them, Callan took his coffee and headed to his office.

But he still counted what had just happened as a step forward. Maybe only a small one, but still a step.

And it was thanks to Livi.

Who was on his mind again by the time he closed his office door behind him.

“I don't know, Mandy,” he said to the memory of his friend. “She might be a Camden, but she's great with Greta and your in-laws—not to mention she's doing me some good. So far I can't find much to fault her.”

He knew what his friend would say if she were there to answer him—that the Camdens started out looking good and then pulled the rug out from under the people who trusted them when it suited them.

But the more he got to know Livi, the more he thought he might have to argue that with Mandy—even though she'd have argued back that his opinion was colored by the fact that he had the hots for Livi something fierce.

And that would be where he'd lose the argument.

Because he couldn't deny it.

But still, he knew he needed to find a way to curb what was going on in him when it came to the lovely Livi Camden.

He had enough to deal with trying to figure out how to be a surrogate dad to Greta and a surrogate son to Maeve, and even to John Sr.

And they had to come first.

* * *

Livi thought that Sunday dinner at her grandmother's house with Callan, Greta, the Tellers and Kinsey went well.

Greta had had a great time at her school sleepover and was full of stories of her new friends to share with Livi, before she went off to play with Livi's nephew Carter.

Kinsey mainly stayed by Maeve's side to look after her, but even in the course of that, the nurse still chatted a little with everyone and seemed to enjoy herself.

Maeve, John Sr., GiGi and GiGi's new husband, Jonah—who was also originally from Northbridge—reminisced about growing up in the small town. GiGi persuaded Maeve to join the book club she and Margaret belonged to, and even gave her a copy of the book being read currently so Maeve could catch up.

And John Sr. connected with Louie over talk of Louie's garden and yard, and what Louie preferred in a vehicle for getting around the city during the winter months.

For Livi, the evening was a mixed bag.

Jani and Lindie had promised they wouldn't tell the rest of their family about Livi's pregnancy. But Livi had no doubt that Jani had told her husband, Gideon, and that Lindie had told Sawyer, her fiancé. And with Callan also at the dinner, Livi worried that someone would make a slip, that the news might get out and Callan might hear it.

Running interference just in case, she stayed close to him throughout the evening as he met everyone and hit it off with her brothers and male cousins over the Broncos and football.

She told herself that maintaining her position by Callan's side while she suffered through the football talk really was purely a safety measure. But in all honesty...she didn't want to be anywhere else.

Especially when she discovered that being at Sunday dinner with someone for the first time in four years wasn't awkward or uncomfortable, the way she'd thought it would be.

Instead, she actually enjoyed being there with Callan and sort of being part of a twosome again—although she certainly didn't consider them a
couple.
And as much as she liked Sunday dinner ordinarily, having him there with her to share it all somehow made it even better.

But it was still a weight off her shoulders to walk out GiGi's front door, certain that her secret had been kept. And as nice as the evening was, she was glad when it was over.

Livi had driven Greta and Kinsey to the dinner so Maeve could have the backseat of Callan's SUV to herself to accommodate her broken leg. And when they returned to the condo, Greta wanted Livi's help choosing an outfit to wear for her first day of school, so she didn't merely drop off the nine-year-old and the nurse when she got them home. She went up to Callan's condo with everyone else.

Once she and Greta were in Greta's bedroom, not only did the little girl want advice on her clothes and shoes, she wanted to discuss hairstyles, too. And her backpack. And what to do at lunch. And she lamented that she didn't have pierced ears when
everyone
else did, and wanted Livi to draw earrings on her with a marker—an idea Livi nixed. To compensate, she lent the girl two of the beaded bracelets she was wearing.

Although it was clear that the sleepover had gone well and Greta was excited about starting school, Livi could see that she was also nervous. So even after all the fashion decisions had been made she stayed with Greta, urging her to put on her pajamas and brush her teeth. Then she read to her to get her mind off the day to come, not leaving her until Greta was dozing off.

Then Livi quietly slipped out of the room, closing the door behind her.

The condo was so quiet that she wondered if everyone had forgotten she was there and had gone to bed.

But when she got to the open-concept living space and kitchen, Callan was there. Waiting, it seemed, because he was standing at the bank of windows in the living room area, looking out over Denver.

She'd been so careful about not making any noise to disturb Greta that he didn't hear her coming. So for a moment Livi stopped and did what she'd wanted to do all night and hadn't out of fear that someone might notice—she just took in the sight of him. There, in the quiet of his condominium, with no one else around and him unaware she was doing it, she feasted a little, getting the front view of his reflection in the glass, along with the rear view, too. From the back she got to look at broad shoulders that tapered down to a narrow waist and a derriere that those pants loved.

There was no denying that the man was male-model gorgeous, with a body any designer would die to dress. And even though she tried not to, Livi couldn't help wishing once again that she hadn't been such a stickler about having the hotel room in Hawaii so dark that she hadn't had a real look at him in the buff...

He turned from the window and she went the rest of the way into the room, as if she hadn't paused to stare.

“That took a while,” he observed, apparently none the wiser.

“We girls can't go out in just anything,” she joked.

“The Tellers crashed—looks like we wore them out—and Kinsey left. But it isn't that late... Sit a minute?”

“Okay,” she agreed, before she'd even had the time to ponder it, rationalize it, justify it. Following only the impulse to have some time alone with him.

“Wine?” he offered.

Under other circumstances, yes.

“No, thanks. I'm at my limit tonight for food and drink.”

“Then just come and sit.”

She did, going to the big leather sofa, where he joined her, both of them near the center, angled toward each other. Callan relaxed with an arm along the top of the cushions, an ankle resting atop the opposite knee.

“Was dinner too much for Maeve?” Livi asked as they settled in.

“I don't think so. They were both glad they went—they said so on the drive home. And they're looking forward to getting out again and doing stuff with people their own age—you were right about that. Maeve couldn't wait to dive into that book, and John Sr. offered to help Louie winterize the yard and garden. He's thrilled with the idea of getting his hands dirty.”

“Once a farmer always a farmer?”