Читать книгу The Illegitimate Billionaire - Barbara Dunlop - Страница 10
ОглавлениеIn the small office in the back of the bakery, Callie’s gaze rested on the framed photo of Frederick and the boys. She was struck by how much the boys had grown since Frederick passed away. She lifted the picture into better lighting.
It was the last one taken of her sons with their father. It was on their road trip last September. They’d traveled north along the coast, all the way to Virginia Beach.
Frederick had loved driving holidays. She suspected that sitting in a car made him forget about his disability and feel just like everyone else.
James was patient with the long rides, but Ethan was less than enthusiastic about spending so much time in his car seat. Frederick had done his best to entertain Ethan, who had just turned one that trip, while Callie had done the driving. It seemed like such a long time ago.
In November, Frederick had come down with a cold, just a routine cold that James had picked up in preschool. It settled in Frederick’s chest, which was normal for him. He insisted it was nothing to worry about, since both James and then Ethan had run fevers with the bug, coughed a few nights and then recovered.
But in the morning, Frederick’s fever had spiked alarmingly. Callie had rushed him to the hospital, where he lost consciousness and was diagnosed with pneumonia. They started antibiotics immediately. But his lungs had been severely bruised in his fall as a young teenager, and the scarring had left them weak.
He never woke up, and she’d said a final goodbye to him within hours.
Now she looked at the photo, Ethan grinning on Frederick’s lap, James standing with his head on Frederick’s shoulder. James still remembered Daddy, but Ethan only knew him from photos and video clips. Both boys had changed so much, grown so strong, learned so much. Frederick would be proud of them both.
“Callie?” Hannah poked her head through the open doorway.
“Is it getting busy out there?” Callie set the picture back down.
It was nearing the lunch hour. Pam had the boys until two today. With Frederick gone, Callie had modified her schedule. Pam was a godsend of a babysitter, and Hannah kept the bakery running like a well-oiled machine when Callie had to be at home.
“The lineup’s growing,” Hannah said. “The Spring Berry Cheesecake is still really moving.”
Callie was happy with the news. They’d created the recipe and introduced the new item just this month. It was gratifying to hear it was a success.
“I’m on my way.” Callie rose and followed Hannah through the kitchen to the café.
The lineup was halfway across the seating area. A few tables had just been vacated. Callie moved quickly to clear them and make room for more customers to sit down.
As she freshened the last of three tables, she was surprised to spot Deacon Holt sitting in one of the window booths. It had been a week since he was last in the café, and she’d assumed his vacation had ended and he’d left town.
Since she never expected to see him again, she’d allowed herself to fantasize the past few nights. Her fantasies ranged from hand-holding in the park to kissing under the stars to more, much more. She felt her face warm thinking about it. She knew he couldn’t read her mind, but looking at him now felt oddly intimate.
He spotted her. “Hello, Callie.”
She shook off her discomfort and went to his table. “Hello, Deacon.”
His smile went broad at her use of his name.
“I thought you would have left town by now,” she said.
“Still here in Charleston.”
She glanced at his sandwich plate. “And back for more sourdough?”
“I couldn’t stay away.” His tone sounded flirtatious, and she raised her gaze. “I was hoping you’d reconsider my invitation.”
She wished she didn’t feel the same way. She knew she had to fight it. It would be unseemly to rush out and date this soon after her husband’s death.
It wasn’t that Frederick had been the love of her life. They were dear friends, companions, parents together. Frederick had rescued her from hopeless poverty, and she’d given him the family he desired.
“I wish I could,” she said honestly.
“Something is stopping you?” His tone was gentle, even concerned.
“A full and busy life.” She wasn’t about to get into details.
“Someone else?” he asked.
She drew back in surprise. “What?”
“Are you dating someone else?”
“I don’t date.” She glanced over her shoulder to check the lineup, feeling suddenly guilty for standing and talking while Hannah and the others were so busy.
“Everyone dates,” Deacon said.
“No, they don’t. Case in point, me.” Why was she still here? Why was she indulging herself in something that couldn’t happen?
“Maybe not in the formal sense, but the opposite sex is always checking each other out.”
“I’m not checking you out,” she lied.
There was a gentle amusement in his blue eyes. “Well, I am most definitely checking you out.”
“Don’t.”
“It’s not something I can control. But to be clear, I’m only suggesting coffee and conversation.”
She gestured to the lineup. “I have to get back to work.”
“Okay.”
“I can’t go out with you. I don’t have time.” The excuse was perfectly true. Between the bakery and her sons, she had no time for a social life.
“Okay.” He gave up easily.
She didn’t regret saying no. She wouldn’t allow herself to regret it.
She gave him a nod and firmly turned herself around, heading behind the counter.
“What was that?” Hannah asked in an undertone.
“Just a customer.” Callie wished she didn’t feel overheated. Then again, she was in a bakery, and it was May. It would be odd if she didn’t feel overheated.
“He was in last week.”
“He was,” Callie acknowledged.
Hannah finished ringing up a cheesecake order and handed a customer some change.
Callie took a clean plate from the stack and loaded it up with a slice of Spring Berry Cheesecake, a drizzle of chocolate sauce and a generous dollop of whipped cream. She set it on top of the case, then assembled another identical one.
“What did he say?” Hannah asked.
“Nothing,” Callie answered.
“That was an awfully long nothing.”
“He asked me to coffee,” Callie admitted.
“That’s fantastic.”
“I said no.”
A new customer stepped up. “Two pecan tarts and a dozen peanut butter cookies. Can you make the cookies to go?”
“Cookies to go,” Hannah called over her shoulder.
Callie plated the tarts. “Whipped cream?” she asked the man.
“Only on one.”
She decorated the tart, while another staff member bagged the cookies.
The staff worked efficiently until the lineup disappeared.
Hannah followed Callie into the back, where cinnamon twists were cooling on racks, and the bakers were rolling out pastry.
“Why would you say no?” Hannah asked her.
Callie knew exactly what Hannah was talking about. “I’m not going to date a tourist. I’m not going to date anyone. I don’t have time, and it’s only been six months.”
“It’s been a lot more than six months.”
“Nobody knows that.” Callie and Frederick had never let on that their marriage was anything other than normal.
Hannah’s voice went singsong. “I’m just saying, what’s wrong with a little flirting, a little kissing, a little...whatever with a handsome stranger?”
“I’m not answering that.”
“Because the answer you wish you could give is opposite to the answer you want to give,” Hannah said with authority.
“That didn’t even make any sense.”
“Your hormones want one thing, but your brain is fighting it.”
“I have two sons, a bakery and city beautification to think about.”
“Callie, you’re a healthy and vibrant young woman who’s never—”
“That has nothing to do with anything.”
Hannah knew Frederick hadn’t been able to engage in intercourse. James and Ethan were conceived through in vitro fertilization.
“You’re going to have to take the plunge someday.”
“Sex is not the only kind of intimacy.”
“I get that,” Hannah said, backing off.
“It doesn’t sound like you get that.”
“I’m not trying to push you.”
Callie let out a laugh at the absurdity of Hannah’s last statement.
“I’m only saying...you know...don’t write off a guy like that too quickly. Think about it.”
Callie had thought about it. She was still thinking about it. That was her biggest problem. She couldn’t seem to stop thinking about it.
* * *
Deacon recognized a losing strategy when he was engaged in one. Callie wasn’t going to date him. It was probably because of the Mayor, but it could be something else. In any event, if he wanted to get closer to her and find out, he had to change tactics.
He spent another week in town, researching Callie and Hank Watkins. People considered them both pillars of the community. They hung with the same crowd, attended the same functions. People mostly thought the Mayor was a good catch, and a few seemed to have speculated on the two of them as a couple.
When Deacon learned Callie was on the City Beautification Committee, he jumped on the opportunity and showed up at a meeting. He sat in the back, obscured by the shape of the room. But he was close enough to watch her interactions with Hank.
Hank whispered in her ear at one point, and she smiled in return. He touched her arm, and she didn’t pull away. He filled her water glass and offered her a pen. She took the pen and drank the water.
Watching her cozy up to the wealthy, powerful, but much older, Hank Watkins renewed Deacon’s suspicion she’d married Frederick for his money. It also confirmed that Deacon had competition.
He realized he didn’t have the Watkins name and power, and he sure couldn’t tell her he was a Clarkson. But he’d achieved a reasonable level of success in life, and he could make himself sound better than he was—richer and more powerful.
But he was going to take a more subtle approach this time, let her come to him. At the end of the meeting, when coffee and cookies were served over friendly chitchat, he struck up a conversation with a few Charleston citizens. He stood where he was sure he’d be in Callie’s line of sight.
“Deacon?” Her tentative voice behind him said the approach had worked.
He turned, feigning surprise. “Callie. It’s great to see you again.” He cheerfully excused himself from the others.
“Exactly how long is your vacation?” she asked, brow furrowed as they moved a few steps away.
He feigned a guilty expression. “I’m afraid I have a confession to make.”
She waited.
He’d rehearsed his lines. “I’m more than just an ordinary tourist.”
She looked apprehensive. “Who are you?”
“I’m thinking of relocating to Charleston.”
The words seemed to put her off guard. “Why didn’t you say so?”
“It’s complicated. There were things to check out, arrangements to make. I didn’t want people to know I was considering the city.”
“Considering it for what?” Now she seemed annoyed and distinctly suspicious.
He realized he was messing this up. “I’m a partner in a national transportation company.”
The claim was an exaggeration, but not a huge one. He was a minor partner, and they were more regional than national. But it was true enough to get by.
“We’re based out of Virginia,” he continued. “But we’re looking to expand. We’d need a lot of land, commercial industrial land. If the real estate community knew we were in the market, well, funny things happen to prices when a large corporation expresses an interest.”
He stuck as close as he could to the truth. Mobi Transport was always looking to expand. It could as easily expand into Charleston as anywhere else. And local land prices did get jacked up when the real estate community knew a big corporation was in the market.
“You’re saying dishonesty was in your best interest.”
He wasn’t sure how to answer that. “I wouldn’t call it dishonesty.”
“You’re keeping Charleston citizens in the dark about the value of their property.”
“I’m keeping the value realistic.”
“By lying about your intentions.”
“I’m not—”
“That’s how market forces work, Deacon. When something is in demand, it becomes more valuable.”
He was surprised the conversation had taken this turn.
At the same time, he was curious about her immediate leap to skepticism. Honest people were trusting. Devious people looked for deceit in others.
“I don’t want to have to pick another city,” he told her. “I like Charleston. If land costs too much here, we’ll choose another city where it costs less.”
She gave a little shrug, as if the easiest solution in the world was at hand. “Just tell the people that’s the case.”
“That’s one way to approach it.”
“It’s the honest way to approach it.”
“Are you an honesty-is-the-best-policy type?” He watched her reaction.
She hesitated, her expression flinching ever so slightly. “It is the best policy.”
She hadn’t exactly answered, but he didn’t press.
“Check out the Mobi Transportation website. See if you think it would be good for Charleston.”
The Mobi website was slick and professional. It was designed to encourage sales by making the company look bigger than it was.
“We do long-haul trucking. We have six terminals across the northeast.”
Her expression relaxed a little. “That sounds...interesting.”
“In the internet age, goods transportation is primed for expansion. There’s a whole lot of opportunity in the sector.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Hank Watkins making his was toward them.
Deacon gestured to the refreshment table on the other side of the room. “Would you like a coffee? A cookie? They’re okay, but not as good as yours.”
“Flattery, Deacon?”
“The truth, Callie.” He didn’t have to exaggerate there. “Your cookies are the best I’ve ever tasted. How long have you been a baker?”
She made a move toward the refreshment table. “I worked in a café from the time I was fourteen.”
He fell into step beside her. “That young?”
“We didn’t have much money when I was growing up. I did whatever it took. I lied about my age. I bused tables at first, but then I was promoted to waitress.”
He was starting to form a picture of her. She was a survivor. He could relate to that.
“Did you grow up here in Charleston? Decaf?” He reached for the labeled pot.
“Decaf would be best.”
He poured them each a cup.
“It was a small town in Tennessee, Grainwall.” She flinched almost imperceptibly as she said the town’s name.
He kept watch on Hank’s progress. “You didn’t like it there?”
“Nobody likes it there. My husband, Frederick, and I chose Charleston because it was so beautiful.” A look of sadness passed over her face.
“I was sorry to hear about your husband.”
Deacon was genuinely sorry about Frederick’s death. Frederick had seemed like the nicest of the entire Clarkson clan. He was certainly the most honorable. Neither of his brothers seemed to ever stand up to their father, who—if employees of the company were to be believed—was an ill-tempered, self-centered control freak.
“Thank you,” Callie said, her expression pinched. “We miss him. He was a wonderful man.”
Deacon silently acknowledged that she played the delicate widow very well.
“I met him at the Fork ’n’ Spoon,” she said.
“You worked somewhere called the Fork ’n’ Spoon?”
“It was aptly named, since we provided both forks and spoons.” She gave an engaging smile. “It was mostly burgers and chili—not the best clientele. I don’t know how Frederick found it, but he kept coming back.”
Deacon wasn’t surprised that Frederick kept coming back, and it sure wouldn’t have been for the burgers. Callie was enough to draw any man back again and again. Like Hank, who was slowly getting closer.
“He said he liked the chili.” Callie held her coffee mug in both hands, but didn’t take a drink.
“Was it good?”
She laughed lightly. “I’ve seen it bring down a man twice Frederick’s size. He may have been in a wheelchair, but he had the stomach of an ox.”
Deacon decided to let the wheelchair comment slide. “So you moved to Charleston together?”
“That’s when we opened the bakery. We had no idea what we were doing. But Frederick had a little bit of money.”
A little bit? Deacon couldn’t help but be curious about her definition of a lot of money.
“I knew something about the café business,” she continued. “And I wanted to work somewhere nice, somewhere pleasant, somewhere that customers were happy. Desserts seemed like a good idea. When Hannah came on board, we managed to make it come together.”
Hank was closing in, only one persistent senior citizen holding him back. Deacon glanced at his watch, wondering how he might get Callie outside.
She followed suit and glanced at her watch. “I’ve got a babysitter waiting.”
Perfect.
She set down her cup and started for the door, and he went along.
“You’re interested in city beautification?” he asked as they walked.
“I am now.”
He held open the door, taking note of Hank’s frustrated expression. “Well, that answer has me intrigued.”
“I...” She looked flustered.
He couldn’t imagine what would fluster her about city beautification. Had she joined the committee to get close to Hank?
“I thought...I should...get engaged and support my community.”
Well, that was the worst lie Deacon had ever heard. She was all but begging him to call her on it.
“Will you tell me the real story?” he asked, assuming that’s what she expected him to do.
Her face flushed under the community center’s porch lights. “It’s embarrassing.”
“We all do embarrassing things. I promise, I’ll understand.”
Deacon was ready for her to walk to the parking lot. Instead, she turned the opposite way down the sidewalk. That worked for him.
She took an exaggerated breath, as if she was about to own up to grand larceny. “I joined the committee to butter up Lawrence Dennison.”
The unexpected answer threw Deacon. “Isn’t Lawrence pushing eighty?”
“Downright Sweet is in the historic district. My deck needs repairs, or I’ll have to close it down. I can’t do the repairs without the permit. Lawrence is holding up the permit. And the beautification committee is Lawrence’s pet project. I’m buttering him up by joining the committee.”
Deacon was impressed. By guiltily confessing to such a trivial lie, she looked like the most honest woman in the world.
If Deacon didn’t believe she was using the story to manipulate him, it would have been enchanting.
* * *
For the next three days, Callie glanced up every time a customer walked through the bakery door. She thought Deacon might stop by Friday. He’d walked her all the way to her door Thursday evening.
He hadn’t judged her for joining the committee. He’d understood. He’d even told her his own story about planning a lavish party when a particular state politician was in town, with the aim of getting an introduction to him in order to help Mobi Transportation expand. He couldn’t say for sure if it had worked, but he’d definitely put out the effort.
They’d laughed and talked for ten blocks. She would have invited him in, but she had to tuck the boys into bed. She’d found herself hoping he’d kiss her. But he didn’t.
Then she’d fully expected him to show up at Downright Sweet and ask her out again. He didn’t do that either.
By Monday, she feared he’d left town. Maybe the right land wasn’t available. Or maybe taxes were too high. There were a hundred reasons why he could have decided against Charleston.
“Callie?” Hannah came out of the kitchen with a phone in her hand. “It’s for you. Lawrence Dennison.”
Callie didn’t know whether to be optimistic or worried. Was Lawrence calling to thank her for joining the committee, or had he seen right through her ruse?
“Does he sound annoyed?” she asked Hannah.
“Not that I could tell.”
“Happy?”
“No. What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” Callie took the phone. She steeled herself. “Hello?”
“Hello, Callie.” Lawrence sounded happy—maybe too happy.
“Hello, Councilman Dennison.”
“Please, please, call me Lawrence.”
She couldn’t help but think the invitation was a good sign, but she didn’t want to hope. “All right. Lawrence.”
“I’m calling to thank you personally.”
She felt a wave of relief. “For joining the committee.”
“For the donation.”
“The donation?”
Hannah, who was watching, cocked her head in curiosity.
“Two-thousand dollars was very generous of you.”
Two-thousand dollars? Had Callie accidentally signed something, or agreed to something? She couldn’t afford to donate two-thousand dollars. “I—”
Lawrence didn’t seem to hear her. “The beautification committee will definitely put the money to good use.”
“Lawrence, I think there’s been—”
“And on your building permit, I’ve reviewed the architectural drawings, and I’m optimistic it can be approved this week.”
“Approved?”
She knew she should protest. She hadn’t made any donation. And if she had, would it have been a bribe?
Hannah’s brown eyes went wide as she whispered. “The permit?”
Callie wanted to nod, but she was afraid to jinx it. Could this really be happening?
“You should hear something by Wednesday. If the office doesn’t call, feel free to contact me directly.”
Hannah touched her arm, pointing to the bakery door.
Callie turned to see Deacon walk in. He looked tall, handsome and crisply cool in a pair of designer jeans and a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the collar open.
“I...uh...” Her gaze met Deacon’s secretive, self-satisfied smirk, and she immediately knew what had happened. “Thank you, Lawrence.”
“My pleasure. Goodbye, Callie.”
“Goodbye.” Without taking her gaze off Deacon, she handed the phone to Hannah. “I have to talk to Deacon.”
“Are we getting our building permit?”
“Looks like we are.” Callie wasn’t sure how to feel about that: happy, guilty, annoyed, grateful?
What kind of man would do that for her?
While she wondered, he came to a stop on the other side of the display case. “Hello, Callie.”
“Can we talk?” she asked.
“Sure.” He glanced around at the customers. “Can you get away for a few minutes?”
“Yes.” She untied her apron and lifted it over her head.
He gave an admiring glance at her white, short-sleeved blouse and fitted black skirt. The interest in his eyes sent a pleasant sizzle down her spine. He had a casual, earthy sexuality that reached out to her.
She had to remind herself she was...at least possibly...annoyed with him.
A good person would be annoyed with him.
Wouldn’t they?
Winding her way through the dining tables, she followed him to the door. Her gaze moved involuntarily from his broad shoulders, down the taper of his back, to his attractive rear. He had to be in incredible shape. A good person wouldn’t be watching his rear end either.
She wanted to be a good person.
“It’s a hot one,” he said as they exited to the sidewalk.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” she blurted out.
“I don’t know,” he said easily. “What are we talking about?”
“The donation.”
It was clear from his expression that he immediately understood. “Ahhh.”
“I’m taking that as a yes.”
“Yes. It was me. Can I hold your hand?”
“What?” Her brain stumbled on the question.
“Your hand. I’d like to hold your hand while we walk.”
“Why are you saying that?”
“Because it’s true.”
“We’re talking about you letting Lawrence think I made a big donation to the beautification committee.”
“We can’t do that while I’m holding you hand?”
“Deacon.”
“What?” Instead of waiting for an answer, he took her hand as they walked beneath the arching oak trees.
She knew she should pull away, but she didn’t seem to have it in her. “Lawrence just called me,” she persisted.
“Good.” They took a few more steps. “Right?”
It was definitely good holding hands. In fact, it was great holding hands. His was strong. It felt manly. It was a manly hand, and she liked that.
“Callie?”
“Huh?”
“What did Lawrence say?”
“Oh.” She put her focus back on track. “He said my permit will be approved on Wednesday.”
Deacon squeezed her hand, lifting it to his lips to give it a kiss. “That’s fantastic!”
She let his action sink in for a moment.
He’d kissed her.
It was on the hand, sure. But he’d kissed her, and she’d liked it. Her lips tingled as she thought about the kiss. They were jealous of her hand.
She ordered herself to get a grip. She got a grip, tamping down her wayward reaction.
“You bribed him,” she said, making sure she sounded disapproving.
“That wasn’t a bribe. It was inspiration.”
“It was money.”
“A bribe would be if you called him up and said ‘I’ll give you two-thousand dollars if you approve my permit.’”
“I didn’t do that.” Her brained clicked through the implications. “Did I break the law?”
He chuckled. “You’re too much.” Then he lifted her hand to kiss it again.
He held it still against his lips. He stopped walking, and she stopped too.
He turned to gaze into her eyes. She felt a wash of helpless desire warm her body and flush her skin.
He wrapped his free hand around her upper arm, urging her gently backward into a narrow, cobblestone alley.
“Can I kiss you?” he whispered. “I want to kiss you.”
She didn’t even think to refuse. “Yes.”
