Always a Temp

Nathan wondered. He took off his reading glasses, holding them by the bow. “So,” he said briskly, making the change of topic sound like a brushoff, “once the estate is settled, where are you heading off to?”

“Nowhere.”

His jaw tightened. He didn’t want her in town, didn’t want to be around her. Didn’t like being reminded of those days when he’d gone through hell wondering why she’d left. Why she wouldn’t take his calls. Not the best of times for a kid who was struggling with self-image issues, issues his dad wasn’t exactly helping him with.

“You’re keeping the house?” His voice was amazingly cool considering what his blood pressure was doing.

She drew back at the suggestion. “Of course not. I just want some…” Her voice trailed off as she made a small gesture. A fire opal set in an asymmetrical gold band on her left ring finger caught the light. An engagement ring? Somehow he doubted it. “I want some time to go through Grace’s things. Tidy up the place to sell. I don’t have any pressing commitments.”

“I see.” And he now had an idea of what was coming next. If she wasn’t here as an alleged friend, then…

“I need a temporary job, Nate. I don’t want to live solely on savings.”

Bingo.

She leaned forward in her chair, her expression intent. “I thought I could freelance for you.” When Nathan didn’t answer immediately, she added, “I might even improve circulation.”

Heaven knew she’d improved his circulation more than once. Nathan shoved the thought aside. “Yeah, you would do an excellent job. There’s just one problem.”

“That I’ll be leaving?”

He set his glasses on top of a stack of papers, rubbed his eyes again. “That’s not the problem.”

“Then what, Nate?”

He hesitated for a moment before he said, “I don’t want to work with you, Callie, and I don’t want to publish your articles.”

Her eyebrows, a few shades darker than her hair, rose higher. “You’re kidding.”

He shook his head, watching Callie’s expression change as she realized he meant what he said. He was passing up work from a writer of her caliber.

“Because of what happened between us,” she said. He nodded. “But that was twelve years ago.”

“That doesn’t make what you did any less crummy.”

Callie showed no emotion as she said, “I’m not here asking for friendship, Nate.” But he had a strong feeling that had been exactly what she’d been there for. Callie didn’t have any friends left in town. He was all that remained of their small high school group. “I just want to submit some freelance work.”

“Isn’t going to happen.”

“I can’t believe you’re letting personal matters interfere with professional.”

“Believe it, Cal.”

“Would you at least give me a chance to—”

“What would it matter?” he asked sharply, cutting her off. “If you had something to explain, maybe you could have answered one of my calls twelve years ago. You know, back when I cared?”

Callie rose to her feet and slung her leather bag over her shoulder so hard it made a noise when it hit her back.

Nathan also stood, and again his leg cooperated.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you around.” Her voice was cold.

And he probably would see her around for a few days, because she’d make certain he did, but he’d bet his next paycheck she’d be gone within a matter of weeks. Or days. She’d find a new assignment, let the real estate agent sell the house, the accountant handle the estate.

“Goodbye, Callie.”

She left without another word, the distinctive sound of her flip-flops echoing on the tile in a weird staccato rhythm as she returned to the main office. Nathan sat back down, stretching out his bad leg, feeling the familiar deep ache as his scarred muscles protested. His nerves were humming.

He’d done a decent job of pushing Callie out of his mind over the years, filing their relationship away under Rugged Learning Experiences. He rarely read her articles and he’d had no intention of ever seeing her again.

Now here she was, back in Wesley, ready to let bygones be bygones. He reached for his glasses.

As he’d said, it wasn’t going to happen.

CHAPTER TWO

THANKFULLY, JOY WONG wasn’t at her desk when Callie left Nathan’s office, because, thick-skinned as she was, Callie didn’t think she could handle any more rejection today—not even a dismissive smile. Joy had been one of Grace’s friends, although Callie had never known her well, and it had been obvious from her politely distant demeanor at the memorial service that Joy was in the Callie-is-a-rotten-person camp.

Callie quickly skirted the receptionist’s desk, crossed the foyer and escaped out of the building into the heat. The big glass door closed behind her with a muffled click.

Safe.

She couldn’t believe how off base she’d been about Nate.

The plan had been simple when she’d entered the Wesley Star office. She would apologize to Nate for running scared, explain that she’d been overwhelmed by things she still didn’t fully understand. And then Nate, realizing that she’d been young and confused, and obviously had a reason for not contacting him, would forgive her. After all, twelve years had passed. Time heals all wounds and all of that. But two seconds into the reunion Callie knew she’d better come up with a different plan. The young Nate she’d jilted was nothing like the older Nate sitting behind the editor’s desk. Oh, they looked almost the same—dark-haired, blue-eyed, with glasses—but they weren’t the same guy. So she’d saved face and pretended she was interested in freelancing, which she was, never dreaming that Nate would reject her there, too.

She felt like crap.

Heat waves danced on the asphalt as Callie crossed the lot to her car. She didn’t even look at the man loading equipment into a minivan two spaces away from where she was parked. He seemed vaguely familiar, but she wasn’t going to submit herself to more rampant disapproval.

Callie opened the car door with a little too much force, making the old hinges squeak, and climbed into the two-hundred-degree interior, cranking the windows down as soon as she shut the door. Since she rarely needed a car, unless she happened to be making a trip across the Nevada desert to a place with no airport, she didn’t own one. The Neon belonged to a friend of a friend in Berkeley, who’d had no qualms about lending it to Callie indefinitely in exchange for two hundred dollars—which was approximately twice the value of the cranky little car, as near as she could tell.

Callie pulled the neck of her shirt away from her damp skin before she reached for the ignition. The no-frills Neon lacked AC, and she was getting a quick refresher course in just how hot Nevada could be in August. Even the high desert, where Wesley was located, had long stretches of days in the hundred-degree-plus range, and wasn’t she lucky that they were having one now?

As she pulled away from the building, she glanced at Nate’s window. He was sitting there staring at his computer. It killed her how much he looked the same, yet how different he was. Of course, there were small changes that came with maturity. His face had become leaner, making his cheekbones more prominent, his chin more angular. And his body was harder, more muscular. Ironically, he’d been dressed almost exactly the same the last time she’d seen him, on graduation night, right down to the sleeves of his oxford shirt rolled up over his forearms and his shirt tucked into jeans rather than pants. He’d once told her that the only thing that stood between him and complete nerddom was that he refused to give up his Levi’s. She’d never thought of him as a nerd, but rather as the quiet brother sandwiched in between two hell-raisers. Safe, dependable, understanding Nate…Scratch understanding.

Yeah, Nate had changed.

A few minutes later she parked her car in front of Grace’s house, which, once the estate was settled, would be hers.

Callie McCarran. Home owner.

What a joke. Houses were for people who liked to put down roots, form relationships. Other people signed mortgages and long-term leases. Callie paid rent on a mouse-proof storage unit to store the few things she treasured and could not bring with her on her travels.

A house would be wasted on her.

CHIP ELROY POKED HIS shaved head into Nathan’s office. “Hey, was that Callie McCarran I saw leaving the building a while ago?” He had two cameras hanging around his neck and a large black lens bag in one hand.