Always a Temp

“Talk to Dad,” Garrett said, jerking his head to where their father was conferring with another man near the front of an engine.

“Oh, I will. Later.” Not that it would do a lot of good. Fifteen years of being sheriff prior to taking over command of the fire department had made John Marcenek a master at avoiding a direct answer.

“My gut reaction is that the two incidents aren’t connected, and you’re probably right about Anderson,” Garrett finally said, before giving Nathan a fierce look. “Do not quote me.”

“Unnamed source,” he agreed with a half smile. The brothers fell into step as they walked back to Nathan’s car.

“Law enforcement officials are uncertain whether the incidents are connected,” Garrett corrected. “You didn’t seem too surprised to see Callie at the fire.”

“Probably looking for a story. She showed up at the office and asked me for freelance work a couple days ago.”

Garrett glanced at him. “No shit?”

“I turned her down, but if Vince Michaels hears about it, he’ll be an unhappy camper.”

“Or rather, you’ll be an unhappy camper.”

Nathan grinned for the first time all evening. “In your words, no shit.”

AS SOON AS CALLIE GOT home, she fired up her laptop and started to write. Words appeared on the screen, but something was lacking: decent writing. Disgusted, she ditched the file and turned off the computer. She’d try again tomorrow.

The next morning was no better, nor was the afternoon. Finally, as the sun was setting and Callie had accomplished nothing except for an industrial cleaning of the bathroom, she faced reality. She couldn’t keep cleaning bathrooms and waxing floors. She had to do the one job she did not want to do, the task that was constantly lurking at the back of her mind, and then maybe she could settle and write a few words.

She needed to go through Grace’s belongings.

Callie opened the bedroom door and stood in the doorway, taking in the neat little room. Grace’s reading glasses were on the nightstand, along with an empty water glass, and a box of tissues set on top of a library book. Callie should probably return that before the library police came after her.

She went to the closet and opened the door, the squeak of the wheels in the tracks instantly bringing back memories. When the closet had squeaked, it meant Grace was awake, getting her robe. It meant Callie would smell breakfast soon and that the house would be warm when she got up.

The closet smelled of spice. Grace had loved cinnamon and had sachets everywhere. Callie had always loved cinnamon herself, but at the moment the scent was too poignant, too much.

Sorry, Grace…

Callie did her best to shut herself off as she pulled armloads of clothes out of the closet and laid them on the bed before going back for more. If she didn’t think about what she was doing, she wouldn’t get sucked down. And once she got this chore done, the worst would be behind her. She’d be able to write.

After the first closet was empty, she shook open a trash bag and shoved the clothing into it, hangers and all. If she stopped to sort and fold, she wouldn’t make it through the process without breaking down. The most practical approach was to make everything disappear into black plastic as quickly as possible.

But Callie wasn’t quick enough. She slowed down for a few seconds and the next thing she knew, she’d pulled an oversize cardigan she’d always associated with Grace out of the pile of clothing on the bed. And, instead of shoving it into the bag, she held it up, then bunched it to her, breathing in the scent of the only mother she’d ever really known.

Her throat closed.

Callie resolutely blanked her mind, folded the sweater and set it inside the swollen bag before tying it shut. She shook open another bag and headed for the dresser, planning to quickly sort through Grace’s unmentionables so she didn’t accidentally throw away or donate something of value. Grace had had a habit of hiding things in her underwear drawer, as if placing something here would keep it safe from prying eyes—those of a young girl trying to peek at her Christmas presents, for example. Sure enough, when Callie opened the drawer, something solid slid across the bottom. She pushed aside the cotton undergarments to find a fancy lingerie box.

She set the box on the bed and for a moment just looked at it, wondering what on earth it could contain that was worthy of hiding in the underwear drawer. The corners of the lid were worn and the cardboard had grown brittle with age. She gently eased the top off.

Photos. Tons of photos. And her schoolwork. Award certificates. Callie’s life in a box.

She lifted out a photo of herself taken on the first day of junior high, wearing low-rider flared pants and a body-hugging, long-sleeved shirt. The shirt had been too hot for August in Nevada, but Callie had wanted to wear it, and Grace had acquiesced. Beneath that were more photos—showing her rabbit at the fair for 4-H. Callie riding her bike. Grace had bought it used, but it had been one of the cool bikes. A Trek 920, like Nathan’s. Not that Callie had been concerned about that kind of stuff…. She smiled slightly. She’d pretended not to be, anyway, but she had loved having a bike that was as nice as everyone else’s. Grace hadn’t made a ton of money working at the grocery store, but she’d taken care of Callie.

Callie had not taken care of Grace.

She put the lid back on the box and set it on top of the dresser, then went back to the clothing, checking all the drawers before quickly dumping the contents into trash bags. No more sorting, because everything was going to charity. People who hadn’t abandoned their foster mother could sift through her stuff.

By the time she finished, despite her best efforts to keep the self-recriminations at bay, Callie was a wreck.

She should have come home and she hadn’t.

She’d shut everyone she’d ever been close to out of her life over the past decade, for reasons she didn’t quite understand.

Well, damn it, she didn’t want to be alone anymore.

CHAPTER FOUR

NATE WAS SLOUCHED on the sofa, his feet propped on the coffee table and his laptop on his thighs, when the dog next door started yapping. Since Poppy’s owner went to bed at approximately sundown every night, Nate put his computer on the coffee table and went to the window to see what had disturbed the little rat.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he muttered as he dropped the curtain and went to the door. Callie was already on the bottom step when he pulled it open. Twice now he’d seen her and twice he’d felt the odd sensation of having a missing part of his life back again—which was ridiculous, since this missing part had blown him off and disappeared for a dozen years without a word.

“Why are you here?” It was late and he was too tired for niceties.

Her eyebrows lifted as she said, “Because I want to make peace.”

He rested a hand against the door frame. “Make peace?” They weren’t at war. He just didn’t want her around.

“Over ten years have gone by, Nate. I’m sorry I took off, but we’re different people now. Surely we can start new.”

Start new. Yeah. So easy. He didn’t feel like making it easy on Callie, so he continued to block the door, even though she obviously wanted to come inside.

“I went through hell after you left. I was afraid something had happened to you, until Grace told me you were all right.” It had taken him a couple of days to get hold of her foster mother, since she’d traveled to Boise immediately after the graduation ceremony to attend a wedding, giving him and Callie the freedom to almost consummate their relationship, emphasis on almost. Her trip had also given Callie the freedom to blow town the next day.

His fingers gripped the door frame. He would never forget how he’d felt when he’d realized she’d gone without a word. He loved her, thought she’d loved him, yet she disappeared after their first awkward and unsuccessful attempt to make love. He’d felt like such a freaking loser.

“I did what I had to do,” Callie said now, an edge of frustration creeping into her voice.

Nate ran a hand over the taut muscles at the back of his neck. “You didn’t give a reason for leaving. So why don’t you tell me now?”

“I don’t know,” she said softly.

For a moment he just stared at her. After all these years, this was her answer.

“‘I don’t know,’” he mimicked. “Bullshit!”

The word echoed through the night. Callie flinched, and he realized he’d never raised his voice to her. He drew in a ragged breath, leaning his forehead against the doorjamb. Callie was one of the most intelligent women he knew. Intelligent women didn’t just abandon someone without a reason. And more than that, deep down he’d wanted her to have a concrete reason for leaving. Maybe something he’d done or said. Maybe his inexperience. Something they could have worked out, given a chance. He’d always believed she’d had a reason.

“We’re not going to be friends and you’re never writing for the Star, Callie. Not while I’m editor.” He looked up at her. “Got it?”

She stared him down for a few seconds, then muttered something under her breath that sounded a whole lot like “We’ll see,” before she abruptly turned and crossed the lawn back to her wreck of a car. It started with a puff of blue smoke. She pulled away from the curb before she snapped the headlights on. Nathan watched her disappear around the corner.

What kind of a jerk treated someone who’d recently lost her only relative that way? Especially when he knew exactly how it felt to lose a parent?