JUST WHAT WAS the right price to pay for keeping a promise to someone who’d been damn good to him when he was a teenager? Callen was finding that out, and it wasn’t going especially well.
Buck, he’d learned, was muleheaded.
For the past two days, since Callen had set up shop in Coldwater, he’d visited and called Buck multiple times. The one visit he’d made an hour earlier had ended with Callen having to take hold of Buck’s arm to stop him from falling after having a dizzy spell. Maybe it was a result of the anemia, but Callen was betting it had more to do with the tumor.
It had done no good—none—to remind Buck that the dizziness could have happened when he was driving. Or on a horse. He could have been hurt, and that was the reason he needed to tell Rosy and Shelby what was going on. But no. Not the muleheaded Buck, who had not only refused to do that but had reminded Callen of the promise he’d made about keeping the secret that should have never been a secret in the first place.
With problem one—Buck’s medical crisis—nowhere near solved, Callen was tackling problem two. And he wasn’t tackling it very well. The report his PI had made on Lucy and Mateo looked plenty thorough, but Callen hadn’t been able to get past the first page.
His attention kept landing on words like multiple contusions. Fractured hand. Malnourished. Neglect. Extreme. For most of their lives, the kids had been put through that, and it hadn’t been abuse from the system but their own mother.
He put the file aside when he heard Havana’s voice coming up the stairs. Another somewhat-familiar voice, too. Lizbeth Gafford, and a moment later Havana showed the woman into Callen’s office. Not a friend exactly, but she’d had a longtime relationship with one of his business associates, so Lizbeth and he had seen each other socially plenty of times.
This wouldn’t be social.
“Thanks for coming,” he told Lizbeth once Havana had walked out and shut the door.
She didn’t look like a social worker with her perfect hair and clothes. There was a good reason for that. She was actually an heiress, who had likely disappointed her real-estate mogul parents to become a lowly social worker. Callen had heard that she was a good one, too. One who cared and had yet to reach burnout. And that was why he’d called her.
“I was a little surprised to hear from you,” she said, sitting when he motioned to the chair in the seating area by the window. Callen sat next to her, and he poured her some of the green tea that Havana had learned the woman preferred. “Surprised, too, to learn you were here in this small town. I didn’t think you’d do business anywhere but Dallas.”
“I hope it wasn’t too much of a hassle for you to come all the way out here. I would have gone to you.” He skipped any explanation about why he was here in this particular small town, though it was possible that as a social worker Lizbeth had access to his old records.
“No hassle. My grandparents have a place not too far from here. A ranch. I can check on it for them after we chat. Two birds with one stone, and I’ll earn some brownie points for being a good granddaughter.” She paused, sipped some of the tea. “I looked up the kids you asked me about. Lucy and Mateo Garcia. They’re placed here in Coldwater. A good placement, too, from everything I read. That’s why I’m a little puzzled as to why you’d ask about them.”
He was going to have to walk on eggshells here. Callen didn’t want to say anything about Buck’s health that might alarm her. If he did, Lizbeth might be duty bound to remove the kids ASAP. Or at least ask questions that might get back to Rosy and Shelby.
“I’ve met the kids,” he explained, feeling some of those eggshells crunching beneath his boots. “I just thought it might be good if they could find a solid family. Something permanent.” Since there was no way in hell they were going back to their mother.
Lizbeth smiled a little. “I see. Are you considering adopting the children?”
“No.” Callen couldn’t say that fast enough, and he reined in his sharp tone when he continued. “I just want them in a good place, together. One where they won’t get shuffled around or get separated.”
The smile was gone, but she did give him one of those sympathetic looks like the ones nurses give to sick or hurt kids. “Look, I can’t get into anything personal about the children, but since you obviously know their foster father, Mr. McCall, you know that he often takes kids who are hard to place.”
Yeah, he knew all about that. Callen had been one of them. “But from what I understand, Buck McCall’s age comes into play here. Kids don’t get permanent placements with him. Not anymore. He mainly gets kids now who basically have nowhere else to go, and they only stay with him a short while before they’re just moved on to the next place.”
“That’s right.” But Lizbeth was hesitant to say more. “Again, without getting into specifics, the Child Protective Services office that handles this area will look for a suitable, safe, permanent home for the kids—where they can stay together.” She had more tea, and in doing so dodged his gaze. “Finding one, though, might be a problem.”
“Because of Mateo’s juvie record.” Callen had got a glimpse of that in the PI’s report.
“Mr. McCall told you about that,” she concluded, her eyes a little wide with surprise. And Callen let her believe that was how he’d heard about it. “Well, his record doesn’t help things.”
“Mateo stole... He got into fights. He acted out because he was getting the hell beaten out of him at home.” Some of that was deduction, but Callen knew plenty about what the kid had been through. “When the cops had had enough, they sent him to juvie.”
“Because they had no choice,” Lizbeth reminded him.
“The choice should have been to get him and his sister to a safe place,” he snapped. Obviously, he was failing big-time at the whole reining in sharp tones. That had been a snarling bark.
She gave him that sad-nurse look again, coupled with a weary sigh. “The system isn’t perfect, and if we don’t know about the abuse—which the servicing CPS office didn’t—we can’t fix it. I’m sorry. It’s just the way it is. Sometimes, even when we can fix it, we can’t make it completely right.”
Yeah, yeah. Sometimes life sucked.
“Callen,” Lizbeth said, leaning in closer. “I’m glad you’re looking out for these children. Heaven knows, they need it, and I promise I’ll go above and beyond to find them a permanent home. Trust me on this.”
That soothed some of the sharp edges of his frustration and temper. “Thank you.”
Her smile returned, and she set her teacup aside as she rose. “I’ll make some calls, ask some of my colleagues, and I’ll get back to you.”
He thanked her again and walked her out of the office and down the stairs.
“This is a beautiful place. Pretty town, too, from what I’ve seen of it,” Lizbeth added. “How long will you be here?”
“Not long.” He meant it. Of course, he had to get past those promise obstacles, but he could always keep up searching for a home for the kids once he was back in Dallas. And if Buck’s treatment, surgery or whatever lingered on, he could make trips back for that, too.
He walked Lizbeth out the front door to see her off, and once he’d done that, he turned to go back in. Then he spotted Kace coming toward him. His brother aimed an accusing finger, but Callen realized it wasn’t for him. It was for Gopher, who was loitering on the sidewalk just up from the inn.
“Go home, Gopher,” Kace warned him. “You’ll freeze your balls off here.”
“I’m just taking in the scenery,” Gopher said as innocently as a suspicious-looking guy in a trench coat could manage. But he turned and skittered away.
Callen figured Kace would just leave, too, but he stared at Callen, then huffed. “Let’s get a cup of coffee and talk.” That sounded like an order from a cop.
Kace didn’t wait for him to agree to that coffee or the order. He threw open the inn’s door and made a beeline for the diner.
“Afternoon, Sheriff,” the clerk said, and the two people in the diner and the cook all issued the same greeting. Kace nodded greetings back to them and made his way to the table in the corner.
“Just pour me a cup of coffee, Dave,” Kace called out to the cook. “Do you still drink coffee or are you a mochaccino kind of guy now?”
“Coffee’s fine.” And Callen motioned for Dave to pour a second cup.
Kace didn’t say anything until the burly cook had set the cups on the table and then moved away. “What the hell is going on?” Kace demanded. “Why are you here?”
Callen nearly made a comment about the friendly welcome that Judd and now Kace had given him, but he let it pass. “Buck asked to see me.”
Kace gave him that cop’s stare. “Seeing Buck and moving into the inn are two different things. Why are you here?” he repeated.
Well, hell. Here was that rock and hard place again, the one where he had to walk on eggshells. Callen dragged in a breath first and had some of the coffee. “Buck doesn’t want it getting around, but he’s anemic and has been having dizzy spells. He wanted me to come in and help with the ranch and look for permanent placements for his current kids.”
Another long stare from Kace, followed by a “Shit. Why didn’t Buck come to me with this? Or Judd?” But he immediately waved off the Judd suggestion. “Me. He could have come to me.”
Callen just couldn’t help himself. “I guess Buck figured I was more special than you.”
“Yeah, you’re special, all right.” And Callen thought only about 90 percent of that was purely negative. The other 10 percent was big brother who was trying to get his goat.
Callen had some more of his coffee before he continued. What would come next would be the truth minus an even-bigger chunk of the truth that he couldn’t tell Kace, even if it might help bridge some distance between them. “I think Buck just wanted to see me, and this was as good an excuse as any. He said he feels guilty that he wasn’t able to fix me. I guess he believes he fixed Nico, Judd and you.”
“Shit,” Kace growled again. “None of us is fixed, but Buck did the best he could. He’s got nothing to feel guilty about.”
“That’s how I see it, too, but I thought I’d stick around for a few weeks to make sure Buck understands that.”
Kace’s mouth tightened. “Never took you for a do-gooder.”
“It goes well with mochaccinos.”
“Smart-ass.” But Kace’s mouth suddenly wasn’t so tight, and he motioned toward Dave. “Got any of that apple pie left?”
“Naw. That went early. I got some of those fancy cookies from Patty Cakes.”
Kace paused, considered, looked at Callen. “Are you going to make fun of me if I eat some froufrou cookies?” Kace asked.
“You bet,” Callen assured him in his best little-brother tone.
That earned him another scowl, but Kace ordered the cookies, and in under a minute Dave brought them to the table. They were decorated cutouts of flowers, drizzled with icing and colored sugar sparkles. They were the visual definition of froufrou, something that looked like they’d be served at a tea party, but they smelled good. Judging from the sound Kace made when he bit into them, they tasted good, too.
“Who’s this Patty Cake, anyway?” Callen asked.
“Jaylene Winters. She moved here about five years ago and bought the place from Patty Mervin, old man Cooper Mervin’s granddaughter, who couldn’t make a go of the place.” He popped another cookie in his mouth. “Just one of the things that’s changed since you decided you didn’t want anything to do with the town. With us,” he added.
He figured that Kace was looking for some kind of apology, but Callen didn’t have one. He’d needed to leave. No choice there.
“Lots of things have changed,” Callen pointed out. “You’re the sheriff. And Judd’s your deputy. By the way, he gave me a speeding ticket.”
“I heard. Let me see how I can put this.” Kace paused, considering. “Judd’s been in a bad mood for the past decade or so.”
“Then what better person to have a gun and a badge,” Callen remarked, and it wasn’t all a joke.
“He’s steady enough. The only person he harms is himself.”
And just like that, they were talking about the past again. Something that probably neither of them wanted to delve into too deeply. At least Callen didn’t want that.
Kace studied him for several long moments and then handed him one of the cookies. The froufrou-est of the bunch. A yellow pansy. Callen ate it anyway and made one of those “man, this is delicious” sounds that Kace had made.
“So, is it true that you’re richer than God?” Kace asked.
“No. God’s got better tax write-offs than I do, but I do okay.”
“So, rich enough,” Kace concluded.
Callen smiled, washed down the pansy with some coffee. “There’s no such thing as enough when it comes to money. There’s always more to be made.”
Kace shook his head, made a sound of disagreement. “You can’t buy a clean past with money.”
“No, but you make the present pretty damn sweet with it.” Callen snagged the last cookie off the plate and popped it into his mouth.
“Enjoy it,” Kace said. “Because you’ll be getting the tab for this.”
That seemed reasonable, considering this conversation hadn’t been as unpleasant as Callen had thought it would be.
Kace went still, staring into his coffee. “I figure there’s something you’re not telling me about why you’ve come back. I’ve narrowed it down to two things. Either something is really wrong with Buck or else you’re trying to get in Shelby’s pants.”
Since both of those were true, Callen went for a deflection. “I’m here to help Buck.”
Kace’s gaze came back to him. Cop’s eyes. “Right,” he said with mega skepticism. “You’re here to get in Shelby’s pants.”
Callen wasn’t sure he could deny it with a straight face, especially now that he’d kissed her and castration wasn’t a possibility.
But there was a problem.
Shelby’s potentially broken heart.
So, sex with her now would be of the rebound variety. Sometimes, that could help in a quick Band-Aid kind of way, but just as often it could lead to more problems. Like not working through feelings that needed to be worked through—or so Callen had heard. It occurred to him that he’d never been in the position to cure what ailed him with rebound sex. That made him lucky, he supposed. Maybe it had been fate’s way of trying to even out all the other “unlucky” crap he’d been through.
He didn’t want Shelby having regrets, not with what she would soon have to face with Buck. Callen didn’t want her hurting any more than she already was, either.
Well, hell.
Had he just talked himself out of having sex with Shelby?
Apparently so. But he also knew that talk was cheap and that it wouldn’t be so easy to resist her if he kept up the kissing and the lusting.
Kace snapped his fingers in front of Callen’s face to let him know he’d wandered off there. “Daydreaming about Shelby?”
“I’ve always had a thing for her,” Callen admitted. Best not to lay out the argument he’d just had with himself about her and rebound sex.
“A thing you didn’t act on because you skedaddled.” And just like that they were back to the past again. It was like a rubber band that Kace couldn’t seem to resist popping against Callen’s hand.
“The past doesn’t haunt you?” Callen came out and asked.
Kace lifted his shoulder, breathed deeply. “Not like Judd. Not like you. Not like Nico. Judd uses single-malt scotch. Nico uses women. Sex. Of course, he’s got such a pretty face that women don’t seem to mind being the cure for what ails him.”
“Sex, booze and money,” Callen concluded. They all had their drug of choice. “What do you use to get through it?”
“This.” Kace tapped his badge, stood and downed the rest of his coffee.
“The big man in town,” Callen concluded.
“The man who can fix shit when it goes wrong. Well, sometimes. Sometimes, shit’s not fixable.” Kace paused again. “As for Shelby, you’d better tread easy there. I don’t want you coming in here and hurting her.”
“I don’t want to hurt her, either.”
“Then rethink getting in her pants. Oh, and enjoy your dinner with her Sunday night,” Kace added as he strolled toward the door.
“You know about that?” Callen asked before Kace could get away.
Kace glanced back at him, the corner of his mouth lifting into an easy smile. “Little brother, everybody knows about that.”