Chapter Nine
DAVIS
In his usual no-knock way, Shep strutted into my kitchen and dropped the steaming mystery meal onto the granite. This had become our standing Tuesday-night ritual since I signed on as an investor at the diner. And for the most part, the arrangement served each of us well—Shep got to wear his chef’s hat while experimenting with menu options and unusual ingredient blends, and Brandon and I got to play the part of willing guinea pigs.
But tonight, I needed him to simply drop the goods and go.
He peeled the tinfoil off the tray. “Mmm. Just smell that.” With the push of his hand, he wafted the Italian aroma in my direction. “This is why they pay me the big bucks—or why they will, anyway.”
“Is that before or after they get tetanus from the construction site?”
“You worry too much. Everything is up to code.”
Any other night I would have challenged him on exactly which code he was following, but that discussion would have to wait. “I’m gonna have to bail on playing host tonight. Maybe you can take that to one of your brothers?”
“What?” The look of feigned offense was the same look Shep had mastered when testing the dating rules at high school church camp. “I bring you a masterpiece, and you kick me out?”
Callie’s voice swept down the empty hallway like a siren on open water, and Shep’s female radar detector had him swiveling toward the sound. His eyes flashed with wicked curiosity. “That is not your mother.”
No. Definitely not my mother.
“Like I said”—I reached across the counter to recover the tray—“tonight’s not a good night for this.”
Shep’s sly chuckle neared predatory status. I could have decked him for that laugh. “Who are you hiding in your mudroom, Davis?”
“A patient.”
He cocked his head to one side and pushed off the counter, backtracking a step. Then another. “Last I checked, you took care of animals.”
“The front door is the other way,” I said, jerking my chin toward the living area.
“She’s pretty, isn’t she?”
My jaw tightened, but I stayed silent. Any comeback, any possible retort, would encourage him further.
Shep’s eyes glinted, his hushed tone sharpening. “Ah . . . so she is pretty, then.”
Several notches higher than pretty. But Shep didn’t need to know that.
“Don’t.” One word that edged on a growl.
“Relax. I’ll just say a quick hello.” His grin widened. “It’d be rude of me not to introduce myself . . .”
“Shep.” There was no tease in the warning as he made a break for the hallway.
But then another sound zipped through the house, a familiar sound I’d all but forgotten over the last few months.
A laugh—Brandon’s.
Involuntarily, my lungs compressed. Savoring the sound of my son’s joy, I held my breath.
Shep slowed near the open doorway, his rush to ogle my stowaway no longer his top priority. He paused against the wall, hidden in shadow as the sound reverberated throughout the house—wheezy and youthful and 100 percent boy.
Shep dipped forward, stealing a peek at the giggling duo, and waved me closer. But I hadn’t waited for his invitation. I peered around him into the space. My son and Callie were both in a fit of hysteria while the dog looked between them, his tail wagging. Through sweeping guffaws, Brandon said something unintelligible, and Callie repeated it back to him. Something about tuna casserole?
The two were lost in a world of inside jokes, and something loosed inside my chest at the sight.
“Whoever that gorgeous redhead is,” Shep mused, “you better do everything in your power to keep her around. I haven’t heard Brandon laugh like that in”—he huffed a sigh—“a long time.”
I didn’t give him the satisfaction of agreeing. I knew exactly how long it had been. Before his spring break visit with my in-laws.
All that was about to change. I was done giving the Lockwoods free rein to influence my son.
“Hey there.” Callie waved and then wiped a finger under her eyes, working to calm herself as she rose to her feet.
Brandon rotated so his back was all I could see. He bent toward the dog and spoke in muted tones.
“You must be Shep,” Callie said as she crossed the room, her movements closer to a flounce than a walk. With every sway of her hips, that gauzy shrug thing she wore dipped lower off her shoulder, exposing the creamy skin underneath.
She reached her hand out to my friend, her opposite fist clutched around that overpriced dog biscuit.
“The one and only.” Shep’s Casanova grin was going to earn him an elbow to the throat if he didn’t knock it off. This wasn’t one of his speed-dating circuits. “And you are?”
Seemingly immune to his charm, she raised an eyebrow and shook his hand. “I’m Callie Quinn, although after today I’m considering changing my middle name. Brandon, what do you think of Callie “Rescuer of the Strays” Quinn?” She glanced over her shoulder at my son, who pressed his lips together as if to fight off another bout of laughter.
“It’s definitely catchy,” Shep mused. “And quite heroic.”
She touched a hand to my arm briefly and grinned. “Not quite as heroic as our Healer of the Strays.”
“Ah yes.” Shep clapped me on the back. “Well, that’s who our Davis is. A local hero. Did you know he plays Santa Claus at the community center every Christmas? Wears the white beard and everything.”
Okay, it was definitely time for him to go now. “Didn’t you have some place to be tonight, Shep? Something to do with helping one of your brothers?”
Shep didn’t even bother to blink. “Easily rescheduled. It’s not every day I have the chance to cook for a new guest at the Carter house.” He inclined his head toward Callie. “You are staying for dinner, right? I can’t promise much in the way of company.” He hitched a thumb at my chest. “But I can promise you’ve never eaten a Gorgonzola and porcini mushroom risotto like mine.”
Callie laughed. “Hmm . . . I’m not sure I’ve ever eaten that.”
“Then, see? It’s a sign. You should definitely join us.”
Callie shifted her gaze to assess me, as if trying to pluck a response from my mind. “Actually, I think I’ve probably reached the limit for imposing on Davis today . . . but thanks anyway for the invitation. I’ll just get my things and leave you guys to it.”
She’d misread me completely.
She started to turn back to the kennel, back to the animal who’d begun this entirely unorthodox situation. Back to my son, who, for a brief moment, had forgotten his self-inflicted misery.
Unwittingly, I reached for her forearm, wholly unprepared for the delicate feel of her skin or the way her hair cascaded over her shoulder when she faced me. The curled ends swept across my knuckles like a whisper. “Please, stay.”
Her eyes lingered on mine for several seconds, and every one of my reasons for avoiding the fairer sex over these last two years seemed to evaporate.
And this time, when she searched my face, there was nothing left for her to misinterpret.
Her stunning smile shone through her eyes. “Okay.”
Shep smacked his palms together. “Great. Brandon, you’re my sous-chef tonight. Go clean up.” Brandon didn’t balk at the command. He simply closed the crate, glanced at Callie, and followed the taskmaster into the hall.
“And you two are in charge of setting the table,” Shep called out.
I angled my head toward the dining room. “He thinks every kitchen belongs to him.”
“My sister’s that way too—only I’d eat her cooking every day of the week if I could, even if I ballooned to twice my size.” She patted her abdomen, drawing my eye to the subtle curves of her waist and hips. “I’ve always said good food is synonymous with a good life.”
“Don’t say that too loudly or you might find Shep on bended knee before dessert.”
Callie plucked a stretchy band from the back pocket of her cropped jeans. “Believe it or not, it wouldn’t be the first time a near stranger proposed over a good meal.”
I stared at the enigma before me, watching her twist and tie her hair into a nest atop her head, her curls spilling over like a fountain.
“But before I touch anything in your kitchen”—she held her palms up and wiggled her fingers—“I should probably wash a certain dog biscuit smell off my hands. Permanently.”
I gestured to the utility sink behind her. “Permanently? But what about all those health benefits the experts at Pet Palace told you about?”
After pumping the soap into her palms, she scrubbed her hands under the stream. “Getting him to eat those nasty biscuits is a lose-lose.”
“So you only engage in battles you know you can win.”
Callie’s unvoiced thoughts morphed into a smirk. “I think you know the answer to that already.”
Indeed I did.