Kathryn
“You really didn’t have to do this. I’m positive it’s not in your job description,” she said, twisting the key to open the door.
“Neither is working with you past six in the evening.”
It was already six thirty, a fact that made his point clear: Callan wasn’t doing this because he was hired to. He was doing it because he wanted to.
“My mother is going to have a fit,” she muttered, directing him where to set the bags of groceries down on the counter so she could go through them and put them in their specific spots.
Her mother had a system, and you didn’t mess with that system. Not if you wanted to eat.
Callan grew defensive, his head looking around. “Well, may as well call her. Let’s get it over with now then.”
Kathryn laughed. “Not to worry, fearless warrior. She’s out at the one luxury she allows herself every week. Bingo at the church hall runs until nine, and she’ll gossip with the other women until at least ten, and then home before eleven. So you’ve got at least three, maybe four hours before you need to hightail it out of here to avoid her wrath.”
The big man shook his head. “I don’t get it. Why would she be mad?”
“For the same reason I’m not completely comfortable with it, Cal. We know we don’t have much money, and to accept things like this is like accepting charity and handouts, something my mother prides herself on never having done.”
“So tell her I took you to the grocery store for some juice because you got lightheaded, and we entered a contest they had set up that won us some free groceries.”
Kathryn stopped where she was putting the bananas away in the “fruit section” and stared up at him.
“What?”
“Are you always this devious?”
“When it comes to being nice? No. Never. I’m not used to having so much resistance over such a simple act as ensuring that you two are fed for the next few days.”
Kathryn looked at him, trying to gauge his seriousness, then back at the bags of food, then again at Callan. “How much do you eat?” she asked, half-joking half-serious. “This will last us close to two weeks!”
Callan jerked upright. “Two weeks? Impossible. You clearly aren’t getting enough nutrition in your body then if this is all you need for two weeks. Both you and your mother need to start eating better. Eating more.”
Her face screwed up tight. “Eat more? Callan, look at me.”
“Yes, you’re too skinny.”
This time she couldn’t help it. Her jaw fell open. “Too…skinny? You’re joking, right? Look at your muscles.”
“Dead serious,” he replied in the deep bass voice he got when he didn’t appreciate being challenged. “You need to build up your strength. Eat more.”
“Right. See, on a basic level, we agree with each other. I love to eat—”
“Perfect. I’ll cook,” he said, lurching into motion.
“Wait wait wait.” She waved her hands to get his attention. “There’s a but there, mister.”
Callan nodded. “Yes, a nice butt. Needs more food though.”
“A nice…oh.” His speech was confusing her, but she picked up on his meaning soon enough. “That is not what I meant and you know it,” she told him, feeling her face tingle with pins and needles that let her know she was probably blushing from the compliment.
“Maybe. Maybe not,” he told her, being dismissive on purpose now she was sure. “Still true.”
“I can’t eat more,” she said firmly. “Or else I’ll gain more weight. I’m not mobile or recovered enough now to burn it off.”
“Why would you want to do that? You’re too skinny,” he said, waggling his fingers at her from head to toe.
“What’s with the sudden simple-talk?” She decided to switch gears. “Did you suddenly forget how to speak while telling me you’ve been checking out my butt?”
“Only the first time I did it. After that I was able to recover faster.”
“What the…I…Callan!” she admonished. “Aren’t you supposed to be my helper?”
“Yeah, probably. Unless you’d prefer the term nanny,” he teased.
Oh. Shit. He’d heard that conversation, had he? Kathryn stumbled over her words for several moments, but she couldn’t find a way to save herself. Instead she caved. “I wasn’t sure of this whole thing at first, okay? Is that so bad?”
Callan gave her a smile that was likely supposed to be calming and reassuring, but instead made her whole body burst with energy. His indigo eyes sparkled in the wan light of the kitchen as he looked at her sideways from where he was standing in front of a counter, expertly preparing some slices of meat that he’d snagged from a bag.
“I’m helping you with your self-confidence,” he said in a stage whisper. “How’s that?”
“Awkward and uncomfortable, but I suppose I’ll have to take it, won’t I?”
He shrugged, the knife in his hands never seeming to move out of rhythm as he sliced the slab of red meat into small portions.
And he can cook? Oh boy. Some lady some day is going to be very, very happy with him.
Kathryn decided to change the subject. If he was going to make her a delicious meal, she was most certainly going to eat it without protest. “So tell me about yourself then. If you’re going to invite yourself in, buy food, and make dinner, then you’re also going to be forced into talking to me.”
Callan’s shoulders shook for a moment with silent laughter. “What would you like to know?”
Everything.
“Well, who are you? Where did you go to school? What’s your life like? Are you from Barton City? Come on, all the basics.”
The knife paused its slicing motion.
“The answer to the first three,” he told her, his voice quiet and serious, “is complicated. The last is no, I am not from here originally. I came here…to learn, I suppose you might call it.”
“I see.” She didn’t, not at all. “And are you?”
“Am I what?”
“Learning!” she cried out, wheeling herself closer to him so that she could sort of see his front as he squared up to the counter, all his attention on the preparation of dinner. Which was good, because she was so far ignoring what he was doing, more intent on him than anything.
Callan’s response when it came was so quiet she almost missed it. “Yes. I am. A lot.”
“Good. What are you studying? I thought you were paid to be a part of this program. Is it volunteer? A co-op?”
“A co-op? What’s that?”
Kathryn crossed her arms. How could he not know what a co-op was? Everyone knew! There was something really weird about Callan that she couldn’t quite put her finger on to identify, but it was definitely there. He asked the weirdest questions sometimes, yet never seemed to be unable to do what was necessary.
He was tall, in good shape, and seemed to have money, yet he didn’t drive. He hadn’t understood what swim trunks were. Or a co-op. Hell, the more she thought about it, the more she felt he didn’t know what a mall was either, at least not when she’d first met him.
“Callan, are you from this country?” she asked cautiously.
He appeared to mull over her question before answering. Never a good sign. “I…don’t think the answer to that is yes or no.”
She snorted. “Let me guess, it’s complicated?”
“Just a little bit.”
Everything about this was weird. If he was a foreign immigrant, shouldn’t he know that? Same if he were a citizen. How could he not know? Unless…
“Do you have memory troubles? Is that why you don’t know?”
Callan laughed out loud this time, his mighty head swiveling to look at her. “I have an excellent memory.”
“Yet you don’t have answers to my questions.”
“I never said that. I have all the answers.” She saw his eyes harden slightly as he spoke, though it wasn’t directed at her. “I just don’t know that you would believe me if I told you.”
That was not an answer she had expected, and Kathryn remained silent while he got dinner started, the meat beginning to sizzle on the skillet and vegetables simmering in a pan as well. He added some spices to the meal as he went, but as they began to warm and mix with the meat juices the aroma of pepper and herbs filled the air, making her mouth water in anticipation.
“Damn, that smells good.”
Kathryn hauled herself out of her chair, leaning on the counter as close to Callan as she dared.
“Why won’t I believe your answers?” she asked when he didn’t run with the opening to change the subject.
“They would seem too far-fetched for you. Too crazy. Your world isn’t ready for them.”
“My world isn’t ready? You’re one hell of an oddball, Callan, that’s for sure. I just hope your niceness isn’t a fake cover for whatever it is you’re hiding underneath.”
He smiled and pushed his hair back, the khaki-blond strands having fallen down onto his forehead. Sweeping them off to the side exposed his features to her fully, and she couldn’t help but admiring the clean, solid lines of his face. It just screamed strength, the rectangular look and blocky chin. His eyebrows were thin and his nose looked just a little crooked from this angle, but only enough to be quirky, not enough to ruin his face.
“Rest assured, Kathryn Pine,” he said, “my personality is exactly as you see it. There are no lies or falsities there.”
The reverence with which he spoke her name unnerved her slightly, as did the unmasked seriousness in his eyes as he gazed at her. Just who the hell was this guy that the city had assigned as her assistant?
His arm reached out to grab some items from the bag in front of her, and the skin of his forearm slid across her upper arm. Tremors racked her body from the touch. If it were just her legs she would have played it off as a result of her muscles giving out. But it ran up and down her arms and hardened the tips of her breasts as well, all from just a single brush of skin-on-skin contact.
Callan seemed not to notice, having taken the vegetables and gone right to work washing them. It was only when she noted the whites around his knuckles and the repeated flaring of his nostrils that Kathryn understood he had felt it too. Whatever “it” was.
Her legs eventually began to wobble on their own and she was forced back into her chair, her mind still trying to figure out just what was going on. Although they talked, it was muted and subdued, the flirtatious mood and nearly sexual tension gone. In its place were perfunctory sentences and comments.
Eventually they were finished, the dishes cleaned and put away.
“I should get going,” Callan said at last.
“Probably. It’s getting late.”
It was only eight o’clock or so, but considering he could have gone home hours ago after bringing her back from the pool, he had certainly overstayed the patient-client boundary. She didn’t think of him as someone who worked with her anymore, if she were being honest. Callan seemed more like a friend than someone who was only there because it was their job.
The transition in the course of just three days should have had alarm bells ringing in her head. Everything she knew told her that she should still be wary around the man, especially when he refused to tell her anything about himself. So why did she feel so at home and trusting with him around? No answer came as they moved to the front door, him walking in front, her staring at the tight curve of his butt as she wheeled after him.
“Thank you for dinner, and for the food, and for saving my life earlier,” she quipped, standing up on wobbly legs that had already done far too much that day.
“What are you doing?” he asked, slipping his low-cut boots on, the only shoes he seemed to wear.
“Giving you a hug,” she said. “In thanks.”
“Oh.” He just stood still, waiting.
Kathryn rolled her eyes and stepped forward, putting both arms around the huge bear of a man. He was so broad that she almost couldn’t link her arms together around his back. Thick weights settled over her shoulders as he draped himself over her, giving a gentle squeeze.
She caught the scent of leather and woodgrain from his shirt, a potent mixture that evoked images of a man who was good with his hands. The very same hands that had held her tight to his chest as she recovered in the pool, her head resting on one massive pec while everyone in the community center stared at her in envy.
It felt good to be captured in those lithe pillars of steel as he held her tight to him once more, helping keep her on her feet with the support necessary. For just a moment she let herself imagine what it might be like to get swept up into them after coming home from a long day of work, or after having been gone for a few days. To be lifted from her feet by the immense strength he possessed.
A soft, nearly quiet sound of contentment escaped her as she breathed out. She tried to pretend that it hadn’t happened, not wanting to break the spell that had come over them as they stayed closer than she’d ever expected. Callan didn’t try to pull away, making it clear he was in favor of the closeness as well.
The door flew open behind him. “Katy, I’m home!” her mother called as the two of them flew apart. She backed up to her chair and sat down, willing herself not to make contact with her mother.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Callan mumbled and fled through the open door, pursued by a look from her mother.
Kathryn turned and wheeled herself away as any energy she may have had left fled from her like a spring thaw flowing swiftly down the mountainside, eager to escape.
“Kathryn Lillian Pine.”
The stern voice stopped her in her tracks, the wheelchair slowing to a halt before bumping up against the lip that marked the end of the carpet and the start of the tile in the kitchen. It was never good when her mother used her middle name.
“You’re home early, Mother,” she said formally.
“I’m not feeling well. I didn’t want to get anyone else sick. So I left.”
“I understand. We should both go to bed early. Goodnight.”
She ignored the clearing of her mother’s throat. She was thirty-five, darn it. She could make her own decisions by now.
And your own mistakes, too.
Yeah, Doug had been a mistake, but that didn’t mean Callan was. She frowned as the door to her childhood room closed behind her. There was also the little difficulty where she didn’t know what Callan was. Could she even file him in the same category as Doug? He was just her assistant.
Just.
Weariness and a dull ache settled in, and Kathryn decided that perhaps she wasn’t joking when she’d said she was going to bed early. Thinking back over the day she realized it had been rather full and eventful. She’d done a lot. Much more than normal.
How did I manage to do all that? I’ve never had that much strength before today. My recovery has not been going that fast, that’s for sure. So where did the energy come from?
The answer was clear. It wasn’t. She didn’t have the extra energy. She had Callan. He was the one that was getting her through this. His strength was the only thing allowing her to do what she was doing. As soon as he wasn’t around, she returned to her normal self. It was one hell of a placebo effect, that was for sure, and she didn’t know how to reverse it.
Her old friend depression reared its ugly head just then as another thought came to her. If she couldn’t break herself of the addiction now, then she might come to rely on him completely.
Just like she had with Doug.
Losing her independence was not an option for her. Not again. She was working hard to regain her physical independence now, but her emotional freedom was as vulnerable as ever. If she didn’t fight for it then and there, it would get swept up in the amazingness that was Callan. It would be so easy too, and that’s what scared her the most as she curled up under the covers, the last of the daylight still shining through her blinds.
It would be so easy.