“About how many wheelchairs will this donation cover?” Callum asked Alison, as she sat across from him at his desk, a stack of files on her lap and another dozen or so on the desk.
“Seventy-five.”
Callum let out a long whistle. That number was music to his ears.
“Wow. That’s just grand. Make sure I personally thank Mr. Maxwell when we see him next. I don’t want him to just get a letter from us.”
Alison pulled a clipboard out from under the stack on her lap and jotted down a note to herself.
“Got it.”
“Anything else?”
“That about covers it,” Alison said, always the professional. When they were talking business, she barely cracked a smile. But Callum had seen her let loose after a few drinks, and she could be quite a hoot, as Wyatt called her. She was especially entertaining if you got her on the back of a mechanical bucking bronco, which they’d done at a tiny hole-in-the-wall bar in New Mexico. He understood what Mitch saw in her. She was smart, sophisticated and quick as a whip when it came to verbally sparring with Wyatt. They all enjoyed watching that happen, and it happened often. The two of them just couldn’t help themselves. Callum smiled at the memory.
As if on cue, Wyatt walked into Callum’s office as Alison was exiting. He plopped down in the seat Alison had just vacated and, as was his habit, kicked his cowboy boot-clad feet onto Callum’s desk.
“Hey,” Callum replied distractedly, as he sorted through papers on his desk. “I hate when you call me that.”
“I know, boss.” He grinned. “So, what’d cha think of that new singer lady?”
“She was incredible.” He stopped going through the papers and looked directly at Wyatt. “Okay, you always know what’s going on around here. What’s her story? I mean, she comes to hear me one night and then gives up her whole life to travel with us, just like that?”
Wyatt picked up the paperweight on Callum’s desk and began to turn it around in his enormous hand. An ice cube in the hand of the Abominable Snowman.
“My guess? She’s running.”
“Running? From what?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Wyatt placed the paperweight back on the desk. “Pain. Isn’t that what most people run from?”
“That and the law.”
Wyatt chuckled. “Oh, no. She’s clean as a brand-new Ford pickup. Frank did a thorough background check on her. No, what she’s runnin’ from is deep inside.”
“Didn’t Frank find out anything in his research?”
“If he did, he ain’t sharin’ it. And, frankly, it’s not any of my damn business. I’m not about to go Googling her. Don’t matter to me as long as we get to hear her sing every night.”
“You can say that again.” Callum focused his attention back to the paper in front of him. “Did Alison tell you that Steve Maxwell donated enough money for us to get seventy-five wheelchairs?”
Wyatt let out a long, low whistle. “That’s more chairs than I can shake a stick at.”
Callum glanced up at him. “If you say so.”
“Okay, Mr. Leprechaun. What better Irish expression do you have?”
Callum paused for a moment and then his eyes lit up. “We’re sucking diesel now.”
“And you think Texans are weird.”
“Isn’t that what they say in Austin? Keep Austin weird?”
“It sure is.” Wyatt grinned, patting his pocket.
“There still aren’t any smokes in there, paddy.”
“I know, but I keep hoping.” Wyatt stood up and stretched his long legs. “By the way, I saw the way you were looking at her.”
“Who?” Callum said, surprise registering on his face. “Alison?”
“No way, padre. Claire.”
“Claire? Ms. Matthews? What are you talking about? I wasn’t looking at her in any way.”
“Oh. I see. That’s how we’re gonna play this.”
“Play this? We’re not playing anything. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Wyatt laughed and grabbed hold of the door handle. “Boss, you had the hots for her.”
“The what? I did not.” Callum gave Wyatt an indignant frown.
“Actually, I should have used the present tense. You have the hots for her.”
“I don’t have the hots for anyone.”
“You’re so hot for her the hens are laying hard-boiled eggs.”
“There is no heat. There are no hens. And definitely no eggs.” Callum could feel the volume of his voice rising. Why was he getting so worked up over this? Who cared what Wyatt thought? He knew Wyatt enjoyed getting under his skin and Callum was giving Wyatt what he wanted.
Callum could hear Wyatt’s laughter long after he closed the door behind the big cowboy. Suddenly, he didn’t feel like getting back to work. He stared at his computer screen.
He wanted to Google her.
“It’s not any of my damn business,” Wyatt had said.
He’d been right. Callum had never felt the need to Google any of the other members of his staff before. As long as they had clean records and nothing incriminating in their past, and Frank had assured them she was good to go, then her personal business was just that. Personal. She had a right to enter their team with no assumptions being made about her. No preconceived ideas.
Still, the urge to learn more about her nagged at Callum. So much so, he wheeled his chair away from the desk to avoid the temptation.
He needed to go for a walk. Or, as it was, a roll. Some fresh air was necessary for him to gather his thoughts.
Callum wouldn’t go so far as to say Wyatt was correct about him having the “hots” for Claire. But, he was intrigued by her. He had to admit there was something about her that had sparked his interest. He was happy she was joining the team. If Mitch, Frank or any of the others had been around, he would’ve said he was merely excited to hear her sing. And he was.
But, he was also eager to get to know her. And not by researching her online. Callum wanted to have an old-fashioned, get-acquainted conversation with Claire. He’d make sure to put that as a top priority on his agenda as soon as she joined the group in a few days.
Callum always had introductory conversations with new team members, not that there were many. They were a small, tight-knit group and the turn-over rate, other than Terri leaving to give birth, was pretty much zero. He often spent quality time with the others, and he knew them very well. Just as they knew him.
Speaking with Claire and getting to know her wouldn’t be any different. She was the new vocalist and he needed to know her so they could work well together. Callum and his crew traveled all over the world, sometimes to some unsafe and rather undesirable locations. They all needed to feel comfortable with one another. Trust was an intricate and vital element to all of their relationships.
The bond he was going to build with Claire would be no different than the connections he had with Frank, Wyatt, Mitch and Alison.
Then why, Callum wondered, did getting to know Claire not feel like another professional responsibility? Why did the thought of speaking to her, the idea of looking into those espresso eyes, make his stomach tumble in ways that weren’t familiar to him?
Callum rolled his wheelchair down the hall and into the elevator as it opened. He definitely needed to get some fresh air. He spoke in front of hundreds of thousands of people each year. He did not get nervous.
So why was it, he had to ask himself as he pressed the Lobby button on the elevator panel, did he have visions of yellow and blue and orange and purple and pink butterflies fluttering all around in his intestines?
And why did those butterflies only seem to be in there when he thought about Claire?