“We need to talk,” Brandy said when Callie walked into the kitchen later that afternoon.
Callie dumped her purse on the counter, along with a stack of fliers and a platter of leftover pinwheels from the open house. “If it’s about the cupcake apocalypse in the living room, I can explain.”
“Actually, it’s not about that, but I’d still love to hear your explanation. Especially since I’ve spent the last two hours trying to get crème filling off the couch cushions.”
“Well, see, Alex showed up with Arnie.”
“Arnie? That guy’s a moron. Why did Alex bring him here?”
“It seems he’s recently earned his certification in acupuncture. Alex brought him hoping to help Jenna with her claustrophobia.”
“Jenna doesn’t have claustrophobia.”
“You know that and I know that, but Alex thinks that’s why she broke up with him. You know, when she told him she needed her space.”
“Okay, that makes sense. In a weird, twisted sort of way, but still. That doesn’t explain the cupcakes.”
“Well, see, when the acupuncture didn’t work, he brought Arnie back to try hypnosis.”
“Arnie did acupuncture on Jenna? I saw her yesterday just before she left for the horse vaccinations. She didn’t tell me that.”
“That’s because he didn’t do the acupuncture on Jenna. He did it on me.”
“Because you’re trying to kick the cupcakes.” Brandy stated the obvious.
“Sort of. I mean, I did do the acupuncture to kick my addiction, but it didn’t work. So when Alex showed up this morning with Arnie again and said he wanted to try hypnosis—on Jenna, not me—I figured I might as well give that a try, too.”
“And so he destroyed a bunch of cupcakes in front of you to deter the bad behavior?”
“Not exactly. Apparently, I’m the one who went crazy on the cupcakes. He was just holding up a box and making a suggestion. I took the suggestion and bam, no more cupcakes.”
“That’s wild. Understandable, but wild.” Brandy eyed her. “So the cupcake thing actually worked?”
“Not really.” Callie had scarfed a pack of cupcakes on the way home from the open house. And she’d had sex with Brett at the open house. So clearly the hypnosis hadn’t worked. “But it was worth a try.”
“Maybe you just need a little time. By tomorrow you might kick the craving completely.”
“You really think so?” She latched onto the hope and held tight. “Arnie did say it could take a little while to see results.”
“Definitely. But cupcakes aside, we still need to talk.” She caught Callie’s stare and held tight. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you what?” Callie averted her gaze and busied herself grabbing a glass from a nearby cabinet.
“That you’re trying to sell the Texas Thunder recipe because you desperately need money.”
Callie’s head snapped up and her gaze met her sister’s. “How do you know that?”
Brandy reached beneath the table and pulled out a small drinking glass filled with the telltale gold liquid.
“Where did you get that?”
“From the Mason jar on your nightstand. The one I gave to Mark Edwards when he stopped by looking for you.” Brandy swirled the liquid and watched the bubbly funnel that developed. “He said he made it to town early and he was so excited about this stuff that he couldn’t wait until your meeting this afternoon.” She set the glass down on the table. “He stopped by on the off chance that he might catch you here. He caught me instead and filled me in on what Gramps was doing, and how you’ve been trying to find the rest of the recipe. He didn’t say it, but I’m assuming you’re killing yourself working with Brett Sawyer, the one man you hate above all, for a good reason. I just don’t know what it is.” Her gaze narrowed. “Yet.”
“I don’t hate Brett.” If only, but that ship had sailed long ago and now she was drowning in a sea of desire with no lifeline in sight. “He’s an alright guy.”
“You’re avoiding the issue.”
“Which is?”
“Why are you killing yourself?”
She wasn’t going to tell Brandy. That was Callie’s first thought. She would make something up and keep Brandy in the dark. But her sister looked relentless and Callie had never been a good liar. “We need the money.”
“Why?”
“Because James Harlin spent the tax money and now I’ve got six weeks to come up with it.” She tore her gaze from her sister’s and busied herself filling a glass with water. “Four now that two have already passed.”
“When did you find out?”
“The day before the funeral.” She felt the telltale burning behind her eyes, and blinked away the sudden moisture the way she always did. “I guess the bank heard about his death and figured they needed to send an official notification.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you’ve got enough on your plate with the bakery. You don’t have time to worry about this.”
“I’ll make time.”
“No, you won’t, because I’m handling this.” Her gaze went to the glass and the few inches of liquid. The scent of apple pie mingled with something much stronger teased her nostrils. “Why did you keep some?”
“Because my new assistant has the palate of a Michelin star pastry chef. With her taste buds and my knowledge of ingredients, we might be able to figure out what’s in this stuff.”
“You mean if it’s even the right stuff. Brett and I found it in his attic. It could be any shine from here to Arkansas. We have no proof it’s the Texas Thunder.”
“You’ll know eventually. Edwards said he’s handing it off to his guy, but it could take up to four weeks for them to get to the sample. He’s trying to move it along, but he’s calling in a favor of a friend of a friend, so he’s not at the top of the priority list. That means we have to wait. I just figured that maybe Ellie could cut down on the wait time. If her results match the recipe, there’s a good chance this is the real stuff. At least then you can stop worrying and destroying innocent cupcakes.”
“I don’t want you to worry about this.”
“Why? I’m a big girl. I can handle the worry. I learned from the best.” Her smile disappeared. “You were always there, Callie. Killing yourself for us. Sacrificing. You don’t have to do this alone. I’ll do what I can to help. My oven is paid for. So are my mixers. I could try for a secured loan on all of it. I don’t know how much that will be, but it’s enough to put a small dent in what we owe.”
“But you need that money for an extra oven.”
“The oven can wait. I’m okay for now. I’d rather hand the money over for this.”
“But I don’t want—”
“It’s not about what you want,” Brandy cut in. “I live here, too.” A stern expression slid over her face. “And I’m going to help.”
“What about Jenna? Did you tell her?”
“She has enough to worry about with stalker Alex. Besides, she’s barely making her car payment. She can’t help now. But one day…” She grinned. “When she has her own veterinary practice and is raking in the cash, we’ll call in a return on the favor. Right now, we can handle this. Together.”
Callie wanted to believe her sister, but she’d been going it alone for so long that she wasn’t so sure she could stop. She still felt the weight of the world on her shoulders, pushing her down, pulling her in a million different directions. Even so, she hugged Brandy, holding her tight for a few long moments and relishing the warmth of her sister’s embrace.
And thinking of how she was going to miss it when she finally left Rebel behind for good.
* * *
After her talk with Brandy, Callie fed Jez and the other foster animals before jumping into the shower. She meant to wash away the feel of Brett’s touch, but it only served to heighten her awareness. Her skin tingled as the water washed over her. Her nerves vibrated with the slick feel of the soap.
She pulled on a T-shirt and jeans and tried to pretend that tonight was just like any other night. Strictly business.
But her body knew better.
The drive out to Bootleg Bayou seemed to take even longer and by the time she rang the doorbell, she all but trembled with anticipation.
A feeling that soon subsided when Brett’s sister answered the door.
“He’s already up in the attic.” Karen pointed toward the staircase and Callie headed up to find Brett smack dab in the middle of unpacking a giant box.
“You’re late,” he called out. “I’ve already gone through three boxes.”
“I had to drop some things off at the office. I talked to Mark Edwards.” She spent the next few minutes filling him in on the plan for getting the shine analyzed. “Bottom line, we still need to find the recipe.”
He pointed to a nearby stack. “Have at it.”
No kissing. No hugging. No touching of any kind.
Not that they needed to kiss or hug or touch right now. They needed to work first and play later.
If they even played at all.
A doubt that grew with each passing hour as they dug through boxes and searched with renewed vigor.
“Your pappy seems really good today,” she finally said, eager to get a conversation going so that she didn’t have to think about how good he looked, or how intoxicating he smelled. “I could hear him humming from the den when Karen let me in.”
“He’s actually having a great week. I think he may have gotten over the worst,” Brett said, pulling out a stack of old encyclopedias packed away in a large cardboard box.
“Is he taking some new sort of medication?”
He shook his head and pulled out a thesaurus. “Everything’s the same.”
“Then it’s most likely just temporary.” What the hell was she doing? If Brett Sawyer wanted to hide from the truth and pretend that everything was fine, she should just let him be. Play along and keep her mouth shut. But at that moment, she sensed the unease that lurked just below the surface. The fear. And she had to say something.
“I know you want to think that everything is going to be fine.” She set the doilies she’d found back inside the drawer and pushed it closed. “But it’s not. Pappy has Alzheimer’s. It’s a serious condition that only gets worse. Pretending that it isn’t that bad doesn’t help anyone, least of all Pappy.” And least of all Brett, himself.
It just set him up for a bigger disappointment when the man finally took a turn for the worse, and never came back.
And he would. That was inevitable.
“I’m no doctor, but I know there’s no cure. I know you don’t want to hear that, but it’s true. The sooner you admit that to yourself, the better.”
“I’m not giving up hope.”
“It’s not about hope. It’s about fear. You’re scared.” His only reply was a sharp glance that said more than words ever could. “You don’t want to accept the truth because you think you’re letting your pappy down. That you’re giving up on him. You’re not.”
“Leave it alone, Callie.” Warning edged his words and if she’d had an ounce of sense, she would have heeded it.
But she was past the point of backing down. As much as she didn’t want to care for Brett, to feel something more than just the lust whispering through her body and licking at her veins, she did.
He was her first love.
Her only love.
The truth hit her as she sat on her knees and reached for the next drawer. She unearthed several photo books filled with pictures of him as a child. Brett riding his first pony. Brett roping his first calf. Brett eating a giant cupcake at his sixth birthday. Brett nailing his first deer.
Happiness radiated from his young face and something squeezed at her heart and stirred a protective urge unlike anything she’d ever felt before.
For the boy he’d been.
The man he’d become.
She didn’t want to see him hurt or disappointed or devastated because he refused to see the gravity of Pappy’s condition. While he might hate her for pointing out the obvious, she knew she had to try, to pave the way and soften the blow that would eventually come.
She turned on him. “Aren’t you tired of running away?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That you’ve been running your entire life. Away from here. From your past. From your pappy.”
“I didn’t run from Pappy.”
She caught his stare and refused to look away. “You’re running right now.”
“That’s crazy.” He motioned at his surroundings. “I’m here.”
“Instead of accepting the truth,” she went on despite the tight draw of his mouth and the sudden narrowing of his gaze, “you’re hauling ass away from it. From him.” She could feel the tension that swelled in the room, filling up every nook and cranny. She gathered her determination. “You need to stop. To face it. For your own good.”
Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.
The voice whispered through her, reminding her of the stack of Reader’s Digests and the tubes of Bengay and the truth sitting in that small den. One that she refused to accept, let alone admit.
That despite James Harlin’s bad behavior and his bad decisions and his countless flaws, she’d loved him.
“I miss him.” The words were out before she could stop them.
Brett’s anger seemed to falter. Surprise lit up his gaze. “Who?”
“My grandfather.” She caught her bottom lip for a long moment as the past welled. “He was a sorry SOB, that’s for sure, but I actually miss him. I never thought I would, but there it is.” Her gaze met his. “I’ve been trying to convince myself otherwise. I didn’t want to miss him because he never did one single thing to deserve it. But I know now that denial is even worse than regret. It’s not about him. It’s about me.” She touched a hand to her heart. “My peace of mind. Me. I need to miss him, just like you need to accept what’s happening to your pappy. Because if you don’t, the fear will chew you up now, and the regret will swallow you whole later.”
He didn’t say anything for a long moment. Instead, he just stared at her, as if trying to decide something. “There’s only one thing I need,” he finally said, pushing the box aside. He closed the distance between them until he stood right in front of her, filling up her line of vision and drinking in all of her oxygen. “And it’s not peace of mind.”
“I think we should keep looking.” That’s what she said, but she couldn’t ignore the gleam in his gaze or the heat that crackled between them. She reached for the next drawer but he stopped her.
“I need this.” He took her hand, his strong fingers closing around hers, and pulled her to her feet. His arm slid around her waist and he pulled her flush against his body. “I need you.”