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CHAPTER ELEVEN

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Callie

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Callie always gave her executive staff a week off after a fashion show in appreciation for all the long hours they put in during preparation, and to give them some downtime to recuperate. She usually did the same, but this time Ford had talked her into taking two weeks and spending them with him.

Being whisked away to a luxurious bed and breakfast in the Adirondacks by helicopter had been unexpected. Discovering that Ford had rented the entire lodge so they could be completely alone hadn't. The man had a knack for making grand gestures and she had to admit, he did them with style.

The owners made themselves as unobtrusive as possible, so they might as well have been completely alone in their mountain aerie. They took long walks in the woods, enjoying the peaceful tranquility and scenic mountain vistas blanketed in autumn leaves. The vibrant landscape of colors looked warm and inviting and it inspired their creative instincts.

Ford had adopted his former habit of carrying his camera everywhere, and he experimented with capturing the play of light dappling through the trees while she sketched designs for her fall and winter collection. Both of them had always been city dwellers, and this trip into nature was a magical experience.

The days were relaxed and carefree as they napped, made love, and played a variety of board games that Ford always managed to turn into an x-rated version by declaring a missed turn had to result in losing an article of clothing. Needless to say, they weren't able to play them in the great room where the owners might walk in unexpectedly.

At night the temperature dropped dramatically, so the hosts served them a romantic candlelight dinner next to the stone fireplace in the great room. Afterward, they moved outside to cuddle next to a crackling bonfire and stare up at the stars. But the nights spent talking while curled up together in their bed was her favorite time.

By the end of the first week, they were more in love than ever, and completely attuned to each other. Callie really hated leaving their love nest, and she knew that she'd never forget the time they had spent there together. It had been perfect and felt more like a honeymoon than a vacation.

On that note, she was not thinking about marriage or dreaming of a future together. She had insisted that they take it one day at a time, and let their relationship develop free of expectations and promises that could be broken. Because he understood how badly he had hurt her in the past, Ford had agreed without hesitation.

However, he had invited her to spend their second week at his home to become acquainted with his son, and even though she was looking forward to it, the prospect scared her half to death. Her biggest fear was that the boy wouldn't like her, but if that were the case, she reasoned it was better to know before they got any deeper into a relationship.

The helicopter had returned and flown them to Massachusetts where Ford grew up. He'd sold the estate that had been in his family for generations when his mother moved to Europe and bought a place that didn't hold bad memories. Apparently, his parent's marriage had been contentious at best and hostile at worst, so she understood his reasoning.

When the taxi dropped them off, she realized that not only was Ford's Victorian brownstone located in Boston's affluent Back Bay, it was situated on none other than Commonwealth Avenue. Since his Manhattan apartment had a Central Park address, she should have suspected this one would be equally impressive.

After they collected their luggage from the trunk she opined in amusement, "You do like expensive residential areas, don't you?"

Ford's smile was a bit sheepish when he explained, "I bought the brownstone because it's within walking distance of the train station. After the accident, I couldn't ride in a car without having a panic attack, so I took the train. My Manhattan apartment is only a few blocks from my office for the same reason."

Her heart ached at what he must have suffered after the traumatic event. Callie laid a comforting hand on his arm and said, "I'm so sorry you went through all of that. It must have been a nightmare."

"It was, but my shrink was a huge help," he confessed as he slid his free arm around her to guide her up the steps. "I don't think I would have recovered without him."

Callie stopped on the top step and asked in surprise, "You saw a shrink?"

"Still do on occasion," Ford admitted and shot her a wicked wink. "He's the trusted confidant I discussed Feathers with."

"Maybe you should discuss your clothes fetish with him," she teased.

"Too late. He already thinks I have a feather fetish."

She rolled her eyes and said, "I don't even want to know how he came to that conclusion."

"You probably don't," he laughed and unlocked the front door. Swinging it wide, Ford placed their bags inside and said, "Welcome to my home."

Callie stepped into the foyer and immediately noticed that it had been recently renovated. Typical of the period and style of the house, all of the moldings were stained a rich, dark brown that paired beautifully with the soft cream-colored walls and Carerra marble floors to give the space a light, airy feel.

A set of pocket doors were open to reveal his home office and a very unusual piece of decor. "This is different," she barely managed to say without laughing. It was a life-size silhouette of a showgirl painted white with ostrich feathers sprouting from the hindquarters and headdress much like her peacock and flamingo costumes.

"I catch a lot of shit for that," he admitted sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck. "I saw it and had to have it. Now I'm pretty damn sure that on some subconscious level I knew it was significant because it reminded me of you."

She gave him a mock scowl and replied, "I sincerely hope my costume designs aren't that blasé. It could use some serious bling."

He took her hand in his and led her across the foyer while offering, "You can dress her up in one of your sexy as fuck costumes."

"Don't tempt me," Callie grinned as she looked around. Walls had been removed so that the kitchen, living, and dining areas were all one open-concept space much like her loft. Come to think of it, their choice of colors and furniture styles were similar as well. "I like your home. For such a large place, it feels cozy."

"I hired a decorator to make it feel like a home," he admitted as he led her into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. "I wanted Scott to have a real home with a normal childhood. I just wish I could be here with him all of the time."

"The commute is a bitch," she agreed and accepted the bottle of water he offered. "The easy solution would be to move Scott to Manhattan."

"I waited too late for that," he sighed and twisted the lid off of his bottle. "All of his friends are here and I'd hate to uproot him."

Callie leaned up and placed a kiss on his chin. "You're a very good father, Ford. Scott is lucky to have you," she assured him.

"I'm the lucky one," he corrected. "If I hadn't had him I might have gone off the deep end after the accident. He's the reason I fought so hard to find a sense of normalcy."

Tears misted her eyes as she said, "I'm so glad you did. And I'm thankful you didn't give up on me when I kept pushing you away."

"Sweet Callie, one look was all it took. I would have walked through the fires of hell to get to you," Ford confessed.

"Or climbed every fire escape in Manhattan," she teased and yelped out a laugh when he swatted her ass.

"It was worth it. Because you're mine and I love you."

"I love you, too."

"Dad!"

"Hey, bud," Ford said happily in response to the jubilant cry.

Callie turned toward the French doors that led to an enclosed back yard and saw a miniature version of the man she loved. He had the same mischievous smile and dark eyes, but whereas Ford had dark blonde hair, the child's was as black as a raven's wing. Scott was a beautiful little boy and her heart ached because he wasn't hers.

Her smile was bittersweet as she watched father and son embrace before the boy yowled that his dad was squeezing him to death, but his laughter belied the complaint. Placing the child back on his feet, Ford took her hand in his and said, "Callie, this little devil is my son, Scott."

"Hi, Scott," she said nervously and shook the hand he extended.

"Nice to meet you, Miss Callie," the boy replied in an equally nervous tone and his Boston accent was adorable.

The live-in housekeeper bustled through the French doors looking more than a little disheveled, with a baseball in her gloved hand and a merry twinkle in her eyes. After the introductions were made, she said, "Thank heaven you're here. This scamp is about to run me ragged chasing a ball around."

The boy rolled his eyes and complained, "Mrs. Beachum can't catch worth diddly."

"You're doggone right I can't," the older woman huffed in mock indignation. "They didn't teach girls how to play baseball when I was in school."

"May I?" Callie asked as she held out her hand for the glove. The housekeeper handed it over and she slid it on with practiced ease. She lifted onto the balls of her feet with her knees bent and extended the glove in front of her in the proper position. "As long as you keep your eye on the ball, this stance will make catching it easy."

"You know how to catch?" Scott asked wide-eyed.

"Sure do," she admitted. "I played first base all through high school."

"Want to toss the ball with me?" He queried and she could have sworn there was a challenging gleam in his dark eyes.

"Glove up," she confirmed with a nod. The boy whooped with glee and took off out the door like a shot. Callie realized she was grinning like a fool when Ford started laughing. "What's so funny?"

"I thought you were a girlie-girl," he admitted, humor evident in his tone.

"I am a girlie-girl," she confirmed. "I decorated our team's uniforms with sequins and rhinestones."

"I sincerely hope it was an all-girls team."

"I'll never tell," she denied with a wink and accepted the baseball from Mrs. Beachum before walking out the door. Scott had his glove on and was waiting for her as she crossed the grass. Callie assumed the proper stance, drew her arm back, and tossed the ball to him. She was rusty and it was a little high, but he still caught it. "Nice catch."

"Thanks," he said as he tossed her a fastball that she easily fielded.

"That had some heat on it. You've got a good arm too," she said in genuine approval and tossed it back.

"You're not too bad either," the boy grinned.

"It's been a minute since I played," she confessed and for the next few minutes, the only sound was the soft thwack of the ball hitting a glove.

"My dad likes you a lot," the boy imparted. "He talks about you all the time."

Thwack

"He talks about you a lot, too," she admitted.

Thwack

"He said you make clothes," Scott said and looked curious. "What made you want to do that?"

Thwack

"My mom taught me to sew when I was younger than you," she explained. "It's all I've ever wanted to do."

Thwack

"My mom didn't want me," he said blithely, but she heard the underlying pain of his words. "Grandmother said she was a trashy gold-digger who didn't want a bastard underfoot to remind her of her mistakes."

The boy's words broke her heart and it infuriated her that his grandmother would tell him something so callous. Having never known her father, she completely understood the feelings of abandonment and rejection that the boy was experiencing. The last thing he needed was to feel even more inadequate.

Thwack

Callie knew instinctively that her response mattered a great deal to the child so she chose her words carefully. "Sometimes people wind up in a bad situation, and they're forced to make really hard decisions that they don't want to make. Maybe your mom gave you up because she knew you'd have a better life with your dad."

Thwack

"That's what dad said," he confirmed with a nod and looked relieved. "What's it like to have a mom?"

Thwack

"Mine was pretty cool," she admitted with a laugh. "But I want to know what it's like to have a dad."

Thwack

"You don't have one?" He asked wide-eyed.

Thwack

"Nope. Never met him."

Thwack

Scott seemed to relax even more now that he knew they had something other than his father in common. "My dad is great. We do everything together. I'm his best friend and he's mine."

Thwack

"Sounds like me and my mom," she admitted with a watery smile and turned her head to wipe a tear away. She had known that meeting the child that Ford had with another woman would be difficult, but what she hadn't realized was that the boy would steal her heart as easily as his father had done.

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Ford

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Having Callie in his home and watching her interact with his son was like getting a glimpse into his future. This week had just confirmed what he'd already known. The three of them belonged together as a family, day in and day out for the rest of their lives. Scott had even commented that he wanted a mom just like her.

Ford was so ready to put a ring on it and had been for some time.

Yes, he'd agreed to her no expectations and promises bullshit, and he'd abide by it. For now. But the two of them were meant to be together permanently, so he would be patient and give her all the time she needed to come to the same conclusion. In the meantime, he was going to enjoy every minute of every day in every aspect of his life.

Including his job.

His father had groomed him to take over the family business and he was damn good at it, but it didn't give him an ounce of pleasure or satisfaction. It wasn't like he was involved in designing the buildings or the actual construction of them, so he couldn't even say that he took pride in his work.

Not when his work constituted being a glorified paper pusher. Hell, he could hire a dozen people more qualified to run the business and they could probably do a better job than he did. Mainly because his heart just wasn't in it. It's not like he hated what he did, but he didn't enjoy it either.

What he did enjoy was photography.

And he excelled at it.

Ford's passion for photography was due to a chance encounter with a legend in the industry. During one of his father's parties, he'd grown bored with the adult revelry and decided to entertain himself by playing with his father's camera. He'd been more than a little surprised when one of the guests had begun giving him instructions on how to operate it.

Thus, began an odd mentorship between a twelve-year-old pampered rich kid and a forty-seven-year-old award-winning photographer. Over time Ford learned that Lazlo Adami had once been a household name for his heart-wrenching wartime photos that graced the covers of prestigious newspapers and magazines around the globe.

Sadly, the atrocities he had witnessed and captured for posterity had taken such a toll on his soul that he was unable to continue in his chosen field. Lazlo then became a highly sought-after photojournalist among celebrities, politicians, and sports figures, which was how he had wound up at one of the Hammersmith parties.

Ford had never understood what had prompted the older man to teach him how to properly use the camera, and the one time that he'd asked, the response had simply been that he was paying it forward. In any event, the boy had studied under a true master of the craft and developed a way of looking at things through a lens that few possessed.

The opportunity to shoot Callie's catalog and fashion show had been a dream come true because his true talent had finally been put to use. The pride he had taken in it had given him a sense of accomplishment and filled a void that he hadn't realized was empty. Being a photographer was what he was meant to be.

The proof of it was the masterpiece that he had framed and hung over the mantle in his Manhattan apartment. It was the shot of Callie with the bouquet of roses lifted to her face. She was the most stunningly beautiful woman he'd ever seen, and the image captured every nuance of emotion that she had been experiencing at that moment.

The triumph, satisfaction, happiness, and relief at a successful show were all plainly visible in her expression. But it was the love shining in her amethyst eyes that held him enthralled. Because she'd been looking directly into the lens, which meant she had been looking at him, and he had captured it perfectly.

"Ford," Callie gasped as he unveiled the larger than life portrait when they got back to the city Sunday night. "It's beautiful." Then she laughed self-consciously and amended the statement. "Well, that sounded vain. What I meant to say is that you made me look so..."

When she paused at a loss for words, he finished the sentence for her. "Honest. Vulnerable. Real." He stepped up behind her and slid his arms around her waist. "It's a glimpse inside your heart. I merely revealed what I see when I look at you, Callie. A woman in love. With me. The man who loves you."

She read the title plaque mounted at the bottom of the frame. "Woman in Love." Turning in the circle of his arms, tears shimmered in her eyes as she leaned up to press a tender kiss to his lips. "Thank you, for seeing the real me, Ford. You always have and it's one of the many reasons I love you."

His voice was filled with wicked promises when he scooped her into his arms and asked, "How about I show you another reason?"

Callie wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his to whisper, "Love me."

"Always," he vowed.

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Callie

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Choosing the images that best displayed her designs was never an easy task. Ford's keen eye for detail had made it almost impossible because they were all stunning. Since he had a morning appointment with his board of directors, she decided to make her final catalog selections at his apartment instead of her office to avoid interruption.

Callie had just finished uploading the file to her cloud account when someone knocked on the door. Picking up her phone, she checked the time and assumed that Ford had ordered lunch for her. The man was ridiculously thoughtful about doing things like that and if she wasn't careful, he'd have her spoiled.

Sliding the phone into the back pocket of her jeans, she walked into the entryway and opened the door. Her discerning eye immediately determined that the elegantly coiffed and pissed off woman standing before her in designer clothing was not delivering anything but bad news. Assuming it was a neighbor, she asked politely, "Can I help you?"

The older woman's cold, hard gaze raked her over from head to toe and if her heavily Botoxed face could have moved, Callie was certain that she would have sneered. "I'm here to help you," she replied in a tone dripping with acid as she walked inside uninvited. "You have a choice. Stay away from my son or I'll destroy you."

She stared after the woman in stunned disbelief. She had known that Ford despised his mother, and she certainly understood why. Being threatened with such venomous hatred had been truly shocking. "Excuse me?" She bit out as she snapped the door closed and followed the intruder into the living area.

Madeline Hammersmith placed her purse on the coffee table and ensconced herself on a chair as regal as if she owned the place before she deigned to respond. "As we speak, my attorney is drawing up the paperwork to sue you," she said disdainfully as she smoothed the hem of her perfectly smooth skirt.

You didn't grow up in a casino without learning a few tricks and Callie could smell a bluff from a mile away. The woman was lying through her perfect white veneers. There was no way in hell she'd damage her precious reputation with a lawsuit. "For what?" She asked without concern as she rounded the couch but didn't bother sitting.

"You have blatantly disregarded the terms of agreement and are in breach of contract," she bit out in her snooty upper-crust Bostonian accent.

"That's a lie," Callie refuted calmly. "Per my attorney's instructions, I have complied with the exact letter of the agreement. There has been no breach."

"That will be for a court to decide," Madeline warned in malicious satisfaction as her stiff lips tried and failed to form a smile.

Having learned how to handle hostile business negotiations from the Dark Lord, the older woman's empty threats didn't intimidate her in the slightest. A smug smile curved her own lips as she replied, "Yes it will, and I can assure you that not only has Malachi Black never lost a case, he won't break that record with this one."

Since her attorney's ruthless reputation was well known, rage flashed in the other woman's cold blue eyes before Madeline snapped, "Foolish girl, you will never be worthy of the Hammersmith name. So what do you hope to gain by this charade? Money? Revenge? Just tell me what it will take to get rid of you once and for all."

And there it was.

Confirmation that the spiteful old bitch had been responsible for keeping them apart. Satisfied because the older woman's composure was beginning to crack, Callie folded her arms over her chest and replied in complete confidence, "There is nothing that you can say or do to separate us again."

The look in Madeline's eyes became calculating as she studied her. "You haven't told him, have you?" She mused in realization before her expression became cunning. "I wonder how Ford will react when he finds out that you're only using him to get to your son."

The coldly delivered taunt left her reeling. The evil bitch was threatening to poison their relationship with lies about her grandson's paternity! It sickened her that Ford's own mother would stoop to such deceitful tactics in an effort to turn him against her. "Nice try," she said in disgust. "But Ford knows I'm not Scott's mother."

"Aren't you?" Madeline asked triumphantly. "Your name is on the birth certificate and custodial agreement."

"You lie," she hissed furiously as pain filled her chest.

"I don't have to lie," the older woman denied smugly. "The scar on your abdomen is proof of the cesarean that delivered him."

Callie gasped in shocked disbelief, one hand lifting to her mouth while the other covered her damaged flesh in a protective gesture. Yes, she had a scar, but it wasn't because she'd given birth. It was from... She met the other woman's victorious gaze as realization dawned hard and swift, knocking the air from her lungs. No, her mind screamed as she shook her head.

She couldn't be Scott's mother.

She'd know if she'd had a child. Callie shook her head again in emphatic denial, but in her heart, she knew it was true. That precious little boy was her son. A child created from the love that she and Ford had shared. So many things that she hadn't understood before were now crystal clear, but at the same time, her mind was a jumbled quagmire of confusion.

The agonizing pain in her chest became debilitating, her breath coming in short rasping pants, tears streaming unnoticed down her cheeks, she stared back at the vile woman speechlessly. If she'd thought the pain couldn't get any worse, she'd been wrong.

"I'm sure Ford will have so many questions for you once I tell him. How are you going to explain it, hmm?" Madeline queried in a smug tone filled with contempt. "You can't deny it, and you can't admit it. You can't even discuss it with him unless you break the agreement and then we know what will happen."

"Save yourself the trouble of a lawsuit and scandal," Madeline suggested as she rose gracefully and extended her arm toward the entryway. "Walk out the door and disappear. It will be like this never even happened. Just like the last time."

Shock was a very misunderstood medical condition. Unless someone had been in shock, they couldn't fully appreciate the ramifications of it. Since she had experienced it once before, Callie knew exactly what was happening to her, and yet knowing didn't change a damn thing. She was crying and shaking and functioning solely in survival mode.

Above all else, the need to escape was primal.

"Ms. Rose? Ms. Rose, are you alright?" The doorman's concerned voice penetrated the haze surrounding her and she met his worried gaze. That was when she realized that she was standing on the sidewalk with no recall of how she'd gotten there.

"I need... to go home," the words fell from her lips without conscious thought.

"Let me get you a cab," Fred offered and quickly stepped out onto the curb to do just that. After he had her settled in the back, the doorman handed the driver a fifty and gave him the name of her building before instructing, "Make sure she gets inside safely."

Callie was not conscious of the drive as she had closed in on herself. Her mind had simply shut down and her body was barely functioning. When she had her next coherent thought, she was standing in the middle of her living area, arms wrapped protectively around herself without a clue how she had gotten there.

The vibration of her right butt cheek coupled with the sound of Bad, Bad Leroy Brown had broken her out of her stupor enough to be cognizant of her surroundings. She had assigned that ring tone to Bastion twenty years ago when she got her first phone, and even in a semi-catatonic state she reacted to it like an automaton and answered.