The next morning, Callie held her hand up to the camera on her computer screen. “Do you have any idea what this is?” she asked her mom.
Lacey McCabe responded to Callie with the same care and concern she showed her pediatric patients. “It’s contact dermatitis.”
Glad they could Skype, since her mom was a hundred miles away, Callie countered practically, “But my rings have never bothered me before. What’s changed?”
Lacey’s glance narrowed, as she continued studying the picture of Callie’s hand on her computer screen. “Is it possible you got some soap or some other substance stuck on the inside of the bands?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. All I know is it itches like crazy and it seems to be getting worse.”
“Do you have the rash anywhere else?”
“No.”
Her mom paused. “It could be stress-related, too.”
“But only on my ring finger, beneath my rings?” Callie said skeptically.
Lacey’s dad appeared beside her mom. He, too, was getting ready to go to the hospital for morning rounds. “Looks like contact dermatitis to me,” he concurred.
“What should I do for it?” Callie asked.
“First, take off your rings and take them to the jewelers to be professionally cleaned to make sure there is nothing on the inside of the bands or stuck anywhere in the setting,” her mom said. “Then leave the rings off until the rash goes away.”
“And in the meantime?” Callie pressed, aware her finger had started to itch like the devil again.
Her dad volunteered, “You might try putting a little petroleum jelly or fragrance-free moisture cream on it to form a protective barrier over the irritated skin. And then wrap the area with a couple of bandages, or some gauze and waterproof tape, so nothing else can rub up against it.”
“And be sure you don’t get any soap on the area until the rash has cleared.” Her mom added earrings and a necklace to her ensemble. “So if you need to wash it, do so only with plain water.”
“It should be better in a day or so,” her dad assured her.
“But if it’s stress-related, it could take a little longer than that,” her mom cautioned as she pulled a cardigan over her blouse and paused to adjust the collar. “I wouldn’t worry about it unless it spreads past the irritated area. Or gets a lot worse.”
“If it does, call us.” Her dad knotted his necktie then slipped on his suit jacket. “We’ll hook you up with a dermatologist in San Antonio.”
“Thanks, Mom, Dad,” Callie said.
“Is everything else okay?” Her mom paused, intuitive as ever. “Anything else we should know about?”
They certainly didn’t need to know she’d lost all judgment and had slept with Nash Echols the night before! “Not a thing,” Callie said merrily, doing her best to affect a Christmas cheer she still didn’t really feel.
Her mom squinted into the Skype camera. “Like a new boyfriend?”
Callie drew a deep breath, as her depression turned to sheer nerves. “I don’t know where you got that idea.”
Her parents exchanged glances, then her dad said, “Maggie said something about a friend of Hart’s last time we talked. Nash Heckles?”
“Echols,” Callie corrected, pretty sure Dad had confused the last name on purpose. “And there’s nothing there.” That I’m going to call home about anyway.
Her mother’s expression gentled. “Well, just be careful, honey. This can be a hard time of year, you know.”
Her dad nodded. “It can be easy to mistake loneliness for something else.”
Like lust? Or the possibility of falling in love? Callie told herself she had a handle on the first, and nothing to worry about regarding the second issue. “I know,” she said, in a hurry to cut the conversation short before her folks could scout out anything else. “Listen, I’ve got to go and pick up Brian. He spent the night with Maggie last night—because the event here ran late—and I’m chaperoning his class field trip this morning.”
And thankfully, Callie thought, if the sound of multiple chain saws echoing in the distance was any indication, Nash Echols was very busy, too.
Nash hadn’t figured Callie could look any lovelier than she had the previous night. But when she opened the door this evening, she proved him wrong yet again. In a white sweater set and black plaid skirt, her hair falling loosely around her face, she was a picture of maternal beauty.
Callie also didn’t seem all that surprised to see him, though he had given her no warning for fear she’d tell him not to drop by.
He held up the reason for his visit. “Here’s the info you wanted.”
“Mommy!” Brian shouted from inside the house. “Mommy! Need you!”
Without warning, her son came dashing around the corner and into the hall that ran the length of the stairs, and into the foyer. “My friend!” Brian said, in surprise. Hands spread wide and high in the air, he ran toward Nash and catapulted into his arms.
Nash caught him and lifted him high in the air. ‘Well, what do you know—” he winked and was rewarded with a burst of giggles “—it is my friend, Hortense!”
“Brian,” Callie’s son corrected.
Nash made a face. “Jimmy-Bob?” He tried again with comic intent.
More giggles. “No.” Brian held up his arms. “Brian!”
“Oh.” Nash reacted as if he’d had an epiphany. “Brian!”
“Yes.”
“Well, how are you, friend?” Nash asked.
“Make candy. House,” Brian said, squirming in his arms. When Nash gently set him down so the little boy could run off again, Brian tugged at Nash’s hand. “Come see.”
Nash looked at Callie, a question mark in his eyes.
“Sure,” she said, after a small pause. She flashed a faint welcoming smile that was probably more good manners than any sincere wish to spend time with him.
It was better than the greeting he’d expected, however. So Nash grinned back and let her assume he thought she was as genuinely happy to see him as he was to see her.
“Wow,” he remarked when they rounded the corner into the kitchen. Thick white frosting and layers of gingerbread covered the cardboard bungalow he and Callie had built the night before. On top of that was more frosting and a smattering of gumdrops and assorted other candy that had clearly been placed by a child.
Nash pulled up a chair and sank into it backward. He rested his hands along the rungs and took a moment to admire the colorful decoration. “Did you do all this?”
“Mommy help,” Brian said proudly.
“We’ve been ‘done’ for a while now, at least for this evening,” Callie interjected, “but I’ve been unable to convince my culinary assistant that it is time to hang up our aprons and call it a night.”
Nash grinned at the way she was talking in code to ward off a temper tantrum.
“Perhaps you could do the honors?” She looked at him.
“Hey, bud, isn’t it time you got in your pajamas.”
“No.” Brian said stubbornly. He picked up a green gumdrop and pressed it onto the top of a red one, already glued to the roofline. With no frosting there, it fell off.
The lower lip went out.
Uh-oh, Nash thought.
Callie picked up the spoon with icing on the back of it. “Here,” she said to her son. “Let’s put a little frosting on the back of it and...”
“No,” Brian pouted. He held the green gumdrop out of Callie’s reach, moved around and tried to stick it on a purple gumdrop. Without frosting, it fell to the table again.
Callie reached for it. Brian got to it first. “Me do it!” he yelled in frustration.
“Honey, it won’t...”
Glowering, Brian let out a rebel yell and pressed the gumdrop as hard as he could into the middle of the roof.
A dent appeared where none had been, and the gingerbread began to crumble.
Brian stomped his foot and began to sob.
Nash picked the little boy up into his arms and carried him across to the not yet decorated tree. “Hey now, buddy,” he said. “That happens to all of us and it’s nothing that can’t be fixed.”
Brian cried all the harder.
Callie disappeared for several long moments, but Nash kept talking, soothing as best he could. When she returned, she had a baby blanket and a stuffed pink pig in her arms. She held her arms out to a still sobbing Brian. This time he went willingly.
Before Nash knew it, they were moving upstairs, and he was alone again. Not about to leave until he was sure she didn’t need his help putting Brian to bed, he ambled back over to the table and sat down in front of it.
In the distance, the squalling waned, then stopped entirely. Five minutes later, she was back. “You fixed the roof!” she said, looking both exhausted and relieved.
He put down the spoon he’d been using to smooth the edges. “Didn’t I tell you? I was a pastry chef in a former life?”
Looking more frazzled than ever, Callie blinked. “Really?”
“Nah. But this frosting is sort of like glue, as I’m sure you know, and if you slather enough of it on, you can apparently fix just about anything.”
Callie drew up a chair and sank into it. “Sorry about his behavior.”
Nash shrugged, glad to have things going back to semi-normal. “He’s two and a half. I think that’s how they’re supposed to act.” He teased her with a wink. “Especially when it gets close to their bedtime.”
A delicate flush crept across her cheeks. “Or past it, in Brian’s case.” She looked at Nash and sighed. “He was pretty wound up from his field trip today.”
Nash nodded, knowing he should go. Wanting to stay. So he lingered as she got up again and went to the stove, put the teakettle on. “Yeah, I heard about that.”
Callie tensed. For a moment, she didn’t move. “From whom?”
“Hart.” Nash waited until she turned to face him again, before he continued, “He stopped by to pick up a few trees for some people in his office. I guess Maggie had filled him in.” Unable to resist, Nash grinned and asked, “So how many guys did he identify as his potential daddy?”
Callie should have known a cutup like Nash would bring this up. She covered her face with her hands, still reeling with remembered humiliation. “Three firemen and two policemen. He got a laugh every time, so you can imagine how eager he was to try it again.”
Nash stood and hovered closer. “Pretty eager, I’m guessing.”
Callie got out two packets of instant spiced apple cider. “Very eager, as it happens.”
She ripped both open and shook them into mugs. Looked like he was staying on, at least for a little bit. He watched her as she walked past him to throw the empty packets in the trash. Damn, she smelled good, too. Like gingerbread and sugar, and the special fragrance that was just... Callie.
She peered at him again, this time beneath a fringe of thick dark lashes. As if thinking about throwing him out—before they could even think about flirting or kissing again...
He sobered. “Do you know you have frosting in your hair?”
“Noooooo.” Her eyes glittered as if she weren’t sure if he was joking or not.
He wasn’t.
She lifted a hand to the left. He pointed to the right. She ran her palm over her curls and still missed it. So he stepped forward and ever so gently removed the sticky substance clumped in the strand. Then he opened his palm so she could see what her decorating had wrought. “Hmm.”
“What? No thanks?”
“Okay,” she said drolly. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. And by the way,” he continued, as the teakettle began to whistle, “how come you have no rings on your left hand?”
Maggie switched off the burner and grabbed the kettle. Once again, she managed not to look at him as she filled the mugs. “It’s because I’m having an allergic reaction.” She stirred the contents of each mug briskly, then handed him his.
“An allergic reaction,” he repeated, being careful to hold the stoneware by the handle.
She remained lounging against the counter, some distance away. “Yes. An allergic reaction.”
“To me?” He studied her over the rim of the mug. “Or to continuing to pretend to be married?”
“Verrrry funny.”
Nash had thought so.
Callie paused. “Turns out there might be something on the rings or in the setting that is causing said allergic reaction.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” She released a breath. “So when I asked my parents for their medical advice, they told me to take my rings to the jeweler’s to be professionally cleaned, and to also have the setting checked.”
“And?”
“The jewelry store is pretty busy this time of year, so the rings won’t be ready to be picked up for another week or so.”
Nash tried not to feel relieved about that. Although he was pretty sure everyone who cared about Callie knew that the longer she was away from those rings, and the now defunct marriage they represented, the better. “So how is your hand today?”
“I don’t know.” Callie set down her mug and held out her hand. “I haven’t looked at it since I put the moisture-proof bandages on this morning. But now that you mention it, it is feeling a little itchy.”
He set his mug down, too. “I could unwrap it for you.”
A lift of her chin. “Is that the only thing you want to unwrap?”
He moved his brows playfully. “What do you think?”
She held up both hands in a gesture that seemed both warning—and surrender. Then slayed him with a look that invited him to do what no one had been able to accomplish thus far—to try to tear down the barriers around her heart, to find the emotionally vulnerable woman underneath. “Nash...” Her tone was soft. Wary. Enticing.
He caught her palm and held it over his thudding heart. “Just a kiss, Callie. To hold us over.”
She caught her breath at the sensual intent in his gaze, and went very still. Her delicate brows arched inquisitively. “Until what?”
Nash lowered his head, tilting it slightly to one side, so his lips were just above hers. He threaded his hands through her silky ringlets. “The next time we make love.”
Her lips fell apart in surprise. He moved in to kiss her, intending only to curb their frustration and restore humor to a situation that was fast getting out of control. She swayed against him for a millisecond. Satisfaction roared through him. Then her hand came up, pushed on the center of his chest.
She squared her shoulders and drew back, with customary resolve—and maybe a bit of sass, too. “I’ve got a better idea.”
Sounded good. Especially if it meant they were about to head upstairs again...
Aqua-blue eyes sparkling with a light he couldn’t quite decipher but was enamored of anyhow, she took his hand and led him toward the hallway that ran from the front of the house to the back. “Come with me...”
Anytime.
Only instead of heading upstairs—to her bedroom—she stopped at the door tucked under the stairs. “Since you’re so tall...”
He did have a good seven inches on her...
“And such a manly man...”
Okay, he wasn’t sure if she was serious about that accolade or not.
She let go of his hand, opened the door and reached for a red-and-green plastic storage container. “How about you do us both a favor?” The corners of her lips curved mischievously. “And help me finish something that absolutely must be done?”