Too Good to Be True(63)

Natalie and Andrew had set a date after poring over Mom’s calendar. June fourth, the day after Manning’s graduation. Four weeks from now. Four weeks to break up with my imaginary boyfriend, four weeks to possibly find a date for yet another wedding. I imagined being stag at this one. Bleecch. Yet the thought of turning myself inside out to find someone was equally distasteful.

Angus barked and trembled. Up ahead, someone was fly-fishing in the river, hip boots on, the long line of his pole arcing out in a golden, serpentine flash. The sun shone on his messy hair, and I smiled, somehow not surprised to see my neighbor.

“Catching anything, or are you just trying to look pretty?” I called.

“Howdy, neighbor,” he called back. “Haven’t caught a thing.”

“You poor slob.” I picked my way over the rocks to get closer. “Don’t blind me with your hook, okay?”

“Why? Seems like I owe you a few cuts and bruises,” he said, sloshing over toward me. Angus began yarping.

“Quiet, you,” Cal said sternly, which set Angus off into hysterics. Yarpyarpyarpyarp! Yarpyarpyarpyarpyarp!

“You have such a way with animals,” I said. “Do small children burst into tears at the sight of you?”

He laughed. “What are you doing out here, Grace?”

“Oh, just headed for home,” I answered.

“Want to sit for a while? I have cookies,” he said temptingly.

“Are they homemade?” I asked.

“If by homemade, you mean bought at the bakery, then yes,” he answered. “They’re good. Not compared to your brownies, though. Those things were out of this world. Worth all the pain I had to go through to get them.”

“Aw. Well, that was such a nice compliment, maybe I’ll bake you some more.” I sat on a rock that jutted over the river, holding Angus on my lap, where he growled at the man in front of us.

“Why don’t you let Angus off the leash?” Cal suggested.

“Oh, no,” I said. “He’d go right for the water and get swept away.” I hugged my little pal a little closer. “We don’t want you to drown, do we, sweet coconut baby? Hmm? No. We don’t.”

“Some of us do,” Callahan said. The cookies were from Lala’s—sad, really, that I could recognize baked goods from twenty yards—crumbly and delicious peanut butter cookies with crystals of sugar sparkling in the crisscross marks.

Cal offered a cookie to Angus who snapped it up, catching part of Cal’s finger. Cal jerked his hand back, sighed, looked at the wounded extremity and held out his finger for my inspection. Two tiny drops of blood showed.

“You poor thing,” I said. “Shall I call 911?”

“Why don’t you call a lawyer?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Possibly Margaret. Your dog is becoming a menace.

Between the two of you, I can’t believe I’m still alive.”

“Tragic, really. Well, you’ll be moving soon, right?”

“Yup. I’m sure you’ll miss me.”

Dang it. I would miss him. The sun shone on his hair, illuminating all the shades of brown and caramel and gold. It wasn’t fair that this guy could look like an ad for Outdoor Living, oozing sex appeal in wader boots and a flannel shirt. The sleeves were rolled up to reveal his tanned forearms. His lashes were golden and straight and really just pointlessly attractive, and my girl parts were begging me to do something.

I cleared my throat. “So, Cal, how’s your love life? I happened to see you again with that blonde from the bar.”

“Spying again, Grace? I thought we had an understanding.”

I sighed in exasperation. “She was right on the front porch. I was weeding.” I paused. “You kissed her.”

“On the cheek,” he said.

“Mmm-hmm. Which some women find very romantic.” He said nothing. “So? What about the lawn you want to mow?”

“That’s kind of a crude way to refer to sex, isn’t it, Grace?”

I blinked, then laughed. “I meant what you said that time. You wanted a wife, some kids, a lawn to mow.”

“And I do.” He cast the line out again, not looking at me.

“So how’s the search going?” I asked.

“Not bad,” he answered after a beat or two. Angus growled.

Not bad. What did that mean? “Well.” I stood up and brushed off my jeans. “Thanks for the cookie, mister. Good luck with your fishing. For the wife and the trout.”

“Have a nice day, Grace.”

“You, too.”

As I walked the rest of the way home, I tried to talk myself out of lusting after Callahan O’ Shea. Reminded myself that he wasn’t husband material, not for me. We weren’t compatible. Because…um…well, because… Let’s face it. Callahan O’ Shea was very fun to look at, that was true. Maybe he liked me. He flirted with me…a little. Sometimes. He flirted more with Margaret, to be honest. I’d seen them talking the other day, laughing like old friends over the back fence. Regrettably, I’d been on the phone at the time, so I hadn’t been able to eavesdrop.

One thing was certain however. I did not feel safe around him. Not that he would rob me, no, of course not. But if Andrew had broken my heart, imagine what Callahan O’ Shea could do to it. Crush it until there was nothing left but rubble. Let’s be honest. For someone like me—the little schoolteacher who danced with old people, loved Civil War movies and playing pretend—to be with someone like him, this vital, vaguely dangerous man who radiated and bristled with sex appeal…it had to be a bad idea. A disaster waiting to happen.