An Irresistible Bachelor(49)

It was just dinner, she told herself. In a public place. Where they couldn't possibly get into trouble.

She tried not to think about what it would be like if Jack happened to be a free man and they were going to go out somewhere together.

It would be nice to go on a real date with someone, she thought. She'd enjoy getting dressed for a lover. And she wanted to walk into a crowded restaurant where a man would look up and take her into his arms with his eyes. She wanted to know what it was like to feel that she was beautiful to someone and had been eagerly waited for.

Callie cursed under her breath. Of course, as she spun the fantasy, Jack was sitting at the table and the image made her think of her parents.

And all those nights her mother had made herself beautiful for someone else's husband.

Preparing for her father's arrival usually started in the late afternoon, and as her mother had prepped in front of the mirror, pleasure made her normally dull eyes shine. Callie would always help her decide what to wear and how her hair should be worn, but no matter how considered the choice, a change would always be made at the last minute. A different dress, another pair of shoes, hair back instead of down.


Unfortunately, more often than not, the nights had ended with a delay, an apology, a letdown. The disillusioned undressing had been terrible to watch.

And yet she'd spent decades waiting for the man.

Callie had often wondered why, at least until she'd met Jack.

The answer, she now knew, was passion. When her parents had been together, there had been magic and sparks and tenderness, even with the perennial conflict. Her father had been very tall and statuesque, a powerful man with a deep chest and a low voice that rumbled like thunder. Usually, he was very serious, but under the right circumstances, her mother could shake him out of his somber moods. Callie suspected that must have been part of the attraction for her mother. Transforming someone so great, so powerful, even if it was only for a short time, must have been meaningful.

And perhaps the passion, the emotion, the laughter, was what her father had lacked in his bigger life, but found in their tiny apartment.

Callie shook her head, thinking she would never know. Maybe he'd had those same things at Grace's house, too.

Arthur butted his head against her hand, but when she went to scratch the scruff under his chin, he looked pointedly at the picnic basket.

"Right." She snapped to attention and opened the thing up. Tossing him a strip of chicken, she started in on the salad while deciding it was time to take a break. She was contemplating a walk when she remembered the documents that were in the closet.

When she was finished with lunch, she lifted the top container off the stack and muscled it over to the couch. As she removed the lid, there was no sense pretending she wasn't preoccupied with going out to dinner with Jack and she figured she could handle sorting paper with a scattered brain.

It was safer than playing around with chemicals and the painting, that was for sure.



Chapter 12



Later that evening, Callie stared at her reflection in the bathroom and played with her hair. Up? Down?

She let it fall across her shoulders, knowing it shouldn't matter.

Two minutes later, her hands were propping it up on her head again. She couldn't help herself and a lot of it was pride. She didn't want to meet Jack looking anything less than composed. Refined. Elegant.

Although she was going to need a different wardrobe to really pull it off. She'd settled on a black skirt that fell below the knee, a white blouse that was pretty nondescript, and a black sweater to wrap around her shoulders. The black tights and shoes were also garden variety. Regarding herself in the bathroom mirror, she figured she was one step away from looking like a nun, saved only by the red fall of her hair.

Definitely down, she thought. And lose the old lady tights.

She ran a razor over her calves, put on some nude stockings, and slipped into a pair of shoes with a modest heel.

Throwing on her coat and picking up her purse, she headed for the stairs quickly because Thomas was waiting for her. She was about to hit the top landing when Mrs. Walker's voice stopped her.

"Going out this evening?" The woman stepped into the hall and looked over what Callie was wearing.

"Yes. I am."

"With my son?"

Callie lifted her chin. Rule number two when dealing with a bully: Show no fear.

"Yes."

"Well. You've certainly made an impression on him. I imagine you must be quite pleased."