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And then she saw Jake shrug and then begin to unbutton his shirt.
She stared at him, stunned as she watched the shirt parting down the center of his chest. Her mouth turned to cotton. “What are you doing?”
His eyes narrowed in slight confusion. “I’m doing what you told me. You did say you wanted the shirt sooner than later, right?”
“Right,” Calista murmured, her voice barely audible above a hushed whisper. Her soft brown eyes widened in wonder. She found it hard to tear them away from Jake’s unveiling.
The man had rock-solid biceps and forearms. As for his abdomen, it looked as if it had been carefully sculptured by some divine artistic hand. The last time she’d seen a torso half as good, it had been in a photograph of one of the statues presently on display in a New York museum.
Having stripped off his shirt, Jake now held it out to Calista, exchanging the stained article of clothing for his daughter. As he nestled the infant against his chest, he couldn’t help noting the somewhat dazed expression on the young woman’s face. She was staring at him with a trace of disbelief in her wide eyes. Eyes, he noted, the color of warm chocolate.
“Something wrong?”
Calista blinked, then lowered her eyes. Idiot, she upbraided herself.
“No, nothing’s wrong,” she assured Jake a little too quickly. And then she added, “I’m just glad that Marlie didn’t spit up on your jeans.”
“Oh.” Wasn’t he supposed to give her the shirt now? “I thought you said it was better to work on a stain before it sets in, whatever that means.”
If there were some kind of ritual to follow when it came to laundry, he hadn’t a clue. He just threw everything in together and hoped for the best. Most of the time it worked. But that was before Marlie had come into his life.
Calista realized that she was staring at him again and tore her eyes away, annoyed with herself. She was acting like some gawky juvenile, not like a twenty-two-year-old college graduate who fully intended to make her mark on the world.
“Right, I did.” She focused her attention on the shirt in her hand and not on the man who’d been wearing it.
Whose warmth, she realized, she could still detect in the shirt’s material. She felt her stomach tightening even more.
“Do you know if your sister has any lemon juice? Never mind,” she negated her question in the next breath. “I’ll go ask her.”
And with that, she quickly left the room in search of Erin—as well as a couple of private minutes to herself. She needed to decelerate the rate of her pulse. which had gone into double time and was, even now, threatening to launch into triple time.
Calista found Erin at the front door, just about to leave to meet her husband. Jake’s sister stopped when she saw her and then looked at the shirt she was holding in her hand.
“Boy—” Erin laughed “—I guess Jake was more desperate than I thought.”
Calista shook her head, puzzled by the reference. “What?”
Erin gestured toward the shirt. “Well, Jake’s obviously offering you the shirt off his back to get you to agree to take the job.”
It took Calista almost a full beat to realize that Erin was kidding. The sight of Jake Castro’s bare torso, blended in with his low-slung jeans that hung precariously on well-toned hips had rattled her more than she was willing to admit even to herself.
“Very funny,” she finally commented, then informed Erin, “By the way, I’m taking the job.”
Erin nodded. “I had a hunch.” The sentence was accompanied by a wide—and relieved—grin. And then she raised her eyebrows quizzically. Calista had obviously come looking for her and she rather doubted that it had been just to inform her about her decision. She looked back at the shirt the younger woman was holding. “Can I help you with something?”
But before Calista could say anything in response, a deep voice right behind her answered the question for her. “Calista says she can get rid of that stain for me—that’s actually my favorite shirt,” he added in case Erin wondered what all the fuss was about.
With Jake on the scene, Calista managed to snap out of her mental reverie and found her tongue.
“Do you have any lemon juice?” she heard herself asking Erin. “Soaking a stain in lemon juice usually helps get the stubborn ones out,” she told the other woman.
That was news to Erin. But then, she really wasn’t all that domestic-minded. Yet.
“Good thing to know,” Erin commented. She thought for a moment before answering. “If we have any lemon juice left, you’ll find it in the refrigerator door, next to the skim milk.”
“I’ll go look,” Calista offered. “If you don’t have any, I can take the shirt home with me. I’ve got some lemon juice in the garage,” she recalled.
That seemed like an odd thing to him to keep around. “You deal with a lot of spit-up during the course of the day?” Jake asked her.
“It doesn’t just work on spit-up. It’s good for getting out all sorts of stubborn stains,” she explained as she made her way into the kitchen. “It’s not a magic cureall,” she added, not wanting to mislead him. “But pretty nearly.”
“Huh.” He looked at the back of Calista’s head for a split second, thinking she had pretty light brown hair, then commented, “Learn something every day.”
Jake was right behind her and she was finding it more and more difficult to pretend that the man wasn’t practically mouth-wateringly naked.
“That’s life,” Calista responded cheerfully. “One great big beautiful learning process.”
My God, had she just uttered those inane words? Great. Now he probably thought she was some kind of dork, half Mary Poppins, half nerdy science geek. Or maybe even worse.
Erin opened the front door and quickly crossed the threshold. If she didn’t leave now, there was no telling when she’d finally get the opportunity.
“Well, I’ll leave you two to your chemistry experiment,” Erin called out. “Let me know how it goes.” She glanced one final time toward the young woman she’d brought over to meet Jake. “See you soon, Calista.”
“Soon,” Calista echoed with a nod, then looked at Jake. “Unless you’ve changed your mind about hiring me as your sitter,” she qualified.
She had a strong hunch that the man with the rock-hard chest had an acute aversion to women who gazed up at him with doe eyes. If he’d suddenly changed his mind about the arrangement, she didn’t want to make it hard for him to tell her.
“Why would I change my mind?” he asked, mystified by her thinking. “You’ve definitely got the job,” he assured her, then laughed. “I don’t strip off my shirt for just anyone.”
He was teasing the young woman, he realized. He hadn’t done something like that—or anything else that was remotely lighthearted in nature—since he’d heard the awful news about Maggie getting shot.
He remembered his breath suddenly freezing in his lungs despite the warm weather—spring in New Orleans had a sticky dampness to it like no other place. And then, for weeks, he’d alternated between suppressed rage and numbness. He’d just assumed that things like teasing and smiling were behaviors he wouldn’t be revisiting for a very long time to come and were, consequently, tucked away deep in his past.
Calista swallowed. Her mouth was inexplicably—not to mention incredibly—dry.
“I see,” she replied, doing her best not to appear as affected as she was by this man.
At bottom, she tried to tell herself, individuals were all just a bunch of skin, tissues, organs and a great deal of water, haphazardly thrown together to form an arbitrary whole.
But, oh, the composition that had gone into making Jake Castro, she couldn’t help thinking, growing warm all over again.
The next second, she was chastising herself for a second time. What was she, twelve? No, she was twenty-two, a grown woman, for heaven’s sake, on a clearly cut path that was to ultimately lead to some sort of a position with the local government, possibly even an elected one. All of which meant that she couldn’t afford to act like some starry-eyed juvenile just because the man standing next to her with the baby in his arms didn’t appear to have an ounce of fat on him, even in his spare back pocket.
“Ah, lemon juice,” she declared, spotting the little green plastic bottle with a picture of a lemon on it tucked away in the far end of the refrigerator door.
Saved by a grocery item, Calista thought, mocking herself sarcastically.
Bottle in hand, she looked around for somewhere she could continue this baptism-by-lemon-juice process. At first glance, nothing seemed to stand out.
“Do you know if your sister has a large plastic bowl she isn’t using, or a sink I could take over for, say, a few hours?” she asked him hopefully.
The question caught Jake off guard. His eyes shifted to the shirt, then back to her. “This is going to take a few hours?”
“It might,” Calista allowed, then qualified. “It can be sooner and I’m not going to hang out here the entire time waiting,” she promised, guessing that was probably what he was afraid of. “I just need somewhere I can leave your shirt to soak without having it disturbed or in the way.”
For the time being, until he could find his own place, Erin had insisted that he remain with her and her husband. When he and Marlie had arrived and Corey had chimed in with the same invitation—and as far as Jake could tell, his brother-in-law was actually sincere—Jake found himself agreeing. Secretly, he had to admit that he was relieved. It was always easier looking for a place if he had somewhere that served as his home base until he found something suitable for himself and the baby.
“There’s a bathroom off the guest room that I’m using,” he volunteered. “You could leave my shirt soaking in the sink.”
Calista grinned, nodding. “Sounds like a plan.” She gestured vaguely toward the front of the house. “Lead the way.”
Marlie made a gurgling noise as her father turned on his heel. The next moment, Calista saw him shiver. She guessed at what had happened even before he told the baby, “At least this time there’s nothing for you to get dirty.” Marlie had spat up on his bare shoulder.
With that, Jake led the way to the stairs.
No doubt about it, Calista thought as she followed behind him and walked up the stairs to his room, the man looked good coming and going.
There went her stomach again, contracting into a knot.
Get a grip, she ordered herself. The man needs someone to help him out, not to drool all over him. He’s already got the latter covered.
When they came to the landing, Jake brought her over to the second door on the right. The door was closed. He opened it, then walked in and nodded toward the bathroom located over in the far corner of the room. There were four other guest rooms in the large house, but this one was the largest. Erin had told him that she thought this would be more suitable to his needs, especially with the baby.
“Right in through there,” he told Calista. He pointed in the direction of the bathroom as he stopped by the bureau. Opening the top drawer, he pulled out a handkerchief and wiped away the latest deposit of baby drool from his shoulder. That done, he absently shoved the handkerchief into his back pocket.
Setting Marlie down in her portacrib for a moment, Jake went over to the closet. He was still in the process of unpacking, but there were a few shirts already hanging there. He grabbed the one closest to him, a blue pullover that, once on, brought out the color of his eyes more intensely.
His stained shirt still clutched in her hand, Calista forced herself to look away and head toward the bathroom. She couldn’t help but notice that the room looked as if it’d had an encounter with a tornado, and lost.
“Still unpacking?” Calista asked, raising her voice so that he could hear her.
“Still hunting for things,” he amended. “Well, I’m decent again,” he said to his daughter after he’d pulled on the new shirt. “Try to keep your lunch down for at least a few minutes,” he urged her, picking up the baby again.
Marlie cooed in response, as if she understood him and was telling him that she’d do her best to try.
The noise made him smile. Funny how outwardly perfectly insignificant things like a sound coming from a seven-month-old infant could make him feel so warm inside. He supposed this was what being a father was all about, celebrating the small, personal things that no one else was privy to or could begin to comprehend.
He looked over toward the bathroom. The woman he’d just agreed to allow to watch over his daughter was still in there, but he wasn’t hearing any sounds.
“Let’s go see what’s up,” he said to his daughter as he crossed to the other end of the bedroom. “So how’s it coming?” he asked Calista, raising his voice.
Calista glanced at him over her shoulder. He was standing in the doorway of the bathroom, once again holding Marlie in his arms, and mercifully wearing a shirt again.
Now if only that fact would register with her racing pulse and make it settle down, she thought.
“It’s coming along,” she repeated.
To prove her point, she picked up the shirt and held it up over the sink to allow him to see for himself. She’d filled the basin with a little water to dilute the concentrated lemon juice and it was dripping down as she raised the shirt for his perusal. The spot that Marlie had branded with a gooey, milky-white substance was actually growing fainter.
“Like I said,” she repeated, pleased, “sometimes it takes a little longer than other times. But it looks like you won’t have to throw this one away.”
He joined her at the sink for a closer look. It really was fading, he thought, impressed.
“So that’s all I have to do?” he asked, his eyes shifting to look at her. “Just pour lemon juice on it and let it soak? Because I’ve got about ten shirts that really need work,” he confessed. “None of them would really come clean, even after I threw them into the washing machine a couple of times.” He was on the verge of throwing them all out. Tossing out shirts after wearing them only once or twice wasn’t exactly something he could afford to do indefinitely.
Calista looked a little skeptical as she asked him, “When you washed your shirts, you didn’t have the setting on hot, did you?”
Damned if he knew. “The machine has settings?” he asked.
“Why don’t you pile them up for me and I’ll take a look at your shirts the next time you have me over to watch Marlie?” she suggested.
Initially he had balked at asking for help or letting anyone know that he wasn’t up to handling this situation he found himself in. But after closer scrutiny, maybe this wasn’t going to be such a bad deal after all, Jake thought. If this cheerful woman with the sparkling brown eyes and endless brown hair could save his shirts as well as help him save his sanity, she was clearly worth her weight in gold.
“Sounds good to me,” he responded to the suggestion with feeling.
Yes, Calista thought, unable to contain her smile any longer, it certainly did.
Chapter Three
“You’re late.”
Jasper Fowler bit off the words as he glared at Calista from beneath shaggy gray-and-white eyebrows.
Just coming in, Calista eased the door to the Tattered Saddle antique shop closed behind her. If Fowler expected her to flinch at his obvious displeasure, he was going to be sorely disappointed, she thought. Growing up amid seven brothers and sisters had long since taught her how to hold her ground and stand up for herself. It was either that or suddenly find herself getting plowed under and lost in the shuffle.
So far, she’d never once gotten lost in the shuffle.
“I’m on time,” Calista corrected pleasantly, deliberately pointing to the closest clock to her on the wall.
Currently, there were several clocks on display, all hanging on the shop walls, all antiques, all fashioned with a decidedly Western flavor. And each and every one of them testified to the fact that she, and not the crotchety, cantankerous elderly owner of the store, was right. She was right on time.
With a frame that resembled nothing if not an animated question mark, his shoulders hunched in so far that they appeared to be almost touching one another, Fowler moved past her and grumbled, “Well, you would have been late in another minute.”
As was his habit, he refused to give in or concede the point. If asked, no one in town could recollect ever hearing the old man admit that he was wrong—about anything.
“But I didn’t take another minute,” Calista countered cheerfully. “So I’m here on time.”
In her own way, she was just as stubborn as the old man she was working for this summer. Beneath it all, she wanted to think that the man rather enjoyed sparring with her, enjoyed the challenge of having someone who didn’t cave in to him. Everyone else, she’d noted, always backed away, considering a verbal bout with the man just a waste of time and energy.
Maybe she was wrong, she thought, picking up the ancient feather duster he required she use every day to dust the eclectic collection of memorabilia he housed within the old shop’s four walls. But in complying with his specific instructions and using the duster, Calista couldn’t help but feel that all she was accomplishing was pushing the dust around, ineffectively moving it from one spot to another and then back again the next day.
But the pay was the same whether she eliminated the dust or just gave it another place to stay, so she had given up trying to introduce a few basic improvements into the daily routine. Fowler, she’d quickly discovered, was a stickler for adhering to routines, to all but worshipping the status quo.
She’d learned her first week here that it was pointless to try to point out the benefits of doing anything new or different.
But then, she reasoned, if Fowler had been opened to new things, he probably wouldn’t be dealing with items that were older than he was.
“When I finish dusting out here, if there aren’t any customers, maybe I’ll just go dust the storeroom,” she volunteered.
Although she’d brought along a couple of books to review, books that promised to help her get a better handle on her internship at the mayor’s office, she really didn’t like being idle for any stretch of time and because Fowler was paying her—minimum wage to be sure, but it was still her salary—her first efforts should be to do something worthwhile in the antique store.
About to shuffle off into the very same storeroom she was proposing to clean, Fowler stopped short and turned around to glare at her.
“No,” he all but shouted, then struggled to regain his monotone composure. “I already told you to stay out of there.”
He’d told her that the very first day she’d worked here. At the time she’d thought the edict was just fueled by his myriad of idiosyncrasies.
“I know, but I thought maybe you’d like to have me straighten things up in there, maybe do an inventory for you,” she proposed.
“Don’t need no inventory,” Fowler retorted. “I know everything that’s in there and where it is if I need to get at it. I don’t need some eager beaver messing things up with her own damn system that makes no sense to nobody on God’s green earth but her.”
He was really getting heated about it and she couldn’t help wondering why. She’d glanced into the storeroom once in passing and it was just a dark storage space as far as she could see.
“Okay, I won’t go in there,” she surrendered, at the same time trying to figure out just what it was that the old man was trying to protect. Most likely, it was nothing, but he certainly was behaving peculiarly—even more so than usual. Every time she mentioned the storeroom, he acted, in her opinion, as if she was trying to break into the U.S. Mint and he was its only defender.
But then, she reasoned, she’d known what the old man was like when she’d initially answered his want ad and interviewed for the job. Everyone in town—her family included—had warned her about going to work for “crazy ol’ Jasper Fowler.” And everyone from around the area knew about the legend.
Knew how, according to the legend, Fowler had once driven cross-country with a coffin rattling around in the back of his pickup truck. Moreover, the same legend claimed that there’d been a rotting corpse in that coffin, supposedly the remains of a woman who had once jilted him.
Over time other identities had been assigned to the so-called decaying cross-country traveler. Some said it was a business partner who had tried to cheat him out of the profits of their business. Others said that there were two bodies in there, his late wife and the infant son she’d given birth to minutes before both she and the baby had died.
That, at least, would explain his winning personality.
As for her, Calista figured that because the old man was so eccentric, Fowler invited these kinds of stories to be made up about him, maybe even reveled in them and that, ultimately, none of it was true.
Although, if it was true she supposed that might be a good reason why Fowler wouldn’t allow anyone but him to enter the storeroom. That might be where he was keeping the legendary coffin.
Stop it, she told herself. You’re smarter than that. There’s no coffin. It’s all just a bunch of fabrication about an odd old man.
She heard the front door open. The next second she heard the bell attached to it ring, announcing the entrance of another person into the store.
Having already walked into the storeroom, Fowler poked his head out to see who had come in. The etched-in frown on his stubble-laden face seemed to deepen as his small eyes focused on the woman who had just come into his shop.
Recognizing her, he challenged Erin Traub. “You here to buy anything today?”
Erin knew how to play the game. “I might be,” she answered evasively.
Fowler allowed a dismissive sound to escape his lips as he waved his hand at Erin’s words. “No, you ain’t. You got five minutes to talk to the girl and then you go,” he ordered. “And you,” he said, shifting his hawk-like intense gaze to Calista, “consider this your break, you hear?”
“Yes, sir,” Calista answered, inclining her head with a formal little bow, as if he was some small far-from-benevolent despot.
Uttering another dismissive noise, Fowler withdrew back into the storeroom.
Erin looked at the younger woman she’d come to see in disbelief. “How can you stand it, working for Old Man Fowler? He’s so rude.”
“I’ve had practice dealing with foul moods. When you’ve got seven siblings, there’s always someone who’s bound to be in a snit—or worse,” she added with a careless shrug. “And besides, it’s not exactly like I don’t need the money,” she confessed. At twenty-two, she’d just graduated, but that didn’t mean that all that struggling was behind her. A great deal of it was just up ahead. She was currently living at home to save as much money as she could, but it was still slow-going. “I’ve got school loans to pay off and other expenses to juggle as well. Right now, I can’t afford to be picky.” Besides, she added silently, afraid of being overheard, Fowler was harmless.
“Is that why you agreed to babysit for my brother?” Erin asked her.
She’d stopped by to get her friend’s take on working for her brother and to make sure that Calista didn’t decide to suddenly change her mind and tell Jake that she’d had second thoughts about agreeing to babysit for him. Dealing with an infant could be draining. Especially after having had to put up with a Neanderthal despot like Fowler.
“Oh no,” Calista said with feeling, “I’m more than happy to take the job. I think that Marlie’s really adorable.”
Erin laughed. She had fallen in love with her niece at first sight, but she had to admit that there were drawbacks. “For a child who never sleeps, she’s wonderful.” Erin raised her slender shoulders and then let them drop. “At least it feels that way. Our bedroom is just one door down from Jake’s room. I can hear him pacing the floor with her at all hours. That baby cries every night.”