A Sweetheart for the Single Dad

It was bad enough to have his son living with another man half the time, to have Sam following some other guy’s rules—because, of course, Candy wasn’t going to be the boss. But at least Sawyer still had plenty of his own time with his son. Sawyer could be at T-ball games and school conferences and programs. Sawyer could pick Sam up from school. Sawyer could get to him in the blink of an eye if Sam was sick or hurt. He could be there for him.

If Sam was in Vermont, Sawyer would be relegated to phone and video calls, and he’d only actually be with his son a few times a year. And there was no way he wouldn’t fight to keep that from happening.

The trouble was that he wasn’t altogether sure it was a battle he would win.

Being part of Sam’s life had been an uphill battle for a while now. Things had gone smoothly enough at the beginning. Candy hadn’t known she was pregnant when their relationship had ended, but had told him as soon as she’d found out. She’d declined his suggestion of marriage but had agreed to let him have an active role as Sam’s father. Or, at least, she’d conceded to it. He could never be too sure with her—or with any of the women who had passed through his adult life—whether agreement meant they were genuinely on board or just that they were going along against their will and not letting it show.

Either way, Candy had consented to letting him share custody, and even to naming Sam after Sawyer’s father. Then she’d also accepted Sawyer’s request for equal time with Sam, along with the ample child support he’d offered her.

It was only when Harmon had come on the scene two years ago that problems had started.

Sawyer’s visitation with Sam had mysteriously gotten harder to schedule. Sawyer had stopped being included in decisions about Sam and was no longer informed about whatever was going on in Sam’s life. He hadn’t even been invited to Sam’s last birthday party, and now Sawyer had to rely on the four-year-old to tell him most things, which, more often than not, resulted in only hearing about it after the fact.

But even though the problems started with Harmon, Sawyer couldn’t be sure the other man was actually to blame.

He’d learned the hard way that just because Candy seemed okay with something, it didn’t mean she was. That under the surface things could be simmering that he was completely unaware of, things that would flare up when he least expected it.

Did Candy really want to move to Vermont or was she not telling Harmon she didn’t?

Was Harmon calling the shots with Sam, with Sawyer’s visitation and participation in his son’s life, or was Candy merely using him as an excuse to make Sam’s upbringing go the way she wanted it?

Was it possible that Candy hadn’t been so okay with sharing custody of Sam these past four years and moving to Vermont was her passive-aggressive way of cutting Sawyer out of his life?

Sawyer didn’t know.

And he sure as hell couldn’t say he was any good at deciphering what was really going on with her.

At the start, when Candy was being so agreeable to everything about Sam, Sawyer had taken into consideration that she was the primary caregiver, so he’d agreed to Candy being Sam’s custodial parent.

Now, as the custodial parent, if she petitioned the court for relocation, a judge would most likely grant the relocation petition.

Besides Candy being the custodial parent, Sawyer’s brother had said that the court would consider the fact that Sawyer often had to travel for work while Candy was a stay-at-home mom whose livelihood depended on her husband’s income—an income that could be improved if Harmon took over his father’s practice in Vermont instead of maintaining his own failing practice in Wheatley.

And off Sam would go to Vermont.

So Sawyer didn’t want to go to court. But he might not have a choice. Because even though he thought it was possible that Candy honestly didn’t want to move, he also didn’t hold out much hope that she would openly admit it to her husband.

When it came to the women in his life, he’d definitely had a pattern. On the surface they’d all been agreeable, considerate, seemingly selfless women he’d thought were perfect partners. The kind of perfect partner his mom had been for his dad for the past four decades.

But instead of finding happily-ever-after the way his parents had, Sawyer had ended up accused and found guilty of relationship crimes he hadn’t even known he was committing. As a result, his marriage and what he’d thought was a relationship headed for marriage with Candy had been dead in the water before he’d even realized anything was wrong.

And now his relationship with Sam could be on the line, unless he could rely on a woman speaking up—a woman he already knew was unlikely to do that.

He tapped his fingers on his desktop agitatedly.

He loved that kid more than he loved breathing. He couldn’t lose him to Harmon and Vermont.

“Dammit!” he said under his breath, clenching his hands into two fists to stop the tapping.

A knock on his office door caused him to sit straighter and call a “Come in” as if nothing was bothering him.

His executive assistant poked her graying head through the door. “The day is done. I just wanted to tell you that the fliers for the Wheatley park project are on my desk waiting for you, and to say good-night.”

“Thanks, Marybeth. Have a nice night.”

“You, too,” the sixty-one-year-old answered before retreating and closing the door.

Sawyer checked the time and discovered it was nearly five-thirty. He needed to head for Wheatley.

He pushed his chair back and stood, shrugging out of his tan suit coat, taking off his tie, then unfastening the top button of his ecru shirt and rolling his long sleeves to his elbows.

Casual got a better reception in Wheatley.

In Wheatley where Lindie Camden was supposed to meet him.

If she showed.

Just the thought that she might helped to take his mind off his problems. And made him smile a little.

Lindie Camden.

Now that was an impressive ambassador to send to get on his good side!

The Camdens kept a relatively low profile but pictures of them cropped up here and there. Sawyer never paid enough attention to know who was who, but they did all bear a resemblance to each other—enough for him to have a general image of dark hair, fine features and blue eyes that were apparently considered so remarkable that the local media called them the Camden Blue Eyes—as if no one else in the world owned a pair.

To have the unusual request for an appointment followed by the appearance of a very un-Wheatley-looking woman in the community center’s rec room hadn’t made it a huge leap to suspect that that woman was the same one who had called. Lindie Camden.

When she’d turned around he’d seen that she’d had plenty to go along with those eyes that were, he had to admit, remarkable.

Lush, shiny, coffee-bean-colored hair down to the middle of her back. Skin like alabaster. High, well-defined cheekbones. Long, thick eyelashes. And full, sexy lips.

All together with well-shaped legs, a rear end the skirt she’d been wearing hugged to perfection, the temptation of just-the-right-size breasts peeking from behind silk folds, he could imagine treaties being signed between warring factions just because she asked.

Or at least he’d imagined it until she’d said she wanted to hire him. Then he’d reminded himself that he represented one side of those warring factions and that no matter how breathtaking the woman, he wasn’t surrendering.

Take on Camden Incorporated as a client? Not a chance!

But he had seen another opportunity. An opportunity to open those big baby blues of hers to some of the damage her family’s stores did.

If, in the process, he also found the opportunity to get her pretty little hands dirty cleaning up the mess left behind? There was just enough orneriness in him to get a kick out of the possibility of that.

Grabbing his discarded coat and tie, he took them with him as he went out of his office. A few of the people who worked for him were still there, wrapping things up for the day. After exchanging some small talk and good-nights, he picked up the fliers from Marybeth’s desk and handed over locking-up duties to his office manager.

But Lindie Camden stayed on his mind.

Would her hair be down again today? he wondered. What would she be wearing? Surely not a skirt as tight as yesterday’s or heels as high.

Not that it would matter. The woman could walk around barefoot, in rags, and still be gorgeous.

Had the Camdens thought that sending someone who looked the way she did would make him more apt to cave?

It seemed impossible for her looks not to be part of the plan. They’d probably thought to blind him with her beauty so he’d be putty in their hands.

Well, it wasn’t going to work. A pretty face was not going to derail him professionally or get him to turn his back on what he believed in or on the people and businesses he was glad to represent.

And it wasn’t going to get to him personally, either, he thought as he got into his SUV and found himself feeling his jaw the way he might have if he were about to go on a date; testing to see if he should take his emergency electric razor out of the glove compartment for a second shave today.

There was a little stubble and, yeah, if this was a date, he probably would have used the razor.

But this wasn’t a date so he didn’t.

No matter how attractive she was, he wouldn’t touch a Camden with a ten-foot pole, he thought as he merged into highway traffic in the direction of Wheatley. And not only out of loyalty to his family—although that was certainly a factor. Not even if he wasn’t in a mess over Sam that drove home his need to reassess why things always went so wrong with his choices in women.

On top of both of those things, Lindie Camden was also his business enemy and that was automatically a roadblock. Roadblocks were huge challenges and challenges in his personal relationships were things he tried to avoid. Things that certainly didn’t improve relationships.

No matter what, he liked things in his personal life to be smooth sailing. He wanted a woman he was completely compatible with. A relationship that was pleasant and harmonious. Like his parents had. He was sure wanting that wasn’t where he’d gone wrong in the past and he wasn’t changing it.

And there was no chance that any of that could come about with a woman he was at odds with from the get-go. Especially one who was likely spoiled and pampered and accustomed to getting her own way about everything. A woman who probably didn’t know the meaning of the word compromise.

So, thanks but no thanks all the way around, Lindie Camden!

The most he was going to indulge himself in was rubbing her nose in what her stores left behind. In getting her hands dirty cleaning up some of it.

Other than that, this whole thing was going to be nothing more than a small amusement until she turned tail and ran back to the family in defeat.

In the meantime he’d just take in the view as a bonus and use his time with her to make his point. To show the almighty Camdens why they deserved to have things made difficult for them. And not only because there was the stain of the earlier Camdens’ underhanded dealings on their record.

Oh, yeah, Lindie Camden was in for it. He’d make sure of that. Regardless of how hot she was.

And the fact that when he reached the first stoplight in Wheatley, he took his shaver out of the glove box to run over his face, after all? That didn’t mean anything except that he wanted to make a good impression on the people he encountered tonight in the process of handing out fliers.

It wasn’t because he was sprucing up to see Lindie Camden again.

* * *

Lindie was in her car in the parking lot of the Wheatley Community Center at five minutes before six o’clock on Tuesday night. She was watching every car that pulled in until she could see if the driver was Sawyer Huffman.

And wondering why it was that she’d been so eager for this all day long. Why it was that every car made her hopes rise and her pulse race. Why it was that she deflated into disappointment each time the driver proved not to be him.

She was just eager to get this deal done, she told herself. To get Sawyer on board with Camden Inc. so he stopped making things difficult. To put him in line for a nice fat payday to make up for the past. And then she could go on with her life.

It didn’t have anything to do with the image of the man himself that had been popping into her mind since she’d seen him here yesterday. All big and tall and broad-shouldered and hella-handsome—

No, no, no, that didn’t have anything to do with it.

And it also wasn’t the reason she’d left work an hour early today, gone home and changed from business clothes into her favorite navy blue butt-hugging pants and the tailored white blouse that followed every curve so closely the buttons barely kept from gapping.

Or the reason she’d untwisted her hair from its French knot, brushed it and left it loose again.

Or the reason she’d refreshed her blush and mascara and applied the new sassy-rose lip gloss she’d just bought on Saturday.

It had been with him in mind that she’d chosen her shoes, though. Two-inch wedge sandals bought at a bargain price and far more conservative than the spiked heels she’d worn on Monday.

The fact that they also showed her just-pedicured toes was purely coincidental.

Sawyer was driving a big white SUV when she finally spotted him pulling into the lot.

The knight on the white charger—that’s probably how he sees himself, she thought, given that he seemed to have the impression that Camden Inc. was a big, bad evil he was trying to rescue people from.

Lindie hid her purse under her passenger seat and got out, locking the doors on her metallic-gray sedan and putting her keys in her pants’ pocket.

He parked in the spot next to her, taking off sunglasses that made him all the more rakish-looking and hooking them on his visor before joining her.

Not that the removal of the sunglasses muted any of his appeal. The man was simply fantastic-looking.

But that didn’t make any difference. Even if he had warts and boils she would still have had the same job to do and she’d do it the exact same way.

“You’re here,” he greeted as he closed and locked his car door.

“I said I would be.”

“I thought you’d find an excuse not to be.”

“Fooled you,” she said victoriously. “Here I am. Ready to walk the streets.”

Oh, that hadn’t sounded good.

And he’d caught it because it made him grin before he said, “I’m trying really hard not to make an inappropriate joke right now.”

“I appreciate that,” she said, curious about exactly what the joke might be. But she was here for business not for pleasure, so she opted to get to it. “Where do we start?” she asked enthusiastically.

“This way,” he said, pointing with that dimpled chin of his to the street that ran in front of the center and heading there.

“This is the park we’ll be cleaning up—right next door,” he informed her as they took a left turn onto the sidewalk. “City resources are going into an upscale version near your store on the other side of town and this one has been left to rot.”

“It definitely needs work,” Lindie commented as she took in the sight of rundown, damaged picnic tables and play equipment, of trees that needed trimming, of the signs of overall neglect.

Beyond the park they began to go up and down streets lined with small frame houses, heading for front doors to leave the fliers he was carrying.

While Lindie could see that it had been a nice middle-class area once upon a time, now there were only a few houses that were well-kept. More often than not yards were either overtaken by weeds or totally bare. When it came to the houses themselves, too many had chipped and peeling paint or siding, missing shutters and shingles or other signs of disrepair.

“It costs money to water lawns. To fertilize grass and flowers and to kill weeds. To paint and fix things when they age or weather takes a toll,” Sawyer said when he noticed her avoiding the brown branches of a dead hedge to one side of a small porch. “And it takes time that a lot of people had when it was a ten-minute drive to and from work, but don’t have now that it’s an hour or more commute every day.”

Lindie didn’t comment, especially when they passed a house that was obviously vacant and had a foreclosure notice in the front window. But she did feel the weight on her conscience and in response she picked up some toys dropped in the yard of the next house and left them neatly stacked at the door as Sawyer slid the flyer into a grate on a screen torn away from the frame.

There was an elderly man working on the engine of an equally elderly truck at the next house. Sawyer said hello and approached him with the fliers.

“Think you could hold this for me for a minute?” the elderly man asked.

Sawyer passed the fliers to Lindie so he could assist with something in the engine. As she stood there waiting it occurred to her that all of the vehicles parked in driveways and at the curbs were dated. That there wasn’t a new car anywhere to be seen.

“Okay, I can take it from here,” the old man said a moment later, handing Sawyer a rag to wipe his hands on and glancing at the flier he accepted from Lindie.

“Glad somebody’s doin’ something with that park,” the man said. “It’s turning into another eyesore around here and we don’t need any more of those.”

“Maybe you can come down and help out,” Sawyer suggested encouragingly.

“Maybe,” the man allowed as Sawyer said they’d let him get back to his work.

He took the fliers from Lindie so they could move on.

Block after block, they encountered more of the same downtrodden homes and people. Several residents either complained about the decay and neglect or wearily committed to helping and voiced their hope that something would improve the area.

Lindie took it all in, continuing her own minor aid by picking up a bicycle or a newspaper here and there to bring up to the house it belonged to, by righting an overturned lawn chair, by doing whatever small thing she could when she encountered it.

Fences were also casualties at many houses and a humorously ferocious Yorkshire terrier leashed to a post let them know he would rather have been free to run around the yard that could no longer contain him—or at least that was Sawyer’s interpretation of the yipping that greeted them.

Worse than the houses whose owners were clearly having trouble maintaining them was the small shopping center they came to late in the evening. Darkness was just beginning to fall and they’d come almost full circle when Sawyer stopped to point it out.

The shopping center was downhill from where they stood so they could look out over the entire area. There were four buildings with multiple storefronts in each one, all of them vacant. Windows were broken in or boarded up. Graffiti, litter, cracked pavement and the signs of general decay made the whole thing an ugly blot on the landscape. Worse, it was a gathering spot for some unsavory-looking teenagers currently loitering there.

“This place is the most direct result of your store,” Sawyer said. “Before there was a Camden Superstore there were tenants in every one of those storefronts. Now they’ve all gone broke or moved. We’ve requested that the Urban Renewal Authority come in and make it a revitalization project but so far they haven’t agreed and this is what the area is left with.”

There was no denying how bad it was, so Lindie didn’t try. And despite the guilt she felt, she said, “It isn’t our goal to do damage to any community. We always go into an area conscientiously and we do everything we can not to cause problems. We make offers to small businesses to buy them out but if they refuse and then can’t compete and go broke, or if they accept and the buildings that housed them get abandoned—”

“It ends up like this,” he concluded, not letting her off the hook. “And it lowers the value of every piece of property around it.”

“We can’t go in and buy every house that might decrease in value because another part of town booms and theirs busts,” she argued. But even though she knew the words were true, they didn’t make her feel any less terrible about what she was seeing tonight.

“No. But, for instance, you could have bought those buildings down there and offered the businesses in them rents reduced enough to let them survive. You could have introduced a program to bring in businesses and shops that offered products or services that didn’t have to compete with Camden Superstores. You could have offered existing business owners other avenues—retraining or something that kept their doors open somehow. That kept this area alive. Instead it’s just decimated and all because of you.”

“Those are suggestions I can make! Things I can push for in the future—”

“Uh-huh. And maybe you’ll come through. Or maybe, if you shut me up, you don’t have to bother. That is why I’ll never take you on as a client. It’s why I won’t stop warning communities that this is what can happen when you come in. Why not only won’t I stop trying to protect areas and residents from the residual havoc you wreak but why I sure as hell won’t work for you and end up a part of the problem!”

“If you worked for us maybe you could be the one to push us to take your suggestions.”

“Sure,” he said, his tone making it clear he wasn’t buying that for a minute.

Lindie didn’t give up. “Maybe you could keep on top of the problems when they develop, before they get to this point, and bring them to our attention.”

“Oh, very slick,” he said as they moved on, returning to the community center parking lot. “And once I’m on your payroll it would mean my job if I made a stink and refused to spout the company line. Again—not a chance,” he repeated as they reached the driver’s side of her car and stopped.

“Did this all come from my uncle winning my aunt from your father?” Lindie asked, feeling frustrated with his hardline stance.

“Winning implies a fair fight,” he said, arching an eyebrow as he leaned against the side of his SUV, settling in to focus on her. “Camdens don’t fight fair.”

“But we do!”

He ignored that claim and instead answered her question. “No, this doesn’t all come from what went on between my father and your uncle. It started there—certainly I grew up hearing that story more than once. Then there were a couple of things that added to it.”

“Like what?”

“Like the Camden Superstore that went into Dunhaven when I was in middle school. My dad was in construction. He worked all over and he’d seen what happened in the wake of your stores. He knew what we were in for. So by the time I was ready to go to high school my folks decided they’d better sell the house I’d grown up in and get out while the getting was good.”

“Part of Dunhaven ended up like this side of Wheatley?”

“Yeah, it did,” he said as if wondering how she could not know that.

“So you and your parents—”

“And my younger brother, moved,” he went on. “My parents had to take a loss on the house to sell it. I ended up having to enter a different school district and leave behind all my friends.”

“That didn’t make you happy,” Lindie commented, interpreting his tone.

“No, that did not make me happy. And when I went back to visit those friends I saw this.” He motioned to what she’d now had her eyes opened to.

“The last time I went back—for a Friday-night visit in the summer,” he continued, “my old friends were bashing in windows for entertainment. The movie theater had closed. They didn’t have anything else to do. The building they were vandalizing was a tire store in an area of town that had been doing okay when I moved. But thanks to Camden Superstore’s automotive department it had eventually gone under and so had my friend’s father—he’d managed it. My friend had a lot of pent-up anger about it and that was how he let it out. It was the last time my parents let me go back to visit, but I heard over the transom that that particular friend kept to that path. He got into more and more trouble and ended up in jail.”