Always a Temp

“Callie.” He revealed no emotion. No coldness, no warmth. Nothing.

“Welcome back,” Garrett said, shifting his weight to his heels. Callie wondered if he was resting his hand on his holster on purpose, or if it was just a habit.

“Thank you.”

“I need to check something out,” Nathan said to his brother, his eyes focused behind Callie. He left without another word, brushing past a burly volunteer firefighter carrying a Pulaski ax. Nate favored one leg slightly, making Callie wonder just how many miles he was putting on the bike. Five to ten a day had been the norm when they’d been in high school, but he’d ride as many as twenty when he was stressed. She had gone with him on the short rides, but when he needed to put his head down and pedal, she’d found other things to do.

The man she’d seen unloading equipment from the minivan in the parking lot that morning was there, taking notes as he talked to one of the firefighters. He lowered his pad as Nathan approached, and the two fell into conversation. An old memory jarred loose. Chip Elroy. From her sophomore geometry class.

“So how long have you been a deputy?” Callie asked, turning back to Garrett.

“Since about a year after you dumped Nathan.” He held her gaze, his expression cool and coplike.

“Eleven years then.” She wasn’t surprised by Garrett’s response. The brothers had wildly different temperaments, with Garrett looking for trouble, Nathan trying to keep him out of it, but they were tight.

“Give or take a few months.” He shifted his weight again. “What’re you doing here?”

“You mean at the fire?” Obviously, since he had to know why she was back in Wesley. She glanced over at the trailer’s smoldering metal ribs. “Just seeing if there’s a story.” She cocked her head. “Who’s the female firefighter?”

“Denise Logan.”

Ah, from high school. She would have been in Seth’s graduating class.

“Was this arson?” When Garrett didn’t respond, Callie added, “Pretty clear night. No lightning.”

“How long are you staying in town?”

“Awhile.”

“And then?”

She shrugged.

“Must be nice,” Garrett replied, “having no ties. Going where you want, when you want.”

“It’s great,” she agreed, refusing to rise to the bait. “You should try it.”

“Can’t. I prefer to be there for the people who matter to me.”

“Oh, do you have some of those? People who matter to you? Because I remember you dumping girls right and left, without much regard for hurt feelings.”

“At least I told them it was over, instead of taking the coward’s way out and running away without a word.”

She wasn’t touching that one, and Garrett knew it. He smiled without humor, then muttered, “I have some things I need to take care of.” Nodding in dismissal, he strode past her toward two older men checking gauges on a truck.

Callie turned away and headed for the Neon. She got in without looking back, slamming the stubborn old door shut.

She fought the urge to rest her forehead on the steering wheel in defeat, and instead turned the key in the ignition, carefully pulling back out onto the road and then executing a three-point turn. She followed the route the kids had taken, to make sure they’d gotten home.

A few minutes later she turned down Grace’s street and cruised by the house where the neighbor kids lived. It was dark inside, except for the distinctive glow of a television set, but the old bikes were propped against the porch. They were home. She debated stopping, but it was late, almost ten now. Maybe she’d try to catch the parents at home tomorrow and mention that the children had been at the fire. Parents who cared simply did not let kids ride across town—even a small town—after dark.

“SO WHAT’S THE DEAL HERE?” Nathan asked, indicating the burned-out trailer with a jerk of his head. He’d rejoined his brother after he’d made certain that Chip, who’d thankfully put off his trip when he saw the smoke, would get his photos in before he left the next day. “Two fires in a week, no lightning.”

Nathan hated fires. He hadn’t had a problem until the explosion, when the world around him had erupted into a fireball. That was after the shock wave had thrown him back against a brick wall and driven shrapnel into his leg and torso. His partner, Suzanne Galliano, had also been injured, but her wounds had been superficial, which was why she was still reporting in Seattle, while he was back here in good old Wesley, Nevada.

“What do you think the deal is?” Garrett asked. He was careful what he said around Nathan in an official capacity, having been quoted as an “unnamed source” enough times to get him in trouble with the brass, who had no trouble figuring out the identity of the unnamed source.

Nathan rubbed a hand over his head, loosening his matted hair. “If it turns out this fire was man-made like the last one, then someone could be setting fires.”

“That’s a big leap, junior,” Garrett said, careful not to be quotable. “A field and a structure.”

“Or the fires may not be related and this one came about because old man Anderson wanted to get rid of his rusty trailer without paying to have it torn down and hauled away.”

“Talk to Dad,” Garrett said, jerking his head to where their father was conferring with another man near the front of an engine.

“Oh, I will. Later.” Not that it would do a lot of good. Fifteen years of being sheriff prior to taking over command of the fire department had made John Marcenek a master at avoiding a direct answer.

“My gut reaction is that the two incidents aren’t connected, and you’re probably right about Anderson,” Garrett finally said, before giving Nathan a fierce look. “Do not quote me.”

“Unnamed source,” he agreed with a half smile. The brothers fell into step as they walked back to Nathan’s car.

“Law enforcement officials are uncertain whether the incidents are connected,” Garrett corrected. “You didn’t seem too surprised to see Callie at the fire.”

“Probably looking for a story. She showed up at the office and asked me for freelance work a couple days ago.”

Garrett glanced at him. “No shit?”

“I turned her down, but if Vince Michaels hears about it, he’ll be an unhappy camper.”

“Or rather, you’ll be an unhappy camper.”

Nathan grinned for the first time all evening. “In your words, no shit.”

AS SOON AS CALLIE GOT home, she fired up her laptop and started to write. Words appeared on the screen, but something was lacking: decent writing. Disgusted, she ditched the file and turned off the computer. She’d try again tomorrow.

The next morning was no better, nor was the afternoon. Finally, as the sun was setting and Callie had accomplished nothing except for an industrial cleaning of the bathroom, she faced reality. She couldn’t keep cleaning bathrooms and waxing floors. She had to do the one job she did not want to do, the task that was constantly lurking at the back of her mind, and then maybe she could settle and write a few words.

She needed to go through Grace’s belongings.

Callie opened the bedroom door and stood in the doorway, taking in the neat little room. Grace’s reading glasses were on the nightstand, along with an empty water glass, and a box of tissues set on top of a library book. Callie should probably return that before the library police came after her.

She went to the closet and opened the door, the squeak of the wheels in the tracks instantly bringing back memories. When the closet had squeaked, it meant Grace was awake, getting her robe. It meant Callie would smell breakfast soon and that the house would be warm when she got up.

The closet smelled of spice. Grace had loved cinnamon and had sachets everywhere. Callie had always loved cinnamon herself, but at the moment the scent was too poignant, too much.

Sorry, Grace…

Callie did her best to shut herself off as she pulled armloads of clothes out of the closet and laid them on the bed before going back for more. If she didn’t think about what she was doing, she wouldn’t get sucked down. And once she got this chore done, the worst would be behind her. She’d be able to write.

After the first closet was empty, she shook open a trash bag and shoved the clothing into it, hangers and all. If she stopped to sort and fold, she wouldn’t make it through the process without breaking down. The most practical approach was to make everything disappear into black plastic as quickly as possible.

But Callie wasn’t quick enough. She slowed down for a few seconds and the next thing she knew, she’d pulled an oversize cardigan she’d always associated with Grace out of the pile of clothing on the bed. And, instead of shoving it into the bag, she held it up, then bunched it to her, breathing in the scent of the only mother she’d ever really known.

Her throat closed.

Callie resolutely blanked her mind, folded the sweater and set it inside the swollen bag before tying it shut. She shook open another bag and headed for the dresser, planning to quickly sort through Grace’s unmentionables so she didn’t accidentally throw away or donate something of value. Grace had had a habit of hiding things in her underwear drawer, as if placing something here would keep it safe from prying eyes—those of a young girl trying to peek at her Christmas presents, for example. Sure enough, when Callie opened the drawer, something solid slid across the bottom. She pushed aside the cotton undergarments to find a fancy lingerie box.

She set the box on the bed and for a moment just looked at it, wondering what on earth it could contain that was worthy of hiding in the underwear drawer. The corners of the lid were worn and the cardboard had grown brittle with age. She gently eased the top off.

Photos. Tons of photos. And her schoolwork. Award certificates. Callie’s life in a box.

She lifted out a photo of herself taken on the first day of junior high, wearing low-rider flared pants and a body-hugging, long-sleeved shirt. The shirt had been too hot for August in Nevada, but Callie had wanted to wear it, and Grace had acquiesced. Beneath that were more photos—showing her rabbit at the fair for 4-H. Callie riding her bike. Grace had bought it used, but it had been one of the cool bikes. A Trek 920, like Nathan’s. Not that Callie had been concerned about that kind of stuff…. She smiled slightly. She’d pretended not to be, anyway, but she had loved having a bike that was as nice as everyone else’s. Grace hadn’t made a ton of money working at the grocery store, but she’d taken care of Callie.

Callie had not taken care of Grace.

She put the lid back on the box and set it on top of the dresser, then went back to the clothing, checking all the drawers before quickly dumping the contents into trash bags. No more sorting, because everything was going to charity. People who hadn’t abandoned their foster mother could sift through her stuff.

By the time she finished, despite her best efforts to keep the self-recriminations at bay, Callie was a wreck.

She should have come home and she hadn’t.

She’d shut everyone she’d ever been close to out of her life over the past decade, for reasons she didn’t quite understand.

Well, damn it, she didn’t want to be alone anymore.

CHAPTER FOUR

NATE WAS SLOUCHED on the sofa, his feet propped on the coffee table and his laptop on his thighs, when the dog next door started yapping. Since Poppy’s owner went to bed at approximately sundown every night, Nate put his computer on the coffee table and went to the window to see what had disturbed the little rat.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he muttered as he dropped the curtain and went to the door. Callie was already on the bottom step when he pulled it open. Twice now he’d seen her and twice he’d felt the odd sensation of having a missing part of his life back again—which was ridiculous, since this missing part had blown him off and disappeared for a dozen years without a word.

“Why are you here?” It was late and he was too tired for niceties.

Her eyebrows lifted as she said, “Because I want to make peace.”

He rested a hand against the door frame. “Make peace?” They weren’t at war. He just didn’t want her around.

“Over ten years have gone by, Nate. I’m sorry I took off, but we’re different people now. Surely we can start new.”

Start new. Yeah. So easy. He didn’t feel like making it easy on Callie, so he continued to block the door, even though she obviously wanted to come inside.

“I went through hell after you left. I was afraid something had happened to you, until Grace told me you were all right.” It had taken him a couple of days to get hold of her foster mother, since she’d traveled to Boise immediately after the graduation ceremony to attend a wedding, giving him and Callie the freedom to almost consummate their relationship, emphasis on almost. Her trip had also given Callie the freedom to blow town the next day.

His fingers gripped the door frame. He would never forget how he’d felt when he’d realized she’d gone without a word. He loved her, thought she’d loved him, yet she disappeared after their first awkward and unsuccessful attempt to make love. He’d felt like such a freaking loser.

“I did what I had to do,” Callie said now, an edge of frustration creeping into her voice.

Nate ran a hand over the taut muscles at the back of his neck. “You didn’t give a reason for leaving. So why don’t you tell me now?”

“I don’t know,” she said softly.

For a moment he just stared at her. After all these years, this was her answer.

“‘I don’t know,’” he mimicked. “Bullshit!”

The word echoed through the night. Callie flinched, and he realized he’d never raised his voice to her. He drew in a ragged breath, leaning his forehead against the doorjamb. Callie was one of the most intelligent women he knew. Intelligent women didn’t just abandon someone without a reason. And more than that, deep down he’d wanted her to have a concrete reason for leaving. Maybe something he’d done or said. Maybe his inexperience. Something they could have worked out, given a chance. He’d always believed she’d had a reason.

“We’re not going to be friends and you’re never writing for the Star, Callie. Not while I’m editor.” He looked up at her. “Got it?”

She stared him down for a few seconds, then muttered something under her breath that sounded a whole lot like “We’ll see,” before she abruptly turned and crossed the lawn back to her wreck of a car. It started with a puff of blue smoke. She pulled away from the curb before she snapped the headlights on. Nathan watched her disappear around the corner.

What kind of a jerk treated someone who’d recently lost her only relative that way? Especially when he knew exactly how it felt to lose a parent?

But did Callie ever feel anything? He was really beginning to wonder.

THE NEON GAVE A COUPLE of ominous coughs as Callie drove home. Par for the course. Everything else in her life was going to hell. Why not the borrowed car, too?

Nate was still angry with her. And he wanted answers she didn’t have.

Why had she left?

Why does a horse bolt at a loud noise? Instinct. It was the way she was. She couldn’t put a name to the reason if she tried, since she didn’t fully understand it herself, but she did accept it. She panicked when she felt as if she was being tied down, and according to Grace, her father had been the same way. Hard to fight genetics.

So what had made her think she could explain tonight? Or that after their first encounter in his office, that Nate would listen? What had made her even try?

The need to be with someone who, even if he didn’t understand, might accept her as she was. After all, he was Nate. He’d once loved her. She’d thought.

Callie bit her lip as she considered all the things she should have said and hadn’t, because she needed more time to get them out.

She’d wanted to explain that he’d always been on her mind after she’d left, that ending their relationship had nearly ripped her apart, too, but the panic had been stronger than her feelings for him. How could she get that across to him?

She couldn’t.

Yet.

But with time…With some time, maybe he’d come around. She missed him and she needed a friend.

When she got home, the Hobart house was still dark inside except for the flickering glow of the television. No car was parked in front of the house or in the carport.

Was someone home with those kids?

A television also glowed in Alice Krenshaw’s living room, and there was no car parked in her drive, either, which was because Alice’s husband worked the night shift at the mine and they owned only one vehicle. The Hobart family probably had the same circumstances. One car and shift work.

No matter how she twisted it around, though, it still bugged the heck out of Callie that those kids had been out so late without supervision. Twice.

Uncaring adult? Zero supervision? Or were the kids masters at sneaking out?

Was it any of her business?

And here she was, sitting in her car, spying on the house next door. How creepy was that? Callie got out of the little Neon, trying not to slam the stubborn door too loudly.

She’d left the lights on in Grace’s house, but it looked anything but welcoming. Kind of a theme here in Wesley. Maybe that was the reason she hadn’t come back sooner.

But deep down, she knew it wasn’t.

CALLIE HAD DRIVEN AWAY half an hour ago and Nate was still keyed up, unable to focus for more than a few minutes, which was disturbing to a guy notorious for his ability to hyperfocus. He put the laptop aside and then absently ran his hand over the numb area of his thigh.

So what exactly did Callie want from him? Friendship? Forgiveness? Physical intimacy during a rough spot in her life? Perhaps all three. Who didn’t want comfort when life took a devastating turn?

Him. Physical intimacy had been out of the question after the explosion nearly destroyed his leg. He’d had no desire to share his battered body, and even when he finally had, it had been with the woman who was his nurse during the latter part of his hospital stay, a woman who was accustomed to seeing trauma and injury. The relationship hadn’t lasted long. Nate’s heart hadn’t been in it and he’d had a sneaking suspicion she was laying him just to get his confidence back up. He didn’t need mercy screws.

Again he ran his hand over his leg, felt the twisted tissue and deep dip where the destroyed muscles had once been.

No. Even though he wouldn’t mind showing Callie that he was no longer the inexperienced kid suffering from performance anxiety, there’d be no physical intimacy. He wasn’t the guy to give her comfort, because he wasn’t ready to put himself out there—especially with someone he couldn’t trust.

In fact, it really pissed him off that she was back, acting as if nothing had happened, wanting to pick up where they’d left off before she’d abandoned him.

We’re different people now, Nate.

In more ways than she knew.

Nathan got the laptop, settled it back onto his thighs and resolutely finished the article. He’d just shut the computer down and was ready to call it a night when his cell phone rang.

His leg had stiffened and it took a few minutes for it to cooperate as he crossed the room to the buffet table where the phone was plugged in, charging. He glanced at the number, expecting it to be one of his brothers, since it was so late, then smiled.

“Hey, Scoop.” Suzanne Galliano had been his best friend in Seattle. They’d collaborated on several stories and had been together the night Nathan’s investigation into the illegal import of pharmaceuticals ended in an explosion and warehouse fire. Fortunately for Suzanne, her hospital stay had been only two days, her recovery from the mostly superficial wounds rapid. Nate’s recovery, on the other hand, not so much. Hell, in a lot of ways he’d yet to recover from the blast.

“Are you still stuck in the middle of nowhere?”

“You mean my charming hometown? Yeah. I’m here.”

He could almost see her rolling her eyes. “Well, maybe I’ll be able to do something to save you. The paper just lost a reporter and they’re hiring. You’d have to throw some stuff together fast, get it up here, but honestly, I think you have a good shot.”

“No thanks.”

“Nathan…!” she whined. “Come on. You know you don’t belong where you are. You should be writing and reporting, not editing. I bet you’d make more money in this job than you do now, and it could be a springboard to bigger and better things.”

“Thanks. I’ll think about it.”

“No you won’t. I know that tone.”

“I will. Honest.”

She blew a raspberry into the receiver. “Fine. But you’re throwing away an opportunity.”

“I like being near family.”

“The same members of your family who tried to kill you more than once as a child?”

“The very same,” Nathan agreed as he shut off the living room lamp and walked into his bedroom. His brothers might have made a career out of attempting to do him bodily harm as a youngster, but he’d returned the favor. In spades. He might be the quiet brother, but he wasn’t a wimp.

“You need to rethink your priorities, you masochist. If I don’t hear from you by Wednesday, I’ll assume it’s a no and arrange for counseling.”

“Thanks for the heads-up.”

“No problem. I’ll make you see the light one of these days. How’s the physical therapy?”

Nathan smiled. “Over for the most part. I ride my bike. It keeps the leg strong and flexible.” Plus, he’d been able to buy a bitchin’ bike with the money he saved once the therapy stopped.

“There’s some good bike riding here,” Suzanne said in a sincere voice. “And I kind of miss you.”

“I’ll think about it. Hey, how’s Julia?” Her significant other, who had never fully forgiven Nathan for dragging Suzanne down to the warehouse with him that fateful night.

“She’s doing well. Just got a promotion to design manager.”

“Tell her congratulations from me.”

“Maybe you can tell her yourself when you come for the interview….” His ex-partner’s voice trailed off hopefully.

“I’ll think about it. Good night, Suze. Talk to you later.”

Nathan tossed the phone onto the dresser and went into the bathroom, where he stared at himself in the mirror for a few seconds before turning on the water to brush his teeth.

It had been nothing short of a miracle when, after Nathan had returned to Wesley, Vince Michaels had bought the paper and promptly fired the editor. Newspaper jobs in a town the size of Wesley were nonexistent. Nathan lived near his dad and brothers, in the town he’d grown up in, doing the job he’d trained for. If he felt as if he was just going through the motions day to day, it was from the inherent stress of an editor’s life. Survival mode.

He just needed to ride his bike more, take the edge off.

This was where he belonged.

CALLIE WOKE UP SHEATHED in sweat, the light cotton blanket that had covered her in a tangle at the end of the bed. She sat up, swung her feet onto the floor and then sat for a moment, her face in her hands.

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