Besides, he was glad for the excuse to stick around and get reacquainted with his old friend. He decided not to mention the children yet. For one thing, she would probably laugh him out of the house when she learned he’d imagined even for a moment that he might be the father. Also, it might be a sore point about the real dad-whoever he was-not being her husband.
The guy must be crazy to give up a woman like Jody. Even in her overalls, she had more earthy appeal than most models and actresses, whose bones stuck out.
He and Jody entered the airy house through a sunken living room. Three steps led up to the kitchen and dining area, where she poured coffee from a half-full carafe. Callum set down his cases, tossed his jacket over the back of a chair and went to towel off in the bathroom. He returned a few minutes later, slightly less damp.
“I don’t remember your house looking like this when we were in high school.” He was certain it had been a conventional ranch-style structure.
“It was falling down. My parents decided to rebuild six years ago.” Jody gestured him to a butcher-block table, where he took a seat.
“You said in your essay that you inherited the place last year.” Although Callum disliked mentioning what must be a painful subject, he wanted to acknowledge her parents’ passing. He’d been fond of the elder Reillys.
“They died in a car crash on their way to a stock show in San Antonio.” She offered cream and sugar.
“I’m sorry.” After helping himself, Callum savored the chicory-laced brew, although his usual taste ran to mocha lattes. “So you gave up teaching?”
“It was that or sell the ranch. I couldn’t do both.” Jody went on to tell him about her forewoman, Gladys, and how well they worked together.
As Jody talked, he cataloged the small changes since they’d last met. She’d acquired a rancher’s tan even this early in the season, and she held herself with a new maturity.
Beneath it all, however, she was the same breezy girl who’d played trumpet alongside him in the high school band. She’d nearly blown his socks off, literally, when she stumbled while marching during their first rehearsal and sent a blast of air along his pant leg. They’d both laughed so hard they had to sit down on the football field. Although the coach wasn’t amused, Callum had been smitten.
He’d loved her honesty and valued her advice. And he’d missed her keenly, more than he’d allowed himself to acknowledge until now.
“Where on earth did you get the idea that you were a wallflower?” he asked.
She stopped in midsentence and he realized he’d interrupted a description of how she was learning to clean and oil the farm machinery. “What?”
“In your essay, you said you were a wallflower in high school,” he said. “That’s not true. Lots of boys had crushes on you.”
Jody let out a hoot. “Name three!”
“Me, me and me.”
“You’re kidding.” She studied him as if seeking confirmation that this was a joke. “Come on, Callum, all the girls wanted you. I was your buddy.”
“You were my girlfriend,” he said.
“I was not! When did we ever go on a date?”
“We went to the prom,” he reminded her.
“You took pity on me. I said I didn’t have anyone to go with and you said, ‘How about me?”’ Jody’s forehead puckered. “Besides, you couldn’t wait to get out of town. You were just marking time, hanging around with me.”
“That’s not true. We went together all through college.” They’d both graduated from the University of Texas at Austin. “We dated for four years.”
“Study dates don’t count,” she said. “When did you ask me out for a romantic dinner?”
“You’d have laughed in my face.” Callum’s pride wouldn’t let him mention that he’d lacked money for such luxuries. The son of a feed store owner, he’d had to work his way through college and pay off student loans afterward.
“You should have tried me.”
“Okay, I’ll try you now,” he said. “May I take you out for fine dining and dancing, Madame?”
“Where? At the Downtown Cafe?” It was the fanciest restaurant in Everett Landing. That’s because it was the only restaurant.
“Just a minute.” Callum checked his watch. “It’s nearly five. People eat early in the country, don’t they?”
“Oh! That reminds me. I’ve got to start cooking.”
“Don’t move. Tonight you’re dining at Il Ristorante Callum, the finest Italian trattoria in Everett County.” Ignoring her halfhearted protest, he whirled into action.
As he’d expected, Jody kept her kitchen well stocked. In no time, he’d put a large pot of water on a burner, retrieved spaghetti and sauce ingredients from the pantry and set to whipping up dinner.
A man of the world knew how to cook and cook well, Callum had concluded long ago. With the food editor at
Jody watched with her chin resting on the heel of one hand. “I never thought of putting black olives in my spaghetti sauce.”
“Wait’ll you taste it.” The tomato mixture simmered, filling the air with the scents of basil, thyme and oregano. The salad, into which he’d tossed artichoke hearts and diced cucumber, stood ready on the counter. Careful not to break the strands of spaghetti, Callum stirred some into the boiling water.
With dinner under control, he skimmed down the abbreviated staircase to the living room and flipped through Jody’s CD collection. Once he bypassed the
One label caught Callum’s eye and he extracted the jewel case. “Would you look at this!
“It was a fund-raiser,” she said. “Remember? It came out the summer we graduated.”
“How were sales?” He hadn’t kept track, but he suspected Jody had.
“We made enough to buy the band new uniforms.”
“Outstanding!” Callum put the CD into play. “I wonder if we can dance to it.”
“I’m not even going to ask if you’re kidding, because you’re crazy enough to mean it,” Jody said. “So tell me. How does one dance to a march?”
“By doing what the band director accused us of doing all along.” He pulled her to her feet. “Ignoring the rhythm and just going with our instincts.”
Laughter bubbled out of Jody as Callum drew her close. Small but lushly built, she flung her arms around his neck the way she used to in high school.
As they swayed together, ignoring the occasional flat blat of a trombone and the rousing beat suitable for a football halftime, Callum felt her breasts press into his chest. Through his shirt, he noticed the tips harden. Just like in the old days, his body sprang to full attention.
He buried his face in her hair and relished the fresh scent of hay. Let the pasta turn to goo and the salad wilt. He only had an appetite for the woman in his arms.
JODY HAD ALMOST FORGOTTEN how much fun Callum could be. He filled her house with a sense of magical adventure.
“This is better than a trip to Paris.” Quickly, she added, “Almost.”
“How would you know?” he murmured into her ear. “You’ve never been farther than Santa Fe.”
“You read my whole entry?”
“All two hundred and fifty words of it.”
“Tell me about France,” she said. “You’ve been there, haven’t you?”
“Several times.” Judging by the lilt in his voice, Callum had found something new and wonderful every time he’d visited. “The whole city comes alive from early morning until late at night. The streets smell like fresh-baked bread. In the sidewalk cafes, people debate issues as if they held the fate of the world in their hands.”
