A Rare Gift (3 page)

“You told him he had no balls?”

Tori tilted her head back and laughed, making heads turn all around them.

Ensconced in the booth at Lodge by the Lake, their favorite outskirts-of-town restaurant, Calliope and Tori ate their dinner and had their weekly gossip and catch-up session.

“I did tell him that.”

Tori scooped up a forkful of pasta and slid it between her lips. A couple guys at the bar near their booth watched every bite Tori took. It always amused Calliope because Tori was gorgeous, with her flaming red hair and killer body. Men flocked to her, and Tori was immune. It was like she never even noticed men looking at her. Likely because she had the hots for Brody Kent, though Tori would never admit to it. She wasn’t sure why Tori wasn’t going all out for Brody. He was cover-of-a-magazine gorgeous, lean and sexy, and the two of them had combustible chemistry.

“So what did Wyatt say?” Tori asked.

“Nothing, because I never gave him the chance to respond. I just walked out of the trailer. That was four days ago and he and I haven’t spoken a word to each other since.”

Tori leaned back and took a long swallow of raspberry iced tea. “He’s avoiding you.”

Calliope nodded. “Like you wouldn’t believe. He doesn’t come inside the center at all, and whenever I pop outside to check on the progress of the addition, he ducks inside the trailer as if I caught him naked or something.”

“That’s great,” Tori said. “You’ve got him on the run now. He must really like you. If he didn’t care, he’d tell you to kiss his ass, or even worse, he’d ignore you, shrug his shoulders and go about his business. You’ve got him rattled, girl.”

Calliope pushed her plate to the side and sipped her soda. “I’d like to think so. The man is simply too uptight for his own good.”

“Don’t I know it. I’m the one who has to work with him every day. He needs to get laid in the worst way.”

Calliope sighed. “I’d love to be the one to take care of that for him.”

“I have no idea why anyone would want to poke that bear. Get him all riled up and who knows what could happen.”

Calliope knew exactly what. Her fantasies ran amok with the possibilities. “I can only imagine. If he hasn’t had a woman since my sister, he’s got all this pent-up passion inside just ready to explode.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Calliope grinned. “No clue, but won’t it be fun?”

After dinner and girl talk, Calliope and Tori parted ways. It was still early and the weather continued to be unseasonably warm, so Calliope took a drive around the lake.

And, okay, maybe she was checking to see if Wyatt was home, since his house was near the restaurant. She drove by his house, the one he’d built for him and Cassandra.

Technically this could be classified as stalking, but what the hell. It wasn’t like she was going to knock on his door. She loved his house.

It was a beautiful place nestled at the foot of the hills, surrounded by lush forest and the lake off to the left of the house. He’d built the house for him and Cassandra thinking they’d never have to move again. A two-story, it was big, rustic and gorgeous, with blue-and-gray trim and white gables.

Cassandra hated the house. She’d said it was too big, too remote. She hated the woods that backed up to the house, claimed it would draw wildlife.

Well, duh. That was the idea. Calliope could imagine watching deer while sitting on the back porch drinking coffee. How awesome would that be?

Their marriage had ended before the house had been finished. Wyatt had completed it anyway and moved in. She was surprised he hadn’t sold the place. It was kind of big for one person.

She’d never known two people more wrong for each other. But both had been so stubborn and determined to make it work. That relationship had
failure
stamped on it from the get go. They’d wanted different things out of life, but Cassie had wanted Wyatt, and Wyatt had been head over heels in love with Cassie, so they’d both been blind.

His truck was parked in the driveway, and the garage door was open. Wyatt was in the garage, and since he’d looked up when she drove by, there was no sense in pretending he hadn’t seen her. She pulled in behind his truck and got out.

He was under the hood of a pretty sweet muscle car—a Chevelle, maybe? It was some kind of Chevy. It was beaten up and had seen better days, but shades of its former glory could still be seen in the parts Wyatt was restoring. She didn’t know a whole lot about cars, but she knew a great engine when she saw it. He’d already dropped that in and was working on sanding a fender, his body once again sweaty, greasy and smelling like motor oil.

What a turn-on.

“This is nice. Is it yours?”

“No, I stole it. I work part-time for a chop shop.”

She leaned against the wall of the garage. “You’ve got a bit of the smartass in you, Wyatt.”

He lifted the safety glasses from his eyes and glared at her. “You stalking me, Calliope?”

“Maybe a little. You’ve been avoiding me.”

“Thank God you finally noticed.” He grabbed his can of beer and emptied it in three swallows.

Undeterred, she followed him into the house.

For a big place, it was ridiculously devoid of furniture. Sofa and chair in the living room, big-screen television and that was it. Small kitchen table with two chairs. Everything looked garage-sale quality.

He went into the kitchen and grabbed another beer. Just one.

“I’d love one. Thanks for offering.”

He frowned, then grabbed another and handed it to her.

“Thanks.” She popped the top off her beer, waiting to see if he’d head back out in the garage. He didn’t, instead took a couple long swallows and leaned against the counter, so she grabbed a stool at the bar and opened her beer, sipped and swiveled around to take a look at the house.

It was stunning despite the lack of furniture. High ceilings with natural wood beams. Tile and pale wood floors. Rustic, charming, and though it needed a few rugs and some decent furniture, it looked as though it had been made with a man’s handcrafted expertise—someone who had taken their time and used a keen eye for detail, from the carefully constructed stone fireplace to the cornice at the bottom of the staircase.

She swiveled back around to find Wyatt staring at her.

“The house is amazing, Wyatt. Can I see all of it?”

“Why?”

“Because if it’s anything like the family room, it takes my breath away.”

Wyatt didn’t want Calliope to like the house. He didn’t want to show her the house. But dammit, something inside him made him push off the counter and start walking.

She followed silently, murmuring her appreciation as they went.

Somewhere along the way she’d shed her coat. She wore a sweater that clung to her body, outlining her spectacular breasts, and jeans that looked like they’d been painted on. He was going to try really hard not to notice that, though he supposed it was already too late.

Concentrate on the house
. She only wanted to see the house. Quick tour and she’d be out of there.

Only it wasn’t a quick tour, because she’d pause occasionally to run her fingers along the wainscoting, an exposed beam or a doorknob—small touches he’d put some thought or effort into that Cassandra had never noticed.

Never appreciated.

Calliope noticed. Appreciated.

Something inside him clenched as she paused at the stairs and inspected the way the wood wrapped around itself. It had taken him weeks to do that staircase. He’d wanted something elegant, yet sturdy, something beautiful that Cassandra would appreciate, yet stairs that would stand the test of time—and maybe a houseful of kids.

Cassandra had blown right by the stairs and never said a word.

“It’s like music,” Calliope whispered, her fingers a light caress over the wood. Her gaze met his, and her lips lifted. “It’s amazing, Wyatt. You must have spent months on this.”

He didn’t know what to say, so he turned away and headed up, listening to the sound of her feet behind him.

The master bedroom was the only place he’d spent any money on, furniture-wise, since by the time he’d finished the house he and Cassandra were already divorced. He’d bought a big bed since he was a big guy, a double thick mattress and he’d made the headboard and footboard himself, grinding out his anger and frustration by creating the scrolled patterns in the wood.

Calliope leaned over and traced the pattern with her fingertips.

“This is beautiful. And the bed is so big.” She turned to him and arched a brow. “For your harem of women?”

“Funny.”

She wandered into the bathroom and gasped. “Oh my God. I’m moving in tonight and living in your bathroom.”

He couldn’t resist the smile as he entered the doorway and leaned against it.

“A tub made for four people. With whirlpool jets. And that decadent shower—Wyatt, that’s just dirty and sexy. I want to get naked and get in there right now.”

She was making his dick hard with that kind of talk and the corresponding visuals. He could already imagine her naked, the jets from all four showerheads spraying her, steam enveloping them both as he put his hands and his mouth all over her body…

Yeah. That train of thought had to stop. He turned around and left the room and started some complex algebra so his hard-on would go away.

He breathed in and out as he reached the top of the stairway.

“I always wanted to live in a big house,” she said, grasping the railing in the sitting area at the top of the stairs. “I used to pretend I was a commoner—which I was, of course. That I was forced into servitude, but someday I’d meet a prince and he’d fall madly in love with me and carry me away to his huge castle where we’d marry and have children and live happily ever after.”

When he didn’t say anything, she turned to him and laughed, then pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “I was a big fan of
Cinderella.
”

“Obviously.”

“And of course you’ve seen the house I grew up in. It wasn’t exactly a castle.”

Yeah, he had seen the house. It was a two-bedroom, about a thousand square feet. Small, built in the fifties. Calliope’s parents still lived in the same house they bought when they were first married—the house her grandparents used to own.

“My mom and dad never had a lot of money, but we had love and a sense of family. It was always enough.”

“For you, maybe.” Not for Cassandra. She’d always bitched about wanting to get away from that cracker-box house, how much she’d hated it and how confined she’d felt living there. He’d often wondered if she spent so much time at his house—and with him—more as an escape than because she really cared about him.

He wondered about a lot of things. Like why he’d built this huge house with everything Cassandra could have wanted—and she’d hated it anyway.

Calliope must have sensed his thoughts, because she laid her hand on his arm. “You can’t change the past, Wyatt. You have to let it go.”

“Yeah, well, it won’t let go of me.”

She pushed off the railing and moved in front of him. “Maybe you don’t distract yourself enough. Put something in your head besides my big sister.”

“Like what? Her little sister? That’s a little too close to home for me.”

She tilted her head back, and instead of anger he saw the same bright-eyed smile she always wore.

“You need to separate me from Cassandra. I’m not her.”

No, she wasn’t. Cassandra always pouted. She was never happy, was always moody and the slightest thing would set her off.

Wyatt had been nothing but rude to Calliope. So far, she’d been nothing but sweet to him.

He brushed his fingers across her cheek. “You can’t be real.”

She inhaled, her breasts rising. “I am real. And it’s about damn time you noticed me.”

“Oh, I’ve noticed you plenty.”

Her lips curved. “Have you? How?”

“I notice you’re driving me crazy.”

“Again. How?”

The invitation was obvious. One step and she’d be in his arms. He wanted to taste her so badly he licked his lips. Her gaze drifted to his mouth, then back to meet his eyes. The tightening in his jeans was almost unbearable.

It had been a really long damn time since he’d been with a woman. Hell, since he’d kissed a woman or touched one.

This woman in particular made him crazy.

And she was the wrong woman.

He took a step back instead of forward. “I need to get back to the car.”

He caught the flicker of disappointment before she replaced it with a smile. He’d hurt her and he hadn’t meant to. But he couldn’t be what she wanted. He wasn’t the man for her. She needed someone with an open heart, someone who’d appreciate her and be able to love her. Someone who wasn’t damaged and bitter.

That wasn’t him.

“Calliope.”

“It’s okay. I need to get home anyway.”

They headed downstairs. She grabbed her jacket from the counter and slid into it. If he were a gentleman he would have helped her with it.

He didn’t feel much like a gentleman right now, and if he got too close to her she wouldn’t be leaving his house tonight. He’d have her naked and in that shower so fast her head would spin. And after he worked out some of the boiling tension tightening his insides, he’d never see her again.

Yeah, not the right guy for her.

He adjusted his jeans and followed her out into the garage. She turned around to face him, and he took that step back again.

She noticed, and her lips curved.

“I’ll see you later.”

It wasn’t until she got into her car and pulled out of his driveway that he realized he’d been holding his breath. He wasn’t sure if it was because he wanted her to be gone, or because he was waiting for her to turn around and come back.

He exhaled on a curse, then dragged his fingers through his hair and turned to face the car. He picked up the sandpaper, determined to take out his sexual frustration on the fender.

The weather turned abruptly, their strange late November warmth obliterated by dark clouds and sharp wind that seemed to cut right through thick layers of clothing and heavy coats. The threat of snow hung in the air, and Calliope wondered how much work would be done on the addition before the bad weather moved in.

Wyatt and his guys had the framing finished, and had spent the past few days putting the roof on. Once that was done, the sheetrock would be next. Calliope hoped they’d get it all completed before it started to snow.

She’d already had to relocate the kids’ playroom to another section so Wyatt could cut the hole in the existing wall to make the doorway, and for safety’s sake the existing playroom was off limits until the project was completed. That meant they were crammed in like sardines in the other playroom. Not too bad when the weather was warmer and her staff could take the kids outside to run off some of that pent-up energy. Once it snowed, though, they’d all be stuck indoors together.

She wasn’t looking forward to that.

Marcy was sick today, which meant Calliope was in charge of the three-year-olds. She had them out in the play yard right now, a perfect location to let her watch Wyatt and his guys as they put up drywall.

The wind was blustery. She pulled her hat down to cover her eyes. The kids bounced around and squealed with joy. She was freezing. Wind was blowing out of the north and seemed to cut right through her jeans.

Where had that nice touch of sixty-degree weather gone? She wanted that back. Didn’t seem to bother Wyatt, though, who worked on the roof in a short-sleeved shirt. Just the thought of it added goose bumps to her goose bumps.

She wished she had the time to lean over the fence and watch him, but not only did she have to keep her eyes on the kids, he and his guys almost had the roof finished and would be going inside soon, so she’d lose sight of him.

Too bad. She did enjoy looking at him.

“Miss Calliope, Jeffrey won’t share the teeter-totter with me.”

She glanced down at Lawrence’s freckled face and smiled. “He won’t, huh?”

Lawrence shook his head.

She slipped her hand in his. “Let’s go see about that, shall we?”

Wyatt took a long swallow from his jug of water, trying not to watch Calliope with the kids.

It was hard not to be utterly taken in by the way she corralled a group of fifteen toddlers who couldn’t be more than three or four years old. The kids were rambunctious, screaming and running wild on the playground. Yet when she bent down and called a couple of them over, she had their rapt attention. She didn’t raise her voice, always smiled—like she did with him.

And she played with them. She didn’t stand around and supervise. She ran around the yard with them, she climbed on the equipment, and she squealed as loud as they did. When they tackled her and she fell, she laughed, then got up and chased them until they were giggling.

He’d bet they’d all take great naps today.

Calliope obviously loved her work. Though it didn’t appear to be work to her. It was clear she loved the kids, that it was more than a job to her.

Night and day difference from her sister. Cassandra had treated children like they all had communicable diseases. She’d wanted nothing to do with them, though he hadn’t known that when they’d gotten married.

They’d wanted so many different things. How could he have not seen it?

Enough. He pushed Cassandra away, which was getting easier than it used to be.

He was going to have to go inside the center to start work from the existing playroom into the newly constructed doorway, which meant avoiding Calliope wasn’t going to be an option.

He rang the bell at the front door. Beth the Bouncer, as he’d gotten used to calling her, opened the door and glared at him.

“I need to get to the playroom.”

She opened the door. “Stay on the plastic runner so you don’t spread that dust all over the floors.”

He found himself smiling at her brusque tone. It reminded him of himself. “Yes, ma’am.”

Kids were stuffed into the entryway, and stopped to gape at him.

“Who are you?” one little boy asked. He had dark curly hair and green eyes, with glasses. If Calliope had a son he’d probably look just like that.

He squatted down. “I’m Wyatt. I’m building a new room on to this place.”

“You have hammers and stuff?”

“I do.”

A little girl came up beside him. “You’re dirty. Miss Beth will make you wash up before you come inside.”

Wyatt lifted his gaze to Beth, who fought a smirk.

“And you’d better clean off your shoes, too,” another little boy said.

“Miss Calliope doesn’t care if you’re dirty. She likes dirt.”

“She gets dirty, too. She even plays in the mud with us.”

A lot of giggles, then they ran off, his novelty wearing off. He straightened and walked down the hall. He caught sight of Calliope in another room with a handful of kids. She was on the floor playing with blocks. She looked up, pushed her glasses up, smiled and waved at him.

He couldn’t help the smile that curved his lips or the involuntary wave back.

Or the warmth that filled him at seeing the way her eyes lit up when she saw him.

So she was Cassandra’s sister. So what? She was obviously attracted to him, and God knew he wanted her in a way that defied all logic or reason.

Then again, was it illogical or unreasonable to want to be with a woman who was positive, bubbly, friendly and obviously loved kids? Wasn’t Calliope the kind of woman he’d wanted all along, before he’d been seduced by the dazzling beauty of her sister?

Was that what he was afraid of—that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree? She didn’t seem at all like Cassandra—a one-eighty from her sister, in fact. Cassandra wouldn’t be caught dead with muddy handprints on her jeans, or chalk on her face. She wouldn’t spend five minutes of her day sitting on the floor coloring or reading a book to a bunch of three-year-olds. Getting dirty hadn’t been on Cassandra’s list of fun things to do at all.

He’d like to get dirty with Calliope. The thought of it had him hard and sweating, despite the dropping temperatures.

He’d let fear and failure rule him for so long he’d forgotten all the fundamentals. Like how to treat a woman. How to ask someone out on a date. How to let attraction take over and just go with it.

Why couldn’t Calliope be a woman he’d met at random? That would make this a lot easier, because every time he looked at her, he made the connection to Cassandra, and then the big bad of his past kept rushing back to him.

Which was all in his head and not in reality. Calliope had nothing to do with the failure of his marriage. Maybe it was time to separate the sisters, think of Calliope as an individual and give himself a freakin’ break.

But first he had to work. He focused his attention on the sheetrock and let Calliope slide to the background for a while.

Hours later, his crew had gone home and he was still in the center when he decided to call it quits for the night. The sheetrock had been finished. His crew had put up tarp on the outside to make sure any bad weather wouldn’t ruin the work they’d done.

Wyatt walked into the adjoining room on his way out the door, stopping dead at the window.

It was dark outside—and snowing like crazy. From his guess, there was a foot on the ground already. He grabbed his phone. 8:00 p.m. No wonder his stomach had been growling.

Damn, where had his head been, and why hadn’t Calliope come to tell him she needed to close up the center?

He saw a light on in her office so headed there.

Her back was turned as she studied her computer, furiously clacking the keys.

“You’re still here.”

She jumped, then swiveled in her chair. “Wyatt, you scared me to death. It was so quiet in here, and I saw you were still working after everyone left, so I decided to leave you alone.”

He leaned against the doorjamb. “You could have said something to me.”

She shrugged and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “I had reports to do anyway. I didn’t mind working late.”

“There’s a foot of snow on the ground.”

Her eyes widened. “Really?” She got up and swiveled open the blinds in her office. “Wow. I knew it looked like it might snow earlier. Had no idea it was going to come down so hard so fast.”

Now was his chance to not be an asshole for once. “Have you eaten?”

She lifted up a package of half-eaten peanut butter crackers. “A snack. How about you?”

“No.”

“You’re probably ready to get out of here then. I’ve locked the front door with the keys. I’ll let you out.” She grabbed the keys.

“You aren’t leaving?”

She stopped in front of him at the doorway. “Yes, but I need to shut the computer down and grab my stuff.”

“I’ll wait.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ll wait. Go shut down and grab your coat.”

“Okay. Thanks.” She went back to her desk, bent over her computer. He enjoyed the view of her butt as she did. She folded her crackers, slid them into the drawer and grabbed her coat, bag and keys.

“I need to turn off some lights around here, then I’ll be ready.”

He followed her around as she turned off the lights, checked doors to be sure they were locked and went to the front door. He grabbed her coat and held it out for her this time. She gave him a look as she slid her arms into it.

“Better zip it up. Winds are howling.”

She did, offering him up a smile. “Thanks.”

“Don’t you have a hat and gloves?”

“Yes. In my car.”

He shook his head, threw on his coat, then slipped his knit cap over her head and handed her his gloves. “Put those on.”

She looked down at the gloves, then at him. “But what about you?”

He cracked a smile. “I’m a pretty tough guy. I think I can handle it.”

Wyatt was being nice to her? That was a change. Calliope didn’t know what had come over him, but she wasn’t going to question this rare gift of him in a good mood.

She slipped the gloves on, giggling as they flopped in her hands since they were three sizes too big for her. She squeezed her fingers in them to keep them on while Wyatt pulled the door open.

The wind slammed them hard, tossing snow inside and knocking Calliope against him. He put his hand against her back to steady her.

“Wow, that’s some storm,” she said.

Wyatt took her keys, pulled the door shut and locked it, then put his arm around her and helped her down the stairs. She really wished she’d brought her boots in from the car, but she hadn’t expected an epic snowstorm. Now, snow slid into her socks and tennis shoes and she shivered.

It was hard to walk—at least for her. Wyatt had work boots on and had no problem. He grabbed her arm and led her to the street where her small car was buried.

She looked at the car. “Well, this will take some work. I have a shovel in the trunk.”

“You aren’t driving. We’ll take my truck.”

Snow had already covered his hair. It was coming down so fast she couldn’t even see, and she wasn’t about to argue with him. He led her over to the side street where his truck was parked. The effort to get there exhausted her. By the time he opened up the side door and helped her get in, her jeans and feet were soaked and freezing and she was shivering so hard her teeth chattered.

He turned on the truck’s engine and hit the heaters full blast, then went back outside with a scraper to clean off the windows while she stayed inside. Her feet and ankles stung from the cold.

She should have handed him his hat and gloves back. The temperatures had dropped outside and he was doing the work bare-handed and without a hat. He must be freezing.

He climbed back in and looked at her. “Put your seatbelt on.”

She did, noting his red hands. “You should have taken my gloves.”

“I’m fine. I’m used to working outside in all kinds of weather.”

He put the car in gear and pulled carefully away from the curb. The truck tried to fishtail, but Wyatt controlled it. The roads were hazardous, the snow thick and coming down so hard that even the windshield wipers on full blast couldn’t clear the whiteout conditions enough to see clearly.

Calliope sat quietly and let Wyatt concentrate on the road. He made the right turn and headed down the narrow street. She was glad her house was only a couple blocks from the center, and even making it that far was treacherous driving. There were no other cars on the road. This was a bad storm. He pulled into her driveway and she was glad it wasn’t uphill.

“Got your keys ready?” he asked when he turned the engine off.

She’d already tugged the gloves off and handed them back to Wyatt. “In my hand.”

Wyatt snagged the keys from her. “I’ll open the door. You put the gloves back on. And don’t get out of the car until I come over to your side to get you. You don’t have boots on.”

“You’re coming in with me, aren’t you? The roads are really bad out there.”

He gave her one of those “You’re kidding me, right?” looks that guys gave women sometimes when women thought men couldn’t do something—like climb a mountain. “My truck is four-wheel drive. I can make it.”

But she’d still worry like crazy about him being on the road. “I’ll make soup.”

“You’re on.”

She grinned and waited for him to come around and open the door for her, instantly shivering again as the cold blast of air, sleet and snow smacked her body. They made a mad dash for her front door—as much of a dash as two people could make in snow that deep. Wyatt unlocked the door and they rushed inside. He pushed the door shut and locked it.

She shuddered against the cold and stripped off the hat and her coat, then toed out of her soaked tennis shoes. “I need to change clothes.”

Wyatt stood on her front hall rug and did his best impression of a snowman. “I’m just going to stand here and defrost.”

She laughed. “You are not. Take your coat off and come into the kitchen. After I change clothes I’ll make us some coffee and get started on that soup.”

She ran into her bedroom and pulled off her wet clothes, grabbed some sweats and dry socks, then made a quick stop in the bathroom to check herself in the mirror.