Be Mine (14 page)

“Now it’s starting to make some sense,” he answered, looking squarely at me yet speaking to her.

The scuffle was over and I knew I should leave, but my feet didn’t want to go anywhere. I was entranced and awestruck by the man I now knew as Mac Callahan.

“Chuck,” he said, looking back and obviously reading his nametag. “I’ve been in a few scuffles in my time, and you, my friend, are one strong man.”

Chuck puffed out his chest and pulled his sagging pants up over his butt-crack. “Well, I try to keep these folks safe around here, and if a resident starts screaming I’m going in to take somebody down.”

“As you should, sir.”

“Okay, Callahan, is it?”

“Yes,” he agreed, taking another downward glance in my direction. “Mac Callahan, and I’d appreciate it if we could just forget the whole mess,” he added, running his hands through his hair.

“Yeah, sure,” conceded Chuck. “Just get the room numbers right. Okay?”

“Chuck my man, I can promise you that,” he laughed with a smile that lit up the world–maybe the universe.

He was flawless. Man-candy from head to toe. Mac Callahan was perfectly tall and thin, yet visibly muscular under his tailored linen suit. He had an amazing Adam’s apple that would glide like sex on a stick every time he laughed and tousled sandy locks that moved when he turned his head. He seemed unaware of his sexual magnitude, or maybe he didn’t bother to care. Mother of God and all that’s holy, he was hotter than hell and half of Alabama. This man could be perfect. He probably was perfect – unless he was married.

He flashed another smile my way and I buried my nose into the new hire folder in my hands. I couldn’t conceal my own grin, let alone look away from his. I was so into this god of a man, I didn’t even notice the entire hallway had cleared from the scuffle.

He brushed his pant leg down. Bingo. No wedding ring, but he wore a gold ring on his right hand.

“Hello,” he chimed, extending his hand in my direction. “Mac Callahan.”

My first instinct was to kiss his hand, like he was the Pope or a king. Instead, I opened my mouth, my brain seemingly unaware of what I was about to say. “Oh…my…stars, yes.” The words slipped past my tongue before I could reel them in. “I’m sorry,” I blushed and quickly shook his hand. “I didn’t say…” I continued, my lips tripping on every syllable. “I mean, I didn’t
mean
to say that. At least not…out loud.”

“No,” Mac crooned, flashing a killer yet slightly crooked smile, “It’s okay. I wouldn’t expect anything less from a Southern girl after I’ve dropped a two hundred fifty pound security officer in the middle of a nursing home.”

“Luxury healthcare facility,” I corrected, giving him a smile of my own, trying to recoup what little bit of dignity I had left.

“Is that what we’re calling it these days?”

“According to our marketing materials, yes.”

“Nice,” he oozed, walking with me as I began to leave. “So if you work here, maybe you could direct me to the D wing. That way I won’t charge in on anymore unsuspecting folks lounging in luxury.”

“What makes you think I work here?”

“Well, you said
our
marketing materials, so I was just putting two and two together.”

I stopped and turned to face him. His green eyes were radiant, hypnotizing me immediately. “I’m sorry,” I gibbered. “What was the question?”

He laughed and I watched as his Adam’s apple rose and fell with each sound. I felt weak in the knees and my face was on fire.

“I was wondering if you would be so kind as to direct me to the D wing, Miss…?”

“Oh, sure,” I agreed, walking again, watching my feet take each step. “You really weren’t too far from your mother. It can get confusing in here if you don’t know your way. The B and the D wings are identical. Well, almost–for obvious reasons” I tossed my hair, amazed at how easily the flirting was coming back to me considering I’d embarrassed myself to hell and back.

“Well, it wasn’t too obvious to me,” he conceded, making unyielding eye contact. “But I would scuffle with Chuck the rent-a-cop all over again if it meant that you would escort me to the D wing, Miss…?

“Samantha…Peterson. Sam.”

“Samantha Peterson.” It rolled off his tongue like ice cream on a warm day and made me blush all over again. We turned, following the sign to the D wing. “The pleasure has been all mine, Sam Peterson.”

I loved how he lingered on the word “all”, reminding me that Southern men really were no match for any other. “It’s nice to meet you too, Mac…” I paused, putting it together. “Callahan.”

“I hope to see you again soon,” he whispered quietly as he took my hand and quickly kissed it. “But under less combative circumstances.”

“Yes,” I stuttered, shocked by the jolt running through my body as his lips touched my skin. “That would be nice.”

“Mac,” he reminded me with a wink.

I swallowed hard and nodded in agreement, completely undone by him.

He turned and walked down the long elegant hallway. I only watched for a split second, trying not to ogle his fabulous man-parts, but they were just that – fabulous – like the rest of him.

What was wrong with me? This wasn’t me. I didn’t behave like a schoolgirl jonesing for the hot dude by his locker. I was a mother, a widow for crying out loud. But just for the moment, I felt like a woman in lust. And I loved the feeling.

MAC

“G
ood morning, Momma,” I chimed as I walked through the door to her suite at Autumn Valley.

“Hello, Mr. Callahan,” barked the nurse from the corner. “How are you, sir?”

“Fine.” I slid into a chair next to Mom. “More importantly, how is my momma today?”

“Miss Nancy?” The nurse raised her voice and looked directly at my mother. “Your son is here to see you. Isn’t that nice?”

Mom looked at the nurse with confusion. I swallowed hard. I hated seeing my once vibrant mother this way.

“She’s having a good day today,” the nurse confirmed, touching my shoulder. “I’ll leave you so you can have a visit. Call me if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” I sighed, watching Momma intently.

I moved my chair so that I faced her directly and took both of her hands in mine, noticing she was wearing her favorite ring–a large princess cut emerald. A gift from my father before they were married, it dwarfed her tiny hand. She had aged, but looked as beautiful as ever to me. She still retained her air of refinement, though she only became totally lucid and free from the Alzheimer’s that gripped her every now and again. She was dressed impeccably, as always, in a cashmere sweater set complete with a strand of pearls. Her hair was tightly brushed into a short ponytail, her signature style. The people of Autumn Valley took excellent care of her.

“Momma?” I searched her face. “It’s Mac.”

She concentrated on me, questioning…studying. “Good morning, Mac sweetheart,” she said, softly patting my hands.

“Good morning!” I exclaimed, standing from my chair to kiss the top of her head with excitement. “How are you feeling today?”

“Mac, you look tired, honey. Are you studying too much?” She cupped my chin in her hand. Her gentle touch had grown softer as she aged and she handled my face like a delicate piece of china.

“Mom, I’m not…” I kissed her hands as I took them from my face. “No, I’m not studying too much. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Tell me how you’ve been, son.”

“I’m good,” I said, easing into what felt so familiar. She might have thought I was still in school, but at least she knew who I was. “I’m sorry I haven’t been to see you more often.”

“It’s okay, honey. Your dad and I sure do miss you.”

I felt my shoulders drop. I debated whether to tell her Dad was gone, or to just let it go. I let it go. “I miss you, too. But I’m here now, and I’d love a nice long visit. Are you feeling up to that?”

“Of course, darlin’.” Her words were like a sweet breeze flowing over me. I missed her ladylike ways and her delicate Southern accent that seemed to transcend time. “Tell me everything, dear. You know I love hearing about your escapades. Any young ladies you’d like to chat about? Maybe one in particular?”

“Unfortunately no, Momma,” I laughed, trying to keep the subject of my love life on the light side.

“Don’t worry, honey,” she smiled and patted my hand. “There’s someone very special out there praying for you to arrive, like a knight in shining armor.”

“You’re thinking of Dad,” I sighed, knowing how she felt about my late father.

“I’m thinking of
you
,” she smiled. “There’s someone waiting to be loved by you.”

I could only nod my head at the notion. The problem was I loved women. I loved everything about them. And I wasn’t partial to one type. Blonde, brunette, redhead – they were all special. But I’d never been
in
love. Love wasn’t my thing – never had been. For me, love was a foreign country or city–like Paris. I knew where it was. I’d been there many times and even spoke the language. But I wasn’t and never would be French. So like a tourist, I visited
love
, but never stayed.

Instead I focused on my career. I’d done some good work for the FBI, moving up the ranks quickly. Still, I was restless and unfulfilled. I was living a Hollywood storyline: crime, guns and hot women all over me. And yet it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

My parents taught me to give my all and my word to my loved ones. Career came third after God and family. By those standards, I was a two-time loser.

I’d tried to find a girl. I’d tried to make it work. It was never a heart crushing, mind-blowing kind of love, but the night I discovered I wasn’t the only FBI agent she was bedding was almost the end of me. Her accidental iPhone pocket dial turned into a three-way – the two of them screwing, and me listening. The whole episode gave new meaning to the term phone sex. Soon after, my mantra changed. Get in, get off, and get out. This, of course, carried its own set of problems and guilt.

“You look so handsome today, Mac,” she crooned. “I’m so glad to see you wearing your ring.”

I sighed and glanced at my hand, slipping the ring from my finger. “I am.”

A gift from my father and a Callahan tradition, the ring was our family crest. After I graduated from Cornell, my father gave it to me to remind me where I came from. I left it in Shadeland after dad died, when I realized it would be a constant reminder that I would never have a son of my own. I glanced at the inscription inside:
Filius est pars Patris
.

“The son is part of the father,” I said, slipping it back on my hand and taking hers again.

“How’s Lone Oak? Miss Celia? Timms?” Momma questioned without taking a breath. She knew I didn’t want to discuss the ring or the inscription.

“Lone Oak is beautiful as always, and Celia and Timms seem good,” I answered knowing she missed the centuries old plantation we called home. “Timms picked me up from the airport.”

“He’s such a good man, Mac,” she said, reflecting on her past.

“The best,” I agreed.

“I don’t know what I’d do without my Timms,” Momma smiled.

Jacob Timms had been my parents’ long-time driver and all around supervisor of the estate. He was retired now that my dad had died and Mom no longer lived at home. He never seemed to be around, yet was always there when you needed him.

The Timms family had worked for the Callahans for generations. It was still the way of the old South. Families bound to families for years. My D.C. friends would frown upon the idea, but Southern folks didn’t jump from housekeeper to housekeeper or change nannies on a whim. Here in the South, and especially in the Callahan household, the people who lived and worked beside us were family. And you never forgot your obligations to or disrespected your family.

“Miss Celia?” Momma questioned.

“She’s good,” I smiled, thinking about the housekeeper who’d practically raised me, and rarely called me anything but baby. “She had sweet tea and fried chicken waiting for me last night when I arrived.”

“It’s so good to have you home, Mac.”

“It’s good to be home, Momma. I’m glad I finally found your room.”

Her face filled with life and laughter as I told her about walking into the wrong room and how Chuck wanted to use a Taser gun on me.

“So there we were, wrestling in the floor outside this poor woman’s room,” I described with animation. Mom always loved a great story, and she had been so good at telling her own. “I’m telling this security guard who I am and that I’m here to see you…”

“Oh no, Mac, you’re telling tales, this didn’t happen,” she laughed and shook her head. It was great to see her happy.

“Yes ma’am, it most certainly did.”

“Mac, you are the most precocious boy ever.” She took my hand. “Whatever am I going to do with you?”

“Love me?” I asked with a smile.

“You know I do.”

It was our usual exchange for as long as I could remember. From throwing a baseball through the church window in kindergarten, to my Cornell graduation day, her stock question remained the same:
Whatever am I going to do with you?

“Tell me another story,” she coaxed, her face still alive with laughter.

“I love a good story,” chimed a voice from the doorway.

I turned to see what I assumed to be Mom’s doctor making his way into the suite.

“Good morning, Miss Nancy,” he announced without looking from the chart he carried in his hand. “I’m Dr. Kingston Giles. I’m your new doctor at Autumn Valley.”

He stepped into the light of the room. “Son of a bitch.” I stood in astonishment. “King Giles.”

“McKay Waverly Callahan,” Momma scolded. “Watch your language, young man.”

“Yes, ma’am. My apologies,” I pleaded and turned to King.

“Mac,” King drawled, giving me a firm handshake and slap on the arm.

I hadn’t seen King since Cornell. The only two boys in Ithaca, New York from Shadeland, Alabama, we graduated together before going our separate ways. King to med school at Johns Hopkins, and me to Harvard for law school. Two overachievers from the same hometown with prominent families, we were friends, yet fierce competitors.