More to Give (An Anchor Island Novel) Read online

  “I was going to ask you about that.” Callie pulled her coat tighter as the wind off the ocean hit them full-on. “I’d like to donate them somewhere, but I wasn’t sure if you’d approve.”

  She made him sound like an ogre.

  “There’s a homeless shelter over in James City that could use the bedding and towels. The curtains could be recycled, and everything else I’d like to send back to Charleston. My mother does charity drives, and they can always use items for the auctions.”

  Callie hesitated, falling a step behind him. Sam stopped to wait, turning to see what held her up. To her wide-eyed stare he said, “What?”

  With a shake of her head, Callie stepped forward, keeping pace once again. “Nothing.”

  He wasn’t letting her off that easy. “Don’t ‘nothing’ me,” he said. “What did you think I was going to say?”

  Brows drawn, Callie shrugged. “I don’t know, but not that.”

  Reminding himself that playing the role of a jerk was his idea, Sam glanced to the left as they crossed the street. The inn and Peabody Cottage were the only structures at the end of this dead-end lane, but you never knew who might venture this way to take in the view.

  “I’ll get an address from Mother and pass it on to Yvonne. She already has the information for the homeless shelter.” They’d donated the discarded items from the Anchor renovation to the same facility, something he didn’t bother to tell Callie. “I’m sure she can set up the shipping whenever the items are ready to go.”

  They traveled the remaining distance to the cottage in silence, Callie taking the lead up the driveway and through the front door.

  “There’s a man in our midst. There’s a man in our midst,” echoed the bird. Sam wondered how many phrases the creature had in his repertoire.

  “Say hello to Mr. Sam, Cecil,” Callie said, removing her coat and offering to take his. “You met him a few weeks ago, remember?”

  Did she always talk to the bird as if it understood every word she said?

  “Right. Right. Hunky man Mr. Sam. Cecil needs a cracker.”

  Callie hung their coats over the back of the couch. “You had a cracker before I left.”

  “I’m telling Mother.” The parrot puffed up, as if putting all his plumage behind the threat.

  “Good luck with that,” Callie said, turning her attention to Sam. “You want to hang out in the kitchen while I make the coffee, or stay in here with Cecil?”

  As tempting as it was to test the limits of the pet’s vocabulary, Sam opted for the kitchen. “I’ll follow you.”

  She once again led the way, and Sam took in the small changes she’d made as they passed through the cottage. The large blue chair had been moved closer to the window. A few family photos were scattered along the end tables and bookshelves, and an old quilt was draped over the end of the couch opposite their coats.

  “I see you’re making yourself at home,” he said, genuinely happy to see life back in the cottage. As it should be.

  Glancing over her shoulder, Callie asked, “Was I not supposed to?”

  “No,” Sam replied. “It’s your house for now. You should make it your own.”

  Reaching the cupboard, Callie pulled down a canister and plopped a filter packet into the top of the coffee machine. “About that,” she said.

  “About what?” Sam was distracted by watching her move around the kitchen as if she belonged there. As if she’d lived there forever.

  “The ‘for now’ part,” she said, replacing the canister and pulling two mugs from the next cupboard over. Turning to face him, she leaned a hip on the edge of the counter. “I wasn’t going to bring this up, but I realize I need to know. Will I have a job here once this project is over?”

  CHAPTER 13

  Sam looked as if she’d punched him, and Callie wondered if maybe being direct wasn’t the best approach. As much as she didn’t want to ruin this job, she couldn’t find herself unemployed again at Christmas and end up right back where she’d been before this chance came along. If she needed to line up job leads for the new year, it was better to know now than to be an idiot and wait until the last minute.

  Floundering like a fish desperate for air, Sam opened and closed his mouth several times before finally getting out a “huh” and tapping his chin.

  “I guess that’s my answer,” Callie said, turning her attention to the tea. She’d wanted to know, and now she did. As usual, she’d learned the “careful what you wish for” lesson the hard way.

  “Do you want to stay on?” Sam asked. Callie couldn’t tell from his tone whether he was asking because the job was open to her or out of mere curiosity.

  Callie went with honesty. “I’m not sure. Do you want me to stay?”

  They sounded like a pair of prepubescents trying to ask each other to a dance.

  “I didn’t think you’d be willing to stick around,” Sam said, which didn’t really answer her question. “You transition hotels. If you stay on when this one is finished, then you’d be giving that up.”

  It was something she’d thought about. Callie would miss the design aspect, but the inn would require regular freshening. A change of linens. New area rugs when the current ones wore out. And there would be event planning. Being involved in making someone’s big day go off without a hitch might be a trade-off worth giving up the constant grind and pressure of the massive renovation projects.

  Not that weddings didn’t come with their own stress. The details of a design were what Callie loved the best. Those details would still be there when she was designing an event instead of a hotel lobby.

  Before Callie could say what she was thinking, Sam said, “I’d think this island would be too small for you.”

  Callie poured the coffee into Sam’s mug. “I could say the same about you.”

  There. She’d asked. Sort of. He’d really brought it up.

  Sam didn’t respond right away. In an effort to make it appear she wasn’t all that interested in his answer, she asked, “Cream and sugar?”

  “Lots of cream,” Sam said. “A little sugar.” He glanced over her shoulder as she poured in the creamer. “That’s good. Thanks.”

  She slid the mug and sugar bowl his way so he could put in as much as he wanted. With her back to the counter, Callie blew softly across the top of her tea, waiting for Sam to finish. Once he’d slid the bowl to the back of the counter, she repeated her question.

  “So?” she said. “What made you leave the big city for this tiny island?”

  Blue-gray eyes met hers briefly. “I got an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

  Since she knew he’d inherited the hotels, his answer didn’t make much sense. But his evasion was an obvious sign he didn’t want to get specific. So she changed the subject.

  “What was your Uncle Morty like?”

  Dark brows drew together. “How do you know about Uncle Morty?”

  “Olaf mentioned him,” Callie said. “A lot of the crew knew him, and they’ve been sharing stories with me.”

  Sam set his mug on the counter with a thud. “Then you know what he was like.”

  She’d apparently hit a nerve. “I know he was well loved on the island. That he was very active in the community. And that he owned the Anchor and Sunset Harbor Inns before you took over.”

  A muscle ticked in Sam’s jaw. “That sums it up. But the next time you want to know something, ask me, not the locals.”

  Callie bristled. “I didn’t ask anyone anything. I told you, Olaf brought him up.”

  “Olaf needs to work more and talk less.” Sam crossed his arms.

  If the man was looking for a fight, she would not indulge him. Not again.

  “Sam,” Callie said, “they all loved your uncle. I’m not sure why talking about him bothers you, but I promise they don’t have a bad word to say about him. He sounds like a
lovely man.”

  The ticking slowed. A little. “He was,” Sam said. “When he wasn’t trying to get his own way.”

  She was going to need a translator to understand that one. Since none was readily available, she let the subject drop. Sam seemed relieved as he lifted his coffee mug to take a drink.

  “I’m guessing you’re not as active in the community?” Callie had found it curious that Sam knew none of the locals with whom she’d managed to become acquainted in a matter of weeks. On an island this small, a person would have to make a concerted effort not to know his neighbors after living among them for three years.

  “I’m an active member of the Merchants Society,” he said. “I don’t have much time for socializing.”

  The picture was starting to come together. “So, you don’t like the picnics in the park, you complain that the festive events sound like noise, and you don’t have time for socializing.” Callie nodded like a wise man on a rock. “I see.”

  “You see what?”

  “You’re antisocial.”

  “I am not.”

  “Do you work evenings?”

  “No.”

  “But you have no time to socialize.”

  She knew she’d won when his mouth did the dying-fish impression again. Callie let him flounder while she sipped her tea, then said, “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. There are lots of people who feel insecure in social situations.”

  Callie knew this statement didn’t describe Sam at all. Back in the day, he could work a room better than any politician in the great state of South Carolina. That meant there had to be a good reason he wasn’t engaging his fellow man on Anchor Island.

  “I’m starting to think you’re the one lacking in social skills.” Sam looked incredulous. “Did you just call me insecure?”

  “You’re avoiding people for a reason,” she said with a nonchalant shrug.

  “I’m not avoiding anything.”

  “Then you’ll come with me tonight?”

  “Then . . . ,” Sam stammered, “I’ll what?”

  “I’ve been invited to a small gathering.” She’d dreaded attending what Will had assured her would be a casual dinner and drinks, but if she had Sam with her, at least Callie wouldn’t arrive alone. And he really did need to socialize. As far as she could tell, most islanders did not have a positive opinion about the buttoned-up hotelier. “You can come with me. Dinner is at six.”

  “I’m not going to dinner with a bunch of strangers.”

  “I believe you know these ones,” she said, brushing aside his protest. “The dinner is at Will Parsons’s place. I know you know her. You probably know her fiancé as well, since I think he owns a couple of businesses.”

  “Randy Navarro,” he said.

  “That’s his name.”

  “I’m still not intruding on—”

  “I’ll be there to help you get through it.” Callie set her mug in the sink. “Think of it as a trial run. Your first step to getting out more.”

  “You’ll help me through . . . I don’t need . . .”

  Callie strolled out of the kitchen, leaving Sam to stay or follow. “Will says it’s casual.” She stopped near the front door to see that he’d indeed followed her. She assessed his dress pants and shiny brown shoes. “Do you own a pair of jeans?”

  “First you’re going to tell me where I’m going, then you think you can tell me what to wear?”

  “Jeez,” Callie said, holding her hands up in surrender. “Wear what you want, but be here by five forty-five.” She pulled the door open with a smile. “I’ll be ready.”

  Looking unhappy and a bit battle-worn, Sam huffed. “Fine. Five forty-five.” Then he marched through the door.

  If Sam had been a religious man, he’d have sworn Morty had sent Callie to torture him. His uncle may have been more affectionate than the parents Sam had grown up with, but he was still Sam’s mother’s brother, and the absolute determination to have his way ran deep in the bloodline.

  Which was probably why Sam was so determined not to do anything that even hinted at pleasing someone else. So why in the hell had he agreed to accompany Callie to this dinner party? Sam hadn’t done the fake-smile, bad-wine, mix-and-mingle thing since he’d come to Anchor. He had to admit, that was one positive of this miniature hamlet. Less of the pretense he’d never enjoyed about his previous jobs.

  Sam was a sucker for a challenge. He got a rush out of taking something everyone else dismissed and transforming it into what no one believed it could be. That was one of the reasons he’d pursued the boutique route for the Sunset. Anchor Island was known as more of a roughing-it island destination, not the kind of place where one would expect to find a boutique anything.

  No one except Sam.

  And once the project was finished, he’d have done his duty. Both of Uncle Morty’s properties would be completely renovated, operating as he’d always dreamed they would and offering what Anchor needed to keep tourists coming to her shores.

  Which meant Sam should be able to return to his life. To walk away instead of being tied to this speck of sand for two more years.

  Damn it.

  “I see your mood hasn’t improved,” Callie said in greeting as she opened the cottage door. “I’m sure you’ll feel better once we get there.”

  “I feel fine,” he said, and he meant it. Once his temper had flared out, Sam recognized what Callie had done. Which was another reason he imagined Morty had put her in his path. A little push of that button, a little pull of that string, and the puppet would do what you wanted.

  The only reason Sam hadn’t stood her up was that he didn’t believe Callie was being malicious in her manipulations. She didn’t know how much he wanted to leave the island. Didn’t know he’d kept himself apart for a reason.

  Doubtless, she thought he was lonely and that getting him out would do him good. It wasn’t Callie’s fault her impression was completely off. He certainly hadn’t done anything to show her differently, and Sam didn’t intend to, either.

  When Callie stepped out of the cottage, pulling the door closed behind her, Sam moved to the side to let her walk in front of him. But instead of heading toward the car, she once again looked him up and down. “You do own a pair of jeans.”

  With a smirk, Sam said, “And I wore them, as ordered. Happy?”

  He had debated wearing the jeans, but to have refused would have been juvenile, and Sam would not give Callie the satisfaction of saying so.

  “I don’t know,” she said, tapping the side of her chin. “Turn around.”

  “I’m not prancing around this porch for your amusement.”

  A mischievous grin danced across her face. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

  Heat trailed up Sam’s neck, reaching the tips of his ears in seconds. He was thankful for the darkness surrounding them as they walked away from the porch light. Sam was not a man prone to blushing.

  “I have the address written down,” Callie said as he opened the car door for her. “I planned to use my GPS until I remembered the no-service thing.”

  Sam caught the scent of Callie’s perfume on the breeze and resisted the urge to lean into it. She smelled like a sugar cookie. His favorite.

  “I know where it is,” he said before closing the door.

  As Sam circled the vehicle, he sent up a prayer that the night would go by quickly. He worried that being in close proximity to the woman in his passenger seat for very long would be more temptation than even he could resist.

  Especially when she smelled good enough to eat.

  That thought alone threatened to short-circuit his system.

  As he climbed behind the wheel, Callie put a hand on his arm. The overhead light revealed an apologetic smile. “I really do appreciate your doing this. I’m not sure I’d have mustered up the courage to walk into this
thing alone.”

  Sam nodded, because all he could think about was how glossy her lips looked, and whether she’d believe him if he said he’d kissed her only to see what they tasted like.

  “No problem,” he said, talking more to himself than to Callie. He could do this. All he had to do was keep his hands off her. And not look at her lips. And not breathe in.

  Piece of cake.

  The moment they walked through the door, Callie was relieved to have Sam by her side. Not that they were officially on any kind of date, but the party consisted of three couples—Will and Randy; Beth and her husband, Joe Dempsey; and Sid and her fiancé, Lucas Dempsey—which meant Callie would have very much been the odd woman out.

  Exactly as she’d feared. After Sam had left that afternoon, she’d felt a little bad about how she’d coerced him into coming with her. Or maybe “bulldozed” was a better word for it. But the man really did need to get out more. He was a prominent business owner on this island. He should be part of the community. As he’d been six years ago, before both their lives had imploded with one blown tire and the death of two unfaithful people.

  Was that why Sam didn’t inject himself into this community? Was he refusing to let people in so no one could hurt him like that again?

  Callie dismissed the thought as quickly as it came. That was the coward’s way, and Sam was no coward.

  “You won me five dollars,” Will said, handing Callie a glass of white wine.

  Will and Randy’s home looked rustic and quaint from the outside but was startlingly different on the inside. An open floor plan linked the kitchen, dining, and living areas, with clean, contemporary furnishings accented by a Far East piece here and there.

  The home emanated elegance and simplicity but somehow offered warmth as well. Callie was eying a particularly beautiful white sculpture on the fireplace mantel as she accepted the drink. As if hanging in suspended animation, a tall, slender female figure stood regal with her head tilted to one side and her long, flowing dress dancing around her.