Callan's Proposition. Barbara McCauley
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“We’ve been so excited ever since we heard the good news.”
“Oh, Aunties, I’m so sorry, but—”
“—we just haven’t found the right one yet,” Callan finished for her. He gave her shoulder a big squeeze. “Something that important has to be perfect, don’t you think?”
Startled, Abby stared up at Callan. What in the world was he talking about?
“Absolutely.” Emerald gave an approving nod. “Mustn’t rush things like that and be sorry for it later.”
Ruby’s expression was thoughtful. “Well, you know, Em, your second marriage with Artemus was rather hasty, may he rest in peace, but you have a lovely two-karat solitaire to remember him by.”
“Not nearly as lovely as that three-karat cluster your third husband gave you,” Emerald replied. “That puppy was the size of a Volkswagen, bless the man’s heart.”
They smiled in fond remembrance, sighed, then quickly turned their attention back to Abby and Callan.
“We’ve love to stay and chat, dear,” Emerald said, and gave her niece a pat on the cheek, “but the taxi is waiting. We’ll call you when we get settled in town.”
“You aren’t staying with me?” Abigail asked incredulously.
“Of course not.” Ruby batted her eyes at Callan. “We wouldn’t dream of imposing.”
Since when? Abigail wondered. Her aunts loved to impose. And the one time she wanted them to, they weren’t? “But—”
“Don’t you worry about us, darling.” Emerald slipped her arm through Ruby’s. “We have rooms at a quaint little place in town. Squire’s Tavern and Inn. The travel agent said that the accommodations and food there are five-star.”
Abigail wasn’t sure about the accommodations or food, but she could personally vouch that the drinks there were at least five-star. She was currently seeing dozens of stars from the drink she’d had there last night.
She groaned silently, remembering that Reese Sinclair owned the inn. It would only be a matter of time before her aunts learned the truth, and Abigail Thomas would be the laughingstock of Bloomfield County. I’ll change my name. Move to a small mountain town. Dye my hair and have plastic surgery.
Gauze flowing, her aunts were halfway to the door when Ruby called over her shoulder, “We insist you both join us at the tavern for lunch. One o’clock sharp, dears. Emmy and I can’t wait to hear all the details of how you two got together.”
“Aunties, wait.” Abigail slipped out from under the arm Mr. Sinclair had draped around her shoulders and started after her aunts, but he caught hold of her hand and held her beside him.
“We’ll be there,” he said cheerfully and waved.
Bracelets clacking, Emerald and Ruby waved back, then exited the room with all the grace and grandeur of royalty.
Abigail closed her eyes, praying this was all a nightmare that she could now awaken from, and her boring little life could go right back to boring. She slowly opened her eyes.
Mr. Sinclair’s face was no more than a foot from hers, and the hint of a smile touched his lips. She sucked in a breath as she stared at that mouth. It was much too close to her own.
“There,” he said casually. “That wasn’t so bad, now, was it?”
“Wasn’t so bad?” Moaning, she pulled her hand away from his and sank down on the couch. “I didn’t tell them the truth about us, and now we’re supposed to meet them for lunch? In a public place? That happens to be my definition of bad, Mr. Sinclair. Very bad.”
She fell sideways and covered her head with a floral, fringed throw pillow.
“Abby, first of all, if we’re going to pull this off, you’re going to have to stop calling me Mr. Sinclair. And you’re certainly going to have to loosen up a little. You stiffen up like a board every time I get close to you.”
“Pull what off?” she said into the pillow. “And what do you mean, I stiffen up? I do not.”
“Yes, you do,” he replied. “Now sit up.” She shook her head, then felt the couch dip as he sat beside her. Well, maybe she did stiffen up just a little, she thought, and buried her head deeper under the pillow. “Please go away.”
“I’m not going away.” His finger brushed her cheek when he parted the fringe covering her face. “I’m going to sit right here until you talk to me.”
“I can’t.” She tried to ignore the feel of his callused finger on her cheek and the shiver working its way up her spine. “After what I did last night, I can’t ever talk to, or even look at you, again. In fact, I’m moving to Alaska.”
He chuckled. “And what exactly is it that you think you did?”
Still refusing to look at him, she held up her hand and extended her index finger. “One, I told my aunts that you were my fiancé. Two—” her second finger came up “—I got drunk. Three, I…I—”
She groaned into the pillow. Oh, God. She couldn’t even say she’d nearly stripped for him, let alone believe she’d actually done it.
“Abby.” He said her name softly, then took hold of her shoulders and pulled her upright. When she kept the pillow pressed to her face, he tugged it away from her. “It’s okay to let loose once in a while. You didn’t do anything to be embarrassed about.”
“Easy for you to say.” She still refused to look at him. “You weren’t the one who made an idiot out of yourself.”
Her pulse jumped when he put a finger under her chin and tilted her face up. A midnight shadow of beard covered the lower portion of his face, and one thick shock of dark hair fell over his forehead. The rough texture of his finger under her chin sent an army of tiny shivers marching through her.
“You didn’t make an idiot out of yourself,” he said gently. “Actually you were kind of cute.”
“Cute?” She blinked at him. “Mr. Sinclair, please don’t patronize or lie to me.”
He shook his head. “I’m not lying or patronizing. Now say my name.”
“Mr. Sinclair?”
“Callan, or Cal, if you prefer.”
“Why?”
He sighed. “You want your aunts to go on their trip and not move in with you, right?”
“Well, yes, I—”
“Then I’m your man.”
“What?”
“You told me that your aunts think you need a man, right?”
She felt her cheeks burn. “Well, I suppose I may have said—”
“So for the two weeks your aunts are here, I’m your man, Abby.”
“You’re my man?” she whispered.
He nodded. “For two whole weeks, I’m all yours.”
Abigail suddenly found it hard to breathe, let alone speak. Her mind felt sluggish and heavy, but she knew it had nothing to do with the alcohol she’d consumed last night and everything to do with the touch of Callan’s finger on her chin and the way he’d said, “I’m all yours.”
She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“I want you back, Abigail,” he said firmly. “And if that means pretending to be your fiancé for a few days, then fine. We’ll make your aunts happy, and after they leave, everything will go back to normal.”
Normal? He actually thought that they could pretend to be engaged, and after her aunts left, they could go back to normal? She didn’t