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Miranda’s eyes were full of longing. “I can understand that—I wouldn’t care about the wet though.”
She’d grown up in the country, he knew. “You miss it, don’t you?”
“I have fond memories of living there. Just the—” she broke off “—the ending wasn’t so nice.”
Callum knew her home had been auctioned off after her father’s suicide—along with most of the furniture and valuables. He’d done what he’d could to help patch up the shambles of her parents’ finances but it hadn’t been enough.
“I think one of the worst things was saying goodbye to Troubadour.”
“Troubadour?”
“My horse. I’d had him since I was thirteen and he was rising three. I loved that horse.”
Another loss.
Her father. Her home. Her horse.
Everything she’d loved. Everything dear and familiar to her. Gone.
Callum fell silent and dug into the bacon and egg pie as if he was waging a battle.
“Look, I don’t know how we got into such distressing topics.” She made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “It’s too depressing—especially so near to Christmas.”
He laid down his knife and fork. “I think we do need to talk about it,” he said gently. He wanted to reach out and touch the hands he suspected would be ice-cold despite the warmth of the inn’s fire.
“I’d rather not.” She inhaled audibly, and gave him a very fake and, to his mind, a very brave smile. “It’s not practical to live in the country. London is where the work is.”
Her deliberate changing of the subject warned Callum that the past still affected her deeply.
Would she ever be able to let it go?
A restless edginess shook him. He faced the fact that she might never do so. And that would leave them forever estranged. The realization was akin to looking down into a long, dark tunnel, one without a glimpse of day at the other side.
He wasn’t ready to exist in perpetual darkness. He’d find a way to see the sunlight on the other side. Because the notion of never holding her again, never making love to her, was one he wasn’t ready to accept.
It left him with no choice. She was going to hate him for reopening the wounds, but if he didn’t, he might as well kiss any chance of having her back in his bed goodbye now. Without resolving the past, they had no future.
However, now was probably not the best time to address it. Taking the conversational olive branch she’d offered, he gestured around. “The big money might be in London, but surely there are enough places like this where you could have the country lifestyle you want?”
“Maybe, but I never wanted to be an innkeeper—” she pulled a face that he found rather endearing “—or a café owner. I’d be perfectly happy catering for an array of the rich and famous.”
He laughed but his eyes remained fixed on her. “Is that what you really want?”
Her lips firmed. “What I really want isn’t possible, so I live with what is.”
She wanted her father back. “Look, about your father—”
“You’ve already apologized. Let’s leave it there.” She glanced down, her lashes forming dark shadows against her creamy skin, and her body had gone very still.
Callum couldn’t leave it—it pervaded their whole relationship.
Three years ago he’d been appointed to the board as financial director after returning from five years of working in Australia. He’d worked all hours, day and night, to get on top of the chaos after his predecessor—a good friend of his father’s—had resigned with a colon cancer scare. The cruel whispers of nepotism had infuriated Callum—particularly as he didn’t want to hurt his father’s friend with the truth.
Callum had been unknown and unproven, and that had fueled his fierce desperation to prove to his brothers, to the management team and to the skeptical naysayers that he could do the task his father had set upon him.
He’d probably gone over the top.
He’d certainly adopted a take-no-prisoners management style.
How best to explain the climate against which his actions had played out? Whatever he said was going to sound like justification for his arrogance.
