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Their anger at Cal had stayed in place for a good year, but then, as to be expected, it had faded. Well, it had waned for Minnie. Cal was her only child and she convinced herself that his running from his life in Louisiana had been Abigail's fault, that she'd failed to make Cal happy. Minnie believed they'd married too young and never should have bought the Harveys' historic house. It was too much pressure for Cal. Minnie understood his wanting to leave.
Which was utter bull.
Buster hadn't been as understanding, however.
"Well, that's good. You staying with them?"
"Until I can find a place. I'm thinking about the subdivision behind here. Nice to be close by in case you or Birdie need me."
Something shrank inside Abigail. She didn't want Cal that close. It was bad enough he'd come home, showing up just when she'd developed an interest in another man.
Wait.
Not a true interest. A potential flirtation. Or maybe just good fantasy fodder for cold, lonely nights. Leif wasn't an actual contender for her affections. That was crazy, premenopausal delusion talking.
Then she recalled the heat in his gaze when she'd caught him looking at her in art class. So maybe Leif was a contender?
She wasn't a big-boobed Marcie, but she wasn't chopped liver, either. She knew how to kick off her loafers. WD-40 might be in order, but the parts still moved.
"Well, once you get settled permanently, let me know. You have my phone number."
He frowned, pushing off from the counter. "Oh, you'll see me before then. I thought I might come over tomorrow night and take you and Birdie to dinner."
"I can't leave the bed-and-breakfast two nights in a row. But Birdie will want to spend some quality time with her father. She didn't see you for Christmas." Abigail tried to not make her statement an accusation, but it stuck anyway.
"I couldn't fly home. Airline prices were crazy, and Morgan-" His voice faded. A hurt expression flitted over his face before he regained control. "Things were unsettled."
So he'd been trying to save his relationship with the twenty-six-year old, while putting his daughter on the back burner once again. Morgan wore her South Louisiana roots well with her olive coloring, big brown eyes, and soft bayou accent. Lithe and sexy, her voice had a mesmerizing, otherworldly quality. Abigail knew because she'd been the dumb butt who had suggested she and Cal watch Morgan perform with her local zydeco band six years earlier. No doubt, Morgan had now moved on to bigger fish who could further her career.
"So you said. I suppose the upside to ending your relationship with Morgan is being more present in your daughter's life." Abigail walked toward the kitchen door, hoping Cal would get the hint. His appearance at the art class had pulled the rug out from beneath her. Abigail needed to think. And plan. And think some more. She had to be careful with Cal and Birdie, especially since her daughter had been buzzing with excitement, her eyes sparkling at the news that her father was home. The child had been cut adrift when Cal left five years ago and she'd never really recovered.
"True," Cal said, following her into the formal parlor with its richly colored carpets, marble fire place, and Audubon painting of a crane standing vigil over the bayou. "I should've called you, but I didn't know what to say. I wanted to surprise Birdie. And you."
Again, warning bells sounded. "We'll figure things out. I'll tell Birdie you'll pick her up for dinner tomorrow night. Needs to be early since it's a school night."
"Good," Cal said, stepping closer to Abigail. She moved back. "I appreciate that, Abi. I mean Abigail."
He ducked his head toward her.
Abigail threw up a hand, hitting his chin. "What are you doing?"
"Kissing your cheek. Saying good-night."
"Don't."
Cal scowled. "Jesus, it's just a friendly gesture. We can be civil, can't we?"
"Sure. As long as it's not with your lips."
"God, you're cold," Cal said in a hurt voice.
"What did you expect? I'd be the same as I once was?" Abigail opened the front door. "I'll treat you cordially, Cal, because of Birdie. But if we didn't have a child, you would have never crossed this threshold."
Cal studied her for a moment, saying nothing, before slipping out the door, leaving behind the scent of Brooks Brothers Gentlemen cologne. She watched the taillights of his truck fade before she stepped out into the chilly night. The porch that ran across the front of the house was deep enough for several sets of rocking chairs perfectly centered on the plantation windows. Her breath puffed white as she shuffled toward the swing at the end of the porch. Her body felt brittle, her soul tormented by tonight's events. Cal was in her life, and she had no say about it because they shared Birdie.
Wonderful, temperamental, soulful Birdie. She released a breath.
"Sounds like you need a drink."
