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A whole boatload of words came to mind:liar,thief, andinterferer with a police investigation. Which she technically was. She cursed the guilty conscience that was already nibbling away at her.
“Have you ever played what-if?” she asked.
Clearly, he hadn’t been expecting that response because Calen’s forehead bunched up. “Is this about theDaddy letter?”
“No. Maybe,” she amended when she realized the can of worms she was about to open. “It’s just… I was thinking about finding out information that might possibly change…everything.”
She saw confusion in his eyes. Because of that whole kindred-spirits connection Calen and she had, he probably thought she was talking about Owen and Sasha. That was no doubt why he sighed, moved closer to her, and offered her some of his whiskey. She refused the booze but accepted the arm Calen slipped around her.
Of course, it wasn’t the first time he’d offered her his shoulder, and it wouldn’t be the first time she’d latched onto the comfort he so willingly gave her. But it wasn’t only comfort she felt. Nope. For the past year when she’d used his shoulder, she had felt the stirrings of the heat that had started stirring way backin high school.
The stirrings that had prompted her to send him that letter.
The heat had come and gone over the years, never totally cooling. It was always there, her own secret crush. Or rather, secret lust. But lately, since the Owen/Sasha debacle, Emmy had thought Calen might be experiencing something similar.
Like now, for instance.
When he looked at her and their eyes met. Then,wham. The heat definitely sizzled. In fact, she was surprised there weren’t little cartoon lightning bolts striking between them. Bolts that warmed her from head to toe, concentrating in the center of her body.
They had never acted on the bolts or the heat. Had never even shared a pity kiss during their weekly gripe parties. But, mercy, those warm parts of her wished she could put her mouth on his and see just how hot this could get. Probably hot enough to lead them straight to the bedroom, where she figured there’d be something even hotter and better than lightning bolts.
Of course, if that happened, they’d be risking their friendship. Yes, the very friendship that had gotten them both through crappy times, including the deaths of their parents, the ups and downs of their careers, and their lying, cheating mates. Because if things could fire up enough to lead to sex, they could also fizzle out and spell the end of their friendship.
And that’s the reason Emmy didn’t move in onCalen’s mouth.
Perhaps it was the reason he also inched away from her and quit staring into her eyes. Then again, his eyes had plenty of other things to occupy him. His attention immediately went back to the letter in the center of the piles.
After some snail-crawling moments of silence, he tipped his head to the letter. “My mom passed away the year before that was postmarked.”
Maintaining her own silence, Emmy knew there was no need for Calen to fill in the blanks. A one-year-old baby couldn’t address an envelope, so that meant the child had been conceived while Waylon was still married toCalen’s mother.
“Maybe the sender got the address wrong,” Emmy pointed out. “Maybe it was meant for some other daddy.”
He looked at her again, this time without the heat, but rather with a dismissal. That was okay. She’d already dismissed hersuggestion too.
“The simplest answer is usually the right one,” he muttered.
On a heavy sigh, Calen picked up the envelope and opened it. Not a letter but rather a Christmas card, a homemade one with a glittery dancing snowman that was the companion to the hand-drawn one on the envelope. There was no greeting on the front of the card, but when Calen opened it, she saw the same block writing that was on the envelope.
And there it was. That word again.Daddy, followed by a message.
“Daddy,” Calen read aloud. “I hope you like my card. I made it just for you, but Mama helped. I love you. I hope one day me and my big brother, Calen, can be friends and that Mama and me can live with you and him.Love, Vanessa.”
More snail-paced moments of silence followed, no doubt while Calen reread the message. Emmy was doing the same and trying to wrap her mind around the crotchety Waylon fathering a secret child, one who could pour out such love. One who was also aware that she hada big brother.
“I’m guessing you didn’t have a clue about this,” Emmy said.
“None,”Calen verified.
“All right,” Emmy continued, going into best friend, comfort mode, “maybe Waylon met the child’s mother after your mom died, and this Vanessa isn’t his bio-child. He could have kept the relationship from you because he thought you might not want him seeing someone.”
Calen didn’t latch onto this possibility with “take it and run with it” approval, but he seemed to be at least considering it. Considering it and making another connection.
He got up, went to pile number three, and rifled through until he came up with another card. No childish scrawl or snowman on this one. It was addressed to Waylon, and the sender was Vanessa Bozeman.
“This one was from six years ago,” Calen said, opening it. Out dropped a picture of an attractive teenager wearing a maroon graduation outfit.
Emmy immediately checked to see if there was any resemblance between Calen and her. There was. They had the same dark brown hair and same coloring. Emmy was about to point out that could be a coincidence, but then she saw the writing inside the card itself.
