Kate Hoffmann - Paris or Bust!

“Jody!” Bright blue eyes fixed on her and she felt the connection crackle between them. “You look great!”

Self-consciously, she tucked her frizzy hair behind her ears. It was like trying to empty the Titanic with a teaspoon. “Oh, yeah? Says who?”

“Says me, and I should know.” With a couple of long strides, Callum reached her. “Don’t I get a hug?”

Jody nearly succumbed the moment she entered his arms. He smelled like expensive indulgences and honest maleness. No, no, no. She needed to keep a protective distance between them.

“So what brings you here?” she asked, extricating herself.

“A couple of things,” he said. “Hey, did I get you wet? I’m sorry. I should have reserved a car farther in advance. This was all they had. The roof doesn’t work, obviously. Would you look at me?”

Callum’s grin carried her back to their teen years, when he’d swept her off her feet by the open way he laughed at her jokes. He’d been irresistible. He still was.

“Come inside and dry off. You look like you could use some coffee.”

“Thanks. I’d appreciate it.” If he had any curiosity about the children, he gave no sign of it. He didn’t even look around for them.

Most likely, Callum was heading somewhere else, Jody mused as they walked. He would dry off, chitchat for a few minutes and be on his way quickly. She quashed a sharp pang of disappointment. It was what she wanted, wasn’t it?

“Do you have some business in town?” she asked.

“You’re my business,” he said.

Taken aback by this statement, Jody hesitated with one foot on the front porch. “Are you visiting all the finalists personally?”

“No,” Callum admitted. “It’s kind of a complicated situation.”

“Complicated how?”

“There was a mix-up.”

“What kind of mix-up?”

“The finalists’ names were posted without approval.” He bounded onto the porch with a litheness she’d missed more than she wanted to admit. “In fact, they got picked by an overenthusiastic secretary.”

In spite of her resolve not to let him get close, Jody’s spirits took a dive. He hadn’t come here for any personal reason. He’d been driven purely by pragmatism.

“So she picked your old pal as a finalist and it looks bad,” she hazarded. “You want me to withdraw, right?”

“More or less.” Quickly, he added, “Not without compensation, of course. We would guarantee you a trip to Las Vegas.”

From what she’d heard, Vegas could be a lot of fun, particularly if you scored tickets to the top shows. It wasn’t Paris, though. Paris was a fantasy, a dream of shrugging off the little disappointments and obligations that sometimes weighed on her spirit. It meant one last, glorious chance to fly.

All her life, Jody had been a good sport and the sporting thing to do right now was to cooperate. But she didn’t feel sporting. She felt determined.

Five years ago, Callum had made such tender, passionate love to her that he’d nearly spoiled Jody for any other man. Then, after she turned down his offhand suggestion that she pull up stakes and run away to California with him, he’d left without a backward glance.

The only reason he’d returned now was because she’d accidentally created an awkward situation for him. He expected her to give up the chance of a lifetime just as a favor? Not likely.

If she signed on the dotted line, he’d smile, thank her, slosh back to his pathetic rental car and drive out of her life forever. Although that was what she wanted, Jody refused to let him off the hook.

“Forget it,” she said. “I’m a finalist because I deserve to be one. I want that trip to Paris and that shopping spree. I’m going to enjoy buying some pretty dresses on my trip and, once I get home, I’ll hang them on the walls and enjoy the sight of them forever.”

She caught her breath, taken aback by her own defiance. Surely Callum, whose jaw had dropped open at her tirade, would respond with the scorn she’d always secretly suspected he must feel toward the homespun, unglamorous woman who’d briefly been his lover.

“Well, if we can’t come to an agreement,” he said, “I guess I’ll have to bring my suitcases in and stay for a while.” Before she could stop him, he retrieved two bags from his trunk and walked into the house ahead of her.

The sky had fallen, Jody thought. What was she going to do now?

C ALLUM HADN’T HADan easy trip. Airport security had searched him right down to his Italian leather shoes, his connecting flight in Dallas had been delayed and the sole vehicle available for rent in San Angelo might have served as a prop in the film American Graffiti.

The downpour had added injury to insult. Stymied by a truculent convertible roof, he’d plowed on for miles through rainswept ranchlands, certain that mildew was forming even as he drove and too uncomfortable to scout for potential magazine articles. Thank goodness his suitcase and laptop had been locked inside the trunk.

Callum knew he should have called Jody ahead. She had every reason to be grumpy with him. He didn’t blame her for refusing to withdraw from the contest, although he hoped she would change her mind.

Besides, he was glad for the excuse to stick around and get reacquainted with his old friend. He decided not to mention the children yet. For one thing, she would probably laugh him out of the house when she learned he’d imagined even for a moment that he might be the father. Also, it might be a sore point about the real dad-whoever he was-not being her husband.

The guy must be crazy to give up a woman like Jody. Even in her overalls, she had more earthy appeal than most models and actresses, whose bones stuck out.

He and Jody entered the airy house through a sunken living room. Three steps led up to the kitchen and dining area, where she poured coffee from a half-full carafe. Callum set down his cases, tossed his jacket over the back of a chair and went to towel off in the bathroom. He returned a few minutes later, slightly less damp.

“I don’t remember your house looking like this when we were in high school.” He was certain it had been a conventional ranch-style structure.

“It was falling down. My parents decided to rebuild six years ago.” Jody gestured him to a butcher-block table, where he took a seat.

“You said in your essay that you inherited the place last year.” Although Callum disliked mentioning what must be a painful subject, he wanted to acknowledge her parents’ passing. He’d been fond of the elder Reillys.

“They died in a car crash on their way to a stock show in San Antonio.” She offered cream and sugar.

“I’m sorry.” After helping himself, Callum savored the chicory-laced brew, although his usual taste ran to mocha lattes. “So you gave up teaching?”

“It was that or sell the ranch. I couldn’t do both.” Jody went on to tell him about her forewoman, Gladys, and how well they worked together.

As Jody talked, he cataloged the small changes since they’d last met. She’d acquired a rancher’s tan even this early in the season, and she held herself with a new maturity.

Beneath it all, however, she was the same breezy girl who’d played trumpet alongside him in the high school band. She’d nearly blown his socks off, literally, when she stumbled while marching during their first rehearsal and sent a blast of air along his pant leg. They’d both laughed so hard they had to sit down on the football field. Although the coach wasn’t amused, Callum had been smitten.

He’d loved her honesty and valued her advice. And he’d missed her keenly, more than he’d allowed himself to acknowledge until now.