Judith Stacy - The Dreammaker

He set the brake and tied off the reins, then jumped to the ground and stretched his long legs. “I gave you my word, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did.” Kaitlin waved at the back of his wagon, loaded with furniture and crates. “I can see that now.”

Tripp reached into the wagon just behind the seat and a child sat up. The little boy yawned and ground his fists into his eyes, then raised his arms to Tripp. He lifted him from the wagon and set him on the boardwalk.

Kaitlin stared at the dark-haired child dressed in black suspendered pants and a rumpled white shirt. Finally she looked up at Tripp.

He glowered at her from beneath the brim of his hat.

“He’s my son.”

She’d expected most anything from Tripp Callihan—a change in the terms of their deal, not showing up at all, actually turning out to be a convicted murder. But a child?

Kaitlin knelt in front of the boy. He was a beautiful child. Black hair, like Tripp’s. Deep-blue eyes, the same hue as his father’s. The family resemblance hidden in the boy’s soft face made Tripp’s features harder, sharper.

Kaitlin glanced up at him, towering over them both. He looked big, powerful, masculine. That strong chin and straight nose, those intelligent eyes would be the child’s someday. It was only a matter of time.

She smiled at the boy as he rubbed his eyes again. “What’s your name?”

He latched on to Tripp’s trouser leg and looked up at him.

“This is Miss Kaitlin.” Tripp touched his hand to the back of the boy’s head. “It’s all right to talk to her.”

“Charlie.” His forehead wrinkled in a little frown. “And you can’t call me Charles ‘cause Papa gets mad.”

Kaitlin grinned and glanced up at Tripp. “We certainly don’t want that to happen, now do we?”

“Uh-uh.” Charlie shook his head emphatically.

“How old are you?”

“Six.”

“My, but you’re a big boy for six.”

Charlie looked past her to the store. “You got any kids?”

Kaitlin rose and shook her head. “No. Sorry.”

“Papa?” He tugged on Tripp’s trouser leg. “I’m thirsty.”

“Come on, Charlie.” Kaitlin reached for his hand. “I’ll take you inside and get you a—”

“No.” Tripp dropped his hand on the boy’s shoulder and looked Kaitlin hard in the eye. “I take care of him.”

Kaitlin stepped out of the way. “Sorry…”

She followed them inside the store and found Tripp holding the boy up to the sink while he pumped water; Charlie stuck his mouth under the flow, lapping it with his tongue. Tripp set him down, then cupped his hand under the water and rubbed it over his face.

“Can I go outside, Papa?” Charlie asked.

Tripp pulled a handkerchief from his hip pocket and wiped his face. “Stay by the wagon. Nowhere else.”

“I will, Papa.”

Kaitlin stepped aside as the boy scooted out the door. She nodded outside.

“Have you got a wife inside that wagon, too?”

Tripp frowned at her. “No.”

“Will she be joining us later?”

His frown deepened as he shoved his handkerchief into his hip pocket. “No.”

Kaitlin stepped closer. “Will she—”

“It’s just Charlie and me.” Tripp dragged the sleeve of his pale blue shirt across his face. “We’d better get down to business.”

Obviously, he didn’t intend to give her more details and, really, it wasn’t any of her business. But the deep pain she saw in his blue eyes for a fraction of a second told Kaitlin a great deal of what she needed to know.

“Yes, I guess we should.” She motioned out the door. “We’ll get your wagon unloaded, then we can—”

“Hold on. We need to talk about a few things first.”

“Talk?” Kaitlin waved her hand outside. “There’s only a few hours of daylight left and lots to do. We can talk later.”

“No, now. There’re some things we have to get straight, and I’m not unloading my wagon until we do.”

Kaitlin huffed impatiently. “Fine.”

Tripp walked to the rickety table leaning against the wall, wiped the dust away with his handkerchief and righted two crates at either end.

“Sit down.”

Kaitlin waved her arms around the room. “Couldn’t we discuss this while we work?”

He blinked at her, taken aback by her questioning. “No. First things first.”

She perched on the edge of the crate, holding on to her patience. “Well, just hurry, will you?”

Instead, Tripp walked across the room and looked out the back door.

“Don’t play on that, son, you might fall.”

He stood there a moment longer, watching, then strode to the table and sat down across from her, the crate beneath him groaning.

“Now, let’s see.” Tripp pulled a small tablet from the pocket of his shirt. “First, I want to go over our partnership agreement.”

Kaitlin sighed heavily. “We’ve gone over that already. We split everything fifty-fifty, and sell out when we’ve made our money back.”

Tripp shook his head. “It’s not that simple.”

“If it were any more simple, a dog with thumbs could run the place.”

Tripp glared at her, then flipped to the next page. “I’ve done some figuring on expenses—repairs, buying the inventory, things like that. We need to decide on a budget.”

Kaitlin shrugged. “We’ll spend what money we have, and that should be enough to get things going.”

“What the hell kind of idea is that?” Tripp reared back.

“What more can I tell you, Mr. Callihan? I’m putting every dime I have in the world into this place. Aren’t you?”

“All the more reason for us to make a plan.”

She bit down on her lip. “We have a plan.”

“We need to decide on the extent of the repairs, how much we can spend on them, what kind of inventory to buy.” Tripp tapped his finger on the tablet. “We have a lot of decisions to make.”

Kaitlin pressed her lips together, holding in her rising temper. “Are you this methodical about everything you do, Mr. Callihan?”

Their gazes collided, and the implication of what everything might entail sprang up between them as if it were a living thing. Kaitlin blushed and looked away. Tripp cleared his throat and shifted on the crate.

“Well, uh, maybe this can wait a while,” Tripp said.

“Good idea.” Kaitlin hopped off the crate and hurried across the room.

“As long as we’re straight on this deal.”

She whirled around. “You’ve made your position perfectly clear, Mr. Callihan. And the fact that I want to get to work while you want to discuss things should prove my position. Now, can we please get your wagon unloaded?”

Tripp just looked at her, all puffed up with emotion. His belly began to ache.

“All right, let’s get to work.” He headed across the room. “Are you hungry?”

“Hungry?” Kaitlin shook her head and hurried out the door. “Good grief.”

Tripp opened the tailgate of the wagon and unloaded some of the lighter items onto the boardwalk, crates, cane-back chairs, a trunk, a small table. Charlie scooted over.

“Can I help, Papa?”

Tripp handed him a small box. “Take it inside. And be careful.”

“I figured you’d use the room upstairs,” Kaitlin said as she picked up a chair. “We’ll need all the space downstairs for the stock.”

Tripp lifted one of the heavier crates. “Let’s have a look.”

Inside the kitchen, Charlie waited at the door to Kaitlin’s bedroom.

“That room’s mine, Charlie,” Kaitlin said. “You and your papa will be upstairs.”

They placed the items they carried on the other side of the kitchen, and Kaitlin led the way up the narrow staircase. The room was dirty like the rest of the place, with two windows along the back wall.