Sweet Talking Man. Liz Talley

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СКАЧАТЬ one time, her heart would have leaped at the suggestion of Cal wanting her. She’d known him since elementary school. Big solid Cal, football star, wide smile, girl at each elbow. He’d gone to prep school in Tennessee and returned his senior year, more handsome and confident than ever. With his parents’ prestige and his classic good looks, he’d been the quintessential Southern boy, a little wild, but mostly grounded. He’d come by the church tailgate party after a district play-off win, his truck idling with beer in the cooler, and crooked his finger at Abigail. Her sophomore heart had cartwheeled and her friends had sighed. Cal Orgeron wanted her. And she’d let him have her—body and soul. For a time, nothing else existed but Cal.

      But she wasn’t that girl anymore.

      “No.” She turned away from him. “It’s too late.”

      “Don’t say that, Abi. I lost my mind, had some kind of mental breakdown, but I never stopped loving you.”

      “Don’t you dare.” She whirled, jabbing a finger at him. “We’re over and you know it. Don’t try to play me. I’m not some twentysomething-year-old fool with stars in my eyes.”

      Cal didn’t say anything, just watched her, like a hunter assessing his prey. Abigail wanted to retreat from the emotions throbbing in the room. She wanted to slap the devil out of him. She wanted to scream all the outrage she’d sat on night after night, knowing her hurt did no good, knowing her pain only trickled into Birdie. She hadn’t wanted Birdie to suffer any more than she already had.

      But Abigail didn’t lose control. She dropped her hand and shook her head. “We can’t go there, Cal. You regret what happened now because you’re alone. You were never good at being alone. You think you can slip into our lives like you pressed a pause button and we froze. You want comfort, and I have none to give you.”

      Cal inhaled. “Okay, fine. I understand how you feel, but I’m not letting you go that easily.”

      “News flash, Cal. You don’t have me anymore. And I suggest you leave well enough alone.” She couldn’t believe him. He was going to try to win her back? Sorry...not going to happen.

      “I’ll concede the battle for now, Abi.”

      “It’s Abigail. Wave the flag now and concede the war. The last thing we need is another thing we’re at odds over. Focus on Birdie and doing whatever else it is you’re going to be doing in Magnolia Bend. I’m guessing you won’t be headlining at the Sugar Shack?”

      Cal gave a sheepish smile. “I think my music days are over. LA has a way of stomping out dreams and pissing on them. I’m going to work for Dad. He gave me my old job.”

      She raised her eyebrows, surprised Buster Orgeron would be so quick to accept his son in the family company again. The president of Orgeron Fertilizer hadn’t supported his son’s dream of bright lights and big titties. As far as Buster was concerned, when Cal left his wife, daughter and job, he’d lost his damn mind.

      Buster and Minnie Orgeron had been gracious to Abigail, helping with Birdie and providing some of the financing for the Laurel Woods renovation. Abigail had let them help not because she thought they owed her anything, but because she’d been fighting depression along with creditors.

      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 bullshit.

      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 like a bad penny 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 ass 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 fireplace 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.”

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