carefully contained, were in tatters.
Why had she agreed to Reese’s suggestion they become friends? It was true, she’d once wished to grow close to the man, perhaps even build something more than a friendship. But that had been before he’d asked Fanny to marry him.
Even if he hadn’t offered for her sister’s hand, Callie was still, well, Callie. A staid, boring, sensible woman who took no missteps, crossed no lines and certainly never befriended a man outside her own family.
Feeling confused—and so very much alone—she attempted to pray for discernment as she exited Bennett, Bennett and Brand law offices. A cool, gentle breeze caressed her face yet the words wouldn’t come, even in the privacy of her own mind. She hunched her shoulders forward and approached the waiting carriage.
“Ready to go, Miss Callie?”
“Yes, Horace.” She smiled at Mrs. Singletary’s coach driver. “I am more than ready to go home.”
Home. Where was home for her now? Mrs. Singletary’s massive house? The Mitchell family ranch?
Neither place called to her.
Another reason she felt so alone. Lord, where do I belong?
Heavyhearted, she climbed into the carriage. Once settled on the butter-soft calfskin seat, she rapped on the ceiling. The coach jerked into motion. Tightly coiled springs absorbed most of the dips and bumps along the twenty-minute journey across town. So smooth was the ride, in fact, that Callie relaxed her head against the plush squabs.
Her thoughts, however, continued to race.
Why—oh, why—had she reacted to Reese’s obvious attempt to bait her? She may be many things, but afraid? Rarely. And yet...
She was afraid now. Afraid of what came next. Afraid of what a friendship between her and Reese really meant, especially with regard to Fanny.
A sob worked its way up her throat. For an instant, just one beat of her heart, she wished her sister would stay away forever. In the most hidden part of Callie’s soul the truth rang loud.
She resented Fanny.
The girl had callously walked away from a good man, the best of them all. And now, that same man claimed he wanted to be Callie’s friend. Her friend.
No good would come from such an arrangement. Friendship often blossomed into something deeper. That was her greatest fear. Because, deep down, it was her greatest hope.
In fresh agony, she pressed her fingertips to her temples and squeezed her eyes closed. She knew the situation was hopeless—truly, she did—yet Callie yearned for something more. Something life-altering.
Something...she had no business wishing for herself.
The carriage drew to an abrupt halt, splintering the rest of her thoughts.
Thankful for the interruption, Callie gathered up the leather briefcase Reese had given her and exited the carriage.
Mrs. Singletary’s butler met her just inside the front entryway. Thick threads of silver encroached on the few strands of red left in his hair, but his broad, welcoming smile erased at least ten years from his heavily lined face.
“Mrs. Singletary is waiting for you in her office, Miss Callie.”
“Thank you, Winston.” She smiled in return. “I’ll head right up.”
Leather satchel pressed against her heart, she hurried through the cavernous foyer with its mile-high ceiling and expensive chandelier hanging from the center. The sound of her heels striking the imported marble reverberated off the richly decorated walls, where several oil paintings had been strategically placed for optimal effect.
Callie paused at the foot of the winding stairwell to study a portrait of Mrs. Singletary and her now-deceased husband. The two looked beyond happy, yet Callie felt a wave of sadness as she stared into their smiling faces. They’d had so little time together, barely fifteen years.
It should have been a lifetime.
Sighing, she mounted the stairs. At the second-floor landing, she turned left and worked her way through the labyrinth of corridors that led to the back of the house.
As the butler
Why had she agreed to Reese’s suggestion they become friends? It was true, she’d once wished to grow close to the man, perhaps even build something more than a friendship. But that had been before he’d asked Fanny to marry him.
Even if he hadn’t offered for her sister’s hand, Callie was still, well, Callie. A staid, boring, sensible woman who took no missteps, crossed no lines and certainly never befriended a man outside her own family.
Feeling confused—and so very much alone—she attempted to pray for discernment as she exited Bennett, Bennett and Brand law offices. A cool, gentle breeze caressed her face yet the words wouldn’t come, even in the privacy of her own mind. She hunched her shoulders forward and approached the waiting carriage.
“Ready to go, Miss Callie?”
“Yes, Horace.” She smiled at Mrs. Singletary’s coach driver. “I am more than ready to go home.”
Home. Where was home for her now? Mrs. Singletary’s massive house? The Mitchell family ranch?
Neither place called to her.
Another reason she felt so alone. Lord, where do I belong?
Heavyhearted, she climbed into the carriage. Once settled on the butter-soft calfskin seat, she rapped on the ceiling. The coach jerked into motion. Tightly coiled springs absorbed most of the dips and bumps along the twenty-minute journey across town. So smooth was the ride, in fact, that Callie relaxed her head against the plush squabs.
Her thoughts, however, continued to race.
Why—oh, why—had she reacted to Reese’s obvious attempt to bait her? She may be many things, but afraid? Rarely. And yet...
She was afraid now. Afraid of what came next. Afraid of what a friendship between her and Reese really meant, especially with regard to Fanny.
A sob worked its way up her throat. For an instant, just one beat of her heart, she wished her sister would stay away forever. In the most hidden part of Callie’s soul the truth rang loud.
She resented Fanny.
The girl had callously walked away from a good man, the best of them all. And now, that same man claimed he wanted to be Callie’s friend. Her friend.
No good would come from such an arrangement. Friendship often blossomed into something deeper. That was her greatest fear. Because, deep down, it was her greatest hope.
In fresh agony, she pressed her fingertips to her temples and squeezed her eyes closed. She knew the situation was hopeless—truly, she did—yet Callie yearned for something more. Something life-altering.
Something...she had no business wishing for herself.
The carriage drew to an abrupt halt, splintering the rest of her thoughts.
Thankful for the interruption, Callie gathered up the leather briefcase Reese had given her and exited the carriage.
Mrs. Singletary’s butler met her just inside the front entryway. Thick threads of silver encroached on the few strands of red left in his hair, but his broad, welcoming smile erased at least ten years from his heavily lined face.
“Mrs. Singletary is waiting for you in her office, Miss Callie.”
“Thank you, Winston.” She smiled in return. “I’ll head right up.”
Leather satchel pressed against her heart, she hurried through the cavernous foyer with its mile-high ceiling and expensive chandelier hanging from the center. The sound of her heels striking the imported marble reverberated off the richly decorated walls, where several oil paintings had been strategically placed for optimal effect.
Callie paused at the foot of the winding stairwell to study a portrait of Mrs. Singletary and her now-deceased husband. The two looked beyond happy, yet Callie felt a wave of sadness as she stared into their smiling faces. They’d had so little time together, barely fifteen years.
It should have been a lifetime.
Sighing, she mounted the stairs. At the second-floor landing, she turned left and worked her way through the labyrinth of corridors that led to the back of the house.
As the butler
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