More to Give by Terri Osburn Page B

then she was usually glaring disapprovingly at another woman who had the nerve not to match her shoes with her handbag.
    Callie had given up trying to please her mother long ago, which made ignoring her distaste for their choice of restaurant a matter of habit.
    “At least they have a large selection,” Evelyn said, a thin line of tolerance in her voice. “I would assume the seafood is fresh. Now let’s hope someone in that kitchen knows how to cook it.”
    “I doubt this crowd is here because the food sucks, Aunt Evelyn.”
    “Using vulgar language makes you sound vulgar, Henrietta. How many times do I have to tell you that?”
    “Maybe a couple hundred more and it’ll sink in, Aunty.”
    Callie cringed. The only thing her mother hated more than Henri’s language was being called Aunty. Instead of arguing, Evelyn gave Henri what she called the cut. She huffed, kept her eyes down, and pretended her irritating niece was no longer there.
    By all accounts, Evelyn Henderson had been born in the wrong century. She’d also been born into the wrong family, considering she was a sharecropper’s daughter and not the child of a powerful politician. So she’d simply married one to change her circumstances.
    Unfortunately, Callie’s father had died of a heart attack less than a year after his daughter’s birth, leaving Evelyn as a single mother with grand aspirations and no way to reach them except to groom her child to be the first female president. Needless to say, Callie had turned out to be a disappointment in all areas.
    Evelyn had remarried twice before Callie’s twenty-first birthday and stood stoic in black as she watched each husband get lowered six feet into the ground. Unwilling to take another chance, the professional widow had avoided a walk down the aisle for the last ten years. Callie almost wished her mother would find another husband so she’d have something else to focus on besides her disappointing offspring.
    “I think I’ll have a burger,” Callie said.
    “You should stick with a salad, dear,” replied her mother. “Your jeans are looking tighter than usual.”
    The cousins exchanged a look, and Callie sighed, counting the hours until Saturday morning, when this little visit would come to a blessed end.
    She could not wait.

    Sam had found that the shower and aged liquor weren’t enough to get him through the evening and turned to physical exertion. Not the kind he’d have preferred, as he reminded himself for what must have been the tenth time that he was not crossing that line with Callie.
    Again.
    Instead, he’d made the trek to Island Fitness for a good workout. He vowed to continue doing sit-ups until the image of Callie occupying his bed was burned from his system. He’d counted past one hundred when Randy Navarro joined him at the weight bench.
    “You going for a record?” Randy asked, sporting an enormous grin that matched the rest of him.
    Roughly the size of a large building, the gym owner matched Sam in height but had him beat in every other area. Arms the size of Sam’s thighs. Shoulders broad enough to block out the fluorescent lights shining down from the ceiling.
    Sam removed his legs from the barbell, dropped his feet to the floor, and sat up on the bench, accepting the towel Randy offered. “Going for a clear head is all.”
    Sweat dripped from a lock of dark hair dangling over Randy’s brow. “Anything I can help with?”
    Unless the man could exorcise demons or conjure up a time machine, there was little he could do. “Afraid not, but thanks for the offer.”
    Of all the people he’d met on Anchor Island, Randy Navarro was probably the closest Sam had to a friend. The men worked on a committee together to increase tourism on the island, and it hadn’t taken long for Sam to realize that not liking the big man was simply impossible.
    Whereas his size could seem intimidating, the personality was all friendly concern and generosity. Which were likely the reasons he’d