My Dearest Cal by Sherryl Woods Page A

you do before?”
    He grinned ruefully. “Which year?”
    “Can’t hold a job, huh?” she teased, knowing instinctively that was far from the truth.
    “Can’t settle down. I’ve bought and sold half a dozen businesses in the past twenty years. Making money gets to be a bore.”
    “I suppose that depends on how easily you do it. I’ve never had that problem.”
    “Why’d you pick the post office?”
    “I had an ‘in.’ My Dad had worked there all his life. It’s steady work.”
    “Could you walk away from it?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Is it something you care about passionately?”
    “Passionately, no. But I like it.”
    “Then why not leave? Try something you do care about.”
    The thought of her camera equipment stored in a closet in her Atlanta apartment teased at her. He couldn’t know about that, and she wasn’t ready to talk about it. Not yet. “Like what?”
    “I don’t know. Maybe a housekeeping job in Ocala.”
    Her heart caught, even as she knew deep down that he’d meant the question only hypothetically. She lifted her gaze to meet his and saw him studying her with that same intensity that had so unnerved her the night before. “What are the fringe benefits?” she asked, matching his light, bantering tone.
    His lips curved in a faint smile. “A cautious woman. There’s a lot to be said for that.”
    If he’d labeled her lazy or indifferent, she wouldhave been no more irritated. “I didn’t set out to be cautious,” she said with an edge. “It just happened.”
    “Hey, why so touchy? There’s nothing wrong with caution. Most folks say it’s the sensible way to live.”
    “My parents certainly thought so.”
    His gaze rested on her consideringly. “Why does that make you so angry?”
    “I’m not angry,” she snapped. She hadn’t realized that her voice had climbed, until the horse nickered nervously and pranced away.
    Cal turned his attention to the mare, settling her down, then observed, “You don’t seem like a lady who’d be happy all shut up inside. I saw you out on the lawn earlier. You liked the way the grass felt under your feet, didn’t you?”
    She shrugged, feigning indifference. “That doesn’t mean I want to spend my life barefoot.”
    “You’re getting all prickly again, Marilou. I wonder why? Am I hitting too close to home?”
    “Maybe so,” she conceded grudgingly. “Once, a long time ago, I had other plans.”
    “What plans?”
    “Oh, travel mainly,” she said, admitting to only part of the truth. “I wanted to see the world. When I finished college, I was going to take off and explore, try different things.”
    “Why didn’t you?”
    “Things didn’t work out.”
    “It’s been my experience that you can either make things work out or not. Blaming it on fate or whatever is just an excuse.”
    She glared up at him, aware that her eyes were filling with tears. “You don’t know anything about it, Cal Rivers. You obviously just run from responsibility. I couldn’t.”
    He ignored her charge and asked pointedly, “Responsibility to whom?”
    “My parents.”
    “Were they sick? Did they need your help?”
    “They died.”
    Refusing to look at him, she heard his sharp intake of breath, the low curse, then, “I’m sorry.”
    His compassion surrounded her and, after all this time of having no one to lean on, made her want to move into his arms and draw on his strength. Instead she said simply, “It’s been a couple of years now. I should be over it, but sometimes it sneaks up on me and I realize I’m not.”
    “Life can deal some pretty lousy blows. There’s no set timetable for recovery that I know about. How come you didn’t follow through on your plans after they died?”
    “Because they had hated the idea. We’d been arguing about it the night of their car accident. It just seemed like the wrong thing to do once they were gone. Disrespectful, somehow. I guess in a way I envy you, being able to walk away without looking