Getting caught in the mess between the Kingfishers and the Callaways hadn’t been his idea, and being drafted to run the lodge project had seemed a long shot.
His stepfather, Whitney Callaway, Sr. ran Callaway Construction. Always had, always would, and the two of them got along better with miles separating them.
The longer his family’s silence had dragged, the more Caleb had been convinced Senior had realized the error of his decision to make building the lodge his stepson’s penance for interference. Senior liked control. He wouldn’t give that away.
But something had changed and his stepfather had made a personal call to tell him to come for dinner. Tell, not ask. Senior never had been much for asking. That was most of their problem: communication.
The fact that he was parked next to a fountain complete with a spitting fish, the centerpiece of his parents’ ornate oval driveway, uncertain of his welcome for the first time in his life, was Winter’s fault.
Well, hers and his own uncharacteristic generous streak that had made it impossible to tell her no when she’d asked for the favor that had gotten him in this mess.
Irritation that he’d been shoved into the middle of Callaway drama threatened to boil over until Caleb had thrown on the brakes. He’d made his own choices. Were they heavily influenced by a beautiful woman? Sure. And if he ever met Winter again, he’d make sure she understood how she’d upended his life.
For now, dinner.
“Come on, man. The sooner this begins, the quicker it’s all over, and life goes on, right back on the road to Nashville,” he muttered to himself. Caleb ran a hand down the silk tie he’d added at the last minute, then grabbed his suit coat off the hanger in the back seat. Showing up to his mother’s house for dinner without a jacket would lead to Extreme Displeasure, Caleb’s nickname for the tight-lipped frown Senior often gave him. His stepfather was committed to upholding the family’s stature, and that required dressing for dinner like Victorian royalty.
Dinner was going to be rough, but the only way back to normal was through the fire. Senior would say he’d changed his mind and could trust no one else with the completion of The Aerie lodge. Caleb would nod in serious understanding while sighing inwardly in relief, and life would go on.
Before he slid out of the SUV, Caleb judged the distance between his parking spot and the gates at the street. “One minute or less. I could be free.”
Caleb pulled the keys out of the ignition, stretched out the kinks and slipped on the jacket. Then he noticed the mud on his boots.
He’d stopped on the way out of Nashville to tour a land parcel with Mitch Yarborough, luxury home developer and father to Caleb’s on-again, off-again girlfriend, Melissa. Caleb could still feel the hard thump of his heart when Mitch had offered him the chance to be the builder of every lot in the gated community. The key words were state of the art, high end and best of the best.
“Four months.” He had that long to add to his crews in order to be launched into Nashville’s big-time home-construction firms. Was it too soon to tell his stepfather?
This was the challenge he’d been dreaming of for years. His right hand, Carlos Lopez, was ready to lead his own crew, but meeting payroll after doubling his team would be tough in the beginning. Summit Builders would struggle under the bills. A loan of Callaway cash would make it all easier.
Tonight wasn’t the right time to ask for money, but it was tempting to spread his good news.
After a hurried dig through the back seat, Caleb found a brush and did his best to knock the mud off his boots. Would it escape their notice? No way, but at least he wouldn’t leave any evidence behind.
“Good enough.” Caleb tossed the brush back onto the floorboard and slammed the door. As he rounded the bumper, the front door to the Georgian-style family mansion swung open. Instead of a maid, his mother was framed beautifully by the glowing fanlight and transom windows.
“I wondered if you were going to come inside or make a break for it.” His mother kissed his cheek as he paused in front of her. The familiar scent of her perfume would always carry him home.
“Me, too. It was touch and go.” Caleb shoved his hands in his pockets, aware all over again of how he didn’t belong here. “Thank you for the dinner invitation.”
With a heavy sigh, she wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed him close. In his mother’s arms, he might as well be nine years old again, brokenhearted after striking out in the last inning of the game. Whatever was wrong, his mother had always been able to make right.
“It’s been too long, son. Don’t stay away so long.” His mother’s pointed stare at his feet was accompanied by an almost inaudible sigh. “You came from work. The tie is nice, but it does not go with this jacket.” She wiggled her arm through his and pulled him inside.
“I didn’t sign up for a fashion show, Mom.” Caleb smoothed a hand down the tie again, glad to have it, even if it didn’t go with the jacket. Flannel and denim. That was his dress code. If Summit hit the big-time, maybe he’d transition to khakis and golf shirts with logos.
“Thank you for observing the bare minimum,” she said mildly before moving along. “Your brother and father are in the office, no doubt plotting world domination. Please tell them dinner will be served in ten minutes.” She gave him a gentle shove toward Senior’s stuffy office and then disappeared behind the swinging door leading to the butler’s pantry.
“I should stand right here for nine minutes and thirty seconds,” Caleb muttered. He’d expected more emotion from his mother. In a battle between him and the other Callaways, she’d always landed in the middle, a disputed territory until they negotiated a surrender. Her face had been serene, nothing but happiness showing. “Maybe Senior has forgiven me.”
At some point, he’d stop squirming like a kid at his stepfather’s displeasure. He should be immune to the unease.
Today was not that day, but he’d learned a long time ago not to show nerves.
Senior had inherited power and wealth, but what he’d built through guts, determination and solid planning was a lot to live up to.
Caleb straightened his shoulders and marched into the oppressively dark room lined with bookshelves filled with leather-bound volumes no one in the house had ever read. This was an office, a study, an important room; it should have nice, expensive things, according to Senior. He was enthroned behind a grand desk, while Caleb’s younger brother, Whit, paced in front of the fireplace. Before Caleb could say anything, Whit tossed the newspaper he’d been reading into the fire.
“Mom says dinner in T minus ten.” Caleb paused in front of the desk. He remembered his spot on stage well. When they both turned toward him, it was impossible to ignore the overwhelming vibe in the room. Anger. Neither of them had forgiven him his part in stopping the lodge at the reserve.
“Good. Time enough to cover business and keep your mother happy with a nice family dinner.” His stepfather braced his elbows on his desk. “You’ve dragged your feet long enough on the reserve’s lodge project, Caleb. The new plans have been approved. Get your crews to Sweetwater. The sooner this is finished, the sooner we can all get past this...distraction.”
Caleb stared at his brother. As usual, Whit was a member of the audience. Before Whit came along, Caleb and Senior had formed an uneasy relationship, but with the birth of his younger brother, the balance had changed. Whit was the favored son, even if Caleb reaped plenty of Callaway benefits. The urge to argue with Senior, or tell him the whole truth about Winter’s role, was strong, but taking the credit for wrinkling the lodge plans was still the right thing to do.
Confessing that she’d been the one to alert the governor might change Senior’s feelings a bit, but he’d still stepped in to save Ash’s job.
And he’d made Winter a promise to keep the secret. A little family drama was no