want to, but because he didn’t know how to go at it half measure. He’d learned during his brief marriage to Miranda that he was a man who felt too much, gave too much, needed too much in return. Unspeakable pain accompanied such uninhibited emotion.
Thus, he would insist the widow keep to their agreement, and only suggest women who met his specific requirements.
With that in mind, he pulled out a fresh piece of paper and began constructing his list. He came up with seven items, the number of completion.
Fitting.
A familiar, rapid knock, knock, knock had him folding the list and setting it aside. “Enter.”
The door swung open and his father’s broad shoulders filled the gap. Other than the graying at the temples and the slightly leaner frame, it was like looking into a mirror and seeing himself twenty-five years from now.
As always, Reese Sr. got straight to the point. “I need to speak with you immediately.”
Unsure what he heard in the other man’s tone, Reese pushed away from his desk. “Of course.”
He started to rise.
His father stopped him with a hand in the air. “Don’t stand on my account.”
Reese settled back in his chair.
Face pinched, his father strode through the room, then flattened his palms on Reese’s desk and leaned forward. “I’m worried about you, son.”
“There’s no need to be.”
“You left the theater abruptly last night.” He searched Reese’s face. “I need to assure myself you are well.”
“I had contracts that required my final review.”
“That wasn’t the reason you left early.” Pushing back, the older man stood tall. “I haven’t seen that look on your face since...”
He hesitated, seeming to rethink what he’d been about to say.
“Since when?”
“Since Miranda’s accident.”
Reese’s stomach took a hard roll. They never spoke of Miranda, or the accident that had taken her away from him. Now, after last night at the opera, Reese couldn’t stop thinking of her, or how he’d sat at her bedside, willing her to stay alive, begging her to come back to him, praying for God to intervene.
She’d woken but briefly, said his name in a soft, wheezing whisper and then died in his arms.
She’d been eighteen years old. He the same age. They’d had only one month of happiness together. Thirty days.
Not enough.
And yet, far too much. He knew exactly what happiness looked like, felt like and, more important, how quickly it could be taken away.
“I don’t wish to speak of Miranda.”
“You can’t run from the past.”
He had every intention of trying. “Was there anything else you wanted to discuss with me? Something important?”
“This is important.”
Reese said nothing.
His father came to stand next to him. “You need to get married again. I think it will help you.”
Was the man in collusion with Beatrix Singletary? Impossible. Though they were polite with one another on most occasions, the two rarely saw eye-to-eye on most subjects. “I attempted to marry again, but—”
“You chose the wrong girl.”
Although he’d come to realize that himself, his father’s quick response gave Reese pause. “I believed you liked Fanny. You’ve been friends with her parents for years. If I remember correctly, which I do, you said you would welcome a match between myself and Cyrus Mitchell’s daughter.”
“I meant the other one. There is substance to Callie Mitchell, something far more interesting than most see when they first meet her. I thought you agreed.”
His heart gave a few thick beats in his chest. Oh, Reese agreed there was much lurking beneath Callie’s sensible exterior—a wild, perhaps even passionate streak that, if unleashed, could possibly lead to a life of recklessness.
He knew far too well how that ended.
A tap on the doorjamb heralded Reese’s law clerk. A thin young man with regular features and an eager smile, Julian Summers was detail-oriented and thus invaluable to the firm. “Mrs. Singletary’s companion is here to see you, Mr. Bennett.”
His father lifted an ironic eyebrow.
Ignoring this, Reese stood and circled around his desk. “Send her in, Julian.”
“Yes, sir.”
A handful of seconds after the clerk disappeared in the hallway, Callie appeared, head high, spine ramrod-stiff, chin at a perfect ninety-degree angle with the floor. At the sight of her, Reese went hot all over, the inexplicable sensation similar to a burst of anger.
She was the same woman she’d always been. Yet, not. The past few hours had produced a remarkable transformation. Her cheeks had gained color. Her eyes sparkled.
Her skin glowed.
Simply because she no longer wore that gray shapeless garment from this morning but a blue silk dress that complemented her lean, lithe figure and brought out the green in her eyes.
The effect was devastating. Disconcerting.
Any words of greeting vanished from his mind.
There was something unreal about Callie now, something vulnerable and highly appealing. The impact of her beauty nearly flattened him.
Confounded by his reaction to a simple change of clothes, he blinked at her. “Miss Mitchell, I...” His brain emptied of all thought. Why was she here, looking like a fairy-tale princess? “That is, I wasn’t expecting you.”
She shifted from one foot to the other, then snapped her shoulders back. Ah, there she was. The Callie Mitchell he knew. “Mrs. Singletary sent me to pick up a package you were to have ready for her this afternoon.”
He couldn’t think of what package she meant. He remained silent so long his father cleared his throat.
Still, Reese couldn’t make his mind work properly.
“Well, if it isn’t Callie Mitchell.” His father shoved around him. “How are you, my dear?”
“Mr. Bennett.” She hurried to him, reaching out her hands to clasp his in greeting. “What a wonderful surprise to see you here today.”
He smiled broadly. “You are utterly captivating.”
Her face brightened at the compliment. “What a sweet thing to say.”
“Only the truth, my dear. Only the truth.”
Until this moment, Reese had forgotten how well his father and Callie got along. Watching the two interact so easily, their heads bent at similar angles, he found himself stewing in an unpleasant rush of...
Jealousy?
Absurd. Reese couldn’t be jealous of his own father.
And yet, he had to take slow, measured breaths to prevent himself from walking over to the pair, shoving his father aside and insisting Callie pay attention to him. Only him. As if he was some sort of spoiled, selfish child with no manners or common sense.
He managed to avoid stooping quite that low. “Callie.” He barked out her name. “A word, please, in private.”
One stilted sentence and Reese had crossed several unimaginable lines.
His father’s responding grin spoke volumes. As did Callie’s reaction. Had she stiffened at the familiar use