Flight Risk (Antiques in Flight) (7 page)

In a few minutes.

“Callie. Seriously.” Em pointed toward the window, her gaze never leaving Trevor. “Look. At. That.”

Couldn’t stop if she wanted to. It wasn’t that Trevor was super hot or something. Okay, maybe he was, but she was a woman and any woman with a beating heart would want to watch
that.
Any woman would feel a certain amount of lust over flat, hard abs and strong, powerful shoulders. Didn’t mean a woman had to act on it. She was just having a normal reaction.

Except that reaction was being caused by her best friend. A guy she was determined not
to think about naked. Anymore. Mustering all her strength, Callie pushed away from the window and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?”

When Callie looked over her shoulder, Em’s nose was still pressed to the glass. Callie grunted in disgust. “To tell Fabio down there to put a Goddamn shirt on.”

“But—”

Callie tramped down the stairs, unable to hear Em’s argument. Without a glance at Mary, she cut through the back of the office and the Canteen to make it to the runway, focused on the task at hand. Callie tried to reach the itch between her shoulder blades. A weird, uncomfortable feeling was lodged there.

Trevor was still standing next to the silenced mower, shirtless, except he was now gulping down water from a big thermos. His neck moved with each gulp and the close up view of a shirtless Trevor?

Hot damn.

Old Callie fought to break free and do something really stupid, like—good God—get within touching distance, but new Callie wouldn’t acknowledge one dirty thought. Not one.

“This isn’t a soap opera,” she shouted. If she was keeping a distance between them it was just because old Callie seemed to be getting stronger. And old Callie’s fantasies made every inch of her as hot as Trevor looked.

“Come again?”

She planted her feet, mustered her best intimidating look. “Put a shirt on, Steele.”

“Why?” He set the thermos down on the seat of the mower and began crossing over toward her. “It’s hot.”

Oh, yeah, it definitely was. “I’m your boss. Just follow orders.”

Trevor leaned against the fence a few feet away from her. “Why? You enjoying the view?” He waggled his eyebrows.

Callie rolled her eyes, hoping she could rationalize the pink on her cheeks being from the heat of the day. “Please. You’d need a few more muscles and some tattoos to affect me.” He really didn’t, but she would never admit that to him. Let him think she had a thing for muscle-bound bad boys instead of lean, rangy good guys.

“Who says I don’t have any tattoos?”

Callie narrowed her eyes, studied him. Her pulse jumped. “You don’t have any tattoos.”

“Just because I don’t have any above the waist doesn’t mean I don’t have one.” He cocked his head, grinned.

Something strange and unnerving clutched in Callie’s gut, but she ignored it and matched his grin with a skeptical smile. “All right. Prove it.”

Trevor began to unbuckle his belt and Callie thought her heart was going to jump right out of her chest, but then he stopped. “Okay, you got me. No tattoo.”

Callie realized her mouth was hanging open. She quickly snapped it shut.

“What about you?”

“What about me?” she asked, really wishing she had a drink of water at this point. Her throat was so dry she couldn’t swallow and she was having trouble settling on a coherent thought. Damn heat.

“Any tattoos?”

“You’ll never know.” She got a weird and uncomfortable feeling Trevor was flirting with her. Which was crazy. The heat was messing with her brain. Obviously. She hadn’t been acting like herself since Em had told her to come look. The thought of Em watching from above reminded her of her purpose, which was definitely not looking at how low Trevor’s jeans hung at his hips.

“Em’s up there drooling all over you, and I’d prefer it if we could get some actual work done today.”

Trevor looked up at the window and Callie watched as Em ducked out of view. Served her right.

“Em’s drooling all over me?” His grin grew wider.

The new feeling that worked through her was not lust, interest or fighting old Callie, but it was an emotion she wanted to ignore just as much as those.

“You would get a perverted thrill from Em drooling all over you,” Callie muttered with a disgusted wave of the hand. “She’s blonde and pretty and perfect, just your type.”

Trevor now stood only a few inches away from her, and Callie used every ounce of willpower to keep her eyes on the trees in the distance. Okay, maybe she peeked at his bare chest, but only for a second. Just long enough to note the smattering of dark chest hair.

Jesus. Maybe she was having a stroke.

“If I didn’t know you as well as I do, I’d say that sounded almost like jealousy.”

Callie snorted. “In your dreams.” She turned on a heel and began to stomp back into the office. If her heart beat a little harder at the accusation it was only because…

Damn it, she was running out of rationalizations. She picked up the pace, hoped Trevor didn’t notice.

“I’m not a teenager anymore, Callie,” he called after her. “I prefer a woman with a bit of an edge these days.”

She kept walking. He was going to have to stop this pseudo flirting or old Callie might get her way after all.

When she walked into the Canteen, Em was moving toward her with an uncharacteristic frown on her face. “I am so mad at you right now.”

“What?”

“You told him I was looking at him!”

“So? You
were
looking at him.” Callie brushed past Em, an uncomfortable weight squeezing her lungs so she couldn’t get a full breath.

“So were you.”

“Well, he was quite thrilled with the idea of
you
looking at him, so why don’t you go bat your eyelashes at him and I’m sure he’ll ask you out.” Callie had no idea why she felt so angry, so out of control. Had no idea why these stupid, jealous-sounding words were coming out of her mouth. She was
not
jealous. She was
not
crazy. And she was
not
going to let the sight of one man shirtless get her worked up like this. Pathetic.

“Oh, get a grip, Callie.”

Callie stopped in the doorway between the Canteen and the office and took a deep breath in then out. “On what exactly?” she asked, managing to make her voice sound syrupy sweet.

Em stepped into view, her uncharacteristic frown now matching the uncharacteristic irritation reflected in her bright blue eyes. “Even if Trevor had eyes for anyone but you, I wouldn’t go out with the guy you’re practically in love with.”

“In love with?” Callie sputtered. What a ridiculous accusation. She was not the fall-in-love-with-your-best-friend type. Especially when he was a goody-goody. A freaking FBI agent. The former mayor’s son. It was crazy to think someone like her would be in love with someone like him.

No matter how good he looked without a shirt.

Jesus.

“Yeah. In love with.” Em planted her feet as if to block the doorway, slender hands resting on her hips.

“You’re so far out of your mind, Emerson.”

“Am I?”

“Yes, and you’d think after everything Luke did to you, you’d be over all these stupid romantic fantasies. It was one thing when you were a teenager, but grow up.”

Em’s face paled, but the battle light didn’t go out of her eyes. “Luke has nothing to do with this or with me. But if you want to be a bitch and bring it up to change the subject, fine. It only proves my point.” Em turned and walked out of the room, her long, pink skirt swishing behind her.

Callie sank into one of the chairs. She wasn’t quite sure what Em’s point was, but she was positive the sinking feeling in her stomach had everything to do with hurting Em’s feelings and nothing to do with what Em had said.

Nothing at all.

For three days Shelby hadn’t said one word to Trevor, and he’d have been lying if he said it wasn’t kind of nice. When they weren’t talking, he didn’t have to worry about mopping up tears or hearing nasty accusations.

As much as it was less pressure to live in the silence, each day without true interaction, the guilt twisted deeper. His only respite was AIF. He didn’t know what he’d do without it. Even on days where he spent the majority of his time on a mower, he felt useful. Shelby made him feel ineffective, useless no matter what he tried to do.

Still, he made sure he got home before Shelby every day. Of course, today he’d miscalculated how long grabbing a six pack and some cookies from the grocery store would take since about five people stopped him and asked how he was doing, how Shelby was doing, and what they could do to help.

Trevor knew it was kindness, but he’d never understood the small town penchant for sticking your nose in other people’s business. No matter how many times Dad had tried to explain how that was the great thing about small communities.

He wanted his privacy, and if he needed help he’d ask for it. He didn’t need DeeDee Hawbeker clucking her tongue over him buying beer and cookies and nothing else.

So not only was he late, he was also irritated by well-meaning people and his dead father’s words. If Shelby was still freezing him out when he went inside, so the hell be it.

Trevor stepped into the house already feeling deflated. Damn, he wanted to get back to Seattle.

“You
are
a crappy brother,” he muttered aloud, tossing his keys onto the little end table near the door. He should be thinking about Shelby, not himself, but he couldn’t manage the selfless guardian role.

Trevor moved into the living room and it took him a minute to realize sounds and smells were coming from the kitchen.

He stepped into the room to find Shelby baking cookies. And some
guy
sitting at the kitchen table.

“You’re home,” Shelby practically sang, her smile bright and kind of creepy. The boy looked up at Shelby nervously. Though Trevor knew he shouldn’t be okay with his kid sister having some guy in the house without any kind of supervision, the skinny kid with scruffy hair and black-framed glasses didn’t pose much of a threat.

“Yeah, I’m home.”

“This is Dan.” Her voice was still oddly chipper as she bent over to shove a pan of cookie dough into the oven.

Dan stood, wiped palms on his pants that were too tight in Trevor’s estimation and held one out. “Hi, Mr. Steele. It’s nice to meet you.”

Trevor shook the boy’s hand, but before he could verbally respond, Shelby jumped in.

“Call him Trevor.” For the first time, there was no pleasantness in her voice, just edge.

Trevor was about to tell this Dan kid that he could and should call him Mr. Steele, before it dawned on Trevor why Shelby didn’t want Dan calling him Mr. Steele.

To Shelby, Mr. Steele was their dad, most definitely not her brother. Trevor forced a smile. “Nice to meet you too, Dan. What are you two up to?”

“Physics homework.” Dan’s voice squeaked slightly as he sat back down, staring intently at the open book in front of him.

“I’m baking us some cookies for a snack,” Shelby said, her voice and demeanor back to sing-songy.

Trevor wasn’t sure if he was forgiven or if Shelby was putting on an act for the sake of
Dan
, but it was kind of nice having her talk to him again. He went over to the counter and leaned against it. “Do I get any cookies or are you going to tell me to get out of the way and go watch some cartoons?”

She smiled a little since it had been exactly what he’d always told her when he’d be doing
his
homework and she’d been underfoot. “You can have two cookies. Actually, I have something to run by you while Dan is
still
working on the
first
problem.”

Poor Dan scrunched down in his chair. “It’s hard,” he muttered.

Shelby’s smile broadened and Trevor got the feeling he should start worrying about Dan even if the teen wasn’t threatening looking. Shelby was eighteen, after all. Now he was responsible for… Trevor grimaced. All that teenage hormonal… He couldn’t think the words when associated with his sister.

“What do you want to run by me?”

Shelby turned her attention to wiping off the counter. “Well, Dan is taking me to prom.”

Trevor looked over his shoulder at the young man’s back. “Oh, he is?” Trevor was glad to see Dan shift in his chair.

“I need to get a prom dress. Mom already gave me the money before, but I need someone to take me dress shopping.”

“Uh.”

She rolled her eyes. “Not you. I was thinking maybe I could ask Em and Callie to go with me.”

“Em and Callie?” Surely he’d heard wrong. Really, really wrong. Or maybe he’d suddenly fallen asleep and this was some sort of crazy dream. Maybe she’d poisoned him and this was a hallucination.

But she just stood there, wiping the counter, waiting for an answer.

“You want… I’m sorry, I don’t understand. You want someone you don’t like and someone you barely know to take you prom dress shopping?”

Shelby scrubbed the immaculate white countertop harder. “I think I’ve been wrong about Callie.”