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 reason to break that promise.
Meeting Senior’s stare was difficult. He’d always been a man to respect, at least until this drive to push Whit into the capital had taken over. Having his stepfather refuse to take his calls had shaken Caleb. He’d shove his way back inside this small crack.
“It’s time to focus on rehabilitating the family image. The reserve is what caused the breakdown, so this lodge matters more than ever.” His stepfather inhaled slowly. “What we need now is a way to save some face, make some money and regain the ground we’ve lost in this political race.” He pointed at Caleb. “You did all this. Stop stalling and fix it.”
He was responsible for all of it? No way. If either of them had listened to reason to begin with...
It didn’t matter. They hadn’t, but Caleb hadn’t been much better. Sitting on all the boards required by the Callaway fortune was an obligation he did his best to shirk. Thanks to Winter Kingfisher’s insistence, he now knew more about the nature reserve and his brother’s election plans than he wanted to.
“He doesn’t have anything to say to that.” Whit shook his head and crossed his arms in a tight knot over his chest. The disgruntled grimace on his face hadn’t changed much since he was twelve, but they’d outgrown the ability to wrestle away their grievances.
The tension between them was always there. Being an adopted Callaway meant Caleb had a later start than his younger brother on getting everything he wanted. Before his mother’s marriage to Senior, they’d lived in an apartment and spent Sunday afternoons clipping coupons. At five, he’d loved scissors, and she’d always been smart enough to capitalize on the blessings that came her way.
“I’m waiting to hear the plan. I know you have one.” Caleb pivoted to face his father. “Dad has a plan, I mean. Junior follows it. As always.” He couldn’t go for a headlock, so he’d use his words.
Whit scoffed. “Unlike Caleb, who doesn’t need any help from anyone, ever. Right? Forget about the loans that started your business, the family connections that keep it afloat and the fact that you’re never here.” Whatever else he meant to say was swallowed whole, as his lips clamped tightly shut.
Why had he stopped? He was absolutely right.
Being unable to argue knocked Caleb off balance.
“I’d first like to hear some kind of explanation about why you’d foul up the plan we had in place,” his brother snapped.
Caleb shook his head. “It was the right thing to do. That lodge, if we’d built it at The Aerie, would have destroyed so much of what makes the reserve important. Habitat, old growth forest, the history of the land there.” He motioned widely, hoping they’d fill in the blanks. He didn’t have a firm grasp of the importance of the land protected by the reserve, but Winter had convinced him saving it mattered. “You’ve always taken such pride in donating that land to the people of Tennessee. What I don’t get is how you could have ever believed building there was worth everything you’d lose.”
“I was in a hurry.” His stepfather checked the clock, the lines around his eyes convincing Caleb he was exhausted. “Time is short. The election is many months away. We want the lodge story laid to rest. Ash Kingfisher has been working with the same firm that did the first environmental-impact study to evaluate the spot over by the old weather station. The board is pleased with the results. The architect’s drawings have been modified to meet the demands of the report and the new elevation. We need this lodge finished, Caleb. I’ll divert a Callaway Construction crew to join yours to speed things up. Whit will officially announce his run for governor there, but to do so, this project has to be fast-tracked. Now.”
Caleb wanted to argue. He had his own business, built one project at a time, and was sitting on the edge of real success. The Yarborough luxury subdivision, Rivercrest,
