Prince Charming Wears a Badge (20 page)

“And
you
still don't understand,” he said, repeating her words. “You don't have to do everything on your own.”

Her eyes widened. “But I don't know how to do it any other way.” She was speaking the truth from her heart and it felt unbelievably good to let out her frustration.

“I can't say I understand completely, but you've got to know that I'll try my best to do what you want. I don't necessarily need to protect you, but I want to be there for you when you need it and also when you don't.” He ran a hand down her upper arm and his tone softened. “I love you more than I ever thought I could, Callie. Please give me a second chance to show you we can be equal partners in this relationship.”

“First, I need you to be honest with me, Tyler. Always. Don't go behind my back like you did with my therapist.”

He nodded. “I promise. At the time I thought it was for the best, but I can see how you would see it as me using my position to control you.” He paused. “Just like your ex.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Exactly.”

“I'm sorry.” He sounded sincere. “I truly am. And I promise I'll trust you to know what's best for you, even if I don't agree.”

“Apology accepted.” She held up a finger. “By the way, you were right.”

“I was? About what?”

“After my therapist heard everything I went through, he's been able to help me work through it.”

He smiled. A sad smile, probably because he understood how difficult living through her childhood again had been for her.

“I joined a boxing gym,” she announced, realizing she was changing the subject.

He blinked. “What?”

“After slamming your front door last week and beating on my steering wheel, I realized how cathartic it was to have a physical outlet for my frustration and anger.”

“So you joined a boxing gym?”

“Yes, I'm learning how to punch. It feels really,
really
good.”

“Are you planning to punch me?”

She looked at him for several seconds. “I might feel like punching you, but I never would. I'll take my anger out at the gym.”

“Does that mean you'll give us another chance?”

She pursed her lips. “Only if I can thank you first.”

“Thank me for what?”

“For showing me that running away when life becomes unmanageable isn't the solution. It took me a while to understand why you talked to my therapist. I've never had anyone on my side before and it might take some time for me to get used to it.”

“Then, you're welcome, and you can have all the time in the world because I'm not going anywhere.”

The fact that he was standing in front of her, even after everything he knew about her, seemed to prove his statement. “I'm glad.” She gave him a tentative smile and really meant what she said.

Then he kissed her so passionately that her legs nearly gave out.

EPILOGUE

B
Y
THE
TIME
Alexis and Madison participated in their school's Holiday Pageant in December, Callie and Tyler had gotten into a routine. Callie looked over at Tyler sitting next to her in the school's cafetorium and smiled. She slipped her hand into his and he squeezed hers.

They'd started off with their original plan for Callie to visit on weekends, but the time went by too quickly. Then one day about a month ago she woke up and had an astounding revelation. Her job meant less to her than Tyler and his girls did. So she went to her superior and asked if she could telecommute. He wasn't thrilled, but the other choice would have been for her to leave and find another job.

Now that she worked from home—she considered Tyler's house her home more than her condo ever was—she was able to get the girls to and from school. She could even get them started on homework before Tyler got home.

She continued to volunteer at the women's shelter since new residents arrived more frequently than she'd ever imagined. Working one-on-one with the women gave her a feeling of satisfaction and pride she hadn't experienced in her successful career.

“Aren't they adorable?” Poppy whispered to Callie and Tyler during the applause. She and Gino were sitting in the row behind them.

Gino leaned close and added, “They've been practicing their songs for weeks. I think
I
know them by heart.”

“Shh,” Poppy said to him. “They're ready to sing the next one.”

Poppy and Gino were each enjoying success in their businesses. Keeping Poppy's a homier bed-and-breakfast and Gino's Lincoln Hotel a high-end establishment had been a wonderful compromise. Sharing the chef and an assistant had also allowed them more time together. Poppy had even accepted Gino's marriage proposal, although they hadn't set a date yet.

The girls had been more than hinting about Tyler and Callie getting married, especially once Poppy and Gino announced their engagement.

Callie was in no hurry to change their current arrangement, at least for now. One thing she'd learned during their time together was that she could be a pretty good mom to Alexis and Madison and any future children she and Tyler might have.

Her dad, sitting on her left, whispered, “I'm sorry I missed so much of your childhood.”

Callie looked at him, moved by the emotion she saw in his face. She patted his hand. “I know, Dad. I'm glad we're getting this time together now and that you're getting to know Eric, as well as Alexis and Madison. They need you in their life as much as you need them.”

Wendy and her son had moved in with Callie's dad now that her stepmother was in a nursing facility. Ellen's health had declined and she was rarely coherent. Callie thought the arrangement between Wendy and her dad was a good one for both of them. Wendy no longer feared her husband since he'd gone to prison and wouldn't be eligible for parole for several years. Testifying against him hadn't been necessary because he'd been offered a plea deal. They'd revisit Wendy and her son's living situation when and if her husband was paroled.

Callie glanced at Tyler again. He caught her and winked at her. She smiled back, loving this man with her entire being.

His girls might obsess about princesses and think they needed to be “saved” by a prince to be happy. But Callie was proud that she'd saved herself from her unhappy childhood by leaving town and making a successful life for herself. To top it off, she'd been lucky enough to return to find an amazing prince of her own.

For the first time in her life she was surprisingly happy in the town where she'd grown up. Callie had never thought that would be possible, but she was extremely glad she'd returned to Whittler's Creek to find her happily-ever-after.

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt from THE GOOD MOM by Cathryn Parry.

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The Good Mom

by Cathryn Parry

CHAPTER ONE

N
EW JOB, NEW LIFE,
new home.

Today was only her second day on the job. Ashley LaValley still wasn't used to this hair salon's setup. So different from her old life.

She glanced toward the photo of her son, never far from her workstation. There it was—by the sleek bottle of high-end shampoo. A recent photo, Brandon smiled proudly in his newly bought, preppy St. Bartholomew's School blazer. The light of Ashley's life, her son had straight, sandy-blond hair and ruddy skin. Nothing at all like her features.

“Ashley, there's a man here for you,” her young coworker Kylie said, approaching Ashley's little corner workstation with a pen in her hand. “He's a walk-in, so he's not on your schedule.”

And just like that, a little thrum of worry passed through Ashley.
Ridiculous
, she told herself.
You're doing fine.

Putting her hand to her stomach, she breathed out slowly. Worrying was the big issue of her life, it seemed. No matter how much she worked and tried and strove, her old fears always resurfaced—usually when she was facing a change. She'd been through enough counseling to recognize what was happening, but this one-day-at-a-time stuff sure did challenge her. And of course she was being challenged—she was dealing with major life upheavals. All the biggies. New apartment. New job. New school for Brandon. New routine.

“You look kind of pale,” Kylie remarked, tilting her head. “Are you sure you're okay?”

“I am.” Honestly, she needed to pull herself together. She had worked hard to find this job within walking distance of Brandon's new school in Copley Square, Boston, and she couldn't do anything to jeopardize that.

She stuck a smile on her face for Kylie, the young receptionist who controlled the front desk at Perceptions, the sleek salon where Ashley needed to keep working for the next two years, at least until Brandon graduated from his private middle school. “I'm just getting used to my new workstation is all. Let me clean up a bit first.” She picked up her broom and began sweeping up snips of blond hair from her last client. “Who's the man I'm taking?” she asked as casually as she could.

“I didn't ask his name.” Kylie's brow furrowed, perhaps catching her mistake. Ashley got the distinct impression that Kylie was somewhat new, too. She eyed Ashley's broom. “I don't think you're supposed to do that. We have interns to sweep up hair.” Maybe Ashley imagined it, but she thought she saw Kylie roll her eyes ever so slightly, as if Ashley was a hopeless rube.

It was true Ashley had never worked in a salon like this one before. For the hundredth time that morning, she glanced uneasily at the gleaming surfaces of the upscale space, so different from the homey blue-collar haunt where she'd happily worked for the past twelve years. Going to work there had been like being at home.
Where everybody knows your name
, as the old theme song went. Her old boss, Sal, hadn't run a place patronized by intimidating customers who seemed to ooze money and privilege. The lady getting foil highlights in the cubicle next to Ashley's had set down a handbag that cost three thousand dollars. Ashley had noticed it in the window of the boutique next door. That was more than three times the monthly rent in her old neighborhood.

“Ilana specifically asked me to give you this client,” Kylie explained. “He came in with his grandmother, and I think she's important. At least, she's in the private treatment room with Ilana now.”

Ilana was the owner of Perceptions, and Ashley's new boss. She'd also informed Ashley that for her first two weeks on the job, she was on probation until she proved herself.

“Okay.” Ashley blew out her breath and squared her shoulders.
No pressure here.
“I'm on it. Do you know what he wants? A trim and a blow-dry?” she guessed.

“Um, I don't know,” Kylie said, “but he
really
needs a haircut. Just wait until you see him.”

“Oh, my.” One of Ashley's fellow stylists murmured beneath the hum of her blow-dryer. She'd probably been eavesdropping, and was now craning her neck toward the front of the salon. Ashley couldn't see what she was looking at because of the L-shaped placement of the workstations.

As the new girl, Ashley was tucked into the farthest corner, out of view of the waiting area. She was also set back from the spectacular floor-to-ceiling views of bustling Newbury Street, the Fifth Avenue of Boston. That part she didn't mind.

Setting down her broom, Ashley followed Kylie. When they rounded the corner and she had her first unobstructed view of the waiting room, Ashley stopped short.

Her next client looked as out of place in the salon as Ashley felt.

He was tall and broad, almost wild-looking. His handsome face was sunburned, and his wild, dark hair fell to chin level. He seemed gruff and untamed and not at all like the well-groomed city types who usually came in here.

Fascinated, Ashley watched him. While he paced the room, his hands tore through his hair. He wore a drab-colored, collarless, button-up shirt with an olive-toned canvas vest. His cargo pants were utilitarian, and they fit him...very well, she thought with a flush. His shoes were something new to her. Sort of like work boots, made of nice, though somewhat battered, leather. Higher end than she would have expected.

As she watched, wondering what to make of him, he sat in a chair in the far corner. Alone, he leaned his back against the wall and closed his eyes.

The stylist beside her sighed, and Ashley understood why. Even from this distance, her next client exuded a raw sexuality.

With his collarless shirt partially unbuttoned, and his tanned forearms crossed across his wide chest, he appeared completely uncivilized. He gave her the impression of wanting to be outside, free and unbound. His appearance didn't seem important to him at all.

She swallowed. What would it feel like to be so free?

Ashley shook herself. It did her no good—in fact, it was dangerous—to feel curious about any man, even if just physically. She was far too careful in her life to risk doing anything that might negatively affect her son.

“How much time do I have to cut his hair?” she asked Kylie. She was thinking about her probationary status. “Ilana will want me to be finished by the time his grandmother is ready to leave, I assume?”

“Um, yeah.” Kylie nodded. “I heard his grandmother tell Ilana they were going out to lunch afterward. She said she hasn't seen her grandson in a year because he was overseas with the Doctor's Aid volunteer group. I think they just came from the airport.”

“Wait, he's a doctor?” Ashley asked.

“That's what she said.”

Ashley's heart sped up. Her sister was a doctor. Brandon desperately wanted to be one himself. Hence their odyssey to a new, scary life that was so far out of Ashley's league that she felt terrified half the time.

Except maybe she didn't need to feel terrified with this man. She
knew
doctors. Knew what they needed. Knew what they wanted. Understood how they preferred to be treated.

“I'll have him ready in thirty minutes,” Ashley said.

“Don't forget our protocol,” Kylie murmured.

Ashley tried not to snort. She threaded her way toward him past rows of swivel chairs and stylists' sinks, briefly thinking of her old friends who would have made fun of Perceptions' snooty attitude.
Protocol, indeed.
In Sal's shop, Ashley had had the freedom to use her own personal style. Just a lean against the cabinet in her workspace cubbyhole, with her legs crossed, a casual smile for the client. Easily sliding her feet in and out of her comfortable leather clogs that she'd owned forever. While she encouraged new clients to talk, Ashley would take in the shape of their faces, the forms of their features. With her fingers, a quick, impersonal assessment of the texture and condition of their hair.

Perceptions' rules were different. Lead the new client to the special consultation room. Offer them tea or water. Complete an assessment worksheet. Above all, dress and act the part of a hip, cutting-edge stylist. Ashley felt as if she was dressed for going out clubbing, which she did not do. That young, carefree, confident girl had vanished, years ago, the day she'd discovered she was pregnant and had to make the biggest decision of her young life. Thirteen years later, here she was. Struggling to maintain control.

She stopped at the threshold to the waiting area. As if on cue, the door to the private treatment room opened, and Ilana stuck her nose out.

Ashley clasped her hands and did her best to smile at her perfectionist boss, who was so exacting she often scared her employees—but Ilana just gave her a curt nod in return. Ashley responded with another smile she didn't quite feel.
Fake it until you make it.

She turned to face her new client, determined to make a success of it. Up close, she saw that her mysterious, handsome client was clearly tired, zonked-out from his long flight.

In fact, he had dozed off into sleep.

* * *

A
IDAN
L
OWE
HAD
fallen into hell. He'd slipped into the fog of the old dream. So real that fragments still haunted him. He could taste it in his mouth.

The grit of the desert. The constant dryness. The heat and the sand perpetually in his eyes.
She
was there, of course, smiling at him. And he walked toward her, as he always did in his dreams. Reached out his hand to touch her...

She turned away from him. Then there was a wave, the concussion of earsplitting silence. A wind that kicked up her blond hair. Her blue eyes focused on his. And then a bright flash of a light, brighter than anything he'd ever before seen.

When he woke up from the dream she was gone.

His whole body shook, and he jerked in his chair. The upheaval, the shock and the pain of the past year flooded back. It never seemed to leave him for long, no matter what he did to chase it away. Maybe if he dropped everything and left...

When he opened his eyes, he wasn't in Afghanistan anymore, but in the brightly lit room where he was waiting for his grandmother.

He rubbed his face. Felt the rasp of razor stubble and a small speck of drool at the corner of his lips. He wiped it away, closed his eyes and wondered what he was going to do next.

He was back in Boston now, but Fleur was dead and it wasn't home to him anymore. He wanted to leave town as soon as he possibly could. As soon as he was satisfied that Gram was okay, that he didn't need to do anything on her behalf. That was his one job this morning. His one small focus on the present reality.

He heard someone softly clear her throat beside him. He opened one eye, just enough to notice a woman sitting to the side of him, so close their knees were almost touching.

“Hello,” she said, giving him a bright smile.

He felt himself frown. How long had she been there, her brow creased in concern, watching him?

As he stared at her, she swallowed. A door opened off to his other side, and the woman's gaze flicked nervously in that direction. He turned, too. The woman who owned the place—he was in a salon, he reminded himself, waiting for Gram to get her hair set so he could take her to lunch—stood in the doorway.

She gave the slight woman sitting beside him a short, pointed look—similar to the way that Fleur had communicated with the underlings in her medical practice.

Aidan glanced back to the seated woman, just to see what she would do.

She gave him another nervous smile.

“Can I help you with something?” he asked her.

“I...understand you're here for a haircut.”

“Who told you that?” he said, confused.

Her smile faltered. “I assume your grandmother arranged it with Ilana. My name is Ashley.” She smiled again as if under the assumption that this so-called haircut would be happening.

He rubbed a hand over his face again. Maybe his father was right—Gram really was slipping. The sooner he solved the answer to his question, the sooner he could leave Boston. “What do you think of my grandmother?” he asked. He'd forgotten the woman's name already, but that didn't matter. “Have you seen a change in her lately?”

“I...” She gave him a blank look.

He shook his head. She obviously had no idea if his grandmother seemed to be suffering from dementia or not. She probably didn't even know his grandmother. Gram didn't often talk to people outside her inner circle, especially now that she was in her mideighties. He should have realized that to begin with, but his brain was still feeling the effects of the long flight, followed by the shock of returning home.

“Never mind,” he muttered.

But she didn't take a hint. She actually scooted closer to him, tilting her head and giving him a charming smile, which he hated. Because since that day nearly a year ago in Afghanistan, when Fleur had been caught up in a war-zone bombing, nothing could melt his heart.

“My sister is a doctor, too,” the woman said in a confiding tone. “I know how stressful her life is. I promise not to take long. I'll have you ready before your grandmother even finishes with her appointment.”

She didn't get it. A haircut was the last thing on his mind. It was absurd that Gram had even thought to arrange it.

He stood abruptly. “No,” he said in a clipped tone. “Thanks,” he remembered to say, just to pretend that he was still human. He took a step to make his getaway, but she jumped in front of him.

He blinked, shocked. He was even more shocked when she placed her palm on his chest. His top two buttons were undone, and her palm landed partially on his bare skin.

He stopped short. Her eyes widened as if she was shocked at herself, too. At her own audacity.

He stared directly into her eyes. She was shorter than him by a few inches. Her skin was almost translucent and looked as smooth as porcelain, like a doll's. She had long auburn hair pulled back from her forehead. Every emotion played clearly across her dainty features, and at the moment she appeared terrified of him. Her hazel eyes were round, the pupils slightly dilated.