Birthright

  tangled on the grapevine sizzled that Dr. Callie Dunbrook was the long-lost Jessica Cullen.

  She’d refused to give interviews or answer questions. It was one thing to want to dig down to the truth, and another to lay herself bare for the media and the curious.

  But the curious came anyway. She was well aware that as many people stopped by the dig to see her as to see the project itself.

  Though she’d never been one to shy away from the spotlight, it was an entirely different matter when that light glared on you, and not on your life’s work.

  She was irritable, jumpy and distracted. All three moods collided when the door to the bathroom opened while she was sulking in the shower.

  She grabbed the handheld showerhead off its hook, gripped it like a weapon while the sharp violin notes from Psycho squealed in her head.

  She curled her fingers at the edge of the shower curtain, prepared to whip it back.

  “It’s Rosie.”

  “Goddamnit to hell and back.” Callie thunked the showerhead back in place. “I’m naked in here.”

  “I certainly hope so. I’d be more worried about you if you’d started taking showers with your clothes on. Bathroom’s about the only place I figure we can talk in private.”

  Callie tugged the curtain back an inch. Through the steam, she watched Rosie drop the lid on the toilet and sit.

  “If I’m in the john, it’s because I want privacy.”

  “Exactly. So.” Rosie crossed her legs. “You need to snap out of it, pal of mine.”

  “Snap out of what?” Callie yanked the curtain back into place, dunked her head under the spray. “Seems to me there ought to be a little more respect around here. People bopping into the bathroom while other people are wet and naked.”

  “The bags under your eyes are big enough to hold a week’s worth of groceries. You’ve lost weight. And your temper, never sterling to begin with, is getting ugly. You can’t go threatening to hack off a reporter’s tongue with a trowel. It’s bad PR.”

  “I was working. I told him no comment on the personal stuff. I even offered to take time to talk to him about the project. But he wouldn’t back off.”

  “Sweetie, I know this is tough going for you. You need to let me, Leo, Jake, even Digger do the front work with the media for the time being.”

  “I don’t need a shield, Rosie.”

  “Yes, you do. From now on, I’m taking media control. If you try to argue with me about it, you and I are going to have our first real fight. We’ve known each other about six years now, by my count. I’d hate to spoil that record. But I will take you down, Callie, if you force me to.”

  Callie inched the curtain open again, glared out. “Easy to say when I’m wet and naked.”

  “Get dry and dressed. I’ll wait.”

  “Do I look that bad?”

  “It’s started to wear more than the edges. The fact is, I haven’t seen you look this beaten up since you and Jake imploded.”

  “I can’t get away from it.” Couldn’t get away from Jake either, she remembered. From talk of him, memories of him, thoughts of him. “At the dig, in town, here. It all crawls over me like ants.”

  “People talk. That’s part of the problem with the species. We just can’t shut up.” She waited as Callie turned the water off, then rose to get a towel for her. “The team doesn’t mean to put more pressure on you. But we wouldn’t do what we do if we weren’t curious by nature. We want to know. It’s why we dig.”

  “I’m not blaming them.” She stepped out, took the towel. As modesty had never been a real issue, she wrapped her hair in it, then reached for another. “Having everybody walk on eggshells around me makes me jittery. And knowing Digger lost that ugly tin can he called home because somebody wanted to get at me bothers me. It bothers me a lot.”

  “Digger’ll buy himself another tin can. You and Jake weren’t seriously hurt. That’s more important.”

  “I know the priorities, Rosie. And I know, intellectually, the pattern of causing fear and doubt and distraction. But it’s a pattern because it works. I’m afraid and confused and distracted, and I don’t feel like I’m any closer to finding what I’m looking for.”

  She toweled off, grabbed the fresh underwear she’d brought in with her. “Why haven’t you asked me about it? About the Cullens, and what it feels like to find out you started out life as somebody else?”

  “I started to once or twice. But I figure, when you’re ready, I won’t have to ask. And I don’t think you should need to be told the team is behind you. But I’m telling you anyway.”

  “If I wasn’t part of the team, the project wouldn’t be in trouble.”

  Rosie picked up a jar of body cream from the back of the john. Opened it, sniffed. Lips pursed in approval, she slid her finger into the jar, then rubbed cream on her arms.

  “You are part of the team. You made me part of it. You go, I go. You go, Jake goes. Jake goes, Digger goes. The project’s in a lot more trouble if that happens. You know that, too.”

  “I could talk Jake into staying on.”

  “You overestimate your powers of persuasion. He’s not going to let you out of his sight. In fact, I’m surprised, and not a little disappointed, I didn’t find the two of you in the shower. It would’ve gone to the first page of Rosie’s personal memory book.”

  “We’ve got enough gossip around here without Jake and me taking showers together.”

  “Now that you mention it.” She dropped the jar of cream into Callie’s hand, played with a bottle of moisturizer while Callie massaged cream on her arms and legs. “If I did have a question, it would pertain to that particular area. What’s up with you two?”

  Callie hitched on fresh jeans. “I don’t know.”

  “If you don’t, who does?”

  “Nobody. We’re still sort of . . . we’re trying to . . . I don’t know,” she repeated, and reached for her shirt. “It’s complicated.”

  “Well, you’re complicated people. That’s why it was so interesting watching it the first time around. Like being witness to a nuclear reaction. This time it’s more like watching a slow-burning fire, and not being entirely sure if it’s just going to keep smoldering or burst into active flame at any given moment. I always liked seeing you together.”

  “Why?”

  Rosie gave a quick, musical laugh. “Coupla sleek, handsome animals stalking around, not sure if they should rip each other to shreds or mate.”

  She took the moisturizer, slathered it on her face. “You’re full of analogies.”

  “I’ve got a romantic nature. I like seeing the two of you, always did. Right now that man just wants to cuddle you up, but he doesn’t know how. And he’s smart enough to be cautious because if he cuddles the wrong way you’ll peel the skin off his bones. That right there’s a conundrum for him. Because your temperamental nature’s just one of the things he loves about you.”

  Slowly, Callie unwound the towel, picked up her comb. “I like being sure of things.” She tapped the comb on her palm before running it through her wet hair. “I was never sure he loved me. I thought he cheated on me. Veronica Weeks.”

  “Shit, she drew a bead on him from day one—and as much because she was jealous of you as because your man’s one sexy hunk. She wanted to cause trouble for you. Hated your guts.”

  Callie combed her hair back from her face. “Mission accomplished.” Then she lowered the comb. “How come you knew that, and I didn’t?”

  “Because it was in your face, sweetie pie. And I was just an observer. But I don’t think he ever dipped a toe into that pool, Cal. She wasn’t his type.”

  “Get out. Tall, built, available. Why wasn’t she his type?”

  “Because she wasn’t you.”

  On a long breath, Callie studied her own face in the mirror. Objectively, honestly. “I’m okay to look at. If I take the time to fiddle around, I can be pretty damn attractive. But that’s the limit. Veronica was beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous.” r />
  “Where’d you pick up the insecurity complex?”

  “It came with the package when I fell in love with him. You know his rep, you know how he’s always touching women, flirting with them.”

  “The touching and flirting’s just one of the ways he communicates. The rep was before you. And all of that,” Rosie continued, “is part of what you fell for.”

  “Yeah.” Disgusted with herself, Callie dragged the comb through her hair again. “What I fell for, then immediately started trying to change. Stupid. I just couldn’t believe he wouldn’t jump on other women. Especially Veronica Weeks and her obvious invitation—especially when I found her underwear under our bed.”

  “Oh.” Rosie drew the word out into three syllables.

  “She set me up, and I fell for it.” She threw the comb in the sink. “I hate that. I fell for it because I didn’t believe he loved me, at least not enough. So I pushed, and kept pushing, and when I couldn’t get an answer to either question, I pushed him right out the door.”

  “Now you’ve let him back in. Wouldn’t hurt to let yourself enjoy that part.” Rosie stepped up to the sink, met Callie’s eyes in the mirror over it. “Did he cheat on you, Cal?”

  “No. He screwed up in other areas, but he never cheated on me.”

  “Okay. Any screwups on your part?”

  Callie hissed out a breath. “Plenty.”

  “All right. Now listen to wise Aunt Rosie. If my life was in this kind of flux, I’d appreciate having a big, strong man willing to stand behind, beside or in front of me. In fact, I appreciate having a big, strong man about any time at all. But that’s just me.”

  Callie tipped her head until it bumped lightly against Rosie’s. “Why aren’t you married and raising babies?”

  “Honey, there are so many big, strong men out there. Who can pick just one?” She patted Callie’s shoulder. “I’ve got some herbal pads that’ll work wonders on those duffel bags under your eyes. I’ll get you a couple. You slap them on, stretch out for a half hour.”

  She felt pretty foolish lying down on top of her sleeping bag with pads that smelled like freshly cut cucumber covering her lids. And she imagined she looked like a blond version of Little Orphan Annie.

  But they felt good. Cool and soothing. And though she rarely thought about her appearance when working, Callie had a healthy sense of vanity. She didn’t enjoy knowing she’d been walking around looking awful.

  Maybe she’d give herself a facial. Rosie always had plenty of girl stuff in her pack. She’d spruce up a little. And she’d remember to put on makeup in the morning.

  There was no reason to go around looking like a hag just because she felt like one.

  She couldn’t manage the thirty minutes, but considered it a victory of willpower that she’d lasted fifteen. She got up, tossed the pads away, then took a long, critical study of herself in the little hand mirror from her pack.

  She’d looked worse, she decided. But she’d sure as hell looked better.

  She’d go down, forage some food from the kitchen, then see what Rosie recommended she slap on her face. She could handle leaving her skin smothered in gunk while she worked on the dailies.

  Considering it an intelligent compromise, she started down. Then stopped halfway down the stairs when she saw Jake at the door, and her parents on the other side.

  They made an awkward tableau, she thought. How many times had they actually met, face-to-face? Twice? No, three times, she corrected.

  Another mistake, she supposed. She’d considered Jacob Graystone so alien to her parents’ lifestyle that she’d made no real effort to blend him into her family circle. And there was no doubt in her mind now that he’d had exactly the same reservation with her and his own family.

  It was hardly any wonder they were so awkward with each other. Even without everything that had happened since July.

  She skimmed her fingers through her hair and hurried the rest of the way down.

  “Well, this is a surprise.” She tried to keep her voice easy and bright, but the tension inside her, around her, was thick enough to drink. “You should’ve told me you were coming down, I’d have guided you in. It couldn’t’ve been easy to find us.”

  “We only got lost twice.” Vivian stepped in, locked her arms around Callie.

  “Once,” Elliot corrected. “The second time was just a reconnoiter. And we’d’ve been here an hour ago if your mother hadn’t insisted we stop for this.”

  “A birthday cake.” Vivian loosened her hold on Callie as Elliot held up the bakery box. “We could hardly come all this way to wish you a happy birthday and not bring a cake. I know it’s not till tomorrow, but I couldn’t resist.”

  Callie’s smile felt frozen, but she reached out for the box. “It’s never the wrong time for sugar.”

  She could feel the curiosity and speculation pumping in from the living room where some of the team were sprawled. “Ah, this is Dory, Matt, Bob. And you remember Rosie.”

  “Of course. Nice to meet you.” Vivian ran a hand up and down Callie’s arm as she spoke. “Wonderful to see you again, Rosie.”

  “Why don’t we take this back to the kitchen? It’s the only place we have enough chairs anyway.” She turned, shoving the cake box at Jake before he could escape. “I’ll make some coffee.”

  “We don’t want you to go to any trouble.” Though Elliot followed along. “We thought you might like to go out to dinner. We’ve got a room in a hotel just over the river. We’re told the restaurant’s very good.”

  “Well, I . . .”

  “I can lock the cake up somewhere,” Jake offered. “Otherwise, it’ll be a memory when you get back.”

  “Like I’d trust you around baked goods.” Callie took the cake back and made the decision on impulse. “I’ll hide it. And you’ll have to come with us.”

  “I’ve got work,” he began.

  “Me too. But I’m not turning down a free meal away from the horde, and I’m not leaving you with this cake. I’ll be down in ten,” she told her surprised parents, then hurried out with the cake.

  Jake drummed his fingers on his thigh, thought of half a dozen ways he could make Callie pay for putting him on the spot. “Listen, I’m going to cut out. I know you want some time alone with Callie.”

  “She wants you to come.” There was such simple bafflement in Vivian’s voice, Jake nearly laughed.

  “Just tell her I headed back to the site.”

  “She wants you to come,” Vivian repeated. “So you’ll come.”

  “Mrs. Dunbrook—”

  “You’ll need to change your shirt. And wear a jacket. A tie would be nice,” she added, “but they aren’t required.”

  “I don’t have one. With me, I mean. I own a tie, it’s just that I don’t . . . have one with me,” he finished, feeling like an idiot.

  “The shirt and jacket will be fine. Go on and change. We’ll wait.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Elliot waited until they were alone to lean down and kiss his wife. “That was very sweet of you.”

  “I don’t know how I feel about it, or him, but if she wants him, she gets him. That’s all there is to it. He was so flustered about the tie. I might just forgive him for making her unhappy.”

  He wasn’t just flustered. He was totally out of his depth. He didn’t know what to say to these people under the best of circumstances. And these were far from the best.

  The shirt needed to be ironed, he discovered. He didn’t have a goddamn iron handy. The only reason he had the dress shirt and jacket was for the occasional television interview or university visit.

  Trying to remember if the shirt had been laundered after the last wearing, he sniffed at it. Okay, points for him. It didn’t smell. Yet.

  He’d probably sweat through it before they got to the entrée.

  If Callie had pushed him into this to punish him, she’d hit a bull’s-eye.

  He dragged on the shirt and had to hope the jacket would hide most
of the wrinkles.

  He dawdled now, refusing to go back out there until the last possible minute. He changed his work boots for a pair of slightly more presentable Rockports. Then he ran a hand over his face and remembered he hadn’t shaved in days.

  He snagged his kit and stomped off to the bathroom to take care of it.

  A guy shouldn’t have to put on a damn jacket and shave to have dinner with people who were going to look at him like the suspicious ex-husband. He shouldn’t have to try to weather what was