Sweet Talking Man. Liz Talley

what happened now because you’re alone. You were never good at being alone. You think you can slip into our lives like you pressed a pause button and we froze. You want comfort, and I have none to give you.”

      Cal inhaled. “Okay, fine. I understand how you feel, but I’m not letting you go that easily.”

      “News flash, Cal. You don’t have me anymore. And I suggest you leave well enough alone.” She couldn’t believe him. He was going to try to win her back? Sorry...not going to happen.

      “I’ll concede the battle for now, Abi.”

      “It’s Abigail. Wave the flag now and concede the war. The last thing we need is another thing we’re at odds over. Focus on Birdie and doing whatever else it is you’re going to be doing in Magnolia Bend. I’m guessing you won’t be headlining at the Sugar Shack?”

      Cal gave a sheepish smile. “I think my music days are over. LA has a way of stomping out dreams and pissing on them. I’m going to work for Dad. He gave me my old job.”

      She raised her eyebrows, surprised Buster Orgeron would be so quick to accept his son in the family company again. The president of Orgeron Fertilizer hadn’t supported his son’s dream of bright lights and big titties. As far as Buster was concerned, when Cal left his wife, daughter and job, he’d lost his damn mind.

      Buster and Minnie Orgeron had been gracious to Abigail, helping with Birdie and providing some of the financing for the Laurel Woods renovation. Abigail had let them help not because she thought they owed her anything, but because she’d been fighting depression along with creditors.

      Their anger at Cal had stayed in place for a good year, but then, as to be expected, it had faded. Well, it had waned for Minnie. Cal was her only child and she convinced herself that his running from his life in Louisiana had been Abigail’s fault, that she’d failed to make Cal happy. Minnie believed they’d married too young and never should have bought the Harveys’ historic house. It was too much pressure for Cal. Minnie understood his wanting to leave.

      Which was utter bullshit.

      Buster hadn’t been as understanding, however.

      “Well, that’s good. You staying with them?”

      “Until I can find a place. I’m thinking about the subdivision behind here. Nice to be close by in case you or Birdie need me.”

      Something shrank inside Abigail. She didn’t want Cal that close. It was bad enough he’d come home, showing up like a bad penny just when she’d developed an interest in another man.

      Wait.

      Not a true interest. A potential flirtation. Or maybe just good fantasy fodder for cold, lonely nights. Leif wasn’t an actual contender for her affections. That was crazy, premenopausal delusion talking.

      Then she recalled the heat in his gaze when she’d caught him looking at her in art class. So maybe Leif was a contender?

      She wasn’t a big-boobed Marcie, but she wasn’t chopped liver, either. She knew how to kick off her loafers. WD-40 might be in order, but the parts still moved.

      “Well, once you get settled permanently, let me know. You have my phone number.”

      He frowned, pushing off from the counter. “Oh, you’ll see me before then. I thought I might come over tomorrow night and take you and Birdie to dinner.”

      “I can’t leave the bed-and-breakfast two nights in a row. But Birdie will want to spend some quality time with her father. She didn’t see you for Christmas.” Abigail tried to not make her statement an accusation, but it stuck anyway.

      “I couldn’t fly home. Airline prices were crazy and Morgan—” His voice faded. A hurt expression flitted over his face before he regained control. “Things were unsettled.”

      So he’d been trying to save his relationship with the twenty-six-year-old, while putting his daughter on the back burner once again. Morgan wore her South Louisiana roots well with her olive coloring, big brown eyes and soft bayou accent. Lithe and sexy, her voice had a mesmerizing, otherworldly quality. Abigail knew because she’d been the dumb ass who had suggested she and Cal watch Morgan perform with her local zydeco band six years earlier. No doubt, Morgan had now moved on to bigger fish who could further her career.

      “So you said. I suppose the upside to ending your relationship with Morgan is being more present in your daughter’s life.” Abigail walked toward the kitchen door, hoping Cal would get the hint. His appearance at the art class had pulled the rug out from beneath her. Abigail needed to think. And plan. And think some more. She had to be careful with Cal and Birdie, especially since her daughter had been buzzing with excitement, her eyes sparkling at the news that her father was home. The child had been cut adrift when Cal left five years ago and she’d never really recovered.

      “True,” Cal said, following her into the formal parlor with its richly colored carpets, marble fireplace and Audubon painting of a crane standing vigil over the bayou. “I should’ve called you, but I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to surprise Birdie. And you.”

      Again, warning bells sounded. “We’ll figure things out. I’ll tell Birdie you’ll pick her up for dinner tomorrow night. Needs to be early since it’s a school night.”

      “Good,” Cal said, stepping closer to Abigail. She moved back. “I appreciate that, Abi. I mean Abigail.”

      He ducked his head toward her.

      Abigail threw up a hand, hitting his chin. “What are you doing?”

      “Kissing your cheek. Saying good-night.”

      “Don’t.”

      Cal scowled. “Jesus, it’s just a friendly gesture. We can be civil, can’t we?”

      “Sure. As long as it’s not with your lips.”

      “Goddamn, you’re cold,” Cal said in a hurt voice.

      “What did you expect? I’d be the same as I once was?” Abigail opened the front door. “I’ll treat you cordially, Cal, because of Birdie. But if we didn’t have a child, you would have never crossed this threshold.”

      Cal studied her for a moment, saying nothing, before slipping out the door, leaving behind the scent of Brooks Brothers Gentlemen cologne. She watched the taillights of his truck fade before she stepped out into the chilly night. The porch that ran across the front of the house was deep enough for several sets of rocking chairs perfectly centered on the plantation windows. Her breath puffed white as she shuffled toward the swing at the end of the porch. Her body felt brittle, her soul tormented by tonight’s events. Cal was in her life and she had no say about it because they shared Birdie.

      Wonderful, temperamental, soulful Birdie.

      She released a breath.

      “Sounds like you need a drink.”

      Abigail nearly jumped out of her skin as she spun toward the porch railing. Standing in the moonlight, clad in a down-filled jacket, was Leif. He held a liquor bottle and two glasses.

      “You scared me to death.”

      His teeth flashed in the moonlight. “You look alive to me.”

      “What are you doing here?”

      “Checking on you.”

      “Checking on me?” She stiffened, grappling with the idea that Leif cared enough to check on her.

      “And bringing you a drink.”

      “A drink?”

      He climbed the steps, his shoes quiet on the slats as he moved toward her. “You expected something more herbal from me? I’ve heard the rumors, but I don’t smoke weed. I do, however, like a good Scotch.” His blue eyes were sparkling with warmth. He wagged the bottle.

      “I could use a drink.” She sat on the swing and glanced at the spot beside