A Mom for Callie by Laura Bradford Page B

didn’t.” Crossing his arms in front of his chest, Kyle leaned against the window that overlooked his own backyard. “I tried to help…I even looked in one of the hair books Ang gave me a few months ago, but nothing I do seems to be right.”
    She tried not to make light of his dilemma yet hisconcern was nothing short of endearing. She told him as much.
    â€œEndearing? Really?” His eyes sparkled as he looked at her, his gaze roaming its way down her freshly showered body now clad in a pair of formfitting white jeans and a turquoise-blue halter top.
    â€œReally.” Holding her finger upward momentarily, she took a last gulp of coffee before setting her mug down on her laptop table. “Can I help?”
    Relief tugged at his shoulders. “I was hoping you’d say that. But—” he gestured toward her computer “—don’t you have that deadline to worry about?”
    She glanced at the screen behind her, desire winning out over duty. “My writing can wait. Callie is more important.”
    He flashed his infamous knee-weakening smile then pulled her out the door. “You have no idea how glad I am to hear that. Callie specifically asked for you.”
    Her skin tingled beneath his hand as it found her lower back and guided her through the now-familiar gap in the hedge, Callie’s excited face peeking through the back door at them. “She keeps saying today is a very special day—more special than any other school program she’s had.”
    â€œAny idea why?” she asked.
    Kyle shrugged. “Something about changing the poem she was going to read today to something entirely new…something she just wrote this week.”
    â€œThis week?”
    â€œThat’s what she said.” Kyle stopped outside the screen door and winked at his daughter. “Isn’t that right, Callie?”
    Not wanting to ruin the surprise she suspected Callie held, Betsy cocked her head a hairbreadth to the left andsmiled at the little girl. “Your personal hairdresser has arrived, Miss Brennan. So what would you like? Braids? Ponytails? Curls? Pretty clips?”
    Callie squealed, her hands clapping with excitement. “Curls! Curls!”
    She looked at Kyle. “Any chance you have a curling iron handy?”
    â€œAs a matter of fact, I do.” Gesturing Betsy to follow him inside, he walked five or six feet and then spun around, playfully raking his hand through his hair. “Do you really think I just wake up looking like this?”
    â€œOh, Daddy, ” Callie said as she rolled her eyes upward. “You don’t use a curling iron. Grandma just left her old one here in case…in case…” A gleam appeared in her eye. “Today just happens to be extra special. And extra special calls for curls and party shoes.”
    â€œParty shoes?” Kyle teased.
    â€œAnd tights, too.”
    â€œAnything else?”
    Callie appeared to consider her answer carefully, each finger of her right hand extending outward as she ticked off something in her head. “A dress and a hair ribbon would be extra nice. And, oh! I can’t forget my poem.”
    Once her list was clear, Callie grabbed hold of Betsy’s hand and pulled. “C’mon, Miss Anderson. I have to hurry.”
    Kyle bit back his smile as he tried valiantly to replace it with a solemn look. “Yes, Miss Anderson, you really need to hurry.”
    â€œI can see that.” With a grin and a wave at Kyle, Betsy followed Callie down the hall, her mouth gaping open as the child’s room came into view. Somehow, someway, what had surely been an average ten-by-ten room atsome point in the home’s history had been transformed into a woodland paradise where flowers swayed in the breeze and fairies flew about dispersing their magical dust. Every tree branch, every flower petal, every detail of the dozen or so fairies had been painted with a precise hand