Birthright

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.”
    H e 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 bound to be an emotional evening.
    He had work to do and thoughts to think. And he just didn’t need the aggravation.
    He was scraping the razor through lather when the knock sounded. “What?”
    “It’s Callie.”
    He shoved the door open, one-handed, then grabbed her and yanked her in. “Why are you doing this to me? What have I done to you lately?”
    “It’s dinner.” She arched her head back to avoid getting smeared with shaving cream. “You like to eat.”
    “Get me out of this.”
    Her brows winged up. “Get yourself out of it.”
    “Your mother won’t let me.”
    Her heart warmed. “Really?”
    “She made me change my shirt.”
    “It’s a nice shirt.”
    He hissed out a breath. “It’s wrinkled. And I don’t have a tie.”
    “It’s not that wrinkled, and you don’t need a tie.”
    “You put on a dress.” He batted it out, a vicious accusation. He turned back to the mirror and, scowling, continued to shave.
    “You’re nervous about having dinner with my parents.”
    “I’m not nervous.” He cursed when he nicked his chin. “I don’t see why I’m having dinner with them. They don’t want me horning in.”
    “Didn’t you just say my mother wouldn’t let you get out of it?”
    He sucked in a breath and scalded her with a look. “Don’t confuse the issue.”
    Look how sweet he was, she thought. Just look at the sweetness she’d ignored. “Are we trying to get somewhere together, Graystone?”
    “I thought we were somewhere.” Then he paused, rinsed off the blade. “Yeah, we’re trying to get somewhere.”
    “Then this is part of it. It’s a part I can’t skip over again.”
    “Yeah, yeah, I’m going, aren’t I?” But he shifted his gaze, ran it down her. “Why’d you have to go put on a dress?”
    She lifted her hands, managed to turn a little circle to show off the way the short, snug black material clung. “You don’t like it?”
    “Maybe I do. What’s under it?”
    “If you’re a good boy and behave, you may just find out for yourself later.”
    H e tried not to think about that. It seemed rude to think about getting Callie out of the little black dress when he was sitting at a table for four with her parents.
    And the conversation was so pointedly about anything but her parentage, the facts of it rang like bells.
    They talked about the dig. A topic that seemed safest all around. Though no one mentioned the deaths, the fires.
    “I don’t think Callie’s ever mentioned what got you into this kind of work.” Elliot approved the wine, and glasses were poured all around.
    “Ah . . . I was interested in the evolutions and formations of cultures.” Jake ordered himself not to grab for his glass and glug wine like medicine. “What causes people to