Someone was patting her on the back. Callie sucked in a big breath and focused. It was Rex Towbridge, the ranch director. “Great choice, Callie,” he said, “but you bought him too cheap. Mase is a very special person.”
Callie swallowed. “Is he…dangerous?”
Rex smiled warmly. “Mase? Heck, he’s the nicest guy around. You got yourself a real bargain. Now, go and introduce yourself and have fun.”
“Introduce myself?”
“Sure,” Rex said. “You bought the man, Callie. He’s yours, lock, stock and barrel.”
* * *
MASE LEBOW TOOK the woman’s proffered hand and shook it.
“Callie, Callie Thorne,” she said, smiling, her cheeks stained pink. “I—I guess I bought you, Mr. LeBow.”
“Name’s Mason,” he said, looking down at her appraisingly. “People call me Mase.”
“Mase,” she said, and dropped her hand as if he’d burned her. “You’re from, uh, from Denver?”
“That’s right,” he said, still eyeing her.
“You’re a cop?”
“Homicide.”
“Oh,” she said. “My.”
A heavy silence fell between them as they stood near the barbecue pit where Mase’s son, Joey, was waiting in line for a piece of chicken.
Mase shifted his glance to Joey, checking on him, and then back to Callie Thorne. She looked as if she were about to die of embarrassment.
With the practiced eye of a cop, he assessed her quickly. She was about five foot seven in her boots, on the skinny side, with fine, blunt-cut dark gold hair that reached her shoulders beneath the cowgirl hat. She had great big round eyes, hazel and extremely expressive. Her cheekbones were high—still scarlet with what he took to be discomfort—and she had a wide, full-lipped mouth. Right now she was worrying her bottom lip with her teeth.
“We don’t ever have murders in this neck of the woods,” she said, and he had to fit his mind around her statement. He got it then. She was dwelling on his being a homicide detective.
“I don’t imagine you do,” he replied.
“No, never. Well, a few years back this man in Lightning Creek, he killed his wife. It was an accident, the sheriff concluded, but everyone thought he only made it look like an accident. You know.” She shrugged and smiled feebly.
“Sure,” Mase said.
There was something about her. He stared at the woman who’d bought a date with him and tried to get a handle on it. Something in her expression. Whimsy? It was as if her emotions were chasing themselves across her face like the shadows of wind-driven clouds racing across the prairie. Interesting, he thought. She wasn’t beautiful, nor would he describe her as cute. The word enchanting flew into his head. He wanted to laugh. He could just see himself writing up a police report with her description on it. The guys would roll on the floor—”The suspect could be described as having an enchanting face.”
Joey was back, leaning on Mase’s leg, hiding his head while he held on to the paper plate with the chicken. Mase wished he hadn’t brought Joey along. All these people, strangers. It was hard on the boy. Ever since Mase had been widowed a year ago, Joey had been having a rough time of it. He was doing poorly at school, and often he was withdrawn, unreachable. Even the counselor the boy was seeing had been unable to crack his shell. Mase was worried. A lot more worried than he let on. He told himself he could handle his son’s psychological condition, but the truth was, he was tortured with doubts as he lay in bed alone in the dark of the night.
He looked off into the distance, across the sage-dotted prairie to the hills beyond, and he frowned. There was an even more urgent problem right now. And Mase had made the six-hour drive from Denver to Lightning Creek mulling it over. He’d received a threatening phone call about Joey yesterday. If Mase testified in an upcoming, high-profile trial in Denver, Joey was going to pay for it. He could take a threat to his own safety, but to Joey’s…?
Mase stood now in the brilliant sun, Joey clinging to him, Callie Thorne studiously looking at the toes of her dusty boots, and his frown darkened. Here he was, revisiting a place from his distant past, a special place where he’d discovered who he was and the direction his life would travel, and he was on a total bummer. He wouldn’t have come at all after yesterday’s call, except he had promised Rex Trowbridge, and Mase kept his promises.
Worse, he was being rude to this well-meaning lady who had just paid good money for a date.
He forced himself to concentrate on something she was saying.
“My folks’ place is only a few miles away,” Callie was telling him. “It’s called the Someday Ranch. It’s an equine therapy facility.”
Mase cocked his dark head. “Equine therapy?”
She looked up and held his gaze. “Yes. Equine therapy is a highly successful form of treatment for the disabled, people with neuromuscular problems.”
“Neuro…?”
“Nerve damage. Say, to the spine or a limb. People with cerebral palsy are great candidates for treatment. Or those with physical injuries or strokes. It can help a lot with emotional problems, too,” she added, and he noticed her glance inadvertently flick to Joey for a second before she found Mase’s eyes again. He would have said something defensive, but she was still talking. “I’m a therapist, a neuromuscular therapist specializing in the use of horses to bring about, well, small miracles with the guests at our ranch.” One of those myriad emotions flitted across her face. Pride? Happiness?
“Small miracles,” Mase said.
She nodded enthusiastically. “People respond to horses. It’s a kind of magic,” she said in earnest.
“Uh-huh,” Mase replied. Magic, he thought. Right.
She was still chattering away, talking about the auction and how her friend Lindsay Duncan had talked her into participating. Mase wasn’t paying a whole lot of attention. His thoughts were back on Joey and the upcoming murder trial at which he was scheduled to testify. He listened to Callie with only half an ear.
“I’m just so busy this summer,” she was telling him. “So you’re in luck.”
“Luck,” he repeated.
“Yes. I’m letting you off the hook. You don’t have to go through with the date.”
“Really,” he said, distracted.
“The ranch is so isolated, anyway, and for you to have to get up here from Denver again would be such a hassle.”
Isolated. Suddenly the wheels in his mind began to turn. He looked down at Joey, who was occupied with the chicken leg. Isolated. What if he could somehow get his son out of harm’s way?
“Now,” Callie said, smiling broadly, “isn’t that magnanimous of me?”
“I’d like to see your ranch,” Mase stated flatly.
“What?” Undisguised confusion clouded her features. She was staring at him, apparently baffled by his sudden desire to see her ranch.
Mase didn’t reply but dragged his thoughts back to the auction, and he turned to listen to the ongoing cheers and whistles emanating from the showring. He knew most of the men being auctioned off, knew them from his years here at Lost Springs. From what he had gleaned, thanks to Rex and Sam Duncan and all the others, the vast majority of the men had turned their lives around. He sure had. He’d ended up here as a confused teen, having taken a stolen car for a joyride, and the juvenile judge had given his folks a choice: the Lost Springs Ranch or juvenile detention in a lockdown situation in western Colorado. His parents had opted for the ranc
h. It was the most important decision they’d ever made. An excellent choice. He’d spent his time here, finished high school and gone on to college in Denver. Then he’d decided on a career in law enforcement, gotten married, had Joey. If it hadn’t been for this ranch, God knows where he might have ended up. Prison, most likely.
“Have you eaten?” a male voice asked. Mase turned to find that Rex and Lindsay had joined them. Rex patted Joey’s head and grinned at Mase. “I see your boy found the barbecue. Have you tried the brownies, Joey?”
But Joey only hid his face again.
“He’s shy,” Lindsay said.
Mase gave them a shrug as if to agree. But shy had never been a word to describe Joey. What he’d been lately was withdrawn.
They talked some more about the auction and how far people had traveled to be here. Mase did his utmost to join in the conversation. It wasn’t anyone’s fault that he had gotten that threatening call, and he should try to be pleasant. It was hard, though. As they stood there talking, it occurred to him to wonder why Callie had picked him to bid on. He remembered that earlier she and Lindsay had actually studied him—as if he were a bull on the block—and Callie Thorne had been scowling.
Nevertheless, she had purchased a date with him, and he owed her his attention at the very least. He tried his best, but it wasn’t easy with Joey clinging to his leg.
Eventually, Lindsay and Rex wandered back to the auction, and Mase turned his attention to Callie. “Well?” he said. “How about seeing your ranch?”
“You mean…now?” she replied.
“No time like the present,” he answered, and he prayed she’d cave in.
For a long moment she only stared at him, then finally, mercifully, she nodded and said, “Okay, sure, why not?”
“Good,” Mase said.
But she had to go and put a real damper on it by saying, “Maybe Joey could go for a ride on one of the horses.”
He should have let it pass. But, damn, she was insinuating his son needed some sort of therapy. “I don’t believe in that stuff, and I don’t want my son on a horse,” he said gruffly.
Callie paled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything. Really.”
But Mase was ticked off. “He’s a little timid. Okay? The poor kid lost his mother last year, and he just needs some time to adjust.” Mase realized he was clenching his jaw.
“I… Hey, I’m sorry, really,” she said quickly. “I didn’t know. I assumed you were divorced.”
“Well, I’m not,” he said tightly, and then he caught himself. What was he thinking? He might need this woman’s help. The last thing he should be doing was alienating her.
“Listen,” he said, and he ran his hand through his hair, “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I went off like that.”
“It’s all right,” Callie said. “It’s perfectly understandable.”
With that she walked away, mumbling something about needing a drink.
The auction ended an hour later, and Mase made it a point to find Callie in the crowd. He wasn’t about to let her skip out on him.
“Oh, hi,” she said when he and Joey walked up. “You still want to see the ranch, I guess.”
“You bet,” Mase said with false cheer.
He and Joey got in their car and followed her pickup truck. She’d said it wasn’t far, a few miles. They traveled along a country road in the opposite direction from the town of Lightning Creek.
It was a glorious Wyoming afternoon in mid-June. Hot and bone-dry on the high prairie, the fields of tall native grasses blowing in the slight breeze, the sagebrush hills silvery in the late-afternoon sun. The potholed road followed a creek, winding toward the hills, crossing dry washes and deep cuts in the hard earth. To the west he could just make out the shape of the Rockies, dark pyramids against the blue sky. In Denver the foothills rose to the snowcapped peaks and the Continental Divide immediately to the west. But here, due north of Denver, the Rockies marched away well to the west, almost invisible except for the highest peaks.
It was a hard land. Hard to work on and hard to survive on. But the strong ones did. The Thornes, obviously, were among those. Tough folk. Ranchers.
The road straightened once they climbed the hills and descended the other side. A few miles, Callie had said. He guessed she meant on horseback, overland.
Mase glanced at the speedometer. Holy Toledo, he was doing seventy miles an hour and falling behind. This Callie was some kind of cowgirl.
He was thinking that when he heard the siren behind him. Despite being a cop, he felt his heart drop like lead to his stomach. He glanced into the rearview mirror and saw the flashing red-and-blue bar on the big Chevy Blazer—a typical county sheriff’s cruiser.
He swore under his breath.
“Daddy,” Joey said, “you aren’t supposed to say that.”
“I know, I know,” Mase replied, and he stepped on the brakes and pulled onto the gravel shoulder.
The sheriff—his shiny ID badge read Reese Hatcher—sauntered up to Mase’s window and began the litany. “License and registration, please.” He had a real Western twang to go along with a big belly, grizzled hair and a leathery face behind standard wire-rimmed sunglasses.
Mase shifted his weight and dug his wallet out of his back pocket. He smiled at Sheriff Reese Hatcher and flipped open the wallet, showing his very official police badge—equally as shiny as Hatcher’s.
“This supposed to impress me?” the sheriff said.
“Well, no,” Mase began, only vaguely aware that Callie’s truck had stopped up ahead.
“Tell you what, sonny-boy,” Hatcher continued, “this here Colorado badge don’t mean squat up here.”
“Well, I…” Mase started to say, but the sheriff held up a hand. Mase shut his mouth. Within minutes Hatcher had written up the ticket and was handing it to him through the open window—smiling the whole time.
Mase snatched the piece of paper. “Thanks,” he mumbled, his jaw rock-hard. Then he looked up ahead toward the waiting pickup. “Why didn’t you ticket her?” he said.
Slowly, the sheriff followed Mase’s gaze. “Callie, you mean? Why, she wasn’t speeding, was she?” he said, and he gave a big grin.
CHAPTER TWO
OOPS. CALLIE WATCHED Sheriff Hatcher climb back in his vehicle and drive away. Should she get out of her truck and apologize to Mase? Maybe she should call Reese Hatcher later and try to fix the ticket. Maybe… Oh, boy, she’d done it now.
Not having the nerve to face Mase right then, she put her truck in gear and drove, sedately, carefully, agonizingly slowly, toward the Someday Ranch. She was relieved to see Mase follow. In the rearview mirror his face appeared set. God, he must be furious.
She turned onto the long rutted road that led to the ranch, stopped at the mailbox to pick up the day’s mail, then drove through the triple-log uprights with the hand-carved sign across the top: Someday Ranch.
She pulled up alongside the house in her usual spot, turning off her engine, hearing the familiar diesel knock.
Mase parked next to her; he and Joey got out.
“Look,” she said hastily, hopping down from the high truck seat, “I’m really sorry about that. I didn’t realize we were going so fast.”
“I was going too fast, but apparently you weren’t,” Mase said dryly.
“Sorry,” she said, fumbling, feeling her cheeks heat up.
Jarod, Callie’s assistant, strode by just then, leading a dark brown horse, a
nd Callie noticed that Joey shrank back and clung to his father.
“Hi, Callie,” Jarod said, waving. “And who’s this? Don’t tell me, it’s the guy you bought at the auction?”
“Hi, Jarod.” She put a brave smile on her face. “This is him, all right. Mase LeBow, from Denver, and his son, Joey.”
“Wow, Callie, looks like you got two for the price of one.”
Jarod, with his wise-guy mouth, was a physical therapy student at the University of Wyoming who worked with her in the summers. She adored Jarod, who was blond and darling, but he had a way of patronizing her, even though he was ten years younger.
She introduced him to Mason, but that was only the beginning. The Someday Ranch was like a large, extended family: the patients—or guests, as they were called—and her father, Tom, who ran the ranch, and her mom, Liz, who took care of the books and all the patients’ complicated health insurance forms. Then there was general aide and housemother Sylvia, a plump middle-aged woman with no children of her own, but a heart big enough to cherish every wounded soul who came to the ranch. The cook was Francine, a tiny skinny lady with red hair, whose gruff manner hid her warmth. The animals were also a big part of the ranch. There were the horses, specially chosen and trained for their job; two oversize mutts, Beavis and Butt-Head, who loved everyone indiscriminately; and assorted cats, who were supposed to keep the barn vermin-free, but who were fed by Francine and mostly lay around and slept.
Beavis and Butt-Head came bounding over now. “Down!” Callie yelled, preparing for the onslaught, but they both went straight to Mase, looked up at him with adoration and wagged their lethal tails. Beavis gave Joey a wet swipe with his pink tongue as an aside.
Joey looked as if he were going to cry.
“Beavis kissed you,” Callie said, smiling at Joey. “He must really like you, because usually he just jumps on people.”
Joey’s small face turned up to her. “It felt funny.”
Courting Callie Page 2