When Tom left, he noticed that Callie was staring his way. Probably wondering what he and her father were talking about. She swiftly glanced away, and he could see her cheeks flush. Why had she been watching him?
Well, hell, he could probably figure it out. She was wondering why on earth he’d come up here to bug her when she so obviously didn’t care if she ever saw him again. The excuse that he wanted to keep their date was a lame one. She wasn’t dumb, and she was probably getting suspicious. Why had Mase LeBow inflicted himself on her?
God, he wished he could tell her, just lay it all out on the line: “There’s been a death threat against my son because of testimony I have to give in court, and I want him up here in the hills of Wyoming where he’ll be safe.” That’s all he’d have to say, and he knew Callie wouldn’t give a darn about how much she disliked the father—she’d take in the son without a peep. And she’d protect him and love him just as she did everyone on the ranch.
But, of course, he couldn’t tell her.
And she’d continue to watch him with doubt and distrust in her wide hazel eyes, and that bothered him a lot more than it should have.
After lunch, Callie asked Mase if it was all right if Joey came out to the barn with her. He and Rebecca could be a lot of help getting the horses ready; it was going to be a full afternoon.
“Sure,” he said, “as long as he’s not in the way.”
“Goodness, no,” she said, then she went over and leaned down to talk to the two kids. In a second they were following her outside, and Joey was skipping with excitement. Just as they went through the front door, Callie reached for Joey’s hand, and without hesitation he took it. Rebecca took Joey’s other hand, and they looked so much like a mom and her kids that Mase felt something tighten in his chest.
“Cute, aren’t they?” Tom asked.
“Yeah. Joey’s having a ball.”
“Well, now that’s taken care of, and if you don’t have anything else to do, I was wondering if you’d like to go into town with me. To the feed store. Jarod’s busy with patients, and I could use some help loading the feed bags.”
“I’d be glad to,” Mase said.
It was a pleasant drive. The windows of the pickup were open and a cool breeze blew Mase’s hair around. Tom was easy to be with and talked idly of his family.
“Callie’s older brother lives in Jackson Hole. He’s got two kids, wonderful kids. Only thing is, me and Liz don’t get to see them enough, we’re so busy. It’s easier in winter, when everything slows down a lot, but then the weather’s so bad I hate for any of us to be out on the roads. We manage to get together for Christmas, anyway.
“Callie’s so dedicated to her work. Went all over the country taking courses in neuromuscular development and the special kind of therapy she does. She’s very safety minded, too, takes all the precautions listed in the NARHA manual—that’s the North American Riding for the Handicapped Association. Callie’s got all the required helmets, saddles, wheelchair-accessible mounting blocks. That girl’s a real stickler for rules.” Tom glanced over at Mase. “We’re pretty darn proud of her, but you know, we sorta wish she’d get out more. That was sure nice of you to take her to that movie last night. Girl her age needs more of that.”
“It was my pleasure,” Mase said.
“Was it, now?” Tom replied. “Looked more like a chore for both of you.”
“Oh, no, not at all. Callie’s a very nice girl. I enjoyed taking her out.”
“Yeah, like you’d enjoy wrestling porcupines.”
“Tom, honestly…”
“Oh, I know, Callie can be…well, I guess you’d say she’s a little different.”
“Yes, she is.”
“Hey, don’t think I’m trying to push her on you. My Callie has a mind of her own. I wouldn’t interfere, not me.”
Mase sat there, staring straight ahead. What was he supposed to say to that? He sifted through possible replies, but discarded every one. In the end he said nothing.
Reilly’s Feed Store was right next to Twyla’s Tease ’n’ Tweeze and two doors down from the Roadkill Grill, where he and Callie had been last night. Tom drove around back and spoke to a broad-shouldered young kid. Soon the fifty-pound bags of grain for the horses were being tossed into the back of the truck by the three of them.
“Put it on my account, okay?” Tom said, and they drove back down Main Street and out of town. Tom seemed to wave to almost everyone they passed.
“Small town, you know everybody,” he remarked to Mase.
“It’s nice.”
“It is, yeah, it sure is.”
When they arrived at the ranch, Tom backed the truck up to the big barn doors, ready to unload the grain. Mase climbed out to help.
He didn’t notice Joey at first, not with all the people standing around and the horses tied to the corral poles waiting to be ridden. His ear must have recognized Joey’s voice over the din, though, because he walked around the pickup and searched the area for his son but couldn’t see him.
Little Rebecca appeared silently at Mase’s side and took his hand. He glanced down at her, surprised, and she tugged his hand. He went with her, and somewhere behind him he heard Tom say, “Will you look at that.” He glanced to where Rebecca was leading him, and there, in the riding ring, was Joey, perched on a big brown horse and being led around the ring by Callie.
Joey saw him and grinned. He waved at his father and yelled, “Hey, look at me on the horse, Daddy!”
Rebecca pulled Mase closer, and he was right at the fence watching his son ride a horse—a happy little boy, an excited, joyous little boy.
Callie led the horse to the fence, her eyes met Mase’s and held them for a moment, daring him to object. There was such fire in her gaze that he wouldn’t have had the nerve to provoke Callie Thorne, not in a million years. In any case, Mase could not have gotten the words past the lump in his throat.
CHAPTER SEVEN
CALLIE LED KAHLUA BACK into the center of the ring, reminding Joey not to bounce around in his excitement. But even as she spoke, she was aware of Mase’s gaze on her. She felt prickly hot, her skin supersensitive, as if she had a fever. She told herself over and over that she didn’t care what Mase LeBow thought—putting Joey on the mare’s back was the best thing that could have happened. She ached to turn, to cry out to Mase, “Look, look at your son, look how happy and alive he is,” but she wisely kept her mouth clamped shut. If Mase couldn’t see it, well, he was blind.
It struck her then, like a brick falling on her head, that this might be exactly why Mase had returned to the Someday Ranch. It wasn’t to see her again, and it wasn’t because he felt obligated to keep the date. He’d come back for Joey. Somehow, subconsciously, Mase had realized this was what his son needed.
Callie worked with Joey for another twenty minutes and then taught him how to slide off Kahlua’s back onto the mounting block. Joey would have stayed on the mare all afternoon given half a chance, but Callie knew that even at his tender age, he would have one heck of a sore rear end in the morning.
“Down you go, Joey,” she said, guiding him onto the block. “And now you can help Jarod give her some oats. Would you like that, pardner?”
Joey nodded eagerly. “Can Rebecca help, too?”
“Uh-huh,” Callie said, “but you’ll have to find her. I think I just saw her take off toward the house.”
Joey raced off to find his new friend, totally bypassing Mase. Calli
e watched the boy’s father, trying to gauge his reaction, but his expression was neutral.
She led Kahlua past him and into the barn, where she removed the mare’s saddle and bridle and placed them in the tack room. “Phew,” she said, turning, and there was Mase, right behind her, muscular arms folded across his chest, leaning a casual shoulder against the door frame. “Oh,” Callie breathed, “you startled me.” Inadvertently, she stepped back.
“Sorry,” he said, his eyes on her. “I just wanted to say that was…amazing. Thank you.”
They were so close, and the air was hot and heavy with the odor of hay and animal flesh. Callie felt suddenly breathless, unable to tear her gaze from his. He seemed bigger in the close quarters, bigger and stronger and curiously in charge. Sweat trickled down between her breasts as the moment stretched out, longer and longer.
After what seemed an eternity, Callie bit her lower lip and slid her stare away from his. Her brain churned frantically—what had he just said? Something about Joey? Yes, that must have been it. Mase had thanked her. Wow.
“You’re welcome,” she managed to say past the dryness in her throat. “I…I’m so glad you weren’t mad—you know, about Joey riding and all. I…”
“It’s all right,” he said, still not moving, still filling the doorway. “I was an ass about it.”
“Oh, no, no,” she said quickly, despite the accuracy of his words. “You’re just a protective father and that’s good. Really.” She looked up tentatively, and something flickered in his eyes, something she couldn’t grasp. Anger? Regret? Lord, but she couldn’t read this man, not one bit, and her stomach tightened in frustration. There was that dark side to him, dark and forbidding, and, oh, how she wanted to probe it. Had it started with the death of his wife? Or with his job? Had he been born with it already intact?
Callie shook herself mentally and forced a smile. “Hot in here,” she said. “I’m ready for some lemonade. How about you?” She kept the smile on her lips and slipped past him.
Over lemonade on the porch, Callie ventured to bring up the subject of riding again. “So, you really don’t ride, not ever?”
“Not if I can help it,” Mase answered. He sat on the steps, his back presenting a formidable wall.
Then Joey appeared, the screen door banging behind him. “You could ride Kahlua, Daddy.”
Mase was silent.
Even Tom, who was sitting next to Callie in a wicker chair, got into the discussion. “Diablo would be perfect for you,” Callie’s dad said.
Mase pivoted around. “Diablo?”
“It’s a joke,” Callie said. “Diablo is twenty-two years old and so sweet-tempered he won’t take off if ten horses gallop right past him.”
“Diablo,” Mase grumbled.
“No, really,” Callie said, “I’m not kidding. He’s a dream.” Then she grinned gave her father a wink. “I think you should ride Diablo.”
Mase made no comment. He merely took a long drink of his lemonade and set the glass down on the step next to him, ice cubes tinkling.
“You still owe me a date,” Callie said impishly. “I don’t think baling hay with my dad qualifies.” She turned to her father. “Do you think Mase has fulfilled his obligation?”
Tom shook his head. “Nope. I think Mase has done a darn good job of avoiding it.”
Mase made a grunting noise.
Callie grinned wider. “You’re right, Dad, he’s been avoiding it like the plague. Now, I figure that I bought him with my hard-earned money, so I should get to choose the date.”
Under his breath, Mase mumbled, “We went to the movies and then you stuffed down a banana split. That was your choice.”
“Oh, no,” Callie said, “the movie was your idea.”
“Like hell it was,” Mase said, but in the end, either out of humiliation or macho bravado or a sense of duty, he reluctantly agreed to the ride.
Because he’d only brought along his tennis shoes, Mase had to borrow a pair of Jarod’s boots. While he tugged them on, Callie and her father saddled Diablo and Callie’s mount, Satin Boy, a four-year-old quarter horse that her mom and dad had given her for her thirtieth birthday. Satin Boy was a delight, still young and frisky, and he ran like the wind as smoothly as any horse Callie had ever been on. He was a little hard to handle at times, especially if the weather was bad, but he was learning who was boss.
“Nice-looking horse,” Mase said, the brim of his baseball cap tugged low and his hands on his hips as he surveyed Satin Boy. “You sure he isn’t going to get old Diablo here all stirred up?”
“Nothing gets Diablo stirred up,” Callie replied. But she would soon eat her words.
They mounted, then left the barn, heading north at a leisurely pace along a trail that wound up into the hills and onto a large grass and sage-dotted plateau beyond. Old Diablo, as promised, just plugged along, his big head down, swaying a little from side to side. Satin Boy, on the other hand, was raring to go, his smooth chestnut-colored flanks quivering beneath Callie and a sheen of sweat already glowing on his neck despite the slow pace. He kept throwing back his head, nostrils flared, and Callie scolded him with a touch of her knees and hands when he did a quick dance.
“If you want to run him,” Mase said alongside her, “go ahead. We’ll just keep plodding along here.” He patted Diablo’s mane. “Good ol’ fella.”
“I’ll run him when I’m ready,” Callie said. “He’s still very young and has to learn who’s riding who.”
It was a beautiful late afternoon, storm clouds amassing far to the west and darkening the distant mountains. Bees buzzed in the tall grass, butterflies bobbed colorfully, and prairie dogs poked their heads from their holes as Callie and Mase passed. Overhead, an eagle wheeled on an ascending shaft of air, its huge wings spread effortlessly against the brilliant blue Wyoming sky. A fat whistle pig stood on its haunches on a boulder, nervously aware of the big bird.
Mase looked up. “Bald eagle?”
“Yep,” Callie said, tipping her worn Stetson back to survey the sky.
“Do you ever spot golden eagles here?”
“Uh-huh. Can’t miss them. Last spring there was one that had a ten-foot wing spread. I think he was nesting right up on that rock face.” She pointed to the east, to a sheer, dry wall of reddish-brown rock that jutted out of the earth.
Mase rose up in his saddle, apparently trying to get a better view of the cliff.
And the words flew unbidden out of her mouth. “You don’t have a bad seat,” she said, eyeing Mase’s firm jeans-clad rear end. Then, realizing she’d voiced aloud her thoughts, she quickly tried to qualify her statement. “I meant—I mean—you sit a horse okay.” Her cheeks flamed.
Mase pivoted in the saddle. “I thought that’s what you meant.”
They rode for some time in companionable silence, enjoying the warm, dry air, the wide-open spaces. The light was changing, taking on that golden late-day glow, and it touched Mase’s hair beneath the baseball cap and lit it softly, richly.
At one point Callie said, “This is nice, huh?” and Mase nodded.
She finally let Satin Boy have his head, leaving Mase in the dust as the gelding took off across the prairie, his neck flattened, his gallop flowing as smooth as silk beneath her. She let him fly until she was nearly to the base of the red cliff, and then she turned him, took him down into a canter, then a trot, and finally slowed him to a cooling-off walk as she headed back toward Mase.
She was exhilarated. Ali
ve. She was always on a high when she rode, the hot, dry wind in her face and hair, the smooth muscles of a horse bunching and stretching beneath her, the heavy solid thud of hooves on the parched earth. The huge mass of the animal between her thighs, that unique horseflesh smell, the dust on her cheeks and hands, the sweat of her brow mingling with the horse’s—it was all as utterly sensual to Callie as intimacy with a man. And today she felt giddy with life, her body expectant, all her senses in heightened awareness.
Mase was just up ahead now, moving toward her on Diablo. He might never ride, Callie mused, but he sure could sit a horse. She imagined Mase would look natural in any athletic endeavor—he simply had a great, well-tuned body. She guessed she’d known that from the very first, from the moment she’d laid eyes on him at the auction. Despite the menacing look, despite that dark, hidden side, Detective Mase LeBow had a body to die for.
Callie caught herself and immediately squelched the thought. Was she crazy? This was a silly arranged date. Period. Not a darn thing was going to come of it.
She had one of her visions then, blocking out the sage-dotted plateau, blocking out the heat, everything.
She was on a huge, colorful balloon, rising up into the sky. Suddenly an arrow pierced the balloon and it started to deflate, spinning out of control, crashing toward earth....
“You certainly can ride,” Callie heard someone say, and she blinked. Mase. Somehow she had reached Mase again. “That was…beautiful, watching you like that.”
“Thank you,” Callie replied, and in spite of all the warning alarms sounding in her head, the balloon started to rise again.
It was a long ride back to the ranch. It wasn’t late, but if they didn’t pick up the pace a bit, dinner would be half over by the time they got home.
“Want to trot for a while?” she offered.
Mase shrugged. “Why not.”
He did fine, and they made headway back toward the ranch. But Diablo tired quickly.
Courting Callie Page 8