“The old boy here doesn’t seem in too big a hurry,” Mase said, and so they slowed down again. It was okay, Callie decided, because she had Mase’s undivided attention.
“So where do you live in Denver?” she asked. “Downtown?”
“Bonnie Brae. Well, right on the outskirts. Little brick place.”
“That’s near…?”
“Cherry Creek. Sort of between there and Denver University.”
“Shopping.” Callie sighed. “Cherry Creek is such a nice area to shop in, or so I hear. It’s the one thing I really do miss living in the sticks. Did your wife like to shop a lot?” Callie gave him a sidelong glance. Was she pushing?
But Mase didn’t seem to mind. “Amy liked to shop, I guess.” Then a tiny smile tugged at that mustached mouth. “Don’t all women?”
“Oh, yes, at least everyone I know. So, if it’s okay for me to ask, who takes Joey shopping—for clothes and things? I mean, since, well, since…”
“Amy died?” he cut in. “It’s all right, Callie, I’ve come to terms with her death. It wasn’t easy, but life goes on. And I’ve got Joey to think about. But to answer your question, my mother takes him shopping. She and Dad take Joey most everywhere, in fact. Dentist, doctor, you know.”
Callie was listening, but mostly she was thinking that there didn’t seem to be a special woman in Mase’s life right now, at least not one close enough to help with Joey. She recalled her thoughts about what a local hero Mase must be with the big trial coming up and all that—not to mention his great looks—and she wondered why some gorgeous female hadn’t snagged him.
“You, uh, don’t have a friend to help look after Joey? I mean, well, when your folks are busy?”
Mase shot her a quick glance. “What sort of friend are you referring to?”
Darn him, Callie fumed. “You know, a lady friend, someone you go out with.”
“No one,” he said, “yet.”
Yet. “Lindsay,” she continued, “you remember Lindsay Duncan from the auction? Anyway, she mentioned you have some sort of big trial coming up in Denver.”
There it was, that black cloud scudding across his face. She’d hit a nerve, but there was no way she was going to back off. “If you don’t mind, could you tell me what you actually witnessed when…”
It came darting from behind a small scrub oak tree. If Callie had seen it in time… But she didn’t. The jackrabbit flew right under Diablo’s nose, startling the old boy, and he reared up and shied to the left at the same moment. Before Callie could grab the reins, Mase was losing his seat, sliding off to the right into a pile of rocks and…
Oops.
Callie was down in a flash, ground-tying Satin Boy and kneeling beside Mase. He had a hand on his forehead and…oh, goodness, blood was oozing out between his fingers.
“Mase? Mase, are you all right?” Callie breathed, on her knees beside him.
He groaned something, a few choice swearwords.
“Mase, let me take a look.”
No way. She tried gently to pry his hand away from his forehead, but he resisted with a scowl.
“Mase, let me see it. Come on.”
“I’m…fine. Just give me a minute.”
He was not fine. Callie rose and unfastened the canteen from the clip on Diablo’s saddle. She gave Diablo a disgusted look, and he hung his head in shame. “Stupid horse,” she said, and she turned back to Mase. Squatting alongside him again, she yanked her tank top out of the waistband of her jeans and wet a corner of it.
“Let me at least clean off the cut,” Callie said.
“I’m not cut.”
“Oh, really? You better take a look at your hand, Mase.”
That got him. He took his fingers away from his brow and eyed them numbly.
“See,” Callie said, and she bent over him, carefully examining the wound. “I’m going to apply a little pressure. It may hurt a tad.”
Mase was a terrible patient, a real baby. He let out a groan when she pressed the wet edge of her shirt to the cut and dabbed away the blood. The wound was oozing freely, like a typical head wound, but not gushing blood. It would clot in a couple of minutes.
Mase finally sat up, hunched over, legs crossed in the dirt. Callie was kneeling directly over him, holding her shirt up and away from her body as she used the hem to clean the wound. If Mase looked up… But he didn’t.
It took a few minutes before the bleeding finally stopped, and Mase swore he was clearheaded enough to get to his feet.
Callie rose and helped him, tugging on an arm. “You might need a few stitches,” she said.
“The hell with that,” he muttered, and swayed against her.
“Whoa there,” Callie said, placing an arm around his waist as he leaned on her. “I think you may have a concussion.”
“I’m…okay,” he breathed, but half his weight still rested on her and his arm remained around her shoulders. “Just give me another minute.”
“Sure,” Callie said, tightening her grip around his waist. At that moment she became aware of his body, the steel hardness of his narrow hips, the long muscles of his arm, heavy against her shoulders. She was acutely aware of his weight, the damp heat that emanated from him, the heady aroma of male sweat and dust and leather. She could see those crisp sun-bleached hairs on his forearm and the back of his sun-browned hand, the dark whisker shadow on his cheeks, the curve of his lips and nose. She could even smell the blood, metallic, coppery.
Something inside her tightened and shifted, and she felt the hard thud of her heart against her ribs. This wouldn’t do, not at all, she was thinking, when another one of her crazy fantasies popped into her head.
She and Mase were alone, utterly alone in the desert, not unlike the desert in The English Patient. And Mase had been wounded by an enemy bullet. She got him to a cool cave and stripped him of his shirt. With a hankie wet with her own tears, she dabbed away at his blood, his sweat, her fingers tracing the lines of his chest, the sun-blond hairs, nurturing him, bringing him back to life. Days passed, and nights. Finally he sat up, and he brought her lips to his, kissing her deeply.
“You saved my life,” he said. “You didn’t leave me here to die.”
He kissed her again and again, his mouth opening over hers....
“Ah,” Mase groaned, his weight on her shoulder. “God, I feel stupid.”
Callie forced herself back to reality, to Wyoming, the high prairie, to Mase and the cut on his head. Wow, she thought. Some fantasy.
“Can you walk?” she breathed.
“Uh, sure.”
“Can you get back on Diablo?”
“Sure.”
Callie led him toward the old horse, who was standing docilely a few feet away. “Are you sure you’re okay? You can ride?”
“Fine, I’m fine,” Mase said, and he removed his arm from her shoulder. “Whew.” He leaned over and picked up his baseball cap from the dust. After slapping it against his leg, he put it on. Instantly, the cut began to ooze again.
Callie shook her head. “Here,” she said, and she reached up and turned the cap so it sat on his head backward. “Well, you look like a high school kid, but I guess it’s better than getting sunstroke.”
“Am I still bleeding?” he asked.
She cocked her head. “No. Not really. But I’ll sure feel better when we get home and clean that cut properly.”
“It’s fine,” he repeated doggedly.
“Sure,�
�� Callie agreed, and she thought, Men.
She helped him remount Diablo, and all the while Mase fussed that he was okay and didn’t need any more help. She said nothing. He did seem better on the ride back, and she was relieved. Concussions were nothing to mess with. Still, she asked him a dozen times how his head was.
“I’m perfectly all right,” he kept telling her, increasingly irritated.
When they were finally in sight of the barn, Callie said, “Mase, you aren’t mad at Diablo, are you?”
“Of course not.”
“But you’re probably mad at me. I goaded you into this.”
He reined Diablo in and turned to look at her. “No one goaded me into doing anything, Callie,” he said tightly. “I’m a big boy. I enjoyed the ride. Most of it, anyway.”
“I’m glad,” she replied, dragging her gaze from the blue of his eyes. “We’ll get that cut fixed up as soon as we…”
“Can I ask you a favor?” he interrupted.
She was ready to nudge Satin Boy but paused. “Sure. Anything. I sort of feel I owe you one.”
“You don’t owe me a thing,” he said. “But I would appreciate it if Joey could stay on here for a while.”
Callie was so taken aback that words failed her. She cocked her head at him in question. This was the last thing she’d expected.
“I’m maxed-out at work, and there’s the trial coming up… My folks could use the break, too.”
“Of course,” Callie managed to reply.
“But if it’s a problem…”
“Oh, no, no,” she was quick to say. “We’d be delighted to have Joey.”
“I’ll pay for his keep.”
“Mase…”
“I insist or it’s off.”
Callie shrugged. “Whatever.”
“So he can stay?”
“Yes, I told you we’d be happy to have him.”
“Good. Then it’s settled.”
“Sure. No problem.”
“It’s only for two weeks at the most, and I’ll call every day.”
“Not a good idea,” she said. “What I mean is, the younger ones do much better if you give them time to adjust without calling. They get less homesick.”
“You’re sure?”
Callie nodded. “When Joey feels like it, we’ll have him call you.”
“I’ll leave all my numbers—cell phone, pager, everything. Just in case.”
She smiled. “He’ll do great, and you aren’t to worry.”
Mase said, “I won’t worry.” But why, then, did he look so troubled?
They rode side by side to the barn, and the whole time Callie tried to make sense of it. Mase had been dead set against Joey getting therapy, but now he was apparently gung ho about it. What had happened? Was Mase that impressed with Joey’s improvement after a single session? Somehow Callie doubted it. So what was going on? Was he really that tied up with the trial? she wondered.
She gave him a long look, trying to read him, trying to probe that worried expression, but he wasn’t giving a hint as to his true motive. And then they were back at the barn, and Jarod and her dad were there, taking the horses’ reins. They were alarmed at the dirt and blood on Mase’s face and shirt, so there was no way Callie could question him any further.
Everyone fussed like mad over him. Joey clung to his leg again, frightened by the sight of blood on his father’s face. Rebecca hid in a corner of the kitchen, and Liz, Francine and Sylvia hovered around Mase, who was embarrassed as all get-out over the stir he was causing.
Callie watched the scene from the doorway. Francine was openly flirting with Mase like a big-eyed puppy, Sylvia was trying to play nurse, and Liz was directing everyone. “The first-aid kit’s in the downstairs bathroom, and we’ll need that new roll of adhesive tape from the bath upstairs....”
“Please,” Mase was begging, “I’m fine.”
“You should see a doctor,” Liz said, and she went on about the seriousness of concussions. At one point Mase tried to smile at Callie as if to say he was dying a thousand deaths.
She kept staring at him, and she couldn’t help recalling the feel of his hard body against hers, the male smell of him. Callie wasn’t sure any man had ever had such an immediate and profound effect on her, yet Mase had done nothing to elicit such a wild response.
Joey was staying. She had dozens of questions about that. And yet one thing stood out as vitally important. If Joey remained here, then Mase was going to have to come back and pick him up. And that meant that Callie would see him again. She wasn’t one bit certain how she felt about that. She was darn sure that nothing would come of it. And yet a part of her, a deep, secret part she rarely acknowledged, thrilled at the prospect—Mase was coming back.
CHAPTER EIGHT
MASE LEFT FOR DENVER after lunch on Sunday. Callie stood in the driveway holding Joey’s hand and they both waved goodbye. She kept a close eye on Joey that afternoon, making sure he was occupied, watching for signs that he missed his dad. He was fine, though, playing with Rebecca, wrestling around on the lawn with Peter and the dogs, getting filthy. He fed Kahlua her grain and even helped Jarod turn the horses out to pasture after dinner that evening.
Joey moved into the bunkhouse where the guests stayed. He’d be with Hal and Peter and James and Jarod, so he would have plenty of company, and there would be adults to take care of any emergencies that might arise.
By Wednesday Joey had ridden Kahlua three more times; he’d even trotted, and was very proud of his progress. Rebecca was always present for his riding lessons, and Joey was there for hers. They were fast becoming inseparable. The funny thing was, Callie told Liz, Joey didn’t seem to think it the least bit strange that his friend never spoke. He talked to her, and she seemed to communicate with him without words. Whatever it was, it worked.
By Wednesday evening, Callie noticed that Joey was quieter than usual and didn’t take Hal up on his offer of a ride in his wheelchair, one of Joey’s favorite pastimes. She took him aside and asked him what was wrong.
“Nothing,” Joey said, trying hard to be brave.
“Do you feel okay?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Are you a little homesick?”
Silence. Joey looked down at the scuffed toes of his white sneakers.
“It’s all right to admit it, sweetie. Everyone gets homesick sometimes.”
“Is my daddy coming back soon?”
“Well, he has to work. But you know he’ll be back. I’m just not sure when.” She paused. “Let’s go give him a phone call, okay?”
Joey nodded, his face brightening.
Callie dialed Mase’s number, and when it rang, she handed the phone to Joey. His eyes lit up when Mase answered. What must it be like, Callie wondered, to have a child whose eyes brightened like that at the sound of your voice.... She felt a stab of envy.
Joey’s end of the conversation was brief: “Yes, Daddy. Fine. Three times, and I trotted. Yes. Hal lets me sit on his lap and we ride in the wheelchair. It’s cool. Uh-huh. When are you coming?”
She could see he was a little crestfallen with Mase’s answer. “Oh,” Joey said, “okay. See you. Bye, Daddy.”
On Thursday morning Jarod reported that Joey had cried during the night. Callie was concerned; her therapy couldn’t cure homesickness.
“What should I do?” Callie asked her mom and Sylvia.
“Poor little tyke,” Sylvia said. “It’s probably the first time he’s bee
n away from home.”
“I can’t bother Mase with this. I know he’s got an important trial coming up. He’s probably working all hours.” Callie paced the living room, one arm across her chest, the other propping up her chin.
“I’m getting an idea,” her mother said, nodding sagely.
“What?”
“Well, if Mase can’t come here, then you go there.”
“Go to Denver?”
“You and Joey drive to Denver. Make it into a vacation for yourself. Shop till you drop. Go to first-run movies. Eat out. Dress up.”
“Dress up,” Callie said blankly.
“Well, at least wear a skirt.”
“Mom, I can’t. You know how busy we are.”
“We’ll handle everything here.”
“I think you should,” Sylvia agreed. “It’s about time you got away from here. Go on, take a break. Go to the big city.”
“I couldn’t possibly,” Callie protested.
“Ask Joey,” Liz said.
Joey was all for the idea. He started running off to the bunkhouse to pack his bag.
“Hold on there, pardner. We can’t go till tomorrow, and don’t you think we better call your dad?”
“No,” Joey said, his voice shrill with excitement. “Let’s surprise him! I want to, please.”
“Joey, it’s not very good manners to just show up at somebody’s house....”
“It’s my house! I want you to see it, Callie. My room has model airplanes and dinosaurs. Please, Callie, please.”
Finally she agreed. It probably wasn’t a great idea to leave Mase in the dark, but frankly, she wasn’t keen on making that call. She feared Mase’s response would be less than enthusiastic, and, hey, she was a sucker for surprises.
They made the trip on Friday, driving down the ranch road in Callie’s pickup right after breakfast. Joey was restless and excited at first, but by the time they were south of Casper on I-25, rolling along at a good clip, he settled down. Callie had the radio on a country-western station, and she sang along with the songs.
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