It was wonderful. Callie loved the exhausting weekend, she adored every last person who showed up to help out, and she was thrilled about Hal and Rebecca and all the rest of her patients, who worked so hard and repaid her faith in them a hundredfold. She was crazy about the kids, and proud of all the work done by Jarod, Sylvia and Francine. And of course her folks.
She moved within a haze of fatigue and utter contentment. Except for one fly in the ointment.
That tall, dark and handsome cop over there.
She wanted to treat Joey like a family member, but she felt constrained by his father’s presence. If she showed Joey her love, would Mase think she was only trying to butter him up? Did he resent her closeness to his son?
How long was he staying, anyway? He’d said he couldn’t tell her what was going on, that she’d have to trust him.
Trust him?
Did he have some awful, deep dark secret? Had he done something illegal? She could hardly imagine Mase doing anything like that. Did it have something to do with his job? Was he an undercover cop, in some kind of danger? The questions were always there, battering away at Callie. Sometimes they made her sad, sometimes mad as heck, sometimes hopeless, but always on edge, not quite herself. Damn Mase, she thought at regular intervals. Why had he come back?
If he stayed, even for a few days, she’d see him at the house, at meals, with Joey, talking to her dad. Always there, in her heart and in her mind, and she wouldn’t be able to get a moment’s respite.
There were still a lot of trips needed to move everything from the campsite. The work would continue on Monday and part of Tuesday, too, but Callie stayed at the ranch that afternoon to take care of the horses.
All the men were busy ferrying and unloading pickups, so she and her mom fed the horses in the barn, then, with Peter’s help, turned them out to pasture.
Callie brushed her hands on her thighs. “There, done. Thanks for the help.”
“Another year.” Liz sighed. “Wow, they go by fast.”
“I’m starved,” Callie said.
“I think Francine’s just putting out cold cuts and things. The kitchen’s torn apart, and you know how upset she is until everything’s shipshape again.”
They walked back to the house, Peter running circles around them, the sun resting low on the hills. Callie and Liz discussed how many people would be staying, and Callie cringed inwardly when Mase’s name came up.
Liz studied her daughter. “So, what’s with you two?” she finally asked.
Callie gave what was meant to be a light, trilling laugh, but it came out wrong, so she coughed instead.
“Well?”
“Nothing,” Callie said. “There’s nothing with us. Nothing at all.”
“Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” Liz said.
“Give it a break, Mom.”
“If you like him, honey, then why don’t you just…”
“Mom.”
“Okay, okay.”
He was there, in the house, eating a light meal with the Browns, when Callie and Liz got back.
Callie smiled politely and looked longingly at the buffet of meat and cheese, fruit and vegetables, dips. Yum, Francine’s curry dip. But she excused herself to take a shower and change, hoping against hope that Mase would be gone when she came downstairs again to eat.
He was still there, of course, talking to Tom and Jarod, who’d given up heavy labor for the day.
Callie filled her plate, sat down next to Linda and her visiting husband and ate her dinner, making small talk with the couple.
“What’s with you two?” Linda finally said, gesturing toward Mase across the room.
“What?”
“Anyone can see it from a mile away,” Linda said. “Did you have a lovers’ quarrel?”
“Oh, Lord,” Callie moaned. “There’s nothing going on between us. Why is everybody being so darn nosey?”
“Don’t worry, you’ll work it out,” Linda said. “True love conquers all.”
“You’re a hopeless romantic,” her husband said fondly.
“Excuse me,” Callie muttered. “I really have to…” She searched her mind frantically. “Well, you know, I have to…um…go.”
She went outside to escape the stultifying atmosphere, the tension, the veiled looks and the alarming notion that everyone in the house—everyone—was talking about her and Mase. She walked down the porch steps, down the flagstone path and across to the barn, empty now but for the sweet lingering smell of horses and alfalfa.
She hugged herself and sat on a bale of hay, trying to put Mase out of her head. She tried to think of something else, anything else, but he stubbornly rose in her mind’s eye, blotting everything else out. His dark hair, the errant lock on his forehead, heavy brows over deep blue eyes. Mustache, lips, strong chin with a hint of a cleft.
Callie sat there and closed her eyes; her lips held the memory of his kiss, and she could feel the phantom embrace of his arms around her.
Oh, dear Lord, if only it were real.
* * *
BY MONDAY MORNING, MASE couldn’t bear Callie’s nearness another moment. He had not slept well and had no appetite, not even for Francine’s food. He couldn’t forget for one moment how Callie had felt in his arms, soft skin and womanly curves and fragrant, silky hair. He couldn’t forget the changing expressions of her face, the way she chewed her lip and frowned, the way her hands flew about in graceful gestures. And when he shut his eyes, he still saw the beautiful moonlit dew in her gaze before their lips met.
But mostly he felt her presence. Her spirit and her overwhelming love, her energy, the way she inspired people. The nice way she cured every malady that came within her magic circle.
Hal, Rebecca, Joey. All the rest, too. Their results were perhaps less spectacular, but their achievements were no less extraordinary. Each and every human being on the ranch was better off because of Callie Thorne.
But she was merely polite to him, avoiding him whenever she could. He’d hurt her feelings, acted like a real jerk. He couldn’t play those kinds of games with women; he hadn’t had any practice in years. He’d made some pretty bad mistakes with Callie.
He never should have touched her, that was the biggest mistake. A whopper. And now he couldn’t think when he was around her. He sweated, his stomach tightened. He wanted to tell her the whole story, why he’d lied to her, why he had to do it. How afraid he was for Joey. But even if he did tell her, it was too late now; she’d never forgive him. Even her dad had hinted at a less-than-satisfactory outcome.
After breakfast Mase asked Tom if he could have the morning off. He’d be back later to help move things.
“I have to go into town and make some calls. I don’t want to do it here,” he lied.
“Sure, I understand. Listen, you can do whatever you want, son. You’re not employed here, you know.”
“Maybe I should be,” Mase muttered.
He drove into Lightning Creek, pulled up in front of the sheriff’s office and got out of his car. Inside, he said hello to the lady dispatcher, whose name plaque read Donna Knudson.
“Hi,” she replied.
“You must be the only dispatcher working here,” Mase noted.
“The law never sleeps,” she said, smiling impishly, “nor can it afford too many employees.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Mase agreed. “Sheriff Hatcher around, Donna?”
“You know what, I do believe he’s down t
he road at the grill having a cup of the stuff they call coffee.”
“Think he’d mind if I joined him?”
“I think he’d be happy to see you, Mr. LeBow,” she said, flirting.
He had coffee with Reese Hatcher, and for a few minutes they rehashed the weekend.
“You were pretty darn good on that horse,” Mase commented.
“Aw, he’s so smart, done it so many times, he could round those barrels without me on his back. And no one’d dare win that contest. Scared to death of me.” Hatcher laughed. “But that’s one great weekend, ain’t it?”
“Yeah, it was great.” Mase hesitated, then continued, “I take it you haven’t seen anyone fitting the description of the Hitman.”
“Sure haven’t, but I’ve got his picture up in the office and all my deputies alerted. Hell, a man like that’d stick out like a sore thumb in this county.”
“I’m probably nuts, worrying about him showing up here. There’s no way he could know where Joey is.”
“Every parent worries about his kids, nothing wrong with that.”
Mase shook his head. “It’s just that I’ve seen too many bad things, too much evil. I’m a classic case of cop burnout.”
“Stick around, son, and breathe the country air. It’ll cure what ails you.”
Mase considered buying some flowers for Callie, a nice bouquet, and apologizing, but when he really chewed it over, it seemed silly. He’d have to tough it out without props, he guessed. He got in his car and drove back out to the ranch, empty-handed.
No one was around. Mase discovered Liz and Francine in the main house. Liz was doing laundry and Francine was grumbling about a missing spatula. “I won’t be able to cook. Not one thing. I just know it’s laying out there in the dust at the campsite. I just know it.”
Mase poked his head into the kitchen. “Have you seen Joey?”
“They’ve all gone on a wildflower walk.”
“Who…?”
Francine narrowed her eyes at him, too busy looking for her spatula to be bothered. “Sylvia and the Browns took all the kids on a nature walk or some blamed thing. Hal and Marianne are in her room playing cards.” Francine snorted at that. “And Tom and Jarod are dropping tents and stuff at some of the neighbors’ places.”
“Hmm,” Mase said. “And Callie?” He couldn’t believe he asked.
It was Liz who answered. She stuck her head around the corner of the pantry and said, “She’s sorting out the tack in the barn. I’ll bet she could use a hand.”
Mase only nodded. He knew Callie had everything under control. She always did. He climbed the stairs to the guest room where he was staying and stood in the doorway. He could catch some shut-eye. Read a little and close his eyes for a precious few minutes. He could do that. He was tired; they were all tired. Sure, a nap.
Instead, he found himself at the door to the tack room. Big mistake ran through his head, but it was too late to back off now.
Callie turned and saw him. Her face brightened then darkened, and she went back to sorting out the bridles.
He cleared his throat. “Liz said you might need some help.”
Lord, but she looked lovely in the golden light of afternoon, those dust motes dancing around her hair, the smell of alfalfa sweet and fresh. Somewhere a horse whinnied softly and nudged a wooden gate, and in the rafters the barn swallows cooed and darted.
“Well?” Mase said. “Can I give you a hand?” There was a dryness in his throat. He swallowed.
“Everything’s all set,” Callie told him, still busying herself. She was wearing old jeans and sandals today, no boots and a Western-cut plaid shirt that had seen better days. Her sleeves were haphazardly pushed up, the collar turned up on one side. The V in the front of it was deep, and he could just make out the small, firm roundness of her breasts. No way was she wearing a bra.
She bent over then, picked something up, raised a forearm to her brow and dried it. Something inside Mase twisted hotly.
“I’m no damn good at games,” he said. “I never was. I was going to buy you flowers, ask you to forgive me for being such a jerk. But it’s a lie. What I really want to do is kiss you.”
“Oh,” she whispered, her face averted. “Wow.”
He stared at the tilt of her chin, the loose strands of golden hair, the way she held herself, erect, alert, as skittish as one of her colts.
Without another word, he stepped toward her. “Callie,” he said, his eyes darkening, “turn around.”
He saw her stiffen, as if preparing for flight. But she didn’t move.
“Callie,” he said again, “look at me.”
“No,” she said, but there was no conviction in her voice.
“Turn around.”
Slowly, fighting herself, she came around toward him. There couldn’t have been three feet between them. It seemed a chasm too wide to cross for an instant, and then he saw it in her eyes, the desire, a mirror of his own.
Mase crossed the space between them in a single stride and stood looking down at her, his fists balled at his sides. “If you tell me no,” he said in a hoarse voice, “I’ll go right now. It’s your call.”
The terrible struggle inside her played across Callie’s face, beautiful and sincere and so very uncertain. “I…I do want you,” she finally breathed. “But I…I need to know…”
“This is all you need to know,” he said, and he took her in his arms and crushed her to him. “Last chance, Callie,” he warned, his heart crashing against his ribs. “Tell me to go or ask me to stay.”
“Stay,” she moaned, “stay with me,” and he could hear the trepidation and longing in her voice.
It didn’t matter. He’d wipe that uncertainty away.
He kissed her. His arms still imprisoning her, he bent his head to hers and took her mouth in a hard kiss that sent shock waves through his limbs. He felt her instant response, the trembling need in her, the way her slim fingers curled into the back of his shirt, opening and closing. Her thighs were pressed into him, and he could feel searing warmth burst from her.
He kissed her long and hard and thoroughly, probing the sweetness of her mouth, feeling the hardness of her nipples against his chest. He half lifted her then, until her toes barely touched the floor, and his hands slid beneath her loose shirt, up her back, stroking the smooth skin, kneading it. She sighed against his mouth, and he drew her heated body hard against his.
“The loft,” Mase said thickly, easing his hold on her.
“Yes, the loft,” she whispered.
“Will anyone…?”
Callie shook her head. “We have hours.”
Hours, he thought.
They climbed the short ladder to where the bales of winter hay were stored. The swallows darted through the thin shafts of light piercing the dimness. Callie took his hand and found a path. He could feel the heat of her, even in her fingers.
“Here,” she said, and she turned to him, laying her hands on his chest. Her eyes were moist, and her breath was coming as rapidly as his.
And then he froze.
“Mase? What is it?”
“I don’t have any…protection,” he said, suddenly sober.
But she only smiled. “It’s okay. I’m irregular, and I take the pill. As for the other stuff, I’m okay. Are you…?”
“I’m fine,” he said. “I haven’t been with anyone since…” But Callie silenced him with a finger to his lips. He put a hand on either side of her head and stared at her
for a very long moment. Then he said, “You are so damn beautiful,” and his mouth found hers again.
It was Callie who undid the buttons on his shirt and peeled it off him, their mouths still clinging. And it was Callie who removed her own shirt. His heart pounded once, painfully strong, before it settled back into a rhythm as he held her away from him and gazed at the firm roundness of her breasts.
Tentatively, Mase touched her nipples with both hands. Her head lolled to one side and she made a small sound in her throat. They were still standing, and a shaft of light fell across their shoulders. When Mase moved his hands, the golden light spilled across her breasts, softly illuminating her like a painting from the hand of an old master.
Mase eased her down onto the hay and helped her discard her jeans. She lay there now in only her panties, seductively delicate with the slim curve of her hips and thighs, her arms half covering her breasts.
He stared longingly at her while he shrugged off his own jeans and lay beside her. Then, with one hand, he took both of hers and held them above her head, not forcefully, but gently. His other hand found a breast, and with one finger he teased the soft peak until it rose in a firm nub.
Callie’s head rolled to the side and she gave a soft cry, arching toward him, toward his touch. He leaned over and tenderly put his lips to her breast and drew the hardened peak against his teeth, playing with her, delighting in the moans his touch produced.
He took his time, kissing first one breast and then the other, slowly bringing Callie to a fevered pitch. He kissed the pulse at her neck and found her mouth, then went back to her breasts again, his hand cupping the firmness to his mouth as he drew her in.
When he finally let her hands go, it was only long enough to ease her panties down. And then he was out of his own pants, his long muscles pressed to hers.
He kissed her mouth again and then raised himself above her, gently opening her thighs with a nudge from a knee. He felt his hardness pressed to her soft, warm folds, and she shifted slightly beneath him, ready. He entered her slowly. Raised up on his hands, his eyes holding hers, he pressed gently into her and heard her sharp intake of breath as he reached her core. Her fingers were on his back, digging into him, and her hips rose against his own, urging him on.
Courting Callie Page 16