He waited until the bar was closed for the night and Hank had polished the last glass and gone home. Left alone with his curiosity, he took a flashlight from behind the bar and trudged his way up the stairs. He crossed to the room Callie used as her studio and flipped on the light. Unlike the rest of the second story, the floor of this room was swept clean. A table sat in the center of the room, and a plastic-covered, odd-shaped mound rested on its top.
A stool stood next to the table and across it was thrown a stained smock. Knowing she’d worn it only moments before, Judd picked up the smock and lifted it to his face, absorbing the warmth of her body that still clung to it. He inhaled deeply, savoring her scent. Wildflowers. Always wildflowers.
His fingers curled into the stained cloth as his heart cried out for her. To see her, touch her, hold her.... Angrily, he tossed the smock aside. She’d deceived him, he told himself. She belonged to another man, never to him.
Wanting to accomplish his purpose in coming upstairs and then escape the painful reminders, he lifted a corner of the plastic. He could see just enough of the exposed statue to whet his curiosity. Careful not to damage anything, he slowly lifted off the cover. His breath came out in an admiring whistle as a woman’s bare legs came into view, every toe, muscle and tendon molded in perfect symmetry.
He lifted the cloth higher to find an infant cradled in the woman’s arms, suckling a breast. Each detail was so lifelike that he swore he saw veins bulge on the swollen breast at the infant’s gentle prodding. He tossed the cloth aside to see the woman’s forehead tipped toward that of the infant. He dipped his knees to better see her face and sucked in a raw, startled breath.
He laid a finger against the cold clay where the woman’s face should be. He moved his finger slowly, carefully, feeling a slight indentation where the eyes should be and a hint of a swell where a nose and mouth should be. Everything else was blank. Cold. Smooth. No facial features, no expression. It was almost spooky.
“What do you think you are doing?”
Judd jerked his hand away and whirled to find Callie, her arms folded tightly across her breasts, standing in the doorway. She looked like a ghost, her face pale, her features gaunt, dark circles beneath her eyes. But the pull he felt toward her told him she was no apparition.
“I thought you left,” he said, neatly sidestepping her question.
She crossed and scooped a key from the corner of the table. “I did, but halfway to the hotel I realized I’d forgotten my room key.” She rammed the key in her jacket pocket and turned an accusing look on Judd. “Now that we’ve ascertained the purpose of my presence, what are you doing here?”
He nodded toward the statue. “I was looking at your work.”
Callie caught the plastic drape in her hands and swept it up and over the statue. “To make sure I was a sculptress?” she said, her voice heavy with sarcasm. “Did you think I deceived you about that, too?”
“No.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Curiosity. I wanted to see what you do all day up here.”
“I work.”
He nodded toward the now-shrouded figures. “I can see that. It’s going to be something when you’re finished.”
“If I finish it.”
“You mean when you finish it.”
Her anger at Judd grew to encompass her frustration at her inability to finish the project. “No, I mean if.”
“But all you lack is the face.”
Callie sank down on the stool and dropped her face to her hands. “I can’t sculpt it,” she mumbled against her fingers. “I just can’t do it.”
She looked so miserable, so defeated sitting there, Judd was tempted to gather her up in his arms and comfort her. Before he could act on the impulse, she snapped up her head. She stared hard at the plastic, the features on her own face tightening. “I can see it up here,” she said, giving the center of her forehead a thump with the heels of her palms. “But for some reason,” she said, lowering her hands to glare at them in disgust, “I can’t translate those images onto the clay.”
“Maybe you’re trying too hard.”
“Yeah, right,” she said dryly. She dropped her elbows to her knees and her chin in her palms. “I see it more as a continuation of the legacy.”
Judd quirked an eyebrow her way. “Legacy?”
“Miss Lizzy’s.” When he continued to look at her in puzzlement, she felt obligated to explain. “The emotion I want to evoke is that of a new mother, looking at her infant for the first time. I want to capture the feelings she must be experiencing. The love, the pride, the awe.
“But every time I lay my hands on the clay,” she said, her voice turning to a low growl, “I think of Lizzy and how she shipped her son off to Boston, never to see him again.” She glared at the statue, a frown building between her eyes. “How could a mother do that to her own flesh and blood?”
“You don’t know that she did.”
Callie jerked her gaze to Judd’s, her frown deepening.
He decided to change tactics. The mention of Lizzy always seemed to upset Callie, and she was upset enough as it was. “What about your own mother? Think about her instead.”
“My mother?” Callie laughed, though the sound lacked mirth. “Envisioning her is almost as debilitating to my creativity as envisioning Miss Lizzy, although to her credit,” she added reluctantly, “my mother didn’t send me away.”
“Oh, come on, she couldn’t be that bad.”
“Worse.” But Callie didn’t want to think about her mother. It only reminded her of their previous conversation and her anger at her mother’s refusal to sign the Exhumation Order. Callie knew Frances was using the order as a power play. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d held something over Callie’s head in order to get her way. All Callie had to do was set a date to marry Stephen and her mother would sign the order. It was that simple.
Suddenly weary, she pushed to her feet. “Well, I’m going to head back to the hotel. Turn out the light when you leave.”
“Wait, and I’ll walk you.”
Already at the door, Callie turned and looked at him, her face as void of emotion as the statue that haunted her. “Thanks, but I’m not interested in another ‘roll in the hay.’”
* * *
He’d deserved the verbal slap, but knowing that didn’t take the sting out of Callie’s refusal. It grated on Judd as he prowled the Blue Bell long after she’d left.
Hell! he thought angrily. He hadn’t offered her a roll in the hay. All he’d offered was to walk her back to her room.
He found himself standing on the postage-stamp-size stage, his guitar less than a foot away. Hoping to find comfort in his music as he had in the past, he picked up the instrument and sat down on the edge of the stage. He settled his arm in the familiar curve and strummed a few chords. He hummed a bar of the song he’d been working on, closed his eyes then let the music take him. The words flowed out of him easily, as if piped from his heart.
As the last note faded, he smiled with satisfaction, proud of the lyrics, the music. They were all his. Not that anybody would ever hear it but him.
But Callie had, he remembered. And she’d said it would be a hit.
He slapped the flat of his hand against the sounding board, sending a hollow keen reverberating through his hand. She had even invaded the one part of his life that had remained exclusively his, that he’d thought no one could take away. His music.
Heaving a frustrated sigh, he set the instrument aside. Until he talked with Callie, unloaded all the anger that knotted in his chest, he wasn’t going to get her off his mind. And now was as good a time as any, he told himself as he pushed to his feet.
Yanking his duster from the rack by the entrance, he stormed out the door, slamming and locking it behind him. As he strode for the hotel, his eyes immediately sought her window. The shades were drawn, the drapes pulled. No light showed around the edges. She was probably asleep, he thought irritably, but that was too d
amn bad because she was about to have some company, whether she wanted it or not.
He strode through the hotel lobby and breathed a sigh of relief to see that Frank was away from the desk. He sure didn’t want to have to explain his appearance at this hour of the night. Too impatient to wait on the elevator, he took the stairs, bolting up them two at a time. He reached her door, slightly breathless, but more from nerves than exertion.
He rapped lightly, waited, then knocked again a little louder. He heard the scrape of a light switch turning and her muffled, “Who’s there?” He stood with his feet braced and his hands on his hips, knowing fully well that she was looking at him through the peephole in the door. Even though he couldn’t see her, he stared right back, his mouth set in a determined line.
“Let me in, Callie.”
“Let you in? Do you realize what time it is?”
“Yes, now open the door or I’ll kick it down.”
The dead bolt scraped, the knob twisted and Callie appeared, her blue eyes blazing. “What in the hell do you mean ‘you’ll kick it down’?” She flattened a hand against his chest and shoved. “Listen, buster, you may throw your weight around and get your way with other women, but that tough cowboy act doesn’t work with me. As far as I’m concerned, you can take your ten-gallon hat and shove it up your—”
His hands clamped at her elbows and he dragged her up against him, crushing his mouth over hers. She tasted the anger on his lips; the heat of it scorched her throat and burned behind her eyes. Need was there, too, in every thrust of his tongue, every scrape of his teeth against hers.
Please don’t do this to me, she cried inwardly. Please don’t make me want you. With her hands trapped between them, she pressed for distance, if not physical then at least an emotional one. His hands tightened on her elbows at the resistance, but his mouth gentled on hers, leaving her helpless, her breasts heaving against his chest. He nipped lightly at her lower lip, then flicked his tongue seductively at the upper bow. “Tell me you don’t want this,” he demanded, his voice husky with need.
“I don’t.”
“Liar,” he whispered, catching the back of her head in his hand. Her lips parted beneath the pressure of his tongue, and he swallowed her groan of submission. His mouth moved over hers, demanding answers to questions unasked, taking pleasure in the slow melting of her body against his, punishing her because she belonged to another man.
Leaning back, he caught her face roughly in his hands. “Why, Callie? Why didn’t you tell me about Stephen?”
Her face tipped up to his, her eyes heavy, her lips swollen. She whispered back, “There was nothing to tell.”
His hands tightened on her cheeks. “A fiancé? I’d think you might have mentioned it.”
Angered, Callie twisted from his grasp. “He is not my fiancé.”
It took a minute for her words to register and when they did, Judd could only stare. As far as he could determine, that only left one explanation. “You broke it off, then?”
“There was nothing to break off.”
“But—”
“Stephen assumed we would marry,” she cried in frustration. “There was never a proposal, a ring, a date set. He just assumed.... And I never had the heart to tell him otherwise.” The events of the past week caught up with her—the emotional confrontation with Stephen, Judd’s heartbreaking rejection. Tears budding, she whirled for her room. She caught the edge of the door in her hand and gave it a hard push to close it behind her.
Judd braced a palm against it to keep it from slamming in his face. His eyes on her back, he closed the door behind them.
“So you’re not engaged,” he finally said.
Callie rubbed her hands up and down her crossed arms as if chilled. “No.”
“And Stephen? Does he know how you feel?”
“Yes.”
He knew by her posture that it hadn’t been easy for her. He’d found himself in similar situations when a woman would think there was more between them than a good time. Even though he’d let them down as gently as he could, there were usually hurt feelings and a friendship lost. Judd remembered the look on Stephen’s face when he’d seen him loading his suitcase in his car and knew that Callie had probably lost a friend.
Because he understood how Callie felt, he touched her elbow. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
A shudder shook her, but she refused to cry. She lifted her chin and continued to look straight ahead. “Apology accepted. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like for you to leave.”
“No.” His hand still at her elbow, he took a step closer, taking her other elbow in hand as well. He molded his body to hers and buried his nose in her hair. The unmistakable scent of wildflowers curled around him.
A sob built in Callie’s throat as she fought the desire to turn in his arms. “I already told you, Judd, I don’t want another roll in the hay.”
Regret for the callous words he’d thrown at her wrung his heart. Groaning, he skimmed his hands down her forearms to circle her waist and gathered her to him. He dropped his chin to her shoulder and his mouth next to her ear. “It was never that, Callie. Not for me.”
She tried hard to ignore the warmth of his breath, the tenderness of his touch, the strength and comfort of his arms around her. But her heart wouldn’t allow it. The love she felt for him, the pain when he’d told her their night together meant nothing, twisted in her heart, reopening the wound. She spun in his arms, her cheeks wet with tears. “But you said—”
He caught her to him, burying his face against the side of her neck as he wound his arms around her, not wanting to hear his own words repeated again. “I didn’t mean it. I swear I didn’t. I—I’m sorry. I was angry and I wanted to hurt you like you hurt me. But I didn’t mean it, I swear I didn’t.”
Her body remained stiff and unyielding. He knew that his careless words had cut deeply and knew, too, that if she chose not to forgive him this time, he wouldn’t blame her. The decision was hers to make. He stepped from her, letting his arms slowly fall to his sides. “If you still want me to leave, I will.”
Her breath hitched once, then twice as she looked at him through tear-filled eyes. “Don’t you dare,” she whispered.
Her response was so unexpected it took a second for Judd to realize what she’d said. When he did, he grabbed her to him so tight the breath squeezed from her lungs.
“I never knew love could hurt this much,” he said, his voice breaking slightly at the admission.
“Oh, Judd,” Callie whispered back. She sank her fingers in the dark hair that curled at his neck and drew his face to hers. “Neither did I.”
* * *
It was the most beautiful time of day in Judd’s estimation, those quiet, dark hours just before dawn. He’d seen it from both sides—drawing a shade against it as he crawled into bed exhausted after a long concert or waking up on his bus to peer out the darkened window at an ever-changing highway on the road to a new town, a new show. He’d grown to appreciate the solitude and beauty of this particular time of day, but nothing matched the beauty of this one.
Silently, he watched Callie, standing before the window, naked as the day she was born, one hand caught in the drape. Her hair was mussed, her lips swollen from the pressure of his own. Her eyes had a faraway look that made him wonder what thoughts were going through her head.
Unable to resist, he swung from the bed and crossed to her, gathering her lightly in his arms. He dipped his mouth to her shoulder and nipped. “Couldn’t you sleep?”
She crossed her arms over his and relaxed against him, letting his chest take her weight. “No.”
“Penny for your thoughts.”
She laughed softly, her gaze still on that faraway something beyond the window. “They aren’t even worth that much.” Sighing, she laid her head against his cheek, a worry wrinkle forming between her eyes.
Judd turned her in his arms. “Hey. What’s this?” he asked, rubbing the ball of his thumb against the crease. “Regre
ts?”
Callie caught his hand in hers and pressed her lips to his palm to reassure him. “No,” she said, smiling up at him. “No regrets.” She turned her gaze on the window again. “It’s the statue. I can’t get it off my mind.”
“If it bothers you that much, call and cancel. Tell them you can’t get it done on time.”
Callie shook her head. “No. I’ve never failed to deliver a commissioned piece on schedule.”
Judd understood and respected that sense of responsibility. There were times on the road when he would’ve loved to cancel a show and go home. But he never had. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Short of making Miss Lizzy the model mother?” Callie laughed and hugged him to her. “No, there’s nothing you can do.” She gave him a peck on the cheek and turned from his embrace.
Frowning, Judd watched her walk away. “Maybe I can help.”
Callie looked at him, her forehead knitted. “How?”
“Have you got time for a little walk?”
Callie looked at him curiously. “I suppose.”
Judd picked up a pair of sweats from the chair and tossed them to her, then reached for his own jeans.
Once outside the hotel, he caught her elbow, guiding her down the brick sidewalk. At the entrance to the alley just behind the building housing the saloon, he stopped. Releasing her arm, he lifted his hand and pointed upward. “See that square of brick up there that looks a little newer than the rest?”
Callie squinted into the darkness, searching the wall until she found the square she thought he indicated. “Yes, I see it.”
He waved his hand, taking in the building that stood opposite the Blue Bell. “That used to be the Elks Hotel. A catwalk used to join the two buildings,” he explained as he slowly drew an imaginary line through the air until his finger pointed at the building the Blue Bell was housed in. Callie saw a similar square of newer brick where he pointed. “Men would register at the hotel, travel across the catwalk and visit the whorehouse and their activities would never be known.”
He caught her elbow and guided her around the corner to the door of the whorehouse. Digging in his pocket, he pulled out a ring of keys, selected one and unlocked the door. “Some used this entrance, but not as many as used the catwalk.” He gestured Callie in, then closed the door. Darkness swallowed them. Not at all sure what this was about, Callie folded her arms across her breasts and rubbed at the goose bumps that had popped up.
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