Callie's Convict

by Heidi Betts

  Wade slanted his head to look at where the battered and beaten carrot had fallen. “That kid's got quite an arm,” he said, turning back around. “As soon as he's old enough, I say we put him to work digging fence posts or chopping wood."

  He'd expected Callie to laugh at his jest. Instead, her bright blue eyes met his for the briefest fraction of a second before darting away once again. And he didn't know why. He'd purposely tried to lighten the mood of the room, to put her at ease so she wouldn't worry herself into losing her appetite thinking he planned to leap across the table and ravish her. Though he would have dearly loved to do just that.

  If he didn't stop picturing those enticing images, he might not be able to help himself. But there was a small child in the room, and he was that child's father. Therefore he should probably strive to maintain some semblance of adult maturity.

  Wade mentally scowled. This fatherhood business wasn't as idyllic as he'd expected it to be. In fact, it was damn frustrating when his manhood was pounding like a sledgehammer in his pants, the woman he wanted was sitting not three feet away, and he couldn't do an ever-loving thing about it because his son was in the room.

  He fixed a concentrated glare on Matthew and willed him to grow sleepy. He was a baby. He hadn't napped in nearly five hours. How much longer could he stay awake?

  Bolstered by that small speck of hope, Wade turned his attention back to Callie. She was chopping and mashing portions of potato and carrot and catching them on the end of the spoon, feeding them to an eager Matthew.

  "I didn't realize he was old enough for real food.” When she'd left that morning, she'd only told him to see that Matthew got a bottle.

  She nodded. “It has to be soft enough for him to chew and bland enough that it doesn't upset his stomach."

  "He seems to like it."

  Offering a tentative smile, she said, “He's probably glad to get someone else's cooking for a change. I'm afraid he's only been subjected to my limited kitchen skills before now."

  Wade couldn't think of a response to that, but Callie seemed to be less tense and speaking to him now, so he thought this might be the perfect opportunity to bring up the topic of her trip to town.

  "So, Callie . . . I know we haven't discussed it, but I've been awfully curious about what happened at the Triple Y.” He tried not to get angry but couldn't seem to help the immediate, gut-clenching reaction that overtook him at the very thought of Callie being within breathing distance of that bastard Brady Young.

  She held another bite of stew to Matthew's mouth and waited as he slurped the thick broth.

  "Nothing happened,” she answered, without pulling her attention away from her task.

  He bit back a rude retort at her short and less than informative response. “Even if you don't think all of the details would be of interest,” he told her, “I'd still like to hear.” There, that sounded diplomatic enough.

  Her eyes brushed over him as she dipped into the bowl and took a spoonful for herself. Then she got a bit more for Matthew and said, “I'm not keeping anything from you. Truly, nothing happened. Brady wasn't at home when I got there."

  As much as he'd been hoping to learn of a witness to what happened the night he'd been arrested, he was almost relieved that she hadn't come in contact with Young. Hadn't been touched or contaminated by that Brady parasite.

  "I went to the ranch,” she continued, “but the housekeeper said Brady was gone for the day. He might have been in town, but I didn't go looking for him. I didn't think speaking with him away from the ranch would be the best way of broaching the subject of the hired hand. Besides, I've never had occasion to approach Brady before, and I was afraid doing so now would give him false ideas about my . . . interest in him."

  "You mean that if you'd found him in town and begun asking questions, he'd have thought you were inviting his attentions,” he gritted out.

  She lifted her eyes to his. “Yes."

  "And you don't particularly like him, so you don't want to give him any reason to think he should come calling."

  At that, her gaze darted away. “Yes."

  He couldn't explain the relief he felt at her two very indisputable answers, but they raised a weight from his shoulders and loosened something even deeper inside him. He feared it might be . . . his heart.

  Chapter Fourteen

  He wasn't falling for this woman, certainly. She was beautiful, yes. More beautiful than a hundred hurdy-gurdy girls. More lovely than a cool breeze on a hot day, or a field of colorful blue-bonnets in the distance.

  She was sweet enough to turn apple vinegar, and he hungered for her the way a starving man hungers for a mere crust of bread.

  But he wasn't falling for her.

  It was simply the situation that made it seem that might be the case. The anxiety of being a wanted man, the close quarters of being trapped inside the house, the fact that he was a man and she was a woman and he hadn't been with a woman for quite some time. All of that blended together to make him think what he was feeling might be a stronger emotion than lust.

  But lust it was, and he'd prove it just as soon as he got the chance to sample Callie's delectable charms.

  "I'm sorry I didn't get any answers for you today. I looked around while I was there, but I didn't see any workers who fit your description of the unknown man."

  Her apology broke into his thoughts, dragging him back to the present and away from the erotic image he'd conjured of Callie's dark, loose hair fanned across an ivory pillow as she waited for him to join her in bed.

  He shook his head. “I'm glad you didn't have to deal with Young. And I appreciate you keeping an eye out, although I wish you hadn't felt the need to do something even that risky."

  "But you're no better off than you were before. Now it will take even longer to find out who that man was and if he might be willing to come forward in your defense."

  Her spoon clinked against the side of the bowl as she let go and began twisting her hands in her lap. He couldn't reach her across the expanse of the oaken table, but he stretched his arm out nonetheless, turning up his palm in an offer of comfort.

  "It's all right, Callie. I don't blame you, and I'm not upset. We'll just have to think of something else.” Wade let his lips curve. “I'd rather not bring you into this, anyway. You'll be safer that way."

  His words didn't seem to overly reassure her, so he scraped the last of the stew from the bottom of the bowl and downed it. “Come on,” he said, rolling a hand in her direction. “Let's finish up here and get Matthew ready for bed. It's getting late.” And there are things I want to do to you before morning.

  Startled, she began eating a bit faster but didn't rush to follow his lead. “Tonight is Matthew's bath night,” she said. “He'll fall asleep soon after that, but he usually likes to play in the water for a while."

  Bath night. Curses. It seemed his son was forever going to be a thorn in the side of his plans for seduction.

  But instead of giving voice to those thoughts, he merely smiled and tried to give off an air of anticipation. “Great. How do we go about that?"

  Finished with her dinner, Callie let Wade take her bowl away while she wiped Matthew's face with the napkin from her lap and lifted him out of his chair.

  She wasn't quite sure what to make of Wade's behavior tonight. One moment, he was studying her as though she was a fluffy pastry he wanted to devour. The next, he was smiling and joking, doing his best to set her at ease.

  Which was a ridiculous notion. As long as he remained in her house, underfoot, and in her line of sight, she would never relax. The man made her blood all but boil. She could sense his presence in a room even before she saw him. It was as if his body sent out silent but deadly signals to her own. To those deep, secret places within her that began to hum and throb whenever he came near, making her want things no decent, God-fearing, virtuous woman had any business wanting.

  Of course, it might no longer be appropriate for Callie to think of herself as virtuous.
Not after the liberties she'd already allowed Wade to take. Kisses that still made her lips tingle. Kisses that had led to fantasies that kept her up at night . . . and once she did fall asleep, gifted her with the most wonderful dreams she'd ever experienced. But certainly none of those things could be considered virtuous. Wanton, maybe.

  She didn't want to be wanton. It wasn't a quality her mother had raised her to aspire to.

  Her mother was gone, however, and Wade was here. He was very, very close and creating responses in her unlike any another other human being had ever made her feel.

  It was getting to the point where she didn't trust herself around him. He caused her to become too breathless too often. Just being in the same room with him, sensing those warm brown eyes upon her, sent her heart rate skittering.

  Too many times, she found herself wondering what it would be like to lean close as he spoke, to feel his breath caress her skin the way his words caressed her mind. Have his hands on her arms and shoulders and back as he plunged his tongue deep into her mouth. Have his hands stroke other places, his lips kiss other places. And perhaps worst of all, she wondered what it would be like to give in to all those lascivious fantasies and let him do with her what he would.

  Would he be gentle, or would he be forceful? Would he sweep her into his arms and carry her upstairs to one of the bedrooms, or would he drag her down to the floor with him and have his wicked way with her right there? Would she struggle out of modesty and an ingrained sense of morality, or would she end up whimpering like a child who wants another piece of candy, and beg him to make love to her before she expired?

  Whatever course their relationship might take, she suspected tonight would reveal the beginning of that path. The air fairly sizzled with an underlying thread of sexual tension. Wade's movements were slow and deliberate, his eyes glittering like glass and warning of things to come.

  Callie couldn't decide whether to skip Matthew's bath and put him directly to bed or to draw out the chore to avoid the temptation she sensed nipping at her heels.

  Striving to postpone events as long as possible, she bustled about collecting things, all with Matthew nestled safely against her side. Once she had towels and soap and the other necessities laid out, she grabbed a bucket and headed for the water pump outside.

  Wade caught her arm before she reached the door.

  "Here,” he said, holding out his hands. “I can't go outside, but let me take him while you do that."

  She hesitated for a fraction of a second. Not because she didn't trust him with the child—certainly she now realized how good Wade was with Matthew—but simply because she still could not accustom herself to having help, to not needing to have Matthew with her every moment of every day.

  With a nod, she passed Matthew to his father and continued on to the pump, filling the metal pail, which she then put on the stove to heat.

  During all of this, Matthew sat on the countertop, Wade propping him up with one arm while he clapped and tickled with the other, making faces until the baby rolled with laughter. Every time she heard Matthew's excited squeals or caught a glimpse of his happy, expressive face, she couldn't help but laugh along.

  It was the most fun she remembered having in quite some time. She often played with Matthew herself, of course; it was one of her favorite activities. But something about watching father and son together, hearing Matthew's burst of amusement and seeing Wade's animated features set on entertaining his child, warmed a place deep in her heart.

  Callie wasn't sure she liked the sensation. It scared her too much, made her think about the day when Wade would want to take Matthew away from her. Or almost worse, in a way, about how easily Wade fit into her household and daily life.

  If things had been different . . . If things had been different, Wade might not have gone to prison. She might have met him one day in the general store or at a town social, and the feelings she was having might have led to courting and romance. They might have married and settled into a home of their own. Matthew might be their child, born on the proper side of the bed linens and of their genuine love for each other.

  But that was not something Callie wanted to contemplate for long. For one thing, it hurt too much to yearn for a future—or even a past—she knew was impossible. For another, Wade was a fugitive, taking refuge in her house. And unless they succeeded at proving his innocence, he would have no future at all.

  Then there was the fact that she did not have feelings for this man. She might be having sen-timents of a sort; small tugs at her heart because of the way he acted with Matthew, and a more noticeable throbbing in some of her more private, core areas. But that did not mean she had feelings for the man.

  If anything, she was clearly aware of the difference between physical desire and emotional attachment. A blind man could see the attraction growing between Wade and herself, but even a university scholar would be hard-pressed to prove her heart was engaged in their current sensual skirmish.

  And that single thought was what kept her sane, when a tiny part of her deep inside wanted to run away screaming.

  That voice was making itself heard now, warning her that it was dangerous to remain in this house with Wade. Not that she had anywhere else to go.

  Matthew let out another ear-splitting giggle, slapping his hands on the flat surface of the counter. Wade's answering chuckles drew lines of merriment at the corners of his eyes and dimples in his cheeks. A day's worth of stubble coated his cheeks and chin, making him look ruggedly handsome.

  As though he needed anything to add to his attractiveness.

  Pulling back sharply on the reins of her runaway captivation, Callie returned her attention to the stove to test the water. It was just a tad too hot, but she dumped the contents of the bucket into the stopped-up sink nonetheless, knowing the water would cool if allowed to sit a few minutes.

  "Is there anything I can do to help?” Wade asked from over her shoulder.

  She inclined her head only slightly as she said, “You can take his diaper off and bring him over here. But be prepared to get wet,” she warned, rolling up her own sleeves.

  "I think I can handle it,” he teased.

  With a cake of gentle soap in her hands, she waited for Wade to strip Matthew and carry him to the cast-iron basin. She noticed that he dipped his fingers into the water to check its temperature before depositing the baby in its shallow depths. A very fatherly thing to do.

  The minute Matthew's toes touched the water, his arms began pumping up and down as he cried in delight.

  Wade stepped back, eyes wide. “He sure likes his bath, doesn't he?"

  "He loves his bath.” She dipped the soap to get it wet, then began to lather Matthew's little potbelly.

  While she washed him, Matthew wiggled in pleasure, splashing water on her clothes, into her face, onto Wade, who stood beside her, even on the walls and ceiling. “After I get him clean, I

  usually just let him play until he tires himself out. Then he falls right to sleep."

  She felt the heat of Wade's body as he sidled closer and suddenly found it hard to think. His breath danced along her neck and sent a shiver down her spine. But even that couldn't prepare her for the bolt of pure awareness, of desirous longing that his next, softly uttered words brought.

  "Good,” he murmured in her ear. “That will give us more time to ourselves."

  That statement alone nearly brought her to her knees. But when he reached up and tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear, lingering to stroke the tip of one finger over the pulse in her neck, she realized just how much danger she was in.

  Chapter Fifteen

  It took over an hour to bathe the kid and let him play with the bubbles to his heart's content.

  An hour during which Wade fought a raging erection and the urge to grab Callie and do all the things he'd been dreaming about right in the middle of the kitchen floor. Baby or no baby.

  But finally Matthew's eyes began to droop, and Callie grabbed a soft, thick t
owel to wrap him in.

  Already wet from Matthew's splashing and not concerned about growing wetter, Wade reached over and lifted the child from the basin, holding him up until Callie could enfold him in her arms.

  He watched her carefully, almost diligently, as she ruffled the baby with the towel, drying him from head to toe, playfully tickling his more sensitive body parts.

  The thin layer of dark brown, baby-fine hair on Matthew's head—the same shade as Wade's own, he thought with a small lurch of his heart—stuck out at all angles, and even though he yawned, he grinned up at Callie like she'd hung the moon.

  Wade thought the kid had the right idea. He was pretty damn fond of the lady himself, and couldn't wait for the little one to fall asleep so he could get on with the business of Step Two.

  Step One was as far from his mind at this point as the Canadian border was from Mexico.

  "Now what?” he asked, in a hurry to move things along so he and Callie could be alone.

  His question must have startled her, because she stopped teasing Matthew and turned a straight face toward him. “Now we get him dressed and ready for bed. Before he falls asleep right here on the table."

  Matthew didn't look like he was anywhere near falling asleep on the hard, flat surface. If they could get him upstairs and tucked into his own crib, however, that possibility might not be far off.

  "Let me,” he said, moving forward to take Matthew when she would have lifted him to her own chest.

  All right, so he had an ulterior motive. He wasn't simply being obliging. With as much water as Matthew had slapped out of the sink, along with what was absorbed just from trying to hold on to the child as he bounced around, the front of Callie's dress had gotten soaked through. The arms and skirt were wet, as well, but it was the bodice that most interested Wade. Like earlier this afternoon as she'd crouched over the wash-tub scrubbing dirty clothes, the top of her dress clung to her skin, outlining her perfect physique.