Callie's Convict

by Heidi Betts

  He pinned her with a smoldering glance. “We can do it whenever you like, sweetheart. And I sure as hell hope you get some hankerings, same as me."

  "So women do get urges. Why, then, do they have to be so virtuous? Why aren't there brothels with working men for women to buy?"

  A cross between a squeak and a groan rolled up from Wade's throat. “Why is this so important?” he asked in return. “Why can't you just accept that things are the way they are? I feel like a damn fly having its wings pulled off, for Christ's sake."

  "Just tell me why you spent time with Lily. Were you . . . acquainted with her—in that manner, I mean—before she started working there?"

  Callie doubted that was possible, since she and Lily had arrived in Purgatory on the same wagon train, and Lily had gone to work at the Painted Lady almost immediately afterward.

  "Did you pay for any other girls?” she wanted to know. “There or in other whorehouses?"

  Wade scowled. “No, I didn't know Lily before she started working at the Painted Lady. And, yes, I'd slept with others, there and elsewhere. That's just the way it is, Callie. From the time things start stirring down there"—he waved an angry hand over the area of his crotch—"when we're boys, we know where to go for relief. Certain types of women spread their legs for money, and men take them up on the offer."

  "But you still expect your future wives to be virginal,” she commented.

  His eyes narrowed in frustration. “Yeah, I reckon we do."

  Callie held the blanket more firmly about her breasts. “That hardly seems fair. And I suppose that means I'm soiled goods, now that I've done what I've done with you."

  In one long stride, he reached the bed and sat on its edge, cupping her cheek in the palm of his hand. “You're not a whore, Callie."

  She blinked, then leaned back, her shoulders ramrod straight. “I never said I was. I merely observed that I'm no longer a virgin; therefore, perhaps I'm no longer marriageable, either."

  "You're plenty marriageable,” he told her firmly. “Any man would be lucky to have you as his bride. And crazy if he thought the lack of a maidenhead would change that."

  "Thank you, I guess,” she replied. But inside she was thinking, What about you? You took my maidenhead. Would you ever marry me?

  Which was probably the silliest thing ever to cross her mind. Wade didn't love her; he'd simply been attracted to her enough to take her to bed, and she'd been attracted enough to him to let him. He was running from the law, at great risk of being sent back to prison, and even if he wasn't, she didn't delude herself into believing the idea of marriage would ever cross his mind. At least not marriage to her.

  "So you were intimate with Lily because. . ."

  "She was selling and I was buying,” he answered, his mouth twisting at both the ugly truth and the bluntness of that answer.

  "But at the prison, when Matthew was conceived . . . you didn't pay her then, did you?"

  "No, that was all Lily. On the house."

  "And you went through with it—” He cut her off. “Because I had a crowbar in my pants. I'd gone without for a hell of a long time. I wasn't going to turn any woman away."

  She nodded, not the least affected by his candid statement. “I can't say that I understand everything about this. Why men seem to have all these urges they find impossible to deny, while women apparently don't experience very many urges at all—or none they're permitted to fulfill. But I suppose I'm beginning to see why so many women turn to that sort of lifestyle. Pleasuring men for money, that is."

  "You do, huh?” His voice turned low and grating, and he leaned closer to hear her answer, looking pointedly at the spot where her fingers held the quilt in place.

  "Yes. The sex act is quite gratifying, from my limited experience,” she replied matter-of-factly. “I rather think I could do it more than once a night. And if I were to earn a few dollars from a task I enjoyed. . ."

  A dark brow winged upward in alarm. “I hope you're not thinking of taking up at the Painted Lady. ‘Cause that's something I won't allow. You're too good for that place, Callie girl. Too sweet and too damn pretty to grow old before your time the way those girls do. No,” he said with a determined shake of his head. “You get that notion out of your head right this minute."

  "Oh, I wasn't considering becoming a working girl; I was only saying that I understand why some women do. I've always thought lying with a man would be a painful, unpleasant business, but it isn't. And some women—like Lily—need the money awfully bad."

  The room fell into silence, and then she cast him a sly, sideways glance. “Wade."

  "Uh-oh.” He eyed her warily. “What?"

  "How much do you think men would be willing to pay for me?"

  His brows lifted, but he resolutely answered, “There isn't enough money in the world, sweetheart. You're priceless."

  She grinned, flattered right down to her toes. “I guess no one would hire me at one of those places, then. Being too expensive and all."

  "That's right.” He seemed to stalk her, crawling even nearer from his spot on the edge of the mattress. “You're all mine, Callie girl. Every precious inch of you."

  "But you don't have a penny to your name,” she teased. “I know because I burned the clothes you arrived in and the pockets were empty."

  "Are you saying that if I were to hand over a couple of greenbacks, you'd be more of a mind to let me make love to you again?” he tossed back.

  She looped her arms around his neck, letting him ease her into the pillows until she was lying full length beneath him, only the thin quilt and his denim trousers between them.

  "Oh, no,” she whispered. “You don't need money with me, Wade Mason. For you, it's always free."

  Chapter Eighteen

  Early the next morning, Callie heard a loud and persistent knocking, and wanted nothing more than to cover her head with a pillow and ignore it.

  Matthew had awakened only once during the night, thank goodness. Wade, as generous a partner as a lover, had whispered for Callie to stay put, then proceeded to change the baby, give him a bottle, and wait for him to drift off again before climbing back into bed with her.

  Sleeping next to Wade made her feel drowsily sensual, their bodies pressed close and naked beneath the soft, fresh-smelling sheets. Lying in his arms, even waking up beside him was a delightful luxury she'd never thought to experience.

  But she didn't enjoy waking up beside him in this manner, being jolted out of a deep and pleasant dream world by the sound of pounding at the door downstairs.

  When the knocking didn't stop, Callie sat up. Wade was already on his feet, hurriedly tugging on his trousers and shirt, gathering up every hint of his presence from her room.

  "Are you expecting anyone this morning?” he wanted to know.

  "No.” With Nathan being gone, she rarely got visitors. Living as far from town as she did, people rarely stopped by just for a casual visit.

  "Get dressed."

  He tossed her discarded lavender gown across the bed, and she quickly stepped into the wrinkled folds of material, buttoning the bodice without bothering with underthings.

  "You're going to have to answer,” Wade said, still rushing about the room. “Whoever it is may get suspicious if you don't. But be prepared; it could be the law, someone from the posse out looking for me."

  Callie swallowed. Except when Wade had first appeared in the center of her pantry, she'd never considered the authorities showing up on her doorstep. She didn't know what to tell them or how to protect Wade from being discovered and dragged back to prison. “Where will you be?"

  "Right behind you,” he said, tucking his shirt the rest of the way into his pants and brushing at the skirt of her gown to help her look more presentable. “I'll hide in the stairwell so I can hear what's going on."

  With her hand clasped tightly in his own, he led her into the hall and toward the front of the house. “What do I say if it is someone from the posse?"

  At the t
op of the stairs, he paused and turned to face her, slowing his breathing for the first time since they'd both jumped out of bed.

  "I don't know, sweetheart, I really don't.” His mouth twisted wryly. “This may be a prime opportunity to turn me in, if that's what you've been waiting for."

  Her fingers tightened reflexively. “Don't say that. I would never tell them where you are."

  "Then you'd better think of something else right quick. And if they want to search the house, put them off. Tell them to start in the barn or root cellar so they won't wake the baby. That'll give me time to . . . I don't know. Think, or hide, or get away."

  The pounding came again, rattling the glass in the door below.

  "Go,” Wade whispered.

  She started down the steps and he followed, stopping where the wall ended and opened into the sitting room. Callie continued on, checking the row of buttons trailing down her dress and running a hand through her mangled hair.

  Her heart was pounding like a drum, fear causing cold sweat to break out along her upper lip and between her breasts. She took a deep breath, put her hand on the cool brass knob, and turned.

  When the door swung open, she saw Clayton Walker—Sheriff Clayton Walker—standing on her porch in the early morning sun, a silver star pinned to his tanned leather vest.

  "Mornin', Miss Quinn,” he greeted her, removing his dusty Stetson.

  "Good morning, Sheriff Walker.” She remained inside the house, letting the heavy portal support her weight, since her legs were none too steady at the moment.

  "I hope I'm not disturbing you,” he said, taking in her slight dishevelment.

  "No, it's just that I was . . . still sleeping. Matthew had a rough time of it last night,” she lied. “I ended up walking him for hours and never had a chance to change out of my clothes before falling straight into bed."

  The sheriff chuckled. “I know what that's like. All too well. Regan and I used to take turns staying up with Olivia when she was your boy's age. Regan says raising that baby is the only thing that ever really straightened her hair."

  A grin stretched across Clay's handsome features, and Callie couldn't help smiling with him. Along with her extremely generous nature where the orphans at the Purgatory Home for Adoptive Children were concerned, Regan Walker was best known for her very long, very curly, very red hair. For any child to straighten those kinks, she must have been a true horror.

  "How is your little girl?"

  "Oh, real good, real good. Getting into one bit of trouble after another, and sprouting out of her clothes faster than we can buy them."

  "I'm glad to hear it. And the rest of your family?"

  "The same. Regan's got her hands full with Livvy being a rambunctious two-year-old and a boy eighteen going on thirty. But we are both really happy we adopted David. He's turning out to be a nice young man. I'm real proud of him. And even though Regan will tell you different if you ask, she loves being a mother. Still brings orphans home with her now and again, until I think I can't tell which tykes are my own."

  A hint of red began to seep up from his collar and he suddenly found something interesting about the toes of his boots. “Don't know if you've heard yet, but we're expecting again."

  "No, I hadn't,” Callie replied with surprise. “Congratulations. I'll have to pay Regan a visit and wish her well."

  "She'd like that."

  After that, the conversation seemed to fizzle, and Callie stood there nervously, wondering why the sheriff was on her doorstep to begin with.

  Finally, she asked. “What brings you by this morning, Sheriff Walker?"

  "I'm not sure if you're aware of this or not, Miss Callie, but there was a jailbreak up at Huntsville. A felon by the name of Wade Mason got away from a group of prisoners they had out clearing fields. He used to live around these parts, and it's suspected that he may have headed back this way. I'm making the rounds, checking to see if anyone's seen a stranger lurking about."

  Reaching into the pocket of his blue chambray shirt beneath his vest, he pulled out a piece of paper and unfolded it to reveal a wanted poster. Wade's bearded countenance stared back at her from a crudely drawn sketch, with the words $500 REWARD printed in large block letters below.

  She swallowed down a lump of panic working its way up her throat.

  "This is what he looked like while he was locked up, but he may be clean-shaven by now."

  She shook her head. “No, I'm sorry. I haven't seen anyone at all, let alone that man."

  "All right, then. You'll let me know, though, if you do?"

  It was almost more of a statement than a question, but she nodded all the same. “Is he . . . dangerous?” she made herself ask.

  Wade was standing less than five yards behind her, hidden by the wall of the stairwell. But it was a question she thought any woman living alone would ask, and could only hope he'd understand.

  "Could be,” Clay responded.

  His answer surprised her. She'd expected him to immediately claim Wade was a highly menacing convicted murderer, and that she should be careful.

  "He was sent to Huntsville for murdering Neville Young. Neville's son, Brady, is hopping mad about Mason's escape. He's the one offering the reward.” Clay tapped the parchment in his hand before folding it up and slipping it back into his breast pocket.

  "I don't think you need to be too worried. Rumor has it he doesn't make a habit of killing people, just of wanting to get his ranch back. That's why we think he may have hightailed it back to Purgatory. I'd say keep an eye out, stay away from strangers, and let me know if you see anything suspicious. It wouldn't hurt for your brother to be here, just in case,” he added with a frown. “That is, if you have any way of contacting him and asking him to come home. Or if you're worried, you can always come stay at the house with us. I'm sure Regan would enjoy the company, and she'd probably be more than happy to walk that boy of yours for a night or two if you'd be willing to chase little Livvy around."

  Callie laughed to keep herself from slamming the door in the sheriff's face and rushing to Wade's side to see what he thought of this newest turn of events. “That won't be necessary, Sheriff. I appreciate the offer, but I'll be fine where I am."

  Dipping his chin in acquiescence, he replaced his hat and fit it snugly on his head. “Well, I just wanted to check up and see that everything was all right. You let me know if you need anything, you hear?"

  "I will, Sheriff Walker. Thank you."

  The sheriff started down the porch steps and crossed the yard to where his piebald mount was tethered and waiting.

  As soon as he was out of earshot, she shut the door, turning and leaning against the wooden frame in relief. The tightness in her lungs eased and her diaphragm expanded as she took her first truly deep breath of the day.

  "He's gone,” she said, moving forward as Wade stepped around the wallpapered barrier and into the parlor.

  "That was Sheriff Walker,” she told him, not sure how much he'd heard, or how clearly. “He was asking about you but didn't seem as . . . bloodthirsty as I'd have expected. He's looking for you, but not above all else."

  "I didn't hear him say anything about a posse,” Wade commented, rubbing the knuckles of one hand with the palm of the other in an apprehensive manner.

  "No, and I didn't ask.” Toying with the lace bordering her sleeves, she said, “But Brady Young put up a five-hundred-dollar reward for your capture."

  He gave a rude snort. “Figures. He shoots his own father, and now he wants to give every bounty hunter, lawman, and dirt-poor farmhand five hundred reasons to hunt me down."

  "Wade,” she said softly, waiting until his wild eyes calmed and he turned his full attention to her. “The poster, the one Sheriff Walker showed me. It said you were wanted . . . dead or alive."

  A cold, sinking feeling washed over Wade's body. He'd known he was in trouble, that any number of lawmen were looking for him, but he hadn't known he had a target attached to his back. With a bounty on his head, thing
s were even more dire than before.

  "Maybe I'd better go."

  A flash of confusion passed over Callie's delicate features. “What do you mean? Go where?"

  "Anywhere. Away from here. Every minute I stay, I put you and Matthew in danger."

  He turned on his heel, stalking toward the stairwell. Before he'd even reached out to touch the newel post, Callie's hand grabbed hold of his elbow.

  "You can't leave. You'll be killed if you do."

  He set his jaw, refusing to succumb to the shiver of fear her words produced. “Not necessarily. I could be hauled back to prison and left to rot,” he bit out, thinking he'd almost rather be shot in the back by some overeager plowboy.

  Her fingers fell from his arm, but her voice when she spoke was razor sharp. “And where do you think you'll go? Back to your ranch? It doesn't belong to you anymore. Do you think you'll simply run anywhere you can, scavenging for food and shelter, forever looking over your shoulder? That's no kind of life, Wade."

  "What the hell do you want from me, Callie?"

  Furious, he whipped around to confront her. The woman he'd made love to just last night. The woman who might as well be the true mother of his child. The woman he was beginning to think would make a nice addition to his life—if he could ever find a way to rebuild it.

  "I won't put you and Matthew in jeopardy just because I've been safe here so far. Better for me to leave the two of you alone, at least until the law has forgotten about me."

  "Do you really think that's going to happen?” she demanded, but never gave him a chance to answer. “I wouldn't wager on it, not anytime soon. You're an escaped convict, sent to that penitentiary for killing a man. As far as they're concerned, you're capable of murdering again. They won't stop until they find you, especially if Brady Young continues to encourage them with his inflammatory lies and cash rewards."

  "Then what am I supposed to do, hide out here for the next ten years?"