by Heidi Betts
For an idea he'd have found oddly appealing mere hours before, it now made him feel like a coward. He shared a roof with his son and his woman—for last night, Callie had become his woman—but he could do nothing to provide for them, help them, or even protect them if the need arose. He might as well be trapped in a dank prison cell, with no chance of ever again escaping.
"No,” she replied solemnly. “I think you have to fight. Prove your innocence and get your land back."
"Considering that's been my plan all along—though it hasn't worked too well up to now, has it?—just how do you suggest I go about that?"
"Find the deed to your ranch."
Chapter Nineteen
What happened to his prim and proper, almost demure Callie? Had all her cautions and common sense flown out the window last night, along with her maidenhood?
"I'd like nothing more,” he said bluntly, “but I told you, either Neville Young or Jensen Graves took the copy from the registrar's office and replaced it with one of his own."
"I've been thinking about that.” With her tone returned to normal, even thoughtful, she walked to the sofa in the middle of the room and sat down.
She looked lovely, in the same bright lavender gown as yesterday, the very same one he'd had the distinct pleasure of stripping from her twelve hours earlier. He wished they could forget about his being on the run, and the sheriff's visit, and go back to bed. They wouldn't sleep, of course, but they'd have a damn good time playing at it.
Callie's mind, however, seemed to be on anything but physical intimacies. “Even though Neville had one of the copies removed from the registrar's office, I wouldn't be surprised if he kept it. Maybe even kept the deed he stole from you, as well."
Wade's brow crinkled as he rounded the mahogany-framed settee and took a seat adjacent to Callie on the edge of a matching armchair. “What do you mean?"
"I mean, I think there may still be proof that you originally owned the Circle M. And possibly a way to show it was wrongfully taken from you."
He knew doubt was written all over his face but said nothing. Just sat back and let Callie go on with her little plan, which he didn't see as going much of anywhere.
"Brady Young is nothing if not arrogant. But he comes by it honestly; his father was smug and self-important while he was alive, too. Neville prided himself on being wealthier and more intelligent than anyone else in Purgatory. He liked to act as though he owned the town, or at the very least that he could do whatever he wanted here and no one would stop him. My guess—and it really is only a guess—is that Neville didn't see the need to destroy your original papers once he had them in his possession and replaced them with forged documents stating he was the true owner of your property."
Wade narrowed his eyes, staring at her, trying to comprehend what she was saying. His brain, it seemed, was still asleep, because her words weren't making sense.
"I'm sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “I just can't see what you're getting at here."
"What if your deed is still in Young's house? Even before you were sent away, no one questioned Young's taking over your ranch, did they? Other than you, that is."
"No."
"And Neville was just conceited enough to not feel any need to destroy the evidence that proved him a thief. He would never have expected anyone to question him about it, or to cross him even if they did suspect something. After all, you fought and defied him, but he didn't worry about it because he figured he could handle you."
Wade snorted. “Did a good job of it, too. But what about his son? Brady is running things now. He could have destroyed any authentic documents—if they still existed."
"Brady is just as bad as his father,” Callie said. “Maybe worse, because he's not only arrogant but young. Which, in my estimation, makes him stupid. If Neville hadn't done away with your set of deeds, then I don't think Brady would even think to look for them. He's cocky and thinks that if he doesn't already own the town, he soon will."
"If you're right and there really is still proof of my ownership on the Triply Y, where do you suppose it would be?"
A muted whimper from upstairs caught their attention and Callie immediately rose to tend Matthew. “That, I couldn't tell you. Neville's study, maybe. Which is probably Brady's study now. Though they may very well have a better hiding place for that sort of thing."
"It's a start."
Wade pushed to his feet and followed Callie, watching the steady sway of her hips as she climbed the stairs. Taking the treads two at a time, he caught up to her and wrapped his arms about her waist from behind. She squealed as he lifted her off the ground and carried her the remaining distance to the second-story landing.
"What are you doing?” She sounded breathless and on the verge of laughter, just the way he liked her.
With his lips pressed to the soft skin just below her ear, he said, “Hoping you'll let me take that dress off of you again. It was such fun the first time."
She chuckled, swatting at his hands where they were locked like a vice beneath her breasts.
"Your son is awake and likely waiting for his breakfast, in case you've forgotten."
"I haven't forgotten. I was just hoping he'd wait a few minutes."
No sooner were the words out of his mouth than Matthew let out a caterwaul that ran down Wade's spine like the blade of a knife.
"Hungry babies don't wait,” Callie told him needlessly, and broke away to enter Matthew's room.
Wade made faces at his son, tickling his belly and neck and pretending to bite at his tiny fingers while Callie changed his diaper. Then he carried Matthew downstairs for his bottle of milk, giving Callie the opportunity to clean up and dress in a different gown.
He was kind of partial to the purple one, frankly, but she seemed to be bothered by the wrinkles and wearing the same garment two days in a row, so he took over with the baby and let her go. Besides, new clothes would give him a chance to peel a whole different outfit off of her later.
Not too much later, though. Not if he could help it.
With that in mind, he made a mental note to play with Matthew as much as possible and tire him out so he'd be more inclined to take an early nap.
"I know you just got up, kid,” he said to Matthew as he stoked the cookstove and began the process of heating milk for the bottle. “But your pa's got something going on here, and I'd appreciate it if you'd give me some time alone with Callie today. Sleep a lot, or at least find something to keep you happy and occupied. I'll be doing the same, believe me."
"Who are you talking to?"
He jumped at Callie's sudden appearance and felt his face heat, wondering how much of his father-to-son chat she'd heard.
"Nobody,” he said, then quickly corrected himself. “Just Matthew here."
Her simple lavender day dress had been replaced by one of green gingham. The small squares drew the eye and created a beautiful backdrop for Callie's cream-colored skin and dark hair.
"It sounded a bit too earnest for a three-month-old,” she commented, though he didn't think she was reprimanding him. Moving to the stove, she stood beside him as she tested the temperature of the milk and poured it carefully into the glass bottle.
"Well, a man talks differently to his son than to other people. Parents and children have serious issues to discuss."
"Such as. . .?” With the lid on the bottle tight, she helped to rearrange the baby in his arms, then settled the rubber nipple in Matthew's eager mouth.
There was no distracting her, that was for sure. “Oh, manly things. Nothing you'd be interested in."
Her eyes twinkled and the corners of her mouth tipped up, as though she was struggling not to smile. “Ah, I see. Manly things. Well, since I certainly have no place in that sort of conversation, I'll go deal with the morning chores."
She headed for the back door, sticking her feet into the oversize work boots he'd noticed she sometimes wore out to the barn. He thought they were probably a pair Nathan had left behind
when he'd taken off for California.
Before opening the door, she cocked her head to look at him over her shoulder. “Will you be taking care of breakfast?” she asked.
The hopeful note in her voice nearly made him laugh. He'd prepared meals so often since coming here, he thought his young lovely might be getting a bit used to it.
If it hadn't been for the fact that Wade never wanted her to be with another man, he might feel almost sorry for her future husband. The man would have to fend for himself if he ever cared for a decent meal. And aside from her tendency to burn things, Callie seemed to have gotten used to his handling the cooking; he wouldn't be surprised if it turned out to be a chore she demanded from her husband.
"Sure,” he answered amicably. “What would you like?"
"Anything,” she said, mumbling something else he didn't quite catch as she stepped into the bright morning light.
But he could have sworn the remark ended something along the lines of, as long as I don't have to cook it.
"Ouch.” Callie pulled the sharp point of her embroidery needle out of the tip of her finger and stuck the sore digit into her mouth until it stopped stinging.
That was the third time. They'd been in the parlor going on two hours now, with Wade and Matthew rolling around on the floor while Callie attempted to sew a set of fancy blue initials in the corner of a handkerchief that now had tiny bloodstains on the thin white material.
All because she was trying to work up the courage to tell Wade something she knew he wouldn't like—that she wanted him to go to the Young ranch to look for his deed . . . and that she wanted to go along.
If she put it off any longer, though, blood loss might keep her from following through on her plan. And she hoped to go over there tonight, so she'd best circle her wagons and get on with it.
"Wade,” she began, before she could once again talk herself out of it.
On his hands and knees on the floor, he looked up at her. He had Matthew situated just like him, urging him to crawl. She didn't bother telling Wade that the child was much too young for such a thing.
So far, Matthew had only managed to stick his diapered bottom in the air and wobble back and forth. He'd fallen on occasion but never cried. Instead, he smiled broadly, happy just to be having so much fun with his father. And Callie was having fun watching them.
She hated to ruin the lightness of the day by bringing up a topic sure to darken Wade's mood.
When she didn't continue soon after capturing his attention, Wade swept Matthew off the carpeted floor and took a seat in a nearby chair, placing the child on his lap.
"What's on your mind, sweetheart? You've got little crinkles between your pretty brown eyes.” He reached out a long finger to brush the lines away. “Are you worried about something?"
"Only about how you'll react when I tell you the plan I've come up with."
Setting aside her sewing, she clasped her hands together, braced her shoulders, and faced him bravely. “But I'll warn you right now, Wade, I've made up my mind. You won't be talking me out of this."
His expression didn't change; he merely nodded somberly. “All right. But maybe you should tell me what's going on so I know whether or not I should try to talk you out of it."
"You won't, so don't even bother,” she told him adamantly. Before he had to ask again for an explanation of her strange behavior, she continued. “I think we should go to the Triple Y tonight and search for the papers on your ranch."
He eyed her carefully and then said, “We?"
"Yes, we."
"No."
"Yes."
"Dammit, Callie, I said no.” He leapt to his feet, the baby clutched in one arm, chubby legs dangling in the air.
Callie jumped up to face him at eye level. “And I said yes. In case it's slipped your attention, this is my house you're hiding out in. I lied to Sheriff Walker about not having seen you around, and at this point, I'm the only one who believes in your innocence. I'm also the one who came up with the idea that a copy of your deed may still exist. So if anybody is going over there to look for it, that person will be me."
"The hell it will,” Wade growled.
Arguing was obviously getting her nowhere, she thought with a resigned mental sigh. Fine.
"I don't need your permission, Wade,” she said sternly. “I can come and go as I please. And you, being a wanted man, can do very little to stop me."
Wade arched a dark brow, and a menacing look came into his eyes that told her she'd gone one step too far.
"Is that what you think?” he breathed.
Callie licked her lips nervously, wondering if there was some way for her to worm her way out of the predicament she found herself in without giving up the fight altogether.
But he didn't give her time to answer or retreat. Faster than she could blink, he wrapped his free arm around her waist, hauled her up against the hard wall of his chest, and kissed her.
Chapter Twenty
It was a diversionary tactic. Kissing her both stopped her from going on with her ridiculous notion of breaking into Brady Young's house and gave him a moment to think.
Of course, with Callie's supple body pressed so close to his own, her warm mouth moving beneath his, all rational thought fled. There was only Callie and her heat, her softness, the passion that raged between them.
His fingers kneaded her back, his tongue dueling with hers. A groan rolled its way up his throat and he considered pressing her down to the sofa and raising her skirts . . . until Matthew took to squirming between them like a snake with its tail caught under a rock.
Wade broke away reluctantly, keeping his lips on hers until he had no choice but to step back and open his eyes. His one consolation was that she looked as dazed as he felt.
"We could put Matthew down for a couple of hours and then . . . take a little nap ourselves,” he suggested in a low voice.
"Somehow I don't think you have sleeping in mind,” she retorted, and then moved even farther away. “Besides, we haven't yet settled our argument."
He shifted Matthew higher at his side before saying, “Oh, yes we have. You're not going, and that's an end to it."
"I was about to say basically the same to you. Yes, I am going, and that's an end to that. Wade,” she went on, her tone changing from firm to almost cajoling, “please trust me on this; it makes sense. You can stay here with Matthew while I go over to the Triple Y."
He was already shaking his head, but she kept right on going.
"Brady spends most of his evenings at the Painted Lady, drinking and playing poker . . . among other things,” she added with a derisive twist to her lips. “I'm betting the house will be empty and I'll have a chance to look around before he ever returns. And even if he does, I'll use the same excuse I intended to last time—that I was simply stopping by for a visit. It will be even more believable if I take along a loaf of bread or fresh pastry."
"I don't like it, Callie.” His frustration was clear in the bite of every word. “Do you have any idea what kind of person Brady Young is? He shot his own father in the back, set me up for the crime, and put me in a hellhole state penitentiary for what was supposed to be the rest of my life. There's no telling what he might do to a pretty young thing like you, especially if he finds out you're up to no good."
She rolled her eyes. “That's exactly why I have to do this—because of the kind of man he is and what he did to you. And even if he does come home early, he won't figure out why I'm really there, Wade. He's not bright enough for that. Besides, I've told you before that he fancies himself sweet on me . . . or maybe I should say he thinks I should be sweet on him. Either way, with a few sidelong glances or girlish giggles, I can have him thinking I'm simply lonely for his company."
Wade glowered. Her argument infuriated him, even if she did have a good point—several of them. He had to think of something to talk her out of this asinine scheme.
"So you're willing to prostitute yourself for the sake of Brady Young not
becoming suspicious?"
It was a vicious remark and he knew it. He was lucky she didn't reach out and slap him. But the look on her face stung more than a physical blow ever could.
"No,” she said, and the word was brittle. “I'm willing to prostitute myself for you.” And with that, she turned and stalked from the room.
Wade didn't blame her; he'd acted like an ass. He couldn't seem to stop himself, though. The thought of her anywhere near Brady Young made him crazy. She made him crazy, even if she was only trying to help him.
He cringed. That smarted even worse. She really did have his best interests at heart. He owed it to her to at least hear her out. Which he'd done, for the most part, but he couldn't get past the image of her setting foot on the Triple Y—Brady territory.
With a sigh, he started for the kitchen, deciding he'd better unruffle Callie's feathers—and fast—if he expected to ever again get anywhere near relieving her of her underthings.
When he stepped into the room, Matthew still attached to his hip and happily gumming a fold of fabric from the arm of Wade's shirt, he found Callie packing several glass jars of various canned items into a wicker basket lined with a red-and-white-checkered cloth.
"What are you doing?” he asked automatically.
"Since you're being so stubborn, I decided not to take the time to bake something. I'll just take a basket of preserves with me in case he shows up, and act like I planned to drop them off all the while."
With that, she threw another checkered napkin over the jars and started past him into the other room.
He grabbed her wrist as she flitted by. “Callie."
"Don't try to stop me, Wade,” she charged, yanking her arm free. “I've made up my mind and I don't care to hear any more about it."
"So I gathered. Did anyone ever tell you that you're a damn stubborn woman?” he muttered almost to himself.
A bit of the tension seemed to seep from her body. “My brother, upon occasion."
He chuckled. “I knew I couldn't be the only one.” And then he took a deep, cleansing breath. “All right, so your mind's made up. But if you're going, then I'm going, too."