Callie's Cowboy (14 page)

What he said made perfect sense. What was more, it held undeniable appeal. She'd never seen a real ranch before, not a huge spread like Roundrock. But she couldn't help digging in her heels. What was she afraid of? That she would like it? That she would want to stay?
That he would talk her into marrying him and giving up her journalism career?

She gave a mental snort. It wasn't as if Sam was asking her to stay, she reminded herself. He'd said “a visit.” A week or two, maybe. After his disastrous marriage, he'd think long and hard before offering himself as a husband to a city girl. She didn't think she had anything to worry about in that department.

“My mother really wants you to come,” Sam said.

Suddenly she felt like she'd missed too many opportunities over the years. She wanted to grab things when they came along, rather than waiting around.

One will tarry, losing her chance at love.
Theodora's words came back to haunt her. Well, she wasn't tarrying anymore.

“Okay.” It was for Beverly, Callie told herself. She wanted to be there for her friend, if she was needed.

“Okay?”

She smiled and rolled onto her side to face him, still in the protective circle of his arm. “I'll argue some more if you want.”

“No,” he said, chuckling. “I just expected more of a fight.”

“We used to always argue for the sake of arguing. I hope we've gotten over that.”

“Me too. We have enough real differences without making up more.”

Callie, not normally an early riser, found her eyes wide open at five
A.M.
her first morning at Roundrock. They'd arrived late the night before after an all-day
journey by car, plane, and car again. She'd been so exhausted she'd fallen onto the bed in her street clothes, instantly asleep.

But now she felt completely rested and oddly peaceful.

She slid out of bed and stripped down, anxious to get a look at this place that claimed so much of Sam's devotion. Roundrock represented the future she'd been offered but had refused. What if she discovered she had made the wrong decision? Or, she thought with a twinge of unease, what if Sam regretted inviting her to Nevada? He'd issued the invitation on impulse, while they'd lain naked together in her bed enjoying the afterglow of lovemaking. He might actually be reluctant to share this part of his life with an outsider, which she definitely was.

The room had grown chilly during the night, and she quickly located a robe from her suitcase and wrapped it around her. A nice, hot shower was what she needed, and then, if no one was up yet, she'd wander downstairs to the kitchen and see about coffee. She was sure Sam wouldn't mind her making herself at home.

She tiptoed into the hallway, immediately intimidated by the sheer number of doors, all of them closed. Sam had shown her last night where the bathroom was, but she'd been half-asleep.

The first door she tried was to the nursery. Deana was asleep in a tangle of covers, her tousled blond curls all that was visible. The tiny lump under the blankets rose and fell reassuringly, however. A blazing bedside lamp was testament to the fact that Deana hadn't conquered her fear of the dark.

“Neither have I, kiddo,” she murmured, resisting the urge to go to the bed and stroke those pretty blond curls. If Deana suddenly awakened, though, and needed a diaper change or food or something, Callie would be at a loss.

She quietly withdrew and tried another door. This one led into a darkened room. Callie opened it wider to admit light from the hall. Immediately she knew this wasn't a bathroom, either, but she didn't close the door right away.

This was Sam's room, and Callie's eyes focused on the softly snoring form in the middle of a king-size bed. She was drawn to him, even more strongly than his daughter had drawn her. Only the fear of what he would think if he woke up kept her feet glued to the floor.

Eventually she persuaded herself to back out and make a quiet, dignified exit.

The next door she tried was indeed a bathroom, with old-fashioned hexagonal tiles in black-and-white blocks, and a huge footed tub. What a temptation!

But not this morning. Someone else might be needing the bathroom; she couldn't hog it for a leisurely bath. She took a quick shower in water that was only lukewarm no matter how she adjusted the faucets, brushed her teeth, and returned to her room to dress in jeans and a sweater.

It took Callie several minutes to find the kitchen. She was astounded at the vastness of the ranch house. Sam had described it to her, but he'd never conveyed the true size of the place. Her whole apartment would easily fit in the central living area that surrounded a stone fireplace. She blundered into a formal living room
furnished with Early American antiques, an office, and another dining hall with a table that would seat a dozen people. Finally, following the scent of coffee, she found the enormous, old-fashioned kitchen.

Beverly was already there, watching the oversized percolator as it did its thing.

“You couldn't sleep?” Callie asked, concerned for Beverly, who had developed dark shadows under her eyes over the past couple of weeks.

“Actually, I slept quite well last night, better than any night since Johnny … left me. I'm just an early riser. Comes from being raised on a ranch, I guess.”

“Oh, that's right, this is where you grew up. I forget that, sometimes.”

“And I couldn't wait to get away,” Beverly said with a fond smile. “My first husband and I ran off and got married against my father's wishes. We were set on moving to the city and living in the fast lane.”

“Sounds kind of romantic.” Callie joined Beverly in her vigil over the slow coffeepot.

“It might've sounded that way, but it wasn't, especially when he left me, pregnant and destitute. Thank God I met Johnny.”

“Did you come back here?” Callie asked.

“No. My uncle Ned would have found a place for Johnny. But Johnny didn't want anything handed to him. He wanted his own spread.” She paused, a faraway look on her face. “Oddly, I don't regret turning my back on Roundrock. Our little place never quite fulfilled the dreams Johnny had for it, but we were happy most of the time.” She sighed. “Oh, dear, I hope I don't get all weepy again.”

Callie touched Beverly's hand in silent commiseration. She thought about Nicole, wondering again how the Johnny Sanger she'd known could have been unfaithful to his wife. He'd been a man of high principles, loyal, a family man. He wouldn't have done anything to hurt Beverly.

Maybe he hadn't had an affair with Nicole. Maybe there was a perfectly logical explanation for his association with her. Callie felt an urge to ask Beverly if she knew.

Fortunately, a timely interruption prevented her from saying anything unforgivably stupid. Rena arrived. Rena, Roundrock's cook, housekeeper, and all-around boss woman, was legendary. Callie had been hearing about her for years. But, like the house, no descriptions had prepared Callie for the real thing.

“Here, now, who's messing with my coffeepot?” were the first words out of her mouth. She was tiny—probably under five feet, Callie guessed—and dressed in faded bell-bottom jeans and a yellow flannel shirt. Her black-and-silver-streaked hair was pulled back in a braid so tight that it stretched the flesh of Rena's wizened brown face. Her eyes, darting around accusingly, were dark brown or black and sharp as a crow's.

“It's just me, Rena,” Beverly said, unruffled by the attack. “I always did beat you to the kitchen.”

Rena's suspicious expression immediately softened. “Why, Beverly, it is you. Sorry to hear about your old man.”

Beverly nodded.

Rena focused her raisin eyes on Callie. “Who are you?”

Beverly answered. “This is Sam's friend Callie. She's been a great help to us.”

Rena's thin eyebrows flew up. “Sam's Callie, you say? The same one?”

“Same one,” Beverly confirmed while Callie, tongue-tied for once, endured Rena's examination. Apparently she didn't pass inspection, because the old woman eventually shrugged and looked away without a single word of greeting or welcome.

“I'm late getting breakfast started,” she groused. “You all git your coffee and clear out. Give me some room.”

Before they could follow orders, Sam entered the kitchen. He looked better than ever in his battered work clothes, Callie thought, suppressing a lascivious grin. The worn-to-white denim of his tight-fitting jeans intimately cupped his anatomy in a way that made Callie blush. She focused on his face, his damp hair combed back from his forehead, his hat—not the dress Stetson he'd worn in Destiny, but a battered old straw thing that looked more like a bird's nest than a hat—dangling from his hand.

She'd seen the man a million times, but her heart lurched anyway, as if for a long-lost lover.

“Oh, great,” Rena said, “now the boss is up early. I suppose that means the young 'un is up too?”

“Not yet,” Sam said. “She had a late night last night.”

“I'll take care of her while I'm here, Rena,” Beverly
offered. “It'll give me something to do, keep my mind off … things.”

Sam spared a smile of encouragement for his mother, then turned back to Rena. “We're in a hurry this morning. Something we can carry with us would be good.”

“Great. Guess that does in my idea of flapjacks. All of you—out!”

“Yes, ma'am,” Sam said with a fond smile for the woman who, Callie knew, was dear to him as his own grandmother.

In the dining hall, some of the other cowboys were drifting in. Sam made cursory introductions, explaining that most of them were neighbors and temporary help brought in to assist with fall roundup. Rena brought in a pot of coffee and a tray of cups.

“So what are you in such a hurry for this morning?” Callie asked, finding a battered chair. “Is there a big problem, or is this just routine stuff?”

“Little of both,” he answered, seeming pleased that she was showing an interest. “A neighboring ranch has reported an outbreak of pleuropneumonia. I want to make double sure all of our calves are vaccinated against it. An epidemic could kill off an entire year's calves.”

“Oh, Sam!” Beverly said. “That's scary. When I was a little girl, we had some kind of epidemic like that.”

Sam grimaced. “Yeah, it's nothing to take lightly. Fortunately, we have the vaccines. We're also working against a deadline, though. Cold weather's on the way, and I'd rather not get caught by a freak snowstorm with a bunch of heifers and calves up in the high country.”

“I tried to get Bud Vinson and his copter, but he's
got other work lined up,” said Mitch Dalton, the foreman. Callie had met him the night before, when he'd picked them up at the airport. He'd seemed friendly enough, but his eyes were full of suspicion as he slid a sideways glance at her now and then. Did everybody here know about her past with Sam?

“That's okay,” Sam said. “We've got Punky on our side. Best damn cow dog you ever saw.” Sam glanced at Callie. The brag was definitely meant for her benefit.

Callie felt very much like an outsider. Everyone here was speaking a foreign language. Well, not foreign, exactly. She could understand it. But she couldn't contribute, not a word. She felt ignorant.

Suddenly she was seized with a keen desire to learn about Roundrock. She could do a feature story on it—yes, it was a brilliant idea! City-slicker girl learns to rope and ride in two short weeks, stepping in to help a ranch avoid a pleuro-whatever epidemic. She could peddle that concept to any number of magazines.

“I want to go with you.” The words popped out of her mouth.

“What?” Sam looked at her like she'd grown a third arm.

“I want to see what you're doing, and maybe I could find a way to help you.”

The other cowboys burst into laughter, and even Beverly smiled, but Sam just stared. “Callie, you've never even ridden a horse.” This elicited another round of laughter from the cowboys.

“I'm a quick learner. Mostly I imagine you just have to stick in the saddle and let the horse do all the work.”
The laughter turned to hysterics. Callie's face burned. She would curl up and die if Sam ridiculed her.

He didn't, though. The look he gave her was gentle, if a little condescending. “Callie, I'm happy that you want to learn about the ranch. And I promise I'll teach you anything you want to know—but not for the next couple of days. Today is going to be tough enough without my having to worry about you falling off a horse and breaking your neck.”

He was right, of course, and Callie nodded reluctantly. Still, the idea for the story burned inside her.

Rena returned to the dining hall in record time with a huge platter filled with biscuit sandwiches—egg, cheese, and sausage. Callie couldn't imagine how the cook had produced all that food so quickly. She decided Rena's role at the ranch would make a wonderful sidebar to the story.

The cowboys grabbed for the breakfast sandwiches, devouring them in one or two bites. They wrapped extras in paper napkins and stuffed them in their jacket pockets. The whole process took about thirty seconds, and they began clearing out.

“My, they are in a hurry,” Callie said, taking a tentative bite of a biscuit. It was heavenly. She decided not to think about fat grams while she was here.

“I have to go,” Sam said reluctantly. “Sorry I can't—”

“It's okay, Sam. Really, I don't expect you to baby-sit me while I'm here. I'm resourceful enough to keep busy.”

He smiled. “Still …” He looked around. His mother was paying rapt attention to her breakfast. “Let
me show you something real quick.” He led Callie out of the dining hall and into the deserted living room, where he wasted no time pulling her into his arms and kissing the stuffing out of her.

Her thirsty soul responded, soaking up his affection like the cracked ground in a drought soaks up rain. She met his tongue with hers, surprised, excited, and a little intimidated by the strength of Sam's passion.