In that moment she believed she was beautiful, despite her too small breasts and her straight black hair that refused to hold a curl and the spattering of freckles across her nose.
“I want to see you,” she said, reaching up for the first of the buttons on his shirt. She had three unbuttoned when his patience deserted him. Callen laughed as Sam tore off his shirt, yanked off his boots and socks and reached for his belt buckle. He was naked moments later, and the laugh caught in her throat.
Whatever faults Sam might have had, his body wasn’t one of them. Callen let her eyes roam from broad shoulders and muscled arms, down a chest that was furred with dark hair, past a washboard belly, to the curls that surrounded his arousal. His legs were long, his thighs sinewy and taut.
“You’re the one who’s beautiful,” she managed to say.
He smiled.
Oh, what a wonderful smile it was! His white teeth flashed, and his eyes crinkled at the corners. She felt warm all over. Then came the laugh, up from his belly, past his chest and out of his mouth, a full, rich, happy sound.
She grinned. “What’s so funny?”
“You thinking I’m beautiful.”
“But you are,” she insisted.
He snorted, a male sound of dismissal. “You’re the special one, Callen.” He sat on the bed beside her and let his callused fingertips stroke across her belly. “I can’t believe you’re mine.”
Callen felt revered, cherished. She had done the right thing marrying Sam. She hadn’t made a mistake. Sam couldn’t touch her like this, hold her in his arms, stroke her mouth with his tongue in just that way if he didn’t care for her.
He took his time loving her. His eyes constantly roamed her body, following where he touched. When he joined their bodies, making them one, he watched that, too. She had never been so aware of herself as a woman, never been so aware of the aching need to give everything she had to another human being.
Callen heard Sam’s groan of agony and pleasure in the moment he thrust inside her, felt her muscles contract to hold him there. His hands lifted her buttocks as he made sweet, sweet love to her. She touched him everywhere she could reach, returning the caresses he had so freely given her. In her ultimate joy, she grasped his hair and pulled his mouth down to join hers as they cried out in exultation.
Afterward, she lay sated in his arms, breathless, her chest heaving. Their bodies were sweat-slick in the heat, and she realized suddenly that the house wasn’t air-conditioned, that it was the breeze flowing from behind the curtains through the open windows that cooled their bodies. No wonder the curtains had been drawn, she thought. It kept out the hot sun. It was one more indication of the worse to go with the better in this marriage.
Right at this moment, Callen didn’t have any complaints. She stretched lazily and felt Sam’s hand slide down her thigh. It felt good, warm and rough against her skin. Sam was, quite simply, an incredible lover. She shouldn’t have been surprised, but she was. She hadn’t thought of him as the sort of man who dated a lot. So where had he learned to be so knowledgeable of a woman’s needs in bed?
The answer to that question was easy, once Callen thought about it, though thinking at all was difficult with Sam’s hand caressing her. A man as kind and considerate as Sam Longstreet would naturally be a good lover, because he would always be concerned about the other person’s pleasure. She decided he deserved some thanks for his thoughtfulness. So she slid her hand along his naked flank, returning the caresses he bestowed upon her. She could feel the strength, the sinew and muscle that surrounded bone. She gave a little shove, and he rolled over onto his back.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“I’m going to have my wicked way with you,” Callen answered.
“By all means.” His grin was far more wicked than anything she could have imagined doing to him. He lay still beneath her hands. Actually, not quite still. His body undulated beneath her onslaught, until he rolled her over beneath him and took up where she had left off.
They didn’t leave the bed all day. It was full dark before either of them thought of anything except the delights to be found in the other’s body. It was Sam’s stomach that finally protested with a loud growl.
“I’m hungry,” he admitted.
Callen snuggled closer. “Me, too.”
“Who’s going to get out of bed and fix supper?”
“I suppose I ought to,” Callen said with a huge yawn.
“You’re exhausted.”
Callen heard the surprise and remorse in Sam’s voice. She smiled to herself. “I hope you keep me this tired all the time,” she teased.
She felt his body relax and heard his chuckle. “I might have gone a little crazy. I just never thought—”
He cut himself off and abruptly rose so that her hair, which was caught under his shoulder, got yanked hard enough to hurt. She cried out, then heard him swear as he stubbed his toe on the bedstead.
“Are you all right?” he called. Then, “Where the hell is the lamp?”
“I suspect it’s where it’s always been.” Callen restrained a giggle as she reached out and snapped on a lamp beside the bed. She squinted her eyes until they adjusted to the light. When she could open them without pain, she saw that Sam was staring fixedly at her. She looked down and found there were small love bruises on her body where he had staked his claim. Her breasts were still flushed and rosy from their latest round of lovemaking. She quickly grappled for the sheet to cover herself.
“Don’t. I…” He swallowed hard. “I like looking at you.”
She forced herself to lie still. It was plain he wanted her again.
Fortunately—or unfortunately—his stomach chose that moment to growl again. He grabbed his jeans and stepped into them before heading for the kitchen in a hurry. “Stay where you are. I’ll get us something to eat.”
The first thing she did was jump out of bed and race for the standing oval mirror in the corner to see for herself how she looked. Good Lord! she thought. That’s what he finds attractive?
Her hair was tangled beyond combing, her breasts were the same tiny size they’d always been, and she hadn’t grown any taller. But a second look revealed the dreamy glow in her dark brown eyes, the heat beneath her skin that made her complexion pink and rosy, and the puffy softness of her lips where she had been thoroughly kissed. She looked like a woman who had spent most of the day making love with a man she adored.
She heard Sam returning, and scurried back to bed. Well, why not? If the man wanted to wait on her, who was she to complain? She was sitting up in bed when he entered the room, but she had chickened out and pulled the sheet up under her arms. There was such a thing as modesty, after all. She hadn’t become a total wanton in one day. Had she? One glance at Sam’s face, and she was afraid she had. She let the sheet fall and heard him gasp. He set the tray of soup and sandwiches on a dry sink across the room and came to her without another word.
The supper he had prepared sat forgotten.
When Sam woke, he felt disoriented. It took him a moment to realize the heat he felt came from another body snuggled up close. He eased himself away from Callen—from his wife—and sat up on the edge of the bed letting his eyes become accustomed to the dark. He wondered what time it was and sought out the alarm he kept next to his bed. The digital clock told him it was barely 10:00 p.m. It seemed much later.
He felt exhausted, but at the same time more rested than he had at any time since his father’s death. He had reason to feel relaxed. His plan for vengeance had well and truly begun. He had taken the first steps to attach his wife’s affections. Before he could take Callen away from her father, he had to be sure that if she was forced to choose, she would choose him. He had to be sure she was well and truly in love.
So he had made love to her as though she were the most precious of women. He had given her all of himself—or almost all. He hadn’t given her his heart. He didn’t love her. That would be a disaster and ruin his carefully laid plans.
But he had created the illusion of love to the best of his ability.
It was only after that first incredibly powerful climax that he had realized the danger to himself. Yet he hadn’t been able to deny himself the opportunity of making love to her again. She was all satiny softness and fiery desire. He hadn’t been able to resist coming back for more. And more. He hadn’t known he could want a woman like he wanted Callen. He was going to have to be careful. He had to remember at all times that his real purpose in marrying her was to cause her father pain.
Callen stretched and her foot reached out and stroked his thigh. “Come back to bed, Sam,” she murmured.
He ought to get up and leave her now. He could feel the loose ropes binding him to her, even as he sought to bind her to himself. But he was the one in control. He could escape the noose whenever he chose, or use whatever means were necessary to cut himself free when the time came. He surrendered to the call and joined Callen in bed.
The next time he woke, it was dawn. Lately, because he couldn’t sleep at night, he had dropped into bed exhausted at sunrise. But he had a mission this morning that had him out of bed the instant he realized what time it was. He had to make it to town, to the Stanton Hotel Café, where all the ranchers gathered early to drink coffee and listen to the stock and grain prices on the radio and compare notes before beginning the day. Garth Whitelaw would be there. And Sam had a few things to say to his new father-in-law.
The hotel had been built in the 1880s, and it still featured several of the original Victorian sofas in the lobby along with a Turkish carpet and some silvered mirrors in elaborate mahogany frames. The hotel café dated from the 1950s. It had a long service bar with stools that had red plastic seats and chrome backs. Someone had added trophy deer antlers on the walls, along with macramé wall hangings from the 1970s and a few pictures of the hotel when it had been in its prime.
Sam saw four ranchers at the far end of the bar. They sat in the same seats every morning. Garth Whitelaw was sitting on the stool closest to him, near the center of the bar. The stool next to Garth was empty, and Sam slid onto it.
He stared straight ahead, looking into the mirror behind the bar. He could see the faces of everyone reflected there. Sam noticed that he looked more than a little the worse for wear. He was wearing a hat that hid most of his hair, but it obviously needed a cut. He hadn’t shaved and, to his chagrin, there was a love bruise under his right ear that Garth Whitelaw couldn’t miss. Sam braced his elbows on the bar and ordered himself a cup of coffee from the waitress and proprietor of the café, Ida Mae Cooper.
The conversation at the bar had stopped. He let his eyes slide over three of the ranchers, daring any one of them to say anything. They each found something of interest to occupy themselves and avoided meeting his glance. When his green eyes met Garth’s stony gray ones, he let his contempt show on his face.
“Offering some more good advice this morning?” Sam taunted. “You men might want to take what Garth Whitelaw says with a grain of salt. He tends to change the truth to fit his purpose.”
There was an ominous silence as the men at the bar absorbed the insult.
Garth stiffened. He set down his cup of coffee and turned to Sam. “Are you calling me a liar?”
“If the shoe fits…”
Ida Mae sloshed some coffee into Garth’s cup. “Don’t want no fightin’ in here, boys.” Nobody could remember when Ida Mae hadn’t been running the coffee shop. She had grown up on a ranch in the area, so she knew how to handle a rowdy crowd. Not that things got rowdy much these days. Only, Ida Mae could see that Sam had coming looking for trouble, and she knew for a fact that Garth was more than willing to give it to him.
“Why aren’t you home with your wife?” Garth demanded.
A sneer cut across Sam’s face. “I left her asleep in bed. She was plumb wore out.”
“That’s no way to talk about my daughter,” Garth warned. “Or your wife, for that matter.”
Sam was too intent on hurting Garth to care that he was acting in a manner that was totally alien to him. He would have killed any other man who spoke such a slur against his wife. But Callen wasn’t just his wife, she was also Garth Whitelaw’s daughter. She was part and parcel of his revenge. He was here to hurt Garth Whitelaw, not to protect his wife’s name.
“I just thought you’d like to know I’ll be going to the bank today to take care of my back mortgage payments,” he said.
Garth’s eyes narrowed.
“Can you believe it? Callen offered me her fortune,” Sam said with a snide grin intended to raise the hair on Garth’s neck.
“Why, you—” Garth started to rise, but was stopped by Sam’s wagging finger.
“Uh-uh,” Sam cautioned. “Ida Mae wouldn’t like it if you messed up her place.” He leaned closer and said in a voice not intended to be heard by the other men, “The Double L is lost to you, Whitelaw. Soon, your daughter will be, too.”
“What the hell do you mean by that?” Garth shot back.
“Just remember what I said, Whitelaw.” He rose, and Garth reached out to grab his arm. He yanked it free. “Stay away from me and my wife, do you hear?”
“I’ll see my daughter—”
“She’s not your daughter anymore,” Sam said. “She’s my wife. Stay away from the Double L, and leave Callen alone.”
“If this is about E.J.—”
“You’re damn straight it’s about E.J.,” Sam said, his face contorted in fury. “I want you to know what it feels like to lose someone you love and know they’re gone forever.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Garth demanded. “I had nothing to do with E.J.’s death.”
“Nothing anyone can prove,” Sam agreed. “But I know the truth. And so do you.”
Garth shook his head in frustration and disbelief. “You’re wrong, Sam.”
“Just don’t plan on seeing Callen again,” Sam said baldly.
“I’ll see my daughter when and where I choose.”
“Not if I say no. I have some influence with my wife. She won’t be working for you anymore, just so we have that straight.”
Garth heaved a frustrated sigh. “I’m telling you again, I’m not responsible for what happened to E.J.” He paused before adding sardonically, “And my daughter, as you will soon discover, is a woman with a mind of her own.”
Sam already had some inkling of that, but he was determined to keep Callen so busy she wouldn’t have time to miss her job—or see her father, even if she wanted to. “Just stay away from her,” Sam repeated. “She’s dead to you.”
Sam whirled on his booted heel and stalked out of the café. When he reached the covered wooden porch outside the Stanton Hotel, he took a deep breath and let it out. He was not normally a vindictive man, and the outpouring of rage he had felt toward Garth Whitelaw had left him feeling drained. It was two hours before the bank opened, and he had just walked out of the best place in town for breakfast.
He thought of going home, and an image rose before him of Callen lying tangled in the sheets on his bed. Hell, he’d just go on home and get back in bed with her. There was plenty of time to come back into town later and pay the banker. He had accomplished what he’d set out to do. There was no reason why he couldn’t go home and enjoy his wife…while she still was his wife.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE FIRST TIME CALLEN’S MOTHER called to invite the newlyweds to dinner, Callen accepted on the spot. She had been spending all her time fixing up the house, waiting to see if her father would relent and ask her to come back to work at Hawk’s Way. So far, he hadn’t budged an inch.
“Of course, we’ll come, Mom,” she said. “What time? We’ll be there. Sam? Oh, I’m sure he’ll be free. Don’t worry, Mom. We’re both looking forward to it.” She had laughed at the cautious note in her mother’s voice. Maybe her wedding hadn’t been auspicious, but her marriage was everything she had dreamed it could be.
She was astonished, therefore, when Sam informed her he
had made plans to take her out that evening.
“I was hoping to surprise you.” He had a sort of sheepish look on his face that melted her heart.
“I wouldn’t spoil your plans for the world,” Callen said. After all, she didn’t want to discourage any romantic notions Sam might have in the future. “I guess I’m not used to being married,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “I’ll have to get used to asking first before I make arrangements that include both of us.”
Callen had called her mother with their regrets. The next time her mother called, about two weeks later, Callen said, “I’ll have to check with Sam. Can I call you back later tonight?”
She had brought up the subject at dinner. Sam paused only hesitantly before he said, “Sunday dinner? I don’t know why not. Sure, tell them we’ll come.”
Callen gave him a big kiss. “Thanks, Sam. It’ll make my mom so happy. And I know you’ll like my dad, once you get to know him.”
Only, when Sunday came, Sam had an emergency he had to take care of that precluded going to Sunday dinner at Hawk’s Way with Callen. Some fence was down along the south pasture, and his prize bull had wandered onto Abel Johnson’s property. Abel didn’t mind, but Sam hated giving away free stud service on his bull.
“I have to get him back right away,” Sam said apologetically. “We’ll have to have dinner with your folks another time.”
Callen called and apologized to her mother. They set another tentative date for a week later. When the following Sunday came, Sam was sick with the flu. He looked awful, and Callen hadn’t the heart to make him keep the dinner engagement with her parents.
When they had been married for three months, it came as a shock to Callen when she realized that she and Sam had not yet darkened the portals of Hawk’s Way. In fact, she and her parents hadn’t even crossed paths. It was easy to excuse the omission. She and Sam had both been incredibly busy.
Her time had been spent turning Sam’s home—now her home, as well—into a charming, cheerful place by using lots of hard work and secondhand everything. She had managed to recover the couch with an Indian print in warm Western colors and was amazed at what a little polish had done to the furniture. She had bought paintings over the years, mostly by southwestern artists, which she had hung on the walls.
Hawk's Way: Callen & Zach Page 4
