Courting Callie

by Lynn Erickson

  To tell the truth, she was as much on pins and needles as Joey. Maybe more. He was going home to see his dad; she was sailing into uncharted waters. What would Mase do when she showed up out of the blue? Would he be angry or uncomfortable or just plain cool, as if he didn’t give a darn one way or the other that Callie Thorne had just driven three hundred miles to see him?

  Well, she wasn’t driving the three hundred miles to see him; she was doing it for Joey.

  As she drove, she thought about Mase and wondered how the cut on his head was. She hoped he didn’t have any lingering effects, dizziness or headaches or anything. Silly old Diablo. Dumb rabbit. Of course it would have to happen to Mase, who disliked horses, anyway.

  They stopped for lunch in a café. Joey had a melted cheese sandwich and fries, and Callie had a burger and potato salad. Then she peeked at the dessert menu.

  “Strawberry shortcake?” she asked Joey. “Hot fudge sundae? Cherry pie with ice cream?”

  He looked at her with wide eyes.

  “How about we share one?”

  They got the sundae and two spoons, but Callie ate most of it.

  “Don’t tell your dad,” she said. “He’ll say it’s unhealthy, all that sugar, but I figure we’re on vacation, right?”

  “Right,” Joey said.

  They drove on due south through Cheyenne and the flat brown high prairie that stretched from Canada south to New Mexico on the eastern side of the Rockies. By two-thirty they were in the northern suburbs of Denver.

  Callie had already figured out the best route to Mase’s house, but Joey had assured her his dad had showed him the way, so she pretended to consult him now. “Okay,” Callie said, dodging city traffic on the eight-lane interstate, “can you get me to your house?”

  “Um, sure. Just get off on University, then I’ll show you.”

  “You want to call your dad? He’s probably at work, but we could try to reach him there.”

  “No,” Joey said, “please, Callie, please. I want to surprise him.”

  “Some people don’t like surprises a whole lot, pardner.”

  “He will, I know he will.”

  Joey directed her quite handily down University Avenue, past the undergrad hangouts of D.U. students, around a corner, past a small park and onto a quiet street lined with older brick houses and tall trees. Kids were riding their tricycles on the sidewalk while dogs dozed on front stoops.

  Callie drove slowly, curious as the devil. So this was where Mase lived, where he and his wife, Amy, had lived, where Joey had probably been born.

  “There!” Joey cried, pointing. “There it is!”

  He indicated a neat brick house with white shutters, a brick sidewalk leading up to the door, some juniper shrubs and a manicured front lawn. No flowers, though. No lady to plant flowers.

  “Turn in the driveway, right there,” Joey was saying, almost beside himself with eagerness.

  She pulled in and parked, then got out of the truck and stretched. Joey scrambled across the seat to her side and jumped down. “Come on, I know where the key is,” he said. “In back, come on.” He took her hand and tugged on it.

  “Hey, okay, I’m coming,” Callie said, laughing.

  Her laugh would have shut off like a spigot if she had noticed the black station wagon parked across the street. Her blood would have curdled in her veins had she seen the man sitting inside behind the tinted windows, intently watching Mase’s house. The trepidation and anticipation of seeing Mase would have been dashed instantly if she’d noted that the cadaverous-faced man in the car suddenly grinned. Wickedly.

  Finding the key under the doormat—“Original,” Callie muttered—Joey opened the back door.

  Callie couldn’t help herself. She walked through the kitchen noting everything—colors, cabinets, dishes in the sink, chairs, living room furniture, a newspaper thrown carelessly on the green velour couch. The bookshelves, the television set, the closed drapes.

  The house was neat but dusty. It had been decorated by a woman, but not kept up by one.

  “Come see my room,” Joey was saying. “Callie, please.”

  She followed the little boy, her fingers trailing across a tabletop. She stopped for a moment to study a grouping of carefully framed photographs of the LeBow family. Baby pictures of Joey, a photo of Mase, a younger Mase, proud and smiling in a police uniform. Some momentous occasion, she supposed. Graduation from the police academy?

  Wedding pictures.

  “Callie! Come on!” Joey piped up.

  “Just a minute,” Callie said, but it was more to herself than Joey. The pictures. A young and handsome Mase in a tuxedo posing next to his wife. Amy. Amy LeBow. Mrs. Amy LeBow. Awfully pretty. Dark hair pulled back beneath her wedding veil. A pixie face. Almond-shaped eyes, high cheekbones, a wide, smiling mouth. Joey had her eyes and tawny coloring.

  “Callie!”

  “Okay, I’m coming.” She went down the hall, past a bathroom cluttered with male paraphernalia and a bedroom with a hastily made bed. Next to the bedroom was an office with papers piled on a desk, and then Joey’s room.

  Red-and-blue quilts with sports figures on them draped the deep blue walls, and balsa-wood airplanes hung from the ceiling. There was a set of wooden bunk beds, and fluffy white clouds were painted on the ceiling. Dinosaur figurines covered the desk and dresser, vicious, growling creatures to delight a boy’s heart. Someone had lovingly planned this room for a cherished child. Who else but Joey’s mother?

  “See?” Joey said. “I told you.”

  “It’s…well, it’s wonderful, kiddo. Absolutely fantastic.”

  “I know.” He looked very serious. “My grandma and grandpa told me it was the best room ever.”

  “It is.”

  “And my other grandma and grandpa, from New Mexico—” he pointed up “—they said my mommy painted those clouds for me.”

  “Oh, Joey,” Callie began.

  “She painted good, huh?”

  “Oh, yes, your mother painted the most beautiful clouds ever.”

  “I know,” he said again, so proud.

  Back in the living room, Callie asked Joey what they should do. “Should we just wait? Or call your grandparents or your dad’s office?”

  “We can wait here.”

  “Hmm, we’re going to get hungry eventually. Do you suppose there’s anything in the fridge?”

  “Daddy hates grocery shopping.”

  “Me, too.” She put her hands on her hips. “Think he’d mind if I looked around in there?”

  “Nah, he doesn’t care.”

  “What’re you going to do, pardner?”

  “Watch TV.” Joey found the remote, settled in what was obviously his favorite chair and began to click away happily.

  The fridge was all but empty. There was some butter, old yogurt, a six-pack of beer, a package of withered carrots and some moldy bagels.

  “Ye gods,” Callie muttered. “No wonder he liked Francine’s food.”

  “Pizza,” Joey said, appearing in the kitchen doorway.

  “Is that what your dad does?” Callie asked. “Order out for pizza?”

  Joey lifted his shoulders. “Uh-huh, lots of times.”

  “I can see why.”

  “I like sausage,” he said matter-of-factly. “The phone number’s there.”

  “Okay, sounds like a good idea.”

  They’d finished the pizza and soft drinks and were watching TV together when Joey looked
up, listened for a minute, then said, “Daddy’s home.”

  Callie jerked upright. “How do you know?”

  “I heard his car.”

  “Oh.” She ran a hand through her hair and tucked her blouse in. She barely had time to take a calming breath when Mase burst in through the front door.

  He stood there, his face black with rage, his body taut as a bowstring. He was wearing a dark suit with shirt and tie, loosened at the collar, and there was a suspicious bulge at his hip. Homicide Detective Mason LeBow.

  “What in hell are you doing here?” he rasped.

  “Hi, Daddy,” Joey said, running to him. “Surprise!”

  “Surprise,” Mase repeated, chewing on the word. “Whose idea was this surprise?”

  “Mine, Daddy. I wanted to show Callie my room and…”

  “Joey, maybe you better let me talk to your dad for a minute,” Callie said, her gaze holding Mase’s. “Can we go into the kitchen?”

  She was almost afraid to turn her back on him, but she did. She walked ahead of him into the kitchen and he followed.

  “Okay,” he said, his voice low and harsh, “what’s going on here?”

  “How’s your head?” she asked in a classic non sequitur.

  “My head?”

  “The cut.”

  He put a hand up to the Band-Aid on his forehead. “It’s fine,” he said impatiently. “Now, answer me, Callie. What are you doing here?”

  “Joey was homesick,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. She’d thought he might be a little irritated, but his reaction was so extreme it scared her. “We all thought it would be good for him to be home for a few days. He’s only six.”

  “Oh, God.” Mase ran a hand through his dark hair. “Homesick.”

  “Yes. He did great for the first few days, then he got a little upset. And seeing as he’s been so…well, sensitive, we all thought…”

  Mase held a hand up. “I understand. I’m sorry. It was just such a shock to see you both here.”

  “I wanted to call, but Joey insisted on surprising you.”

  “Oh, God,” Mase said again.

  “Is something wrong?” Callie asked, her brow knitting suspiciously.

  He shook his head. “Nothing, no. It was a shock, that’s all.” He frowned and looked at her. “Why you?”

  “Why me what?”

  “Why did you drive him here?”

  She could feel two fiery splotches on her cheeks. “I, um, well, they all made me come. I, well, they said I should go shopping.”

  Mase turned away and massaged the back of his neck with a hand. He muttered something she couldn’t hear. Then he turned around and said, “You and Joey have to leave. Tomorrow, first thing. Go back to the ranch.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You can’t stay here.”

  “Well, I wasn’t planning to, for your information.” Callie drew herself up. “I delivered Joey, and now I’ll leave and find myself a nice motel, and tomorrow I’ll go…”

  “The hell you will.”

  “The hell I will what?”

  “Get a motel. You’ll stay here tonight, and you’ll take Joey and…”

  “I’ll do whatever I darn well please, Mr. LeBow,” Callie shot back.

  “Damn it, Callie, you’ll do what I want you to do with my son.”

  “What is he, a puppy? And who do you think you are to order—”

  “No, no, I mean…”

  “I know what you mean,” she said testily. “You’ve probably got some hot date lined up for the weekend, and you’re furious we showed up.”

  Mase was silent for a long time. Callie crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him.

  “Is that what you think?” he finally asked.

  “Yes, that’s what I think. Why should I think differently? You haven’t even said hello to your own son.”

  Mase rubbed his hand over his face. “Damn…”

  “Okay, I know when I’m not wanted. I’ll leave now,” she said, “but it sure would be nice if you gave Joey a big hug.” She felt hurt and humiliated. Some surprise this had been.

  “Okay,” Mase said, “let’s start over. I’m sorry I yelled. I do not have a hot date. I’m very glad to see Joey.” He swallowed. “And you. Please stay here. There’s a guest room.”

  It occurred to Callie that it cost Mase an awful lot to say that. Fleetingly, she wondered why he’d bothered, but the anger and the pain she felt overrode any questions.

  “Daddy?”

  They both turned their heads as if a puppeteer had pulled their strings. Joey was standing in the kitchen doorway. “Daddy, are you mad?”

  Mase took a deep breath. “No, Joey, I was just surprised.” He went to his son, reached down and hugged him. “It’s great to see you.”

  “Callie wants to go shopping,” Joey said.

  Mase looked at her. “I’m afraid there won’t be time for shopping. She’s going to have to take you back to the ranch tomorrow.”

  “Excuse me, Mase,” Callie said, trying to keep her voice under control, “but I’m not leaving Denver till I’m good and ready. I didn’t drive this far to turn around and go home. Now, either you tell me why we have to go back to Wyoming, whatever crazy reason you have, or I’m going to find a motel right next door to the Cherry Creek Mall, and I’m going shopping.”

  “You’re not going to a motel,” he said between clenched teeth. “I told you, you can stay here.”

  “Callie, don’t go,” Joey cried.

  “You don’t want me here,” Callie said.

  “Yes we do,” Joey replied. “Don’t we, Daddy?”

  “Yes,” Mase agreed. Reluctantly.

  All of a sudden she felt weary, tired from driving, from the anticipation and disappointment, from everything. She was too exhausted to drive through the city and look for a motel, and she didn’t want to stay all by herself. “Okay, I’ll stay here,” she agreed, “but I’m going shopping tomorrow. You don’t have to come, and I can take Joey and…”

  “I wouldn’t miss your shopping trip for the world,” Mase said, interrupting her. “We’ll all go.”

  Callie finally settled down in the guest room, after Mase had taken some boxes and piles of papers off the bed. They’d both tucked Joey in, very uncomfortable with each other, and Callie had retired to her room as soon as she could, but not before Mase had tried to apologize again.

  “Look, I didn’t expect you,” he said. “I had a hard day.”

  “You know, Mase,” she said tiredly, “somehow I think it’s a whole lot more than that.”

  “No, it isn’t. What do you think it is? God, Callie, I drove home from work, and there’s your truck in the driveway, and I thought something had happened to Joey.”

  “Yeah, sure. Well, Mase, it doesn’t matter. We’re here. I should have called first, I know that now, okay?”

  After he left, she lay in bed, trying to sleep, her body thrumming with tension. She could hear Mase moving around, could hear the water gurgling in the pipes as he used the bathroom. Then his footsteps went past her door to the living room, and she heard the low murmur of the TV. What did Mase sleep in? Did he have pajamas on? Or just his underwear? Without a bridging thought, she saw him in boxer shorts and a T-shirt. She’d never seen his legs, but they were muscular in her imagination, covered with curling hairs. His feet… She wondered what his feet were like. Long and well shaped…?

  What would happen if she got up, walked down
the hall to the living room and asked him point-blank what was wrong? Why had he been so upset at their arrival? What secret problem did he have? She lay there in the guest room and knew she wouldn’t do it. She was afraid to. Callie Thorne, who was never afraid to face difficult situations, was scared.

  CHAPTER NINE

  MASE HADN’T SLEPT MUCH, and he was tired and cranky. He’d tossed and turned all night, knowing Callie was just across the hall. He wondered if Callie slept on her side or on her back. He saw her fine golden hair spread on the pillow, her thin arms hugging it, her legs tangled in the sheet. He dozed and jerked awake a hundred times, and he swore to himself in the darkness, positive he could hear her breathing.

  He got up early, made coffee and padded around silently, trying not to make any noise. He picked up the paper from his front steps, looking up and down the street for suspicious vehicles or people. Crazy, paranoid.

  There was no way to get Callie and Joey out of Denver quickly without telling her the truth, and he still couldn’t do that. Maybe someday, after the trial, he could explain, but not now. Part of him wanted to tell her. Another part, the cop part, knew he had to keep his cards close to his chest.

  He pulled on jeans and a T-shirt and sat at the table drinking coffee and reading the paper. He was troubled. Had he put Callie in danger by leaving Joey with her? It was bad enough that Metcalf had threatened Joey, but to drag in an innocent stranger was inexcusable.

  Callie got up at eight and came into the kitchen in jeans and a sweatshirt. She was sleepy-eyed, her hair pulled back with a clip, wisps falling over her cheeks. He looked down at the paper, rattling it, and tried to ignore her presence. It was no use. It had been too long since he’d been in a situation like this with a woman. An eternity, it seemed right now. And, damn it, she looked downright adorable.

  “Is Joey up yet?” she asked, helping herself to coffee.

  “Not yet.” He rattled the paper again.

  “Mmm.” She stretched, yawning. “I actually slept in. What a treat.”

  Mase almost said something about his night, but he held his tongue. “So, what’re your plans?”