by Karen Leabo
“I don’t need time,” he said simply. “I want to live the rest of my life with you, Callie. And if you don’t feel the same, I need to know now.”
“You’re saying that if I don’t agree to marry you right here and now, I must not love you enough. Is that it?” she asked in utter disbelief. How could he do this to her, give her such unrealistic ultimatums?
“I’m saying you knew this was coming. You knew I’d eventually take over Uncle Ned’s ranch. You’ve had plenty of time to think about it.”
That wasn’t true. She’d had no idea this day would come so soon. “This is totally unfair. I love you, Sam, but I can’t marry you now.”
“Why not?”
If he didn’t get it by now, she couldn’t explain it to him. She shook her head and lowered her gaze, her eyes filling with tears. The next time she looked up, he was gone.
Sam’s words over the telephone jerked her back into the present. “I’ll pick you up in about twenty minutes.”
“Sam, I don’t think …” He’d hung up. “Great,” she muttered. It would serve him right if she stayed in bed and refused to answer the door when he got there. But his solution to that would probably be to pick the lock on her carriage-house apartment and come up after her. The vision gave her goose bumps. No, she didn’t need him to find her still in her pj’s.
But she was damned if she would primp for him. She pulled on an old pair of jeans, an olive-green T-shirt purchased from the army-navy surplus store, and a pair of thongs. She scraped her hair back into an untidy braid and didn’t even contemplate makeup.
She was waiting at the bottom of the enclosed stairs when he pulled up in his rented sedan. She locked her door behind her, pocketed the keys, and climbed into his car. “This reminds me of when we used to sneak out in high school,” she said. “Remember how you would pick me up in that old bucket of bolts you called a car?”
Now, why had she brought up that memory? On those occasions when she would climb out her bedroom window to meet Sam in the dark of the night, they always ended up driving to the cemetery and making out.
“Yeah, I remember. I used to love watching you shimmy down that pecan tree by your window. You look so pretty in the moonlight.”
Callie’s heart stumbled. Was he in the past now, or the present? Surely he couldn’t think she looked pretty right now when she’d taken great pains not to.
“Where are we going?” she asked bluntly.
“I don’t know. I thought we’d just drive around. Maybe check out that new subdivision that’s going in around Hatter’s Creek.”
“They’re building some nice houses over there,” she agreed blandly as she fastened her seat belt. In the old days, she would have forgone the belt and scooted next to him. Thank God this car had bucket seats.
They were silent for a while. Callie stole glances at Sam’s strong profile, with its bold, straight nose and the shock of caramel hair that habitually flopped over his high forehead. At twenty-eight he was in the prime of his manhood, much more handsome than he’d been at twenty—and more interesting, she admitted. As a youth he’d thought of nothing but horses and cows and rodeos. Now he had a past—a wife who’d left him—and a daughter. Sam Sanger as a doting father was undeniably appealing. Darn hard to resist, in fact.
But for all of the reasons she’d already acknowledged, she had to resist. It would be useless, even harmful, to allow feelings for Sam to bloom. She turned her head and looked out the window at the sleepy town.
“Been dating anyone?” Sam asked.
“Not lately.”
“Mom told me you were seeing Randy Muehler a while back.”
“Last year. He was still in love with his ex-wife, though, so it didn’t work out. How about you?”
“My divorce from Debra was final only a month ago. I haven’t had time even to think about dating.” Until now. Callie could almost hear the unspoken words reverberating in the car.
“We separated a year ago, but she was gone long before that—in her mind, anyway. I never loved her, not the way I loved you.”
“Sam, I don’t want to hear this. It’s none of my business.”
“I’m making it your business, in case you think I’m reeling from a broken heart. I latched onto Debra because she reminded me of you. She was funny and interesting and smart, and so involved in life. But she was fundamentally different in one way.”
Curiosity got the best of Callie. “And that was …?”
“She let me talk her into leaving her hometown and moving to Babcock, Nevada, with me. She was every bit as miserable there as you would have been, I expect.”
“I never said I’d be miserable on the ranch, Sam,” she argued. “If I had made the decision to live there, I’d have found a way to keep busy and develop interests. But I chose to stay here and follow my own dream. Can you imagine what it would feel like if someone took your ranch away from you? Told you you couldn’t ride a horse again?”
He didn’t answer, but she could tell from the expression on his face that he didn’t like the prospect.
“Without your ranching and your riding, you wouldn’t be Sam Sanger anymore. And without my writing and reporting and editing, I wouldn’t be Callie Calloway anymore. I’d be … someone else. And back then, when I refused to marry you and move to Roundrock, I was desperately afraid of losing that identity.”
Amazing, she thought. Eight years ago she’d been so close to the situation, she hadn’t been able to understand or explain her dread of leaving Destiny and abandoning her career plans. Now, with a little distance and maturity, she could see things much more clearly.
“You never explained it like that before,” Sam said.
“I wasn’t able to before.”
“And do you still feel the same way? Like if you quit being editor of the Daily Record you would lose yourself?”
She sighed. “Not exactly. I used to think being an editor would be all I needed, whether here or in some bigger city. But I’ve been doing that for a while, and …” She couldn’t quite put it into words. She was feeling dissatisfied. She’d watched her friends, one by one, get married and start families, and she’d realized that she wanted more than to be an editor in Destiny, Texas. It didn’t completely fulfill her.
“Maybe you need a change.”
She’d already come to that conclusion. “I’ve been sending out résumés to the Dallas Morning News, the Houston Chronicle, even The Washington Post. Might as well go for the brass ring.”
“Yeah, I reckon you’re good enough to work for any paper in the country.”
She couldn’t detect any strains of sarcasm in his voice, so she thanked him for the compliment. That was the first time she could remember him saying anything nice about her work. “You’ve been reading the paper, then?”
“I’ve been reading the paper for years. Mom always sends me the Sunday edition. With your byline highlighted.”
“Oh.” That tied a knot in Callie’s tongue.
Sam gave an evil laugh. “Used to drive Debra nuts.”
Callie gasped. “Your mother did that even when you were married? Debra had a right to be angry, having her husband’s old girlfriend shoved in her face like that.”
“Oh, I don’t think it was the fact you were an old girlfriend that bothered her. It was the fact that you were doing what she wished she could do. That you’d been the smart one by turning me down, and she’d been stupid to give everything up and move to the edge of nowhere.”
“She was stupid for leaving you,” Callie blurted out before she could stop herself. “I mean, leaving your husband and baby … I just don’t get it.”
“Don’t you?”
“No!” she said hotly. “If I’d decided to marry you, I’d have honored the commitment. No matter what.”
“Then I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t talk you into marrying me. You’d have been restless, just like Debra, but because you’re so loyal you would have stayed.”
This time, Callie
wasn’t sure whether she’d been complimented or insulted. “I probably would have made us both very unhappy—all of us, if we’d had children.”
“Maybe. I was much happier after Debra left, knowing that I wasn’t keeping her from the things she loved. She moved to Vegas.”
“So you’re saying we made the right decision after all by not marrying?” Callie asked, almost afraid to hear his answer.
“When I think about it analytically, yeah. You might have adapted to ranch life better than Debra did, but you would’ve always missed what you gave up. And I would always feel guilty for taking you away from that. But when I put my brain aside and think with my heart …”
Callie held her breath.
“Dammit, Callie, I can’t imagine being unhappy with you, no matter where we lived or what we were doing.”
FOUR
Callie didn’t know what to say. Of all things, she hadn’t expected such an impassioned declaration. Sam had stopped the car on the side of the road, and he was staring at her with those incredible blue eyes that made her feel like she was standing in a warm summer rain. He licked his lips and unfastened his seat belt. All at once Callie realized he meant to kiss her.
“Sam, no,” she said quickly, scrunching as close to the passenger door as she could. “We’re not a couple of teenagers anymore.”
“I want to kiss you,” he said, his voice like black velvet. “I need to kiss you.”
“No, Sam. N-O. No more kissing.”
Kiss him, said a seductive voice inside her head. It felt as if it came from outside her, yet it was directly between her ears.
“For old time’s sake?” he cajoled.
“Right, like I’m going to fall for a clichéd line like that.” But she’d always found it nearly impossible to deny Sam when he was gentle like this.
He reached for her hand. She tried to snatch it away, but she wasn’t fast enough, and he captured it, the way a cat might catch a bird, only without the teeth and claws.
“One kiss. I won’t ask for more.”
Kiss him, the voice said again. One little kiss won’t hurt.
“Hah! No, Sam. Take me home. Take me home or I’ll get out and walk.”
He stared at her for several more heartbeats, as if evaluating the situation, trying to find a weakness, a chink in her armor. She pushed her chin forward, hoping against hope he wouldn’t find what he was looking for.
“All right,” he finally said with a sigh. “I’ll take you home. I’m glad we had this talk.”
“Me too,” she said in a small voice. His capitulation had been too easy. What did he have up his sleeve?
“I understand some things about you that I didn’t before—and maybe about me too.”
“Good.”
“Maybe we can be friends.”
“I’d like that.” But I’d really like to go to bed with you. Ack! Where had that come from? Was she going crazy, hearing voices in her head?
She said nothing more until he pulled up the driveway that led to her apartment. “Don’t stay away from my mom just ’cause I’m hanging around. I’ll behave myself, I promise.”
“No more kisses?” she asked warily.
“Not unless you want them.” She could have sworn his eyes twinkled in the darkness.
“All right, then. Friends.” She held out her hand. He took it. Kiss him! the voice said again, more insistent this time.
She yanked open the car door and fled.
Once she was safely inside, watching as Sam’s tail-lights turned out of the driveway and disappeared into the night, she had to congratulate herself. She’d held out, she’d been in control. She’d resisted temptation. She should be very proud of herself for being so strong.
But as she climbed back into her nightgown she noticed that her nipples were hard and aching, her mouth dry, her hands and arms empty feeling. Just what, exactly, had she accomplished by acting like a priggish maid, except to deny herself the unequaled bliss of kissing Sam Sanger?
The next time Callie’s phone rang, she was again asleep. Her eyes still closed, she grabbed for the phone on the nightstand, missing with her first couple of reaches. Finally she managed to get the receiver to her ear. “Hullo?”
“Callie, it’s Sloan Bennett. Did I call too early?”
She cracked one eye open and squinted at her clock radio. Almost seven-thirty. She should have been up an hour ago! She struggled for alertness. “No, no, it’s not too early.” She sat up in bed and rubbed her face. “Is something wrong?”
“It’s about what you said last night—you know, about Johnny Sanger. It’s been bugging me. So early this morning I had a talk with Danny Fowler. He says that some things about the suicide scenario bothered him too.”
“Yeah? Like, what kind of things?” Callie dragged the phone into the bathroom and started brushing her teeth. Sloan would have to understand.
“Like the fact that he killed himself with a shotgun, when there was a perfectly good pistol in his file drawer. Given the choice, a pistol would be more logical—easier to manage.”
“Uh-huh,” she said, her mouth full of toothpaste.
“Also, a man using a shotgun to kill himself puts the barrel in his mouth ninety percent of the time. Johnny shot himself in the chest. And the gun was fired at close range, but it wasn’t a contact wound.”
Callie rinsed her mouth. “In other words, he didn’t press the barrel against himself.”
“Right. Nothing shocking about all this, but it makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. You know?”
“Yeah.” That described her feelings exactly. “I appreciate your call, Sloan.”
“Well, I didn’t call just to pass on information. In fact, I had a specific reason for catching you at home. We—that is, Danny and me—were thinking we didn’t want anyone else to know about this, at least, not right away.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Callie said. “I wouldn’t print anything this insubstantial. Are you saying the Sanger file is still open?”
“Unofficially. The chief isn’t wild about us devoting a lot of time or manpower to it, though. Which brings me to our request.”
“Uh-oh.” Callie was sure she wasn’t going to like this.
“Could you do some snooping for us?”
“Oh, gee, Sloan, I don’t know.…”
“Danny says you’ve done this kind of thing for the department before. And we’re not asking you to go out of your way. Just, if the opportunity presents itself, ask a few questions. Keep your eyes open. You’re friends with the Sangers. They won’t think twice about the fact that you’re hanging around.”
“But I really didn’t intend to ‘hang around.’ ”
Sloan was silent for a moment. “Okay, I get it. You don’t want to see that much of Sam.”
Callie didn’t like disappointing Sloan this way, especially when he’d been so forthcoming the night before. “Look, I can’t make any promises. But I’ll do what I can.” Shoot, she’d already told Beverly she’d snoop around. Might as well put Sloan in the loop. “If I hear or notice anything, I’ll give you a call.”
“That’s all we’re asking.” Sloan sounded relieved.
“Do you have any, um, suspects in mind? Anyone you think might benefit from Johnny’s death?”
“Ohhhh, yeah. With that million-dollar life-insurance policy, anyone in that family. Beverly Sanger is about to be a very rich woman, and I can’t imagine that she won’t share with her kin.”
“At least Beverly will be taken care of,” Callie murmured. “Oh, speaking of suicide, the policy was sitting right out on Johnny’s desk, right?”
“Uh-huh. Mighty convenient evidence of a suicide motive.”
Again Sloan had made Callie’s point for her. He was a sharp one.
“Look,” he said, “I won’t keep you. I’m supposed to be out on patrol. Just wanted to drop that bug in your ear.”
“If something falls in my lap, I’ll clue you in,” she said, just to be sure they wer
e clear. “But I won’t go digging around unless I have something more to go on—mostly because the Sangers are friends, and I can’t take advantage of that.”
“Understood. Thanks, Callie.”
Callie hung up and looked at the clock again. Hell, she was going to be late to the city council meeting, something that really irritated her boss, who no doubt would also be there because he liked to see and be seen. She’d overslept, big time. She could thank Sam for that.
She opened the door to the little balcony off her bedroom. It was hard to know how to dress this time of year, but the breeze that caressed her naked body felt pretty warm for a late-October morning. She showered, threw on some cotton slacks and a long-sleeved striped blouse, then, still barefoot, grabbed a pair of socks and her makeup case and ran down the stairs to the garage. She was pretty sure she had some loafers in the trunk of her car.
During the ten-minute drive to the municipal building, where the council met, she finally had time to ruminate on Sloan’s phone call. If someone in Sam’s family was guilty of murder, it would have to be Will, wouldn’t it? Beverly and Tamra had gone to the store together and had found Johnny’s body when they returned. Will, on the other hand, had been close by, working in the fields. He could have done the deed while Beverly and Tamra were gone.
Callie didn’t consider Sam, because even if she hadn’t known he was incapable of violence, he’d been in Nevada at the time. He would have had to hire someone.… Okay, her cool reporter’s brain said that was possible. Maybe the farm was more of a financial drain on his own operation than she’d imagined.
“Oh, come off it,” she murmured.
Will’s little wife was a more likely suspect than Sam, and Callie couldn’t imagine Tamra having the strength to lift a shotgun, much less wrestle it into Johnny’s hands and force him to shoot himself—which is what would have had to happen.
The idea of Beverly killing her husband for the insurance was ludicrous. Callie didn’t waste her time considering it. In fact, she decided, all this talk of murder was ridiculous. She pushed thoughts of the matter aside. The council was going to discuss a new proposed zoning ordinance, and she was woefully unprepared.
