Callie's Cowboy

by Karen Leabo

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-slic
ker 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.

  Abruptly he broke away. “Welcome to Roundrock,” he said with a mischievous wink. “Make yourself at home. I’ll be back for dinner.” He kissed her again before she could even say anything. “Mmm, wish it could be more.” He released her and walked away to join his men.

  Callie touched her lips, not sure whether she should smile or frown. The kiss had awakened her better than even the caffeine-laden coffee had, and she knew she would think of it often during the day. She was also sure that’s what Sam had intended.

  But she chafed at the role of the “little woman” waiting at home for her man to return from his manly work.

  Well, it was only a temporary situation, she told herself as she wandered back into the dining hall to finish her biscuit and coffee. Anyway, she had plenty to occupy herself for today, or even a few days, until Sam had time to teach her about ranching.

  Funny, she’d never imagined herself wanting to learn something like that.

  Callie thought she had plenty to keep her busy. First she called home and checked her answering machine. Nothing.

  Next she called Sloan. She felt guilty for walking away from the mystery of Johnny Sanger’s death and leaving Sloan to his own devices. She’d promised to help, and now she’d bugged out. She wanted to let him know that she was still keeping her eyes and ears open, even up here in Nevada. And she was still thinking.

  “Have you questioned Nicole Johnson?” she asked Sloan at the first opportunity. Not that he owed her any explanations.

  “Danny Fowler did. I sat in. Uh, I don’t think she did it, Callie.”

  “Oh, I don’t either,” Callie said quickly. “Her grief was too genuine. But that doesn’t mean she isn’t involved somehow. If she was … spending time with Johnny, he might have confided in her.”

  “Exactly. And she is hiding something. I just don’t know what.” He sighed. “Nicole isn’t a bad person. I’ve known her for years. And, for your information, I don’t believe she and Johnny were physically involved. I think they were friends, just like she claims.”

  Callie didn’t say anything. She was unutterably relieved to hear someone echo her own thoughts.

  “Pretty naive of me, huh?” Sloan said.

  “No. Not at all. Did Johnny actually leave her anything in his will? She seemed to believe he would.”

  “Maybe he would have, if he’d known he was going to die. We’ll never know.”

  Callie ended the conversation by promising Sloan that she’d let him know if either Sam or Beverly told her anything useful, tamping down the twinge of guilt she felt over “spying” on her friends.

  Putting Johnny’s death out of her mind once more, Callie sent out her daily round of résumés. The quarter-mile walk down to the mailbox allowed her her first good look at Roundrock. It was picture-postcard impressive. The view went on for miles, and she wondered how much of what she could see was Sanger land.

  She stood and looked at the view, with its subtle colors of green-and-purple sagebrush across the valley the ranch was nestled in. A thin mist shrouded mountain slopes in the distance. The scene’s subtle paint-box hues wavered and changed as the sun played hide-and-seek behind wispy clouds. She hadn’t imagined that Nevada would be so colorful. The air was crisp and cold too. Frost still clung to the tan grass in shady areas. But it was a dry, invigorating chill that made Callie want to run laps—or maybe even ride a horse.

  When she returned to the house, she wandered into the kitchen, where Rena was baking.

  Rena gruffly refused Callie’s offer of help. So Callie poured herself another cup of coffee, as if she weren’t wired enough already, and sat down at the table where Rena was rolling out dough.

  “Are you making pie?” Callie asked.

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “What kind?”

  “Blueberry.”

  Callie’s mouth watered. “You’ve been with Sam’s family a long time, I guess. I remember Sam talking about you when he was just a kid.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  Her answers didn’t invite further questions, so Callie quieted down for a while. She suspected Rena would be even more reticent if she learned Callie was thinking of writing a story about Roundrock.

  Callie decided to ask questions of a less personal nature. “How big is Babcock?”

  “Dunno. A few hundred people, I guess.”

  “Does it have a newspaper?”

  Rena finally cracked a smile, but it wasn’t a kind one. “What would we need a newspaper for? Nothing ever happens.”

  Callie didn’t argue, but she knew differently. Most people were hungry for news of their community, no matter how small.

  It was easy to see why Sam’s wife had gone stir-crazy here. Not that that was any excuse for leaving a husband and baby, but Callie could sympathize with the boredom. She looked forward to the time when Sam would be free to show her around and teach her to ride. If she was going to fit in around here, even for two weeks, she would have to find some useful pursuit.

  “What do the men do for lunch?” she asked Rena.

  “I’ll take it to them.”

  “Oh, do you need some help?” She couldn’t keep the eagerness out of her voice. It was pathetic, how desperate she was for a few minutes with Sam.

  “Not really.”

  “But I’d like to help.” Then she could find out what Sam and his men were doing. She’d come here for him, not
his empty ranch house.

  Rena sighed. “You can come along if you’re really that bored.”

  “Thank you,” Callie replied. “Just call out when you’re ready. I’ll be in the house somewhere.”

  She wandered around for a bit, eventually stumbling on Beverly in the living room, reading a story to Deana, both of them tucked under an afghan. Beverly looked up, and Deana jumped off the couch, running like a steer out of the shoot at a rodeo. She wrapped her chubby arms around Callie’s legs. “Callll,” she said in obvious delight.

  Callie picked her up. She was amazed at how comfortable she was starting to feel with the little girl. “Hi, munchkin.”

  Beverly smiled. “I guess I haven’t been very good company this morning, Callie. You must be bored stiff.”

  “Not really. I’m going with Rena to take lunch to the men.”

  “Oh? Are you sure you want to do that? They’re up to some messy, disgusting work, you know.”

  “I want to see it. I’m not sure why I have this sudden urge to learn about Sam’s ranch—”

  “I think I know,” Beverly said with quiet certainty.

  Callie could guess what Beverly was thinking, and she quickly shook her head. “It’s not because I want to live here. I just never realized the ranch would be so … intriguing. I’m thinking of writing some kind of story about it—that is, if you and Sam don’t object.”

  “Doesn’t bother me,” Beverly said complacently.

  “Good. Um, since I have a few minutes, there’s something I want to ask you.” She thought briefly of Nicole, then nixed the idea again. Not in front of Deana. Maybe never. “It’s about Johnny and his computer. He was pretty proud of it, huh?”

  Beverly smiled nostalgically. “He thought getting computerized was the best thing to come along since sliced bread. He’s always hated paperwork, and the computer saved him a lot.”

  “I understand that he used a fax modem to place orders for feed.”

  “And for any other supplies we needed. Almost every business has a fax machine these days.”

  “And then did he print a hard copy of the fax for himself, for the files?”