by Karen Leabo
She heard the front door open. “Hey, who’s out there?” Tamra called. “You better show yourself. I have a gun and I know how to use it.”
Sam’s face registered blatant shock.
“I told you,” Callie whispered. “She killed your father.”
Sam said nothing.
Suddenly a voice, low and deadly, spoke to them through the screen of greenery that shielded them. “Come out of there right now.”
Callie held her breath.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Sam said. He parted the bushes, walked straight up to Tamra, and grabbed the gun out of her hand before she had time to even react.
She stared, uncomprehending, at her empty hand.
“What the hell did you think you were doing?” Sam demanded.
“She was going to kill you, that’s what,” Nicole said from the front porch. “I think the little hussy would have killed anyone who got between her and her get-rich scheme. Callie? Is that you?”
Callie came out from behind the bush. Nicole stared at her. “Did you break my windows?”
“I’m afraid so. I’ll pay for them.” Now she felt a little silly.
“Pay for them? Honey, you saved my life. That girl had blood lust in her eyes, she was so sure she had everything figured. But then the glass broke, and you shoulda seen her face. It was almost comical.”
Tamra’s gaze darted from one of her adversaries to another and back again. Suddenly she turned and bolted toward the street.
“Stop her!” Nicole cried. “She’s a murderer. She killed your father, Sam.”
Sam tensed, as if he might give chase.
“Let her go,” Callie said. She could hear sirens. “She’s running for her car parked at the end of the street, but she won’t get far. Oh, dear. I think I need to sit down.” Her knees had turned suddenly wobbly. She managed to teeter to the porch steps and sink down, hugging her knees. Of all things to think about at this moment, she was wondering if Sam would call off the wedding now that he knew that she’d continued to meddle behind his back.
Sam was looking at her in a way that worried her. His expression went beyond shock over learning about his father being murdered, or curiosity over her actions. He looked downright condemning.
Sam felt shaky himself. He hadn’t really believed Tamra could pull the trigger when he’d taken the gun away from her. He hadn’t believed she was a murderer. But with Callie and Nicole both claiming that was the case …
Damn. He’d known all along that something wasn’t right about the suicide, but he’d swept his suspicions under the carpet rather than face them. Losing his father was hard enough without facing more controversy. He’d even silently condemned Callie for merely seeking the truth. What a fool he’d been, harboring a murderer in the family while turning a blind eye to the anomalies.
He sank onto Nicole’s porch swing, feeling a little woozy. Though he was shocked at the idea that his father had been murdered by a member of his own family, it would also be a relief to know he hadn’t killed himself.
His glance slid to Callie. She was safe, at least. That was a relief too. But beyond that, he couldn’t name what he was feeling. Maybe he was in shock.
He watched with detachment as two police cars pulled up. Nicole seemed to be the only one of the three on the front porch who was up to taking any action. She ran up to the first car. “That woman running down the street,” she screamed to the officer. “She tried to kill me!”
A third patrol car pulled up at the end of the street, blocking Tamra’s escape. She fell onto her knees before anyone even attempted to capture her. A woman patrol officer got out of the car and went to Tamra, gently taking hold of her arm.
The officer wouldn’t be that gentle, Sam thought, if she’d seen the way Tamra had been flailing her pistol around.
The pistol was still in his hand, he realized. He laid it down beside him.
The uniformed officers asked a lot of questions. Nicole didn’t exactly do herself credit with her screeching, hysterical recounting of Tamra’s assault. They listened to Callie, though. They all knew her from the newspaper. She gave no more than a bare-bones account of following Tamra, witnessing the assault, and breaking the windows as a diversion. Sam couldn’t add much more to the story except that he’d gotten a garbled, frightened message from Callie and had come looking for her.
When things started to calm down, he still said nothing to Callie about the job offers pouring in to her answering machine. Even if she wanted to turn her back on those opportunities, Sam knew he couldn’t allow it. He couldn’t let her …
Hell, since when had he ever been able to tell Callie what to do? She followed her own conscience, her own heart. No matter how much she loved him, she did what she thought was right, even if it went against his wishes.
Bennett showed up a few minutes later on a motorcycle, in street clothes. Sam didn’t have the energy to feel even a little jealous. Besides, it was obvious that Callie had no romantic feelings for Sloan. Her gaze remained on Sam, her brown doe’s eyes pleading with him to understand.
And, dammit, maybe he was just beginning to.
The aftermath took hours. Witnesses and suspects made statements at the scene, then were hustled down to police headquarters, where they made more statements. A reporter and photographer from the Daily Record showed up. Callie politely refused to make statements to her former coworkers. She wouldn’t give Tom Winers a thing.
Not so Sam. Callie peered through a doorway at the police station, her jaw slack, watching as Sam cooperated fully with the reporter, discussing his and Tamra’s roles in the recent drama, admitting that his father’s death was still open to interpretation.
Callie would never have believed Sam would give any newspaper, especially the Daily Record, the time of day. He had to know that his family’s name would be dragged through the mud again, even with the most tasteful coverage of this story—which she doubted he would get, knowing that Tom was still acting as editor.
And then he mentioned her name. She expected him to let her have it—at least to make some kind of snide comment about her rushing in where the police feared to tread, and all that. Instead, his comments were purely flattering. He painted her as an astute, concerned citizen, not a meddling ex-reporter sticking her nose where it didn’t belong.
But what thoughts were brewing behind those steady blue eyes? He and Callie hadn’t had a private moment between them since he’d arrived in town.
That moment came when, abruptly, all of the attention ceased. The press left. The police, having extracted every nuance from them, lost interest. Tamra was behind bars, for the moment. Focus turned to Johnny Sanger’s murder, and since Sam and Callie had already told as much as they knew on that subject, they were free to go.
Sloan Bennett borrowed a police cruiser and took them back to their cars. None of them could muster the energy for even pleasantries.
And then Sam and Callie were alone, standing by her Nissan. She opened the door and stood behind it, as if it could shield her from Sam’s anger.
Only she wasn’t sure if he was angry or just bewildered by her behavior. “I guess nothing I said to the police really explains what I was up to this afternoon, following Tamra around.”
“Oh, I think I understand. You have a hard time leaving questions unanswered. You just couldn’t let it go.”
“I wanted to—”
“I wouldn’t have expected you to. Your reporter’s instinct is part of you, just like my ranching is a part of me. You’re the one who explained that to me not so long ago. Only I didn’t get it then. I do now.”
“I wasn’t acting as a reporter,” Callie said, her chin jutting out defensively, though a tiny seed of hope blossomed inside her chest. Did Sam really understand? “I was helping the police. I had no intention of writing a story.”
“No? Not even if it would get you a job with The Washington Post? Ah, hell, what am I saying? You don’t need some sensational story to get a job. Seems every
damn newspaper in the country wants you.”
“Um … you found out about the Post.”
“Yeah, and the Miami Herald and the Dallas Morning News and the Timbuktu Tribune, probably. When were you going to tell me?”
“The Timbuk—Sam, what are you talking about?”
“The job offers. Coming in like cats from the rain. I … I listened to your answering-machine tape.”
“You did what?” Her Sam had eavesdropped on her private telephone calls?
“I was there when that lady from the Post called. To talk about your job. And your ranch story. I let the answering machine get it, but then when she said the job was yours, I rewound the tape to listen again. Callie, I couldn’t help it. I felt like I was seeing a secret life or something.”
Callie didn’t know how to respond to that accusation. It was true, to a degree, she supposed. “The Miami Herald really called?” she asked, focusing on the most minor of her concerns because it was easier.
“And the Dallas Morning News and some other big paper too. You’re hot, Callie.” Something flashed in his eyes, but it wasn’t anger. Pain?
“I would have told you about the Post after the wedding,” she answered.
“After … you were going to marry me and then move to D.C.?”
“No.” She was amazed that he still didn’t get it. “I was going to marry you and not move to D.C. I don’t want to live in Washington. I want to marry you and live in Babcock, Nevada. And you were going to send me away.” At this point she figured she better come clean about everything. “I was offered the Post job before I even left Washington.”
“Then you lied the night … the night I proposed?”
She nodded miserably. “I was going to tell you about it, and tell you I’d already decided to turn down the job. And then you said you wouldn’t marry me if I got the job, and I started thinking about how miserable I’d be in Washington waiting around for you to decide I loved you enough to make a commitment to you and Deana, or if you loved me enough to take a chance on me, and I just couldn’t tell you.”
Sometime during her long-winded confession, she’d started crying. And she’d ended up in Sam’s arms, her face pressed against his chest.
“It’s okay, Callie,” he crooned. “I think I understand. I think. But what about all these job offers? Everyone wants you. How can I expect you to stop doing what you were meant to do? You can write your own ticket. I … I love you too much to hold you back.”
She turned her tear-streaked face up to look at him. “I don’t care if everyone else wants me. Only you. Do you want me?”
“It’s not important—”
“Do you want me, Sam? Yes or no.”
“Yes.” He sounded pretty sure.
“Then I will write my own ticket. Callie Calloway Sanger, one one-way ticket to Babcock, Nevada, and Roundrock. I’m going to be a ranch wife and a mother and possibly a small-town newspaper publisher. ’Cause I couldn’t love you more, Sam.” He opened his mouth to object, but she forestalled him. “Before you even ask, yes, I’m sure. I’ve never been more sure about how I feel, or what to do with my life, not even when I was twenty years old and I thought I knew everything. Oh, and that ranch story—that’s just something I spouted off the top of my head when Gloria asked me if I had any ideas. She was crazy about it, and I faxed her some stuff, but I wouldn’t have pursued it without your permission. I know how you feel about the press.”
He laughed, low and soft, and the sound soothed Callie’s frazzled nerves. “For better or worse, I’ve committed myself to letting the press walk all over us. I figure the more we cooperate now, the sooner they’ll get tired of us. One little story about my ranch couldn’t possibly hurt anything.”
“Really?” She couldn’t believe her ears. “And what about the rest?”
“Your ticket, you mean?” He pulled her out from behind the car door and hugged her to him, giving her the gentlest of kisses. That was all the answer she needed.
Callie melted against him. For the first time in several hours she stopped feeling cold and frightened. Sam wanted her, despite the fact that she’d mismanaged everything. “Can we still be married right away?” she asked suddenly. “Maybe we should wait, given the fact that Tamra’s in jail and your mother’s going to be upset—”
“Mom would be more upset if we postponed the wedding. She’s been talking about it nonstop ever since we announced our engagement. Let’s go for it. Focusing on something happy will take everyone’s minds off what’s happened, at least for a while.”
“I’m glad you feel that way. I don’t think I could wait another day, or a week or a month—and certainly not a year like you wanted to.”
He pulled back and grinned at her. “I didn’t really want to wait, you know.”
Callie gazed back. Seeing the love, the utter confidence, shining from Sam’s eyes, she knew they were making the right decision.
The times ahead weren’t going to be easy; there would be Tamra’s trial, and Beverly and Will would need all the emotional support she and Sam could spare. A long, hard winter awaited her at Roundrock, and she would have to learn to cope with snow and isolation.
But somehow, when she looked up into Sam’s eager face, she knew without a doubt that they would make it. They were strong people individually. Together, they would be unbeatable.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with such a goofy smile,” Sam said, kissing her forehead.
“I don’t think I’ve ever felt so goofy in love,” Callie replied. “C’mon, let’s go home. I’ll make you some soup out of a can. Hey, maybe Rena will teach me how to cook.”
Sam opened the door of the Nissan and seated Callie behind the wheel like he was seating her in Cinderella’s carriage. The gentle gesture warmed Callie from the inside out. She thought of all the times together that awaited them, the grand passions and the small, tender moments, and she knew she would never feel a moment’s regret for choosing a life with Sam.
THE EDITOR’S CORNER
Welcome to Loveswept!
Summer will soon come to an end but our Loveswept books are always scorching hot. Next month, we’re thrilled to offer four deeply seductive and thrilling stories from acclaimed author Donna Kauffman: LIGHT MY FIRE, SANTERRA’S SIN, DARK KNIGHT, and SILENT WARRIOR. Once you read one, you’ll want to devour them all.
And don’t miss Elisabeth Barrett’s new release, BLAZE OF WINTER. Here’s an enticing blurb from the cover: Winter heats up in this hot new Star Harbor romance, as another sexy Grayson brother, a wickedly handsome writer, plots his happily ever after with a sweet stranger.
If you love romance … then you’re ready to be Loveswept!
Gina Wachtel
Associate Publisher
P.S. Watch for these terrific Loveswept titles coming soon: October offers even more exciting reads, including three stunning titles from Donna Kauffman: MIDNIGHT HEAT, BORN TO BE WILD, and SURRENDER THE DARK, Linda Cajio’s sizzling NIGHTS IN WHITE SATIN, Karen Leabo’s tender LANA’S LAWMAN, and Jessica’s Scott’s breathtaking new military e-original romance, UNTIL THERE WAS YOU. In November, we have six more exhilarating reads for you: Adrienne Staff’s irresistible PARADISE CAFÉ, Linda Cajio’s playful and sexy THE PERFECT CATCH, Debra Dixon’s sensual DOC HOLIDAY, Samantha Kane’s brilliant THE DEVIL’S THIEF, and two more enthralling titles from Donna Kauffman: TEASE ME and BAYOU HEAT. Don’t miss any of these extraordinary reads. I promise that you’ll fall in love and treasure these stories for years to come.…
Read on for excerpts from more Loveswept titles …
Read on for an excerpt from Elisabeth Barrett’s
Deep Autumn Heat
CHAPTER 1
“Any local worth his salt knows what time the fishing starts in Star Harbor,” a large, handsome, dangerous-looking man with raven-black hair intoned in a deadpan. “And it ain’t eight-thirty.”
After listening to this blatant insult, Sebastian Grayson, world traveler and master chef
, fought the urge to throttle the man who was now reeling in his line. Throttle him, or toss his own tackle box off Mutterman’s Pier and crawl back into his tiny berth on Val’s boat. Of course, both would require energy, so he let exhaustion win out. Pulling his leather jacket more tightly around his tired, aching body, Seb leaned back on a pylon and closed his eyes, breathing in the familiar tang of salt water and wet wood. The cold, foggy air rushing into his lungs was helping to wake him up some, but he’d still kill for a latte.
Cole’s wisecrack had definitely hit a nerve. Just like his brother, Seb was Star Harbor born and bred, and even though he hadn’t lived in town for the last decade, it didn’t mean he’d lost his “local” status. He’d been on this pier a thousand times. The clang of the buoys in the harbor, the strain and creak of the boats at their moorings, and the cries of the seabirds searching for their morning meal were all imprinted on his brain. The images of his three brothers were imprinted there, too, each of them in his favorite spot along the wharf, just as they were now.
Val, the oldest, stood against the far pylon, his lean, wiry frame concealed by an oversized fisherman’s jacket, longish black hair curled at his nape. Cole, second in age, was seated with his broad back up against another pylon, his eyes covered by mirrored sunglasses. Theo, Seb’s twin, had one long leg folded against his chest as he leaned on a bench, his rod in one hand and a book of Whitman poems in the other. Theo’s green eyes were the exact mirror of his own, and right now they were crinkled in mirth.
The Grayson brothers, Star Harbor’s former resident bad boys, were back in town and ready for business.
That is, after Sebastian got his coffee.
Farther down the wharf, a few older men who’d cast their lures at the crack of dawn were silently packing up to leave, their thick jackets buttoned up against the early autumn chill as they gathered their morning’s catch. Each of Seb’s brothers had already caught a few fish large enough to keep—striped bass and mackerel, mostly. If Seb had been out here fishing at five-thirty like they’d been, he’d have something to show for his efforts, too.
