“You need some rest, Callie.”
“I got a full night’s rest. And you got what you wanted this morning. Now take me home.”
His eyes narrowed. It hadn’t been sex for money. That wasn’t what he’d wanted from her, and that wasn’t what she’d given to him. “If you don’t want to stay at the cabin, where I can keep an eye on you, then I guess I’ll have to move in with you.”
“What are you suggesting?”
He started the truck and bumped his way through the gate. “I thought I made myself pretty clear. I’ll be moving in at Three Oaks this evening.”
“You’ve got a lot of nerve, thinking I’d agree to such a thing!”
“I’m not asking you, Callie,” he said in a hard voice. “I’m telling you. In case you’ve forgotten, I’ve invested a great deal of money in you, and I intend to protect my investment.”
She crossed her arms and stuck her nose in the air. “You’re only going to make things a thousand times worse.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
When he stopped at the back door to Three Oaks, she shoved open the door to the pickup and scrambled out. Before she could slam it, he said, “I’ll be back at sundown.”
“Don’t expect to be welcome!”
Trace drove away with a knot in his stomach.
He spent a frustrating morning trying to make headway on the infrastructure for his breeding operation. His father vetoed every plan submitted by the architect. The contractor announced he had to start work in ten days or be forced to take another job. Trace stared down Blackjack, until he finally agreed to one of the plans the architect had submitted for a foaling barn, with certain changes, and the contractor agreed to have it completed by the end of the year. Although the meeting demanded his attention, Callie was never far from his mind.
Trace spent the rest of the day working with Russell Handy, cutting down mesquite trees and then dredging their roots under with a giant disc harrow. Clearing the mesquite was a dusty, dirty, thankless job, but it had to be done. The scratches left by mesquite thorns, and the protection the impenetrable undergrowth gave to flies, made the worm hazard to cattle a dozen times worse in the brush. Once Trace had all the mesquite in this pasture plowed under, he planned to plant Blue Stem grass, which put roots down more than ten feet, choking out the brush.
Trace was grateful for the physical effort the work required, because it distracted him from the confrontation with Callie he knew was coming at sundown. He could conquer the brush with sheer brute strength. It wasn’t going to be that simple to deal with Callie.
Trace wasn’t sure himself why he was forcing the issue by moving in with her. It was bound to cause problems. But he had never felt with another woman the joy he’d felt waking up with Callie this morning. He didn’t want to give that up. And she owed him. She’d stolen something precious when she’d walked away from him eleven years ago. And until the day came when he left Texas for good, he intended to make up for lost time.
“See you tomorrow,” Trace said to the segundo at the end of the day, as he slid wearily into the cab of his pickup.
“I’ll be here,” Handy replied, touching the brim of his Stetson in obeisance.
Trace needed a bath. He was covered in dust, which his sweat had turned to mud, and he itched all over. He considered stopping by the Castle before he headed to Three Oaks, but he found himself more anxious to get to Callie than he was uncomfortable.
He regretted that decision when he stepped inside the kitchen at Three Oaks to find Callie nowhere in sight, an argument in progress between Eli and Luke, and no supper cooking. He realized he was not only hot and tired and dirty. He was also hungry.
“What the hell is the problem here?” he demanded.
Luke and Eli stopped yelling at each other and turned on him, like wolf pups facing a menacing mountain lion. It was plain from the look on their faces, that while they weren’t happy to see him, they weren’t surprised, either.
Callie might not want him here. But she’d expected him to come. She must have decided it was better to tell her family he was welcome, than to fight a war when he arrived.
Luke glared at him and said, “Callie told me to make hamburgers for supper, but Eli forgot to take the hamburger out of the freezer this morning.” He held up a fist-size lump wrapped in aluminum foil and said, “How am I supposed to make hamburger patties out of frozen hamburger?”
“Make Sloppy Joe’s,” Trace said flatly.
“I don’t like Sloppy Joe’s,” Eli whined.
“You made the mistake. You suffer the consequences,” Trace decreed. “Get supper started, Luke, before we all starve.”
Luke was happy to have the matter decided in his favor, and got down the electric skillet to start browning the hamburger.
Before Eli could stomp off, Trace caught his arm and asked, “Where are Rosalita and your mom and your sister?”
“Rosalita went home. Mom went grocery shopping and took Hannah along.”
Trace was frustrated to hear that Callie had sent Rosalita home, but glad for the chance to freshen up before she saw him. He looked worse than a calf with the slobbers. “Which is the best shower?” he asked.
“The only one that works is in Mom’s room” Eli suddenly noticed Trace’s canvas bag. “What’s in there?”
“Everything I need to move in,” Trace said matter-of-factly.
“Where are you planning to sleep?” Eli demanded.
He intended to slip into bed with Callie, but he didn’t think Eli was ready to hear that. He glanced through the kitchen door into the living room. “I guess I’ll bunk down on the sofa. Unless you’ve got an empty room upstairs?”
“All the bedrooms are taken,” Eli said with satisfaction.
“What about your aunt Bay’s room. She’s away at school, isn’t she?”
“You don’t wanta sleep in a girl’s room,” Eli said certainly.
Any bed was preferable to the Victorian sofa in the living room. And he would much rather be on the same floor as Callie than have to maneuver his way up a flight of creaky stairs in the dead of night. “Why don’t you show me Bay’s room?”
“All right,” Eli said. “But you’re not gonna like it.”
Trace wasn’t crazy about the lacy canopy that topped the double bed, or the piles of stuffed animals that adorned the pillows, but he was across the hall from Callie’s bedroom. He sent Eli back downstairs to help with supper while he unpacked a change of clothes and a few toiletries from his bag.
He left his boots in Bay’s room and walked barefoot across the wooden floor to Callie’s bedroom. He left his dirty clothes on the rag rug next to her bed and carried his toiletries into the bathroom. The water in the shower wasn’t as hot as he liked it, and there wasn’t much water pressure, but he was grateful for even the halfhearted spray as he used a bit of Callie’s apple-scented shampoo to wash his hair.
He had just wrapped a too-small towel around his waist, when the bathroom door opened. He expected it to be Callie, but it was Hannah.
“Hi,” she said, smiling up at him.
He clutched at the towel. “You should have knocked,” he growled, yearning for the hot, pulsing showerhead, much larger towels, and blessed privacy of the bathroom at the cabin. He wondered whether Callie’s children walked into her bedroom at all hours without knocking. He’d have to make sure there was a lock on her door before he made any midnight visits.
“Are you mad at me?” Hannah asked.
He saw her chin begin to wobble and felt his resentment melt. “I need to shave,” he said. “You can stand on the toilet seat, if you want to watch.”
“Okay,” Hannah said.
Trace lifted her up, then lathered his face with foamy shaving cream and located his razor. Before he’d taken the first stroke, Eli had crowded into the bathroom and was standing beside him.
“My dad used to shave in the morning.”
“I have to do it morning and evening, if I don’t want to sh
ow up at the supper table with a beard,” Trace explained.
“Mom wouldn’t care,” Eli said, hanging over the sink and staring up at him. “She liked it when Dad rubbed his beard on her face. It made her laugh.”
That was a bit of information Trace could have done without. It was painful to think of Callie laughing with Nolan Monroe. Loving Nolan Monroe. He shaved quickly, wanting the job done before Callie herself showed up to see what was keeping him.
“What does that feel like?” Eli asked.
“It’s like mowing hay,” Trace replied. “One blade lifts the beard up, the next cuts it off.”
“But what does it feel like?” Eli insisted.
Trace stopped shaving, picked up the can of Gillette shaving cream, and said, “Hold out your hand.”
When Eli held out his hand, Trace spritzed a small amount of lather into it. “Spread that on your cheek,” he instructed.
Eli edged Trace aside so he could look into the mirror while he was working.
“I want some, too,” Hannah said.
“Girls don’t shave,” Trace said.
“They do, too,” Hannah countered. “Mommy shaves her legs and her—”
“All right,” Trace said, gripping Hannah’s tiny hand to keep it steady while he filled it with shaving cream. He watched as the child studied the coveralls that concealed her legs and the shirt that hid her underarms, before she spread the lather across her cheeks and chin.
When Trace turned back to the mirror, Eli was facing him, waiting expectantly. “Now what?” the boy asked.
Trace glanced once at his own half-shaven face before he handed Eli the razor and instructed, “Stroke gently and steadily downward on your cheeks and upward from your throat.”
“I don’t have any shaving cream on my throat,” Eli pointed out.
“Just work on your face for now,” Trace said.
The boy reminded him a little of himself at the same age, eager to begin the rituals of manhood. He noticed the stubborn cowlick on Eli’s crown. He’d had one just like it. Nowadays he kept his hair long enough to slick it down.
“What about me?” Hannah asked, patting his arm to get his attention.
Trace tousled her blond curls and said, “Wait your turn, scamp.”
He turned back around just as Eli yelped, “Ow!” The boy dropped the razor, which clattered into the sink, and grabbed his face. “I cut myself!”
Seeing the tears of pain welling in the boy’s eyes, Trace quickly tore off a sheet of toilet tissue and said, “Second lesson in shaving.” He brushed Eli’s hand aside, swiped off the rest of the shaving cream until he found the cut, then stuck on a tiny piece of toilet paper.
Eli looked at himself in the mirror. “My dad cut himself sometimes,” he said, turning his head back and forth to see the grown-up effect of Trace’s bandage.
“What about me?” Hannah said, tugging on the skimpy towel that surrounded Trace’s hips.
Trace barely managed to catch it before it fell off. He tucked it back in around his waist and said, “I think maybe you better do a finger shave.”
“What’s that?” Hannah asked.
Trace copied something he’d seen his father do with his sister. He caught Hannah’s chin in his grasp and aimed her face toward him, then used his forefinger like it was a razor, to scrape off the excess shaving cream.
Hannah beamed up at him. “I want to see how I look!”
Trace picked her up and held her so she could see herself in the little bit of mirror that wasn’t filled with Eli’s face.
Suddenly, he saw Callie’s face reflected in the mirror, looking wistful. As their eyes met in the glass, her gaze turned wary.
At that moment, Hannah let out a squeal of delight. “Am I done, Trace?”
“I guess you’re done,” Trace said.
“But I see you’re not quite finished,” Callie said, unable to suppress a grin of amusement.
Trace glanced at his half-shaved face in the mirror, then turned and thrust Hannah into Callie’s arms. “I’ve been too busy playing barber.”
“Look at me, Mom!” Eli said, turning his cheek so his mother could see his war wound. “I shaved, too!”
“You’re growing up too fast, Eli,” Callie said as she kissed her son just above the piece of tissue. “Supper is on the table,” she announced to her children as she ushered them out of the bathroom.
She turned back to Trace and said, “Thank you for being so patient with Eli and Hannah.”
“I told you it would be no problem if I stayed here.”
“Oh, it’s a problem, all right. But I’ve learned to handle all kinds of problems over the years. I’ll see you downstairs …” She eyed his naked knees and winked at him. “As soon as you’re decent.”
As the excited babble of children’s voices faded, Trace turned back to the mirror. The shaving cream had dried on half his face, and his chest bore rivulets of sweat from the steam that hovered in the un-air-conditioned bathroom. As his stomach growled its hunger, his lips curved into a grin.
This is what it would have been like, he thought. If Callie and I had married.
The grin faded. These weren’t his kids. This wasn’t his wife. And the way things were looking, Callie was never going to be free enough from her family obligations to marry him and go back … where he’d come from.
Time was running out. Trace couldn’t stay here in Texas forever. He had responsibilities of his own that were being taken care of by someone else. He’d only intended to stay long enough for his father to get back on his feet. Now, before he left, he also had to get the breeding operation set up and make sure his father saw the benefit of keeping it—and employing Dusty, who would also have to be convinced to work for Blackjack—once he was gone.
Trace hadn’t counted on the complications Callie was causing in his life. He hadn’t counted on wanting her so much. He hadn’t counted on needing her at all.
One thing at a time. First he’d get his fill of her body. Then he’d deal with saying good-bye.
Trace picked up his razor and finished his shave.
Chapter 14
CALLIE LAY IN HER BED LISTENING TO THE house settle, as it did every night as the heat left the earth and it cooled in the moonlight. She had felt Trace’s avid gaze on her all through supper, all through the game of Scrabble they’d played at the table afterward, and even while she got Eli and Hannah ready for bed. She knew he’d be coming to her after everyone was asleep. Her body betrayed her by wanting it to happen.
She wished she’d barred the door to Three Oaks against him, as she’d threatened she would. But it was too late for that. Sometime over the past few days, he’d breached the emotional walls she’d put up to keep him out. From now on, she’d be fighting for her life.
While she’d tucked Hannah in, Trace had stood in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, watching. She hadn’t expected Hannah to want a good night kiss from him. Or for Trace to press his lips to her daughter’s forehead with such gracious ease.
She’d seen Eli’s agitation, when her son thought he’d be subjected to the same sort of “mush” in front of Trace. She’d been surprised by Trace’s understanding, by the way he bent to remove the cherished piece of toilet paper from the wound on Eli’s baby-smooth cheek and said, “That’ll be healed by the time you need to shave again.”
Eli had carefully brushed his fingertips across the spot, then sat up a little straighter, pulled his knees up a little higher beneath the paperback in his lap, and said, “I expect so.”
She wasn’t surprised when Eli pretended to be engrossed in his book to avoid her good night kiss. She smoothed his cowlick and kissed his forehead anyway. She saw how he glanced at Trace in man-to-man commiseration as he ducked away from her caress.
Her children and her brother should be asleep by now. She should go to sleep herself, if she didn’t want to be exhausted again tomorrow. Trace was right about one thing. She needed more rest than she was getting.
<
br /> Callie hadn’t heard a sound, but she was suddenly aware that she was no longer alone. The moonlight kept it from being totally dark in the room, but the silver glow didn’t extend to the doorway. She heard the door being locked and realized with chagrin that she’d never even considered locking Trace out.
“Trace?”
“Yeah,” he answered from the shadows.
She sat upright, pulling her knees to her chest and hugging the covers around her. She barely stopped herself from asking, “What are you doing here?” She knew why he’d come. He’d paid for the privilege.
“I’m tired,” she said.
“Good. So am I.”
When he passed through the stream of moonlight, she saw he was barefoot and wore a pair of jeans low on his hips. She heard a zipper and then the rustle of denim as he slid them off. He lifted the covers on the other side of the bed and slipped in with her.
Before she could say a word, he turned his back on her and pulled the covers up over his shoulder.
She stared at his back, confused by his unexpected behavior. “Trace?”
“Good night, Callie,” he murmured.
“If all you plan to do is sleep, you could have stayed in Bay’s room,” she said irritably.
He rolled onto his back and laced his hands beneath his head. “I tried to stay away. I know you need to sleep. But I felt like I was going to drown in Beanie Babies in your sister’s bed.”
Callie smiled at the image he’d conjured. “I thought you would want to …”
“I do,” Trace said as he turned on his side toward her. “But you’re tired, and so am I.”
Callie slid back down in bed, keeping the covers pulled up to her neck. She stared at the ceiling, eyes wide open, sleep the farthest thing from her mind. A sardonic smile curved her lips, as she acknowledged that her body had been anticipating Trace’s lovemaking, and that what she felt as a result of his restraint was not relief, but sexual frustration.
“I was expecting you to make love to me,” she said into the stillness.
Trace lifted his head from the pillow. “I’m trying to be considerate.”
The Cowboy Page 22
