by Heidi Betts
What did she know about risk, dammit?
But she was looking at him with such wide, guileless eyes. Out of a face that could make angels weep. And it occurred to him that somewhere along the way, she'd stopped weighing the possibility that he'd done what he was accused of and simply believed he'd been wrongly imprisoned. Even more, she was trying to help him clear his name.
God in heaven, she believed in him. And he couldn't recollect a single memory of the last time anyone had done that.
Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and willed himself to relax. His jaw loosened and his fingers flexed.
"I can't say that I think this has a chance in hell of working out, but if you think it's worth a try, I don't suppose I'm in much of a position to argue with you. So where do you think this man might be? Where should I start looking?"
"I think the most logical place to begin is the Triple Y. If he was working for Neville or Brady a year and a half ago, there's a fair to middling chance he's still on the payroll there. But you're not going to be the one to go looking for him. Besides the fact that you're on the run and would likely be shot the minute you stepped outside this house, you're especially unwelcome at the Young ranch."
She stood to face him, smoothing her skirts and linking her hands together at her waist. “I, however, have known the Youngs since Nathan and I moved here. Brady and Nathan are the same age, and Brady has always treated me as a bit of a sister. He would think nothing of my dropping by to say hello."
The ache in Wade's jaw returned full force, along with a pounding in his head and a roiling in his gut that he didn't think had anything to do with Callie's earlier attempt at fixing breakfast.
The very thought of her being anywhere near Brady Young sent his blood boiling. The idea of that bastard so much as looking at Callie, let alone laying a hand on her, made Wade see red.
He hadn't contemplated murder eighteen months ago when he'd faced Neville Young with a gun at his back, but he was damn well considering it now.
"No. Absolutely not.” He took a menacing step forward and curled his fingers into his palms to keep from reaching out and shaking some sense into her. “They'll be throwing ice cream socials in hell before I'll allow you to walk into that pit of vipers."
"Would you rather have your likeness on a WANTED poster for the rest of your life? I'll be fine, Wade. Brady won't suspect a thing if I drop by with a plate of cookies or a pie."
"He's obviously never sampled your baking skills,” he muttered, only half to himself.
Callie's lips thinned in annoyance, but she otherwise ignored his muffled remark. “In fact,” she went on, “he'll probably bend over backwards to accommodate me."
"Why?” Wade demanded caustically. “Because he fancies himself in love with you?"
He didn't know how close that taunt came to the truth until he saw the expression on Callie's face.
"I wouldn't call it love but he's certainly never made a secret of his . . . interest in me."
Wade turned his head to one side and swore, low and foul. “All the more reason for you to stay the hell away from him,” he said, turning back to her. “You don't want to give a man like that any reason to come calling, Gallie. If he gets ideas in his head, you might not be able to discourage him later. You could get hurt."
"Just let me go over there. I'll pay a call early in the day, when the housekeeper is there and plenty of hands are working close by."
"Dammit, Callie, what do I have to do to convince you of how dangerous Brady Young is? He shot his own father in the back, for Christ's sake! There's no telling what he might do to you."
"He's not going to do anything to me. There's no reason for him to. And, frankly, I don't see that you have much say in the matter. I can visit anyone I like."
At that, Wade's eyes narrowed to slits. “Are you so sure about that? You are my hostage, after all."
"Am I?” She raised a brow of her own, which only served to draw his attention to her cornflower-blue eyes and the heart shape of her soft, lovely face.
"That was the plan,” he said in a low voice.
When Callie spoke again, her words were pitched as soft as his own, and he couldn't help but notice the slight hitch of her chest as she struggled to breathe normally.
"And I suppose you expect me to quake with fright,” she said. “Well, I've got news for you, Wade Mason, I'm not afraid of you. I might have been at first, but I imagine if you were going to hurt me or Matthew, you'd have done it by now.
Wade's own heart was pounding like an Indian chant. He took a step forward and laid his hands lightly over her bare, delicate forearms. “How can you be so certain?” he rasped. “I might even now be making plans to ravish you."
Callie laughed, but the sound came out stilted and breathless. Her tongue darted across her dry, but ever so tempting lips. “I'm sure you are, but I doubt you intend to use force."
He stared at her, stunned. “You mean to tell me you wouldn't object if I kissed you? Right here, right now?"
"You've already kissed me. In the kitchen, remember?"
"Oh, I remember. It's not something I'm ever likely to forget. But if I kissed you again, it wouldn't be gentle, or chaste, or nearly as innocent as the last time."
She swallowed, and he saw the cords of her throat ripple with the gesture. “What . . . would it be like?” she ventured, refusing to meet his eyes.
Sliding one hand up the length of her arm, across her shoulder and collarbone, and over the slim smoothness of her neck, he used the side of his thumb to tip her head back, forcing her to face him.
She blinked those fathomless blue eyes, looking pure and so damn beautiful, he ached with it. He wanted her more than he wanted his next breath, and yet he knew that to touch her was to taint her with the turmoil of his own past and present circumstances.
Still, he couldn't quite help himself from leaning forward and taking her mouth with his own.
There was no brush of butterfly wings this time, no light, subtle touching of only lips.
This time, their kiss was fiery hot and all consuming. His tongue delved deep, and Callie never made a move to stop him. Instead, she let her mouth fall open beneath his own, her fingertips digging into the flesh of his upper arms before traveling upward and clasping his neck.
Her hands feathered through the hair at his nape and sent a shiver down his spine, a slither of need that thickened as it descended, pooling in his groin.
Did Callie feel the same? Could she possibly be experiencing the same heat, the same headi-ness, the same want and throbbing desire that raced through his veins?
If there was a God in heaven, she did.
If there was a God in heaven, Wade would be a very, very lucky man, indeed.
Releasing her lips, coming up for air, he dug his hands into her hair, holding her head immobile while he gazed into her blue eyes clouded with what he hoped was desire.
"Tell me how you feel, Callie,” he murmured softly, stroking the feather-soft flesh of her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. “Tell me."
"Warm,” she whispered, so softly, he had to lean closer to hear. “Tingly. I tingle all over, like little caterpillars are crawling beneath my skin. Especially my lips and . . . lower."
She looked down at the last, which only served to intrigue him more.
"How low? Tell me where."
His fingers continued to knead the back of her head beneath the silky strands of her dark chestnut hair, his thumbs drawing circles just beneath the high lines of her cheekbones.
"Tell me, Callie. I want to know."
She drew in a shaky breath, fidgeted a bit, then said, “My . . . breasts. They feel . . . heavy and tight."
"Like you might want me to touch them?” He moved a hand from the nape of her neck to the slope of one breast, cupping its weight in his palm. “Stroke them . . . maybe tease the tips?” Through the thin material of her gown, he did just that.
She sucked in a startled breath and tried to pull away,
but Wade wouldn't allow it. He wrapped one well-muscled arm around her waist and pulled her close, holding her against the hard line of his body. Making sure she felt just how much he craved her, in every way a man can crave a woman.
"Do you like that, Callie? Does it make you want to be kissed again?"
Hesitating only a fraction of a second, her head bobbed once, slowly.
He grinned and swooped in for another pulse-lashing kiss. His fingers continued to fondle her firm, now beaded nipple beneath her bodice, eliciting moans of pleasure as his tongue dipped and stroked. He traced the line of her teeth, sucking gently, and urging Callie to do the same.
Shy and modest, she remained passive at first, letting him do what he would while her fingers curled like talons into his back. But after several long, sensual moments, curiosity won out and she began to experiment.
She moved her own tongue, running it along his tentatively, then with more confidence when her actions made him groan. Instead of staying bunched in his shirt, her hands began to wander lower, past the waistband of his trousers, and she pressed as close as she could get along the front of his body. Her breasts flattened against his chest, the hand that was doing such wicked, wonderful things to her nipple trapped between them. And lower, the hard bulge of his manhood ground into the very spot that was burning and throbbing most.
Changing the pattern of their kiss from firm and demanding to softer, lighter pecks, Wade's scratchy, passion-laden voice broke through her muddled thoughts.
"Let me take you to bed, Callie. Let me carry you upstairs and make love to you."
Licking her raw, trembling lips, she considered all the repercussions of what he was suggesting. Could she go to bed with him? Let him touch her the way only a husband should touch his wife?
His gentle brown eyes gazed down at her, and she didn't think she would ever feel about another man the way she felt about Wade Mason at this very moment.
She opened her mouth to tell him just that, to ask him to please do what he'd offered—to carry her upstairs and make love to her. In Wade's arms she felt like a beautiful, sensual woman, and she longed to revel in this new and heady sensation.
But just as she would have capitulated and sent her wanton soul straight to the devil, her ears rang with the high-pitched squall of baby Matthew waking from his nap and demanding both a new diaper and a warm bottle to fill his empty tummy.
Wade's eyes drifted closed, his lips moving in what she thought might have been a curse. Callie felt her own heart dip with disappointment . . . and to be perfectly honest, a touch of relief. No matter how much she might want it, the idea of being with Wade that way made her supremely nervous.
"If this is a prime example of the trials of fatherhood, I'm thinking I should reconsider,” he grumbled, resting his forehead against hers.
"Too late. Babies really do make the best chaperones, don't they?” She forced herself to smile bravely, and stepped away from him. “Besides, it's better that we were interrupted before things . . . went too far."
As she turned for the stairs, Wade snagged her elbow and whirled her back to face him. “I hope you don't think this is over,” he warned. “We may have been interrupted, but that doesn't mean we can't pick up later where we left off. And we will, Callie girl. Believe me. There's no way in hell we won't be playing this out to its logical conclusion. Eventually."
She swallowed hard. Eventually was exactly what she was afraid of. That, and falling in love with a wanted man.
Chapter Ten
Early the next morning, Callie dressed in one of her better everyday gowns—a light blue calico print with tiny yellow flowers—and adjusted a wide-brimmed straw hat over the loose twist of her upswept hair.
Matthew had already been fed and changed and was lying on a blanket on the parlor floor, trying to work his toes free of the long dressing gown he was wearing.
She'd just finished dropping a few extra coins to the bottom of her drawstring reticule when Wade came into the room. He wore another of her brother's snug shirts, this one a solid shade of butternut that added color to skin that had gone too pale after all those months in prison.
"Going somewhere?” he asked, taking in her hat, the satchel at her wrist, and the worn tips of walking boots sticking out from beneath her skirts.
She'd known this moment would come, that Wade would be unhappy to realize she was going through with her plan despite his disapproval, and had rehearsed what she would say to him.
"Yes, actually, I'm going into town, just as we discussed."
"Discussed and decided against, you mean,” he retorted with a scowl.
"You decided against. I still think it's a good idea. The best chance we have of finding the ranch hand who was there the night Neville Young was killed. Speaking of which,” she rushed on before he could try once again to dissuade her, “you need to tell me what this man looks like, so I can ask Brady about him—subtly, of course—and maybe watch for him while I'm at the Triple Y."
"You're more stubborn than a two-headed mule, aren't you?” His brow was still wrinkled with displeasure, his arms crossed mutinously over his broad chest.
"I think this is a rather generous favor I'm willing to do for you. You should be thanking me."
"Thanking you? Brady Young is a conscienceless sidewinder. I won't rest easy for one minute knowing you're anywhere near him."
His obvious concern softened something deep in her heart and she smiled wistfully. Taking a few steps toward him, she raised a hand to his cheek and stroked his firm, rough jaw.
"I'll be fine, Wade, I promise. And I won't be gone any longer than necessary, so you won't have to worry for more than a few hours. Now tell me what you can remember about this stranger."
She felt a muscle in his jaw tick as his teeth ground together in indecision. Then he closed his eyes, trying to recall details from a dark night eighteen months earlier.
"He was about Brady's height, maybe a little taller. Dark hair; brown or black, I'm not sure which. I don't know what color his eyes were, but he had a mustache at the time."
Wade's eyes flashed open. “And a scar on his right cheek. I remember it flashing kind of silver in the moonlight and thinking he probably got it in a knife fight. He looked like a rough sort, used to busting his way out of saloons and brawling over women."
"Dark hair, possibly a mustache, scar on his right cheek.” With a brief nod, she moved across the room, away from Wade, to scoop Matthew up off the floor.
Her parasol rested in a tall, porcelain, vaselike receptacle near the door, and she retrieved it while struggling to keep Matthew from yanking the fabric roses free of her hatband.
"We won't be long. It's only a mile or so into town, and then another quarter of a mile to the Young place. Is there anything you need from town, as long as we'll be passing through?"
"You're taking Matthew?"
She wedged the handle of the fringed umbrella under one arm and pried Matthew's tiny fingers from the flowers before he ruined them. “Of course I'm taking him. He always comes with me when I go into town."
Wade studied her for a moment, his eyes narrowing. Then he moved purposely forward and snatched the baby out of her arms. “Not this time."
"What are you doing?” she exclaimed, keeping one hand clutched in the long hem of Matthew's gown as Wade took a wide step back.
"Matthew stays with me,” he told her shortly.
"What?” She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Couldn't believe Wade would snatch Matthew from her that way.
"If you're determined to pay Brady Young a visit, then you can go, but my son stays with me."
"I'm not leaving him here.” He'd never been away from her a day in his life.
"Good. Then you won't be going to the Triple Y, after all."
Callie frowned, wondering if that had been his plan all along. “I am going to town, and Matthew is coming with me."
"He's my son, and I say he's not. Besides, you're my prisoner, remember? How can I be
sure you won't tell someone about me while you're gone, or that you'll even come back, unless I have a bit of leverage to ensure your cooperation?"
"You're using a three-month-old infant to blackmail me?"
His mouth tightened in obvious distaste, but he nodded his head affirmatively. “I guess I am."
"You're despicable,” Callie whispered.
"I'm desperate."
The minutes ticked by as she stood there, contemplating her options.
She could stay home, of course, but then when would she be able to meet with Father Ignacio and begin the process of Matthew's adoption? And she might still be wary of Wade and confused about this entire situation, but she couldn't help beginning to believe in his innocence. She didn't want Matthew's father to be regarded as a murderer, and they might never get another opportunity to locate this mysterious ranch hand or succeed in finding even a scrap of evidence in Wade's favor.
Despite how safe he might feel at the moment, locked up here in her house, that bubble would burst eventually. It had to, because she doubted the posse would give up until they had Wade in custody once more.
She could argue vehemently with Wade over whether or not she should be allowed to take Matthew with her to town. After all, she always took him with her. In fact, people's curiosity would likely be piqued if she showed up in town without him.
But from the locked square of Wade's jaw and the unbudging glint in his eyes, she suspected she would have more luck convincing him to put up a bright, multicolored flag alerting the posse to his whereabouts.
Which left the third and final option: leave Matthew home with Wade and pay a call on Brady Young just as she'd planned.
His threat to hold Matthew “hostage” held no weight whatsoever now that she knew him better. No man would risk his life and freedom to escape prison and find his son only to harm the child. And he'd been nothing but concerned and solicitous every time she'd watched him interact with the boy. She would just have to trust him to uphold his end of their deal and not run off with Matthew.
