“He knows what he’s talking about,” Manny said. “Happened to my mom and dad, except my dad was the one under my mom’s thumb. Now he’s just a useless drunk.”
Callie’s anger eased as she softened in compassion for Manny. Being left at the altar was shitty and humiliating, and she’d hear about it the rest of her life in this small town, but at least she had a loving family in which to recover. She’d not grown up with the grimness she saw in Manny’s and Ross’s faces.
“Don’t worry,” she said, directing her words to both of them. “I won’t call Devon.”
Callie suddenly never wanted to speak to the man again. She’d thought it would be so much fun to marry the best friend of her best friend’s husband. They were inseparable, a team. At first, it had been wonderful. Her sisters loved Trina but didn’t intrude on the friendship. They’d liked Brett and Devon. Trina had been thrilled when Devon had asked Callie to marry him.
Then slowly, gradually, both Devon and Brett had started turning into dickheads. Maybe they always had been, and Callie had been too busy with her Dallas job and planning the ranch to notice.
They passed the stretch of road where Callie’s tire had decided to blow, and she’d ended up in the ditch. The Mercedes was gone, but the troughs in the grass she’d plowed up remained.
“K.D. picked up your car,” Ross said. “He’s the best mechanic in the county. Has his shop on the Fredericksburg highway.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen it.”
Callie couldn’t worry about her car right now—that would come later. Right now, she needed to get home. She’d take a calming shower and then head out to the barn where her real friends were. She always felt better around horses. They didn’t care who she married or whether she’d been left in the rain, embarrassed in front of everyone she’d grown up with plus strangers from Dallas with spite in their eyes.
After another rainy five miles, Ross slowed unerringly at the arched gateway that led to the Jones ranch. He turned without sliding on the wet pavement and navigated the mile-long muddy drive with ease.
“Holy shit!” Manny said in awe as the house came into view. “You live here?”
The white monolith of Callie’s family home rose from a vast green lawn, the house’s many windows and black shutters a popular design when it had been built in 1845. The drive curved to the front door, running under a two-story portico supported by massive columns. A huge black square lantern that hung from a long chain in the center of the portico had lit the way into the house for generations. In the past, candle flame had welcomed guests; now it was LEDs.
“It’s like the house in that movie,” Manny breathed. “What’s it called? Gone with the Wind.”
“Same era,” Callie said. “Pre Civil War.”
“I think my dad’s trailer was built back then too,” Manny said.
His joke evoked Callie’s sympathy once more. “Then you’ll know that living in a two-hundred year old house isn’t as romantic as it sounds. We’re always fixing something.”
“Yeah, so are we.”
Ross pulled smoothly to a halt under the portico, the drive empty of cars, as everyone thankfully was still in town. Ross shot a warning look at Manny before he got out, strode around to Callie’s side, and as he had at the church, gallantly opened the door for her.
The touch of his hand as he helped her out had Callie drawing a quick breath before the caring look in his eyes made that breath vanish.
Callie jerked her hand away as though it burned and hurried to the front door. Her keys were now either in K.D.’s auto shop or with the deputy Ross had called, but that was no worry. She shoved her skirts out of the way, moved the rock behind the bench on the porch, and pulled out a key.
“That’s dangerous,” Ross admonished.
“But seriously handy.” Callie put the key into the lock and turned it, hearing the click echo through the empty house.
“Hide it somewhere else from now on. Manny saw you.”
Callie glanced at Ross in surprise then at the SUV from which Manny watched avidly. “You think he’d rob us? He doesn’t look much like a criminal.”
“He was my first arrest,” Ross said as Callie pushed open the front door to reveal a grand foyer with a black-and-white tiled floor and a staircase that rose gracefully to the upper stories. “Manny was ten, but that wasn’t our last rodeo. He’s not a bad kid—he just gets in with the wrong people, and they offer him money to steal cars, break into places, whatever. Manny needs the money because his dad hasn’t held onto a job in years—he wasn’t lying when he said his dad was always drunk. Whenever child protection services come sniffing around, his dad cleans up his act and plays the part of the worried but virtuous father until they go away again. Manny doesn’t want to leave his dad—he loves him and thinks he’s taking care of him.”
Callie leaned against the doorframe, her skirt filling up most of the space, the tulle pressing Ross’s legs.
“Are you really going to take him to jail?” she asked. Talking about Manny was a hell of a lot safer than talking about herself.
“No.” Ross let out a breath. “I’ll let him go, but I’ll keep an eye on him. I need him to shape up, though, and soon, or it will be too late for me to help him.”
Callie couldn’t stop her smile. “You’re a good person, Ross Campbell.”
“That’s what people think, anyway.” He paused. “Callie.”
She’d started to turn away, but when Ross said her name in his deep voice, she quickly turned back.
He hadn’t moved, or reached for her, but he pinned her in place with only a look. “If you need to talk, call me. I mean it.” Ross took a card from the heavy belt that housed his gun and cuffs and held it out to her between blunt fingers.
She saw his name and title in tasteful brown-gold print, along with the logo of the River County Sheriff’s Department. The phone number on it couldn’t be his personal one, Callie reasoned as she took it. He meant she should call him at his office.
Callie slid her thumb across the card, liking the bumps of his embossed name. “Are you saying a guy wants to listen to a girl whine about her problems?”
Ross’s grin returned, the one that warmed like a thousand suns. “I have four sisters-in-law, a niece, and a mom. I’m used to it.” His smile died. “Seriously. What you’re going through isn’t something you can shrug off. And sometimes family is too close.”
He wrapped his hand around hers, closing her fingers over the card.
Callie’s throat went dry, and her chest constricted. She tried to draw a breath, but her lungs no longer worked.
Ross’s hand was hot, callused, strong. The touch of it ignited feelings it had no business igniting. Callie’s vivid imagination called up sensations of Ross’s touch on her body, his hard palm on her breast then a slow glide down her belly, moving further to cup between her thighs.
Callie gulped, and air sailed into her to make her dizzy. The doorframe, thank heavens, held her up, or her melting knees would have dropped her to the floor.
Reaction. Must be. She was upset about Devon and the wedding—her entire life—and Ross was standing close, warming her. Her knight in shining armor, the one who’d saved her from hell and brought her to safety. Normal to want to jump his bones, she reasoned.
But Ross was simply being nice, helping out an old acquaintance. They’d grown up in the same town, shared a bond.
Ross would go back to work, Callie would fix this disaster, and she wouldn’t see Ross again. Maybe in passing when she went into Riverbend, but nothing more.
Mostly, Callie planned to stay home and grow old until everyone forgot about her and her humiliating almost-wedding.
She needed wine.
She jerked her hand from Ross’s, and he released her without a word. He’d meant nothing by his touch. A friendly gesture, that was all.
“Thanks, Ross,” Callie said hurriedly. “I’ll see you.”
Somehow, she got her skirts inside the door. She looke
d forward to ripping the wet tulle apart and stuffing it into the trash, along with the ruined silk bodice.
“See you, Callie.” His handsome Campbell face and easy stance made her want to grab his hand, drag him inside, and not let him go.
But she’d imposed on him enough, he had Manny to see to, and a family dinner to attend.
She drew breath and forced herself to swing the heavy door shut. Ross moved out of its way, not worried when it slammed more or less in his face.
Callie watched through the door’s sidelight as Ross strode back to the SUV, his uniform hugging a very nice ass. He said something to Manny in the back, then unhurriedly slid into the driver’s seat and closed the door.
In another moment, he drove away, leaving Callie’s life as easily as he’d entered it.
Callie slid out of her satin shoes and swept them into her hand. She took two steps up the staircase, then collapsed onto it, cradling her head on her arms and weeping without remorse.
* * *
On a sweltering mid-July day with temps in the hundreds, Mildred called across the sheriff’s office.
“Ross! Callie Jones is on the line for you.”
All desks were empty except for Mildred’s, Ross’s, and Rafe Sanchez’s. Sanchez looked up with eager interest.
“Hey, wish a rain-drenched, rich bride would call me.”
Mildred answered him. “If you took one home after she was left at the altar, maybe one would. Ross?”
Ross prayed Mildred had put Callie on hold, and Callie hadn’t heard the exchange.
He’d been waiting for this call for months. Didn’t realize how much until right now. His mouth went dry, and his head buzzed like he’d contracted a sudden fever.
“Forward it to my cell,” he said as calmly as he could.
“Personal calls at the office.” Sanchez shook his head and went back to his computer. “Hennessey isn’t going to like that.”
“It’s not personal,” Mildred said. “She called the main line. Ross? You ready?”
Ross shoved himself from his desk, snatching up his cell phone. “Ready.” He gave Sanchez, his grinning best friend, the finger, and walked out into the courthouse hall.
He tapped his phone after it got in one peep of a ring and lifted it to his ear. “Callie? You okay?”
“Hi, Ross.” She sounded perfectly fine. Sweet Texas drawl, her voice like satin. Fine, but a little worried.
“What’s wrong?” Ross heard his tone go sharp. He couldn’t remain neutral and businesslike around this woman.
“It’s Manny,” Callie said. “I wasn’t sure who to call.”
“Is he hurt?” he asked, fear stabbing him surprisingly hard.
“No, nothing like that. But …”
Ross let out a breath, leaned against a cool wall, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Son of a … Where is he? What did he do?”
“Well …” Callie hesitated, and he imagined her gazing into space as she thought. She’d be wearing … what? Ross couldn’t stop picturing her in her sopping wedding gown, the white silk hugging her curves, the glitter dusting her skin. Wet, beautiful woman.
“He’s here—at our house. He broke into one of the sheds.”
“Shit,” Ross said in dismay. Three more weeks and Manny was eighteen. “What did he take?” Please, let it be nothing worth more than twenty bucks.
“The tractor mower,” Callie said, a strange note in her voice.
“Damn it. Sit tight—he can’t go far with something like that. I’ll get it back in one piece and talk—”
“No, no, he didn’t steal it,” Callie cut him off. “He’s mowing the lawn with it. I’m calling you because we can’t make him stop.”
Chapter Four
Callie paced the front veranda until dust on the drive announced the arrival of a sheriff’s SUV. She strained to see who was driving, but the sun glinting on the windshield blocked her view.
After his startled, “What the hell?” Ross had quickly said that someone would be right over. Hadn’t said it would be him.
Callie hated that she’d dashed to her bathroom and made sure her hair was combed, but didn’t look like she’d run to comb it. Casually neat, as though she’d just returned from riding. But not what she really looked like when she came in from the stables, which was sweat-streaked face and hat hair.
She checked her clothes—jeans, colorful top with three-quarter sleeves, jodhpur boots. Just another ranch girl. With makeup and a little lip gloss. Sure.
The SUV halted a few feet beyond the portico, remaining in the sun. No lights or sirens. Callie saw the shape of a man beyond the tinted windows, but which man, she couldn’t tell.
He took his time, tapping at his computer and talking into his radio, while Callie stood in agony. Should she run out to the SUV to greet him? Or stand here like a poised young lady who’d been a debutante, cotillion and all?
The SUV door opened. Callie let out her held breath in a rush when she saw Ross with his dark hair and tight body, the uniform emphasizing his trim build.
“Where is he?” Ross asked her.
No, Hey, Callie. How you doing? You been holding up all right? He was tense, angry, ready to grab Manny and haul him away.
“Around back.” Callie waved Ross to follow her along the narrow gravel path that led behind the house.
The manor was surrounded by an expanse of lawn that swept in a swath of green down to the stables, horse corrals, and a small covered riding ring. The tended lawn blended into the Texas grasslands about there, with Hill Country scrub, trees, and rolling hills taking over. The heart of the ranch was wild country where the cattle roamed and Callie liked to ride, leaving her troubles behind.
The bright green lawn, kept in pristine condition by a team of gardeners, was a beautiful place to walk, and where Callie’s mother hosted her popular parties.
Halfway down the hill, a small red tractor cut a sharp turn across the grass, leaving a jagged stripe in his wake.
“He’s been at it almost an hour,” Callie said. “My dad is going to shit when he sees what’s happened to his lawn.”
“Hell. Callie, I’m sorry.”
Ross scowled at the tractor in the distance, his jaw clenched. Sunglasses hid his eyes, but Callie decided that Ross in the sunshine looked even better than Ross in the rain.
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Why should you be sorry? Unless you sent him …?”
She was joking, but Ross slanted her a sharp look. “Sent him? What would I do that for?”
“To give you an excuse to come over and ask me out?”
What the hell had made her say that? Callie clamped her mouth shut, her heart jumping all over the place. A bead of sweat ran from her temple to tickle her ear.
Ross stared at her from behind his sunglasses, not moving a muscle. Callie made herself gaze back at him, her smile fixed. She must look like a weird, grinning plastic clown.
Manny yelled. The tractor took another abrupt turn then kept going in a circle, Manny struggling with the controls.
Ross took off across the grass. Callie, after a startled second, ran behind him. Ross, with his long stride, quickly reached the tractor. He leapt onto the step beside the seat, gloved hand reaching down to turn off the machine.
The tractor coasted to a halt. Ross pulled up the cutting blade and set the brake.
Callie reached them, her boots pinching her feet—they were made for riding not running—her breath coming in gasps.
“Manny, what on earth are you doing?” was all she could get out.
“Mowing the lawn.” Manny flashed her a grin as he climbed stiffly off the tractor. His legs buckled, but Ross caught him and shoved him upright.
Manny was nearly as tall as Ross, the seventeen-year-old already filling out into the man he’d become. His red hair gleamed in the sunshine, and his cocky smile lit up his eyes. Yep, Callie bet he was a heartbreaker.
Like Ross had been. Callie remembered the long-ago, sunny October high
school day when Ross had approached her. She’d been standing outside at lunch, her friends having gone en masse to the bathroom, but she’d wanted to drink in more of the outdoors before being cooped up the rest of the day.
Ross Campbell had walked toward her with his lanky saunter, jeans outlining strong legs. A T-shirt had stretched across a hard body, and the brim of his cowboy hat shaded his tanned face. She’d noticed him looking at her for the few weeks prior to this, ever since she’d encountered him at his locker and he’d drawled a charming politeness. He’d glanced at Callie whenever they’d passed, as though he might want to speak to her but hadn’t made up his mind.
Callie had wet her lips as he’d approached, trying to stay cool, trying to pretend only mild interest. She was so sure he’d to ask her to the homecoming dance—had hoped with all her heart.
When he’d only winked at her as he’d leaned against the fence and asked her what he’d missed in their Spanish class last week, her disappointment had been fierce.
She’d thought the great-looking Ross had liked her, but he’d only wanted the smart girl’s notes. The rawness of that had followed her for a long time, but she hadn’t blamed Ross. Stupid Callie for thinking he had any interest in her.
Callie snapped herself back to the present, and a grinning Manny. “Why were you mowing the lawn?” she asked him.
Manny shrugged. “Ross told me I should get a job, you know, a real one. You have a big yard. I thought I’d help out.”
Ross made a noise of exasperation. “Most people knock on the door and ask first.”
“Yeah? What if they say Get lost, you waste of space? This way, I’ve already done the work, and they have to pay me.”
“This is not what I was talking about,” Ross growled.
“Don’t worry about it,” Callie said quickly. “He didn’t hurt anything. Well …” She gazed at the third of the lawn with crazy, uneven stripes. “Nothing that can’t be fixed. It’s only grass.”
“Not the point,” Ross said. “Of all the dumbass things you’ve done … This has to be the weirdest.”
“No, it’s not. You came over, didn’t you? Did you ask her out yet?”
Ross: Riding Hard, Book 5 Page 3
