Callie's Cowboy Page 7

  After parking illegally in the overflowing parking lot, praying she wouldn’t get a ticket, Callie discovered she didn’t have any shoes, not even sneakers, in her car. Damn, damn, damn. She’d never covered a story with bare feet, but there was a first time for everything.

  The proceedings had already started by the time she made it inside the building. She grabbed the first empty chair she saw and sat down. She slapped a fresh tape into her recorder and pushed the record button.

  Within moments someone sat down next to her. Callie scooted over a bit to give the newcomer room. Then her breath caught in her throat. At first she thought she was imagining things. But she couldn’t be mistaken. That distinctive, masculine scent could come from only one person. But even without the scent, she’d have known it was Sam. His body seemed to have an electrical field around it that did something to her personal ions.

  “What, are you doing here?” she asked without looking up. She imagined those blue eyes gazing at her, and her insides quivered.

  “I’m an interested citizen.”

  “You came here to harass me.”

  A man in front of them turned and glared.

  Sam lowered his voice to a whisper, putting his mouth right next to Callie’s ear. “You owe me a kiss.”

  “I’m busy,” she groused, trying to pay attention to the discussion about improvements to the municipal building. It was bad enough he’d stolen her sleep with his impromptu visit, then invaded her dreams. Did he have to interfere with her work as well?

  “Actually, I came to show my support for Alan Buntz. He’s arguing against that zoning ordinance that would allow commercial business in our neighborhood.”

  “Oh.” She was ashamed at the disappointment she felt. Had she really thought Sam had come here specifically seeking her out?

  The man in front of them turned around to glare again, so they kept quiet during the remainder of the dull meeting. Sam raised his hand when the discussion about the zoning came up, and he expressed himself eloquently, pleading that the council protect the peaceful, bucolic atmosphere of his neighborhood, which was about all it had going for it. That and a farming history that went back to before Texas was a state.

  The council voted the zoning measure down.

  “You gonna quote me in the paper?” Sam asked when he noticed Callie taking notes.

  “It’s news when someone who doesn’t even live permanently in Destiny can single-handedly sway the city council. Oh, don’t get your shorts in a knot. It’ll be a one-column story on page three of the Metropolitan section. You have a real phobia about the press, don’t you? Even if it’s good press.”

  He shrugged. “I’m entitled.”

  “I suppose you are.”

  He looked down and frowned. “What happened to your shoes?”

  “Don’t ask.”

  “I heard you had dinner with Sloan Bennett last night.”

  She had to stifle a giggle. She hadn’t seriously imagined that she and Sloan would become the subject of gossip. “Yes, I did,” she replied, deliberately mysterious.

  “I thought you weren’t dating anyone.”

  “Sloan and I aren’t dating.” She paused, then added, “That was business.”

  “Something to do with my father’s death? I read in your story that Bennett was the first cop to arrive on the scene.”

  Callie considered lying. She wasn’t obligated to talk about her behind-the-scenes research. But considering Sam’s understandable paranoia about the newspaper, she decided to tell him some version of the truth. “We did discuss your father. I was tying up some loose ends. I have no plans to write anything more about it,” she added. “But, Sam, I have to be honest with you. The police aren’t positive your father killed himself, and I have my suspicions too.”

  Sam stared at her in utter consternation. “Excuse me?”

  “There are some things that don’t add up.”

  Thunderclouds moved across his face. “Are you insinuating someone killed him?” he said in a ferocious whisper.

  “It’s a possibility. Look, I shouldn’t have even told you. But I didn’t want it to come out of left field if it turns into a real murder investigation.”

  “You mean if suddenly there’s a story splashed across the front page announcing my dad’s murder? Thanks for the warning.” He started to turn away.

  “Sam, wait. You don’t understand. This has nothing to do with my job at the paper.”

  “Then what exactly is your role, huh, Callie? Just an average, concerned citizen?” Fury rolled off him in waves. She could feel them washing over her.

  She hadn’t meant to make him angry. She’d just wanted to be honest with him, because she didn’t like deceiving him. “Will you let me explain what’s going on?”

  He took a deep breath, seeming to get hold of his temper. “Okay.”

  As she gathered her thoughts, wanting to choose just the right words, she noticed her boss staring her down from across the room. “Um, this isn’t really the time or the place to discuss a sensitive matter, and I have to get back to work. Can I call you?”

  Stubbornly he shook his head. “I want you to look me in the eye when you explain why you’re mucking around in something that ought to be left alone. Don’t you know the pain such groundless speculation could cause my mother?”

  Callie didn’t dare tell Sam it was his own mother who was most suspicious. “Tonight.”

  “What?”

  “Come over tonight and I’ll explain things to you. Don’t look at me like that. I’m not asking you out on a date.” Or had she? He didn’t appear so angry anymore. In fact, the look he gave her was hot enough to melt her fillings.

  She glanced around nervously. At least no one other than her boss was staring at them, or blatantly eavesdropping. “I’ve really got to go,” she tried again. “Tonight? I’ll meet you on neutral ground if you want.”

  “I’ll come to your house,” he finally agreed.

  “Okay, then.” That gave her the rest of the day to figure out what she would tell him.

  Callie tried, she really did, to concentrate on the damn city council story. But she hadn’t done this type of mundane reporting in a long time, and the words that should have come automatically from her brain to her fingertips to the computer screen now had to be dragged one laborious syllable at a time.

  “You were late to the council meeting this morning, Miss Calloway.”

  Callie jumped, not having expected company. She’d left instructions with her secretary that she wasn’t to be disturbed until this dumb story was finished. Unfortunately, nothing was going to keep Tom Winers, publisher of the Destiny Daily Record, out of her office if that’s where he wanted to be.

  “Morning, Tom,” she said after taking a fortifying gulp of cold coffee. She didn’t have time for this.

  She and her boss had never enjoyed the best of employer/employee relationships. After the Record’s former editor had moved on, Tom had stepped into the man’s rather large shoes and had all but driven the paper out of business with his brand of “journalism,” learned from tabloid talk shows, no doubt. The staff was desperate for anyone to take over the reins, and Callie was the most qualified.

  She and Tom both knew he’d promoted her more because of pressure from the rest of the staff than because he harbored any real faith in her abilities.

  Even now, two years after she’d moved her things into the editor’s office, Tom was still trying to trip her up so he could prove he had been right all along and reinstall himself as editor.

  “Is there something I can do for you, Tom?” She glanced at her watch, thinking about deadlines and her jam-packed schedule for the rest of the day.

  “You certainly can. You can tell me why you’re locked up here in your ivory tower doing a routine story any intern could handle. You have more important responsibilities. Like wearing shoes.”

  Callie didn’t respond to the rib. “Joey’s sick with the flu, Emma’s on vacation, and Eloise
is covering the cattle auction over at the fairgrounds. Unless I wanted to send Amelia to the city council meeting—” Amelia was their volunteer “social editor.”

  “All right, I get the picture. Still, I don’t think you should make yourself inaccessible to the public. Your job involves a certain amount of public relations.”

  “Fine. If anyone needs to see me—”

  “Someone does. Herman Johnson’s daughter.”

  “Nicole? What does she want?”

  “Damned if I know. But your secretary told her you were too busy to see her. And if you’re so damned busy you can’t see the police chief’s daughter, then you might think about resisting the temptation to schmooze with your old boyfriend on company time!” On that note he stormed out of her office.

  “Whew-boy,” Callie muttered. Then she buzzed her secretary. “Denise, is Nicole Johnson still here?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Could you send her in, please?”

  “Sure thing.”

  Moments later Chief Johnson’s oft-married, oft-divorced daughter sidled into the room. She was in her late thirties, but she dressed as if she were ten or fifteen years younger. “I know this must be a bad time, and I wouldn’t bother you if it weren’t important,” she said to Callie, tugging on the hem of her bright green minidress. Her hair was uncharacteristically mussed and her normally bright pink lipstick mostly chewed off.

  “It’s okay, Nicole.” Callie sensed the woman needed a friend. She didn’t seem to have any—at least, not any female ones. “I need a break, anyway.” She stayed behind her desk, hoping Nicole didn’t notice her bare feet. She was planning on stopping by home during her lunch break to find some shoes.

  “This won’t take long. You did such a nice job on that story about Johnny Sanger’s s-suicide.” Her voice broke on the last word. She cleared her throat. “I was just wondering, since you know the Sangers and you’ve spent some time with them lately, if you weren’t privy to some information that didn’t make it into print.”

  Callie’s instincts went on red alert. “What kind of information?” she asked casually.

  “Well, you know, about his will, and his insurance. Stuff like that.”

  “Nicole, even if I did know something about the Sangers’ private affairs, I wouldn’t go telling everybody about it.”

  “Oh, not everybody, of course,” Nicole said. “But I have a sort of … special interest. You see, Johnny promised … well, he indicated that he wouldn’t forget me. I believed him. Johnny was a man of his word, and if he said he’d take care of me … I’m just afraid that when his wife finds out, she’ll lie or somehow do me out of what Johnny wanted for me.”

  Callie knew her eyes had grown bigger and bigger with every word Nicole had uttered. Good God, surely she wasn’t saying …

  “I can tell what you’re thinking, and it’s not that way at all. Johnny and me were friends, that’s all. He needed someone to talk to, someone who wouldn’t judge him or expect anything from him except a little conversation, companionship. You know?”

  Yes, Callie was afraid she did know. “You were friends with him a long time, I imagine.” She tried her best to screen the mounting horror out of her voice.

  “A few months, that’s all. But I got to know him well. He was a fine man. I can’t believe …” Nicole’s eyes overflowed. “Why didn’t he tell me he was considering such a damn-fool thing? I’d have talked him out of it.”

  Callie handed Nicole a tissue. “Nicole, I’m really sorry, but I can’t talk about Johnny’s private affairs. But as for the will and the insurance, they’ll be filed with the court, you know, and if he did leave you something, you’ll be notified. No one can keep it from you.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. And I promise, if I hear anything that directly affects you, I’ll let you know, okay?”

  “That’d be nice. Thanks, Callie.”

  Callie shuffled her out of the office as quickly as she could, then collapsed behind her desk. Oh, God, this couldn’t be. Johnny Sanger was having an affair with Nicole Johnson? No wonder Chief Johnson wanted his men to close this case and forget about it.

  Reluctantly, she picked up the phone and dialed the police. They patched her through to Sloan’s cellular phone, which he carried with him while on patrol, and she asked him to call her back on a pay phone. She didn’t trust the cellular to be a secure line.

  “Callie, what’s up?” he asked her less than a minute later.

  “Sloan?” she said, feeling a little sick. “I have another piece of information for you. But you have to swear on a stack of Bibles you’ll keep this to yourself if it doesn’t have a bearing on the case.”

  “Sam, why don’t you let me take care of Deana for you while you’re out tonight,” Tamra offered.

  “You don’t have to do that,” Sam said. “I don’t mind hiring a sitter. Millicent Jones’s younger sister—”

  “Oh, why pay someone when you have me? I’d love the chance to spend a little extra time with my sweet niece. Will and I want to have children—lots of children.”

  “That’s real nice of you, Tamra.” This was the first time his brother’s soft-spoken little wife had said more than two words to him. “If you’re sure it’s no bother.”

  “None at all. Will and I will take her to McDonald’s. Kids seem to love that place.”

  Oh, yeah. They didn’t have McDonald’s in Babcock, Nevada. But like a heat-seeking missile, Deana had discovered Ronald and Happy Meals within twenty-four hours of her arrival in Destiny.

  “C’mon, Deana,” Tamra said in her exaggerated Southern accent. “Don’t you want to spend the evening with your aunt Tamra?”

  With uncharacteristic shyness, Deana shook her head and hid her face against her father’s pants leg.

  Sam reassured the child and handed her over to his sister-in-law. Deana didn’t cry, but she stuck out her lower lip in a thoroughly manipulative way.

  Sam did his best to ignore her. “I’ll pick her up, say, around eleven?”

  “Make it midnight. I know you and Callie have a lot of catching up to do.” Her expression was sly. Sometimes Sam wondered if his whole family was in cahoots, trying to play matchmaker.

  As he drove to Callie’s, he tried to picture what kind of mood he would find her in this time. Would that determined chin of hers be thrust out, challenging him to argue with her? And what type of explanation could she possibly give that would excuse her trying to dig up dirt on his father?

  Wistfully, he thought about the old Callie he’d caught a glimpse of on their late-night outing a few days ago—smiling, teasing, reminiscing. He doubted he’d see that side of her anymore.

  So why was he even bothering?

  Curiosity, maybe. Lust, definitely, though it was pure idiocy to imagine anything would come of that, not when Callie wouldn’t even let him kiss her.

  Maybe it was just that the two of them were an unfinished book, a big question mark. He wanted to tie up the loose ends so he could get on with his life. He wanted closure.

  He wanted to be able to let her go.

  Maybe he was crazy, thinking that seeing more of her would allow him the release he sought. But he was willing to try.

  It took several minutes for Callie to answer her door, long enough that Sam peeked into the carriage house to see if her car was there. It was, and he’d actually started to worry about things like slipping in the bathtub when she finally made an appearance.

  “Callie?” He got the distinct impression that something was out of kilter.

  “Hi, Sam, come on up.” Her voice was subdued, her face devoid of expression. “I’m running a little late.”

  “A little?” he couldn’t help saying. She was still in her bathrobe, her hair wrapped in a towel.

  “I fell asleep in the bathtub, okay?” she snapped as she led the way up the stairs, her hips swaying beneath pink terry cloth. Damn, she was the only woman he knew who could look alluring in such a getup. She left a deli
ghtful scent in her wake, too, like …

  “Strawberry?”

  “What?”

  “Did you use strawberry bubble bath?”

  “I, um, don’t remember. I think so.” She opened the door at the top of the enclosed stairway and let him into the living room.

  Even if he hadn’t known where he was, he’d have picked this place as belonging to Callie Calloway. Cluttered without being messy, she’d filled her cozy living quarters with little things that spoke volumes about her personality—a Rolling Stones poster on one wall and a Mozart poster on another; a set of flowered plates displayed in an old-fashioned bamboo hutch, which sat right next to an ultramodern stereo system.

  “Great apartment,” he said. “It suits you.” Better than his cavernous ranch house with its stiff, Early American antiques suited him, he supposed. He found himself wondering what she would think of the life he’d made for himself—whether she would find it fitting, or be surprised.

  “Thanks. Just sit down anywhere. There are some magazines.…” Her voice trailed off. “I’ll try to hurry.”

  His attention turned abruptly to Callie again. “Is something wrong?”

  She sighed. “Is it that obvious?”

  “Callie, honey, what is it?” The endearment slipped out. He didn’t care. He did stop himself from going closer, touching her.

  “I lost my job.” The stark sentence hung in the room like macabre black party streamers.

  FIVE

  Sam wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “You mean the paper’s closing?” Maybe that was it. What with paper costs up, advertising revenue down—

  “No, Sam, I got fired. Canned.”

  “What for?”

  Callie flopped into an old wingback chair. Within three seconds a yellow-striped cat jumped into her lap. She stroked it absently. “Winers found out I’ve been applying for jobs elsewhere. Apparently some jackass at one of the papers where I sent my resume decided to check references without asking me first.”

  “You’re looking for another job?” Sam remembered that sense of dissatisfaction she’d communicated about the Record earlier in the day, but he could hardly imagine her working anywhere else.