Callie's Convict Read online

  "They keep me in this hellhole much longer and I can guaran-damn-tee I'll always be this randy."

  "You won't be here much longer, darling. Soon you'll be out of here and we can start our life together."

  Rearing up on his elbows, Wade stared down at her, his brows knit in confusion. “What are you talking about, Lily?"

  "As soon as I tell them the truth, tell them what I saw, they'll have to let you go. They won't keep an innocent man in prison, no matter what Brady Young says."

  "You were there that night?” Wade demanded, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of Lily's upper arms. When she winced, he made himself loosen his hold, forced himself to breathe in and out, in and out, until his heart slowed to a near-normal beat.

  "What did you see, Lily? Tell me what you saw."

  "I saw everything, darling. I was there to visit Neville; he had me over once a week to warm his bed. When you arrived and he went out to meet you, I watched from the upstairs window.” Her fingers trailed down his face, and the look in her eyes was dreamy, almost ethereal. “I'm sorry I didn't say anything sooner, but I was frightened. Brady can be mean as a sidewinder when he's crossed. But as long as you're with me, I won't be afraid, darling. And you will be with me, just as soon as I can get you out of this place."

  Wade's hands spasmed again into fists, and any desire skating across his skin evaporated, sending a chill along his spine. Pulling away from her, struggling back into his clothes, he stood above her and stared down at her prone form.

  "I appreciate you stepping forward and telling the law what you saw, Lily. I wish you'd done it a mite sooner, but better late then never, I guess."

  Half a year in prison and he was being noble, damn his soul. He wanted to shake her until her teeth rattled, wanted the last six months of his life back. But the thought of being released at all enabled him to set aside his anger and frustration and focus on the glowing dawn of his near future.

  Freedom. Blessed freedom outside of this sickening cell, away from the thieves and murderers who surrounded him. Away from the warden who treated them all like dirt on the bottom of his shoe, and the guards who took sadistic pleasure in the prisoners’ pain and suffering.

  First he would bathe, then he would shave. Then he would kiss the ground Lily walked upon and spend the rest of his days trying to find a way to thank her for saving his life.

  Then again, maybe Lily already had her reward figured out. His mind whipped back to the last thing she'd said and latched on, turning the statement over in his head.

  He chose his words carefully, not wanting to upset or offend her. After all, she might very well hold the key to his cell in her dainty, long-fingered hand.

  "What do you mean I'll be with you, Lily?” Had she arranged for him to work at the Painted Lady with her, maybe to watch out for the girls and keep the peace? It wasn't what he was used to, but since his land had been stolen out from under him, he might not have a choice. And at least it would give him something to do, some way to earn a little money until he could get his ranch back.

  Lily smoothed her skirts and sat up, still wearing that all-knowing grin that was beginning to set off warning bells in his head.

  "We'll be happy, Wade, I just know it. As soon as you're out of this awful place and Sheriff Walker makes Brady Young return the deed to your land, we'll marry and move there. I'll cook your meals and keep your house. And you can work the ranch just die way you always have. And maybe someday we'll even start a family.” From the cot, she reached up to stroke his hair, oblivious to the filth that matted the dark strands together. “I'd like that, Wade. I'd like to have your babies."

  "Babies?” His hand curled around her wrist, halting the slow progress of her fingers down his jaw. “Lily, I like you a lot, you know that. We've always been real good together. But I'm not going to marry you. I don't know if I'll ever marry anyone."

  Where only a moment ago her hands had been soft and caressing, they now turned stiff and dangerous. Curling into fists, her nails raked one cheek, leaving welts, Wade was sure. Her smile vanished, replaced by a near-sneer.

  "What's the matter, Wade, am I not good enough for you? Nothing more than a whore? You'll heave up and down on me, spend yourself inside me, but I'm not good enough to take up with permanently?"

  "It's not like that, Lily. I don't want to hurt you, God knows I don't, but I don't love you. I'm not going to marry a woman I barely even know."

  "Not even if that woman can get you out of prison? Isn't your freedom worth selling your soul to the devil by marrying me?” she snapped.

  Wade considered that. There was nothing he wouldn't do to get out of this hell on earth. And if that meant marrying up with Lily, then he didn't suppose it was such a bad price to pay. But even if he did what she wanted, Lily would be the one to get hurt. He didn't love her, and no matter what she thought, he doubted he could truly make her happy.

  What would happen down the road when the bubble holding her dream of happily-ever-after burst and reality set in? Lily's life was anything but perfect now, but he didn't want to play a part in making it worse, even if it meant denying her what she thought she wanted at the moment.

  But was his honor and reluctance to hurt Lily worth spending even one more night in this rat-infested cesspool?

  Before he had a chance to answer that question, Lily banged on the cell door and called for the guard.

  "Lily, wait.” He moved toward her, wanting her to stay, wanting to talk this out and see if they couldn't come to some sort of understanding. Surely there was a way to unruffle her feathers and still get him released from Huntsville.

  If it was his one chance at freedom, then he'd marry her. They'd make each other miserable and she'd regret it by their first anniversary, but he would do it.

  He touched her arm, tried to pull her around. But as he did, the cell door swung open and the ape of a guard shouldered his way in. As soon as he saw Wade's grimy hand on the clean, delicate material of Lily's gown, his face mottled and a growl of rage rolled up from his diaphragm.

  "Get your hands off her!” he bellowed.

  Wade's fingers fell away, but that didn't keep the guard from barreling forward and raining several hard thwacks on Wade's back and side with the long carved stick he carried for just such a purpose.

  "Back against the wall, you mangy cur."

  Despite the blows sending needles of pain through his already abused frame, Wade struggled to get Lily's attention. “Lily, please, wait. Don't leave like this."

  She turned, watching the guard beat him, her lips turned up in smug satisfaction.

  "Good-bye, Wade. And good luck.” Then she turned and sauntered out of the cell.

  "Lily! Don't leave me here. You're the only person who can save me, Lily!"

  "Shut up, Mason,” the guard ordered, delivering one last blow to Wade's midsection that doubled him over and nearly made him vomit. “The lady's finished with you, can't you tell?"

  Gasping for breath, fighting to keep the bile from working its way up from his gut, Wade let out one last desperate scream.

  "Lily!"

  Chapter One

  With the baby asleep upstairs and all the chores done for the day, Callie Quinn couldn't wait to slip into the hot, steaming tub that stood invitingly in the middle of the pantry.

  She was exhausted, pure and simple. Looking after one little boy shouldn't be so hard, but when she also had to take care of her brother's share of running the farm, the added responsibility of seeing to the three-month-old pushed her just this side of having one foot in the grave.

  But now the sun was down, Matthew was sleeping, and if luck was with her, he might give her a full hour of peace and solitude before screeching the roof off the house.

  Slipping out of her ivory wrap and peeling the thin lawn of her shift from her weary, perspiration-damp body, she dipped one foot into the warm water and sighed in delight.

  Oh, she'd been dreaming of this all evening. Five minutes of quiet abandon
. A relaxing bath to wash off the dirt of the day. A few drops of lilac essence to scent the air and her skin, and remind her that there were moments like this to look forward to after a day of baking bread, feeding livestock, and tending the garden—all with a squirming baby balanced on one hip.

  She sank farther into ecstasy, the water lapping at the sides of the metal tub as it rose to cover her breasts, her collarbone, her neck. Inhaling a breath and holding it, she slid all the way under the surface. Her hair felt like strands of silk running through her fingers as she floated there like a mermaid.

  Even beneath the comforting cocoon of water, she heard a noise at the other side of the room. It seemed Matthew wouldn't be cooperating with her decadent plans, after all.

  With a sigh that sent bubbles cascading through the bathwater, Callie resurfaced and sat up, running a hand over her face and hair.

  She opened her eyes and reached for her wrap . . . and frowned. Her robe had been slung over the back of the chair just an arm's length away; she was sure of it. And her shift had been on the seat.

  She really was working too hard if she'd begun to misplace things, she thought.

  Turning in the other direction, she reached for the towel she'd left within reach . . . and found that, too, missing.

  The corners of her mouth turned down even more. What was going on? Maybe she was losing her mind.

  With an even more fatigued release of breath, she grabbed the sides of the tub and pushed herself to her feet. At least Matthew seemed to have quieted. She would check on him to be sure, but if he'd fallen back to sleep, then she fully intended to slip directly back into her bath.

  From behind, she heard the scrape of a boot sole on the hardwood floor just before a deep, decidedly masculine voice murmured, “Very nice."

  She swung around, a scream clawing its way up her throat.

  "Very nice, indeed,” the stranger added, letting his gaze steal down the length of her body.

  With a squeak, she dropped back to the bottom of the tub, drawing her knees up to her chest and doing her best to cover herself with her hands and arms.

  In the barest fraction of a second, she took in every detail of the man standing before her, not three feet away. His black hair, beard, and mustache were filthy and unkempt, his blue shirt and trousers equally soiled. The skin of his face and hands looked as if it hadn't been washed in a number of months, and she wondered what manner of creatures might be jumping around on his tall—at least six-foot—frame.

  But it wasn't the unruly hair or unwashed flesh or even the thought of fleas and lice crawling about his body that sent a shiver down her spine.

  It was the sight of heavy iron manacles weighing down his wrists and ankles that terrified her. And the realization that a man in shackles was not wearing them by choice. A man in shackles likely belonged in a prison cell somewhere, not in the middle of her pantry, holding her shift and robe in his unwashed hand.

  The fact that she was naked and at a stranger's mercy didn't even cross Callie's mind. Instead, she thought of Matthew, helpless and vulnerable. She prayed he would remain quiet so this man never need know that an infant slept upstairs, but if necessary, Callie knew she would do whatever it took to protect the child.

  And then she thought of her brother's pistol, loaded and waiting in her sewing basket. Nathan had left it for her to use as protection when he'd gone away, never really believing she would need it, she was sure.

  Of course, her sewing basket was in the living room beside the wide, medallion-backed armchair she usually sat in to embroider or darn stockings while Matthew played or chewed his toes on a blanket in front of the hearth. If she could get away from this man long enough to reach the gun, she would have a way to protect herself and Matthew. If not. . .

  If not, she didn't want to think about what this man who appeared to be an escaped convict might do to them.

  Callie swallowed and realized suddenly that she'd opened her mouth but never gotten around to screaming. Not that it would have done much good. The house was a good mile from town, and isolated enough that they rarely got visitors without first extending an invitation.

  "Who are you?” she asked, her voice both sharp and breathless at the same time.

  "The name's Wade Mason, ma'am. I wouldn't normally intrude upon you like this, but I'm afraid I don't have much choice."

  Wade Mason? Why did that name sound familiar?

  And then it struck her. Her brother had been friends with a man by the name of Mason who ran a ranch on the other side of town. Or had, before he'd been convicted of murder and sent away to prison.

  She also recalled her brother saying he didn't believe Wade Mason had committed the crime of which he'd been accused.

  The disheveled man took a step forward, and she shrank back automatically. But he only extended one shackled arm far enough to offer the return of her wrap and shift.

  "You might want to put these on,” he said in that deep, gravelly voice that put the fear of God into her bones. “It's been a good, long while since I've had a woman, and there's no sense pushing the limits of my control."

  Callie couldn't have agreed more. She wanted to ask him to turn around but doubted it would do any good. Taking the clothes, she half stood and shrugged them over her damp body as quickly as possible, showing as little flesh as she could manage. And ignoring the likelihood that the material might now be hopping with the very same vermin that no doubt infested his person.

  She stood in the middle of a good twelve inches of water, holding up the hem of her gown to keep it from getting wet. The man offered a hand to help her, but despite the chivalry of the gesture, she refused to touch him.

  Seemingly unperturbed by her rejection, he retracted the proffered hand and instead stooped to spread the earlier missing towel on the floor beside the tub. The thick iron chains rattled with every move he made.

  She had one foot on the towel, the other lifted to step the rest of the way out of the tub, when his next words froze her in place.

  "Why don't we make this short and sweet for everyone involved? Just tell me where the boy is, and I'll be on my way."

  Wade Mason watched the woman's chest hitch as she stopped breathing, saw her spine snap whipcord straight.

  When she spoke, her words were chips of ice, sharp and clipped and aimed directly at his skull. “I don't know what you're talking about."

  Even if the stiffness of her body and the wariness in her eyes hadn't told him otherwise, he'd have known she was lying. There was only one family by the name of Quinn living in Purgatory, and since he'd had dealings with Nathan Quinn before being sent to prison, he knew this was their house. And the woman standing before him, smelling of flowers in bloom and sending red-hot pokers of desire through his groin, was Nathan's sister, Callie. The same Callie Quinn who was supposed to have his son.

  "Don't lie to me, Callie,” he said with just enough edge to make the words sound ominous. “I know who you are, and I know you have my son. Hand him over and I'll be on my way. Those bastards from Huntsville are right behind me, and I want to be well away from here before they close in."

  She stood staring at him, weaving slightly, her mouth open and working but no sound coming out.

  He closed the distance between them in two long strides, grabbing her arms and yanking her up against him. So close her breasts rubbed his chest through the thin material of her robe and sent shocks of desire through his system.

  God, it had been a long time. And worse yet, the last time had been with Lily—which hadn't been so bad when it was actually happening but quickly turned into a day he thoroughly resented.

  Bringing his train of thought back to the matter at hand, he let his fingers dig a little deeper into the soft flesh of her upper arms. “Where is he, Callie? I want my son."

  He saw the change come over her features—the lift of her chin, the firming of her mouth, the hardening of her eyes—and felt her stiffen beneath his hold. Although the trepidation hadn't left her,
she had gone from being frightened of him to not being frightened enough to keep from standing her ground.

  "You can't have him,” she snapped back, and Wade had no doubt she meant what she said.

  "I don't know what Lily told you, but he's my son and I have every right to take him with me. Now tell me where he is."

  "No father would risk his child's health and safety by taking him on the run. You may be a worthless felon, but Matthew shouldn't have to suffer for your crimes."

  A flash of anger stole over him, making him want to squeeze Callie's arms even tighter, maybe move his hands up and wrap them around her neck. That would put the fear back into her cold blue eyes.

  And then sanity returned and his hold loosened. Taking a deep breath, he warned her, “You know nothing about the kind of man I am, or the real reason I was put away."

  With his grip no longer anchoring her in place, she stepped away from him, once again putting distance between them. “Fair enough. But I do know Matthew is only three months old and you're running from the law. What do you intend to do with him if the authorities get too close? Hide him in the knot of a tree? Turn him over to someone who may or may not treat him properly?"

  She was shaking her head, firming up her argument with the rigid stance of her shapely but not-much-over-five-feet-tall figure. “No. I don't care if you're his father. That only means you're the man Lily was with when she happened to be unlucky enough to get pregnant. She trusted me to care for him, protect him, and I'll be damned if you're going to take him away from me."

  He studied her for a long minute, wondering if her hair was as soft as it looked, draped over one shoulder and still wet on the ends but beginning to dry at the top. Would she slap his hand away if he reached out to feel the loose strands?

  Definitely.

  "Those are strong words coming from a woman no bigger than a minute. You prepared to back them up?” he asked, sizing her up and realizing the top of her head just passed his chin. He could press a kiss to her forehead without leaning over, but that was about it.