Callie's Convict Page 6

  Callie sat, arranging Matthew in a similar position on her lap, too awed to do much more than follow his directive. He was going to cook for her? Could men even cook?

  She'd never seen proof, that was for sure. Her brother could barely boil water and would have starved long ago if she hadn't been around. Of course, he'd learned early on to stick close to her while she was fixing his meals, as he wasn't particularly fond of burned food.

  "Do you still want eggs and bacon, or would you rather have something else?"

  "Do you know how to fix anything else?"

  He turned away from the sink, where he was retrieving the earlier scorched pans, and sent her a wide, toothsome grin.

  If she'd thought him handsome last night, with that year's worth of beard shaved away and his hair trimmed short, he was absolutely devastating now.

  Her heart flipped over so hard in her breast, she thought she might cease breathing. Her grip on Matthew tightened until he gave a low whimper, and her senses returned. She smoothed the finger marks away from Matthew's fleshy thighs and bounced her legs up and down until he settled.

  Wade's grin remained locked on her, raising her temperature and sending her belly into little spasms of she didn't know what.

  "I lived alone a lot of years before they sent me away,” he told her. “I had a couple of hands to help around the ranch, but no one to cook or clean for me, so I took care of that myself. I fry up a mighty mean beefsteak, and my mashed potatoes aren't half bad, either.” His smile spread. “Now do you want bacon and eggs or something else?"

  "Is steak and potatoes on the menu?” she asked, suddenly curious to put his claims to the test.

  "You got a steer we can slaughter?” he asked. “Or a slab of smoked beef somewhere?"

  She frowned. “Afraid not. I guess bacon and eggs will have to do."

  With that dangerously charming grin still on his face, he turned back to the stove to stoke the embers and clean out one of the skillets to reuse. “For the moment,” he clarified. “But as soon as I'm able, I'd be happy to fry up one of my famous steaks for you. Straight from Mason beef, if I can swing it."

  "Mason beef?"

  "Got some more bacon?” he asked, seeming to ignore her question.

  She pointed to a rolled-up dish towel on the counter, where she'd rewrapped the salted portion of pork but not had a chance to return it to its place in the cellar.

  He unfolded the towel and found a knife, then proceeded to cut long, thin strips from the hunk of meat.

  "I raise cattle,” he said, finally getting around to answering her earlier inquiry. “Mason beef. My ranch is the Circle M. I move part of the herd east every summer to sell off but always keep enough head on hand to restock."

  He turned slightly in her direction, barely taking his attention from his task long enough to meet her eyes. “Nathan never mentioned that? He came out a couple of times to talk cattle. I think he had in mind to buy a steer or two, maybe start his own herd."

  Callie nodded. “Nathan might have said something. But then, Nathan is always running on about one great plan or another. Don't get me wrong; he's a good man,” she added quickly, “but his head is too full of dreams for his feet to ever be firmly on the ground."

  She left her seat long enough to retrieve half a loaf of bread from the warmer, then returned and began breaking off small pieces for Matthew. His pudgy fingers curled around the chunks as he gummed them and actually managed to swallow about a third of each bite. The rest covered his mouth, fingers, and shirt.

  "When we settled here and started this farm, I thought it would be enough. I was certainly content with a simple life, as long as we had enough livestock to provide for ourselves. But before long, Nathan started talking about expanding, raising cattle or sheep. And then he heard there was a fortune to be made out in California by panning for gold, so he packed his things and moved out there."

  "And left you alone."

  The words were softly spoken but brought her head up to meet his gaze.

  "Yes, but I don't mind. This place isn't so large that I can't run it myself. And as I said, I have everything I need. Granted, things have been a bit more difficult since Matthew came, simply because it's harder to see to livestock and the upkeep of the house all by myself with a baby to look after, too, but I'm managing."

  "Quite well, from what I've seen."

  Callie's spine straightened with pride. “Thank you. I appreciate that."

  He shot her another heart-stopping smile, then drawled, “Sure thing,” before turning to lay the fresh-cut strips of bacon in the bottom of the skillet she'd nearly set afire not twenty minutes before.

  "So if Nathan strikes it rich, you'll be set for life,” he observed. “You must be excited about that."

  Her mouth turned down in a moue of disappointment. “If Nathan strikes it rich, I'll eat my best Sunday bonnet."

  Wade let out a sharp, deep chortle of laughter, wiping his hands on his pants as he turned away from the stove. “Why do you say that?"

  "Did I forget to mention that all of Nathan's grand plans have never resulted in more than trial and heartache? He probably hasn't found so much as a speck of gold dust yet, and he's been there going on six months. I only pray he remains safe and healthy until he comes to his senses and returns to Purgatory."

  "A man's got to have dreams, Callie. Without that, every day is the same as the last, with nothing to work toward. No hope of bettering himself or his circumstances. Nathan just wants to discover a bit of gold so he can come home and provide more for you than he's been able to so far."

  Put like that, Callie felt like weeping. Her eyes burned as she thought of her brother, so animated in the telling of his latest scheme. Always describing the things he would buy for her just as soon as he made it big.

  She sighed. “I would be happier if he stayed home and helped with the farm. I don't need a fancy cookstove or a closet full of silk gowns. I need help with the pigs and vegetable patch."

  Wade lifted his head and fixed her with serious, coffee brown eyes. “He's young yet. He'll settle down soon. And for the next little while, you've got me to help out around here. As best I can while hiding out, anyway."

  As much as she appreciated his offer of assistance, she feared that the longer this man remained under her roof, the more danger she was in. Oh, maybe not in danger of him hurting her, but physical danger all the same. Healthy or not, a woman her age shouldn't be struggling to breathe, or having heart palpitations just because she was in the vicinity of a tall, broad-shouldered man, with eyes that made her swallow hard and a smile that nearly knocked her out of her seat.

  Even more scary, the fact that he was an escaped convict did little to douse her attraction. No, for her own safety Wade Mason needed to leave. The sooner the better.

  "You said you'd go as soon as you were able,” she blurted out, ignoring the pressure of Matthew gumming the back of her hand. “That you wanted to prove your innocence. How, exactly, do you plan to do that?"

  He finished cracking eggs over the second sizzling skillet, then turned once again to face her.

  She wished he'd stop that. She much preferred staring at his back than his expressive eyes and mouth and jaw and brow. His wide back with its rippling muscles was impressive, yes. His tight buttocks covered in equally tight denim impossible to ignore. But it was his eyes that caused gooseflesh to break out over every inch of her skin. His eyes that seemed to caress her without a single touch and beg her to believe in him.

  "I do want to clear my name. And I've been thinking on how to go about that,” he said finally, holding her gaze, his tone gentle, his calm manner one he might use to soothe a frightened calf. “The problem is, I may need your help."

  Chapter Six

  "My help? My help?” Callie lurched to her feet, remembering at the last minute to hold tight to Matthew lest he slide right off her lap and onto the floor.

  The sudden movement jolted him and sent him into caterwauls of frightened disp
leasure.

  "Shh, shh, shh, shh, shh.” Callie turned him over and lifted him to her shoulder, patting his back and bouncing him in a soothing motion.

  When Matthew's cries had diminished to a less than ear-splitting level, she turned her attention back to Wade. He stood leaning one hip against the counter, arms crossed over his chest.

  "What do you mean my help?” she demanded, in a much subdued tone of voice. “Isn't it enough that I've let you stay here when I should have found a way to turn you in to the authorities? I've fed you, clothed you, helped you get out of your shackles . . . What more could you possibly want from me?"

  Wade shoved his hands into the front pockets of his trousers and rocked back on his heels, an almost apologetic expression on his face. “I have no right to ask, I know. You've already helped me more than I deserve."

  That apologetic look turned earnest, his dark eyes pleading with her to understand. “But I'm a wanted man, Callie,” he continued. “I can't show myself in town without being shot in the back by some trigger-happy bounty hunter, or captured by the law and thrown back in prison. And if I go back there, Callie, I won't get out again. Ever. They'll make sure of that.

  "If I could stay here forever, I would. But hiding out isn't going to prove my innocence, or get my land back.” A crooked smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “And I have a feeling you wouldn't appreciate me hanging around that long. The point is, the more you help me, the sooner I can be out of your hair."

  "And take Matthew with you.” She held her breath, waiting for him to answer . . . and knowing she wouldn't like it when he did.

  He glanced at the child cushioned against her shoulder, and then directly back at her. “Yes."

  Her own eyes narrowed and she could feel her mouth pulling down in a frown. “You can't honestly imagine that I'd be willing to help you at anything that might take Matthew away from me."

  "No, I don't suppose I should. But I do."

  His gaze took on a hard edge, and Callie could see why a judge would believe him capable of murder. He certainly looked capable of it at the moment.

  His hands slipped out of the pants pockets and locked around his upper arms as he linked them across his chest. “I'd think you'd do just about anything to get me out of your house."

  Callie swallowed and told herself not to be afraid. At least not to let it show. He already knew one of her weaknesses: Matthew. He didn't need to also know his intense gaze and broad shoulders intimidated her.

  "Not if it means you'll take my child with you when you go."

  His jaw tightened even more, his eyes all but shooting sparks. “He's my child."

  Now more than ever, Callie wished she'd adopted Matthew through Father Ignacio over at the church. The priest ran the local orphanage and worked hard to find homes for the great number of parentless children who found their way to his doorstep. But because Callie and Lily had been friends, because Lily had asked her specifically to take Matthew, the baby had never spent so much as a night at the Purgatory Home for Adoptive Children. It also meant she'd never legally adopted Matthew.

  Wade didn't have to know that, however. And since he'd said himself that he couldn't simply waltz into town, it was quite unlikely he'd ever make it to the orphanage to check.

  "Not according to the adoption papers I signed at the Purgatory Home for Adoptive Children,” she told him bravely, firming her shoulders and daring him to contradict her. “Besides, I'm the only mother Matthew has ever known. You wouldn't just be hurting me if you took him away."

  Her voice nearly broke at the last, but she clamped her teeth together and blinked to dispel any signs of moisture that might be welling in the corners of her eyes.

  For several long minutes, they stood there. Wade studied her from head to toe, taking in the child in her arms and her almost militant stance. Silence folded around them until Callie wanted to scream.

  And then Wade let out a long sigh. Dropping his arms from his middle, he turned back to the stove and took up a worn spatula to work the eggs loose from the bottom of the skillet.

  "We're not getting very far, are we?” he asked, a note of resignation tingeing his words. “We both want Matthew, and we're both willing to fight to keep him. Doesn't bode well for a compromise, does it?"

  Still wary and ready for battle, Callie rigidly replied, “I won't compromise where Matthew's safety is concerned."

  "And you don't think he would be safe with me."

  It wasn't a question, but a statement. She answered anyway. “I don't know if he would or not. I suppose that depends on whether you were still wanted by the law. Regardless of what the future might hold, I do know that if Matthew were with you, he wouldn't be with me, and then I would have no idea how he was faring.” Her brows rose in a challenging manner as she added, “And I've managed to keep him quite safe thus far, thank you very much. You, however, don't seem to live a very safe life at all."

  Wade threw her a glance over his shoulder as he flipped several strips of bacon, sending hot grease sizzling on the stovetop. Mouth turned down with displeasure, he said, “Not by choice, believe me, sweetheart. Not by choice."

  When the eggs and bacon were ready, he dished them up onto two blue- and white-speckled tin plates and brought them to the table. Callie was still standing, watching him cautiously.

  "Sit,” he told her, holding out a fork. “Eat."

  She doubted the argument was over but assumed the food was a temporary peace offering. Accepting the fork, she returned to her seat and slowly began cutting into her eggs.

  Cooked through, they were golden fried to perfection, as was the bacon, and Callie tamped down on a sliver of annoyance that this unmarried escaped convict was able to prepare a better breakfast than she'd managed.

  She shifted Matthew back around to rest on one knee and tried to keep him from winding his chubby little fingers around the hot bacon on her plate. As she delicately nibbled a bite of egg Wade chomped down a few strips of bacon, all the while watching her, making her distinctly uncomfortable.

  "What?” she asked finally, letting her fork drop with a clank to the metal plate and casting him a disparaging look.

  He slowly lowered his own fork and sat back in his chair, crossing his arms negligently over his formidable chest. It took him another long minute to answer her.

  "I was just wondering if you might be amenable to striking a deal of sorts."

  "A deal?"

  "I'd call it a compromise, but I already know your feelings on that subject.” He grinned, letting her know he was teasing. “I was thinking more along the lines of an agreement. A way you'd be willing to help me without getting your petticoats in a twist."

  Callie raised one brow, her only warning that he was treading on precarious ground. “If you hope to gain my support, you might want to refrain from insulting me."

  His smile grew even wider and he winked—actually winked!—at her. “Yes, ma'am."

  She wasn't certain if he was mocking her, or merely found her obstinacy amusing. Either way, she didn't like it.

  Before she aimed a utensil at his forehead, she thought it best to get on with the business at hand. “What sort of agreement did you have in mind?"

  His humor faded, and he shifted in his chair, carefully considering his next words. “We both want Matthew; there's no getting around that. And I doubt we'll ever come to an understanding on that score without resorting to a King Solomon-like solution."

  Her arm instinctively tightened about the baby on her lap, and Wade shook his head. “He doesn't look like he'd much enjoy being split down the middle, so I say that option is out."

  Callie chose not to answer, afraid of what might come out if she dared to open her mouth. King Solomon, indeed!

  "But I think you may have in mind that I intend to snatch him away from you at any moment,” Wade continued.

  This time, she squeezed Matthew so hard that he began to whimper, and she told herself to relax before she bruised him in her desire to keep
him safe—and with her.

  Swallowing hard, she forced herself to speak past a tongue gone dry. “And do you?” she asked, more than a little fearful of his answer.

  Instead of assuring her that he didn't plan to sneak off with Matthew in the middle of the night, he merely shrugged a loose shoulder. “That's not my immediate intention, no, but my future isn't exactly well mapped out at the moment. I don't know what's going to happen. If the sheriff shows up at your front door tomorrow, I may have no choice but to grab Matthew and head for the hills."

  The chair rattled backward and crashed to the floor as Callie leapt to her feet. “You are not taking him on the run with you. I'll take Matthew into the hills myself and turn you in to the law before I allow that to happen."

  Startled by the sudden commotion and her agitation, Matthew began to wail. She hadn't meant to frighten him, but given his father's most recent threat, perhaps the child should be upset.

  Wade stayed where he was, letting her take a moment or two to calm the baby. “I'm not saying I want it to come to that, I'm just saying I may not have any choice in the matter."

  "You could leave,” she suggested desperately. Matthew was turned to her shoulder as she swayed and patted his back consolingly. “You could leave now, leave Matthew here, and . . . maybe come back for him someday, when you're no longer a wanted man."

  Before she'd even finished the thought, he was shaking his head. “I don't want to be on the run all my life, Callie. That's no way for a man to live. A boy shouldn't grow up without a father, or with a father who only shows up every few years when he isn't being hunted down like a dog. And they're not going to stop looking for me. Unless I can prove I didn't murder Neville Young, there will always be a price on my head."

  "So you would take Matthew from me? Take him on the run with you, let him be tracked the same way the law is tracking you? What kind of upbringing is that for a child?” she demanded, angry as well as frightened now.

  "That's just what I'm saying, Callie. I don't want either of those things for my son. I want him to grow up here, in Purgatory. With a permanent house to come home to, knowing his father. A father who lives free and doesn't have to keep looking over his shoulder. Which is why I'm asking for your help."