Miss Lizzy's Legacy (10 page)

Carefully, Judd laid down his fork. “I talked to Casey Hubbard's manager. Casey's agreed to come and bring a few friends. She'll draw a good crowd.”

“So would you.”

Judd set his jaw as he sought patience. They'd already discussed this, many times, and his answer was always the same. An unqualified
no.

Hoping to divert his mother's attention, he rubbed a hand across his stomach. “What did you order me for dinner? I'm starving.”

“A steak and—” Her eyes brightened as she leaned to peer around Judd's shoulder. “Oh, look who's here.”

Before he thought better of it, Judd turned. Callie stood at the hostess table with Stephen at her side. Stephen was dressed much as he had been when Judd had seen him earlier, only the color of his suit and tie had changed. Callie, though, looked like a snow angel, wearing a sweater dress of winter white with hose and heels of the same color. Her mane of hair was twisted high on her head, leaving tendrils feathering her cheeks, forehead and neck. An intricate dangle of pearls and gold dripped from each earlobe.

When Stephen spotted Judd, he raised a hand in recognition. He placed a hand at the small of Callie's back and guided her toward their table. The stab of jealousy Judd experienced upon seeing them was quickly replaced by the burn of betrayal.

As the two approached, the men at Judd's table rose, and he did as well, pushing out his chair and tossing his napkin to the table.

Stephen stuck out his hand, smiling. “So we meet again. Stephen Millage,” he said by way of introduction.

“Judd Barker.”

Recognition flashed in Stephen's eyes. Whether the recognition was from the name or the tawdry reputation surrounding the name, Judd didn't know and didn't care.

“The country music legend?” At Judd's curt nod, Stephen smiled. “I've never met a Grammy winner before. Wait until the secretary pool at the office hears this.”

Judd withdrew his hand and cut a quick glance toward Callie. If anything, she looked as miserable as he felt.

Stephen angled himself to include Callie in the introductions. “I'm sorry. This is the young woman I was telling you about earlier, my fiancée, Callie Benson.”

Judd waited, silently praying she'd deny the tag. When she didn't, he tore his gaze from hers. “We've met.”

Stephen chuckled, oblivious to the tension stretched between the two. “In a town this small, I guess you would have bumped into each other by now.”

Judd shifted his gaze to the others at the table and quickly made the necessary introductions.

Always the gracious hostess, Molly asked, “Would you two like to join us?”

Silent up to this point, Callie quickly intervened. “Oh, no. We wouldn't want to interrupt your dinner, but thank you.” She caught Stephen's coat sleeve and backed away, tugging him with her.

Stephen lifted a hand in a parting wave. “It was nice meeting you all.” His gaze settled on Judd. “Maybe we'll see each other again before I leave town.”

“I
magine finding a five-star restaurant in a hick town like this. Amazing, isn't it?”

“Guthrie isn't a hick town,” Callie said defensively, forgetting that she herself had referred to it with the same words less than a week ago. But a lot had happened in that week to change her view of Guthrie. She'd developed an appreciation for the small town and its residents, enjoying the slower pace and the friendliness. “It's charming and full of history.”

Stephen took the key from her hand and unlocked the door. “My fault, dear. A poor choice of words. Guthrie is a charming community.”

Callie ground her teeth. Why did he always have to agree with her? Why couldn't he just once have an opinion of his own and stick with it?

She strode past him as soon as he pushed open the door. “We need to talk,” she said, leaving him to follow or be left behind. He carefully shut the door, then dropped the key onto the dresser. While Callie hung her coat in the closet, he shrugged out of his and draped it over the back of a chair before sitting down.

Callie kicked off her shoes and plopped down on the bed, pulling her feet under her. Stephen sat opposite her, his elbows on the chair's arms, his fingers templed, patiently waiting as always for her to take the initiative.

She heaved a frustrated breath. “Stephen, why did you come here?”

His forehead crinkled quizzically. “To see you, of course.” He added a sheepish smile. “And hopefully to persuade you to set a wedding date.”

“You could have saved yourself the trip.” Callie heard the sharpness in her reply and saw its effect on Stephen. Knowing he didn't deserve the brunt of her anger, she closed her eyes and fought for calm. “I'm fine, Stephen, as you can well see. And as I told you in the note I left, I'm not ready to set a date. I need time alone to think all this through.”

His elbows remained on the chair's arms, his fingers templed. Only one brow arched, acknowledging that he'd heard what she'd said. Slowly, he lowered his hands. “You feel pressured,” he said, always the placater. “And I can certainly understand why, considering the stress you've been under while working on this project for the Houston hospital.”

“It's not the hospital project, Stephen.”

“Your mother, then,” he said, grasping for an excuse, anything to delay what he feared she was trying to tell him.

“No, it's not Mother.” Callie heaved a sigh and plucked at a loose thread on the bedspread. “It's me, Stephen. Or rather, us.” She glanced up, her gaze colliding with his. Pain darkened the familiar blue eyes looking at her, making her fight back waves of guilt. “Stephen, you're a wonderful man, kind beyond words and a dear friend. But I—I'm just not sure.”

His expression went from pain to disbelief. “Not sure? What about all our plans? Our future?”

“
Your
plans, Stephen, not mine.”

“But we've been friends for such a long time.”

“Is friendship enough for you?”

“Friendship is an excellent basis for marriage.”

“Yes, I realize that. But there has to be something more.”

He sat silently, then rose and crossed to her. He sat down on the bed and took her hand in his. Slowly, he lifted it, pressing the back of her hand to his lips. “I'm sorry, dear. I forget a woman's need for romance.”

Tears burned her eyes at the tenderness, yet the futility of the gesture. “Oh, Stephen,” she murmured, cupping the back of his neck with her hand.

He lifted his face, his gaze on hers, then leaned toward her. Instinct had Callie tensing. His lips touched hers, and Callie forced herself to accept his kiss. She sat still, unmoving while his tongue probed, his hands groped for her breasts. She willed herself to feel something. Anything. The increase of her heartbeat. The thud of her pulse. A quickening in her lower region. Anticipation. Lust.

But the only feeling that stole over her was one of revulsion.

She dragged her lips away, dipping her chin to her chest. “Please, Stephen, don't.”

Immediately contrite, he said, “I'm sorry, Callie. My timing's all wrong. You're tired, I'm sure, and so am I after that long drive.” He rose, patting her hand with an understanding she felt she didn't deserve. “We'll talk in the morning when we're both fresh and rested.”

Callie knew she was once again avoiding a final resolution to their relationship, for her feelings had nothing to do with being tired or Stephen's timing being off. But at the moment, all she wanted was for him to leave so that she could find Judd. She remained silent as Stephen collected his coat and prepared to leave.

At the door he paused. “Good night, Callie.”

“Good night,” she murmured. When the door closed behind him, she ripped her dress over her head, her hose down her legs and pulled on a warm pair of sweats.

* * *

Inky darkness urged Callie to a faster gait as she headed toward the Blue Bell. “Please be there,” she murmured, her breath tangling with the cold air and forming puffs of vapor to drag behind her. She had to talk to Judd. She had to see him, touch him, feel the strength and reassurance of his arms around her.

She had to explain Stephen's unexpected appearance and tell him that she wasn't and never had been Stephen's fiancée.

At the entry to the Blue Bell, she twisted the door handle and found it locked. In frustration, she sagged against the door, her fingertips and nose pressed against the door's oval glass. Her breath fogged the etched pane. Through it a single light shone above the bar. The rest of the room hung in shadows. She dropped her arms to her sides as she stepped from the door. He was gone. A sob caught in her throat as she turned back for the hotel.

Her head bent, her shoulders hunched miserably against the cold, she retraced her steps, her shoes scuffing along the brick walk.

Cal-lie. Cal-lie.

Her head came up and her steps slowed at the searching quality in the call. She stopped in front of the door to the whorehouse and listened.

Cal-lie. Cal-lie.

The voice that called out to her was that of a woman, her whispered urging as mysterious and illusive as the wind.

Callie glanced around. “Who's there?” she called, her lips quivering.

She listened, straining to hear the voice again, but all she heard was the whine of the wind as it whistled through the eaves overhead. She turned her gaze on the door to the whorehouse. Darkness gaped beyond the glass. Stepping back to the edge of the curb, she craned her neck, looking upward toward the second floor. A light shone from her workroom window.

She hadn't left a light on, she remembered in rising apprehension. She hadn't even been in the building since Stephen had arrived earlier that day. While she watched, a shadow moved across the glass. Her heart leapt to her throat. Was it Judd? she wondered, already digging the keys to the building from her jacket pocket.

Her hand froze with the key buried in the lock. What if it isn't Judd? she thought with a stab of fear. What if it was some vandal or maybe a street person looking for a warm place to spend the night? Whoever it was, she told herself, she had to know and find out what they were doing in her workroom. She unlocked the door and gently eased it open. Darkness sucked at her, drawing her farther in.

Not knowing what or who awaited her, she braced her hands on either side of the wall and cautiously worked her way up the steps. At the top of the landing, she paused, listening as she looked around. Her heart hammered in her ears, deafening her to any other sound.

Seeing the door to her workroom open, she tiptoed across the floor and peeked inside. The room was empty but for the furnishings and equipment she'd moved in earlier. Her tools lay on the table where she'd left them, the mound of clay shrouded by the plastic she'd hastily draped over it. Just as she turned to leave, the interior door connecting her room to the one next to it squeaked open. Holding her breath, she watched a broad and decidedly male shoulder appear.

Having no weapon to protect herself with, she let out a blood-curdling scream and threw herself against the door, trying to lock the intruder on the other side.

“Jeez, Callie! It's me, Hank.”

At the sound of the familiar voice, Callie released her hold on the door and slumped back against the wall, pressing a hand over her pounding heart.

She came off the wall when Hank pushed his way through the door. “You nearly scared the life out of me!” she yelled at him, fisting her hands at her hips.

Hank kept his back to her, and angled his head in such a way to avoid eye contact. “You didn't do such a bad job on me, yourself.”

“How did you know it was me out here?” she demanded, irritated that he'd frightened her.

He chuckled. “That scream. I've heard it before.”

Reminded that he had responded with Judd to her hysterical reaction to the rat the day before, Callie's cheeks heated in embarrassment. “Oh.” When he continued to stand with his back to her, though, her suspicions returned. “What are you doing up here, anyway?”

“N-nothing.” He tucked his hand behind his back as he turned to face her. “I was just leaving.”

Callie stepped in front of him, blocking his path. “What are you hiding?”

He stood a moment as if he were going to defy her, then sheepishly pulled his hand from behind his back, revealing a brown paper bag.

“Your dinner?” Callie asked pointedly.

Hank shuffled his feet and his face turned beet red. “Nah.” He opened the sack and held it for her inspection. “We caught ourselves a mouse.”

Callie threw a hand up, blocking her view. “No, please. I don't need to see.” A shudder shook her shoulders, and she laughed weakly at her own foolishness. “Sorry, Hank.”

“That's okay.” He wadded the top of the sack closed in his fist. “What are you doing up here at this hour?”

“I went to the Blue Bell to see Judd.”

“He's already gone home.”

“Yes, I know. I was on my way back to the hotel—” She considered a moment telling Hank about the voice that had called out to her, then quickly discarded the idea. It had probably been the wind, and Hank more than likely already thought she had a screw or two loose from the way she'd acted a moment ago. “And I noticed the light up here and thought I'd left it on by mistake.”

“Nah, it was me, checking the traps. I'm all done now, though, if you want me to walk you back to your hotel.”

The hotel where Stephen possibly awaited her? Callie shook her head. “No. I think I'll stay here for a while.”

“You'll be okay?”

She offered him a reassuring smile. “I'll be fine. But thanks.”

Hank disappeared down the stairs. The outside door opened and closed. A blast of cold air crept up the stairway, making Callie aware of the already chilly temperature in the drafty old building.

She crossed to the sofa, rubbing her hands across her folded arms. Mary Elizabeth's diary still lay on the faded fabric where she'd left it the night before. Sighing, Callie picked it up, then pulled the chain to switch on the floor lamp by the sofa.

Memories of the previous night came rushing back. The eerie feeling of someone being upstairs with her. The lonely quality in the song Judd had played that had drawn her down to the bar. Finding him sitting on the stool, a guitar cradled against his chest. The kiss. The surge of passion. The warring emotions. The long, anticipatory walk back to the hotel. Being in Judd's arms. Making love.

She grabbed for the chain and pulled, throwing the room back into darkness. She didn't want lights. She wanted darkness to hide her troubled emotions.

She sagged onto the sofa, her chest tight, her throat burning with tears. Clutching the diary in one hand, she dragged the moth-eaten shawl she'd used the night before across her chest. Tears budded and fell, rising in tempo and intensity until her chest heaved with each gulp of air.

“Oh, Judd,” she cried softly. “I need you.”

* * *

“Callie?”

Callie tried to open her eyes, but her lids were simply too heavy.

A hand touched hers and she stiffened at the unexpected contact. She slowly relaxed as warmth and comfort stole over her. Knowing somehow that there was nothing to fear in the gesture, she curled her fingers around the offered warmth and reassurance.

“Callie? Why are you crying?”

“I'm so confused.”

“About what, dear?”

“Stephen.”

“Your young man?”

“Yes. No.” Callie swallowed back frustrated tears. “He's not my young man. Everyone thinks he is, himself included, but he's not. He's just a friend.”

“Is that the reason for your tears?”

“Partly, but the worst of it is that Stephen wants to marry me.”

“And you don't want to marry him?”

“No, but I don't want to hurt him, either. He's a dear friend.”

“That is a problem, for friends are too precious to lose.”

“Yes, they are,” Callie agreed, her heart heavy with the weight of her problems, for she considered both Stephen and Judd her friends. She reflected a moment on the feelings she felt for each of them. The first, a friendship strengthened by years. The other, a passion that constantly burned deeper and deeper. Her feelings for both were strong.

“There is someone else,” Callie murmured, testing the sound of the words as she shared them aloud for this first time.

“Oh?”

“Yes, which is crazy, because I've known him less than a week.”

“And Stephen? How long have you known him?”

“Five years.”

“And have your feelings for Stephen grown in that length of time?”

“No,” Callie said slowly.

“Then perhaps time has nothing to do with feelings at all.”