before seeking out Judd Barker. A low growl stopped her—one that sounded frighteningly familiar. Steeling herself, she slowly turned and saw Baby standing between her and the door she’d just entered.
His hair bristled around the collar at his neck and down his spine, and his teeth were bared. Had he followed her in? She stole a glance at the door, expecting it to open and his owner to appear, but there wasn’t a sign of the man through the glass. She thought about screaming, but feared that would only upset the dog further. Surely someone in the bar would see the dog and come to her rescue. Keeping her eye on him, she slowly began to back away. “It’s okay, Baby,” she soothed in a voice pitched low to hide her fear. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Her back hit a wall of flesh and she stopped, her eyes widening in surprise. Not wanting to make any sudden movements, she whispered, “Quick! Get the owner or the manager. This dog followed me in here.”
“He didn’t follow you, he was here first.”
At the sound of the familiar male voice, Callie whirled. “You,” she whispered accusingly when her gaze met the brown eyes of Baby’s owner.
He spread his arms wide. “None other.”
She threw a glance back at the dog to make sure he hadn’t snuck up behind her before she turned to glare at the man again. “Isn’t there a law against having dogs in bars?”
He shrugged. “Probably. Nobody complains, though. Baby’s sort of the mascot of the place.”
“Well, I’m complaining,” she said, stabbing her thumb at her chest for emphasis. She pushed past the irritating man and made for the bar. Angling a hip to slide onto a stool, she folded her hands on the bar and managed a smile for the bartender. “Are you the owner, sir?” she asked politely.
He glanced over her shoulder at the man behind her, then looked down again, hiding a smile. “No, ma’am. I just work here.”
“Well, my name is Callie Benson. I’m a visitor in Guthrie, but I’ve already had one run-in with that dog this afternoon and don’t relish another one. Would you mind asking this man to remove the animal, please?”
“I—” The bartender shifted his gaze from hers to a spot above and behind her. Slowly, he shook his head as he returned his gaze to her. “No, ma’am. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
Imperiously Callie straightened, adding a good two inches to her height. “Then I would like to speak to the owner, please. Is he here?”
“Yes, ma’am.” The bartender picked up a towel, trying real hard not to laugh and said in an overly loud voice, “Judd, this woman here wants to talk to you. Says she wants you to kick out Baby.”
If the bartender had lifted a pistol and squeezed off a shot, he couldn’t have stopped the conversation in the room any quicker. In horror Callie watched the mirrored reflection of the room’s interior as every occupant turned his head to stare at her.
“Really?”
Callie shifted her gaze on the mirror to focus on the speaker of the single word, the man behind her—Baby’s owner. She watched as he moseyed up to the bar beside her.
Nausea quickly replaced horror.
“You’re the owner?” she whispered weakly.
“Yep.”
She swallowed hard. “Judd Barker?”
“One and the same.”
“Oh, God.” She dropped her elbows to the bar and her face to her open palms.
“Baby, heel.”
Callie heard the pad of Baby’s paws and the occasional click of a claw hitting the wooden floor as the dog made his way across the room. Embarrassment kept her eyes hidden beneath her hands.
“Now, Baby,” she heard Judd say, “this lady here seems to be holding a grudge against you for the way you greeted her earlier today, and she doesn’t think you ought to be in the Blue Bell. My pappy taught me long ago that the customer’s always right, but heck, Baby, I sorta’ hate to put you out on a night as cold as this one. Can you think of a solution to this problem?”
Callie split her fingers a crack, just enough so she could peek down at the dog. He sat on his haunches not a foot away, his eyes as soulful as a cocker spaniel’s and looking for all the world like a repentant child being lectured by his father. She closed her eyes against the sight of him, refusing to soften to the beast who had twice that day scared the living daylights out of her.
The next thing she knew, Baby’s front paws were planted on her right thigh and his tongue, as coarse and abrasive as the pumice stone she kept on the side of her sink at the studio, was licking at her pressed fingers.
Steeling herself against the warmth flooding her heart, she knotted her hands on top of the bar, but continued to ignore him.... That is, she did so until she felt the damp, velvety texture of his snout as he nuzzled her cheek and heard the most pitiful whimper rumble low in his chest. Then she crumbled.
“Oh, good heavens,” she said, trying to hide the effect he had on her with irritation. He lifted his head and barked twice in rapid succession, then looked at her, panting happily, his tongue lolling, dripping saliva on the leg of her jeans.
Laughing, Callie cuffed him behind his ears and as a reward earned a full lick on the cheek. She looked up at Judd, her eyes dancing. “How do you call off this beast?”
“Baby, sit.” Immediately the black Labrador dropped to his haunches beside Callie’s barstool, but continued to stare at her with those huge black eyes. She looked right back, but with humor this time, not irritation or fright. Stealing a pretzel from the bowl on the bar, she held one out to him. He nabbed it, then lay down at her feet and happily crunched away.
“Does this mean he can stay?”
Callie turned her head to look at Judd. “Do I have a choice?” She opened a palm and gestured toward the customers in the bar who had gone back to their own private conversations. “Between them and Fido here, I think if push came to shove, I’d be the one cast out on the street, not him.” She looked down at the dog again and snorted. His paws were as large as her opened hand. “How in the world did a beast like that earn the name Baby?”
Judd sidled up to the bar and lowered a hip to the barstool beside her, his knee brushing her thigh. Heat radiated from his leg to hers. Callie felt it, but didn’t draw away. Neither did Judd, although she knew by the slight narrowing of his eyes that he was as aware as she of the contact. She arched one brow slightly as she listened to his explanation.
“He wasn’t always this big. Believe it or not, when I first got him, I could hold him in the palm of my hand. He was the runt of a litter of fifteen and about as poor as they come. Why, you could pluck the chords of a song on his rib cage, he was so skinny.”
Callie couldn’t help but laugh.
“My goodness, Baby,” he said in mock surprise. “The lady can smile.”
Immediately, her lips puckered into a frown. “Don’t push your luck. I still may press charges for assault with intent to kill.”
“Baby?
