alone was enough to intimidate a person. Wide, square forehead set off by two pricked ears, shoulders as broad as any professional linebacker and paws as wide as her outspread hand. But his eyes... Once she looked into them, really looked, she knew the dog was a pussycat. His eyes were pure black, but soft and totally endearing. As she looked into them now, she couldn’t believe she’d been afraid of this animal.
“Yeah, well...” she said in embarrassment. “He looks innocent enough now, but that growl.” She suppressed a shudder, remembering, then cocked her head to look at Judd. “If he’s so safe, why did he growl at me like that?”
“He’s protective.”
“Of what?”
“Not what, whom.” He bent to scratch Baby behind the ears. “He thought you might pose a threat to me.”
“Me?”
“Yeah.” He straightened, and Callie saw a half grin tug at one corner of his mouth. She couldn’t help thinking how similar the pet and his owner were. Like his dog, Judd Barker looked meaner than sin. A gunslinger, she remembered thinking when she’d first seen him earlier that evening. And that’s exactly what he’d looked like. Tall and lanky, the lines of his face hard and unforgiving.
But now, without the sinister black duster and Stetson, and with that grin softening the hard lines of his face, he looked almost friendly. She was sure he’d deny the comparison, but beneath that rough exterior she would swear lay a heart as soft as Baby’s.
“You raised your voice this afternoon, and Baby takes offense at anybody who yells at me. So when you came in the door a minute ago, Baby was just warning you to keep your distance.”
“Well, for heaven’s sake,” she said in exasperation.
“No, for mine.” He chuckled and signaled the bartender. “What can I get you to drink?”
“Something warm and strong.”
He eyed her a moment, then told the man behind the bar, “A Jersey Mint for the lady and a beer for me.” He hooked the heels of his boots over the barstool’s brass rail and spun toward her. The graze of starched jeans against her leg was like bumping up against a live electrical wire. The jolt brought every nerve ending in her body humming to life.
“Now tell me,” he said, turning his elbows out and splaying his hands on his knees. “What’s a beautiful lady like you doing in a place like this?”
The line was old, but delivered with such a smoothness, Callie had to fight back a laugh. That he was a flirt was obvious, but she could give as good as she got. “Looking for you,” she said demurely.
The muscles in his neck immediately tensed. “Me?”
“Yes,” she replied, chuckling at his raised brow. She extended her hand. “I’m Callie Benson.” His fingers closed firmly around hers. Instead of shaking as she’d intended, he merely held her hand in his while he studied her through narrowed eyes.
“And what would a pretty girl like you want with an old cowboy like me?”
The ball of his thumb moved in a slow, seductive arc across her knuckles while he asked the question, and Callie had to swallow twice before she could form an answer. “The hotel clerk at the Harrison House said you might be able to help me.”
“In what way?”
The bartender appeared and shoved a steaming mug topped with whipped cream and shaved chocolate in front of her. Thankful for the excuse to remove her hand from the heat of Judd’s, Callie accepted the mug with a grateful smile. She took a tentative sip, and her eyes widened in surprise. “This is delicious. What is it?”
“A Jersey Mint. Hot chocolate with a shot of peppermint schnapps and wallop of whipped cream on top. Thought you might enjoy the taste.”
“It’s wonderful!” She sipped again, letting the warmth of the drink penetrate while savoring the minty, chocolaty flavor. “Anyway,” she said as she licked at her upper lip to capture the smudge of whipped cream that stuck there, “I’m trying to locate information about my great-grandfather’s mother, and the clerk said you might be able to help me. I have her name and the approximate date of her arrival in Guthrie.” She wrinkled her nose. “Unfortunately, that’s all I’ve got.”
“People have had less and found what they needed. What’s the woman’s name?”
“Mary Elizabeth Sawyer.”
The beer halfway to his mouth, Judd froze, his hand halting just short of his lips. Slowly, he lowered his gaze to hers and the mug to his thigh. “Mary Elizabeth Sawyer?”
“Yes.”
“And you say she’s your great-grandfather’s mother?”
“Yes. Have you heard of her?”
Judd stared at her, his eyes darkening and narrowing with what Callie could only describe as suspicion. After a moment, he dropped his gaze to the frosted mug of beer, then lifted the glass and drained it. As he lowered the mug, he swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. Pressing his fists to his knees, he rose. “Maybe. I’ll let you know.” He shoved the empty glass across the bar. “Hank,” he called to the bartender. “The lady’s drink is on the house.” He slapped a hand to his jeans. “Come on, Baby.”
Two
Judd stood in the narrow alleyway, one shoulder propped against the rough brick wall and a hand stuffed deep in the pocket of his jeans. A ribbon of smoke curled lazily upward from the cigarette dangling from his lips. Baby lay at his feet, his head resting between his front paws. Judd’s gaze was pitched high on the brick wall opposite him to a square of newer brick he could just make out in the dim light.
At one time a catwalk had crossed from the building opposite his into the second story of the building his bar was housed in. At some point in time, someone had seen fit to remove the catwalk and had bricked up the openings in both buildings.
But the memory of its purpose remained.
Sighing, Judd pulled the cigarette from his mouth and flicked it away. He hunkered down beside Baby and dropped a hand to scratch absently at the dog’s head. As was his habit, the animal rolled to his back, exposing his belly. Chuckling, Judd scratched him there, as well. “You big lug,” he said in gentle reproach. He sighed again as he lifted his gaze back to the wall.
If the woman had asked about anything or anyone else, he would have given her what information he could and sent her on her way without a second thought. But the lady had made a mistake. A big one. Mary Elizabeth Sawyer—the woman she claimed was her great-grandfather’s mother—had never had any children. At least none who had lived.
All of which led Judd to wonder who Callie Benson really was, and what she wanted. The options were limited, for what would bring anyone to Guthrie, Oklahoma? The town was small, businesses few. Guthrie’s only draws were the Lazy E Rodeo Arena and the bed-and-breakfast inns that served the tourists who came to enjoy a bit of history.
She sure as hell wasn’t a cowboy. A tourist, then? He shook his head at the thought. Granted she had a car full of cameras, but they weren’t the standard
