his name already.
He heaved another sigh. “So what are we going to do, Baby? Call her hand?”
In response, the dog whined low in his throat. The sound vibrated through Judd’s fingertips and drew a rueful smile. Baby was his oldest friend, and at times in his life, his only friend.
Baby’s ears perked, and he sat up and growled. Judd placed a restraining hand on the dog’s head to quiet him, and listened. He heard the faint click of footsteps on the brick sidewalk on the street beyond and took a step back to fade deeper into the alley’s shadows. Moments later he watched as Callie passed by the alley’s opening, her head bent against the wind, her shoulders hunched against the cold.
She didn’t look like a reporter, at least not the sleazy variety who’d hounded him in the past. She looked like money, old money, the kind who dressed as they pleased and thumbed their noses at fashion. The leather jacket she wore was soft and supple with age. She wore it with a disregard for its value that only the privileged could pull off. Her jeans were even older than her jacket and threadbare in places that made a man look twice.
And her car. Jesus. The sticker price on it alone was higher than that on most of the houses in Guthrie.
As he watched her disappear from sight, the rounded cheeks of her butt playing a game of “now you see me, now you don’t” beneath the hem of her jacket, he curled his fingers in Baby’s fur. That he was attracted to her didn’t surprise him. Last time he checked, he wasn’t blind or dead—yet. And Callie Benson was a beautiful woman. Hers was a God-given beauty, nothing fake or implanted or modified about her. And, with his experience, Judd should know.
He had a reputation as a lady’s man, and he couldn’t deny the tag. The guys in the band and in his road crew used to have an ongoing bet to see how long it took Judd to get laid once he hit a new town. To him it wasn’t a competition, only the simple pleasure of a pretty woman and—if she was willing—good sex. He knew no other kind.
Yep, in the past a woman out on the prowl, looking for a good time, would’ve found it with Judd Barker.
But not anymore. He’d learned to curb his appetite for the taste and feel of a pretty woman.
“Liar,” he muttered under his breath. He slapped a hand against his leg and headed for the rear door that led to his bar with Baby padding along at his heels.
* * *
Callie burst through the door of the hotel, her arms wrapped tight around her. Frank turned and looked up at her over the top of his glasses. “Cold out?”
“Freezing!”
He chuckled and gave his chair a push, spinning around to face her. “It’s the wind. Cuts right through a person.”
“That’s for sure.” She shivered and dropped her arms to shake them in an attempt to get her blood flowing warm again.
“Did you find Judd?”
She stopped flapping long enough to frown. “Yeah, I found him, all right.” She crossed to the front desk and propped her elbows on its top, puckering her lips into a pout. “What is it with that man? Does he eat nails for breakfast, or what?”
“Judd?” Frank chuckled and reared back in his chair, lacing his hands behind his head. “Nah, he just doesn’t take to strangers.” He leaned forward to scrape some papers from his desk. “Had a call or two while you were out.” He stretched to pass the messages to Callie.
“Thanks, Frank.” Frowning, she stuffed the papers into her pocket without looking at them. The burden of them made her shoulders sag, but she forced a smile. “Well, I guess I’ll call it a night. See you in the morning.”
“Sure thing. We start serving breakfast at eight.”
Once in the privacy of her room, Callie shrugged out of her jacket, then held it by its sleeve while she dug in the pocket for the messages Frank had given her. She tossed the jacket to the bed as she opened the first.
Call Stephen—214-555-5622.
She sank down on the bed and unfolded the second message.
Call Stephen. Urgent—214-555-5622.
She fell back, groaning, her hand moving to shove her hair from her eyes. In the note she’d left him, she had asked for space, time. Obviously, Stephen wasn’t going to honor either request.
A knock at the door had her jackknifing to a sitting position. Frowning, she scooted off the bed and crossed to the door. Standing on tiptoe, she peered through the peephole. All she could see was unrelieved black, which in itself was enough to identify her visitor. The outline of a Stetson pulled low on the man’s forehead only served to confirm who stood outside.
Grimacing, she flung open the door. “A little late for a social call, don’t you think?”
He planted a hand on either side of the frame and leaned toward her, his gaze boring deep into hers. “Who are you?”
A frown puckered between her brows at his threatening look, and she took a cautious step back. “Callie Benson.”
“So you said.” He stepped inside, blocking any chance of her slamming the door in his face. “But what I want to know is what you are. Why you’re here.”
Unconsciously, she lifted a hand to her throat, wondering if Frank would hear if she screamed loud enough. “I told you, to find information on my great-grandfather’s mother.”
His hand arced out, fanning the air narrow inches from her nose. “Cut the bull. Mary Elizabeth Sawyer never had any children.”
Callie fell back a step. “I beg your pardon?”
“She never had children. None that lived, anyway.”
“She most certainly did!” She whirled to grab her purse. “I have the papers right here to prove it.” She dug in the depths of her feed-bag style purse, pulled out yellowed documents and thrust them under his nose. “See for yourself. William Leighton Sawyer, born June 14, 1890, Oklahoma Territory. Son of Mary Elizabeth Sawyer.”
Judd looked at the paper, then shoved her hand aside. “There’s a tombstone out in Summit View Cemetery that carries the same information.”
Callie’s mouth dropped open, then clamped shut with an indignant click of teeth. “I’ll have you know my great-grandfather is William Leighton Sawyer, and he might be old, but he’s very much alive.”
“You’re a reporter, aren’t you?”
“A reporter!” she repeated, her voice rising in anger and frustration. “No, I’m not a reporter. I’m a—” She threw up her hands, unable to believe she was even having this conversation. “I don’t owe you any explanations. Now get out of my room, or I’ll call Frank and have you thrown out.”
When he didn’t move, she reached for the phone. He caught her arm at the wrist and pulled it to his thigh, dragging her to stand nose-to-nose with him. “You came to find me, didn’t you?”
Callie’s chest swelled in anger. “What are you? Some kind
