pulled into the parking lot of a casual restaurant on the main drag. “I’d offer you some other clothes, but all I have is a sweatshirt. Do you think you’d look more, or less conspicuous with a sweatshirt pulled over that dress?”
Callie pulled down the visor and flipped up the mirror to check her reflection, the first time she did so since climbing into his truck. Pretty women usually worried more about their appearance. Of course, she had other issues on her mind.
Wrinkling her nose, she plucked some tissues from the box in his console. She dabbed at the few smudges left on her face and ran her hands through her tangled hair.
“Sitting at a table, nobody will even notice the bridal attire. I’ll take the sweatshirt.”
Rod reached into the backseat and dropped his gray sweatshirt into her lap. She shook it out and read the front. “Texas A&M. Your alma mater?”
“Yep.” He got out of the car and walked around to open the passenger door for her while she struggled to pull the sweatshirt over her head. “Let me help you. You’re trying to put your head through the armhole.”
He shifted the sweatshirt so that a crown of golden hair appeared at the neck, and then yanked it down. Running his hand under what hair was still stuffed in the sweatshirt, he swept it free. His fingers lingered in the soft strands before he jerked his hand away, as if scorched.
She blinked and tossed her blond mane over one shoulder. Did she notice his reluctance to relinquish her hair? At least she didn’t have a smart-ass comment for the occasion.
He pointed to her bare feet. “I hope that won’t be a problem. The dress is long enough that your lack of foot-wear may not be noticeable.”
“I’ll shuffle along behind you.” She jumped down from the truck, her feet landing on the asphalt of the parking lot with a slap.
A few curious looks and a couple of smirks meandered their way as they entered the restaurant and settled into a booth by the window, but the waitress didn’t seem to notice anything awry. They ordered sandwiches and fries, and iced tea for her and a beer for him. He needed that drink now.
Callie excused herself to wash her face and hands in the ladies’ room. When she returned, Rod dug his elbows into the Formica table, resting his chin on his hands. “Since we’re in Truth or Consequences, how about some truth? Why’d you run out on your own wedding?”
She looked up from dumping artificial sweetener in her tea. “I decided I didn’t want to marry my fiancé.”
“Just like that?”
“The idea had been stewing awhile.” She held the empty package of sweetener close to her face, as if studying the ingredients.
“Why didn’t you call it off before the actual wedding day?”
“It’s complicated.” She crushed the package in her hand and flicked it across the tabletop.
“And why the escape on a motorcycle? That’s a little dramatic.”
He shifted in his seat as her lips puckered around a straw. If this woman left him standing at the altar, he’d be consumed with anger, worry and…frustration for missing out on the wedding night.
“I guess I chickened out. I couldn’t walk in there and tell everyone I decided to cancel the wedding, so I took off. One of the valet parking attendants loaned me his bike. The rest is recent history.”
It still seemed like an odd way to cancel a wedding. “Will your scorned groom follow you to L.A.?”
Her eyes widened. “He knows better than that. Enough about my boring story. What about you? Where are you headed?”
If Callie thought ditching a wedding and fleeing on a motorcycle in a wedding gown constituted boredom, his life would put her to sleep.
“I’m heading back home after looking at some horses in Austin. Seeing you on the side of the road in that dress spiced up my journey.”
She tilted her head. “You have a fantastic face.”
His beer went down the wrong way and he choked. “What the hell does that mean?”
She extended her arms, her wiggling fingers inches from his face. “A strong, proud face. Do you mind?”
He had no idea what she planned to do, but he nodded anyway. For some crazy reason, he found it almost impossible to deny this woman anything. Good thing he intended to drop her at a bus stop soon.
Her smooth fingertips traced along his jawline, and then the pads of her fingers danced across his cheekbones. She ran her thumb down the bridge of his nose and caressed his forehead. Despite her light touch, he felt her probing his depths, reading every line on his face. He didn’t want it to end, but people were beginning to stare.
He caught her wrists. “What are you doing?”
Hunching her shoulders, she grinned. “I’m a sculptor. Sometimes I get carried away when I see a great face.”
An artist? That explained a lot. The few artists he knew lived scattered, self-centered lives. He dropped his hold on her and wrapped his hands around his sweating bottle, welcoming its coolness.
“Why do you need horses?”
She always managed to shift the focus back to him. “I own a ranch.”
“A ranch?”
“I’m planning to turn it into a dude ranch. You know, riding lessons, roping cattle, that kind of thing? It’s hard to make a profit on a midsize, working ranch these days.”
The waitress set down their plates with a clatter, and Rod grabbed his sandwich and took a big bite. He’d never admitted that to anyone outside his family. Maybe Callie’s reticence led him to fill the gap with his own personal revelations.
He may be in Truth or Consequences, but that didn’t mean he had to play the game. He wiped tomato juice from his chin with a napkin and asked, “What do you sculpt?”
“Interesting faces.”
THEY SPENT THE NEXT HALF HOUR talking about art and ranching in general terms. Callie skirted and danced around personal facts like a pro. He recognized the maneuvers as ones he used himself.
As Rod paid the bill, he asked the waitress the location of the nearest bus depot.
“If you go about two blocks up the street and make a left on Navajo, there’s a bus stop on your right. You can catch a bus there to the depot in Albuquerque, if that’s where you’re headed.”
“That would be perfect. If you could loan me the bus fare to L.A., I’ll pay you back when I get home.” Callie grabbed a napkin from the dispenser and a pen from the check tray. “Give me your address and I’ll send you the money to pay back the loan.”
“Don’t worry about it. You don’t have to pay me back.”
She gripped the pen, her knuckles turning white. “I always pay my debts.”
Rod
