Miss Lizzy's Legacy (14 page)

He loved to watch her sleep, her body curled close to his. He loved to listen to her talk, no matter what the subject. She had a way of fluttering her hands when she became excited and her eyes would sparkle brighter than stars on a summer night. Her laughter filled his house with music and his heart with sunshine.

He tried hard not to think about the time when she'd leave, but the clock marking the time for the Houston hospital presentation ticked silently away. He'd find himself looking at her, already missing her vibrance and presence in his life. He wondered if she thought, too, about the time when she would leave, and called himself a fool.

Why would she want to stay with a washed-up singer like himself in a one-horse town like Guthrie? he asked himself more than once. Not that he'd trade Guthrie for any other spot in the world. Here he felt safe, protected from the ugliness he'd endured from the media during his trial.

No, he wouldn't leave Guthrie. And he couldn't ask Callie to stay.

* * *

“You're sure you want to have Thanksgiving dinner at my mother's?”

Callie rolled her eyes as Judd turned down a residential street. “You've asked me that twenty times, and my answer is the same. No, I don't mind.”

He stopped in front of a house. “Well, I just want to make sure. She always has a house full of people, most of ‘em strangers.”

“Since I don't know very many people here, they'll all be strangers to me.”

He turned off the ignition, obviously uncomfortable and wanting to say more. “Mother can be pretty nosey,” he said slowly. “And bossy, too.”

Callie laughed and reached across the seat to pat his arm. “You forget. I've met your mother. She's charming and sweet and polite.”

Judd's mouth twisted sardonically. “Yeah, right.” He shoved open his door and climbed out. “Just don't say I didn't warn you,” he mumbled over his shoulder.

When Callie stepped through the front door of the Barkers' home, she immediately knew Judd's warnings weren't totally exaggerated. The house was full of people and most of them strangers. She was passed from one group to the next, exchanging names and pleasantries, and by the time she reached the kitchen where Molly was busy filling glasses, she was relieved to see a familiar face.

Molly grabbed a dishcloth to dry her hands and hurried over to give Callie a hug. “I'm so glad you could come,” she said.

“Thanks for inviting me.” Callie glanced around the crowded kitchen where counters were heaped high with food. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Yes,” Molly said, slapping Judd's hand from a basket filled with rolls fresh from the oven. “You can supervise the carving of the turkey.” She thrust a carving knife and fork toward Judd, then swept an apron around Callie's waist. “And make sure more turkey goes on the platter than in his mouth,” she said as she bustled away.

“I told you she was bossy,” Judd mumbled, but dutifully positioned the knife and fork over the roasted turkey.

Callie pressed against his arm, watching while he sliced off a leg and set it aside. “Do you know what you're doing?” she asked dubiously.

He lifted his gaze to hers. “Would you like to do the honors?” he asked, offering her the fork and knife.

Callie stepped back, her eyes wide. “Heavens, no! I wouldn't know where to begin.”

“You've never carved a turkey?” he asked in surprise.

She arched a brow. “I can go you one better than that. I've never seen a turkey carved.”

“You're kidding.”

“Nope. In fact, I don't remember ever seeing a whole turkey before. Our family always ate Thanksgiving dinner at the country club. The turkey was carved by the chef in the kitchen and served to us sliced on our plates.”

Thanksgiving dinner at a country club. Judd couldn't imagine anything worse. Dinner served by waiters, moving silently and unobtrusively around the table. Everyone talking in low, polite voices. No laughing, no teasing, no stealing food from the kitchen when your mother wasn't looking. He didn't realize how lucky he was to have a mother who insisted on family traditions...or how deprived Callie was not to have had those same traditions.

He laid the knife and fork aside, gathered Callie into his arms and kissed her long and deep. When he drew away, she looked up at him, her eyes wide. “What was that for?” she asked breathlessly.

He turned away, picking up the knife and fork again. “Just my way of giving thanks.”

* * *

With the Thanksgiving holiday behind them, the residents and businessmen of Guthrie turned their attention toward Christmas. Decorations started popping up in store windows. The lampposts downtown were draped in greenery and lights.

Though Judd would rather have kept Callie all to himself at his ranch, he was determined to make good his pledge that she see all the sights that Guthrie had to offer. To make sure she received a full education on Guthrie's history, he planned another full day in town. He took her on a walking tour, serving as her private guide through the Territorial Museum and the State Capitol Publishing Museum.

They walked the streets of Guthrie hand in hand, ducking into antique shops and browsing when they grew cold. They lunched at Granny Had One, dined on barbecue at the Stables and had a beer with Hank at the Blue Bell Saloon.

After watching the evening performance of
Christmas on the Prairie
at the Pollard Theater, Judd hired a horse-drawn buggy to drive them on a moonlit ride through the town. Carolers, dressed in period costumes, strolled along the sidewalk, their harmonized voices filling the cold night air with the sounds of Christmas.

This was the Guthrie Judd loved. The peaceful streets, the tranquil setting, that special magic unique to small towns. He looked at Callie, riding beside him, blankets pulled to her chin, and wished this night could go on forever.

At that very moment, she tipped her face up to his, a contented smile touching the corners of her mouth. “I love you, Judd Barker,” she murmured before touching her lips to his.

His heart twisting in his chest, Judd hugged her to him, wishing he could offer her the same words in return.

She touched a finger to his cheek as she withdrew. Her eyes filled with her love for him, she whispered, “Thank you for sharing Guthrie with me. It's a wonderful town.”

Judd tucked her head beneath his chin. “Yes, it is,” he replied honestly, for with her there with him, it was true...everything was wonderful.

* * *

He was thinking about the moonlit carriage ride and Callie's profession of love when he walked in from the barn the next day and found her curled up on the den sofa, the phone tucked to her ear. She was laughing, her head thrown back, the phone cord braceleted around her wrist. She lifted a hand and waved, but kept right on talking.

He resented the invasion into their private time, as slight as it seemed. It was only a reminder that there was a world beyond the limestone pillars of his ranch, one in which Callie belonged...and he no longer did.

“Yes, you can tell John to make all the arrangements,” he heard her say. “I'll drive home first, so he needs to make my flight reservations from Dallas.” She laughed again, then said, “Yes, Prudy, I realize you're not my personal secretary.” She listened a moment, smiling, then said, “Thanks, you're a doll.” She stretched to replace the receiver, then held out a hand to Judd.

Instead of going straight to her, he shrugged out of his jacket. If she noticed his hesitation, she didn't show it.

With her hand still outstretched, she teased him with a smile. “Come here, you big lug, and give me a kiss.”

He tossed his jacket across a chair and ambled her way. By the time he reached the sofa, he'd managed to put a halter on his selfish thoughts. “Who's John?”

“My agent.”

“What flight is he arranging?”

“My trip to Houston. He wants me there earlier than we'd originally planned for some interviews.”

Judd didn't want to ask, but he couldn't stop himself. “When do you leave?”

“I have to be in Houston on Friday, but I'll need to leave here tomorrow so I can drive home and pick up a few things.”

Twenty-four hours, he thought, the muscles in his jaw tightening. Twenty-four hours and she'd be gone.

“Hey!” she said, tugging at his chin. “Why the long face?”

“Heck,” he said, struggling to keep his voice light. “I was just gettin' used to you being under foot.”

Callie laughed, bussing him full on the lips. “You sound as if I'm going away forever. It's just a trip. A business trip, and a short one.”

Judd knew it was just a trip, a short one, but he couldn't stop the knot of fear that curled cold and hard in his gut. He knew that once she felt the excitement of the city and was surrounded by her friends and family, there was a possibility she might not want to come back. He knew this because he'd once felt the enticement of the city, the warmth of the spotlight and that heady sense of power that came with it. But he'd also experienced the other side of fame. The cold, bitter loneliness. The exposed feeling that came when your life was placed under a microscope for the entire world's inspection. He never wanted to experience that level of vulnerability again.

“Sure,” he agreed, forcing a smile.

On sudden inspiration, she caught his hand in hers. “Come with me,” she said. “It would mean so much to have you there when the statue is unveiled.”

Judd's blood ran cold at the very thought. “No,” he said as he rose, pulling his hand from hers. “I don't make public appearances anymore.” He crossed the room, putting distance between them while he pulled a beer he didn't want from the refrigerator behind the bar.

Surprised by his refusal, Callie stared at his back. “But it's not a public appearance. Not for you, anyway.” She rolled to her feet and crossed to him. “It's just a cocktail party and a brief presentation.” She slipped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek to his back. “I know it'll be boring, but I promise we'll stay only as long as required. Please say you'll come with me. Please?”

The swell of her breasts, the accompanying heat penetrating his shirt, the scent of wildflowers swirling beneath his nose all worked their own seductive power, making the fact that he hadn't made a public appearance in over a year dull in importance to his wish to please her, to be with her.

But then the memories came humming back. The crushing crowds, the blood-sucking reporters, the cameras flashing in his face, the damning headlines...the shame. He couldn't face that. Not again. Not even for Callie.

Twenty-four hours. That's all he had. He turned, catching her up in his arms. “I have a better idea,” he suggested before stealing her breath with a kiss. “Let's make love.”

Callie laughed. “Now? It's not even noon.”

“So?” He lifted her higher, centering his mouth over a breast and teasing her with his tongue through layers of fabric.

“Now that you mention it,” she whispered, intoxicated by the sensations flooding her, “a nooner sounds kind of nice.”

* * *

Sleepily, Callie reached for Judd but found only cool sheets. Sitting up, she looked around the room where afternoon sunshine dappled the walls. Then she heard guitar music coming from the far side of the house. She sank back against the headboard, catching her lower lip between her teeth and the sheet beneath her chin, the distance he'd placed between them weighing heavy on her heart.

Something was changing between them, and for the life of her she couldn't figure out what or why. With each passing day, Judd grew quieter and more reserved. Sometimes she'd catch him watching her, his eyes filled with a sadness she couldn't explain.

She'd tried to overlook his moodiness, but earlier, when they'd made love, she'd sensed a desperation in his lovemaking that had never been there before. An urgency, a clinging as if this were their last time together.

She let her mind drift back to the conversation they'd had when she invited him to go with her to Houston. His refusal had been quick and final. And when she'd tried to persuade him to reconsider, he'd skillfully changed the subject by seducing her.

Though he shared his home and his bed with her, he apparently didn't want to share his life. She'd read enough about what happened to him during the trial to know that the accusations made against him had cut deeply, hacking away at his self-confidence and his pride. As a result, he'd obviously lost his ability to trust. Even her. And that hurt.

Plucking Judd's shirt from a chair by the bed, she stuffed her arms through the sleeves and climbed from the bed, determined to prove to him that he could trust her, not only with his life, but with his heart. She buttoned two buttons as she followed the sound of the music down the hall and wove her way through the country kitchen. A pair of paneled doors, which led to a wing of the house he'd told her he never used, stood partially open.

She slipped through and found Judd at the end of a long hall in a combination office and music room. He was sitting on the bench of a baby grand, dressed in nothing but jeans. The top three buttons of his fly were open, revealing a triangular patch of dark hair that disappeared in the folds of denim. The waist of his guitar rested on his thigh and his head was tipped to the fingerboard, his ear cocked and listening while his fingers moved deftly over the frets. His lips moved in the whispered lyrics of a song.

When he saw her, he flattened a hand against the strings, silencing the instrument.

She crossed to him, slipping onto the piano bench behind him. “Please don't stop, that's beautiful,” she said.

“It's just a song,” he said gruffly as he set the guitar aside.

That he wouldn't share his music with her was just another indication to Callie of all he held back.

Judd twisted on the bench until his knees bumped hers and their gazes touched. He saw the hurt in her eyes and knew he'd put it there. To ease it, he forced a smile as he caught the collar of the shirt she wore in his fingertips. “Nice shirt.”