Callie's Cowboy by Karen Leabo Page B

shoulders, he bolstered her spirits. Suddenly she felt silly for having dreaded Sam’s arrival. He was so easy to talk to—when he wanted to be—and unburdening herself had come as naturally as breathing.
    He had uncanny abilities, Sam did. He could make her feel awful with one cold look, as he had at the cemetery. And he could also make the hurt feel better with a touch, a smile. She rubbed her hand against her cheek where he’d kissed her, and a pleasurable shiver wiggled down her spine.
    Already she felt better, just knowing that someone understood her position and took her side. She pushed Grits—the cat—from her lap, opened the antique wardrobe that held her TV and VCR and positioned them just right, dusted off the remote control, and threw some pillows on the floor by the coffee table. There, she’d arranged things just like when they were kids,watching the midnight fright movie at her parents’ house.
    He would be back soon. She went to her bedroom and, after contemplating a slinky lounging outfit, chose a comfy, nonsexy hot-pink sweatsuit. She combed out her wet hair and powdered her nose, which was still a little red from crying.
    The incredible aroma of Sal’s pizza preceded Sam up the stairs. Callie’s stomach rumbled and her chest tightened. She was either very excited about the pizza, or more excited about her evening with Sam than she had any right to be.
    â€œYou moved,” he said with a note of surprise when he entered the room. “And you put on clothes. You didn’t have to.”
    Callie was pouring Coke over two glasses of ice. “It happens from time to time.” She spied the Blockbuster Video sack. “What movies did you rent?”
    â€œ
Duck Soup
and, um, Stallone. Can’t remember which one. They all seem the same to me.”
    â€œBlessedly, predictably the same. That’s why they’re so popular. The good guys always win.”
    â€œYou don’t think they’re popular because a lot of stuff gets blown up?” Sam set the pizza box on the coffee table.
    â€œGood point.”
    They dimmed the lights, put on
Duck Soup
, and gorged on pizza and mindless slapstick for the next hour and a half. Sam held her hand, and she let him. He played with her hair, braiding it, combing it with his fingers. She let him do that, too, because it seemed to have a calming effect on her. She even let him put hisarm around her and pull her against him, so that she rested her head on his shoulder.
    By the time the credits were running for the Stallone movie, it was getting late, and Callie expected him to try to kiss her. She had her defenses all lined up, too, all the reasons they shouldn’t take this trip down memory lane any further.
    He surprised the heck out of her when he withdrew his arm, sat up, and stretched. “I should go and let you get some sleep.”
    â€œHmm, I’m not sure I’ll sleep much tonight anyway.” She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. “Too much to think about.”
    â€œThen you want me to stay?” He smiled innocently.
    â€œNo! Um, that is—”
    â€œDon’t waste a good argument. I have to leave, anyway. I said I would pick up Deana before midnight.”
    â€œPick her up? I thought your mother would take care of her.”
    Sam shook his head. “Deana’s with my brother and sister-in-law. Tamra volunteered, and I think my mom wanted some time to herself.”
    Callie felt a moment of unease. Will Sanger was her prime murder suspect. She shook off the discomfort. Surely Deana was perfectly safe, especially with Tamra there.
    â€œIs there anything else I can do for your mom?” Callie asked. “I’d be happy to run errands or make phone calls.”
    â€œThe nicest thing you can do for her is refrain from writing anything else about Dad’s death for the paper,” Sam answered gruffly.
    Callie sighed. “Sam, even if I wanted