Miss Lizzy's Legacy by Peggy Moreland Page B

finished piece.
    Unfortunately, the ability to produce the emotions in the clay escaped her, just as they had at her studio in Dallas. She had hoped that by getting away from Dallas and Stephen, the creative juices would flow.
    They hadn’t.
    Her shoulders drooped. Maybe Prudy was right, she thought despondently. She’d said that Callie’s creative block had nothing to do with her relationship with Stephen, but more with her relationship with her mother. She’d argued that Callie couldn’t possibly be expected to create something she’d never experienced as a child from her own mother. Granted, Prudy tended to blame every problem in Callie’s life on her mother, but this time Callie could see her point.
    Although Frances Sawyer Benson possessed a great many admirable qualities, maternal love certainly wasn’t one of them. Callie couldn’t remember ever being cuddled by her mother, or ever hearing her mother say I love you. Throughout her life, Callie had struggled to earn her mother’s attention and admiration, but she’d never received anything but her constant disapproval.
    Papa was aware of Frances’s shortcomings and had always told Callie her mother had inherited every drop of her cold-bloodedness from the Sawyer side of the family. After reading Lizzy’s journal, Callie had a new understanding for that coldness and was inclined to agree.
    The thought of the Sawyers and the journal channeled Callie’s thoughts further to Lizzy. Had Lizzy shared the same traits as her mother? Evidently she had, she decided. How else could she have sent her infant son away?
    Callie squeezed the clay in her palm, groaning. Coming to Guthrie certainly hadn’t opened her creative juices. If anything, coming to Guthrie and discovering her great-great-grandmother’s secret life had further stymied her ability to create.
    The sound of a bark drew her thoughts from her work. She set aside the clay and moved to peer out the window. Across the street, Baby romped on winter brown grass. Judd sat on a park bench, his legs stretched out in front of him, teasing Baby with a ball. He’d pretend to throw it, hide it behind his back, then laugh when Baby bolted and spun in fast circles looking for the ball.
    Her throat tightened and she lifted a hand to lay her fingertips against the cold glass. Her inability to evoke visions of motherhood might be blamed on her mother, but her distraction from her work today could be blamed on the man outside, as well.
    What was it about him that drew her? she wondered. Was it purely sexual attraction? She’d definitely felt the tug from their first meeting. But, no, she told herself, beyond the physical there was something else. An unexplainable comfortableness that made being with him easy, as if they’d known each other for years.
    Silly, because she didn’t know him, not in the way she knew Stephen. Yet, when he looked at her, she didn’t see a stranger, she saw a man, familiar and irresistible. And when he touched her, she didn’t feel violated as she did sometimes with Stephen. She felt...she felt loved.
    Her fingers curled against the windowpane at the thought. Loved? How could she possibly feel loved by someone she barely knew? Someone who, by all rights, she should fear?
    A knot of apprehension tightened in her stomach. She stared at Judd, trying to fit the allegations that shadowed his past to the man innocently playing with his dog below. Nothing matched. Nothing. Judd Barker was a gentle man, a kind man. He’d never harm anyone, much less a woman.
    Hadn’t he proven that last night? He’d told her point-blank he’d wanted to make love with her, and in so doing, had placed the decision at her feet for her alone to make. If she hadn’t been willing, he would never have forced himself on her. She knew that as surely as she knew her name. And he’d given of himself unselfishly, always conscious of her