Callie's Cowboy Read Online Free Page B

her.
    â€œAfternoon, ladies.”
    â€œHi, Sam,” Millicent said with her best smile. She reintroduced Lana, and when their murmured greetings were barely out of their mouths, she added, “Lana and I were just on our way out.” Despite Callie’s frantic gestures and panicked, silent pleas, her two friends deserted her faster than rats from a sinking ship, and she was left alone with solemn Sam and his censorious frown.
    â€œYour secretary told me where to find you,” Sam said. “Mind if I sit down?”
    Callie shrugged. She didn’t feel like being polite, didn’t feel she owed it to him. His coolness from yesterday, and the fact that he doubted her journalistic integrity, still stung.
    The moment he settled his tall frame into the booth, the waitress swooped to their table. Sam absently ordered coffee and apple pie, while Callie declined dessert. Her stomach was suddenly tied up in knots.
    â€œWell, go ahead,” she said when they were alone. “Tell me everything you hated about my story. Tell meI’m an opportunistic hack writer. Get it out of your system.”
    â€œCallie, I came to apologize. I was way out of line yesterday.”
    â€œYes, you were.” She met his steady blue gaze head-on, unwilling to let him off easy. “The
Record
is a responsible newspaper with plenty of readers, thank you. I don’t need to entice more with sensationalism.”
    â€œSo I’ve been told.”
    To gain time, Callie pulled off her wire-rim glasses and began cleaning them with a napkin. She didn’t know quite what to make of Sam’s apology. Was it sincere, or did he have an angle?
    â€œYou still wear glasses to make you look older?” he asked. “I figured you’d have gotten over that by now.”
    â€œThe joke was on me. A couple of years ago I found out I’m nearsighted. These are prescription.”
    An awkward silence followed. She stirred sugar into her iced tea, not intending to drink it.
    â€œThe story on Dad’s funeral was good,” Sam said abruptly. “It was everything Millicent promised and more. I even liked the picture of Deana, once I saw it.”
    â€œThank you.” Callie kept her voice neutral, though she was secretly pleased to know that her agonizing hadn’t been for nothing. She’d fluctuated between running Deana’s picture or a more generic wide-angle shot of the whole family. She’d finally decided the shot of Deana was in no way offensive or overly melodramatic. The story and picture had run on page three of the Metropolitan section.
    â€œIn fact, Mother wants to know if she can get a copy of the photo,” Sam continued. “She thought it might bea nice keepsake for Deana, something to remember her grandfather by. I’ll pay you.” He reached for his wallet.
    Callie bristled. “I’ll be happy to send you a print, but payment isn’t necessary.”
    â€œIn that case, how about dinner?”
    Callie’s breath caught in her throat until Sam added, “Mother’s doing up a pot roast Thursday night, and she said she’d love to have you.”
    Callie slowly released her breath. She should have known better than to think, even for an instant, that Sam would ask her out on a date. “I don’t want to impose so soon after—”
    â€œShe wants you to come. She’s been cooking ever since … that day, even though the fridge is full of food the neighbors and friends have brought. She says cooking keeps her mind off things.”
    And a table full of family and guests probably disguised the fact that a certain chair was empty, Callie couldn’t help thinking. She had fond memories of all those dinners she’d eaten at the Sangers’ house. Johnny had always sat to Sam’s immediate right during meals at the small kitchen table. And Sam had always complained—good-naturedly—because his father’s