Page 110 of Return of the Bad Girl (Rock Canyon, Idaho 4)

k, Callie stretched her arms above her head and yawned. As the morning DJ for Kat Country 106.1, she was at work from four in the morning until noon, even eating while on air. The small radio station had three on-air DJs during the week, and two part-time on the weekends. Although it might have been nice to sleep in and take the afternoon shift, Callie enjoyed the early morning callers.

Okay, well, one caller in particular. He went by Rhett, which probably wasn’t his real name, but who cared? He had been calling in for over a year now, the same time every day, but what had started out as simple song requests had ended up striking a chord in her every time. Mostly because every one of the songs he’d chosen had been a favorite of hers.

Okay, he also had an amazing voice. A rough, deep rumble that made her toes curl every time she heard him on the line. It reminded her of Deacon Clayborne’s voice from Nashville, her favorite show, and maybe that was what made her so infatuated with him.

It was crazy, really, but each time she heard his voice over the line, the butterflies he woke in her stomach fluttered like crazy. And it had been a long time since she’d had butterflies. Not since high school.

Not since Tristan.

Callie rubbed her chest and felt the bumps and ridges of the scars under her plain T-shirt, a constant reminder of how good love could go bad. Really bad.

Which was why she usually stayed clear of romantic entanglements. It was hard enough to trust anyone, let alone someone looking to get into her pants. She’d had a few stress-relief partners over the years, but she’d never gone back to their places.

And they were never truly alone—not when her dog never left her side.

Kicking off her shoes, she rubbed her feet over Ratchet’s belly. The 130-pound Anatolian Shepard went everywhere with her but usually found that sleeping under her DJ table was the best place to get belly rubs. She’d jokingly called him “Killer” to a few folks when she’d first moved to town five years ago, and word had spread pretty quickly that there was a crazy new girl in Rock Canyon with a vicious beast of a dog. She had a few close friends who knew how nice Ratchet really was, but to the rest of the world, her dog’s size was enough of a deterrent to keep people from messing with her. And Callie liked it that way.

Little Big Town’s latest hit came to an end, and Callie leaned forward to speak into the mic. “Coming up next we’ll be taking requests for our ‘Crack of Dawn’ hour, so all you early birds can listen to your favorite hits as you start your daily grind.” She smiled then as their station intern, Dalton, held up a cup in the window with the Local Bean Coffee Shop’s logo on the side. “And speaking of grind, try waking up at three thirty and still being as entertaining as me. Let me tell you, it takes work and a lot of coffee, so we’re going to take a commercial break. Callie Jay will get herself a little java pick-me-up, and you stick around for more of today’s hottest country on the Kat.”

Turning off the mic, she waved Dalton in. The kid was a big improvement to the little bastard the University of Southern Idaho had sent her last semester. The intern had been into punk rock and had had an attitude about everything, from the music to the people who came into the station. Despite the fact that he knew what kind of station he had signed up for, instead of putting his whole heart into the job, he had blanched at every task. Callie had sent him packing within a week, after making a call to his professor, stating that he needed a work ethic before being placed in another internship.

Dalton was a complete one-eighty, a good ole boy, just turned eighteen and eager to learn. He had only been there a month, but he’d jump into the next job without her even having to ask. She couldn’t have asked for better.

Plus, he was pretty to look at, with a tall, rangy frame and sweet smile. Sure, he was just this side of jail-bait, but Callie would have to be dead not to notice that he was a cutie.

As he came in through the door, Ratchet stood up to say hi. Most of the staff still gave him a wide berth, but Dalton had never been nervous around the big dog. He’d told Callie that he’d grown up on a sheep ranch outside of Shoshone around Great Pyrenees dogs, which were similar to Anatolians but hairier.

“Here’s your coffee, Callie,” Dalton said. He handed her the cup before kneeling down to pet Ratchet. “Hey, big guy, you gotta go handle your business?” Dalton took Ratchet’s leash from the desk and asked, “That okay if I take him outside to go to the bathroom?”

“Thanks, Dalton, you’re a godsend,” Callie said before taking a small sip of the hot liquid. Sweet spices filled her mouth, and she sighed. “Man, that is good.”

Dave, her producer, signaled her for the countdown, and she set her coffee on the desk. When he pointed at her, she flicked the mic back on and said, “And we’re back with our all-request hour. So get to your phones and call 208-333-3KAT—unless you’re driving or eating. No one wants to hear you talk around a mouthful of bagel, and we all want you to make it safely to wherever you’re going.”

Her tech held up his finger, and she hit the line-one button.

“First caller, what can I do you for?”

“Hi, I’d like to hear ‘Teardrops on My Guitar’ by Taylor Swift,” a young female voice said over the line.

“Sure, honey, what’s your name? And is there anyone specific you want this going out to?”

“Um . . . do I have to say?” the girl asked nervously.

Callie smiled. Poor kid. “No, of course not. I’ll get that on the air for you right now.”

“Thanks.” The line went dead, and Callie flipped on the track, taking the next call. By the time six twenty rolled around, both lines were blinking, and she had half an hour of music to play.

And Rhett had missed his call-in.

He’d been calling every morning at six thirteen for months and hadn’t missed a morning yet. The calls had started off like any other, but lately, they had been getting friendlier and friendlier. Even her friends and coworkers had started to tease her about it, but she swore up and down, there was nothing to it. It’s not like she’d ever meet him or anything.

He’s just a caller. Stop being a freak about it.

Besides, if he’d had romantic notions about her, he would probably have dropped a hint or two about meeting in person, especially after she started taking their calls off air when their conversations went on too long. But no, he’d never asked, and when she started getting angry waves from her producer and she’d have to go, he’d always just say, “Have a nice day, Callie Jay.”

Unlike some of the other citizens of Rock Canyon, Idaho, he didn’t call up to bitch and moan about politics or what was wrong with modern country music. In fact, just yesterday, he’d called and brought up the fact that he loved October because it was when all the fall drinks and colors started showing up. She was more of a spring person, but when Dalton had made a coffee run this morning, the pumpkin-spiced latte she’d ordered had been in Rhett’s honor.

Suddenly, her cell started blaring “Wildflower” by the JaneDear Girls, and she silenced it quickly, picking it up with a hiss.

---