Page 7 of Love on the Run

“What do I call you?”

“You call me Jake.” He was still surveying her. “Are you sure you can’t remember anything about what happened?”

“I…don’t…it’s all kind of hazy.”

“It’s okay. Whatever it was, you probably suffered shock. That can make your memory hide for a while. I know your name is Calista Reed, because it’s on your license, which is expired, by the way. But I don’t know how you got from LA to Montana without bleeding to death first. If LA is really where you started. You were kind of rambling last night.”

“It’s a long story,” she whispered, not sure how to begin. Obviously, she couldn’t tell him the truth. Callie had developed a reasonably good radar for corruption, and Jake didn’t trigger it. He’d insist on going by the book if he learned about a murder. Callie just wanted to get far away and forget it.

“I figured as much.” he said, not without humor. “So, you want eggs or toast? Or both?”

“Both.” She blushed when her stomach growled again.

“Was that you or Bruiser?”

“Me.”

“All right then.” He made a show of cooking her breakfast as fast as he could, and Callie laughed in spite of herself. She watched him as he worked, wondering if this was all real. He seemed too…well, nice to be believed. But maybe she was just getting cynical. He was certainly lucky in the looks department, she decided. He wore his dark hair quite short, as if dealing with it any longer might be a bother. Probably just shy of six feet, he was well-built, and surprisingly trim. Of course, Callie’s image of a small town cop came straight from TV sitcoms, so trying to reconcile this tall, hazel-eyed man with Chief Wiggum was going to take a while.

When he dropped an egg on the floor and it shattered, he swore under his breath, then immediately apologized to her.

“I’m really not that vaporish,” Callie assured him, half-rising from the chair. “Can I help?”

“Don’t even move, honey.” He grinned easily. “It’s all under control.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. The chaos is just a cover.”

Callie laughed. This Jake person seemed all right. Which reminded her…

“Is this your shirt?” she asked shyly.

“’Fraid so,” he said, glancing at her. His western drawl was suddenly much more pronounced. “You didn’t have much in the way of clothes in that bag of yours, and I didn’t think you wanted to wake up in bloody shorts or shirt.” He didn’t look at her as he explained.

“Thanks,” she said, looking at the floor. Bruiser looked back up at her, wagging his tail happily.

“He likes company,” Jake noted, moving swiftly to the next subject. “We don’t get a lot of guests here.” He set a full plate of food down in front of her, and Callie suddenly forgot everything but how hungry she was. He sat down across from her, watching as she devoured the meal, generous as it was. It seemed to amuse him.

Five minutes later she gave a contented sigh, pushing the plate back. “That was the best breakfast ever.”

Jake laughed out loud. “You really must have been starving. I can barely choke down what I cook.”

Bruiser got up and nuzzled Callie’s hand, a hopeful look in his eyes.

“Sorry, sweetheart, there isn’t a scrap left,” Callie crooned, rubbing the dog’s ears. Bruiser gave her a slightly reproachful look, but apparently decided that the novelty of having his ears rubbed by a new person was worth the bother. Closing his eyes, he rested his chin on her leg.

“Bruiser,” Jake scolded lightly. “You know you shouldn’t beg.”

“He must have known I’m a sucker for a cute face,” Callie took a sip of coffee, relishing the heat of it going down her throat. “Thank you, for everything. I guess I owe you an explanation.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Callie. But I am curious.”

“How do you know my nickname’s Callie?”

“You told me last night, before you fainted.”

“I fainted?” she asked, horrified.

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