Miss Lizzy's Legacy. Peggy Moreland

response to the shouted command, the dog barked. The sound vibrated from his paws through Callie’s body and ripped the air so close to her ear it nearly deafened her. Her eyes still squeezed shut, she continued to struggle beneath the stifling weight, waiting for the dog to sink his fangs into her cheek, or worse, her neck.

      As suddenly as it appeared, the weight of the animal disappeared. Her eyes still closed, Callie let her arms fall weakly to her breasts. She lay there, her chest heaving with each indrawn breath.

      “Baby, is that any way to greet a newcomer?” she heard a deep, male voice ask. “I’ve got him now,” the man said, sounding nearer. “Do you need help getting up?”

      His voice was as close as the dog’s breath had been only moments before, and it blew warm against her cheek, bringing with it the scents of tobacco and peppermint. Callie opened one eye to find the man’s face only inches above her own. Coal black hair worn long in the back brushed his collar, and a black Stetson shadowed his face. He poked a finger at the brim, levering the hat farther back on his head. A half grin tweaked one side of his mouth and his brown eyes danced with laughter.

      If anything humorous had occurred thus far, Callie hadn’t seen it! She glared at him through the slit of one eye, then lifted her head a notch and opened both to assure herself he did, in fact, have the animal under control. Struggling to her elbows, she planted a palm at the man’s chest and shoved. “No, I don’t need help,” she stated indignantly as she clamored to her feet.

      “Baby didn’t mean any harm,” he offered by way of an apology as he stepped aside, avoiding an elbow rammed a little too close to his midriff. “That’s his way of saying welcome.”

      “Baby?” Callie paused in the act of straightening her clothes to look down her nose at the dog, wondering how anything so vicious could earn such an innocent name. “I’d hate to see what happens when you sic him on someone,” she said dryly.

      “Don’t usually have the need.”

      Rubbing at a shoulder that was already beginning to ache, Callie shifted her gaze from the dog to the man, a frown building around her mouth and eyes as she took her first good look at him. He looked like a gunslinger straight off a Western movie set. A black duster draped him from shoulder to mid-calf, below that nothing but a glimpse of jeans and a scuffed pair of boots. The wind caught the hem of his duster and fanned it out, revealing a Western shirt of vibrant reds and blues. Instead of the gun and holster she had expected, a black tooled leather belt banded the waist of his jeans, clasped navel-high by a silver belt buckle the size of a lady’s oval hand mirror.

      He turned his back on Callie and braced wide, tanned hands on the side of her car, taking in the leather bucket seats and a dashboard with enough controls to confuse a fighter pilot. “You’re not from around here.”

      A statement, not a question, yet Callie felt obligated to answer. “No, I’m from Dallas.”

      “Nice car,” he said as he leaned over to peer into the back seat where her purse, overnight bag and several cameras were stashed.

      “Thanks,” she murmured grudgingly as she edged closer, not sure whether she should trust the guy or not.

      He picked up a Nikon, snapped off the lens cover and put his eye behind the viewfinder. “You a photographer?” he asked as he focused in on Callie.

      “Don’t—” The shutter clicked and she groaned, dropping the hand she’d raised to stop him.

      He lowered the camera. “Don’t, what?”

      She snatched the Nikon from him. “Mess with my camera,” she muttered through tight lips. The pinging sound of water hitting metal had her slowly turning. Baby stood by the front left tire, his leg hiked, relieving himself on her chrome hubcap. Incensed by the audacity of both the dog and his owner, she snapped the lens cover back in place. “Don’t they have leash laws in this town?”

      When he didn’t answer, she whipped her head around to glare at him. The lethal look in his eyes made her take a wary step backward. He held her gaze a good ten seconds that had Callie all but squirming before he settled a hand atop the dog’s head and scratched an ear. “Don’t need one,” he said in a lazy drawl. “The dogs in this town, as well as the residents, are friendly. It’s the visitors we have to keep an eye on.” He turned on his heel. “Come on, Baby,” he called as he strode away.

      The black Labrador retriever hesitated, looked at Callie, barked, then finally loped off to follow his owner. Callie watched them both, her chest swelling in anger.

      “Well, I never!” With a frustrated huff of breath, she jerked her overnight bag and purse from the back seat and headed across the street to the Harrison House.

      * * *

      “I’ve been propositioned by a truck driver, mauled by a beast I swear is half wolf and half dog, and put down by a local yokel. Prudy, the nicest thing I can say about the town so far is that it’s quaint.” Callie tucked the phone receiver between her shoulder and ear and stretched the phone cord as far as it would allow as she ran a hand along the carved front of an antique armoire in her hotel room, one more of the “quaint” features the town boasted.

      “If you wanted to be propositioned, all you had to do was stand down on Harry Hines Boulevard with the rest of the hookers, and with the right command from John, Yogi would’ve taken a chunk out of your leg. ‘Quaint’ you can find within an hour’s drive of downtown Dallas.”

      Though the reply was almost acid in delivery, Callie heard the concern beneath. After sharing studio space with Prudy for seven years, the two were more like sisters than business associates, and she’d learned that her friend hid her emotions behind a caustic tongue. “You miss me.”

      “Hardly. Without your constant distraction, the studio is relatively quiet. I’ve actually put in a full day at my potter’s wheel and put shape to three really unique pieces.”

      “Ouch! My ego is taking a beating.”

      “If I thought for one second I could damage your ego, I’d worry.” A deep sigh crossed the phone wires, then, “Callie, come home.”

      “Prudy, I didn’t move to Guthrie. I’m merely here on vacation.”

      “A vacation is the Bahamas or Las Vegas or Vale. Guthrie is a hole-in-the-wall and a wild-goose chase you’re using as an excuse to escape—”

      “Prudy...” Callie warned.

      “Well, it’s true. Okay, so we all suffer a creative lag now and again, and considering the pressure Stephen’s put you under— Oh, I almost forgot. He called.”

      Callie plopped down on the bed, her shoulders sagging. “Oh, no. You didn’t tell him where I was staying, did you?”

      “No. But your mother called, too.”

      “What did she want?”

      “She wanted me to use my extraordinary persuasive powers to knock some sense into your head.”

      Callie fell back across the bed, slinging her forearm across her eyes. And to think she’d thought she could escape a confrontation by leaving Stephen and her parents notes and high-tailing it to Oklahoma at her great-grandfather’s request before either had time to respond. What a joke! “Well, go ahead. Give it your best shot,” she said in a weary voice.

      “I’ll tell you the same as I told your mother. I don’t interfere in other people’s lives.”

      Though she felt more like curling up in a ball and having a good cry, Callie chuckled at the outrageous lie. “That’ll be the day.”

      “It’s true! And besides,” Prudy added, with an offended sniff, “if I were going to interfere, I’d have stopped you from running away before you even left.”

      Callie sat bolt upright on the bed. “Prudy! I have not run away. I’m simply fulfilling a request Papa made of me.”

      “Oh,