by Arlene James
“I’ll bring you a plate with a glass of milk.”
She piled half a dozen cookies on a plate, poured a talk glass of whole milk and carried them to him, along with a stack of napkins.
“I can’t eat all that,” he protested.
“Eat what you want,” she replied, leaving the snack on the bedside table within easy reach.
He helped himself to the first cookie, took a bite and closed his eyes, humming approval.
“Girl, you know your way around a kitchen.”
“I had to learn early.”
“I imagine you did.”
“Gloria was a big help.”
“My Glory was a jewel,” he said on a sigh.
“I missed her after y’all switched your membership to Countryside Church.”
“The pastor out there was the son of a good friend of mine,” Wes explained, reaching for another cookie. “We wanted to support him. He’s been gone awhile now, but by then we’d sunk pretty deep roots in that church. It’s home.”
“I understand,” Callie said. “I’ve been thinking about going there myself.”
Wes nodded and finished off the second cookie, then reached for the milk, saying, “You’ll like it. Rex is gonna like these. That old baler is giving him a real hard time. Why don’t you take him some?”
“I’ll do that,” Callie said.
Wes brightened appreciably. Callie smiled and returned to the kitchen, where she found a sturdy paper plate and a disposable cup. She filled the plate with cookies and the cup with milk. After parking Bodie on her hip, she went out through the front door, carrying the plate with the cup nestled in its center.
She entered the barn through the wide rolling door nearest the road. Rex was bent over the long, mechanical arm of the baler, growling at something.
“Maybe this will help,” she said.
He jerked upright in surprise, a ratchet in his hand. His eyebrows peaked when he saw the plate of cookies and cup of milk. “Oh. Uh. Thanks.”
“Your dad thought you might like a snack.”
“Yeah. Looks good. Won’t get that stupid bolt off, though,” he grumped, laying aside the ratchet and stripping off his gloves.
She passed him the plate. He picked up a cookie and tasted it. “Mmm. Make these from scratch?”
“Of course.”
“Dad eat any?”
“He did.”
Rex smiled and winked. “Smart girl.”
“He obviously needs to put on some weight,” she noted.
“You’ve already gotten him to eat more than we’ve been able to since he came home from the hospital. You are a great find.”
“Hold that thought,” she chortled as he gobbled three cookies and chugged half the milk before handing her back the plate and picking up the ratchet again. She figured that she had a small window to make a good impression before her father made his displeasure known.
“Maybe I can get in there without my gloves,” Rex mused, studying the baler.
“Why don’t you lift the arm?” she asked.
“I tried that. More room from the top. Not that it matters. I still can’t get in there to loosen the bolt so I can replace this part.” He tapped an electrical receiver on the arm.
She set the plate on the fender of the baler and held out her hand. “Trade you. Give me the ratchet and hold Bodie.”
“Uh...” He looked at the baby as if he’d never seen one before, and Callie hid a smile.
“She doesn’t bite. Well, she does actually. She’s teething. Just keep anything you don’t want chomped on out of her mouth.” Holding Bodie out with both hands, Callie waited for Rex to take her. He laid down the ratchet, reached, pulled back and gingerly reached out again. His enormous hands more than spanned Bodie’s little torso. “Just tuck her into the fold of your arm,” Callie instructed.
He seemed confused for a moment, but then he folded his left arm beneath the baby and pulled her against his chest. Bodie stuck her hand in her mouth and looked up at him, drooling. Callie picked up the ratchet and went to work.
“She’s got your eyes,” Rex said after a moment.
“Yep, and my hair, poor thing.” Callie tilted her shoulder, maneuvering around the curved teeth of the baling arm.
“What’s wrong with your hair?”
Callie almost had to lay her cheek on the arm of the baler to reach the bolt. “Fine, stick straight, can’t make up its mind what color it is...”
“It’s blond,” he said, sounding confused.
“Several shades of blond.” She found the bolt head and slotted the socket over it, but she couldn’t get enough leverage to budge the thing. Straightening, she said, “We’re going to need an adapter.”
Rex walked over to the workbench against the wall and picked through the toolbox there, returning with a six-inch adapter, Bodie still tucked into the curve of his arm. She seemed perfectly comfortable there, one leg crossed over the other, her gaze studying him. Her pink ruffled booties and matching shorts were absolutely adorable, but Callie noticed that the T-shirt looked a little tight. After he handed over the adapter, he picked up another cookie from the plate on the fender. Callie fixed the socket to the adapter and the adapter to the ratchet.
“So you didn’t go to the hair salon to get your hair like that?” he asked conversationally.
Sputtering laughter, Callie shook her head. “I’ve seen the inside of a hair salon exactly twice in my life. The second time was to fix what I had done the first time. Me and perms do not go together.”
“Perms? Like curly hair?”
“Think corkscrews coming out of long, blond steel wool. I might as well have put my head in a fryer. I cut it off and I kept cutting it until the last of the damage was gone.” She blew at her bangs. They tended to lie flat on her forehead. “It darkened up and got all stripy while I was pregnant with Bodie.” She shrugged. “Nothing I can do about it.”
“Why would you?” he asked. “I know women who pay small fortunes to have hair like that. It looks good.”
She blinked at him, ridiculously pleased. “Thanks.” Unable to remember the last time anyone had told her anything about her looked good, she focused on the job at hand, a little breathless.
Within moments, she had the socket firmly affixed to the bolt again, but she still couldn’t budge it.
“You’ll have to manage this,” she said, turning her head to find Rex sharing his cookie with Bodie. “What are you doing? She can’t eat that!” The little scamp smacked her lips in delight, her pale eyebrows arched high.
“I—I thought... I mean, I didn’t know... She likes it,” he finished lamely.
“Of course she likes it,” Callie said, trying not to laugh, “but she’s not supposed to have it.” She pinned him with a direct look over her shoulder, her hands filled with the ratchet and bolt. “She’s just started eating solid foods, and sugar, chocolate and nuts are not on the menu.” Seeking to make a liar of her, Bodie leaned forward, her mouth nibbling on the bit of cookie that Rex still held in his fingers. “Will you please get rid of that and come here?” Callie barked.
He flung the cookie bit away and stepped toward her, wiping his hand on his shirt.
“You’ve got it on?” he asked in an incredulous tone.
“Yes. Now turn the thing.”
He covered her hand with his much larger one and gave the ratchet a single Herculean wrench, then another and another... Callie felt the bolt drop into the socket cup.
“That’s it. Short bolt.”
Rex gave a huge sigh of relief and let go, backing away. “Woman, you are worth your weight in gold. I have been working on that for hours and hours.”
Laughing, Callie carefully extricated the tool and the bolt from the machinery. “Replace your part, a
nd I’ll help you bolt it back on,” she volunteered. “Might want to disconnect the battery first.”
“Already done,” he said, passing Bodie back to her. He smiled, and the warmth of it did funny things to Callie’s insides. “Thank you,” he went on. “Seriously. I couldn’t have done this without you. And I’m sorry about the cookie,” he added sheepishly.
“No problem.” She handed over the ratchet but kept the bolt, pretending to study it, her heart beating a little faster than it should have.
He took her hand in his, studying the bolt with her. The man’s hand felt unusually warm, almost hot. Maybe that was why she shivered.
“This is rusty. No wonder it was so hard to get off,” he said.
Realizing he was right, she cleared her throat. “Got any cleaner?”
“There’s a jar with other bolts on the workbench.”
Pulling away from him, she carried the bolt to the workbench and added it to the jar of reddish liquid before turning toward the house, Bodie riding her hip. “I’ll go check on Wes, get the laundry started and come back.”
“Great,” Rex said. “Hey, how do you know so much about this stuff?”
She turned in midstride. “My dad owns the Feed and Grain, remember? And he didn’t seem to know I was female until Teddy Gilmer asked me to the homecoming dance. Until then I was just after-school help with small hands that could get into tight places.” She wiggled her fingers.
“Remind me to thank your dad,” Rex said, smiling again and bowing slightly.
“Oh, I think you’ll get your chance,” Callie replied. Unfortunately, she doubted that any of the Billings family would feel anything close to gratitude once Stuart Crowsen showed himself.
She just hoped that she hadn’t brought them more trouble. If anyone could stand up to Stuart Crowsen, though, it was Wes Billings.
At least, Wes could do it if he was physically stronger. She’d just have to pray that was the case, and in the meantime, she’d do all that she could to prove her worth around here—and keep her daughter from eating cookies.
Chapter Three
The afternoon turned hot, with temperatures shooting up to the midnineties. Surrounded by large trees and deep porches, the old house felt comfortable enough, except for the kitchen. Used to the central air-conditioning of her father’s house, Callie soon felt herself flagging. She opened several windows, especially upstairs, and turned on all the ceiling fans she could find, including the one in the kitchen. Soon, a pleasant breeze cooled the place. She wondered how well that would do in the coming triple-digit heat of deep summer, however.
Figuring that Rex would need something cold, she made a pitcher of iced tea, then carried a glass to Wes, only to find him fast asleep. Pleased to see that he’d eaten all of his cookies and emptied his milk glass, she tiptoed away again, moved the laundry from the washer to the dryer and went out to help Rex reattach that bolt.
He drained the tumbler of iced tea that she brought him in one long gulp.
“You are quickly making yourself indispensable around here,” he gasped, holding the cold glass against his forehead.
She just smiled. “I made the tea sweet because Wes can use the calories, but if you prefer it unsweetened, I can do that, too.”
“I don’t need the calories,” he said, “but then I don’t usually work like this. Either way is fine.” He set aside the glass. “Did the AC unit kick on?”
“I didn’t know there was an AC unit.”
Rex sighed. “I think it’s broken. Dad works outside so much, I doubt he’s even bothered with it in years. For him, just getting out of the sun is usually enough. I’ll take a look at it first chance I get.”
Callie nodded, aware that Rex was overwhelmed at the moment. “Ready to replace that bolt?”
“Yep.” He looked at Bodie, who rubbed her eyes with a fist. “Must be nap time.”
“She doesn’t get a nap until her momma’s ready to start dinner,” Callie said, jiggling the baby on her hip. “Let’s do this. I’ve got clothes in the dryer.”
“Everything’s ready for you.” He nodded at the tool and clean bolt waiting on the fender of the baler. “You’ve got the housework down to a science, don’t you?” he muttered, gingerly taking Bodie into his hands.
“You’d be surprised how quickly you figure it out,” Callie said, fitting the bolt head into the socket. “A few sleepless nights and haphazard days and it all starts falling into place. I trust you’ve tested the connections and everything works.”
“Yes. Praise God! I’m serious. I have prayed repeatedly about this thing. I can’t tell you how relieved I am to have it running. As it is, we have to use a custom cutter on the oats and sorghum. I was beginning to fear we’d have to hire someone to do the hay, too.”
“Are you using Dean Paul Pryor for your custom cutting?” Callie asked, bending over the baler arm to find the bolt hole.
“I think that’s who Dad mentioned. Do you know him?”
“Everyone knows Dean. When he sold his granddaddy’s farm to pay for his equipment, everyone thought he was crazy. Well, my father did. Dad would have loaned him the money, but Dean didn’t want to borrow. He said that way he stood to lose the farm and the equipment, and you know what? He was right.” She finally found the hole and got the bolt seated. With a few quick turns, she had it secured. She looked over her shoulder at Rex, who was tapping Bodie’s nose. “You’d better finish this.”
“Ah.” He came forward, wrapped his hand around hers on the ratchet and pulled.
She slipped her hand free, disturbed by the heat that radiated up her arm, and took Bodie from him. He grunted as he pulled the bolt tight.
“That should do it.” Grinning, he shook the ratchet free and extricated it from the baler teeth. “You’ve earned your week’s wages already.”
Callie smiled, but then the sound of tires on the dirt road out front had them both looking in that direction. A moment later, a vehicle door slammed, and a male voice boomed, “Callie Dianne!”
Her heart beginning to pound, Callie swallowed and frowned apologetically at Rex. “I’m sorry about this,” she said, aware that her voice trembled. “My father’s come to call.” She’d hoped to have more time. Reluctantly, she moved toward the front of the barn, silently praying that this confrontation wouldn’t be as difficult as she feared.
She heard Rex set aside the tool and follow her. Stuart had made it halfway up the path toward the house when Callie reluctantly called out to him.
“I’m here, Dad.”
He spun around, a raging bull of a man. Not quite six feet tall and built like a brick wall, Stuart hadn’t changed much in the past twenty years, but then he’d always seemed middle-aged, angry and overbearing. His flattop haircut added to the squareness of his face, as did his blunt nose and pugnacious chin. Callie had never been able to see anything of herself in him. Long ago, she’d learned to remain calm in the face of his rages, and he’d never physically hurt her, but he wielded power with purpose and impunity to achieve his own ends.
“Get in the car!” he demanded, pointing.
Callie took a deep breath, cradled Bodie against her, ignored the quaking of her own knees and shook her head. “No.”
“You’re going home.”
Callie swallowed to steady her voice and said, “Wes needs me, Dad. I’m going to stay here to help Mr. Billings.”
“Get in the car!” Stuart roared, starting toward her.
Despite the slamming of her heart, Callie stood her ground. “I’m not going, Dad.”
To her relief, Rex stepped in front her. “Mr. Crowsen, I’m Rex Billings.”
“I know who you are,” Stuart growled. “Get out of my way.” He came to a halt, however, in the middle of the road.
“My father is ill, sir. I have my hands full w
ith the ranch. Until my sisters can get here, we need Callie’s help.”
“Get other help.”
“I don’t have time to find other help,” Rex argued reasonably. “And Callie’s agreed to work for us.”
“She’s my daughter, and she’s coming home with me,” Stuart insisted.
Rex widened his stance and folded his arms. It was the very pose that Bo had taken when he’d told Stuart that he and Callie were getting married. Callie had feared that the announcement would come to violence, but Bo had promised otherwise, and he had kept his word.
“You have no legal authority over Callie,” Rex said.
“That’s my granddaughter!” Stuart bawled, throwing out a finger.
“Do you have legal custody of her?” Rex asked.
“He doesn’t,” Callie answered quietly, her voice wavering.
Rex didn’t so much as glance in her direction. He kept his focus on her father and his tone level. “You have no legal recourse here, Mr. Crowsen. I understand that you’re upset, but Callie and Bodie are safe and comfortable. You have my word on it. Moreover, Callie is being handsomely paid.”
That upset Stuart even more, though Rex wouldn’t have understood that. “You stay out of this, Billings! Callie, you’re coming home with me.”
“No, Dad, I’m not,” she said firmly, emboldened by Rex’s support. “I’ve been telling you for a while now that Bodie and I need to make our own way.”
Stuart thumped himself in the chest. He never wore anything but a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled back and dark slacks.
“I provide for you,” he declared. “You have no need to earn money.”
“But I do,” she told him softly. “I’m afraid the price for your provision is too high.”
They both knew she was talking about Ben Dolent. Stuart heaved several deep breaths, considering his next move. She imagined that he was tallying up any loans that he held on the Billings’ properties, any feed bills due, any equipment orders. The amount must have been negligible, for he shook his head and pointed a thick finger at her.
