by Arlene James
Meaty hands reached out to steady her as she landed after hopping backward from the top rail of the fence.
“Careful. Don’t hurt yourself.”
She’d know that oddly thin voice anywhere, and pulled away as politely as she could manage. “I’m fine.”
“I thought you were keeping house and cooking for the Billingses,” Ben Dolent said, squinting at her from above a stiff smile.
“That’s right.” She brushed her hands on the seat of her jeans and started for the house. “Need to get back and check on Wes and the baby.”
“How is old Wes?” Ben asked, hurrying to keep up with her. He wasn’t much taller than her, and his short legs meant that he had to take twice as many steps. She resisted the urge to lengthen her stride.
“Still weak but mending. He’ll start chemo before long.”
Ben clucked his tongue. He had a habit of doing that. “Terrible thing, cancer. I reckon Wes’s daughters will want to nurse him through that.”
“When they can,” Callie said. “Right now, I’m it, though.”
“You know you don’t have to do this,” Ben said, pumping his arms in an attempt to keep pace with her. “I’ll gladly hire professional help for old Wes.”
Callie felt her jaw drop. She came to a halt beneath the bur oak in the front yard and glared at him. “You’d cheat me out of my wages?”
Huffing for air, Ben threw up his hands, his round face registering shock and surprise. Obviously he hadn’t considered all the ramifications when he’d agreed to this little ploy of Stuart’s. “No! I—I just want to spare you the work.”
“But I enjoy the work, Ben. And where would you find professional help around here?”
“There’s an agency over in Lawton,” he squawked as she turned and headed for the porch.
“That’s over an hour away,” she tossed over her shoulder.
“But they’ll send help if it’s live-in,” he argued, following on her heels.
“To cook and clean and care for Wes?” she demanded, turning on him.
“Nursing care,” he answered lamely, backing up a step.
“Wes doesn’t need nursing right now as much as he needs good food, clean clothes and company,” she declared. “Now, the Billings family have hired me, and I’m staying. That’s all there is to it.”
Ben lifted his chin, what there was of it. “Callie, listen to reason.”
“You’re not talking reason. You’re saying what Stuart Crowsen has told you to say. Goodbye, Ben.”
“I trust that’s an end to it,” she heard Rex say and turned to find him on the pathway behind them.
Ridiculously pleased, she stepped up onto the porch and went into the house without so much as a backward glance. She heard Ben and Rex speaking, but the conversation was short. She breathed a silent sigh of relief when she heard Ben’s vehicle leave a few moments later.
Rex didn’t mention the encounter, but after dinner she walked into the kitchen from Wes’s room to find Rex waiting for her. He’d leaned a hip against the kitchen counter and waited with folded arms. When he saw her, he straightened and calmly announced, “You have company again.”
Puzzled, she moved into the dining area, Rex following on her heels. When she saw Ben standing in the living room with a bouquet of flowers in one hand and his cowboy hat in the other, Callie didn’t know who she most wanted to slap, Ben or Rex. Or her father.
Instead she kept her apron on, silently prayed for patience, smiled and said, “Why, Ben. How nice. These must be for the patient.”
Ben looked blindsided as she took the flowers from his hand. “Uh...”
“I’ll put these in water and see if Wes is up to visitors.”
She left him standing in the living room with Rex, who seemed to be trying not to laugh as he rocked back on his heels.
As she took down a large jar and arranged the flowers in it—they were the same ones she’d seen in the grocery a couple days earlier—silence stretched thin in the other room. Finally, Rex spoke.
“Dad’s usually pretty tired after he’s eaten. Just coming to the table takes a lot out of him, but at least he’s doing that now, and I’m sure he’d want to thank you personally for the flowers.”
“Oh. Uh. I don’t want to bother him,” Ben muttered. “Just...wanted him to know I’m thinking of him.”
“That’s very good of you,” Rex said carefully.
Callie bit her lip and stayed right where she was. After a moment fraught with uncertainty, Ben mumbled about calling again sometime and left. Callie didn’t move a muscle until she heard the screen door slam behind him. Only then did she creep to the doorway between the kitchen and dining area to peek out. Rex stood just on the other side, his arms folded.
“So that’s your boyfriend, huh?” Rex teased.
She glared at him. “Do not call him that, even as a joke.”
Rex grinned, splitting the beard-shadowed lower half of his face with the blindingly white crescent of his smile. “Poor guy’s fighting way out of his class.”
The compliment pleased her, which was exactly why she didn’t even acknowledge it.
“Why did you let him in?”
“What did you expect me to do? When he asked me this afternoon if you and I are ‘getting together,’ I told him no. I didn’t imagine he’d take that as permission to come courting.”
She sighed, her face flaming. “I’m sorry. He had no right to ask you that.”
“Seems a reasonable question,” Rex said in a low voice. “I’d want to know if I was him.”
She shook her head. “I’ve told him over and over again that I’m not interested in him, but my father just keeps sending him after me.”
“Obviously your father is the one you have to convince.”
“Don’t you think I’ve tried?” she demanded. “He just insists that Ben will take care of me and Bodie if something happens to him, as if I can’t be trusted to take care of the two of us.” Wincing, she admitted, “I guess my record isn’t too good, but it’s still infuriating and appalling. I have to prove to my father that I can provide for me and my daughter.”
“Okay,” Rex said, turning back toward the living room. “I get it. Your wildly overprotective father wants you settled with a man he knows will provide for you the way he wants you provided for. You don’t want the man he’s chosen and are intent on proving that you can provide for your daughter on your own.”
“That about sums it up.” Except for the part where her dad would go to extremes to get his way. She just hoped, prayed, that Wes Billings had been smart enough to stay out of Stuart Crowsen’s grasp.
* * *
The repaired baler lasted all of one day in the field then broke a drive chain. Rex called in to town to see if Crowsen had a replacement. To his surprise, not only did the Feed and Grain have the part, Crowsen offered to have it delivered at once. Rex agreed to receive the delivery at the house and should not have been surprised when Dolent arrived with the drive chain, though why the manager of the grain silo would be delivering equipment parts could not have been more evident, especially when he asked to go into the house for a drink of water. Rex offered him iced tea from the thermos that Callie had filled for him that morning, but Dolent apparently craved water.
Dolent did not discourage easily; Rex would give him that. Unfortunately, the man didn’t appear bright enough to realize that he had zero chance with a woman like Callie.
Even though time was of the essence, Rex walked Dolent inside, insisted he take a moment to say hello to Wes and walked Dolent out again, with nothing more than a cool drink and a glimpse of Callie, who was busy preparing lunch. He made sure Ben saw the flowers in the jar on the dresser in Wes’s room. Then he gave Ben a hearty handshake and his sincere thanks before all but physically tossing the du
llard into the Crowsen Feed and Grain pickup truck.
Obviously frustrated, Dolent started up the engine, backed the truck up and drove away, but Rex stood where he was until the pickup disappeared from view. Callie had sent him a look of thanks when he’d steered Ben out of the kitchen, and Rex privately admitted to some personal irritation mixed with his amusement over the man’s dogged persistence. Surely even Ben would soon get the message: Callie was not for him.
The fact that she was not for Rex, either, was beside the point.
That didn’t keep Rex from worrying that Dolent might be at the house making a nuisance of himself while he was out in the field trying to replace the drive chain on the baler. He finally decided that he didn’t have the proper tools to repair the baler in the field. Hot, tired, disgusted and frustrated, Rex hitched the thing to the ranch truck and hauled it back to the barn.
He thought Callie might come out to see what was up, but she seemed as determined to keep her distance from him as he ought to keep his distance from her. At least Dolent wasn’t within sight.
Rex left the baler in the barn and called an early end to the workday. It was Saturday, after all. Not that work on the ranch ever let up.
He walked into the house to find two things that shocked him: it was cool, and Callie had just pushed Wes into the living room in the hated wheelchair that he’d vowed never to use.
“Pick your jaw up off the floor,” Wes grumbled. “I got sick of that bed, but the living room is a long way from my bedroom. Besides, Callie pointed out that I could get to church tomorrow if I was willing to give this chair a go.”
Rex had not intended to take his father to church this Sunday, but if doing so was the cost of getting him out of that bed more often and into this chair, so be it. Telegraphing his thanks to Callie with a smile, Rex nodded. Bodie let out a squeal from the other room, and Wes chuckled as Callie hurried to tend to her.
“That girl never stops hopping. Reminds me of when you kids were small.” He looked up at Rex and asked, “Got time for a game of chess before dinner?”
“Just let me clean up first,” Rex answered.
“Sure.” Wes picked up the TV remote from the coffee table at his knee and aimed it at the big flat-screen that Rex and his sisters had bought him for Christmas last year.
Rex hurried to the stairs, but a few steps up he paused to look down on the familiar scene below. Cowhide rugs covered plank flooring. The oak occasional tables, at least fifty years old, stood as solid and strong as ever. The leather on the old couch had started to crack in places, and his father’s recliner, easily the newest piece in the room, sagged and dipped. The shades on the glass and wrought-iron lamps had yellowed horribly, as had the blinds on the windows. Yet, the room exuded comfort and stability.
Home, he thought, stunned by the realization. Even after all these years, this was still home in a way that the luxury condo he owned in Tulsa never could be. Everything here said home to him, from the rugged cross hanging over the fireplace to the schoolhouse clock and candelabra on the mantel. Funny, it hadn’t felt that way before Callie had come.
Shaking his head, he climbed the stairs. For the first time, he faced the possibility of what might happen to the place if Wes could never resume control of the day-to-day operations. The Straight Arrow would essentially cease to exist. They’d have to sell off the acreage in order to pay the taxes on the home place, the house and the few acres surrounding it. But for whom? After Wes, who would live here?
Rex hoped to have children of his own someday, but he wasn’t getting any younger. Thirty-seven wasn’t too old to start a family, of course, and when he did finally have his own children they surely might have some interest in this place. That they might not seemed...unthinkable suddenly. Unbearable.
He wondered why he hadn’t realized it before now.
Later he played chess with his dad while Callie puttered around the kitchen and moved in and out of the living room, carrying Bodie. They enjoyed another fine meal together, and afterward Callie played quietly with Bodie on the floor while he and Wes watched television. Then she put the baby to sleep, and he listened to her moving about the house until she, too, turned in for the night. Wes went to bed as soon as his program ended. Rex sat up alone, listening to the TV and worrying about his father, only to dream of Callie when he finally did sleep and woke the next morning thinking of his mother and church.
It had been some time since Rex had attended church with any regularity, but Countryside had been good to his parents, and he’d happily fellowship there. He put on a suit and tie even before he headed downstairs for breakfast. Adjusting the knot in his tie, Rex looked at his image in the spotty mirror over the dresser in his bedroom.
His mom had finally removed the school logos and sports posters from the walls, but the rodeo-themed curtains and bedcovers remained. Once upon a time, his chief ambition in life had been to make a name for himself in rodeo. His father had wisely insisted that he do so after college. The urge hadn’t survived his first semester at Oklahoma University. Eventually he’d given up his jeans for a suit, but the boots...well, those had just gotten more expensive. He wouldn’t know how to walk in shoes. He did know how to turn down the collar on a shirt made especially for him and shrug into a jacket tailored to his exact measurements.
The suit jacket hung a little loose around his middle now. No surprise there. He’d had to take up his belt a notch when he’d pulled on his pants this morning.
He picked up a brush and swept back his thick brown hair. It wasn’t as dark as it had been even a week ago. He needed to remember to wear a hat. He still had a pair of them in the closet.
Strapping on his wristwatch, he checked the time. Better get a move on. Wes would need help dressing, and loading Wes and his wheelchair into the truck would take a few extra minutes. He went out along the hallway to the stairs. Before his foot took the first step down, Callie came out of her room with Bodie in her arms.
He could do nothing but stare at the wholesome beauty of her. She wore a spring-green dress, simple and sleeveless with a gently flared skirt and modestly scooped neckline. Bodie wore the same white sandals as her mom and a delicate pink-and-white striped dress over ruffled bloomers.
“I don’t know which one of you looks more adorable,” he said. Callie dropped her gaze, a delicate blush coloring her cheeks.
“That would be Bodie,” she said in a playful voice, jostling her daughter. “Thank you.”
He stepped back, waving a hand for her and the baby to go first. “You’re welcome.”
She reached inside her room and snagged a large handbag before hurrying onto the stairs. “You, um, clean up well.”
Surprised—and ridiculously pleased—he slid a hand over his diminished middle, confiding, “Lost a little weight.”
“Working in the heat will do that.”
“No kidding. It will also fry your brain.”
She laughed, but whatever she might have said got lost in the sound of knocking at the front door. Tossing a glance over her shoulder at Rex, Callie hurried downstairs. He joined her in the entryway, just as she pulled open the carved oak door.
“Dolent,” Rex said, hoping he didn’t sound as disgusted as he felt.
At the same time she exclaimed, “Ben!”
The squat silo manager stood there in a too-large, too-pale Western suit and a tan beaver cowboy hat. What looked like a brand-new Bible was folded against his chest in one chubby fist.
“I come to take you to church,” he announced happily. “I know you’ll want to go to your own church in town.”
“No,” Callie said flatly, her hand still on the door.
Dolent’s smile faltered. “But you don’t ever miss church. Your husband was a minister, wasn’t he?”
“He was,” Callie said. Surprised, Rex glanced at her and back at Dolent. “T
hat’s not the point.”
“I don’t understand,” Dolent whined.
“I’ll be attending with the Billings family from now on,” Callie explained.
“But—”
“Wes might need me,” she said, starting to close the door, “but thanks, anyway.”
“Wait!” Dolent insisted. “What if he’s too sick to go to church?”
“I’ll make sure she gets there,” Rex heard himself say. Callie’s shoulders lowered, as if she relaxed, and he stepped closer, grasping the edge of the door above her hand. Bodie reached for it, too, but her arm was much too short, so she touched Rex’s arm instead. Somehow reassured by that tiny hand damp with drool, he promised, “Even if Wes is too ill to attend church, I’ll see to it that Callie and Bodie get there.”
Callie shifted, bringing her back into the lightest contact possible with his upraised arm. Rex felt that contact all the way into his chest.
“You shouldn’t have come, Ben,” Callie said gently but firmly, “not without calling first. I could’ve saved you the trip if you’d just called.”
Ben Dolent looked as if he might explode. Or cry.
Suddenly, without another word, he spun on his heels and hurried across the porch.
“Bye-bye,” Bodie said, waving the damp hand with which she’d touched Rex.
Rex pushed the door closed, just in case Callie might be thinking better of it. She bowed her head then slowly turned and looked up at him.
“I feel like I just kicked a puppy.”
“A puppy that needs some training.”
Callie smiled. “True. By the way, thank you.”
“For?”
“Promising to take us to church regularly.”
“Ah. No problem.”
She nodded, giving him one of those small, close-lipped smiles of hers. The problem with that particular smile was that it increasingly made him want to kiss her, and that was not part of the plan.
Unfortunately, for a moment, he couldn’t remember just what the plan was supposed to be.
