by Linda Warren
“What’s our last name?”
Adam and Brit remained quiet, waiting for Mary Beth to reply first. “Austin,” she shouted. “My name is Mary Beth Austin and I’m from Chicago, Illinois, ’cause that’s where my nana lived. I know that.”
Callie had chosen Austin because it would be easy for them to remember—Callie had gone to school there. And Chicago because John’s mother had lived there before she’d died two years ago.
“My name is Brittany Austin and I can’t wait to ride a horse,” Brit responded.
“Don’t be stupid,” Adam said. “We don’t have a horse.”
“Callie!” Brit wailed.
“We’ll talk about the horse later. First we have to find our new home.”
Callie knew it would be difficult for them to call her mother so they’d agreed they would just call her by her name. She would explain it the best way she could—being so young when Adam had been born, she’d allowed him to call her by her first name, and the other two children had followed his lead. Telling lies was becoming a habit.
There was a vegetable-and-fruit stand on the outskirts of town and a used car lot. It was time to stop for gas. Buddy’s Gas and Auto Repair Shop was up ahead so she pulled in.
It was an old station, probably had been there for years, but the gas pumps were new. A wrecker parked to the side had Buddy’s written across the door. An old wood fence separated the station from a junkyard. Through the broken and missing boards weeds grew wild and she could see rows of junked cars on the other side. A large building stood behind the station and Callie assumed this was the auto shop. Across from the pumps was a shiny Coke machine and a small office. Attached to the office was a double garage that had a car on a lift. A man was under it, looking up. To the right there was a small white frame house with a chain-link fence around it.
Callie got out and wrinkled her nose at the strong smell of gas, oil and rubber. The man walked toward her. He looked to be somewhere in his late forties or early fifties and he wore jeans, baseball cap and a chambray western shirt splattered with oil stains. He wiped his hands on a grease rag.
“Need help, ma’am?” His smile was friendly.
Callie was used to filling up her own car. She didn’t think that kind of service was offered anymore.
“I just need some gas.”
“Sure ’nuff.” He jammed the rag in his back pocket and proceeded to remove the gas cap then stuck the nozzle into the tank.
“Can I get out, please?” Brit called.
“Yes,” Callie said, thinking they probably needed to stretch their legs. They’d stayed at small motels and eaten take-out food in roadside parks so no one would recognize them. The rest of the time they’d been in the car.
They climbed out and stood by Callie. Brit plopped her hat on her head and tightened the string under her chin.
“You folks passin’ through?” the man asked.
“No. We’re here for the Home Free Program. I was approved for one of the houses.”
“You don’t say. Mighty good.” He nodded. “We need more youngins in Homestead. I’m Buddy, by the way.”
“I’m Callie Austin and these are my children, Adam, Brittany and Mary Beth.” This was the first time she’d said those words out loud and she found it quite easy. “Nice to meet you, Buddy.”
He looked at her blond hair pulled back in a ponytail with a colorful scrunchie and she could almost read his mind—too young to have three kids.
“Plumb nice to meet you, ma’am,” he said, then glanced at the children. “Your youngins, too.”
“Have you got a horse?” Brit asked, looking up at him, and Callie was relieved at the change of subject.
“Nope, little missy, but know lots of folk who do.”
“I’m going to be a cowgirl.”
“Mighty fine hat for a cowgirl.”
The conversation stalled as a sheriff’s car drove up to the station. Buddy withdrew the nozzle and replaced the cap. Callie’s nerves tightened. She wanted to leave as fast as she could, but she had to pay for the gas. Glancing at the amount on the pump, she quickly dug in her purse.
“We better go,” Adam whispered, nudging her.
Callie handed Buddy the money as a tall man got out of the car. He opened the back door of his vehicle and a black Lab bounded out and loped straight to Buddy.
Mary Beth, who was glued to Callie’s side, came alive and moved in the direction of the dog. She loved animals.
“Buddy, I got a call from Mrs. Meyers. Rascal’s chasing her chickens again.”
Unable to resist, Callie glanced toward the strong, masculine voice. In khaki pants, a white shirt and cowboy boots, with a light-colored Stetson hat and a gun on his hip, the man in his mid-thirties moved with an easy swagger. She was sure she’d seen him in her dreams or fantasies at one time or another. He was like the Marlboro man and Brad Pitt rolled into a gorgeous package of Texas masculinity. She brought herself up short. She must be experiencing road lag. Or a mental block. The last thing she needed was to be attracted to the local sheriff. For that’s what he was. It said so right there on his badge attached to the shirt that covered his very broad chest.
Buddy rubbed the dog’s head. “He just likes to play, Wade.”
“Try telling that to Mrs. Meyers. She said her chickens won’t lay for a week now.”
“I’ll go over yonder and apologize.”
“What’s his name?” Mary Beth asked, patting the dog.
“Rascal,” Buddy said. “Rascal’s a bad dog.”
“Better keep him penned up for a while or at least until Mrs. Meyers cools off.”
“Sure ’nuff, Wade.” He motioned toward Callie. “This is Callie Austin and her youngins. New arrivals for the Home Free Program.”
“Howdy, ma’am. Wade Montgomery, sheriff of Loveless County.” He tipped his hat and held out his hand. “Welcome to Homestead.”
Callie had no choice. She took his hand—a hand that was strong and firm—probably like the man himself. Then she made the mistake of looking into his brown eyes and felt herself melting like butter on a hot grill. Heavens, he was handsome. And the sheriff. That little fact had her stepping back and taking control of her emotions.
“Thank you. We really have to go. It’s been a long trip.” She took Brit’s arm, but Mary Beth was entranced with the dog and Callie knew it wasn’t going to be easy to get her away from him.
“You have the Hellmuth house.”
Callie glanced up. “Yes,” she answered, wondering how he knew that.
As if he was clairvoyant, he added, “I’m on the Home Free Committee so I know about your situation.”
Chills trickled down her spine and she resisted the urge to bite her nails. “My situation?”
“Yes. Your husband passing away and your desire for a fresh start in a small town to raise your children.”
It took all of her effort not to show relief. Of course, he would have read her application—an application that was all lies. She had to concentrate on who she was supposed to be and not who she really was. And she definitely had to stop acting so guilty.
She put an arm around Brit and Adam. “We’re looking forward to our new life.”
He looked at her with a strange glint in his eyes. “I was surprised you applied for that house.”
Did the man ever stop with the conversation? She wanted to leave, but she couldn’t do that until the sheriff was satisfied. “Why?” she asked abruptly.
The good sheriff didn’t seem to notice her annoyance. “Because it’s very run-down and needs a lot of work. Miranda said she explained all that to you and you still wanted it.”
“Yes.” Her backbone stiffened. “I plan to fix it up.”
“We had the gas, water and electricity turned on, but I’m not sure it’s livable.”
What business is it of yours? she wanted to ask, but bit her tongue. “We’ll manage,” she said instead.
“I’ll just drive over there with you and make
sure. Follow me.”
“There’s no…” Her words trailed away. The sheriff was already strolling to his car.
“Let’s go,” Callie said to the kids.
“Can we take Rascal?” Mary Beth asked, stroking the dog.
“Rascal belongs to Buddy,” Callie reminded her.
“Oh.” Mary Beth’s bottom lip quivered.
“I’ll bring him over to see you,” Buddy said. “How’s that?”
“’Kay.” Mary Beth nodded and climbed into the Suburban. “Bye, Rascal. Bye, Buddy.”
As they drove away, Adam whispered, “What are we going to do?” Fear was evident in his every word.
“For one thing, we’re going to act normal and stop being so nervous and tensing at the sight of every police officer. We’re here now and it’s time to start our new life.”
“But he’s the sheriff,” Adam stated, in case she wasn’t aware of that.
“Relax, Adam. This is Homestead, Texas. No one has heard of us or even cares for that matter. We have a new beginning. Is everyone ready?” She held up her hand for a high five.
Reluctantly, Adam raised his hand and gave her a high five. “Ready,” he said.
“Ready,” Brit and Mary Beth chorused from the backseat.
“I want a horse,” Brit said.
“I want a dog,” Mary Beth added.
Adam turned to glare at his sisters. “Will you two grow up?”
“Shut up,” Brit snapped back. “You’re not our boss and I’m nine and I don’t want to grow up just yet. So there, you big bully.”
“You’re stupid,” Adam told her.
“You’re stupider.”
“Time out,” Callie intervened. “Everybody quiet. Not one more word.”
She didn’t need them arguing right now. She had to keep her focus on the sheriff. As she took a ragged breath, she wondered if she was ever going to breathe normally again.
Following the sheriff’s car toward the business district of Homestead, she hoped something would jog her memory from her childhood, but nothing looked familiar. The large yellow stone courthouse with granite columns was in the center of a town square shaded by big live oaks with drooping branches. Inviting benches were nestled beneath them. Several older men were sitting there chatting, whiling away the pleasant summer day.
Callie glanced up at the imposing clock tower and the scene triggered something in her mind, but for the life of her she didn’t know what it was.
Soon her attention was diverted by the town itself. Many businesses were boarded up. The town had a deserted feel and she could see what Miranda was talking about. People were leaving, looking for better jobs, a better life. It was a sad scenario for a small town. Hence the Home Free Program—a way to bring people back.
Miranda knew that Callie didn’t plan to stay forever, but she’d promised her a year and to fix up the house. Callie intended to do that. Her lawyer had told her it would probably take a year for her to gain custody of the children. At that time, a judge would decide if Callie would face any charges for abducting them. That part she didn’t want to think about.
She turned from Main Street onto Bluebonnet and the feel of bygone days was very evident. There was no Gap or Starbucks, just a kolache shop, a hardware store, a general store called Tanner’s and a dollar store that was the closest thing she saw to a clothing store. The storefronts looked old, but their bricks and mortar had stood the test of time. Their occupants had not.
A truck pulling a horse trailer was parked parallel at the hardware store, blocking traffic. The sheriff stopped to speak with the driver. A cowboy stepped out of the truck in worn boots and jeans.
“Look, Callie, there’s a cowboy,” Brit shouted. “Wow! He’s got boots. I need boots. Can I get boots?”
“Me, too,” Mary Beth chimed in.
“We’ll see,” Callie answered absently, her thoughts on other things.
She was glad when the sheriff got back in his car and continued on his way. When he stopped at the large three-story Victorian house, Callie caught her breath. It was exactly like she knew it would be. Of course, she’d seen a photo, but seeing it in person was so much better. The paint was peeling and a leaning pillar supported the first- and second-floor wraparound verandas. Some of the gingerbread trim was missing. The windows had cobwebs and weeds grew to the windowsills. The house was not in good shape. But she fell in love the moment she saw it.
Getting out, she waited as Wade strolled toward her, his badge glinting in the sunlight, reminding her of who he was. Her first thought was to run and to get as far away from Wade Montgomery as she could. He could end their new life as quickly as it had begun. She couldn’t let that happen. No way was she letting the sheriff take her and the kids back.
She had to get rid of him.
CHAPTER TWO
WADE’S MIND KICKED into overdrive as he walked toward Callie Austin. She wasn’t what he was expecting—something about her wasn’t quite right. She was defensive, nervous and way too attractive, with blond flaxen hair, blue eyes and a nicely packaged body that had curves in all the right places. He was surprised he noticed that. After his son’s death and his subsequent divorce, that part of his nature had taken a vacation. He wasn’t sure whether to be happy or not that it was back.
Looking at Callie’s blond beauty, he had a feeling she could be trouble—to his peace of mind. Something he’d fought very hard to achieve in the past four years.
“I called Miranda and she’s on the way over,” he told her as he reached her side. “The house is open so you can take a look around.”
The kids tumbled out of the car.
“Thank you,” she replied. “I’m sure you’re a very busy man so I can handle it from here.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Are you trying to get rid of me?” God, she had the most beautiful eyes and he couldn’t resist teasing her.
“Of course not. I just don’t want to impose.” He got a frosty reply for his efforts.
“Since I’m on the Home Free Committee, you’re not imposing. Consider it part of my job.”
“Okay, then.” She gave in ungraciously and Wade wondered why she was so anxious for him to go. It was probably nothing—just his lawman’s instincts. Callie was in a new town so she had a right to be apprehensive and cautious.
“It’s gross,” the boy remarked, staring at the house.
“Is it haunted?” the bigger girl with the cowboy hat asked in an eager voice.
“I want my mommy,” the smaller girl cried, clutching a doll.
Callie pulled the child close to her side and he could see that all her defenses were out of love—like his had been for his son.
“Yes. The house needs work,” Wade said, looking at the kids. They all had blue eyes and blond hair like their mother, except the younger girl’s was a shade lighter. “And what are your names?”
Callie introduced them.
“Well, Brit, to my knowledge the house is not haunted.”
“Oh.” Her face fell in disappointment.
“But if you see a ghost, you call me and I’ll come arrest him.”
“Cool.” She smiled, then quickly asked, “Do you have a horse?”
“Sure do. I live on a ranch with my dad and we have several horses.”
“Do you let kids ride them?” She tapped her hat. “See, I got a hat.”
“We better look at the house.” Callie pulled Brit toward the walkway.
It didn’t escape Wade’s notice that Callie didn’t want him talking to the children. That fueled his instincts further.
“We forgot Fred,” Mary Beth cried and ran back to the car. Callie followed more slowly.
Wade was thinking dog. A goldfish was the last thing on his mind.
Callie carried a fishbowl in both arms.
Wade frowned. “You brought a goldfish from Chicago?”
“Yes,” she answered in a clipped tone, almost daring him to ask anything else. She was the prickliest woman he’d ever met. An
d the most attractive. Not one more word was said about Fred.
They walked through the spot in the white picket fence where a gate used to be. Much of the fence now lay in the overgrown weeds, as did the gate. The walkway and steps to the house were made of brick. They stood on the veranda.
Two old rockers set there as if waiting for someone. Callie touched one, shifting the bowl in her arms. “These are beautiful.”
“They’ve been here as long as I can remember,” he said.
“I’m surprised someone hasn’t stolen them.”
“Try picking one up.”
She handed the bowl to Adam and tried to lift a rocker. She staggered under the weight. “Oh, my goodness.”
“Solid wood and steel. It would be hard for anyone to carry them away, but Homestead is a place where everybody knows everybody. If someone took them, I’d know in a matter of minutes where to go look. It’s a close-knit town—not much crime here.” He didn’t tell her about some of the mischief the newcomers were experiencing. Little incidents that couldn’t be explained.
“I’m glad they’re here,” she said, lovingly touching the rockers. “They go with the house.” She had a faraway look in her eyes that Wade didn’t understand, but he decided to let it go for now.
He pointed to the right. “Don’t walk on that end of the porch. The pillar is rotted at the bottom and the floorboards are weak. And do not even think about going out onto the veranda upstairs.” He looked at the kids. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Adam replied. “We won’t go anywhere our mother tells us not to.”
Wade took that as a backhanded reply. The boy was as defensive as his mother, and again his instincts told him something was wrong. He’d read through her application and everything checked out, but still…
He’d keep a close eye on the Austin family.
CALLIE COULD SENSE the sheriff’s uncertainty, so she had to be very careful and not send up any red flags. How she wished Miranda had been here to meet them.
Wade opened the door and she noticed the beautiful beveled glass. “Is this the original door?”
