All Roads Lead to Texas

by Linda Warren

  “I’m following a lead. I’ll tell you about it when I get home.”

  “Okay.”

  “And Callie…”

  “What?”

  He had no idea what he was going to say, but words were there at the back of his throat—words he wasn’t ready to acknowledge or accept.

  “Try not to worry.”

  “I won’t. Just come home soon.”

  Home.

  Why did that sound so right?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CALLIE HUNG UP, FEELING Wade’s voice soothe her like a glass of her mom’s best brandy. She had put her trust in the right man and now she had to depend on him to do the right thing. He wouldn’t let her down.

  Turning, she froze. In the doorway stood a well-rounded Mexican woman with a dead chicken in her hand, which had been plucked and gutted.

  “Who are ya?” the woman asked.

  “I’m Callie Austin and these are my children, Adam, Brit and Mary Beth. We’re staying here for a while.” The kids crowded behind her as if they might need some protection.

  “With that old bastardo?” She carried the chicken to the sink and began to wash it. Without waiting for a reply, she continued, “Killed this young pullet because the old bastardo’s always complaining that all I cook is chili, beans and tacos. Hate frying chicken. Takes too much time.”

  “I’ll fry it,” Callie offered. “I don’t believe I caught your name.”

  “Yolanda—everybody calls me Yo.” She glanced over her shoulder at Callie. “Ya can cook?”

  Why did everyone doubt her ability? “Yes. I can cook.”

  Yolanda grabbed a towel and wiped her hands. “Well, niña, have at it.”

  “Are there any vegetables?”

  “It’s June. My garden’s bursting with vegetables. What do ya want?”

  Callie loved fresh produce—that’s what she loved about Tanner’s. One day, she planned to have her own garden. “Potatoes, green beans or anything you feel Mr. Montgomery would like.”

  “Arsenic comes to mind, but I’ll go gather up a few things.” Yolanda looked at the kids. “Wanna come? Could use some help.”

  The kids didn’t budge.

  “They’re not used to being away from me.”

  “Ya don’t want to raise no sissies, now do ya?” Yolanda waved a hand. “Come, niños. Yo’ll show you some of the ranch. We got cows, horses, dogs, cats, a couple of goats and—”

  “You got dogs?” Mary Beth asked, her eyes bright.

  “Sure ’nuff do.”

  “I want to go.”

  Callie was torn. The kids hadn’t been out of her sight for days and she had to stay here to prepare the chicken.

  “I’ll go,” Adam said, as if he were reading her mind.

  “I’ll go, too,” Brit said. “I want to see the horses.”

  “Well, let’s load up, niños.”

  Protests hovered on Callie’s lips, but Yolanda had them out the door before she could voice them. She was letting them go with a stranger. Running to the door, she grabbed the handle then reminded herself that Yo worked for the sheriff. She wouldn’t hurt the kids and maybe it was good for them to be away from her for a little bit.

  Callie busied herself in the kitchen and decided to make more biscuits to go with the fried chicken and gravy. She didn’t have time to make rolls. She was just excited to be cooking again. When she heard the kids laughing, she was surprised they’d been gone over an hour.

  “Look what we brought,” Brit exclaimed, holding a bucket of green beans. Yo had a bucket of new potatoes and onions and Adam carried tomatoes and squash. Mary Beth held a large zucchini.

  “Oh, my goodness,” Callie laughed. “I don’t know if I can cook all this.”

  “We washed everything with a garden hose at Yo’s house,” Adam said. “To get the dirt off.”

  “Thank you very much.”

  Mary Beth handed her the zucchini. “I’m gonna go play with Peanut and Chester. That’s Yo’s dog and potbellied pig. He’s so cute. We brought them back with us.”

  A pig? Was that safe? She glanced out the window to see a small pig with a big belly. Mary Beth was on the grass hugging it and the pig seemed gentle enough.

  “Chester’s a pet,” Yo said, sensing Callie’s worry. Opening the refrigerator, Yo saw the cut up chicken. “Lawdy. Ya do good for a city niña.”

  “How do you know I’m a city girl?”

  Yo sat down and began to snap the beans. “It shows.”

  Callie only smiled. Maybe it did. She wondered what Yo would say if she told her she’d been born in Homestead. Not time for that little secret. She had to tell Wade first.

  As she worked, she thought about her father. After the debacle with Del, she hadn’t felt comfortable asking anyone else their family name. And Buddy had said he didn’t know any Collinses. With everything that was going on, she hadn’t had time to investigate further. But she would. One way or the other, she had to know.

  Yolanda chatted on while Callie worked. “Never saw anyone make potatoes like that.”

  “With milk gravy? It’s a Southern recipe and delicious with new potatoes.” Callie poured fresh milk over the scraped, cooked potatoes. She added several large blobs of butter and returned the pot to the heat.

  “Did you make the butter that’s in the refrigerator?” Callie asked, knowing the butter was homemade.

  “Sure did. Can’t eat that stuff in the stores. My family always makes it in Mexico and I make it here. My husband, Tex, milks the cow, though.”

  “It’s wonderful—so creamy.” Callie mixed flour with a little milk and stirred it into the potatoes until it thickened, then she added black pepper.

  “Mr. Jock gonna think he’s died and gone to heaven, and believe me, it’ll be a new experience for him. Now I have to get home and fix a bite for my men.”

  Callie turned from the stove. “You’re not staying?”

  “I never stay, niña. The company’s a little too—” she closed one eye and thought for a minute “—it’s really the company. I’d rather spend time with a rattlesnake.”

  Callie didn’t say much. She knew the feeling. Jock Montgomery was not an easy person to be around. “Thanks for the vegetables,” Callie called as Yolanda left.

  Callie was taking the biscuits out of the oven when Jock ambled in. The kids were sitting quietly at the table like little angels.

  “Lunch is ready, Mr. Montgomery, if you’re hungry.”

  Jock hung his hat on the rack, limped to the table and eased into a chair. “What’s all this?” he asked, staring at the fried chicken, cream gravy, new potatoes, green beans and sliced tomatoes.

  She set the biscuits in front of him. “Lunch.”

  “I’m not blind,” he snapped. “I usually eat what Yo leaves in the refrigerator.”

  “I can get you something else.”

  “Nu-uh,” he said, stopping her.

  Callie blinked. “What does nu-uh mean?”

  “It means no. Don’t you know how to talk Texan, gal?”

  “Guess not.” She did notice certain words and phrases. Just talking to Ethel was a whole new language. But she’d never heard anyone say “nu-uh.”

  He reached for a wing. “Chicken’s fine.”

  “Callie…” Mary Beth called. “We didn’t say a payer.”

  Callie took the wing out of Jock’s hand and placed it on his plate. She received a cold stare for that. “Okay, sweetie.”

  They bowed their heads. “Please God bless this food and everyone here, especially Mr. Sheriff Wade and Mr. Sheriff’s Daddy. Amen.”

  Callie picked up the potatoes and handed them to Jock. He glared at her, but took them.

  “You got a boo-boo, Mr. Sheriff’s Daddy?” Mary Beth asked, munching on a chicken leg, obviously noticing his limp.

  “I told you my name is Jock.”

  “You got a boo-boo, Mr. Jock?”

  “Yeah, and I’m sitting across from it.”

  Reaching the
end of her patience, Callie calmly laid her napkin on the table. “I’ve taught the kids to treat people with respect, and I’d appreciate it if you’d treat them the same.”

  “Are you telling me how to act in my own home?” His eyes were as black as soot.

  “Yes,” she replied without batting an eye.

  “Hmmph.” He spooned potatoes onto his plate and the meal continued in silence.

  Callie smiled inwardly, suspecting Jock had a soft side. But years of grieving and bitterness had severely damaged that part of him.

  Suddenly Jock said, “My mom used to fix potatoes like this. Haven’t had them in years. Good, very good. Chicken not bad either. And biscuits and gravy—I could eat ’em all day long.”

  Callie drew back in surprise. Was that a compliment? She’d take it as one. Jock had two helpings of everything and three biscuits. Finally, he pushed his plate back and reached for his cane.

  “Now I’m going into the den to take a short nap and I want complete quiet. Do you kids know what that means?”

  Three heads nodded. “Good, and this afternoon, boy, you’re gonna ride a horse.”

  “Yes, sir,” Adam said, surprising Callie even more. She thought he would refuse.

  “Me, too,” Brit said. “I rode yesterday.”

  “Girls need to stay in the house.”

  “No, they don’t.” Brit’s chin stuck out. “I’m going to be a cowgirl.” Her blue eyes narrowed. “What do cowgirls do, Mr. Jock?”

  “Annoy the hell out of cowboys,” was his quick response.

  Callie cleared her throat.

  “Yeah, you can ride.” Jock changed his mind and Callie tried not to smile. He really was a very lonely and hurt man.

  “Fred doesn’t like horses,” Mary Beth put in her two cents.

  “Who the hell is Fred? Is there another kid around here?” Jock’s gaze swept over the room.

  “Fred is her goldfish,” Callie explained.

  “Now that makes no sense at all.”

  “Kids rarely make sense, Mr. Montgomery.”

  “Yeah.” His eyes became distant. “I remember.” He trudged into the den without another word, leaning heavily on his cane.

  WADE DROVE UP to the run-down Harvey house on one of the back streets. Three wrecked vehicles were in the front yard and weeds grew around them, as they did all over the yard. With tires and junk tossed everywhere among kids’ toys, there was no way to mow the yard. The paint on the house was peeling and some screens had been broken and lay in the grass. A pit bull chained to one of the wrecked cars barked aggressively at Wade.

  A shiny Chevy Z71 truck was parked out in front of the house. A man wearing a black hat hurried out the door and jumped into the vehicle and sped away. Wade had never seen the man or the vehicle in Homestead before and he wondered what business he had with Howard.

  He knocked on the door and noticed two bicycles propped against the house, both rusty. Melba Sue opened the door with a one-year-old in her arms. In her early thirties she looked fifty, with a drawn face and thin features. The bruise under her left eye didn’t escape his notice. Howard’s old truck was in the yard so that meant he wasn’t at work again. He must have tied one on last night and Melba Sue always received the brunt of his drinking bouts. Wade had tried to get her to press charges, but she’d refused on several occasions.

  “Sheriff,” she said in surprise.

  “Could I speak with Howard, please?”

  A look of fright came over her face and she hesitated.

  “Who the hell’s at the door?” Howard yelled from inside the house.

  Wade walked past Melba Sue, through the living room to the kitchen where Howard sat at a table drinking coffee. There was so much stuff in the house that he basically followed a trail cleared through the junk. Two girls and a small boy sat watching TV in the living room. Melba Sue handed the older girl the baby and quickly followed.

  “Howdy, Howard,” Wade said, taking a chair across from him.

  Howard was a big man with greasy brown hair and a surly disposition. “What d’ya want?” Howard asked in a belligerent tone.

  “The Austin house was vandalized yesterday.”

  “So what? Those people get everything for free and when I applied for ten acres, I was turned down.”

  “Still angry about that?”

  “Damn right I am. I was born in Homestead and I should have been given first choice.”

  “For one thing, everything is not free. People who get the land have to build on it and the ones getting the homes have to repair them. It takes work and money, and from the looks of this place, you’re not willing to do any work. And your criminal history was a big mark against you. We told you that at the time.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I done heard it all.”

  “Why aren’t you at work today?”

  “Rudy gave me the day off and it’s none of your damn business.”

  Wade let that slide. “Where’s Howie and Cliff?”

  Howard’s eyes narrowed. “What d’ya want them for?”

  “They’re in the backyard,” Melba Sue said. “I’ll get them.”

  “Shut up your damn mouth,” Howard shouted at her and she cowered away.

  Wade stood, resisting the urge to knock Howard out of his chair. “Howard, if I were you, I’d watch your mouth because I’d just as soon take you down to the jail as not.”

  The two men eyed each other and Howard could see that Wade was serious. “Get the boys,” he said to Melba Sue.

  She opened the door and hollered at them. In a second, they came inside grumbling.

  “Why we gotta come in? I ain’t babysitting.” That was Howie, the older at thirteen. Cliff was twelve and they both had a skinny build with stringy blond hair. They looked like twins and a lot of people thought they were.

  “What d’ya want?” Cliff asked. “We’re playing and…” His voice trailed off as he saw Wade.

  “Sheriff,” slipped by Howie’s lips.

  Wade pulled out two chairs at the table and pointed. “Sit, boys.”

  They scurried into the chairs. “We didn’t do nuthin’, Sheriff,” Howie said.

  “I didn’t say you did.”

  “Ask them what you want,” Howard snarled, “then get the hell out of my house.”

  “You boys purchased a can of spray paint at the hardware store yesterday.”

  “Yep.” Howie nodded. “We gonna paint our bicycles.”

  “I’d like to see the can.”

  Howie and Cliff shared a glance.

  “Show him the damn can,” Howard yelled.

  Howie and Cliff hung their heads.

  “You don’t have the can anymore, do you?” Wade asked. “You threw it away after trashing Callie Austin’s house yesterday.”

  “What the—” Wade raised a hand and cut off Howard.

  “No, we didn’t,” Howie said quickly.

  “Well, boys, I found some rocks and a bubble-gum wrapper inside. Now I can send them to San Antonio for fingerprints or you can save the taxpayers some money and tell me the truth.” He had no intention of doing any such thing, but they didn’t know that.

  “Did you do it, boys?” Howard asked with a touch of pride in his voice.

  The boys immediately picked up on it and nodded. “We done it for you, Dad,” Howie said. “That woman got everything free and we didn’t get nuthin’. You said they should be run out of town and we—”

  “You stupid bastards.” Howard raised his hand to hit Howie and Wade grabbed it.

  “Don’t make me arrest you.”

  Howard’s eyes blazed with rage and Wade had a feeling it wasn’t because they’d trashed the house. It was because they’d been caught.

  Howard jerked his arm away.

  “Are you going to arrest them?” Melba Sue asked in a quiet voice.

  “Yes, ma’am. Vandalism is a crime. These boys have heard so much hatred that they’re starting to believe it.”

  “Is that a dig at me?” Howa
rd scowled.

  “Sure is. Get your act together and show the people of this town that you’re sincere about turning your life around. Maybe something good will come of it.”

  “Go to hell.” Howard spat out the words.

  “You’re responsible for the damage done to the house and I expect you and Melba Sue along with the boys in my office first thing Monday morning. If Mrs. Austin presses charges, you boys are looking at some time in juvenile hall.”

  “Oh, no,” Melba Sue cried.

  Wade inclined his head. “Let’s go, boys.”

  “Where you taking them?” Melba Sue asked.

  “They’re going to clean up the mess they made.” He motioned to the boys. “C’mon. June Bug can get you started.”

  “I’m not working for him,” Howie exclaimed.

  Wade put his hands on his hips. “You’ll work with June Bug or go to jail. Your choice.”

  “The damn idiot eats bugs,” Howard said. “I don’t want my boys working with him.”

  “He doesn’t eat bugs anymore. He’s changed—you could learn from him. His name is Odell and that’s what you’ll call him.”

  “Dad,” Howie wailed as Wade led them to the door. “We did what you wanted us to.”

  Howard didn’t respond and Wade put them in the back seat and drove to Callie’s house. Odell wasn’t thrilled about the idea either. He’d rather they went to jail. But he cooperated, as Wade knew he would. He’d do anything for Callie.

  Wade called Virgil to keep an eye on things in case the situation got out of hand.

  HIS PHONE BUZZED and Wade headed to the city offices that were located on the first floor of the courthouse. Miranda and the Home Free Committee wanted to meet. They met in the law library. All the members were there, Miranda; Arlen Enfield, the Realtor. Frances Haase, the librarian; and Ruth Kelley, the wife of Father Holden Kelley.

  They took seats around the table. “What do you have, Wade?” Miranda asked.

  He told them everything he’d learned.

  “So they trashed the house to please their father,” Frances stated in disbelief.

  “Yes,” Wade replied.