“You’re my father.”

“I knew who you were the first moment I saw you. You favor Glynis. She was very beautiful.”

“You knew who I was?” Callie gasped.

“Yep. Been waiting a lot of years to see that face, but when I finally got my chance, I guess I acted like a coward. I couldn’t tell you who I was. Didn’t think you really wanted to know, but I kept coming here just to get a glimpse of you.”

Callie’s hands trembled and tears stung the back of her eyes. “You’re the reason I came to Homestead with the kids. Glynis said you were probably dead, but I had to know for sure.”

“How is Glynis?” her father finally asked.

Obviously Wade wanted Callie to be the one to tell her father the truth. Telling another person could jeopardize their safety, but when Callie looked into her father’s eyes, she knew she could trust him. So she told him their story.

Dear Reader,

Welcome to Homestead, Texas. Never heard of it? Well, you’re in for a treat. This is the third book in a series called HOME TO LOVELESS COUNTY. The books, about a fictional town in the Texas Hill Country, are written by Roxanne Rustand, K.N. Casper, Roz Denny Fox, Lynnette Kent and me. I had a great time brainstorming with these wonderful authors. Please don’t miss any of these exciting stories!

To save the dying town of Homestead, the mayor comes up with a land giveaway program. New residents arrive weekly in search of a new beginning, a new life.

Callie Lambert was born in Homestead, and when she needs a safe hiding place, she returns to her roots as an applicant for the Home Free Program. But Callie is a fugitive. She’s kidnapped her brother and sisters from an abusive stepfather. Now all she has to do is stay hidden until her case can be heard.

To do that she has to avoid the handsome sheriff, Wade Montgomery. But he keeps checking on Callie and the kids, and against her better judgment she’s drawn to the tall, lanky Texan. What will Wade do when he discovers her secret? Turn the page and find out!

I hope you enjoy your visit to Homestead, Texas.

Warmly,

Linda Warren

It’s always a pleasure to hear from readers.

You can e-mail me at Lw1508@aol.com or write me at P.O. Box 5182, Bryan, TX 77805 or visit my Web site at www.lindawarren.net or www.superauthors.com. Your letters will be answered.

ALL ROADS LEAD TO TEXAS
Linda Warren

To the other authors of the

HOME TO LOVELESS COUNTY series,

Roxanne Rustand, K.N. Casper, Roz Denny Fox

and Lynnette Kent. It was a privilege and a joy to work

with you, even during those times of panic. Thanks for

making the newbie feel right at home. And to our editors,

Paula Eykelhof, Laura Shin, Kathleen Scheibling and

Victoria Curran, for keeping us focused and on track.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Mitch Siegert, executive chef, thanks for answering all my questions so patiently. Wayne Landry, thanks for sharing your colorful friends with me. Ladies in my aqua therapy group, thanks for your encouragement and support on this book.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER ONE

SHAFTS OF LIGHT pierced the darkness, illuminating a stretch of foggy grayness. Callie Lambert drove on and on, putting miles behind her. Up ahead loomed the unknown, the unfamiliar. Her hands clasped the steering wheel with a death-like grip and her stomach roiled with the enormity of her actions. She was on the run. A fugitive. She’d kidnapped her brother and sisters and could be arrested at any minute.

Those facts kept her focused, cautious and half-crazed with fear. What if she was caught? The kids would be returned to their abusive stepfather. And Callie would go to jail.

She wasn’t worried about herself. It was the kids. She was their big sister and she’d do anything, go through anything, to protect them. But tangible fear throbbed at the back of her mind like a persistent toothache as she waited for the wail of a siren.

Raindrops splattered the windshield and she turned on the wipers. Their hypnotic action calmed her nerves and steadied her resolve. She thought of her mother and anger stirred in her breast. How could Glynis do this to them?

The past swept through her mind with each swish of the wipers. Glynis had left Callie’s father when Callie was barely five and had become a waitress in a hotel restaurant in Houston. She’d struggled to make ends meet. Then Glynis met John Lambert, a wealthy stockbroker, and their lives changed for the better. John was twenty years older than Glynis, but Callie liked him. When Callie was twelve, Glynis married John and they moved from Houston to New York City. John adopted Callie and life was better than she’d ever known.

She was always his oldest child. John never made a distinction between Callie and his own children and she loved him all the more for that. A year ago, he was diagnosed with colon cancer and it was a sad time for all of them. During the last month of his life, he had nurses around the clock, but Glynis only left his bedside to sleep.

After his death, Glynis decided to take a cruise for a much-needed rest and Callie gladly offered to care for her young siblings. It was a shock when Glynis returned home with a brand-new husband, Nigel Tremont, who was twelve years her junior. And it was an even greater shock when Glynis was killed in an auto accident three months later, leaving Nigel as sole guardian of the children and executor of her estate.

Despite the enveloping fog of grief and loss, Callie knew one thing for certain—Nigel was after her mother’s money. He’d somehow convinced Glynis to change her will—whoever had custody of the children had control of the money. But how could she prove it?

Two months ago, Callie received a frantic call from her eleven-year-old half brother, Adam. He, nine-year-old Brittany and six-year-old Mary Beth were scared to death. Mary Beth had wet the bed and woken up crying, wanting Callie. Nigel had hit her with a belt and made her sleep in the soiled bed. When Nigel went to his room, Adam sneaked Mary Beth into his, then he called Callie from the den so Nigel wouldn’t hear. She told him to lock Brit, Mary Beth and himself in the bathroom until she got there.

She met the police at her mother’s home and to her horror, found they could do nothing. They said there was no evidence Nigel was abusing the kids and it was clear that the children needed time to adjust to their mother’s death. The kids were so frightened they wouldn’t say a word.

The police warned Nigel about hitting the children and said a complaint would be filed with Child Protective Services. This was standard procedure. Callie was asked to leave the house. She refused and was forcibly removed, even though Mary Beth was clinging to her. At that moment, she knew she’d have to fight to get them out of Nigel’s clutches.

She’d immediately contacted an attorney and contested Glynis’s will and guardianship of the children. The lawyer had said the procedure could take months, but Callie didn’t have that much time. Each night, she got another desperate call. Nigel had slapped Adam. Brit was crying because Nigel had locked her in the closet for talking back. Mary Beth was wetting the bed and sleeping in it, afraid to say anything. Callie feared for their safety, for their peace of mind.

She had a friend from college, Miranda Wright, who was now mayor of Homestead, Texas, a dying small town in the Texas Hill Country. Miranda had told her that the city council had foreclosed on a large ranch and several old homes for unpaid back taxes. The land and homes were now being given away if applicants were approved by the Home Free Committee. The applicant had to live on the property for a year and make the necessary improvements and renovations, then it would be theirs. Families and children were encouraged to come to build the tax base—to save the schools and the town.

The plan intrigued Callie because she’d been born in Homestead, as had Glynis and Callie’s father, Dale Collins. After her parent’s divorce, Callie had never seen her father again. When she was older, she’d asked Glynis about him, and her mother had said that he’d probably died long ago since he was an alcoholic. Callie still wondered though. Maybe now she’d find out the truth about her father.

The town of Homestead had always held a mystique for her. She guessed it represented her childhood or safety, or life before things got complicated. She’d always wanted to go back. And now here she was at two in the morning headed toward Texas and hoping against everything that she wouldn’t be caught.

She glanced back and saw Brit was asleep, her head sideways on a pillow—a purple pillow. Everything in Brit’s life these days had to be purple. One hand clutched a cowboy hat. She was going to Texas to ride a horse and become a cowgirl. Callie was glad Brit saw this as an adventure.

Mary Beth was also asleep, leaning toward the window, her head on a Barbie pillow, her doll, Winifred, better known as Miss Winnie, held tight against her. This was hardest on Mary Beth. She wanted her mother and Callie’s anger mounted at Glynis’s insensitivity. How could she leave her precious children in the hands of a man like Nigel Tremont?

It was now her responsibility to do what was best for her brother and sisters. Callie could only pray and hope they’d find some peace while she waited for her case to be heard.

Callie had invented a new identity and had applied for one of the free homes in Homestead. When she’d been approved, she’d taken money out of her savings, money that John had left her in trust until her twenty-fifth birthday, and opened a new account in Philadelphia. There was no way Nigel could find out about the account, and she could wire for the money once she reached Texas.

She was staggered by how easy it was to change your identity. Someone in the restaurant where she worked knew a guy, who knew a guy and with the right amount of money she could be anybody she wanted. So they were the Austins and Callie was the young mother of three. At twenty-eight, she was hoping she could pull that off. She was sure she’d aged ten years in the past month and for once in her life she was hoping it showed.

She’d given up her job as executive chef in a New York restaurant, her dream ever since she could remember, and they were headed for a new life, a new beginning far away from New York City—in Homestead, Texas.

Adam stirred in the passenger seat. He’d been dozing for a while but Callie knew he slept lightly, so afraid that they were going to be taken back to Nigel.

“You okay?” she asked, turning off the wipers. The light shower had stopped, leaving a stretch of wet highway.

He rubbed his eyes, gazing into the watery beam of the headlights. “Yes. Where are we?”

“Somewhere in Pennsylvania.”

He jerked up straight. “You do have a map and a route planned, don’t you?”

“Not exactly.” She’d been in too big of a hurry to leave New York. She planned to buy a map once they were on the way.

Nigel had gone out for the evening, like he usually did, leaving the kids by themselves. The children used to have a nanny, but Nigel had fired her, saying the kids were too old for one. Once Nigel had left, Adam had called Callie and turned off the security system. He’d done this several times before so Callie could get into the house and see the kids. Nigel had denied her any visitation and he’d warned Adam about calling her. Adam was told he’d be severely punished if he even thought of contacting his sister. The phone was only to be used for emergencies.

Minutes after she’d arrived at her mother’s home, they’d been on the road. Nigel wouldn’t check in on the children. Adam said he never did. It wasn’t in his nature to be paternal, especially after a night of drinking and partying. Once he’d sent them to bed, he expected his orders to be obeyed. Callie was hoping tonight would be no different, so they’d have a head start of several hours.

“Callie…”

She patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry, little brother. All roads lead to Texas.”

“They do not.”

To her, they did. “Trust me on this one. I’ll get us there.”

“Just drive carefully so a cop won’t stop us.”

Poor Adam. He’d taken on the role of older brother and protector at too early of an age. “I always drive carefully.”

“You do not. I was with you twice when you got tickets.”

“But that was Callie Lambert. Callie Austin is a diligent, cautious driver.”

He was silent for a moment then said, “Sorry about Fred, but Mary Beth wouldn’t leave without him.”

Fred was Mary Beth’s goldfish, a must-have after watching the movie Finding Nemo. Callie looked down at the goldfish bowl she’d managed to wedge into the console. Fred was the last thing she’d planned to pack, but she didn’t have the heart to tell Mary Beth. She’d lost two parents in six months and Callie couldn’t take anything else away from her.

“It’s okay. I guess Fred wanted to go to Texas, too.”

THE DAYS THAT FOLLOWED were very stressful. The constant vigilance was getting to Callie. She kept waiting for the sound of a siren and when she heard one in Virginia, she almost lost the Big Mac she’d just eaten. But the trooper sailed right by her, stopping the car ahead of them. It took an hour for her nerves to settle down.

The kids were also nervous. As they passed the stopped car, Mary Beth asked, “Are those people running away, too?”

Adam quickly turned in his seat to look at Mary Beth. “You can’t say things like that, especially in front of other people. They’ll take us back to Nigel and—”

Callie touched his arm, stopping him. “Adam is trying to say we need to be careful what we say.”

“I will. I sorry. I don’t want to go back.”

“It’s okay, sweetie,” Callie tried to reassure her.

“I want to sit in the front with you, Callie.”

“At the next stop you can change seats with Adam.”

“’Kay.”

Callie’s heart broke at what this was doing to them. Mary Beth was scared all the time. Hyperactive Brit couldn’t sit still and chatted nonstop. Adam, quiet and pale, just stared straight ahead at the road in front of them. And they were only halfway to Texas.

Then Callie had another problem—she noticed Fred floating face-up. Poking him with her finger, she found he was dead. She made a mad dash into a Wal-Mart with the bowl in her arms, leaving Adam in charge and telling Mary Beth that Fred needed fresh water. It took several minutes, but she bought a new Fred and they continued on their journey.

In Arkansas, Fred died again and Callie realized that goldfish did not travel well. Another Wal-Mart. Another fish. Callie prayed she could get this one to Homestead. She was tempted to tell Mary Beth that Fred had gone to heaven, but they’d had too many of those discussions lately. Callie wasn’t ready for another one.

THE JOURNEY WAS LONG. From the metropolis of New York to the farmlands of Pennsylvania, through the tobacco farms and timberlands of West Virginia and Virginia, to the Smoky Mountains of Tennessee—sometimes it looked as if they were in a tunnel, with sixty-foot pines on each side of the road—then they reached the Ozarks of Arkansas and soon the rolling plains of Texas. They’d made it! The kids shouted with joy. Callie was happy, too. It had been three days and they hadn’t been caught. And Fred was still alive. That was also reason to cheer.

She drove through the Dallas–Fort Worth area and took I-35 to Austin. She showed the kids the University of Texas where she’d gone to college. Somehow the beautiful hill country with its peaceful rolling hills, brilliant live oaks and craggy ledges made her feel at home. It was early June so the heat of the summer hadn’t dulled the landscape. Even the air was invigorating.

“That’s where I want to go to college,” Brit stated.

“We’re going to Harvard, just like Daddy planned,” Adam was quick to correct her.

“Oh. I forgot.”

John had started planning the children’s futures as soon as they were born. They would attend the same private school in New York John had as a boy. The school was known for its academic excellence. Then they would apply to Harvard, as he had. He’d wanted them to have the best education possible.

On his deathbed, Callie had promised to do everything she could to see that his wishes were fulfilled. No matter what happened, she had to keep her word.

She headed toward San Antonio, turned off the interstate and took the state highway to Homestead. When they saw the city-limit sign, they cheered again. The sign read Population 2,504, but Miranda had told her that about fifteen hundred people now lived in the small town—the reason Miranda and the city council had come up with a plan to repopulate the area.

Callie went through a drill, making sure they knew their roles.

“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. And 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?”

“I believe it is. Frances Haase, the librarian and a member of the Home Free Committee, has all the information on the house. It was built in 1876 by Herman Hellmuth and it stayed in the Hellmuth family until about ten years ago. Agnes Hellmuth, a spinster, died and left it to the city and it’s been sitting here in disrepair ever since. We put it in the Home Free Program hoping it would catch someone’s eye.”

He smiled a crooked smile and Callie felt her heart do a tap dance. “You found someone,” she replied, and forced herself not to smile. “I love this old house.”

“Then you’re in for a treat. Some of the furniture is still inside. Miss Hellmuth gave away a lot of pieces to friends in her will, but a few items are still here.”

As she stepped in, an eerie feeling came over her—the same feeling she’d had looking at the courthouse and touching the old rocker. It was as if she’d been here before…. It was possible she’d come here as a small child, but she didn’t have time to ponder that thought as she took in the house.

The large entry had hardwood floors, as did the rest of the house. There were parlors to the left and right and a winding staircase curled to the top floors. The wood staircase showed off ornate craftsmanship and the mahogany crown molding around the ceilings reflected the same delicate work and was at least twelve inches wide. The woodwork alone was spectacular. She couldn’t believe that no one wanted this piece of history.

Decorative inlaid tile made the fireplaces one-of-a-kind. The original brass wall sconces and chandeliers were still hanging. Two bedrooms were downstairs, as was a bath. The rooms contained beautiful beds with headboards that reached almost to the ceiling. Callie ran her hand over the exquisite wallpaper, a delicate pink floral print. It hadn’t faded and she wondered how long it had been in the house.

“Is this the original wallpaper?” she asked.

“I suppose. The Hellmuths redid the house in the early fifties, installing plumbing and updating the wiring. I believe Frances said the paper was in such good shape that they kept it.”

“It’s absolutely beautiful.”

In the dining room, one wall was decorated with a mural of a summer country scene, with oak trees, a pond, wildflowers and the Texas Hill Country in the distance.

“Oh, my.” It was so beautiful she could only stare at it.

“That is gorgeous, isn’t it?” Wade remarked. “That slight yellowing in spots is from eggs. Some teenagers broke in here and threw eggs around as a joke. You could paint over it if you wanted to.”

She shook her head. “No way.”

He smiled slightly, touching one of the dining room chairs. “This old set is still here. The chairs are wobbly and need some work, but they’re usable.”

The kitchen was a big mess. The cabinets were falling apart and all the appliances had been removed, leaving gaping holes. A large butcher block in the center of the room caught her eye. It was old and had been used a great deal, evident by the cuts in the wood.

Adam opened a cabinet door. “Look, Callie. What is this?’

As Adam said her name, a fleeting look of surprise crossed Wade’s face. But he didn’t question why her son had called her by her given name. A man of tact. She liked that. And against every sane thought in her head, she was beginning to like Wade Montgomery.

Focus. Focus. Focus.

She hurriedly inspected the cabinet. Inside was a tray and a rope that hung down.

“That’s kind of like a dumbwaiter,” Wade told them, standing close to her. Tangy aftershave wafted to her nostrils and she stepped back, feeling a little out of breath.

“The rope is on a pulley and when you pull the rope, it takes that tray to the second floor.”

“Cool,” Brit said. “Let’s try it.”

“I’m not sure it still works.” Wade pulled the rope and the tray traveled upward. “Well, I’ll be damned, it does.”

“Let’s go see where it went.” Brit headed for the stairs with Adam behind her.

“Wait,” Wade shouted. “Let me make sure those stairs are safe.” He turned to Callie. “There’s also a staircase off the kitchen.”

The bare wood steps appeared rickety so they took the big staircase. Wade walked up first and they followed. Callie was glad for some distance. What was wrong with her? She was acting as if she’d never been around a man before. She worked with men and had had her share of dates, so what was making her so aware of this man? This Texas sheriff. That was it. Sheriff. Her sensory antenna should read: avoid at all costs. But the woman in her was getting another signal.

The kids darted off to find the tray and Callie took a moment to get her head straight and look around. Everything was coated with dust and there was a musty smell in the air. There were four bedrooms and another parlor that contained bits and pieces of old furniture. A magnificent claw-foot slipper tub occupied the bathroom. Grime and grit coated the surface. It would take a lot of scrubbing to remove, but it would be lovely to lie in and relax, and she intended to scrub until she had it sparkling. The third floor was an open attic cluttered with more old furniture and junk. They slowly made their way back to the main floor.

The house needed a lot of work, especially the kitchen, but Callie was optimistic about the project ahead of her. This was a good place to live.

A good place to hide.

Now it was time to get rid of the friendly sheriff. The signal this time was very clear.

Adam and Brit were trailing each other from room to room, but Mary Beth was attached to her side. They needed some privacy. She wrapped an arm around Mary Beth and looked at Wade.

“Thank you for showing us here. I really appreciate it, but…”

The phone on his belt rang and he reached for it saying, “Excuse me.” Turning away, he spoke into the receiver. In a second, he turned back. “I’ve got to go. Miranda should be here any minute.”

“Of course. Thank you.”

Callie let out a long breath as he walked out of the house.

“I thought he’d never leave.” Adam sighed.

“Is he gonna arrest us, Callie?” Mary Beth looked up at her.

Not if I can help it.

Callie stroked her hair. “No, baby. Now let’s get settled into our new home.”

“Fred doesn’t like it here,” Mary Beth said, leaning against her.

Adam had set the goldfish bowl on the floor and Fred looked content. At least he was still swimming. Mary Beth always used Fred’s name when she was upset.

“I don’t like it either.” Brit pulled off her hat. “It’s spooky.”

“And the house is dirty,” Adam complained.

To Callie, the house was everything she’d been expecting. To the kids, it was just a strange place. They really wanted to be back in the brownstone with John and Glynis. She had to give them a sense of security. A sense of home.

“Time for a meeting.” Callie sat on the floor and the kids flopped down beside her. “When we talked about this, I told you it would be a hardship. Did you not understand what that meant?”

Brit and Mary Beth had blank looks.

“I just didn’t realize it would be like this.” Adam scowled.

Callie decided to try from another angle. “Let’s look at this like camping out. We’ve done that before.”

“Yes,” Adam mumbled.

“We have a roof over our heads, electricity and running water. There’s two bedrooms downstairs with a bathroom. We can sleep there until I can get started on the renovations. And the beds are so beautiful. We’ll feel like Cinderella sleeping in them.”

“I want to be Cinderella.” Mary Beth brightened.

“I don’t,” Brit said. “I want to be a cowgirl.” She reached for her hat.

“You’re so stupid,” Adam taunted. “You’re going to get us in trouble always asking about horses. We don’t have a horse, stupid, so forget about being a cowgirl.”

“You can’t tell me what…”

All of a sudden everything came down on Callie. She buried her face in her hands and the room became very quiet. The kids were tense and fighting. The house needed so much work. Was she crazy for coming to Texas? There were so many other places she could have gone. Had she made the right choice?

“Callie,” Adam whispered.

She raised her head.

“We’re sorry.” His face was lined with worry.

All three threw themselves at her and she held them tight. “I love you guys. That’s why I’m doing this. I know this isn’t the brownstone or the house in the Hamptons, but this is our home for now. So what’s your decision? Stay or leave?” She was giving them a choice when there really wasn’t one, but she could do no less. They had to be united or it wasn’t going to work.

“I’m staying,” Brit said.

“Me, too,” Mary Beth added.

Adam looked around then stuck up his hand for a high five. “I’m in.”

Callie gave him a high five as did Brit and Mary Beth.

“We’re home.”

“Anybody here?” a voice called from the front door.

They scrambled to their feet and met Miranda Wright, the mayor and the driving force behind the Home Free Program, at the door. She was tall and Callie always felt dwarfed by her height, but Miranda’s warm, outgoing personality took away any awkwardness.

They’d met at the University of Texas, both business majors. The moment Miranda had said she was from Homestead, Callie had felt drawn to her, wanting to know all about the town she was born in. But most of all, she wanted to know about her father.

Not once, though, in all the times they’d talked, had Callie mentioned her father. She recognized that for what it was—a defense mechanism. Her father had signed over his rights to Glynis when Callie was five years old. As a child, she didn’t quite understand what that meant, but as an adult she knew. Her father didn’t want any connection to her. As a child that had hurt. As an adult it hurt even more.

She’d told Miranda that her family had moved away when she was five and Miranda hadn’t pried into her family affairs.

So now here she was in Homestead and she could find out if her father was dead or alive. Callie had a lot of conflicting emotions about her father and it was time to sort through them. And she would not involve Miranda in that part of her life. Miranda had done enough for her.

Miranda and Callie hugged. “Glad you made it,” Miranda said, looking at the children.

Callie introduced the kids again.

“And that’s Fred,” Mary Beth said, pointing to the fish.

“A very nice goldfish,” Miranda commented.

“He wants to go home,” Mary Beth whimpered.

Callie and Miranda exchanged glances.

Callie picked up Mary Beth, her heart breaking at the pain she was going through. “It’s all right, sweetie. This is our home now.”

“I know,” Mary Beth mumbled into her shoulder. She rubbed her head against Callie and saw the dog squatted at Miranda’s feet.

Mary Beth raised her head. “What’s your dog’s name?”

“Dusty.” Miranda patted the yellow Lab mix.

“Can I pat her?”

“Sure.”

Mary Beth slid to the floor, stroking Dusty, happy again.

“Has Wade given you a tour?” Miranda asked after a moment.

“Yes,” Callie replied.

“I had Ethel Mae Stromiski clean out the two bedrooms and bath downstairs and they’re livable until you decide about the renovations. Her son June Bug will be over to start work on the rotted column.”

“June Bug?” Callie’s eyebrow arched.

“Don’t ask.” Miranda smiled. “He’s a very good carpenter and he’ll be able to help with a lot of the work.”

“Good.”

“As we talked about, this is an old house and needs lots of work. Frances Haase, the librarian, has all the info on it if you’re interested. I have all the paperwork at my office, so if you’re ready we can go over there and you can sign all the necessary forms to become a part of the Home Free Program.”

“Thank you, Miranda.”

A message passed between them. Her secret was safe with Miranda. In return, Callie would live up to her end of the bargain.

But a lot could happen in a year and Callie fervently hoped that it was all for the best. She just had to stay hidden and keep from getting arrested.

That meant avoiding the local sheriff.

WADE WALKED INTO the Lone Wolf Bar and spotted his father, Jock Montgomery, immediately. He’d gotten a call that his father was causing trouble. Jock sat at a table with a bottle of scotch and an almost empty glass in front of him, hurling curse words at Herb, the bartender and owner. The bar was empty—evidently Jock had gotten rid of the rest of the customers.

“He came back here and got the bottle, Sheriff,” Herb said. “I couldn’t stop him.”

Wade picked up the bottle and carried it to Herb. “I’ll take care of this.”

“Thanks, Sheriff.”

Wade could see that Herb was nervous. He’d been here when Jock had been sheriff and knew that no one said no to Jock Montgomery. His dad had done what he’d wanted in this small town. But not anymore.

“Let’s go home, Pop.”

Jock took the last swallow from the glass. “You call my son, Herb? You yellow-bellied bastard. In the old days that would have meant betrayal and I’d have thrown your ass in jail.”

Herb didn’t answer, just kept wiping the bar.

“Let’s go home,” Wade said again.

“I’m not ready. I want more whiskey.” He slammed the glass several times against the table. “Herb, you sorry ass, bring me another drink.”

Wade grabbed the glass out of his hand. “No more. You’re drunk. Let’s go.”

“I can drive myself home,” Jock scoffed, his words slurred.

“You’re not driving drunk in my county.”

“Hmmph. Used to be my county. I was sheriff here for over forty years—before you were born, so don’t tell me what to do.”

This was difficult for Wade, dealing with his father and his attitude. Rescuing him from drinking binges was becoming a common occurrence.

He caught Jock by the elbow and helped him to his feet. Jock tottered a bit, but he didn’t resist or protest. Wade led him out the door.

“Thanks, Herb,” he called over his shoulder.

“You bet.”

He opened the door of his squad car and Jock got in without one word of complaint. His dad didn’t have his cane so it must have been in his truck. Jock never used it when he was drinking. Taking the driver’s side, Wade headed for Spring Creek Ranch.

“I’m not drunk,” Jock said, staring at him through bloodshot eyes.

“I know, Pop.” Wade didn’t feel he needed to argue the point.

“All these new people in town make me mad as a fightin’ rooster.”

“I know.” Wade knew that all too well and he didn’t feel the need to argue that point either. They had many times to no avail. His dad was more stubborn than Mr. Worczak’s mule.

Jock leaned his head back in his seat. “Had it all planned, son. Invest in the KC consortium and retire in luxury. With Zeb Ritter as foreman, what could go wrong?”

Whenever his father drank, he talked about the same thing. Jock and a few old rancher friends had formed a consortium and bought the old K Bar C Ranch when the owner had died and the heirs had run the ranch into bankruptcy. When the land came up for auction, Nate Cantrell had pulled together some of his friends, and with their life savings had bought the ranch. They’d made big plans, but those plans hadn’t materialized and Jock had never gotten over it. Then Zeb had committed suicide and that was just another blow Jock couldn’t handle without drinking. When Jock had been thrown from his horse and busted up his leg, he’d retired as sheriff. He’d gone downhill ever since. His father didn’t care about life anymore.

“We didn’t count on the drought and the bottom falling out of the cattle market. We didn’t count on a lot of things.” He rested his arm over his eyes. “Clint had a lot to do with everything in my opinion. He wanted that land, but we got it before he could and he made sure our venture didn’t succeed. Can’t prove it, but I know he’s a yellow-livered snake and the reason the bank wouldn’t renew our loan.”

Clint Gallagher, a Texas senator, owned the big Four Aces ranch outside of Homestead. He’d been trying to buy the K Bar C for years. An aquifer that supplied a large percentage of water to the Four Aces ran beneath it. Clint wanted the water rights, but Jock and his friends bought the ranch before Clint found out about the auction. Clint was still angry over the deal. He and Jock had once been friends, but were now foes.

After the consortium had failed, Nate had gone to work for Clint and the rumor mill had had a field day. The investors suspected Nate had been in Clint’s pocket the whole time and had sabotaged the consortium deal for Clint. The town had labeled him a two-timing, back-stabbing crook and had treated him as such. Then Nate had suddenly been killed in a freak auto accident and the townsfolk didn’t lose any sleep over it. Small-town people with small-town minds.

When Nate’s daughter, Kristin, had returned to Homestead on the Home Free Program, she’d kept searching and digging to clear her father’s name. Her findings showed her father had gone to work for Clint because he’d needed a job. It was that simple. And the evidence proved Nate’s accident wasn’t an accident. He’d been murdered by Leland Haven, Clint’s lawyer. Leland had been stealing from Clint for years and when Nate had found out, Leland had decided to get rid of him. Nate Cantrell’s name had been cleared, but sometimes the old-timers, like his dad, seemed to forget that.

“Now Homestead is giving away the damn land. Never heard of such shenanigans. And a woman mayor. Never heard of that either—not in my kind of Texas.”

“Miranda’s doing a lot for Homestead,” Wade felt a need to say.

“Hmmph.”

“Take a look around you. Homestead was on the verge on becoming a ghost town. Now people are coming back. We have kids enrolling for school and that builds our tax base. That’s good. Miranda had nothing to do with the failure of the consortium so cut her some slack.”

“My grandson should be here,” Jock muttered in a broken voice. “Our boy should be here.” A tear rolled from his eye.

Wade’s throat closed up and he didn’t respond. He couldn’t. It had happened four years ago but it felt like yesterday that he’d gotten a hysterical call from his wife, Kim, telling him their son had been rushed to the emergency room. But they’d been too late. Zach was dead.

At twelve, Zach had wanted to go to a party a friend from school was giving. Wade and Kim didn’t know the boy all that well and they’d been hesitant. In the end, they had relented because Zach had wanted to go so badly. There had been drugs at the party and, after a lot of teasing and egging from the older boys, Zach had tried the stuff. He’d had an allergic reaction to the drug and had died thirty minutes later. Just like that, his young life was gone.

Wade and Kim had blamed each other, the boys at the party and the world in general. But placing blame didn’t ease it or accomplish anything besides creating more guilt.

He and Kim had been high-school sweethearts and they’d become parents when they were seventeen. So young, but they’d thought their love would last forever. With their parent’s help, they’d continued with their education and Kim had become a teacher and Wade a police detective in Houston. They’d been through so many trials, but they couldn’t get through the death of their son. At least not together. Kim had moved to Phoenix to live with her sister and Wade had returned to Homestead.

His father had retired and Miranda had encouraged Wade to run for the job. He had and being here in the slow, easy pace of Homestead was helping the wounds to heal. Until his father said things like he just did. Then the blame and the guilt came back tenfold.

And the grief.

IN SILENCE, WADE CROSSED the cattle guard to Spring Creek Ranch. The property consisted of the house, the barns and five hundred acres. The rest of the land Jock had put into the consortium that had failed. The city now owned it and was giving away parcels to people willing to build on it and make their home in Homestead. That was a hard pill for Jock to swallow.

Board fences flanked the road that led to the three-bedroom brick house Jock had built for his wife, Lila. She’d died ten years ago and Jock’s life had never been the same. He’d started to make bad decisions, bad choices.

As Wade drove to the back of the house, Poncho and Tex Alvarez came toward them, two Mexican brothers in their fifties who ran the ranch and watched out for Jock. They’d been here for thirty years and lived in the old home place below the hill. Tex’s wife, Yolanda, helped out in the house.

“Wonder why he no come back from town,” Tex said to Wade. Tex, a short, thin cowboy with a protruding beer belly, loved his beer and could ride a horse better than anyone Wade had ever seen. There wasn’t anything he didn’t know about cattle. Poncho, taller and heavier, had cowboying in his blood, too.

“He’s had a little too much to drink at the Lone Wolf.” Wade walked around to the passenger’s side to help his father.

Jock stumbled out. “Don’t need no damn help,” he muttered.

Wade nodded to Poncho, who wrapped an arm around Jock’s waist. “C’mon, Mr. Jock, that old sofa’s just waitin’ for ya.”

They slowly made their way to the back door.

Yolanda held it open, frowning. Short and plump, she had a quick tongue and she and Jock often had days where they screamed at each other. Yo would swear she wasn’t coming back, but in a couple of days she’d return to do the cleaning and cooking. “Lawdy, Mister Jock, ain’t you got no sense?”

“Don’t preach to me you sassy bitch.”

Yo’s black eyes flared. “You talk like that and I’ll knock you out with a frying pan. It’ll be swift and sure, not slow like that filthy stuff you drink.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Yo grabbed his arm and Jock wobbled meekly into the den. Wade was grateful for small miracles, but when Jock was drunk he did more damage with his mouth than his fist. He’d have to do something about his father and soon. What? He wasn’t quite sure.

“He went to town for a load of feed.” Tex broke into his thoughts.

“His truck and the feed are at the Lone Wolf. You can ride with me and bring it back.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Pop, I’m going back to the office. Be back later.” Wade knew that Tex and his family could handle Jock. He’d probably sleep until morning anyway, then they’d talk.

“Hmmph,” was the only response he got.

Wade and Tex walked to his car. As Wade opened his door, he saw Lucky in the pasture, a buckskin mare that Jock had given to Zach on his tenth birthday. How Zack had loved to ride that horse. Wade felt a catch in his throat. No one had ridden her since his death. He thought of Brittany and her desire to ride a horse. Maybe it was time.

But could he stand to see another child on that horse?

CHAPTER THREE

CALLIE SIGNED THE NECESSARY papers and everything that had happened seemed real for the first time. She and the kids would be living in Homestead and hopefully Nigel would never find them, or at least not until her lawyer had procured a hearing.

Her main concern was sleeping arrangements for the night. Miranda wanted them to stay with her and her mom until the house was ready, but Callie couldn’t intrude or involve Miranda any further in her situation. She had to make a home for the kids.

Miranda said the feed store carried sleeping bags, so after Callie unloaded the car she planned to go there. As she drove up to her house, she noticed an old tan truck parked in front. A rack was on the back with lumber. This had to be the carpenter—June Bug.

They got out and saw two men, somewhere in their thirties, inspecting the rotting column. One was tall and heavy-set, the other short and wiry. The short one walked toward her with quick steps. He wore jeans, a T-shirt and a baseball cap that read Dallas Cowboys. As he reached her side, she realized he was shorter than her. He couldn’t be more than five feet two inches tall.

“Howdy, ma’am. I’m June Bug Stromiski. Miss Miranda said you need some carpenter work done.” He talked fast, not even taking a breath.

“Yes, I do. Thank you for coming.” But for the life of her she couldn’t figure out how this little man could repair her big house. He didn’t seem to have enough strength to drive in a nail. But she shouldn’t judge him. She needed his help and hopefully Miranda knew him well enough to be confident that he could do the job.

“This is my cousin, Bubba Joe Worczak. He’s my helper.”

Bubba looked like a lineman for the Dallas Cowboys and capable of doing anything. But after a bit of conversation, Callie realized that June Bug was the brains of the duo and Bubba Joe the brawn.

“Why they call you June Bug?” Brit asked.

June Bug shrugged. “That’s a long story.”

“’Cause he eats bugs, that’s why,” Bubba Joe spoke up.

“What!”

“That’s right.” Bubba Joe nodded.

“You do not,” Adam said, always the skeptic.

Bubba Joe plucked a bug from the grass. “Show ’em, June Bug,” he said.

June Bug popped it into his mouth and crunched away. Callie gasped and wanted to cover the kids eyes for some silly reason. They stood there with their mouths open, unable to speak.

“Tastes kind of like chicken,” June Bug said in between munching. “If you have a real good imagination.”

Callie found her voice. “Please don’t do that in front of my children. Please don’t do it at all. It’s very unhealthy.”

“Sorry, ma’am, I’ve been doing it since I was ten years old.”

“Why?”

“I’m little. I’ve always been little and boys picked on me at school and I got beat up almost every day. They called me runt and things like that. Billy Clyde Hemphill was the worst. He’d hold my face down in the grass with his knee on the back of my neck until I couldn’t breathe. He’d always say, ‘Eat dirt, runt.’ One day as he was coming toward me on the playground, I just got tired of it and knew I had to do something. I saw a june bug crawling on the playground equipment and I picked it up and put it in my mouth before I could think about it.” He wheezed for a breath.

“Billy Clyde stopped in his tracks and the kids gathered round. I found another bug and ate it, then I handed one to Billy Clyde and told him it was his turn. He backed off saying I was crazy and the kids started calling him chicken. He ran away, but he never picked on me again. No one did. And that’s the way I like it.”

Callie just stared at him. “Why do you still eat them?”

Just then a truck drove by and someone hollered, “Hey, June Bug, what’s for supper?”

“Anything flying,” June Bug yelled back, and they heard laughter all the way to the stop sign.

Callie knew why he kept eating the bugs. It made him taller in his eyes, bigger and able to take on the town. But she refused to call him June Bug.

“What’s your given name?”

“Odell, ma’am, youngest of ten kids and the only boy. I have nine sisters.”

“I’ll call you Odell.”

“Only my mama and my sisters call me that.”

“I’ll still call you Odell.” To her, calling him June Bug would be making fun of him and she couldn’t do that.

“Yes, ma’am.”

For the next thirty minutes he showed her what needed to be done to the column and veranda to secure it and she told him to go ahead with the work. They were unloading the car when an older lady jogged up in sweatpants, a T-shirt stretched over an ample bosom and sneakers. Her gray hair was curled in a tight perm.

“I’m Ethel Mae Stromiski,” she introduced herself, wiping sweat from her forehead and gasping for air.

“Nice to meet you,” Callie said, figuring this was Odell’s mama.

“I cleaned up two bedrooms and the bath like Miranda asked me to.” She talked fast just like her son, reminding Callie of the hum of a sewing machine. She listened close to catch each word.

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“I’ll be back tomorrow to do more cleaning.”

“I—ah—”

“I got to jog this damn mile like the doctor told me to. He said if I want to keep living I need to exercise more. What I need is a damn cigarette. Odell, what time you coming home for supper?” She didn’t even take a breath.

“I don’t live with you anymore. I’ll come home when I want to.”

“Smart-ass,” Ethel muttered to Callie and gulped a quick breath. “He built him a room in the back of my house and he calls that moving out. Kids always have to do somethin’ different. What’s wrong with living with your mama? You just better not be eating bugs again,” she yelled to Odell. “Or I’ll wash your mouth out with soap.”

“Go home, Mama. I got work to do.”

“Supper will be ready at six.”

“I won’t be there.”

“Where you gonna eat?”

“Maybe I’ll have a beer at the Lone Wolf. I don’t know. It’s my business.”

“Kids—you give ’em your heart and they stomp on it. Now if he was meeting a woman at the Lone Wolf instead of Bubba Joe, I wouldn’t mind. I gotta find that boy a woman.” With that she jogged off down the street, panting.

“Is this a circus or what?” Adam asked.

“Be nice,” Callie scolded, but she could feel herself wanting to laugh and she hadn’t felt that way since her mother had died. She hadn’t felt much of anything besides fear. Homestead was going to be good for them—a simple way of life with some interesting characters. Though she couldn’t get too friendly with the townspeople. To guard their safety, she had to keep a low profile.

With all the luggage in the house, Callie decided that buying sleeping bags was the next order of business, but first she had to call her lawyer, Gail Baxter. She got her answering machine so she called her friend, Beth, in New York, for an update.

She’d bought the phone under the name of Amy Austin so if the FBI starting checking out her lawyer or her friend’s phone, they couldn’t trace it to Callie Lambert. She didn’t want to use her first name—it might give her away. She’d had no problem getting the phone in that name.

Beth picked up on the second ring.

“Oh, Callie, I’m so glad you’re okay. Just don’t tell me where you are because I’m not good under pressure.”

“Don’t worry. I don’t plan to. How are things there?”

“Not as much commotion as you’d think. The FBI is investigating and they questioned everyone here at the restaurant, but they were actually nice. I told them that if you took the kids then they were safe because Nigel was abusing them. They asked what kind of abuse and I told them all the things you’d told me and how worried you were.”

“Did they believe you?”

“I suppose so because Nigel came into the restaurant and accused me of spreading lies about him. Someone called the police and they picked him up. One of the agents came in yesterday and said your lawyer had called and informed them that you had the kids and you weren’t bringing them back until a hearing was set. He told me to call if I heard from you.”

“I’m sorry you’re caught in the middle of this.”

“Don’t worry. If I don’t know anything, I can’t tell them anything. Just take care of yourself and those kids.”

Callie hung up hoping her lawyer could get something done. She could wait as long as the kids weren’t with Nigel.

The kids were outside watching Odell and Bubba Joe work. She knew they were waiting for Odell to eat another bug. Oh yes, life was changing.

She grabbed her purse and saw the sheriff’s car drive up. Wade got out and opened his trunk. Another officer was with him. Now what? She didn’t need him showing up every few minutes. She laid down her purse and stormed outside. Wade strolled along the walkway with a sleeping bag in each hand. The other man also had two bags.

Wade set his on the porch. “Miranda said you planned to stay here so I thought you might need these.”

“I was planning to buy them myself.” She tried to quell her annoyance and couldn’t. “I might look helpless, but I assure you, Sheriff, that I’m not. I can take care of my family.”

Wade tipped back his hat. “No doubt in my mind about that, ma’am, but you’re not in Chicago anymore. Around here we try to help each other, especially the newcomers. I’m sorry if you have a problem with that.”

The kids came running, preventing her from further embarrassment. She was not only giving him a red flag, she was waving it in front of him. Why couldn’t she keep her cool around him? And why did he have to be so damn handsome?

“Sleeping bags,” Brit shouted. “Are they for us?”

Wade glanced at Callie for an answer.

She swallowed her pride. “Yes. The sheriff brought them for us.”

“Cool,” Brit said. “And look, there’s a purple one. I get it.”

The other man brought his bags forward and Wade introduced him. “This is Virgil Dunn, my deputy.” Painfully thin, Virgil was average height and wore the same kind of clothes as Wade, except his were starched and ironed, noticeably so. And he wore a tie. It was obvious Virgil was proud of his job.

“Nice to meet you,” Callie mumbled.

“Welcome to Homestead, ma’am.” He nodded his head and laid the sleeping bags by the others with nervous, quick movements.

“Look, there’s a Barbie one,” Mary Beth cried. “I get it. I get it.”

“Oh, yay. There’s one with horses on it. I want it.” Brit was changing her mind.

“You can’t have two, stupid,” Adam said with his usual scowl.

“You can have the purple one,” Brit told him.

The scowl became fierce. “I’m not sleeping in a purple bag.”

“I’ll take the purple bag,” Callie intervened. “Adam, you can take the nice green one.”

“Okay, but she shouldn’t get to change her mind. She’s always doing that.”

Brit stuck out her tongue at him.

“The kids are tired and out of sorts, so I better get their sleeping arrangements set up.” Callie thought it was time to end this visit. “I do appreciate the sleeping bags. I’m sorry I was curt. I’m tired, too.”

“No problem,” Wade said and made to walk off, but he turned back. “Brit, if it’s okay with your mom, I have a horse you can ride. She’s quite tame and I’ll teach you the basics.”

“Oh, wow, that’s totally cool.” Brit looked at Callie. “Can I, please? Can I?”

“I—ah—”

Seeing Callie’s difficulty, he added, “Think about it overnight and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He walked down the steps, followed by the deputy, and they went to where Odell was working. Their voices floated over her head.

“Is it going to be much of a problem to fix?” That was Wade’s masculine voice.

“No, Sheriff, just take a little time, but I’ll make it rock solid.”

“Thanks, June Bug.”

“Bubba Joe, don’t be climbing on that roof.” That was the deputy. “You’ll fall through and try to sue the city.”

“Give it a rest, Virgil,” Wade said. “Let’s go.”

Callie watched them leave feeling as if she were in a fishbowl with the people of Homestead looking in. And there wasn’t any escape. But the thought did cross her mind that being trapped with Wade Montgomery wouldn’t be too bad. That thought lasted a split second. The man probably labeled her a raving lunatic with her mood swings. She had to stay focused on her siblings’ futures.

Picking up a bag, she followed the kids inside.

“THAT MRS. AUSTIN SURE IS touchy,” Virgil said as they reached the sheriff’s office. “Mighty pretty, too.”

“I think she just wants her space, Virg.” Wade had his own suspicions, but he wouldn’t mention them to Virgil. Virgil’s overactive imagination sometimes ran away with him and he didn’t want to give him any ammunition.

Wade was just trying to help her. He’d found the horse sleeping bag and the green one at the feed store, but he’d had to search through Tanner’s General Store, which had an assortment of anything imaginable, to find the purple and Barbie ones. And she’d bit his head off for no reason.

So he intended to back off and give Callie her space. The incidents happening to the newcomers bothered him though. He didn’t want anything to happen to those kids. Or Callie. The house wasn’t that far from his office and he could keep an eye on things without her really knowing.

He cursed himself for mentioning the horse. Clearly Callie didn’t want her daughter to ride. At least not with him. He’d have to rescind the invitation, but he hated to break the little girl’s heart.

Before he could reach his office, Millicent Niebauer came through the door, a birdlike woman with a camera around her neck and a pencil behind her ear. Barbara Jean, his secretary, was gone for the day or he’d let her handle Millicent. She and her husband, Hiram, ran the local newspaper and Millie was always on the lookout for a story. Or more to the point, gossip.

“Sheriff, I heard we have newcomers in town over at the Hellmuth house.”

“Yes, Millie. Mrs. Austin arrived today with her three kids.”

“What’s she like?”

“Touchy,” Virgil spoke up.

“What do you mean?” Millicent turned to him and Wade sighed. Virgil was worse than any old woman gossip.

“Well, you see, the sheriff and me took sleeping bags over to—”

“Virg, aren’t you supposed to answer that call we just got from the Tuttles’ neighbor?” The only way to sidetrack Virgil was with police work.

“Ah, Sheriff, I hate going over there. Cora Lou shoots at Norris every time he comes home from one of his long-haul trips, accusing him of having an affair. I’m getting tired of having to break them up. I don’t know how she misses him. His chest is as broad as a side of a barn.” Virgil headed for the door, still grumbling. “I just might arrest Cora Lou and maybe she’d stop all this foolishness.”

“Then do it,” Wade said as the door closed.

“What’s the scoop on the new lady, Sheriff?” Millie didn’t skip a beat. “Virgil said she’s touchy. Why do you think that is?”

Wade suppressed a groan. As always, Millie was searching for a story where there wasn’t one. “There’s no story, Millie. She’s a single mom with three kids and wants to raise them in a small-town atmosphere.”

“Single, hmm?” Millicent scribbled something on a pad. “That’s going to get the young bucks in this town stirred up. Like when Kristin and Kayla came to town. They found husbands. You think Mrs. Austin’s looking for a husband?”

“I got work to do.” He walked into his office and closed the door.

A lot of things didn’t add up with Callie Austin, her nervousness, her desire to be alone and her kids calling her by her name. That was odd. It had thrown him for a minute. He’d taken the high road, though, and hadn’t asked. He’d learned that discretion worked best in his job. The details usually came out later, especially the ones people tried to keep hidden.

Sinking into his chair, he couldn’t stop thinking about Callie. Millie thought she was looking for a husband. He didn’t think so, but she was looking for something. What? He had no idea. Maybe it was peace and quiet and time to get over her husband’s death.

Whatever it was, the town had to leave her alone.

And that included him.

CALLIE ARRANGED the sleeping bags in one of the bedrooms. She had to put hers in between Brit and Mary Beth because both wanted to sleep by her. Adam arranged his at their feet. They found a table for Fred and fed him. Then Callie opened the ice chest with their food stash. Since she didn’t know the layout of the town, she thought it best if they just had a sandwich for tonight. Their diet had been atrocious lately, fast food and sandwiches. Until she got the kitchen fixed, she didn’t know how much longer it would be before she could cook them a decent meal.

They gathered in the parlor around the ice chest, sitting on the floor. “I want peanut butter,” Mary Beth said, Miss Winnie in her lap. “Peanut butter with bananas. You know how I like it, Callie.”

“I sure do, sweetie.”

“I want mine with grape jelly,” Brit added.

Adam made a face. “’Cause it’s purple.”

Brit stuck out her tongue again.

“You’re stupid,” Adam told her.

“You’re stupider.”

Callie stopped in the process of opening the jar. The kids were acting so out of character and Callie suspected it had something to do with Nigel’s abuse. They’d gotten along well until he’d come into their lives; now they were bickering and being rude. It had to stop.

“We have to talk. Adam, you will not call your sister stupid again. And Brit, you will stop sticking out your tongue.”

“What if I forget?” Brit asked.

“Then you say I’m sorry.”

“To him.” She jabbed a thumb toward Adam. “No wa…” Her voice fluttered away when she saw the look on Callie’s face. “Okay, but I think you need to punish him—make him sleep in the attic or something.”

“No, Callie,” Mary Beth cried. “Don’t make Adam sleep in the attic.”

The thought of any of them being punished again upset Mary Beth. “No one is sleeping in the attic.” Callie rubbed Mary Beth’s arm to comfort her. “Let’s eat dinner, then we’ll take a bath and go to bed. We’re all tired.”

They ate their sandwiches in silence and Callie cut apples and oranges into slices. After eating, Callie gathered the remains and put them in a plastic bag. She noticed Mary Beth’s eyelids drooping. It was time for bed.

Brit and Mary Beth took a bath first in the antique tub with claw feet. It was almost identical to the one upstairs, except it was clean thanks to Ethel Mae. For something so old, it was in very good shape. The toilet had a pull chain and it worked. Being in the house was like taking a step back in time.

She helped the girls into their pajamas while Adam took his bath. Snug in their bags, Callie hurriedly took a bath and slipped into pajama bottoms and a T-shirt. She left the bathroom light on so the house wouldn’t be in total darkness.

Soon they were all comfy. Or so Callie thought. “Callie,” Mary Beth whispered.

“What, sweetie?”

“What if I wet the bed?”

“Then I’ll clean it up and we’ll go back to sleep.”

“But my sleeping bag’ll be wet.”

“Mary Beth, sweetie. Don’t worry about it. I’ll wash the bag tomorrow and you can slide in with me.”

“’Kay.” Mary Beth turned onto her side, Miss Winnie in her arms. “Night, Fred. Don’t be afraid. Callie’s here.”

They went through this every night. Mary Beth just needed reassurance. Before Glynis’s death, she’d never wet the bed or been afraid. Once their lives settled down, the bed-wetting would stop. Since they’d been on the run, Mary Beth had only wet the bed once—their first night in a motel. Callie was hoping that soon she wouldn’t be wetting the bed at all and she wouldn’t be so afraid.

Callie gazed into the semidarkness, listening to the occasional sound of a car and the creaks and noises of the old house. They were here. They were safe—for now. Just the thought of that relaxed her.

“I can’t sleep,” Brit complained.

“Me, neither,” Mary Beth chimed in. “Tell us a story.”

“Not the princess one again or I’ll puke.” Adam made his wishes known.

“There’s a prince for every princess, right, Callie?”

“Right,” she answered Brit’s question, but she wasn’t sure. She’d met a couple of horned toads in her day. And kissing didn’t help.

“Daddy was Mommy’s prince,” Mary Beth said.

“Yes, he was,” Callie agreed. There wasn’t a better man than John Lambert.

“And Nigel’s a frog.” Brit giggled. “You know what? If he comes here maybe we can get June Bug to eat him.”

“Maybe he’ll eat you.” Adam joined the conversation.

“Callie, he’s being mean again.” Brit wanted to make sure she knew that.

“Everyone go to sleep.”

Silence for a moment, then Mary Beth’s tiny voice asked, “Can Mommy see us?”

Callie swallowed. “Yes, she can.”

“Daddy, too?”

“Yes, Daddy, too.”

“Then that bad sheriff won’t arrest us ’cause they’ll take care of us.”

How Callie wished that were true. And that Glynis had never met Nigel or that John hadn’t died. Now she had to deal with the consequences.

Once she heard Brit and Mary Beth’s steady breathing, she slipped from her bag. Adam’s recent behavior was unacceptable and they had to discuss it. Lying on his back, he stared at the ceiling. She went down on her knees beside him.

“Can’t sleep?”

“No.”

“Why are you being so mean to your sister?”

He turned on his side to face her. “Because she’s being silly and she’s going to get us caught. Then they’ll take us back to Nigel and put you in jail. I can’t take that, Callie. I can’t. And if you’re in jail, I’ll just die. I’m so scared.”

“Oh, Adam.” She gathered him in her arms, her heart breaking. “Please stop worrying so much. I’ll take care of us. I promise.”

“But the sheriff keeps coming here.”

“He’s just being nice.” As she said the words, she knew they were true. Wade Montgomery was a nice man. “Listen to me. Worrying is my department and I will handle the sheriff. I want you to turn back into the sweet little boy you’ve always been. Okay?”

“Okay.” He rubbed his face against her.

“Now go to sleep.”

Callie walked out onto the front porch and sat in one of the rockers, her heart heavy. It was a beautiful moonlit night with a million stars twinkling through the live oaks. She drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around her legs, listening to the gentle serenade of the crickets. Everything was quiet. Peaceful. Except her thoughts.

How could her mother do this to them? she asked herself again. Put them in the position of fleeing from the law. So much anger churned inside her at the turmoil Adam was going through, and the grief and fear Mary Beth and Brit were experiencing. She tried not to be angry at Glynis, but she was. She’d been taken in by a con artist. Nigel had lavished her with attention and praise, something she’d needed after John’s death. Still, it didn’t give her the right to bring that awful man into their lives.

Glynis could be impulsive and selfish at times, but she’d never done anything like this. She and John had had a good marriage, a good life, so how could she fall for Nigel? Callie didn’t understand that and every time she’d tried to talk to her mother, Glynis would say they’d talk later. But later never came. Instead, a nightmare had followed and she was still…

Her thoughts skidded to an abrupt stop as a car pulled up to the curb. Wade. Again. He unfolded his tall frame from the vehicle and started up the walk. It was late—too late for a friendly visit. What was he doing here? There could only be one reason. He knew her identity and had come to arrest her.

Her first reaction was to run inside, lock the front door and get the kids out the back. But her car was in front.

She was trapped.

And she didn’t even hear a siren.

CHAPTER FOUR

AS THE SHERIFF STROLLED UP the steps, Callie held her breath until her chest burned. Why was he here?

“Mrs. Austin.” Wade tipped his hat in welcome.

“Sheriff,” she acknowledged in a hesitant voice, her heart ticking like a time bomb about to explode.

“I was making my last drive through town before heading home and I saw you sitting out here.” He leaned a shoulder against a pillar.

Her lungs expanded with relief. He didn’t know who she was—yet. She had more time. Tightening her arms around her legs, she said, “It’s so relaxing and quiet. I can barely hear the traffic on the highway.”

“Yep. Homestead’s a peaceful place. Not much happens.”

“I like that.”

“That’s why you came to Homestead, isn’t it?”

Her eyes shot to his, trying to make out his expression in the moonlight. Was there something hidden in that remark? There seemed to be, but she really couldn’t tell. Her perception wasn’t all that good lately, and her nerves were a mangled mass of spaghetti.

“What do you mean?” she asked for good measure.

Wade walked over and sat in the other rocker. It squeaked against the floorboards from his weight. “A small quiet town to raise your children.”

“Yes.”

Away from Nigel Tremont and his sadistic behavior.

Wade clasped his hands between his knees. “I really came by to apologize.”

“Oh?”

“I should have spoken to you first before offering Brit a chance to ride a horse. That put you in an awkward position.”

Callie tucked her hair behind her ear, amazed at his sensitivity. “Since we started making plans to come to Texas, Brit has talked about being a cowgirl. She’s never been near a horse so I’m not sure where the idea comes from. I feel once she gets near the big animal all that will change. Brit’s very impulsive.”

“And very charming. Like her mother.”

His voice felt like a caress in the night, warming her skin and… Oh, this was getting too intimate—with the wrong man.

A tense pause followed, then he said, “I’m afraid I had personal reasons for making the offer.”

“Personal reasons?”

“Yeah.” He rubbed his hands together. “My son died four years ago and his horse hasn’t been ridden since. I was hoping another child would…” He stopped for a moment. “My father is very protective of that horse and it probably wouldn’t have worked anyway.”

Callie’s heart filled with compassion. “I’m so sorry about your son.” She could only imagine the grief and the heartache of losing a child and she could hear it in every word he spoke.

“Thank you,” he said and got to his feet with restless energy. It was clear that talking about his son wasn’t easy and he quickly changed the subject. “I thought I better warn you, too, about the townsfolk. They’ll be eager to help and I hope it’s not going to offend you. People around here are just friendly.”

She stood on her bare feet facing him. “I’ll remember that and I’m probably going to need a lot of help. The house—” she waved a hand toward the front door “—needs lots of work.”

“June Bug is a good carpenter and he can fix just about anything.”

“Odell’s a very interesting person.”

A dark eyebrow arched in amusement. “Yeah. I think he’s been called that a time or two.”

“I’m not calling him June Bug. I consider it an insult.”

Wade studied her in the moonlight, which seemed to form a halo around the blond hair that hung loosely to her shoulders. Without her shoes, she barely came up to his shoulder, but despite her petite size he had a feeling Callie Austin was a very strong woman. She would be a pleasant surprise for the town of Homestead. That was his personal opinion. His train of thought seemed to be completely sidetracked since her arrival in town.

“I really hate to disappoint Brit.”

“Don’t worry about it. Brit forgets things easily, and frankly I need to spend all my time on the house.”

And not getting involved with me. Where did that thought come from? He didn’t even know the woman, but he liked her and…

He cleared his throat. “Are the kids comfortable for the night?”

“Yes. They’re completely exhausted.”

He nodded. “I’m sure you are, too, so I’ll let you get to bed.” He tipped his hat again. “Have a good night.”

With that, Wade strolled down the step to his squad car. He’d vowed to stay away from Callie and give her some space, but when he’d glimpsed her sitting in the rocker he’d stopped without even thinking. The offer of Brit riding a horse bothered him. After he’d done it, he realized he shouldn’t have, especially after Callie’s reaction. And of course Jock would be against anyone riding Lucky. It was best to rectify things now, but he didn’t feel good about hurting Brit. He wondered how Callie would explain it.

Before getting into his car, he glanced at the front porch. Callie had gone inside. He felt a moment of loneliness and he had no idea what that meant. He felt lonely all the time—nothing and no one could make that go away. Talking to her was almost surreal, like this was something he needed. And he’d told her about Zach. He never spoke to anyone about his son, except his friend Ethan Ritter. Ethan had lost a sister, so he knew about that kind of pain.

He got in his car and headed toward Spring Creek Ranch.

And a confrontation with his father.

WHEN WADE WALKED into the kitchen, Jock was sitting at the table nursing a cup of coffee. The mug trembled in his hands.

“How you feeling, Pop?”

“Hummph.”

Wade poured a cup and straddled a chair across from his father. He and Jock used to be the same height, but at sixty-nine Jock’s height had diminished. His hair was silver-gray and his face leathery and wrinkled from years in the sun. A man who once walked with pride now found it a struggle to get through each day, and on days when he needed help, he depended on the bottle. There were too many of those days to Wade’s way of thinking. They had to talk.

Where to start? Talking to his father had always been a hard thing to do. Wade had idolized Jock and wanted to be just like him. He’d been Wyatt Earp and John Wayne combined to a young Wade. Seeing him in this state of depression was even harder. Now Wade would have to be the strong one.

He gripped his cup. “Pop, this drinking has to stop.”

Jock held his head with both hands. “My head’s pounding, son, and if I get angry it might explode.”

“Then stop drinking.”

“What else have I got to do?”

“Work this ranch like you always have.” He paused, using all the ammunition he had. “That’s what Zach would want.”

Jock gulped down a swallow of coffee. “I don’t want to talk about Zach.”

“We have to,” Wade insisted, knowing they had to get to the root of Jock’s problem. “You blame me. You haven’t come out and said it, but I know you do.”

Jock glared at him through bloodshot eyes. “Why did you let him go to that party? Why?”

It was the first time Jock had asked that question and it was long overdue. Wade removed his hat and slowly placed it on the table, that permanent knot in his stomach felt like a rope pulled taut. To avoid the pain, he could get up and walk away like he always did. But he couldn’t do that anymore or soon that rope would choke him to death.

He swallowed to ease the knot. “Zach wanted to go and it was a party for twelve-year-olds. Kim and I thought it would be safe.”

“But it wasn’t, was it?”

Unable to sit any longer, he stood and jammed both hands through his hair, losing control. “No. I killed him because I didn’t check out the situation. Does that make you feel better?”

Jock hung his head.

“I will feel the guilt of his death every day of my life, but I’m not going to sit by and watch you drink yourself to death. You and I are left to face this world so let’s do it the best way we can. Without arguing—like Zach would want.”

“Zach never liked it when you and I argued.” Jock brushed hair out of his eyes.

“No,” Wade agreed. “He loved us both.”

“Yeah. He was a good kid. I just don’t see why those boys didn’t get jail time.”

Wade took his seat again, suddenly feeling a relief to be able to talk about his son. “I tried everything I could, but they were twelve years old. They’re on probation until they’re twenty-one and their activities are monitored. That’s all the court would do.”

That still rankled Wade, but he’d learned to live with it the best way he could.

An awkward silence followed.

“Pop, there’s a kid in town who wants to ride a horse. Lucky needs to be ridden and—”

Jock stumbled to his feet. “Nobody rides that horse. Nobody.”

Jock hobbled away and Wade buried his face in his hands. Was life always going to be like this? He’d had just about his limit. From out of nowhere, Callie Austin’s face appeared in his mind and he wondered why he could see it so clearly.

THE NEXT MORNING, Callie woke up to noise and she scrambled from her bag into her clothes. She heard the pounding of a hammer, the whiz of a saw, the buzz of a mower and voices—several voices.

“What’s that?” Adam asked, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

“I’ll check. Stay with your sisters.”

Callie opened her front door and stopped short. People were everywhere and she didn’t know any of them. Two men were working on the picket fence, another was mowing the grass. Several men were working on the roof and the column. Odell stepped up on the porch with a tool belt that looked bigger than him around his waist.

“Odell, what’s going on?”

“You told me to fix up the place and that’s what I’m doing.”

“I’m paying for all these people?”

“No, ma’am. The guy mowing is Walter and he’s retired and just likes to mow. He helps out the new residents—sort of makes them feel welcome. That’s Delbert and his son, Little Del, working on the fence. They help out when they can and they owe me a favor. And the men working on the house I hired so I can do the job as quickly as possible. That’s what you wanted, right?”

“Yes,” she answered absently, realizing for the first time that no one ever said their last name. Everybody knew everybody, Wade had said, so she supposed there was no need, except she didn’t know anyone. It would help to know a last name, especially if it was Collins.

“We’ll have the column and porches secured by the end of the day then I can start on the inside.”

“Thank you, Odell,” she said, feeling as if she were in a trance as she went back into the house. Wade had said the people were friendly and he was right. Maybe a little too friendly. No one did anything for free, did they? She was budgeting her money and she had to be careful so that it lasted a year.

THE DAYS THAT FOLLOWED were busy and hectic and she became more familiar with the town and its people. The kids absolutely loved Tanner’s General Store, where anything from beef jerky to toys to large jars of assorted hard candies could be found. Then there were barrels stuffed with gourmet treats. Adam went for the pickle jar while the girls debated over the candy. Callie favored the food area where the meat and produce were fresh and the best she’d ever seen. She missed cooking, but knew it would be awhile before her kitchen was ready. They were making do with a hot plate and that limited what they could eat.

She found there were very few good places to eat in Homestead. There was a kolache shop, a Dairy Queen and the Lone Wolf Bar. She was told that no self-respecting woman would be caught dead in there. Then there was a barbecue place and small diner that looked as bad as the Lone Wolf. That’s when the idea had come to Callie. She couldn’t take a whole year without cooking, so she decided to open a café.

At first the idea seemed crazy since she wasn’t planning on staying in Homestead. But repairing the house was going to take a lot of money and she needed a way to earn an income. She didn’t want her savings to dwindle down to nothing. And cooking was what she did.

A decent place to eat would be good for the town and it would keep her busy, keep her from constantly worrying. The right side of the house would work for the café. Frances Haase had explained that in the old days, the Victorian house had been built to accommodate the entertainment of men and women. There hadn’t been much to do besides go to a local bar and the upstanding citizens hadn’t done that—or if they had, no one had ever spoken of it. Instead, they’d entertained in their homes.

The right parlor was where the men had gathered with their cronies to play poker or cards and to smoke cigars and indulge in their drink of choice. In the left parlor, the women had had their side to gather with friends to knit, crochet or quilt and to imbibe a drink if they so chose without their husband’s permission. Large sliding doors were in a pocket of the wall on each side of the entry and could easily be pulled for privacy.

Each area had access to the kitchen, which made Callie’s idea perfect. With the bedrooms upstairs and the parlors and dining room downstairs, the left side would be their home. Callie became excited with her plans for the kitchen and the café. She talked with Odell and he seemed to be able to do everything she wanted. For once, something else occupied her mind besides fear.

The kids were helping with the cleanup and they were more energetic. Odell had redone the staircase to make sure it was safe and the kids had chosen their rooms upstairs. Although, Callie suspected Mary Beth and Brit wouldn’t sleep in their own room for a while—even Adam, for that fact. But it was okay. They were safe for now.

Buddy and Rascal were regular visitors and while Mary Beth played with Rascal, Buddy helped on the house. One day she made fresh lemonade for all the workers. Del sat in one of the rockers taking a break.

“Mighty good lemonade,” he said.

“Thank you.” Callie thought for a minute then asked, “I don’t believe I caught your last name?”

“My last name?” Del sat rigidly straight and Callie knew she’d made a big mistake. Del was offended.

“I’m sorry, but I’m new in town and I don’t know anyone and no one says their last name.”

He carefully placed his glass on a small table. “There’s a reason for that. Around here we all know and trust each other.” He rose to his full height, his chest puffed out. “But if it’ll ease your mind, my name is Delbert Brockmoor.”

“Thank you, Del.”

Del went back to work and Callie felt as if she’d committed a faux pas. Buddy walked onto the porch for a glass of lemonade. “Somethin’ wrong?”

“I think I hurt Del’s feelings.”

“How’d you do that?”

“By asking his last name.”

“Oh.”

She turned to Buddy, needing an answer once and for all. “Do you know any Collinses that live here?”

Buddy took a long drink of the lemonade. “Nope, can’t say that I do.”

Callie’s heart sank. But she’d keep asking until she found someone who knew her father or her grandparents. She’d definitely use more discretion, though.

“I noticed the tires on your Suburban and it’s time to replace ’em. If it’s okay, I’ll order ’em and put ’em on. Oil probably needs checking, too. Women tend to forget that.”

She smiled at Buddy. “Go ahead. I haven’t even thought about the tires or oil.”

“Consider it done.”

Wade was right. The people were helpful and friendly. It reaffirmed her decision to come to Texas.

CALLIE HAD CLEANED THE TUB upstairs and was happy that under all the grime the porcelain was still in good shape. Next were the filthy windows. She was busy cleaning them in a parlor when someone knocked on the door. The kids were wiping dust from the baseboards.

“I’ll get it,” she said, thinking it was Ethel, but Ethel never knocked. She just came in, usually with a cigarette in her mouth. From day one, Callie had made it clear that smoking was not acceptable in the house or around the children. Ethel was a good sport about extinguishing the cigarette.

Opening the door, she found an attractive couple with a boy who looked to be around eight or nine. He had bright auburn hair and a big smile.

“Hi,” the woman said. “I’m Kristin Gallagher and this is my husband, Ryan.” She stroked the boy’s head. “And this is my son, Cody.”

“Nice to meet you.” Callie shook their hands.

“I’m the physician’s assistant at the small health clinic. With three kids, I thought you might like to know that.”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“My mom said you got kids I can play with,” Cody spoke up.

Brit walked up before Callie could answer.

“She’s a girl,” Cody said to his mother.

“Cody…”

“You’re a boy,” Brit answered before the adults could intervene.

“I don’t like girls.”

“Well, I’m not crazy about boys, either.” Brit put her hands on her hips for effect.

Adam joined the group. After being introduced he asked, “Want to go outside and play? And don’t worry about Brit. She’s almost like a boy.”

Brit’s face creased into one big frown. “I am not. I’m going to be a cowgirl—not a cowboy.”

“Cool,” Cody beamed. “I like horses, too. Can I stay?” Cody glanced at his mother.

“No. I have to go to the clinic.” Kristin smoothed his hair. “Maybe another day.”

“Ah, Mom. Hayden and Sara are on vacation and—”

Ryan came to the rescue. “I have some errands to run in town. I can pick Cody up in about an hour if that’s okay with Callie.”

“Sure. The kids need a break.”

“Are you sure?” Kristin asked. “You’re so busy with the house and I must say it’s looking very nice.”

“Thank you. You’re the first person to say that. Everyone else thinks I’m a lunatic for taking on this big house.”

“But I love it.”

“I do, too.” In that moment, Callie knew she’d found a friend. “And no, it’s no problem for Cody to stay. The kids are bored with all the cleaning.”

“Okay.” Before the word left Kristin’s mouth, Cody darted into the house and stood between Adam and Brit.

“I’ll be back in a little while,” Ryan called as the couple walked off.

The kids played outside for a while, then they played games in the dining room. Mary Beth was feeling left out and trailed behind Callie. Callie told her to show Cody her fish and that did the trick. They lay on the floor watching Fred swim around, talking about fish. She could hear some big tales being told.

There was another knock at the door and Callie put her rag down and went to see who it was. A tall, blond, good-looking man in boots stood there.

He held out his hand with a smile. “Mrs. Austin, I’m Father Noah Kelley from St. Mark’s Episcopal Church.”

She blinked in confusion. “Excuse me?” He didn’t look like any priest she’d ever seen and he didn’t wear a collar.

“I’m Father Noah Kelley.” His smile broadened. “My dad is the rector at St. Mark’s. He had a stroke and I’m filling in.” Shaking her hand, he added, “Please call me Noah. I came by to invite you and your children to Sunday services, and of course, the children are always welcome to join our Sunday school classes.”

“Oh. Thank you. But as you can see—” her hand swept around the place “—I have so much to do.”

“There’s always time for God, Mrs. Austin.”

Callie was duly chastised and felt color tinge her cheeks. “Please call me Callie, and I will try to make time.”

The children’s laughter echoed from the parlor.

“Do you mind if I speak with the children?” Noah asked.

“Ah…no.” Stepping aside, she watched as he walked into the parlor and sat on the floor with the kids. She could see that he had a way with children. They were laughing and talking as if he were one of them.

When Noah left, he called, “See you Sunday, Mrs…. Callie.”

“Bye, Fath…Noah.” It would take a while before she was comfortable with calling a priest by his first name. But then, she had a feeling Noah was going to be easy to know. The kids missed going to church, so she just might take him up on his offer. Staying out of the limelight didn’t seem to be an option here in Homestead.

Ethel arrived and Callie continued with the cleaning. It seemed like no time at all had passed by the time Ryan came back. Cody wasn’t ready to leave, but he went meekly, promising to return soon.

At the door, Ryan paused, “My father is Clint Gallagher, a state senator, and he’s not real pleased with the Home Free Program. So if he gives you any flak, don’t pay him any attention. His bark is worse than his bite.”

“Thanks for the warning. I’d heard there were some disgruntled people in town.”

“For the record, I’m for the program. It brought Kristin back into my life.”

“Oh?”

He grinned, looking a little embarrassed. “It’s a long story and Kristin’ll probably tell you.”

Ryan was obviously a man who didn’t like to talk, especially about intimate things. But he couldn’t hide the love in his eyes and Callie knew a lot of good was coming from the land giveaway. The last thing she needed, though, was a state senator breathing down her neck. She’d have to be very careful.

Callie went back to work thinking love was a wonderful thing. Catching sight of Brit, she stopped. Her sister was staring out the window at the street. Callie knew who she was looking for. Wade.

Wade had stayed away and Brit had asked about him every day. He’d promised her a ride on a horse and she wasn’t forgetting that, as Callie had thought she would. Seeing Brit so disappointed was disheartening. Soon she’d have to do something, but making friends with Wade was not a great idea. And she didn’t know why she thought about him constantly.

She remembered the love and the hurt in his voice when he’d talked about his son. Wade had an inner compassion that was hard to resist. Her instincts were telling her to stay away from the sheriff. Her heart was telling her something entirely different. But then, what did her heart know? It had taken so many knocks lately that she was sure it was malfunctioning.

Ethel was cleaning the woodwork and Callie went to find her, leaving Brit to her own devices. She’d find a way to make her dream come true.

“Odell says you’re going to open a café here,” Ethel said, straightening from her stooped position over the baseboards.

“Yes, I am.”

Ethel frowned. “Do you know how to cook?”

Callie paused in her sweep across a window. “Yes. Actually I went to school to learn.”

“Went to school?” Ethel’s voice rose. “Well, don’t that take the biscuit. Never heard of such a thing. I learned to cook as soon as I could hold a spoon in my hand and stir. My daughters learned the same way. All nine of ’em, Edith Mae, Etta Mae, Erma Mae, Emma Mae, Earla Mae, Eva Mae, Ella Mae, Essie Mae and Eloise Mae.”

Callie gaped at her. “Your girls have the same middle name and their first names start with an E?”

“Sure do. Easier to remember ’em that way.”

“But isn’t it confusing?”

“Sometimes, but when they’re all home I just shout Mae and they all come running.”

A smile tugged at Callie’s mouth. She could imagine that. When Ethel hollered in high-throttle sewing-machine mode, everyone had a tendency to run—in the opposite direction.

Callie rinsed a rag in warm water. “Please tell me Odell’s middle name is not Mae.

“Of course not. He’s named after his father, Odell Willard—everyone called him Willie. I went through ten births to give that man a son and what does he do? Up and dies on me. No warning, no nothing.” She snapped her fingers. “Just like that, he’s gone and I’m left to raise ten kids alone.”

“That had to have been hard.”

“Wasn’t easy, but my girls started working as soon as they could and they’re all married and have good jobs, except none of them live here. Got a couple in San Antonio, but it’s just me and Odell now.” Ethel surveyed the cobwebs on the ceiling. “We’ll need a ladder to get up there.”

“Yeah.” Callie followed her gaze. “I’ll borrow one from Odell.”

“Why did you have to go to school to learn to cook?” Ethel returned to their former conversation. “Didn’t you have a mother?”

Callie inhaled deeply. “Yes, I had a mother and I learned to cook at an early age, too. It’s something I’ve always loved to do and I had a neighbor who taught me a lot. But I went to culinary school so I could learn the skills of being an executive chef in a fine restaurant.”

Ethel had a bandanna tied around her hair and she pushed it back slightly. “You mean you’re one of those fancy know-it-alls I see on the tube?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, swat me with a fly swatter. Ain’t that somethin’. Wait until I tell my cousin Bertha. She thinks she’s the best cook in the county ’cause people come from all over to eat her kolaches, which I make most of the time and she gets all the credit.” She thought for a minute. “I might just come to work for you. What are you gonna pay?”

“What do you think you’re worth?”

An eyebrow darted up. “A lot more than you can pay.”

Callie laughed out loud and it felt good. It also felt good to be in Homestead and to meet so many heartwarming people.

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