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.