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,”
