The Rancher's Homecoming. Arlene James
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Ranching had never been Rex’s chosen career path, but without the ranch, Rex and his sisters feared that their dad would simply give up. He’d taken their mother’s death hard, and they feared that his cancer would become an excuse for him simply to let go and join her in the next life, especially if the ranch faltered. Rex couldn’t let that happen. Though not as prosperous as in years past, the ranch remained on solid fiscal footing, and Rex intended to see to it that it stayed that way. As much as he disliked the physical labor of ranching, he could, would, do this.
Besides, Callie wouldn’t be here for long. They’d only need her until Meredith could get a leave of absence from her nursing job and Ann’s company sent a temporary manager to take over for her so she could use some of those many vacation days she had stacked up. Anyway, it was worth double Callie’s wages to see Wes smiling, dressed and sitting at the table for meals again.
Meanwhile, having a pretty woman around the house, good meals on the table and clean clothes would go a long way toward helping Rex swallow his frustration and dismay with the work and do this thing for his dad. It was the least he could do for the man who had never pushed him to give up his own dreams to take over the family legacy.
* * *
After changing her daughter’s diaper, Callie nursed her in the rocking chair in front of the empty fireplace. She watched through the window as Rex walked across the yard, past an enormous bur oak, over the hard-packed red dirt road to the big red barn on the other side. The old barn sagged a bit, its white roof beaten to gray in places by the Oklahoma weather, but it still stood proudly beside a maze of corrals and a conglomeration of newer metal outbuildings.
Rex pulled on a pair of leather work gloves as he walked, his big, booted feet kicking up little dust clouds along the well-worn path. She respected him for taking time out of his law practice to come here and care for his ailing father, but she had to wonder just how much he knew about balers and livestock.
Wes obviously needed the help. His gauntness had shocked Callie more than the sudden graying of his hair, and in order to tempt his appetite she’d instantly started sorting through her mental store of Gloria Billings’s recipes and what she recalled the Billings girls had bought in her father’s grocery.
Gloria had always been very kind to Callie and widely generous with her recipes. As a motherless girl who had always known she was a disappointment to her father—Stuart Crowsen obviously would have much preferred a son to take over his many businesses—Callie had deeply admired Gloria and envied Ann and Meredith.
She barely remembered Rex. He’d been away at college by the time she’d started to take notice of boys. She hadn’t given the largely absent Rex a passing thought. She couldn’t help doing so now, though.
He was a fine-looking man, and he so obviously loved his father.
“Thank You, Lord,” she whispered, cradling Bodie against her. “Thank You for sending him into the café this morning. Thank You for this chance. Thank You for giving me a way to help Wes. Please show me how to make the most of it. I hope Gloria knows that I’ll do my best by him.”
Bodie pulled away and sat up then, giving Callie a milky smile. Callie hugged her, feeling for the first time since her husband, Bo, had died that they were truly going to be okay.
“We’re on our way now, baby girl. Soon we’ll be on our own.”
The money that she would earn here with the Billings family would take her and Bodie to a new life, someplace where Callie could find a decent-paying job and make a home for the two of them. Far away from her father. Meanwhile, she would do her best to get Wes Billings back on his feet and Straight Arrow Ranch running smoothly.
She carried Bodie downstairs, created a playpen out of kitchen chairs, filled it with her daughter’s favorite toys and went to work. This kitchen wasn’t as modern as her father’s. Even the microwave and dishwasher were ancient. The room had lots of space, though, and Callie loved the butcher-block work island.
Within the hour, the house was filled with the mouthwatering aroma of chocolate chip-and-walnut cookies. Wes called from his room, “Smells good!”
“I’ll bring you a plate with a glass of milk.”
She piled half a dozen cookies on a plate, poured a talk glass of whole milk and carried them to him, along with a stack of napkins.
“I can’t eat all that,” he protested.
“Eat what you want,” she replied, leaving the snack on the bedside table within easy reach.
He helped himself to the first cookie, took a bite and closed his eyes, humming approval.
“Girl, you know your way around a kitchen.”
“I had to learn early.”
“I imagine you did.”
“Gloria was a big help.”
“My Glory was a jewel,” he said on a sigh.
“I missed her after y’all switched your membership to Countryside Church.”
“The pastor out there was the son of a good friend of mine,” Wes explained, reaching for another cookie. “We wanted to support him. He’s been gone awhile now, but by then we’d sunk pretty deep roots in that church. It’s home.”
“I understand,” Callie said. “I’ve been thinking about going there myself.”
Wes nodded and finished off the second cookie, then reached for the milk, saying, “You’ll like it. Rex is gonna like these. That old baler is giving him a real hard time. Why don’t you take him some?”
“I’ll do that,” Callie said.
Wes brightened appreciably. Callie smiled and returned to the kitchen, where she found a sturdy paper plate and a disposable cup. She filled the plate with cookies and the cup with milk. After parking Bodie on her hip, she went out through the front door, carrying the plate with the cup nestled in its center.
She entered the barn through the wide rolling door nearest the road. Rex was bent over the long, mechanical arm of the baler, growling at something.
“Maybe this will help,” she said.
He jerked upright in surprise, a ratchet in his hand. His eyebrows peaked when he saw the plate of cookies and cup of milk. “Oh. Uh. Thanks.”
“Your dad thought you might like a snack.”
“Yeah. Looks good. Won’t get that stupid bolt off, though,” he grumped, laying aside the ratchet and stripping off his gloves.
She