The Rancher's Homecoming

One more thing she wouldn’t need to do again was put up with Ben Dolent and her father’s heavy-handed matchmaking. Ben wasn’t a bad man, just a dull, unattractive one who happened to be the manager of her father’s grain silo, a willing pawn of her father’s, doing whatever he was told without question. Sometimes Callie thought that if she had to endure one more evening of his company she would explode.

“Stuart is not going to be happy about this,” Jenny warned, but Callie couldn’t remember when her father had last been happy about anything, especially not where she was concerned. She knew he meant well, but financial security was not the only important thing in life, and her father had no right to decide whom she would marry and where she would live. Still, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t seem to make him understand that. The more she talked, the more he restricted her access to funds and threw Ben Dolent at her.

“Do me a favor, Jenny,” she said softly. “Don’t call my father yet.”

“I have to, girl! He owns this place.”

“Just give me a couple hours then. That’s not too much to ask, is it? How often have I helped you out?”

Jenny’s lips, red with her favorite lipstick, flattened, but then she nodded, muttering, “It’s about to get real busy around here.” She glared at Callie. “You couldn’t have picked a worse time to up and leave. I don’t know where all these folks are coming from. It’s a phenomenal, is what it is, a phenomenal.”

“Phenomenon,” Callie corrected gently. Smiling, she patted Jenny’s arm as she left the small room. “Thanks, Jenny. I appreciate it.”

Callie walked out into the dining room, the strap of her roomy handbag slung over one shoulder, and smiled at Rex Billings, the tall, handsome lawyer.

“I’m all yours.”

The way his pale blue gaze raked over her, from the top of her shaggy blond head to the toes of her cheap athletic shoes, suddenly made her wish that she’d phrased that differently, but then he smiled and lifted an arm in invitation.

“After you.”

* * *

It didn’t hit Rex until she pointed to the tall, redbrick house in the center of the block exactly whom he had hired.

“You’re Stuart Crowsen’s daughter.”

She turned wide, glade-green eyes on him, seeming almost frightened. “Is that a problem?”

“Of course not. I just didn’t realize, that’s all.”

“Because of my married name,” she concluded, nodding.

He turned the six-year-old pickup truck into the drive and brought it to a stop. His own silver, two-seater sports car sat under a protective cloth cover beneath a tree behind his dad’s house. “I take it you’re divorced.”

“No.” The sadness in that one word said it all.

“I’m sorry,” he told her, killing the engine and letting out the clutch. “Divorced is no picnic, but widowed has to be worse.”

“You’re divorced, then?”

“Yeah.” He sighed and rubbed a finger over his eyebrow. “No kids, so at least we didn’t mess up innocent lives.”

It turned out that catching the boss’s daughter cheating on him had an upside, even if she was your own wife. Rex had ended his relationship with his former law firm, not to mention his marriage with the senior partner’s daughter, over eight months ago. Given the situation, Rex had been offered a very generous severance package. That had given him the freedom to come back to War Bonnet and help out with the ranch while his dad fought to recover his health.

“I’d just found out I was pregnant when Bo died,” Callie told Rex softly. “Bodie will never know him, and he never saw her, but I thank God that I have her.”

“Sounds like you’ve had a rough time of it.”

“Mmm, well, no one’s sick. Mind if I ask what’s wrong with your dad?”

“Cancer. They removed a piece of his liver and some lymph glands, but at least it wasn’t in his pancreas or bile ducts. He’ll have to undergo chemotherapy when he’s stronger, which is why my sisters and I are coming home for a while. This is a busy season at the ranch, and he just can’t manage on his own. With Mom gone, it’s up to us.”

“I remember when your mom died,” Callie said. “It was a big shock. I don’t think anyone realized she had a heart condition.”

“No one,” Rex confirmed. “It was a birth defect. All us kids had to be tested for it afterward. Thankfully, none of us have the problem, but I think that’s why Meredith became a nurse.”

“I wondered about that. Meri never said anything about wanting to be a nurse when we were girls.”

“I didn’t know you were that close.”

“We hung out some.”

Callie reached for the door handle. “I’ll be as quick as I can. There’s a portable crib in the garage. Also some boxes and tape. I used them when Bodie and I moved in a few months back. If you want to help out, you can put the crib in the truck while I tape up the boxes. Then we’ll go inside.”

“That’ll work.”

They walked into the garage via a side door. Callie pulled out the crib and Rex carried it out to the truck. When he returned to the garage, she had four midsize moving boxes put together. She handed him two and took two in her hands before leading the way through the side door.

“Most of my clothes are on hangers,” she said, stepping up into a pristine kitchen. “Bodie’s things will fit in two boxes.”

“You been keeping house for your dad?” he asked, glancing around.

“Almost my whole life,” she confirmed. He nodded to himself. Okay, she could cook and clean. “Don’t worry,” she added. “He can afford to hire help.”

That worked for Rex. “Just take what you need for now. We can come back later for anything else.”

She turned and faced him. “I’d rather take it all if you don’t mind. There really isn’t that much.” Nervously, she sifted her fingers through her short, silky bangs.

He’d always preferred women with long hair, but Callie’s wispy, chin-length blond hair suited her oval face. He liked her somewhat pointy chin. It looked good on her, as did the form-hugging jeans and the simple, short-sleeved T-shirt that she wore. She looked strong and fit, curving in all the right places. Everything about her felt completely genuine.

Rex realized that he was staring and, to cover his lapse, blurted out, “What color is that shirt?”

She looked down at her shirt. “What?”

“I can’t figure out if it’s orange or pink,” he said with a chuckle.

Her green eyes—the color of leafy trees sparkling in the sunlight—rolled upward, and pink lips without a trace of lipstick widened in a smile. “It’s melon.”

He grinned. “Whatever you say.”

Smiling, she crooked a finger at him. “Come with me.”

“Lead on.”

They walked through a formal dining room and into an entry hall, where a staircase led up to the second floor. A plump, grandmotherly woman with tightly curled, iron gray hair appeared on the landing above them.

“Callie? Shouldn’t you be at the café?”