The Rancher's Homecoming

“That’s it. Short bolt.”

Rex gave a huge sigh of relief and let go, backing away. “Woman, you are worth your weight in gold. I have been working on that for hours and hours.”

Laughing, Callie carefully extricated the tool and the bolt from the machinery. “Replace your part, and I’ll help you bolt it back on,” she volunteered. “Might want to disconnect the battery first.”

“Already done,” he said, passing Bodie back to her. He smiled, and the warmth of it did funny things to Callie’s insides. “Thank you,” he went on. “Seriously. I couldn’t have done this without you. And I’m sorry about the cookie,” he added sheepishly.

“No problem.” She handed over the ratchet but kept the bolt, pretending to study it, her heart beating a little faster than it should have.

He took her hand in his, studying the bolt with her. The man’s hand felt unusually warm, almost hot. Maybe that was why she shivered.

“This is rusty. No wonder it was so hard to get off,” he said.

Realizing he was right, she cleared her throat. “Got any cleaner?”

“There’s a jar with other bolts on the workbench.”

Pulling away from him, she carried the bolt to the workbench and added it to the jar of reddish liquid before turning toward the house, Bodie riding her hip. “I’ll go check on Wes, get the laundry started and come back.”

“Great,” Rex said. “Hey, how do you know so much about this stuff?”

She turned in midstride. “My dad owns the Feed and Grain, remember? And he didn’t seem to know I was female until Teddy Gilmer asked me to the homecoming dance. Until then I was just after-school help with small hands that could get into tight places.” She wiggled her fingers.

“Remind me to thank your dad,” Rex said, smiling again and bowing slightly.

“Oh, I think you’ll get your chance,” Callie replied. Unfortunately, she doubted that any of the Billings family would feel anything close to gratitude once Stuart Crowsen showed himself.

She just hoped that she hadn’t brought them more trouble. If anyone could stand up to Stuart Crowsen, though, it was Wes Billings.

At least, Wes could do it if he was physically stronger. She’d just have to pray that was the case, and in the meantime, she’d do all that she could to prove her worth around here—and keep her daughter from eating cookies.

Chapter Three (#ulink_6f4c5495-dd4b-5645-a5da-4b09fc389618)

The afternoon turned hot, with temperatures shooting up to the midnineties. Surrounded by large trees and deep porches, the old house felt comfortable enough, except for the kitchen. Used to the central air-conditioning of her father’s house, Callie soon felt herself flagging. She opened several windows, especially upstairs, and turned on all the ceiling fans she could find, including the one in the kitchen. Soon, a pleasant breeze cooled the place. She wondered how well that would do in the coming triple-digit heat of deep summer, however.

Figuring that Rex would need something cold, she made a pitcher of iced tea, then carried a glass to Wes, only to find him fast asleep. Pleased to see that he’d eaten all of his cookies and emptied his milk glass, she tiptoed away again, moved the laundry from the washer to the dryer and went out to help Rex reattach that bolt.

He drained the tumbler of iced tea that she brought him in one long gulp.

“You are quickly making yourself indispensable around here,” he gasped, holding the cold glass against his forehead.

She just smiled. “I made the tea sweet because Wes can use the calories, but if you prefer it unsweetened, I can do that, too.”

“I don’t need the calories,” he said, “but then I don’t usually work like this. Either way is fine.” He set aside the glass. “Did the AC unit kick on?”

“I didn’t know there was an AC unit.”

Rex sighed. “I think it’s broken. Dad works outside so much, I doubt he’s even bothered with it in years. For him, just getting out of the sun is usually enough. I’ll take a look at it first chance I get.”

Callie nodded, aware that Rex was overwhelmed at the moment. “Ready to replace that bolt?”

“Yep.” He looked at Bodie, who rubbed her eyes with a fist. “Must be nap time.”

“She doesn’t get a nap until her momma’s ready to start dinner,” Callie said, jiggling the baby on her hip. “Let’s do this. I’ve got clothes in the dryer.”

“Everything’s ready for you.” He nodded at the tool and clean bolt waiting on the fender of the baler. “You’ve got the housework down to a science, don’t you?” he muttered, gingerly taking Bodie into his hands.

“You’d be surprised how quickly you figure it out,” Callie said, fitting the bolt head into the socket. “A few sleepless nights and haphazard days and it all starts falling into place. I trust you’ve tested the connections and everything works.”

“Yes. Praise God! I’m serious. I have prayed repeatedly about this thing. I can’t tell you how relieved I am to have it running. As it is, we have to use a custom cutter on the oats and sorghum. I was beginning to fear we’d have to hire someone to do the hay, too.”

“Are you using Dean Paul Pryor for your custom cutting?” Callie asked, bending over the baler arm to find the bolt hole.

“I think that’s who Dad mentioned. Do you know him?”

“Everyone knows Dean. When he sold his granddaddy’s farm to pay for his equipment, everyone thought he was crazy. Well, my father did. Dad would have loaned him the money, but Dean didn’t want to borrow. He said that way he stood to lose the farm and the equipment, and you know what? He was right.” She finally found the hole and got the bolt seated. With a few quick turns, she had it secured. She looked over her shoulder at Rex, who was tapping Bodie’s nose. “You’d better finish this.”

“Ah.” He came forward, wrapped his hand around hers on the ratchet and pulled.

She slipped her hand free, disturbed by the heat that radiated up her arm, and took Bodie from him. He grunted as he pulled the bolt tight.

“That should do it.” Grinning, he shook the ratchet free and extricated it from the baler teeth. “You’ve earned your week’s wages already.”

Callie smiled, but then the sound of tires on the dirt road out front had them both looking in that direction. A moment later, a vehicle door slammed, and a male voice boomed, “Callie Dianne!”

Her heart beginning to pound, Callie swallowed and frowned apologetically at Rex. “I’m sorry about this,” she said, aware that her voice trembled. “My father’s come to call.” She’d hoped to have more time. Reluctantly, she moved toward the front of the barn, silently praying that this confrontation wouldn’t be as difficult as she feared.

She heard Rex set aside the tool and follow her. Stuart had made it halfway up the path toward the house when Callie reluctantly called out to him.

“I’m here, Dad.”

He spun around, a raging bull of a man. Not quite six feet tall and built like a brick wall, Stuart hadn’t changed much in the past twenty years, but then he’d always seemed middle-aged, angry and overbearing. His flattop haircut added to the squareness of his face, as did his blunt nose and pugnacious chin. Callie had never been able to see anything of herself in him. Long ago, she’d learned to remain calm in the face of his rages, and he’d never physically hurt her, but he wielded power with purpose and impunity to achieve his own ends.

“Get in the car!” he demanded, pointing.

Callie took a deep breath, cradled Bodie against her, ignored the quaking of her own knees and shook her head. “No.”

“You’re going home.”

Callie swallowed to steady her voice and said, “Wes needs me, Dad. I’m going to stay here to help Mr. Billings.”

“Get in the car!” Stuart roared, starting toward her.

Despite the slamming of her heart, Callie stood her ground. “I’m not going, Dad.”

To her relief, Rex stepped in front her. “Mr. Crowsen, I’m Rex Billings.”

“I know who you are,” Stuart growled. “Get out of my way.” He came to a halt, however, in the middle of the road.