by Linda Warren
“I believe it is. Frances Haase, the librarian and a member of the Home Free Committee, has all the information on the house. It was built in 1876 by Herman Hellmuth and it stayed in the Hellmuth family until about ten years ago. Agnes Hellmuth, a spinster, died and left it to the city and it’s been sitting here in disrepair ever since. We put it in the Home Free Program hoping it would catch someone’s eye.”
He smiled a crooked smile and Callie felt her heart do a tap dance. “You found someone,” she replied, and forced herself not to smile. “I love this old house.”
“Then you’re in for a treat. Some of the furniture is still inside. Miss Hellmuth gave away a lot of pieces to friends in her will, but a few items are still here.”
As she stepped in, an eerie feeling came over her—the same feeling she’d had looking at the courthouse and touching the old rocker. It was as if she’d been here before…. It was possible she’d come here as a small child, but she didn’t have time to ponder that thought as she took in the house.
The large entry had hardwood floors, as did the rest of the house. There were parlors to the left and right and a winding staircase curled to the top floors. The wood staircase showed off ornate craftsmanship and the mahogany crown molding around the ceilings reflected the same delicate work and was at least twelve inches wide. The woodwork alone was spectacular. She couldn’t believe that no one wanted this piece of history.
Decorative inlaid tile made the fireplaces one-of-a-kind. The original brass wall sconces and chandeliers were still hanging. Two bedrooms were downstairs, as was a bath. The rooms contained beautiful beds with headboards that reached almost to the ceiling. Callie ran her hand over the exquisite wallpaper, a delicate pink floral print. It hadn’t faded and she wondered how long it had been in the house.
“Is this the original wallpaper?” she asked.
“I suppose. The Hellmuths redid the house in the early fifties, installing plumbing and updating the wiring. I believe Frances said the paper was in such good shape that they kept it.”
“It’s absolutely beautiful.”
In the dining room, one wall was decorated with a mural of a summer country scene, with oak trees, a pond, wildflowers and the Texas Hill Country in the distance.
“Oh, my.” It was so beautiful she could only stare at it.
“That is gorgeous, isn’t it?” Wade remarked. “That slight yellowing in spots is from eggs. Some teenagers broke in here and threw eggs around as a joke. You could paint over it if you wanted to.”
She shook her head. “No way.”
He smiled slightly, touching one of the dining room chairs. “This old set is still here. The chairs are wobbly and need some work, but they’re usable.”
The kitchen was a big mess. The cabinets were falling apart and all the appliances had been removed, leaving gaping holes. A large butcher block in the center of the room caught her eye. It was old and had been used a great deal, evident by the cuts in the wood.
Adam opened a cabinet door. “Look, Callie. What is this?’
As Adam said her name, a fleeting look of surprise crossed Wade’s face. But he didn’t question why her son had called her by her given name. A man of tact. She liked that. And against every sane thought in her head, she was beginning to like Wade Montgomery.
Focus. Focus. Focus.
She hurriedly inspected the cabinet. Inside was a tray and a rope that hung down.
“That’s kind of like a dumbwaiter,” Wade told them, standing close to her. Tangy aftershave wafted to her nostrils and she stepped back, feeling a little out of breath.
“The rope is on a pulley and when you pull the rope, it takes that tray to the second floor.”
“Cool,” Brit said. “Let’s try it.”
“I’m not sure it still works.” Wade pulled the rope and the tray traveled upward. “Well, I’ll be damned, it does.”
“Let’s go see where it went.” Brit headed for the stairs with Adam behind her.
“Wait,” Wade shouted. “Let me make sure those stairs are safe.” He turned to Callie. “There’s also a staircase off the kitchen.”
The bare wood steps appeared rickety so they took the big staircase. Wade walked up first and they followed. Callie was glad for some distance. What was wrong with her? She was acting as if she’d never been around a man before. She worked with men and had had her share of dates, so what was making her so aware of this man? This Texas sheriff. That was it. Sheriff. Her sensory antenna should read: avoid at all costs. But the woman in her was getting another signal.
The kids darted off to find the tray and Callie took a moment to get her head straight and look around. Everything was coated with dust and there was a musty smell in the air. There were four bedrooms and another parlor that contained bits and pieces of old furniture. A magnificent claw-foot slipper tub occupied the bathroom. Grime and grit coated the surface. It would take a lot of scrubbing to remove, but it would be lovely to lie in and relax, and she intended to scrub until she had it sparkling. The third floor was an open attic cluttered with more old furniture and junk. They slowly made their way back to the main floor.
The house needed a lot of work, especially the kitchen, but Callie was optimistic about the project ahead of her. This was a good place to live.
A good place to hide.
Now it was time to get rid of the friendly sheriff. The signal this time was very clear.
Adam and Brit were trailing each other from room to room, but Mary Beth was attached to her side. They needed some privacy. She wrapped an arm around Mary Beth and looked at Wade.
“Thank you for showing us here. I really appreciate it, but…”
The phone on his belt rang and he reached for it saying, “Excuse me.” Turning away, he spoke into the receiver. In a second, he turned back. “I’ve got to go. Miranda should be here any minute.”
“Of course. Thank you.”
Callie let out a long breath as he walked out of the house.
“I thought he’d never leave.” Adam sighed.
“Is he gonna arrest us, Callie?” Mary Beth looked up at her.
Not if I can help it.
Callie stroked her hair. “No, baby. Now let’s get settled into our new home.”
“Fred doesn’t like it here,” Mary Beth said, leaning against her.
Adam had set the goldfish bowl on the floor and Fred looked content. At least he was still swimming. Mary Beth always used Fred’s name when she was upset.
“I don’t like it either.” Brit pulled off her hat. “It’s spooky.”
“And the house is dirty,” Adam complained.
To Callie, the house was everything she’d been expecting. To the kids, it was just a strange place. They really wanted to be back in the brownstone with John and Glynis. She had to give them a sense of security. A sense of home.
“Time for a meeting.” Callie sat on the floor and the kids flopped down beside her. “When we talked about this, I told you it would be a hardship. Did you not understand what that meant?”
Brit and Mary Beth had blank looks.
“I just didn’t realize it would be like this.” Adam scowled.
Callie decided to try from another angle. “Let’s look at this like camping out. We’ve done that before.”
“Yes,” Adam mumbled.
“We have a roof over our heads, electricity and running water. There’s two bedrooms downstairs with a bathroom. We can sleep there until I can get started on the renovations. And the beds are so beautiful. We’ll feel like Cinderella sleeping in them.”
“I want to be Cinderella.” Mary Beth brightened.
“I don’t,” Brit said. “I want to be a cowgirl.” She reached for her hat.
“You’re so stupid,” Adam taunted. “You’re going to get us in trouble always asking about horses. We don’t have a horse, stupid, so forget about being a cowgirl.”
“You can’t tell me what…”
All of a sudden everything came down on C
allie. She buried her face in her hands and the room became very quiet. The kids were tense and fighting. The house needed so much work. Was she crazy for coming to Texas? There were so many other places she could have gone. Had she made the right choice?
“Callie,” Adam whispered.
She raised her head.
“We’re sorry.” His face was lined with worry.
All three threw themselves at her and she held them tight. “I love you guys. That’s why I’m doing this. I know this isn’t the brownstone or the house in the Hamptons, but this is our home for now. So what’s your decision? Stay or leave?” She was giving them a choice when there really wasn’t one, but she could do no less. They had to be united or it wasn’t going to work.
“I’m staying,” Brit said.
“Me, too,” Mary Beth added.
Adam looked around then stuck up his hand for a high five. “I’m in.”
Callie gave him a high five as did Brit and Mary Beth.
“We’re home.”
“Anybody here?” a voice called from the front door.
They scrambled to their feet and met Miranda Wright, the mayor and the driving force behind the Home Free Program, at the door. She was tall and Callie always felt dwarfed by her height, but Miranda’s warm, outgoing personality took away any awkwardness.
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. An aquifer that supplied a large percentage of water to the Four Aces ran beneath it. Clint wanted the water rights, but Jock and his friends bought the ranch before Clint found out about the auction. Clint was still angry over the deal. He and Jock had once been friends, but were now foes.
After the consortium had failed, Nate had gone to work for Clint and the rumor mill had had a field day. The investors suspected Nate had been in Clint’s pocket the whole time and had sabotaged the consortium deal for Clint. The town had labeled him a two-timing, back-stabbing crook and had treated him as such. Then Nate had suddenly been killed in a freak auto accident and the townsfolk didn’t lose any sleep over it. Small-town people with small-town minds.
When Nate’s daughter, Kristin, had returned to Homestead on the Home Free Program, she’d kept searching and digging to clear her father’s name. Her findings showed her father had gone to work for Clint because he’d needed a job. It was that simple. And the evidence proved Nate’s accident wasn’t an accident. He’d been murdered by Leland Haven, Clint’s lawyer. Leland had been stealing from Clint for years and when Nate had found out, Leland had decided to get rid of him. Nate Cantrell’s name had been cleared, but sometimes the old-timers, like his dad, seemed to forget that.
“Now Homestead is giving away the damn land. Never heard of such shenanigans. And a woman mayor. Never heard of that either—not in my kind of Texas.”
“Miranda’s doing a lot for Homestead,” Wade felt a need to say.
“Hmmph.”
“Take a look around you. Homestead was on the verge on becoming a ghost town. Now people are coming back. We have kids enrolling for school and that builds our tax base. That’s good. Miranda had nothing to do with the failure of the consortium so cut her some slack.”