Emily's Chance (v5)

by Sharon Gillenwater

  “My goodness, yes.” Bertie turned her full attention toward him, Emily’s gaffe hopefully forgotten. “We’ve been friends since first grade. The things I could tell you about her.” She smiled and tipped her head coyly, slipping her hand around his arm, urging him to start slowly walking toward the church building. “Could tell you some things about Emily too, but I won’t. I want to hear about you. Are you Dub Callahan’s boy?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Do you know my father?”

  “No, but I knew your grandfather.” A wistful smile flitted across her face. She glanced at the church and grimaced slightly. “Since I’m goin’ to church, I reckon I’d better be more truthful. I only met William once, but that was enough to set my girlish heart to dreaming. He was a very handsome man.”

  Chance chuckled, thinking that his grandfather had definitely made a lasting impression on the lady. “Yes, ma’am, he was. He was also a good man. I miss him.”

  She nodded, then waved at someone across the parking lot. Chance looked over at Emily and her grandmother, who were walking alongside them. Rose shook her head, her expression filled with fond amusement as she watched Bertie and him.

  “You going to take over the ranch someday?” When a middle-aged woman approached, Bertie shook her head and made a shooing motion with her hand. The woman scowled and spun on her toes, stomping off toward the building.

  “No, ma’am. My brother, Will, is the man for that job. I just help out when they need me.”

  She glanced at Emily, then looked up at him in consternation. “Then you won’t inherit all that money?”

  “Bertie!” Emily and Rose spoke at the same time, glaring at her.

  “Well, somebody should ask before things get serious between these two! And I know neither of you will.” She glared back.

  “I don’t run the ranch, but I’m a partner in all the family enterprises.”

  “Them oil wells too?”

  “Yes. And I have my own business.” He leaned back slightly so he could smile at Emily and let her know he wasn’t offended by the woman’s nosy questions. He wasn’t telling her anything that wasn’t public knowledge anyway, at least in Callahan country. He’d also noticed that Rose was listening to every word.

  “Doing what?”

  If they slowed down any more, they wouldn’t make it inside before the service started. “I have a construction company, build mostly houses but occasionally do some commercial work.”

  “So you can provide well for a wife and family?”

  Emily groaned softly.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Chance met Emily’s gaze and silently mouthed “very well.” The love of his life frowned, but her grandmother grinned.

  They were barely seated before the worship leader told everyone to open their songbooks, so Emily and Chance only spoke to a few people. After the service, Rose’s cronies seemed to dart toward them from every nook and cranny of the church, cornering them before they left the sanctuary. He didn’t know elderly ladies, some with canes and one with a walker, could move that fast.

  They fussed over them for a good fifteen minutes until Rose finally declared that it was time to go home and have dinner before the roast burned. His stomach was grateful for the announcement, but no more so than his head. He had a soft spot for little old ladies, but this bunch tested his ability to keep up with the conversation. They talked all over each other, and his mind was spinning trying to keep up.

  Mixed in with the exclamations about how lovely Emily was, how handsome he was, and how great they looked together was sincere concern about the folks in Callahan Crossing. According to his dad, the Fire Victims Fund had received several monetary donations from Eden, good-sized ones from churches and other organizations and several from individuals. The town was only about twice as big as Callahan Crossing, but they were generous and caring. As had been people from all over the country.

  When they returned to Rose’s farmhouse, Chance took off his coat and rolled up his shirtsleeves. “What can I do to help?”

  Rose tied her apron behind her back, narrowing her gaze. “You know how to cook?”

  “A little. I’m good at taking directions.”

  “Oh, I like that in a man.” Rose laughed and pointed to the second drawer at the end of the cabinets. “My Joe wasn’t much for following orders, mine or anybody else’s. But I loved him anyway. Grab a couple of aprons out of that drawer and give one to Emily. Can’t have y’all ruinin’ your Sunday clothes. There’s a blue and yellow one that should fit you better than the others.”

  Chance dug through the drawer, finding a pretty pink ruffled apron for Emily. The only blue one had bright yellow sunflowers but at least no ruffles. He figured he could use it without too much embarrassment. When he held it up, he suspected it was one of Bertie’s. Emily’s slender grandmother could wrap it around herself a couple of times.

  He tossed the frilly pink thing to Emily and slipped the blue bib over his head. Tying the apron strings around his waist at the back, he looked up and caught Emily and her grandmother exchange a smile. If wearing a silly apron was all it took to please these two important ladies, he wouldn’t complain a bit. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Take the roast and potatoes out of the oven. Then you can mash the potatoes while I make the gravy.”

  Chance picked up two pot holders sitting beside the stove and opened the oven door. When he saw the size of the roast, enough to feed at least six, he smiled to himself. Rose was typical of most farm women; she knew hardworking men liked to eat. He set the roasting pan on top of the stove and retrieved a covered casserole filled with peeled potato chunks and water. Interesting. He’d never thought about cooking the potatoes that way in the oven with the roast. His mom and Ramona always cooked them on top of the stove when they were making mashed potatoes.

  He set the casserole on the stove and turned to Rose. “I’m good at the mashing part, but I’ve never paid any attention to how much butter and milk Mom puts in.”

  She handed him the potato masher. “Emily can help with that part. She’s a good cook.”

  “Oh yeah?” He looked at Emily across the room as she turned from the open refrigerator with a half gallon of milk. “I’ll have to invite you over so you can cook me dinner.”

  Emily set the milk on the counter next to an orange butter dish, which held a fresh stick of butter. She sashayed over to his side, carrying a large glass measuring cup. “I might take you up on that. Do you like sushi?”

  “I’ve never tried it. And I don’t intend to. Raw fish – yuck.”

  “I thought you were tough.” She smiled up at him, her eyes alight with a teasing glint.

  “I am. But I like my meat cooked.”

  “You just want to see me slaving over a hot stove.”

  “Not necessarily. You could use the grill.” He lightly nudged her arm with his elbow and motioned toward the cup. “Do you want me to pour the potato water in that?”

  “Yes.” She moved over a few steps, setting the cup in the sink.

  Chance laid the potato masher on the counter and followed her, carrying the pan of potatoes. He drained the water into the wide-mouth cup and set the pan on a pot holder she’d quickly slid over to him. As he started mashing the potatoes, she plopped a big spoonful of butter into them, then poured in some milk. “Mom’s right,” he said. “We make a good team.”

  “This isn’t exactly rocket science, Callahan.”

  “No, but we aren’t sloppin’ milk all over the counter, either.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he noted Rose taking an or-ebook. ange and white platter from the cabinet. When she lifted the roast from the pan and set it on the platter, he asked, “Do you want me to slice that when we’re done here?”

  “Let it sit while I make the gravy. Then you can slice away.” She covered the nicely browned rump roast with a sheet of aluminum foil.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Chance mashed the last lumps out of the potatoes. “Do they need more milk?”


  “Just a tad.” Emily added a little bit, and he swished it around with the masher. “Perfect. Now set the pan back on the stove so they’ll stay warm.”

  He would have done that anyway, but he didn’t mind that itty-bitty order from his woman, especially when she lightly laid her hand on his back as she set the lid on the pan. No, sir, he didn’t mind it at all.

  Setting the pan on the back burner, he turned it on warm and stepped out of Rose’s way as she browned the flour in the roasting pan. “Now what?”

  “You can help Emily set out the salads and get our drinks. I have iced tea, soda, or milk. And water, of course.” Rose stirred the flour-drippings mixture and slowly poured in the potato water.

  Chance wondered when she’d picked up the cup from the sink. He’d been so focused on the potatoes – and Emily – that he hadn’t even noticed.

  “Iced tea sounds good to me.” He tagged after Emily, holding out his hands when she opened the fridge.

  Her eyes twinkled again when she handed him a big clear glass bowl of orange Jell-O salad. “Grandma likes orange,” she whispered.

  “I noticed,” he whispered back. “This looks good,” he 107 added in a louder voice. And it did. Mandarin oranges, pineapple, coconut, and nuts mixed in with Jell-O and either whipped cream or sour cream was bound to be tasty.

  Emily carried a bowl of broccoli salad, which also looked good. When his stomach rumbled, she giggled.

  We’re going to have so much fun cooking together when we get married. He barely kept the words from tumbling out.

  She paused, holding the broccoli bowl a few inches above the table. “What are you thinking, Callahan? You look happy as a cat in a creamery.”

  Chance laughed and Rose chuckled. “Do you use my sayings all the time, girl? Or do they just come out when you’re here?” her grandma said.

  “They show up now and then. Much to my parents’ dismay.”

  Rose snorted and gave the gravy a stir for emphasis. “They’re too uppity for such things. It would do your mama a world of good to remember her roots.”

  Emily slid her arm around Rose’s waist and laid her head on her grandmother’s shoulder. “And to remember you. Have you heard from her since that call on Christmas?”

  “Nope. If I’m lucky, I’ll hear from her on Mother’s Day. The token acknowledgment as usual.” Rose cleared her throat but kept stirring the gravy with dogged determination. “Don’t know where I went wrong with that girl.”

  “It’s nothing you did or didn’t do, Grandma. Fame and fortune is what changed her. And my father.”

  Even with what Chance knew about the man, he was surprised at the bitterness – that seemed to almost border on hatred – in Emily’s voice.

  “I don’t understand that, either.” Rose turned off the burner and nodded to Chance. “There’s a good knife in that drawer and a cutting board in that skinny cabinet down there. You can start slicing now.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Clark’s parents are good folks, even with all their money. But that daddy of yours . . .”

  Emily stepped away and removed a couple of bowls from the cabinet, setting them near the stove. She glanced at Chance, as if apologizing for the discussion.

  He tried to silently tell her not to worry. Her grandmother needed to vent, and he had the feeling that Rose didn’t voice her opinions on these things very often. Except maybe to Bertie. He figured Rose’s BFF knew all her joys and heartaches.

  “Grandpa blames himself. He says he spoiled Dad rotten from day one.” She looked at Chance again. “My father is an only child, and was born when my grandparents were in their midthirties. They were so thrilled to finally have a baby, Grandpa said they went overboard indulging him.”

  “And lived to regret it.” Rose poured the gravy in a bowl, and Emily scraped the last of it out of the pan with a rubber scraper. “I reckon they see your parents more than I do.” She caught Chance’s eye. “They’re in Dallas too.”

  He focused on cutting up the meat, but there was no way he could shut out the conversation. Evidently, Rose wanted him to hear what was being said. He wasn’t so sure Emily agreed with her.

  “They don’t see them much more. Mainly at charity events or things like that. Now that Grandpa Doyle and Grandma Iris have started going to church and are involved there, they really don’t have much at all in common with Mom and Dad.”

  “Your mother knows better. She was raised in the church.” Rose sighed heavily. “Not that it made any difference. Miranda was too beautiful for her own good.” She picked up the bowl of gravy and carried it to the table as Emily dumped the potatoes in the bigger bowl. “Ran off to New York the day after she graduated from high school.”

  Chance set the platter of roast on the table and quickly pulled out Rose’s chair, helping her scoot it in after she sat down.

  “Why, thank you, Chance. I don’t remember the last time a man helped me with my chair.” She tipped her head slightly, reminding him of Emily, and smiled. “Not that I need the help, mind you.”

  “No, ma’am, I’m sure you don’t.” He would have assisted Emily too, but she’d already set the potatoes on the table and slid into her place. “But my mama taught my brother and me to be gentlemen.” He took his seat and sent her a smile. “If we didn’t learn it from her, Daddy made certain we got it.”

  “Well, they did a good job. Would you like to ask the blessing?”

  “I’d be happy to.” Chance closed his eyes and bowed his head. “Heavenly Father, thank you for this food and for Miss Rose’s work in preparing it. Thank you for a good drive down and the great church service this morning. Please bless our time together and this food to our nourishment. In Jesus’s name, amen.”

  Emily and her grandmother joined in with a soft “amen.”

  As they passed the food around and filled their plates, Chance scanned the antiques-filled room. “Are all these family heirlooms?”

  “Many of them are. Though I’ve been known to stop at a flea market or antiques store now and then.”

  Emily laughed, wagging a finger at Rose. “Along with estate and garage sales. Don’t let her kid you, Chance. She and Bertie own Days of Old Antiques and Collectibles on the town square. They have all sorts of goodies in there.”

  “I’ll have to let Mom know. She likes to shop for antiques. We have a lot of old family things in the ranch house. Furniture, pictures, old ranch record books.” He noticed Emily’s eyes light up. “Mom hasn’t told you about them?”

  “No. She’s probably afraid I’ll abscond with them. Which I might.” She cut a bite of roast. “How far back do they go?”

  “The first one is a little notebook of expenses for 1880. My great-great-grandfather didn’t own any land then, was running the herd on free grass.” Chance scooped up some potatoes and gravy. “I’m not sure you’ll convince Dad to part with them. They cover the whole history of the ranch.”

  “I can’t wait to look at them. I’ll be thrilled if he will loan even one of them to the museum.”

  “Maybe between us we can get him to agree to a loan. Once you have everything set up and he sees how great it is, he might be more willing. He wasn’t impressed with the old one. He didn’t think they’d be safe.”

  “I agree. A book like that should be kept in a locked glass case where people can see a sampling of the entries but can’t handle it. If someone wanted to use it for research, they’d have to do it under supervision. Though even that might be prohibited, depending on the condition of the pages. The ideal is to transcribe them, so people have access to the copy.”

  Rose spread some butter on a roll. “Emily tells me you’re donating a building to use for the museum.”

  “Actually, I’m leasing it to them.”

  Emily added some salt to her potatoes. “For a dollar a year.”

  “Plus utilities.”

  “That’s very generous of you, Chance.” Grandma Rose studied him with keen, thoughtful eyes. “You must be very i
nterested in Callahan Crossing’s history.”

  “I am. And the museum is one of my mother’s pet projects.”

  “You like to make your mother happy?”

  “Whenever I can. This time it was easy. I didn’t have anyone interested in the building and didn’t expect to. So I figured I could earn a bunch of brownie points with Mom.” He grinned at Emily. “Maybe some with the museum lady too.”

  “A few.” Emily gave him a mischievous smile.

  Chance noted Rose’s lifted eyebrow as she watched the exchange and caught a hint of a smile before she took a drink of iced tea. He was pretty sure he’d earned a few brownie points with Emily’s grandma too. But he didn’t think it had much to do with donating the building.

  10

  Early the following Wednesday afternoon, Sue burst into the bunkhouse where Emily was cataloging items. “Grab your coat and come with me. I just got a call about a potential large donation. But we have to hurry or Alicia Simpson might send something good to the dump.”

  “I’ll be right there.” Emily saved her work on the computer, stuffed a spiral notebook into her large leather bag, and slipped on her coat. Racing out the door, she hopped into Sue’s SUV and dropped the bag onto the floorboard. Sue took off before she had her seat belt on. “Who’s Alicia Simpson?”

  “Sally Tucker’s granddaughter. Sally died last month at 102 years old. Mrs. Simpson is in town to clear out the house. She saw the ad we put in today’s paper about needing items for the museum. Sally’s father, Doc Bradley, came to Callahan Crossing in 1892 and was a prominent physician for forty years. He also owned some ranch land west of here in the Permian Basin oil patch.”

  “Like yours?”

  “Ours is west of here too, in a different part of the basin, but just as rich in oil.” Sue smiled and shook her head. “Of course, Aidan and Doc Bradley didn’t know anything about the oil when they bought the land. They wanted it for grazing. Doc and his wife built a beautiful Victorian home on Third Street in 1904.”

  “Is it the Queen Anne on the corner? Sage green with sienna trim and roof?”