All Roads Lead to Texas

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.”

“My grandson should be here,” Jock muttered in a broken voice. “Our boy should be here.” A tear rolled from his eye.

Wade’s throat closed up and he didn’t respond. He couldn’t. It had happened four years ago but it felt like yesterday that he’d gotten a hysterical call from his wife, Kim, telling him their son had been rushed to the emergency room. But they’d been too late. Zach was dead.

At twelve, Zach had wanted to go to a party a friend from school was giving. Wade and Kim didn’t know the boy all that well and they’d been hesitant. In the end, they had relented because Zach had wanted to go so badly. There had been drugs at the party and, after a lot of teasing and egging from the older boys, Zach had tried the stuff. He’d had an allergic reaction to the drug and had died thirty minutes later. Just like that, his young life was gone.

Wade and Kim had blamed each other, the boys at the party and the world in general. But placing blame didn’t ease it or accomplish anything besides creating more guilt.

He and Kim had been high-school sweethearts and they’d become parents when they were seventeen. So young, but they’d thought their love would last forever. With their parent’s help, they’d continued with their education and Kim had become a teacher and Wade a police detective in Houston. They’d been through so many trials, but they couldn’t get through the death of their son. At least not together. Kim had moved to Phoenix to live with her sister and Wade had returned to Homestead.

His father had retired and Miranda had encouraged Wade to run for the job. He had and being here in the slow, easy pace of Homestead was helping the wounds to heal. Until his father said things like he just did. Then the blame and the guilt came back tenfold.

And the grief.

IN SILENCE, WADE CROSSED the cattle guard to Spring Creek Ranch. The property consisted of the house, the barns and five hundred acres. The rest of the land Jock had put into the consortium that had failed. The city now owned it and was giving away parcels to people willing to build on it and make their home in Homestead. That was a hard pill for Jock to swallow.

Board fences flanked the road that led to the three-bedroom brick house Jock had built for his wife, Lila. She’d died ten years ago and Jock’s life had never been the same. He’d started to make bad decisions, bad choices.

As Wade drove to the back of the house, Poncho and Tex Alvarez came toward them, two Mexican brothers in their fifties who ran the ranch and watched out for Jock. They’d been here for thirty years and lived in the old home place below the hill. Tex’s wife, Yolanda, helped out in the house.

“Wonder why he no come back from town,” Tex said to Wade. Tex, a short, thin cowboy with a protruding beer belly, loved his beer and could ride a horse better than anyone Wade had ever seen. There wasn’t anything he didn’t know about cattle. Poncho, taller and heavier, had cowboying in his blood, too.

“He’s had a little too much to drink at the Lone Wolf.” Wade walked around to the passenger’s side to help his father.

Jock stumbled out. “Don’t need no damn help,” he muttered.

Wade nodded to Poncho, who wrapped an arm around Jock’s waist. “C’mon, Mr. Jock, that old sofa’s just waitin’ for ya.”

They slowly made their way to the back door.

Yolanda held it open, frowning. Short and plump, she had a quick tongue and she and Jock often had days where they screamed at each other. Yo would swear she wasn’t coming back, but in a couple of days she’d return to do the cleaning and cooking. “Lawdy, Mister Jock, ain’t you got no sense?”

“Don’t preach to me you sassy bitch.”

Yo’s black eyes flared. “You talk like that and I’ll knock you out with a frying pan. It’ll be swift and sure, not slow like that filthy stuff you drink.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Yo grabbed his arm and Jock wobbled meekly into the den. Wade was grateful for small miracles, but when Jock was drunk he did more damage with his mouth than his fist. He’d have to do something about his father and soon. What? He wasn’t quite sure.

“He went to town for a load of feed.” Tex broke into his thoughts.

“His truck and the feed are at the Lone Wolf. You can ride with me and bring it back.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Pop, I’m going back to the office. Be back later.” Wade knew that Tex and his family could handle Jock. He’d probably sleep until morning anyway, then they’d talk.

“Hmmph,” was the only response he got.

Wade and Tex walked to his car. As Wade opened his door, he saw Lucky in the pasture, a buckskin mare that Jock had given to Zach on his tenth birthday. How Zack had loved to ride that horse. Wade felt a catch in his throat. No one had ridden her since his death. He thought of Brittany and her desire to ride a horse. Maybe it was time.

But could he stand to see another child on that horse?

CHAPTER THREE

CALLIE SIGNED THE NECESSARY papers and everything that had happened seemed real for the first time. She and the kids would be living in Homestead and hopefully Nigel would never find them, or at least not until her lawyer had procured a hearing.

Her main concern was sleeping arrangements for the night. Miranda wanted them to stay with her and her mom until the house was ready, but Callie couldn’t intrude or involve Miranda any further in her situation. She had to make a home for the kids.

Miranda said the feed store carried sleeping bags, so after Callie unloaded the car she planned to go there. As she drove up to her house, she noticed an old tan truck parked in front. A rack was on the back with lumber. This had to be the carpenter—June Bug.

They got out and saw two men, somewhere in their thirties, inspecting the rotting column. One was tall and heavy-set, the other short and wiry. The short one walked toward her with quick steps. He wore jeans, a T-shirt and a baseball cap that read Dallas Cowboys. As he reached her side, she realized he was shorter than her. He couldn’t be more than five feet two inches tall.

“Howdy, ma’am. I’m June Bug Stromiski. Miss Miranda said you need some carpenter work done.” He talked fast, not even taking a breath.

“Yes, I do. Thank you for coming.” But for the life of her she couldn’t figure out how this little man could repair her big house. He didn’t seem to have enough strength to drive in a nail. But she shouldn’t judge him. She needed his help and hopefully Miranda knew him well enough to be confident that he could do the job.

“This is my cousin, Bubba Joe Worczak. He’s my helper.”

Bubba looked like a lineman for the Dallas Cowboys and capable of doing anything. But after a bit of conversation, Callie realized that June Bug was the brains of the duo and Bubba Joe the brawn.

“Why they call you June Bug?” Brit asked.

June Bug shrugged. “That’s a long story.”

“’Cause he eats bugs, that’s why,” Bubba Joe spoke up.

“What!”

“That’s right.” Bubba Joe nodded.

“You do not,” Adam said, always the skeptic.

Bubba Joe plucked a bug from the grass. “Show ’em, June Bug,” he said.

June Bug popped it into his mouth and crunched away. Callie gasped and wanted to cover the kids eyes for some silly reason. They stood there with their mouths open, unable to speak.

“Tastes kind of like chicken,” June Bug said in between munching. “If you have a real good imagination.”

Callie found her voice. “Please don’t do that in front of my children. Please don’t do it at all. It’s very unhealthy.”

“Sorry, ma’am, I’ve been doing it since I was ten years old.”

“Why?”

“I’m little. I’ve always been little and boys picked on me at school and I got beat up almost every day. They called me runt and things like that. Billy Clyde Hemphill was the worst. He’d hold my face down in the grass with his knee on the back of my neck until I couldn’t breathe. He’d always say, ‘Eat dirt, runt.’ One day as he was coming toward me on the playground, I just got tired of it and knew I had to do something. I saw a june bug crawling on the playground equipment and I picked it up and put it in my mouth before I could think about it.” He wheezed for a breath.

“Billy Clyde stopped in his tracks and the kids gathered round. I found another bug and ate it, then I handed one to Billy Clyde and told him it was his turn. He backed off saying I was crazy and the kids started calling him chicken. He ran away, but he never picked on me again. No one did. And that’s the way I like it.”

Callie just stared at him. “Why do you still eat them?”

Just then a truck drove by and someone hollered, “Hey, June Bug, what’s for supper?”

“Anything flying,” June Bug yelled back, and they heard laughter all the way to the stop sign.

Callie knew why he kept eating the bugs. It made him taller in his eyes, bigger and able to take on the town. But she refused to call him June Bug.

“What’s your given name?”

“Odell, ma’am, youngest of ten kids and the only boy. I have nine sisters.”

“I’ll call you Odell.”

“Only my mama and my sisters call me that.”

“I’ll still call you Odell.” To her, calling him June Bug would be making fun of him and she couldn’t do that.

“Yes, ma’am.”

For the next thirty minutes he showed her what needed to be done to the column and veranda to secure it and she told him to go ahead with the work. They were unloading the car when an older lady jogged up in sweatpants, a T-shirt stretched over an ample bosom and sneakers. Her gray hair was curled in a tight perm.

“I’m Ethel Mae Stromiski,” she introduced herself, wiping sweat from her forehead and gasping for air.

“Nice to meet you,” Callie said, figuring this was Odell’s mama.

“I cleaned up two bedrooms and the bath like Miranda asked me to.” She talked fast just like her son, reminding Callie of the hum of a sewing machine. She listened close to catch each word.

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“I’ll be back tomorrow to do more cleaning.”

“I—ah—”

“I got to jog this damn mile like the doctor told me to. He said if I want to keep living I need to exercise more. What I need is a damn cigarette. Odell, what time you coming home for supper?” She didn’t even take a breath.

“I don’t live with you anymore. I’ll come home when I want to.”

“Smart-ass,” Ethel muttered to Callie and gulped a quick breath. “He built him a room in the back of my house and he calls that moving out. Kids always have to do somethin’ different. What’s wrong with living with your mama? You just better not be eating bugs again,” she yelled to Odell. “Or I’ll wash your mouth out with soap.”

“Go home, Mama. I got work to do.”

“Supper will be ready at six.”

“I won’t be there.”

“Where you gonna eat?”

“Maybe I’ll have a beer at the Lone Wolf. I don’t know. It’s my business.”

“Kids—you give ’em your heart and they stomp on it. Now if he was meeting a woman at the Lone Wolf instead of Bubba Joe, I wouldn’t mind. I gotta find that boy a woman.” With that she jogged off down the street, panting.

“Is this a circus or what?” Adam asked.

“Be nice,” Callie scolded, but she could feel herself wanting to laugh and she hadn’t felt that way since her mother had died. She hadn’t felt much of anything besides fear. Homestead was going to be good for them—a simple way of life with some interesting characters. Though she couldn’t get too friendly with the townspeople. To guard their safety, she had to keep a low profile.

With all the luggage in the house, Callie decided that buying sleeping bags was the next order of business, but first she had to call her lawyer, Gail Baxter. She got her answering machine so she called her friend, Beth, in New York, for an update.

She’d bought the phone under the name of Amy Austin so if the FBI starting checking out her lawyer or her friend’s phone, they couldn’t trace it to Callie Lambert. She didn’t want to use her first name—it might give her away. She’d had no problem getting the phone in that name.

Beth picked up on the second ring.

“Oh, Callie, I’m so glad you’re okay. Just don’t tell me where you are because I’m not good under pressure.”

“Don’t worry. I don’t plan to. How are things there?”

“Not as much commotion as you’d think. The FBI is investigating and they questioned everyone here at the restaurant, but they were actually nice. I told them that if you took the kids then they were safe because Nigel was abusing them. They asked what kind of abuse and I told them all the things you’d told me and how worried you were.”

“Did they believe you?”

“I suppose so because Nigel came into the restaurant and accused me of spreading lies about him. Someone called the police and they picked him up. One of the agents came in yesterday and said your lawyer had called and informed them that you had the kids and you weren’t bringing them back until a hearing was set. He told me to call if I heard from you.”

“I’m sorry you’re caught in the middle of this.”

“Don’t worry. If I don’t know anything, I can’t tell them anything. Just take care of yourself and those kids.”

Callie hung up hoping her lawyer could get something done. She could wait as long as the kids weren’t with Nigel.

The kids were outside watching Odell and Bubba Joe work. She knew they were waiting for Odell to eat another bug. Oh yes, life was changing.

She grabbed her purse and saw the sheriff’s car drive up. Wade got out and opened his trunk. Another officer was with him. Now what? She didn’t need him showing up every few minutes. She laid down her purse and stormed outside. Wade strolled along the walkway with a sleeping bag in each hand. The other man also had two bags.

Wade set his on the porch. “Miranda said you planned to stay here so I thought you might need these.”

“I was planning to buy them myself.” She tried to quell her annoyance and couldn’t. “I might look helpless, but I assure you, Sheriff, that I’m not. I can take care of my family.”

Wade tipped back his hat. “No doubt in my mind about that, ma’am, but you’re not in Chicago anymore. Around here we try to help each other, especially the newcomers. I’m sorry if you have a problem with that.”

The kids came running, preventing her from further embarrassment. She was not only giving him a red flag, she was waving it in front of him. Why couldn’t she keep her cool around him? And why did he have to be so damn handsome?

“Sleeping bags,” Brit shouted. “Are they for us?”

Wade glanced at Callie for an answer.

She swallowed her pride. “Yes. The sheriff brought them for us.”

“Cool,” Brit said. “And look, there’s a purple one. I get it.”

The other man brought his bags forward and Wade introduced him. “This is Virgil Dunn, my deputy.” Painfully thin, Virgil was average height and wore the same kind of clothes as Wade, except his were starched and ironed, noticeably so. And he wore a tie. It was obvious Virgil was proud of his job.

“Nice to meet you,” Callie mumbled.

“Welcome to Homestead, ma’am.” He nodded his head and laid the sleeping bags by the others with nervous, quick movements.

“Look, there’s a Barbie one,” Mary Beth cried. “I get it. I get it.”

“Oh, yay. There’s one with horses on it. I want it.” Brit was changing her mind.

“You can’t have two, stupid,” Adam said with his usual scowl.

“You can have the purple one,” Brit told him.

The scowl became fierce. “I’m not sleeping in a purple bag.”

“I’ll take the purple bag,” Callie intervened. “Adam, you can take the nice green one.”

“Okay, but she shouldn’t get to change her mind. She’s always doing that.”

Brit stuck out her tongue at him.

“The kids are tired and out of sorts, so I better get their sleeping arrangements set up.” Callie thought it was time to end this visit. “I do appreciate the sleeping bags. I’m sorry I was curt. I’m tired, too.”

“No problem,” Wade said and made to walk off, but he turned back. “Brit, if it’s okay with your mom, I have a horse you can ride. She’s quite tame and I’ll teach you the basics.”

“Oh, wow, that’s totally cool.” Brit looked at Callie. “Can I, please? Can I?”

“I—ah—”

Seeing Callie’s difficulty, he added, “Think about it overnight and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He walked down the steps, followed by the deputy, and they went to where Odell was working. Their voices floated over her head.

“Is it going to be much of a problem to fix?” That was Wade’s masculine voice.

“No, Sheriff, just take a little time, but I’ll make it rock solid.”

“Thanks, June Bug.”

“Bubba Joe, don’t be climbing on that roof.” That was the deputy. “You’ll fall through and try to sue the city.”

“Give it a rest, Virgil,” Wade said. “Let’s go.”

Callie watched them leave feeling as if she were in a fishbowl with the people of Homestead looking in. And there wasn’t any escape. But the thought did cross her mind that being trapped with Wade Montgomery wouldn’t be too bad. That thought lasted a split second. The man probably labeled her a raving lunatic with her mood swings. She had to stay focused on her siblings’ futures.

Picking up a bag, she followed the kids inside.

“THAT MRS. AUSTIN SURE IS touchy,” Virgil said as they reached the sheriff’s office. “Mighty pretty, too.”

“I think she just wants her space, Virg.” Wade had his own suspicions, but he wouldn’t mention them to Virgil. Virgil’s overactive imagination sometimes ran away with him and he didn’t want to give him any ammunition.

Wade was just trying to help her. He’d found the horse sleeping bag and the green one at the feed store, but he’d had to search through Tanner’s General Store, which had an assortment of anything imaginable, to find the purple and Barbie ones. And she’d bit his head off for no reason.

So he intended to back off and give Callie her space. The incidents happening to the newcomers bothered him though. He didn’t want anything to happen to those kids. Or Callie. The house wasn’t that far from his office and he could keep an eye on things without her really knowing.

He cursed himself for mentioning the horse. Clearly Callie didn’t want her daughter to ride. At least not with him. He’d have to rescind the invitation, but he hated to break the little girl’s heart.

Before he could reach his office, Millicent Niebauer came through the door, a birdlike woman with a camera around her neck and a pencil behind her ear. Barbara Jean, his secretary, was gone for the day or he’d let her handle Millicent. She and her husband, Hiram, ran the local newspaper and Millie was always on the lookout for a story. Or more to the point, gossip.