heâd steered Ben out of the kitchen, and Rex privately admitted to some personal irritation mixed with his amusement over the manâs dogged persistence. Surely even Ben would soon get the message: Callie was not for him.
The fact that she was not for Rex, either, was beside the point.
That didnât keep Rex from worrying that Dolent might be at the house making a nuisance of himself while he was out in the field trying to replace the drive chain on the baler. He finally decided that he didnât have the proper tools to repair the baler in the field. Hot, tired, disgusted and frustrated, Rex hitched the thing to the ranch truck and hauled it back to the barn.
He thought Callie might come out to see what was up, but she seemed as determined to keep her distance from him as he ought to keep his distance from her. At least Dolent wasnât within sight.
Rex left the baler in the barn and called an early end to the workday. It was Saturday, after all. Not that work on the ranch ever let up.
He walked into the house to find two things that shocked him: it was cool, and Callie had just pushed Wes into the living room in the hated wheelchair that heâd vowed never to use.
âPick your jaw up off the floor,â Wes grumbled. âI got sick of that bed, but the living room is a long way from my bedroom. Besides, Callie pointed out that I could get to church tomorrow if I was willing to give this chair a go.â
Rex had not intended to take his father to church this Sunday, but if doing so was the cost of getting him out of that bed more often and into this chair, so be it. Telegraphing his thanks to Callie with a smile, Rex nodded. Bodie let out a squeal from the other room, and Wes chuckled as Callie hurried to tend to her.
âThat girl never stops hopping. Reminds me of when you kids were small.â He looked up at Rex and asked, âGot time for a game of chess before dinner?â
âJust let me clean up first,â Rex answered.
âSure.â Wes picked up the TV remote from the coffee table at his knee and aimed it at the big flat-screen that Rex and his sisters had bought him for Christmas last year.
Rex hurried to the stairs, but a few steps up he paused to look down on the familiar scene below. Cowhide rugs covered plank flooring. The oak occasional tables, at least fifty years old, stood as solid and strong as ever. The leather on the old couch had started to crack in places, and his fatherâs recliner, easily the newest piece in the room, sagged and dipped. The shades on the glass and wrought-iron lamps had yellowed horribly, as had the blinds on the windows. Yet, the room exuded comfort and stability.
Home , he thought, stunned by the realization. Even after all these years, this was still home in a way that the luxury condo he owned in Tulsa never could be. Everything here said home to him, from the rugged cross hanging over the fireplace to the schoolhouse clock and candelabra on the mantel. Funny, it hadnât felt that way before Callie had come.
Shaking his head, he climbed the stairs. For the first time, he faced the possibility of what might happen to the place if Wes could never resume control of the day-to-day operations. The Straight Arrow would essentially cease to exist. Theyâd have to sell off the acreage in order to pay the taxes on the home place, the house and the few acres surrounding it. But for whom? After Wes, who would live here?
Rex hoped to have children of his own someday, but he wasnât getting any younger. Thirty-seven wasnât too old to start a family, of course, and when he did finally have his own children they surely might have some interest in this place. That they might not seemed...unthinkable suddenly. Unbearable.
He wondered why he hadnât realized it before now.
Later he played chess with his dad while Callie puttered around the kitchen and moved in and out of the living room, carrying Bodie. They enjoyed
The fact that she was not for Rex, either, was beside the point.
That didnât keep Rex from worrying that Dolent might be at the house making a nuisance of himself while he was out in the field trying to replace the drive chain on the baler. He finally decided that he didnât have the proper tools to repair the baler in the field. Hot, tired, disgusted and frustrated, Rex hitched the thing to the ranch truck and hauled it back to the barn.
He thought Callie might come out to see what was up, but she seemed as determined to keep her distance from him as he ought to keep his distance from her. At least Dolent wasnât within sight.
Rex left the baler in the barn and called an early end to the workday. It was Saturday, after all. Not that work on the ranch ever let up.
He walked into the house to find two things that shocked him: it was cool, and Callie had just pushed Wes into the living room in the hated wheelchair that heâd vowed never to use.
âPick your jaw up off the floor,â Wes grumbled. âI got sick of that bed, but the living room is a long way from my bedroom. Besides, Callie pointed out that I could get to church tomorrow if I was willing to give this chair a go.â
Rex had not intended to take his father to church this Sunday, but if doing so was the cost of getting him out of that bed more often and into this chair, so be it. Telegraphing his thanks to Callie with a smile, Rex nodded. Bodie let out a squeal from the other room, and Wes chuckled as Callie hurried to tend to her.
âThat girl never stops hopping. Reminds me of when you kids were small.â He looked up at Rex and asked, âGot time for a game of chess before dinner?â
âJust let me clean up first,â Rex answered.
âSure.â Wes picked up the TV remote from the coffee table at his knee and aimed it at the big flat-screen that Rex and his sisters had bought him for Christmas last year.
Rex hurried to the stairs, but a few steps up he paused to look down on the familiar scene below. Cowhide rugs covered plank flooring. The oak occasional tables, at least fifty years old, stood as solid and strong as ever. The leather on the old couch had started to crack in places, and his fatherâs recliner, easily the newest piece in the room, sagged and dipped. The shades on the glass and wrought-iron lamps had yellowed horribly, as had the blinds on the windows. Yet, the room exuded comfort and stability.
Home , he thought, stunned by the realization. Even after all these years, this was still home in a way that the luxury condo he owned in Tulsa never could be. Everything here said home to him, from the rugged cross hanging over the fireplace to the schoolhouse clock and candelabra on the mantel. Funny, it hadnât felt that way before Callie had come.
Shaking his head, he climbed the stairs. For the first time, he faced the possibility of what might happen to the place if Wes could never resume control of the day-to-day operations. The Straight Arrow would essentially cease to exist. Theyâd have to sell off the acreage in order to pay the taxes on the home place, the house and the few acres surrounding it. But for whom? After Wes, who would live here?
Rex hoped to have children of his own someday, but he wasnât getting any younger. Thirty-seven wasnât too old to start a family, of course, and when he did finally have his own children they surely might have some interest in this place. That they might not seemed...unthinkable suddenly. Unbearable.
He wondered why he hadnât realized it before now.
Later he played chess with his dad while Callie puttered around the kitchen and moved in and out of the living room, carrying Bodie. They enjoyed
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