Callie stood in the doorway that led to the den and eyed the stack of Reader’s Digests that sat on the table next to the old recliner. The newspapers piled next to the chair. The tubes of Bengay stuffed in a pocket that draped over the arm of the recliner. The remote sat on the coffee table where it always did when James wasn’t using it. How he’d managed to get it back into the spot when he was roaring drunk was still a mystery. Everything else would be in shambles, but the remote would always be right there, present and accounted for, despite the chaos of the room.
She drew a deep, steady breath and ignored the urge to walk the other way. It was late and she had an early day tomorrow. Now wasn’t the time to deal with this.
But she had to deal with it.
She’d preached to Brett about running away, but she’d been doing the same. She was still doing it, she realized, as she stared down and noted that she hadn’t actually stepped foot inside the room. She glanced down at the empty cardboard box in her hand. There were a dozen more in the hallway behind her, ready for duty should she put the brakes on and just stop.
Face the fear.
Before she could step forward, however, a knock sounded on the back door.
She sent up a silent thank-you and turned, her legs eating up the distance down the hallway.
She found Little Jimmy standing on her doorstep in his shiny black tennis shoes and worn clothes. He had his hands stuffed in his pocket and a strange look on his face.
“Jimmy? What are you doing here?”
“I don’t mean to bother you none.” A strange light gleamed in his eyes. “I can come back if you’re busy.” He looked as if he wanted to turn and run, as if whatever had brought him to her doorstep was as frightening to him as her grandaddy’s room was to her.
“It’s okay. What’s on your mind?”
“I just wanted to see if you needed anything? ’Cause if you do, I’d be happy to help out. I know you and your sisters are on your own now ’cause of what happened.” He glanced behind him at the break in the trees.
The yellow tape was gone now and the place beyond dozed clean of the debris that had been left. But the scent of burned cedar still permeated the air and reminded Callie of the tragedy that had turned her life upside down.
Then again, James Harlin had done that years before with his drinking and his gambling and his irresponsibility.
Funny but the thought didn’t bring the same bad taste to her mouth and she managed a smile. “Thanks, but I’m good right now.”
“Just so you know I’m here.” He started to turn, but Callie stopped him.
There was just something about the way he said the words that hinted at something more.
“Why is that, Jimmy?”
“You know. ’Cause your granddaddy was a decent man. At least to me.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets and she had the feeling he wanted to say more. “My own pa ain’t the patient type, but James Harlin always took his time.”
“Doing what?”
He hesitated, glancing behind him yet again before shifting his attention back to Callie.
“It’s okay,” she told him. “You can tell me.”
“He was teaching me how to cook. I’d been helping my daddy for years, but he never thought I was smart enough. He sent me out here to buy some yeast off of James Harlin ’cause we was runnin’ short and we had this big order to fill. James was moving slow on account of his arthritis and I offered to help. He started teaching me things then whenever I managed to get away from my pa for a little while.”
“It was your shoe I found,” Callie mumbled as she remembered the strange tennis shoe amid all the charred remains. “You left a shoe out there.”
He nodded. “Sheriff DeMassi came out here one night and James and I had to take off. Ran clear out of my shoe that night.”
“Were you there the night of the explosion?”
He shook his head. “No, but I wish I had been. Maybe I could have changed things.” He looked so regretful that Callie had the urge to give him a hug.
“You’re lucky you weren’t there, otherwise there would have been two casualties instead of one.”
“Maybe, and maybe I could have stopped it.”
But that wasn’t how things had worked out.
No one had been with James Harlin that fateful night. He’d been cooking all alone, and he’d died all alone.
“He was a gruff man,” Jimmy added, “But he sure knew his moonshine. Cooked up way better stuff than my pa.”
His statement stirred her memory and she thought of that night with Brett down by the creek and the tell-tale smell that had filled the air.
“Is your daddy still cooking?”
Jimmy nodded.
“Where at?”
“Down by the creek.” The minute the words were out, he seemed to realize what he’d said. “Not the Sawyer creek,” he quickly tried to backtrack. “We’ve got our own water source. On our own land,” he blurted. “I’d better get going. My pa will tan my hide if he finds me gone.” And with that, he turned and high-tailed it for the trees.
She knew then that it was Jimmy’s pa who’d fired off his shotgun that night. He was the one cooking on Sawyer land.
And the missing cattle?
She didn’t know. She just knew that she had to call the sheriff and voice her suspicions.
Just as soon as she finished what she’d been about to start.
Heading back inside, she made her way down the hall, into the room that held some of her worst memories.
And some of the best.
Those rare times when she’d found James asleep instead of passed out. So few she could count them on her fingers, but still. They were there, in her head just like all the rest. The smile when she’d nudged him awake and urged him to go to bed. The frown when she’d refused to get him a cinnamon roll because it was way too late and he was already this close to being a diabetic.
“You fuss over me too much.”
“Somebody’s got to do it.”
But the only thing she’d had to do was look after her sisters, and even that had been a choice. She’d wanted to take care of them, to watch them grow up safe and sound, just as she’d wanted to help James. To keep him from destroying himself.
She’d failed, but not because she hadn’t tried. She’d done everything she could for James. She’d even loved him.
She still did.
She admitted the truth as she packed away his belongings and let the tears flow from her eyes.
Tears that weren’t wasted because by the time the last box had been put away and the room cleaned, she felt the precious peace of mind she’d mentioned to Brett. A relief that filled her from the inside out and soothed the hurt in her chest.
Enough for her to call the sheriff.
“And you know the Hams are cooking on Sawyer property how?”
She thought of Little Jimmy and the fear in his eyes. “Just a hunch. Check it out, okay?”
“I’m all for instincts, but I can’t believe you don’t have any more to go on—“
“Please, Sheriff. I know I’m right about this. Just look into it.”
“Will do.”
Satisfaction rolled through her as she hung up, bypassed the now clean room that had once belonged to James Harlin, and headed for bed. She shed her clothes, climbed in, and closed her eyes tight, feeling a sense of relief unlike any she’d ever felt before. For a little while, that is.
Until a new day dawned and Callie Tucker had to face the heartbreaking truth that she’d walked away from Brett Sawyer and she wasn’t going back.
* * *
She wasn’t coming.
Brett knew it even before he heard the message Callie left on his voice mail that afternoon saying that Mark Edwards had full confidence that they would decipher the recipe thanks to the sample and that searching for it was futile at this point.
And no search meant no Callie.
Still, Brett found himself up in the attic anyway, going through boxes the next night. And the next.
He’d just finished searching through one of his grandmother’s dressers when he heard the commotion.
He headed downstairs to find his pappy on the floor of his closet, searching for a belt that had long since worn out.
“Pappy? Are you okay?”
But he wasn’t.
Brett knew it even before the man lifted his head, his blue eyes gleaming with worry and confusion.
“Berle? What did you do with my belt? Your mother bought it for me last week and I swore I loved it. If I don’t show up at dinner with it tonight, she’ll think I lied.”
“It’s me, Pappy,” Brett told the old man, trying desperately to reach the lucid part of him that had been present all week. He couldn’t slide back down, not when he’d just managed to get up. “Brett.” He said the name as if it could snap the old man out of his sudden confusion. “Your grandson.”
“Brett?” Not a glimmer of recognition lit the old man’s gaze. Instead, he shook his head frantically. “This isn’t funny, son. I need that belt, otherwise your mama is going to kill me. You have to give it back. If you want a new belt, I’ll buy you one. Just not that one.”
“I don’t want a belt—” Brett started, but Karen’s voice cut off the rest of his denial.
“I’ll help you look for it,” his sister offered the old man. “If Berle didn’t take it, it has to be right here.” She moved past him, crawling into the closet next to Pappy. “Let’s look through these boxes.”
“I know I didn’t put it there…,” the old man began, his attention shifting to the stack of shoe boxes.
“Go,” Karen mouthed over her shoulder, and Brett didn’t hesitate.
He couldn’t breathe as it was. He needed to get out of there. Away from the confusion and the chaos.
He started for the attic, but that would only remind him of Callie and how good she’d felt in his arms, how right, and so he headed for the barn.
A short while later, he was riding Sam toward the creek and doing what he did best when it came to trouble—running the other way.
The realization hit him as he hauled ass—determined to outrun the truth that Pappy’s good streak had ended and he’d taken a U-turn back toward Alzheimer’s hell and, even worse, that Brett had lost the only woman he’d ever cared about.
Callie was right about him.
For so long he’d convinced himself that he’d gone away on purpose. But what he’d really done was run away.
Then from the horrible truth that he was his father’s son, with the same raging temper, the same disregard for other people’s feelings, the same fierce personality.
And now from his pappy and the Alzheimer’s that scared him with its uncertainty and consuming nature.
And from Callie and the feelings that she stirred. Feelings that made him want to forget his career, settle right here in Rebel, and beg her to stay with him.
Yep, he was a runner, all right, and a coward because as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t seem to stop.
* * *
“You just relax, Pappy, and I’ll be right back with some hot chocolate. Then we’ll get you back into bed.”
The old man sat in the overstuffed chair in his bedroom, a confused look on his face. He still couldn’t understand why they hadn’t been able to find his belt, but he’d finally accepted Karen’s suggestion to get some rest and resume the search tomorrow. She’d promised to help him from sunup until sundown if that’s what it took.
Even if Mark did want to take her for a picnic.
She headed for the kitchen and pulled out the cocoa mix. Turning toward the microwave, she nuked some water and then went in search of marshmallows and a mug. Five minutes later, she had a cup of her Pappy’s favorite drink. She was just about to head for his room when a text message buzzed on her phone. Pulling it from her shorts pocket, she eyed the words that blazed across the screen.
I know it’s late, but I can’t sleep. Why don’t we meet? Mark.
A smile touched her lips and she started to type in her answer. She was halfway through “Yeah, let’s do it,” when she heard the yelling outside.
Pappy was up again and headed for the tomato garden.
She swallowed a rush of regret and sent a quick “Thnx but busy” before abandoning the cocoa and heading down the hall for the back door.
It was pitch black, but she could see well enough to make out the old man’s form on his hands and knees, digging frantically in the small garden.
She hit the light switch and a warm glow flooded the back porch, pushing out toward the small overgrown area where her grandmother used to grow the biggest, juiciest tomatoes in the county.
“Pappy?” She stepped down off the porch. “It’s really late. Why don’t we do the gardening tomorrow?”
“Too late,” he murmured, working frantically at the dirt. “There won’t be anything left. That’s what Pawpaw said. We have to do it now. Before they come.”
“Who?” Karen asked as she dropped to her knees beside him. “Who’s coming?”
“The revenuers. They’ll take it all. We have to make sure it’s safe.”
“Take what?” She glanced down at his dirt-covered hands, at the square piece of silver catching moonlight. He scooped frantically with the flat piece, working his hole deeper.
“All the stuff. But it’s ours. They ain’t got no right to it. That’s what Pawpaw says. That’s what my daddy says, too. It ain’t theirs. It’s ours. We worked for it. It’s ours.”
She touched his shoulder, but it only made him more agitated. “I’m sure there’s no hurry. Let’s do this tomorrow. I’ll help.”
“Too late,” he murmured. She touched his shoulder and he grew more frantic. “It’ll be gone. All gone.”
“Then let me help now. I’ll dig for a little while and then you can dig.” He paused then as she reached for the make-shift spade he was using. “I’ll go fast, too. I swear.”
He didn’t want to let go at first, but finally he nodded. The gardening tool slipped from his hands into Karen’s. She stared down at the piece of metal and a wave of recognition washed over her. She dusted frantically at the dirt, wiping as much away as possible.
Sure enough, it wasn’t a broken spade.
It was the coveted PBR belt buckle that Brett had brought home after his first win. The same buckle that had been up in the attic with the Bible that Brett had been frantically searching for these past few weeks.
“Come on,” the old man said. “Dig, girl. You have to dig.”
“Let me just get something bigger. I’ve got a spade in the kitchen. It’ll do a much better job. In fact, why don’t you come with me? I’ll get you some hot cocoa and then I’ll get right back out here and get to work.”
She didn’t expect him to cooperate. He was much too manic at the moment. Instead, he shook his head frantically and turned back to his hole. Shoving his hands into the dirt, he started digging with his fingers. “I just have to get it deep enough so that the revenuers can’t get to it—“
“I’ll help,” she cut in. “Just let me get a better shovel and I’ll help you.”
The offer seemed to ease the tense set of his shoulders and he paused to take a breath. A few seconds passed and he started digging again. Slower this time. As if the frenzied storm of his memories were finally calming down just a little.
Hopefully, Karen pushed to her feet and headed for the kitchen. Rinsing off the buckle, she dried it and set it on the counter where her brother was sure to see it. A quick rummage in the drawer and she pulled out one of Dolly’s old gardening spades that she used on the front porch flower pots.
She grabbed the tool just as her phone buzzed again. A wave of excitement rushed through her, followed by a whisper of regret because she didn’t have the time to text him back.
Another text and another buzz, and a smile tugged at her lips. He might be just as hooked on her as she was on him.
And while that notion would have scared the miniskirt off her a month ago, suddenly it didn’t seem like such a bad thing.
Mark was a nice guy, after all. And seriously cute. A girl could certainly do worse.
* * *
“Where did this come from?” Brett asked his sister early the next morning when he found the buckle sitting on top of the microwave.
Karen glanced up from her bowl of cereal and swallowed her mouthful. “Pappy had it. He was using it to dig in the garden. I thought it was a spade at first, until I got a closer look.”
He turned the buckle over in his hands. “Where did he get it?”
“I’m assuming upstairs in the attic.”
Brett did a mental search of all the boxes that he and Callie had uncovered. If the buckle had been up there, they would have seen it. Unless they’d missed a box or a trunk or something. “Where exactly in the attic?”
“I don’t know. I just know that he was mumbling about hiding from the revenuers while he was digging in the garden with it.” She glanced through the kitchen window at the old man sitting on the front porch in his rocker. An untouched cup of coffee sat next to him. The groan of the rocking chair echoed as he pushed it back and forth, an empty look on his face. “Maybe tomorrow will be better and we can ask him.”
Maybe.
Brett grasped at the hope as he left the buckle sitting on the counter and headed for the front door. He could have easily gone out the back and avoided walking clear around the house, but he hated seeing his Pappy with that blank look and so he opted for the long way around.
In the barn, he saddled up his horse and headed for the line of fence that separated the east pasture from the west pasture. They had holes and so he’d sent a handful of men to fix the fence earlier that morning. More than enough to handle the job while he took care of the mountain of paperwork inside the house.
But Brett needed out of the house. To think. To breathe.
To run.
The truth beat at him for the rest of the day as he worked his fingers to the bone until he was so tired that he could barely breathe, much less think. By the time he led his horse into the barn, the only thing he wanted was a hot shower and a few blessed hours of sleep.
He was halfway to the house when he spotted the sheriff sitting on the back porch, waiting for him.
“Can we talk?”
“Only if you’re here to tell me what the hell is going on down by the creek,” Brett said as he stepped up onto the porch. He pulled off his hat and ran a tired hand through his hair. “If you’re just going to ask questions, then forget it. I’m beat.”
“I found the poachers.”
Brett’s gaze snapped up. “Who?”
“Big Jimmy Ham. We busted him and his buddies last night. They were cooking a hundred gallons out on the edge of your property. They had a pretty good spot, too. There was a cave cut into the side of that hill about a half mile up. They had everything hidden inside and the entire area around booby-trapped to hell and back. A raccoon came up on them the night you heard the gunshot. They thought they were being raided.”
“And instead of running, they shot?”
“It’s Big Jimmy. He doesn’t have a reputation for being the smartest ax in the toolshed.” His gaze grew serious. “It wasn’t the first time he shot at what he thought was a poacher. We found the remains of your missing cattle. I’m guessing they were watering by the creek at one time or another and spooked Ham. He shot first and realized his mistake later. Found a freezer of meat after we obtained a search warrant for his property. A mess of cash, too. He’ll be going away for a long, long time and you’ll be getting compensation for your cattle. Eventually,” Hunter added. “It has to go through the court system first, but in the end, the judge is sure to make things right.”
The news should have sent a rush of relief through Brett. There’d been no theft. His men were in the clear.
Talk about great news.
It was, but it didn’t overshadow the crappy state of everything. His pappy was still sick and life still sucked.
And so he spent his nights avoiding his pappy and his days trying to tie up loose ends at the ranch so that he could get the hell out of town and back to the one thing that was still good—his career.
The one thing that had saved him all those years ago.
And the only thing that would save him now.
He accepted an offer from Les’s clients on the acreage, securing the immediate future for Bootleg Bayou, and he made several phone calls to hurry up the chemical analysis on the moonshine sample they’d found in the attic. Where Mark Edwards hadn’t managed to pull any strings with his one connection, Brett managed to push things along with his, thanks to the head of the chemistry department, who turned out to be the father of a fellow bull rider and a huge fan.
The sample came back within the next two weeks, but the ingredients didn’t match Callie’s half and so they knew it wasn’t the original Texas Thunder. Still, it was a convincing knockoff that did garner an offer from Mark, but not nearly enough at a thousand dollars to get Callie out of debt.
Even when Brett forfeited his share so that she could have it all.
“You want me to give it all to Callie?” Edwards had asked him. “But you two found it together.”
“The money is hers. She needs it more than I do,” Brett had told the man.
Still, it wasn’t enough.
He knew it and damned if it didn’t keep him up at night, along with all of his other problems.
Because he loved her.
He came to that conclusion when he walked into Haverty’s Real Estate to sign the final papers for the land sale and saw Callie for the first time since she’d walked out on him.
She wasn’t wearing anything special—just a plain navy skirt and a cream-colored blouse—but the sight of her stalled the air in his lungs. His heart skipped a beat and just like that, he knew.
He loved her.
He’d always loved her.
Not that it made one bit of difference because Callie Tucker had turned her back on him. She was the one walking away this time, and as much as he wanted to haul her into his arms and kiss her until she did any and everything he wanted, he knew he couldn’t.
She’d given up so much for the people that she cared about, put them above and beyond her own dreams, and now it was her turn to make her own decisions. And if that meant leaving Rebel, then so be it. She deserved this chance and he wouldn’t try to stop her.
Instead, he smiled and tipped his hat and walked past her into Les’s office as if all was right.
As if he hadn’t lost everything in the world and his life wasn’t going to shit all around him.