The Rancher's Homecoming. Arlene James

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       Chapter One

      Never let it be said that God did not answer prayers. Callie Deviner’s answer walked into the War Bonnet Café on the morning of the last Thursday in May, ordered breakfast, which he wolfed down with three cups of black coffee, then calmly announced to all within hearing distance that he was looking for a live-in cook and housekeeper.

      Callie set aside the heavy metal spatula she was holding and pushed a wisp of fine blond hair from her forehead with the back of her wrist before speaking to the freckle-faced teenager at the grill beside her.

      “Fill this next order. I have to go out front.”

      The teen boy gaped at her. Johnny had been working at the café for more than six months and knew his way around a grill, but the regular cook, Chet, who was out with a toothache and as set in his ways as her father, still hadn’t trusted the kid to do more than dish up fries and make toast. Callie ignored the youngster’s sputtered assurances and moved toward the swinging metal door that separated the kitchen from the dining room, sweeping the hated net from her short hair as she did so.

      Tucking the hairnet into the pocket of her apron with one hand and fluffing her bangs with the other, she moved swiftly behind the counter, past the middle-aged waitress, Jenny, and came to stand directly behind the tall, brown-haired man in the worn plaid shirt.

      “Did I hear you say you were looking for a cook and housekeeper?”

      His elbows slipped from the counter, and he spun on the stool to face her, his pale blue gaze quickly sweeping over her. He looked oddly polished despite that worn shirt. Without it, she’d have pegged him for a city boy, though she judged him to be in his thirties.

      “That’s right. For my father. We need someone live-in, as soon as possible. Dad’s ill, and I’ve come to help out. My sisters will be along as soon as they can arrange it, but that could be several weeks, and until then, we’ve got to have help.”

      “Who is your dad?”

      “Wes Billings.”

      “Oh. Out at Straight Arrow Ranch.”

      “That’s right.”

      “I had heard that Wes was ill.”

      “Very ill, I’m afraid.”

      A murmur of condolence went around the room. Wes was well thought of around War Bonnet, Oklahoma. He was known to be a fair, honest, upright Christian man willing to help a neighbor in need. This had to be Rex Billings, Wes’s son. He was quite a bit older than Callie, eight or ten years, so she didn’t really know him. Even in a town as small as War Bonnet, that many years apart in school practically guaranteed they’d be strangers unless they both stayed in town, and to her knowledge Rex had never returned after leaving for college, except perhaps to visit.

      He swept the room with his gaze, sending curious diners back to their own business. Callie inched closer, lowering her voice.

      “I’ll certainly do all I can for Wes. As for the position, how much are you thinking of paying?”

      Rex quietly named a weekly figure that made Callie’s heart leap with joy. Even two or three weeks at that rate would help her and her daughter, Bodie, get out of her father’s house at last. She motioned to the empty plate on the counter in front of him.

      “You might be interested in knowing that I cooked your breakfast. Two eggs over easy, bacon, very crisp, and flapjacks. Right? How’d I do?”

      Billings grinned and parked both elbows on the counter again, one on either side of his plate. “Eggs were perfect. Flapjacks nearly floated off the plate. I like my bacon crisp to the edge of burnt, but that’s just me. When can you start?”

      “That depends,” she said, sending up a silent prayer. “I have a six-month-old daughter. Will that be a problem?”

      Rex Billings tilted his head. His thick, medium-brown hair, she noticed, had been expertly cut and styled. He wore it without a part and, even mussed, it looked adorable. Pretty much everything about him made a woman look twice, from his straight nose to his square jaw and chin. He had recently shaved; she could still smell the shaving cream. But already she could see the dark shadow of his beard beneath his evenly tanned skin. It was his eyes that did it, though. Pale blue and gem bright, as if backlit by tiny lightbulbs from within.

      “Women with babies have been cooking and cleaning for millennia,” he said from behind a smile. “We have space for the both of you, especially if you don’t mind sharing a room.”

      “Not at all.”

      “I can’t imagine Dad would object. He knows you, doesn’t he?”

      “He does. He’s known me my whole life.” Callie reached around behind her and started untying her apron. “I can start right now, if you want.”

      “Works for me,” he said, pushing up to his full height, which she judged to be at least a couple inches over six feet. His jeans, in contrast to his shirt, looked to be brand-new. “I suppose I ought to least get your name, though.”

      “Oh! I’m sorry!” Callie laughed, lifting the apron’s neck piece off over her head. “It’s Callie Deviner. Everyone just calls me Callie.”

      “Callie Deviner. Pleased to meet you.” He put out his big hand. She quickly shook hands with him. “I’m Rex Billings.”

      “Yes, I figured that, since Wes has just the one son.”

      He tilted his head again, those pale blue eyes holding her gaze. “Shouldn’t I know you, too?”

      “I went to school with your sisters. You were long gone when I came on the scene.”

      “Ah. I suppose that’s true. Meredith is ten years younger than me, so...”

      “I’m Ann’s age,” Callie supplied. “Twenty-eight.”

      “Still, that’s eight years,” he said. “I was already practicing law by the time you graduated high school.”

      A lawyer. Wes must be very proud. She frowned then, wondering what ailed Wes. The sooner she got to the ranch, the sooner she’d know.

      “Just let me get my things so we can go,” she said.

      He glanced around. “You sure it’s all right to leave like this?”

      “I’m just filling in. Off-the-books. It’s fine.”