Roz Fox - More to Texas than Cowboys

“You’re right. It slipped my mind because it was so late when we had supper. But Shelby, pie’s not what we eat for breakfast.”

“Why?”

“It’s too sweet. Pie is for dessert.”

“Peaches are fruit, Mama. And the syrup we put on pancakes is sweet.”

“Honestly, twerp, I’ve never known anybody who argued all the angles the way you do. I swear you’re going to be a lawyer when you grow up.” She ruffled Shelby’s sleep-flattened curls. “You know, pie does sound good. Who says we can’t break from tradition? We make the rules. You run and get dressed in the clothes I laid on your chest of drawers. I’ll make my coffee and pour you a glass of milk.”

“What’ll we do after breakfast? If we clean cottages, I’ll have to do stuff with one hand.

“I have something else in mind. Think you can hold the tape measure while I measure all our windows?”

Shelby nodded. “Why?”

“Because I don’t like not having our windows covered up at night. I thought we’d go to town, and I’ll see if the hardware store stocks louvered blinds.”

“Didn’t Grandma say she’s sewing us kitchen curtains?”

“Yes, but I started thinking that with guests having free run once we open, we’ll want our privacy. I believe there are blinds that fit behind curtains.”

“That’s okay then. ’Cause we don’t wanna hurt Grandma’s feelings.”

Greer caught the child close for an impulsive hug. “You’re a good kid, Shelby-girl. Do you know that?”

The girl wriggled loose. “You’re who taught me it’s not nice to hurt people’s feelings, Mama. You musta forgot yesterday, ’cause you weren’t very nice to Noah.”

“Father Kelley,” Greer reminded, a frown replacing her indulgent smile.

“He likes Noah better. We’re just s’posed to call him Father at church.”

“Shelby, didn’t you hear me say we’re not attending his church?”

“But I want to. Noah told me about lots of kids my age who go there.”

Shaking her head forcefully, Greer nevertheless saw that her protest was useless. Shelby dashed down the hall and disappeared into her room.

Lord, but she was a stubborn kid. Greer wondered if that was a trait Shelby had inherited from her dad? Then again, maybe it came from the Bell side of the family. Certainly her dad was bullheaded enough.

Greer washed the breakfast dishes by hand, as well as the ones left from their evening meal. It was a chore she didn’t mind. She’d had the movers leave a still-crated commercial-grade dishwasher in a cookhouse that needed repair. Once the dishes were dried and put away, she finished writing her list.

On the drive to town, Shelby was her usual chatterbug self. Greer had a habit of listening with half an ear so she could respond appropriately when necessary. Like now, as Shelby leaned forward and asked loudly, “Can we eat at the café Dr. Kristin told us about? Callie’s café.”

“Call her Kristin, honey, not doctor.”

“Why? You said we hafta call Noah Father Kelley.”

“Kristin Gallagher is a doctor’s assistant, not a licensed physician.” Glancing over her shoulder, Greer sighed. “Shelby, must you always question everything I say?”

The girl lunged back against the seat. “My old teacher said asking questions is good.”

“When it pertains to schoolwork, yes. Did you know that when I was your age, a parent’s word was considered law? My mom and dad’s stock answer was do it because I said so.”

“Well, your mom’s a teacher so I guess that’s why. Mama, what does my grandpa do?”

“He farms. He used to grow squash. And kept sheep that he sheared for wool. Pigs, which he marketed twice a year. He raised chickens he sold as fryers, but he also maintained a flock of hens strictly for laying eggs.”

“No horses or cows?”

“I had one saddle horse. Dad didn’t raise beef. We didn’t have the grazing land. It wouldn’t have been worthwhile when he could raise enough sheep to make it pay.”

“Is that why we’re getting sheep? You wanna be like Grandpa?”

Greer paused. “That’s not why I decided on sheep. Cal Sanderson said they’d be easier to raise than cattle. And sheep will present our guests with a different aspect of Western life. Plus we’ll shear them and sell the wool. If everything works out the way I hope, maybe later I can lease land and get a few head of cattle. Okay, Q and A time is over. Our first stop is the hardware store.”

“You never said if we could eat lunch at the café, Mama.”

“Let’s see what time I finish all our errands. After the hardware store, I want to talk with the sheriff.”

“Gosh, why? I don’t want to talk to any old sheriff. They shoot people.”

“Shelby, where do you get these wild notions?”

“From Luke and Lindsay. And from TV.”

“I should’ve known,” Greer muttered, thinking she’d placed too much trust in Cal and Marisa’s kids being good role models for Shelby. “Here in Homestead, honey, our sheriff is a good guy.”

Greer dug out her list and shepherded Shelby into another store that brought back a flood of memories. This time, the man behind the counter was the one she remembered. Myron Guthrie hadn’t changed, except that his hair had gone from gray to white. He’d always been as wide as he was tall. He had no hair atop his head, but wore bushy muttonchop sideburns and a full beard. He still peered at customers over a pair of half-glasses. And he had a good memory, because he knew Greer on sight.

“Well, well, if your little gal ain’t the spittin’ image of you at the same age, Greer Bell. If you’re wonderin’ how I knew you was back, it’s because I ran into Ed Tanner having breakfast this mornin’ at Callie’s. He said you’re fixin’ to spruce up Jase Farley’s old hunting ranch.”

“That’s right. I qualified for the mayor’s land giveaway program. We’re going to open a guest ranch. This is my daughter. She’s nine. Her name is Shelby.”

“Pretty name for a pretty little gal.” Myron took note of Shelby’s shiny new cast as he unscrewed the lid of a squat glass jar and extended it over the counter. “I wonder if you like Tootsie Pops as much as your mama always did.”

Shelby’s eyes lit up, but suddenly shy, she backed against Greer and only gazed at the candy through lowered eyelashes.

“It’s okay to take one.” Greer nudged her forward. “Mr. Guthrie’s been giving his customers lollypops from the day he opened the store.” Smiling, Greer selected one with a red wrapper. She watched Shelby reach in the jar and pull out her favorite grape candy.

Myron screwed the lid back on the jar. He pointed out a waste basket near the door where Shelby could deposit both candy wrappers. Then he focused on Greer, who’d popped the candy into her mouth. “I doubt you stopped in just to pass the time of day. I see you’ve got a list.”

Greer cast a furtive glance at the door to make sure Shelby was still occupied. “Uh, Myron, first I’d like to fill out an application to purchase a small-caliber gun. I’d rather not let Shelby know. She slept through a situation that happened at the ranch last night.” In brief terms, Greer described the screams.

He drew his bushy brows together. “Probably some danged teenage boys messin’ around the river. Wade and his deputy have had run-ins with kids, or so Millicent reported in the paper.” Myron opened a drawer and got out a form, which he shoved across the counter. “A woman and kid all alone that far out probably oughta have a gun. Just be careful who you go shootin’ at, missy. You don’t want to be the one who ends up warming Wade Montgomery’s jail if you nail somebody’s ornery kid.”

Greer took the pen and started writing. “Jock’s no longer sheriff?”