claim on Simon and Emma. But, then again, she had been married to their uncle. She turned back to Emma. “Why don’t you just call me Aunt Callie?”
“Aunt Callie.” Emma tried out the name, then nodded approval. “That’s nice.”
“That’s settled then.”
“So you will be living at the farm with us.” Annabeth made the pronouncement with all the confidence of a self-assured four-year-old.
Jack cleared his throat and Simon started to voice another protest.
But Mrs. Mayweather stepped in before either of them got very far. “Children.” With that one word, she claimed everyone’s attention. “Why don’t the three of you go outside and check on Cookie. Simon, there is a bone left over from yesterday’s supper on the kitchen counter that you may take to him.”
Once the children left the room, Jack turned to Mrs. May-weather. “I want to thank you again for taking them in until I could get here.” He rubbed the back of his neck again. “I suppose I should ask them to pack up their things so we can head on over to the farm.”
Callie sat up straighter. No! He was not going to sidestep her claim that easily. Those children needed her. “I don’t believe that is your decision to make, Mr. Tyler.”
He frowned. “We’ve already—”
She cut off his attempt to play the kin card again. “As your brother’s widow, I believe I should have some say as to who will be staying at the farm.”
“Are you saying you want to go out there yourself?”
“I don’t—”
Mrs. Mayweather held up a hand to halt their discussion. “It appears to me that the two of you have some things to work out in respect to the children’s future. After all, you only learned the full extent of the situation a few hours ago.”
“It seems pretty cut and dried to me,” Jack groused.
Mrs. Mayweather drew herself up. “Jackson Garret Tyler, I will thank you to mind your tone when you are in my home.”
Apparently it didn’t matter how old Jack was—he would always be a recalcitrant schoolboy to Mrs. Mayweather. Callie carefully swallowed a grin.
Jack mumbled an apology, chafing under Mrs. Mayweather’s obvious censure.
He wasn’t sure what was wrong with him today. One minute he was breaking out in a cold sweat at the thought of taking sole responsibility for the three kids, and the next he was ready to fight to the death against anyone who’d dare try to take that privilege from him.
Mrs. Mayweather smoothed her skirts and gave them both equally stern looks. “Now, you’ve had a long day, both physically and emotionally. This is probably not the best time for you to make any major decisions.”
Callie nodded. “I agree. It would be best if we spent a little more time seeking guidance in this matter.”
Jack bit back a retort. There she went with that “seeking guidance” talk again. Didn’t the woman know how to make a decision on her own? Or did she think her delaying tactics would give her some sort of advantage in their tug-of-war?
Mrs. Mayweather, however, didn’t give him an opportunity to voice his objections. “Quite sensible. I insist the children stay here with me another night or two, while you two get everything worked out. It would be criminal to uproot them again before there is some certainty as to where they will live and with whom.” She looked from Callie to Jack. “Are we agreed?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Callie’s response was quick and confident.
No surprise there. It was exactly what she wanted—time to build her case. But he couldn’t come up with an argument that didn’t sound petty, so, under Mrs. Mayweather’s stern gaze, he had no choice but to follow suit. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Very well. Jackson, you are welcome to stay for supper. The more time you and Callista spend in the children’s company, the better for everyone. Afterward, I suggest you spend the night at the farm. It will relieve Virgil of the responsibility of taking care of the chores in the morning. You may use my horse and buggy to get there.”
She rose as if the matter were settled. Which he supposed it was.
His brother’s widow stood uncertainly. “I suppose I should get a room at the hotel.”
Mrs. Mayweather frowned. “Nonsense. You’ll stay here with me and the children.”
She held up a hand, halting any protest Callie might make. “This is no time to stand on ceremony. Your presence has already made such a difference to Annabeth. She’s spoken more in these past few minutes than she has the last four days.”
Jack frowned at this point in Callie’s favor in their battle for guardianship of the children.
“Besides,” Mrs. Mayweather continued, “you can help me with some of the extra chores that have resulted from the presence of the children.”
That seemed to seal the deal for Callie. “Of course. Thank you.”
There was a feeling of feminine conspiracy to this. Not that the arrangement didn’t make sense from a strictly logistical standpoint. The only problem was, it let his sister-in-law have free rein with the kids while he was exiled to the farm. Which gave her a leg up in winning the children’s favor.
He’d have to find a way to level the field.
Callie had mixed emotions that evening as she watched Jack walk out Mrs. Mayweather’s kitchen door.
Just as when he’d started to walk away from her beside the stagecoach this afternoon, she felt as if a lifeline was slipping away from her, leaving her stranded in unfamiliar territory.
Strange. As stubborn as the man was, she felt they’d formed a connection of sorts. After all, when he wasn’t being so pig-headedly combative over the matter of the children, he was actually nice. And even in that matter, one had to admire a man who was willing to take his perceived responsibilities so much to heart.
Callie turned away from the door with a tired sigh.
So much had happened today. It had begun with her looking forward to starting life as a wife and a mother, and ended with the discovery that she was a widow who would have to fight to maintain her claim on her stepchild. What a welcome to Texas. Her father would—
Oh, no! She raised a hand to her mouth and spun around to face her hostess.
“My goodness, dear, you look as if you just burned Sunday dinner and the preacher’s at the door. Whatever is it?”
“I promised my family I’d send a telegraph when I arrived so they would know I was safe. It slipped my mind until just now.” She grimaced. “I hate to impose, but would you have a piece of paper and a pen I could use?” Silly of her to feel this sense of urgency since she wouldn’t be able to send the telegram until tomorrow. But doing this would provide a small bit of normalcy to a day that had spun out of control.
A few minutes later, Callie sat at a small desk tucked in the parlor. She dipped the pen in the inkwell, then paused.
What would she say? How much should she say?
Her family worried about her so. No good would be served by adding to their concerns. After all, she had confidence that God would see her through this.
But she couldn’t lie to them.
Best to keep it short and non-committal for the moment. Nodding to herself, she quickly jotted down three sentences.
Have arrived safely in Sweetgum. Already made new friends who have welcomed me warmly. Will send a letter with further news soon.
As she set the pen down, Callie’s thoughts turned to resuming her battle of wits with Jackson Garret Tyler in the morning.
Surprisingly,