Rescue Me

entrance. The smells of home greeted her. She breathed in the scent of lemon, wood and leather polish, years of smoke from the huge stone fireplace in the great room, and decades of home-cooked meals.
    No one greeted her and she moved across the knotty pine floors and Navaho rugs toward the kitchen at the back of the house. It took a full-time staff to keep the JH operating on a smooth schedule. Their housekeeper, Clara Anne Parton, kept things neat and tidy in the main house as well as the bunkhouse, while her twin sister, Carolynn, cooked three meals every day but Sunday. Neither had ever married and they lived together in town.
    Sadie followed the steady thump-thump of something heavy being tossed about in a dryer. She moved through the empty kitchen, past the pantry, to the laundry room beyond. She stopped in the doorway and smiled. Clara Anne’s considerable bottom greeted her as the housekeeper bent to pick up towels from the floor. Both twins had considerable curves and tiny waists that they liked to show off by cinching in their pants and wearing buckles the size of dessert plates.
    “You’re working late.”
    Clara Anne jumped and spun around, clutching her heart. Her high stack of black hair teetered a bit. “Sadie Jo! You scared me to death, girl.”
    Sadie smiled and her heart got all warm as she moved into the room. “Sorry.” The twins had helped raise her and she held out her arms. “It’s good to see you.”
    The housekeeper hugged her tight against her huge bosom and kissed her cheek. The warmth around her heart spread across her chest. “It’s been a coon’s age.”
    Sadie laughed. The twins were holdouts when it came to high hair and clichéd old sayings. And if Sadie were to mention to Clara Anne that some people might consider that old expression a little racist these days, the housekeeper would be shocked because there wasn’t a racist cell in Clara Anne’s body. Once, as a kid, she’d smart-mouthed Clara Anne and asked exactly how long a coon’s age was. The housekeeper had looked her straight in the eye and answered seriously, “Six to eight years. That’s how long a raccoon lives in the wild.” Who knew there’d actually been an answer?
    “It hasn’t quite been a raccoon’s age.”
    “Close.” She leaned back and looked into Sadie’s face. “Lordy, you look just like your mama.”
    Without the poise and charm and everything that made people just naturally love her. “I have Daddy’s eyes.”
    “Yep. Blue as Texas bluebells.” She ran her rough hands up Sadie’s arms. “We’ve missed you around here.”
    “I missed you, too.” Which was true. She missed Clara Anne and Carolynn. She missed their warm hugs and the touch of their lips on her cheek. Obviously she didn’t miss it enough to move back. She dropped her hands to her sides. “Where’s Daddy?”
    “In the cookhouse eating with the boys. Are you hungry?”
    “Starving.” Of course he was eating with the ranch hands. That’s where he’d usually eaten because it made sense. “Did he remember that I was coming?”
    “Sure he remembered.” The housekeeper reached for a stack of towels. “He wouldn’t forget a thing like you coming home.”
    Sadie wasn’t so sure. He’d forgotten her high school graduation. Or rather, he had been too busy vaccinating cattle. The care of animals had always taken precedence over the care of people. Business came first, and Sadie had accepted that long ago. “How’s his mood?”
    Clara Anne looked at her over the stack of towels in her arms. They both knew why she asked. “Good, now go find your daddy, and we’ll catch up tomorrow. I want to hear all about what you’ve been doin’ with yourself.”
    “Over lunch. Maybe Carolynn will make us her chicken salad on croissants.” It wasn’t something the cook made for the ranch hands. They tended to like more hearty sandwiches for lunch, like thick slices of meat on heavy bread. But Carolynn used to make chicken salad especially for Sadie’s mother and later for Sadie.
    “I’ll tell her you mentioned it. Although I think she’s already planned on it.”
    “Yum.” Sadie took one last look at Clara Anne, then walked back into the kitchen and outside. She moved down the same concrete path she’d walked along thousands of times. Most meals were eaten in the cookhouse and the closer she got to the long cinder-block and stucco building, the more she smelled barbecue and baked bread. Her stomach growled as she