She heaved a put-upon sigh. “I’m telling you, Callie, I can’t take it anymore. You have to come home. She cannot be left in that big old house alone. And she certainly can’t come here. Tom would have a fit.”
Callie barely resisted the desire to scream, even though she suspected Eunice had plenty of cause to be anxious.
“It wouldn’t work for the two of us to be under the same roof, either,” she explained with careful patience. “In case you’ve forgotten the cold wars waged before I left home—Mother and I have never gotten along. She blames me... Well, who knows what she blames me for? Her whole miserable life, I suppose.” She couldn’t help the rare note of confusion that crept into her voice with the admission.
“I swear to you, Callie, if you don’t come back and take some responsibility for this, I’ll...I’ll...”
“What, Eunice? What will you do?” Callie prodded, tired of the guilt her sister had been heaping on her ever since the day she’d left Iowa.
It wasn’t that she didn’t love her mother. She did. But Regina Gunderson had not done anything to allow that love to flourish. Occasionally, in the darkest moments of the night, Callie regretted that their relationship wasn’t stronger, but she’d tired of making efforts that were never returned. She’d long since stopped trying to figure out exactly what she was to blame for. She’d just accepted that the gulf between her and her mother was wider than any Iowa river at flood stage.
“I’ll pack her bags and send her to New York, that’s what I’ll do,” Eunice threatened.
Callie sucked in her breath, stunned by the possibility that Eunice might very well do as she’d said. “That’s blackmail,” she accused.
“You bet it is. I’m telling you I am at the end of my rope. It would be one thing if she were the least little bit grateful, but she’s not. Tom’s about had it, too, and you know what a saint he’s been about helping out ever since Daddy died. I’m not ruining my marriage over this.”
It was not the first time Eunice had declared her marriage on the brink of disaster. If it wasn’t their mother’s demanding, ungrateful attitude, then it was the failure of the corn crop or the lousy supper Eunice had fixed because she was too tired to stand in front of the stove for an hour.
Callie could have told her that Tom Foster was a selfish pig, who liked to throw his weight around just to keep his wife in a constant state of terror, but she kept silent. That was one realization her sister was going to have to come to all on her own. She wouldn’t welcome Callie’s observations or her advice.
“Give me a couple of days,” she said. “I’ll think of something to help Mother.”
Jason Kane’s job offer flashed through her mind. The money would offer a solution, a way to pay for a competent farmhand, she thought, then dismissed the idea as ridiculous. She was not an actress. It was absurd to think about wasting all of her education, all of her experience in business, to prance around playing a cop.
Maybe she was more Regina Gunderson’s daughter than she’d ever realized. She could just imagine her mother’s reaction to her choosing a frivolous career like acting, rather than something solid and dependable. In their family the sternest of work ethics had prevailed. A career in make-believe hardly qualified.
No, taking that job was out of the question. Resisting Jason Kane and all of his considerable powers of persuasion was essential, too. He was clearly a give-him-an-inch-he’d-take-a-mile kind of man. There had to be another way.
“Maybe we could sell most of the land,” she began.
“Mother wouldn’t hear of it,” Eunice declared before she could finish the thought.
“She might have to,” Callie said grimly. “Especially if it meant she could keep the house and hire someone to help out.”
“But that land is our inheritance,” Eunice protested.
That, of course, was the real source of her sister’s objection, Callie knew. She and Tom wanted that land. Tom envisioned himself as some sort of land baron, the corn king of Iowa.
“Let me think about it,” Callie repeated.
“I’m giving you until the end of the week, then, so help me, Mother will be on the first flight to New York.” She slammed the phone down, apparently so Callie would get the message that she meant business.
“Well, that was pleasant,” she muttered to herself.
A key turned in her door just as Terry called out, “Knock, knock, dollface. I know you’re home because I can hear you talking to yourself.”
“Unless you have a very large bottle of gin with you, go away.”
Terry ignored the warning and came on in. “Uh-oh, Eunice must have called again,” he said, regarding her sympathetically. “Why don’t you change your number and not tell that witch?”
“Because that witch is my sister,” she said, unwilling to admit how much appeal his suggestion held, especially after a conversation like the one they’d just had. Maybe she’d move while she was at it, so no one could find her at all.
Terry sat down beside her, shifted her bare feet into his lap and began to massage them. This, she reminded herself, was why she put up with Terry’s tart tongue and his interference in her life. She sighed with pure pleasure, finally beginning to relax.
“I thought sisters were supposed to share some special bond,” he said.
“So they say,” she said wearily.
“On a scale of one to ten, how much guilt did she dump on you this time?”
“Seven,” she said. “But that wasn’t the worst of it.” She summarized Eunice’s threat to send Regina Gunderson to New York, if Callie didn’t come home to take over her care.
“There’s an obvious solution,” he said with such nonchalance that every muscle in Callie’s body tensed all over again.
“What?” she asked
