by Jayna Morrow
Table of Contents
Title Page
copyright
Scripture reference
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
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15
A Devotional Moment
Sweet Home, Texas
Thank you
You Can Help!
God Can Help!
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Garrett’s Gift
Sweet Home Texas Series #1
Jayna Morrow
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Garrett’s Gift
COPYRIGHT 2013, 2020 by Jayna Morrow
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or Pelican Ventures, LLC except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. eBook editions are licensed for your personal enjoyment only. eBooks may not be re-sold, copied or given to other people. If you would like to share an eBook edition, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Contact Information: [email protected]
All scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version(R), NIV(R), Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com
Scripture quotations, marked KJV are taken from the King James translation, public domain. Scripture quotations marked DR, are taken from the Douay Rheims translation, public domain.
Scripture texts marked NAB are taken from the New American Bible, revised edition Copyright 2010, 1991, 1986, 1970 Confraternity of Christian Doctrine, Washington, D.C. and are used by permission of the copyright owner. All Rights Reserved. No part of the New American Bible may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the copyright owner.
Cover Art by Nicola Martinez
Prism is a division of Pelican Ventures, LLC
www.pelicanbookgroup.com PO Box 1738 *Aztec, NM * 87410
The Triangle Prism logo is a trademark of Pelican Ventures, LLC
Publishing History
First Prism Edition, 2013; Second Prism Edition 2021
Electronic Edition ISBN 978-1-5223-9890-5
Published in the United States of America
You can make plans, but the Lord’s purpose will prevail
Proverbs 19:21
1
“I see you decided to show up.” The harsh words grated like a meat grinder in Garrett Hearth’s ears. They echoed with double impact in the unpretentious metal building that served as the town hall.
His brother, Gabriel, shoved a straw cowboy hat on his head and stomped in the direction of the large, glass front door. He slammed into Garrett’s shoulder as he passed—a childish gesture, but one that spoke volumes.
Garrett took a step back to absorb the shock of his brother’s aggressive gesture. The churlish greeting came as no surprise. Gabriel could always be counted on to let Garrett have it, no matter what the situation or who was watching. Garrett didn’t understand Gabe’s animosity.
“Good to see you, too.” He raised his voice loud enough for others in the room to hear. He wanted to draw attention, simply because his brother disliked it.
Gabriel never turned back. Guess he wasn’t in the mood today.
Garrett pulled his attention back to the here and now. The folks filing out of the city hall building wore a variety of expressions—appalled, nonchalant, visibly stressed. He’d missed the meeting. Not that it mattered. Most everyone in town was against him anyway. Well, he didn’t care. His property belonged to him, and he could sell it to whomever he wanted. He didn’t owe anyone anything. But try explaining that to Gabriel.
A shaft of late afternoon light pierced his eyes as he opened the front door. A young woman with bouncy, brown hair and long, slim legs jogged out the door and caught up with Gabriel. Garrett watched as the two talked. The woman used lots of descriptive hand gestures.
Moments later, she returned to the building more slowly than she’d left. By this time, Garrett stood in the entryway alone. She stopped in front of him, the smell of earth and flowers wafting around her, and gave him a slight smile that ruffled his soul like a warm breeze.
“I need to lock up. Are you ready to leave?”
A pleasant enough voice, Garrett decided, although from this closer perspective, he noticed faint streaks of dust on her flushed cheeks.
She stood in the doorway and jangled a set of keys from fingertips that sported well-chewed fingernails. Her jeans were worn in the knees and torn in places. Soil covered the tops and sides of her athletic shoes. She wore a T-shirt that read It’s Easy Being Green on the front. Rich, brown hair was pulled into a ponytail, but some of it had worked free and was tucked behind her ears. She’d apparently been working outdoors, but her beauty shone through the dirt.
She tapped her toes, and Garrett remembered she’d asked a question.
“Yeah, I guess I missed the meeting. I better head out.”
“A productive one, too. We’re finally starting to convince the property owners that selling out to the developers is bad news for Sweet Home. We’re already beginning to see the effects of heavy construction everywhere. Several school buses were late picking up children due to a road closure this week. And don’t even get me started on the pile of waste building up the roadsides. Those vultures.” She pursed her lips and narrowed a pair of velvet brown eyes.
Garrett stepped around her and out the door. He didn’t want to get into a debate right now.
The roof’s overhang blocked the light, making it possible to see without the glare. Her expressive eyes sparked with raw emotion, and for a moment, her passion for the town almost swayed him from his resolve on the issue dividing Sweet Home—to sell or not to sell.
Almost.
Progress had been creeping into the small Texas town for years. A rural area not far from Bishop, Texas, Sweet Home had drawn the attention of big-city developers. Developers had offered landowners serious money to sell. The situation had neighbor pitted against neighbor. For months, town meetings had tried to bring unity, but so far, the efforts had only added fuel to the fire.
“I'm sure I've seen you around before, but we haven’t officially met.”
The young woman’s statement refocused his mind, and he noticed her ringless hand stretched out toward him. How long had he been lost in those beautiful brown eyes?
“Garrett Hearth.” Their hands made a warm connection. Hers sported a layer of dirt, which she transferred to him during the handshake, leaving his skin feeling gritty.
Enthusiastic and beautiful. Too bad she was on the wrong side. That made her a beautiful bother.
“I saw you talking to my brother, Gabe. How long have you two known each other?”
Rumor had it that Gabe was involved with some dark-haired woman, but nobody knew much about her. She lived out of town. Could this be her? For some reason, he hoped not.
“Gabe’s your brother?” Her eyes lit up like amber stars. “Then you’re another descendant of this town’s founding family!”
A sense of pride surged through him and then fell away like leaves from a tree in autumn. His ancestors had settled here long ago, and others established homesteads around them. The Hearth family had named the town. For m
any years, life in Sweet Home had been ideal for residents—pure, simple country living.
Now it was time for change.
“Yeah. That’s my family.”
“You must be so proud of your rich heritage. What a history this area has.”
In the hay fields, golden bales glowed in the early evening sun and reflected in her eyes. Beyond them, a densely wooded area boasted a variety of trees—old oak, pecan, and cottonwood stood tall and majestic alongside smaller mesquite trees. All of them slated to be cut down.
“War, drought, the Depression, flooding...this town has made it through it all.” This gal was nothing if not single-minded. “I can’t imagine anyone wanting bulldozers coming in and tearing it down. Oh, well. We just have to keep praying.” A big smile spread across her face, replacing the severe expression from half a second before.
Garrett allowed his gaze to roam from her face to take in the rest of her. Whatever she did outdoors must involve physical labor. Well-defined muscles in her arms flexed slightly as she turned the locks on the door. Even in work clothes, she had a classy air about her.
“Oh! Your brother.” Her ponytail bounced as she spoke. “I didn’t answer your question. I haven’t known him long. I’m a landscape architect, and Gabriel hired me to update the grounds at his house. Been working over there all day, and I’ll be there at least another two days. Lots of work.”
Thinking about the job must have made her self-conscious because she dusted her jeans and held grimy hands in front of her, fingers splayed. “I’m a mess. Barely made it to the meeting—not a chance of going home to clean up. I didn’t call the meeting this time, and it wasn’t convenient at all.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Garrett couldn’t help grinning at her sudden discomfiture. “You look perfect. And these old farmers and ranchers don’t give a hoot about appearances. You’re fine.”
So she wasn’t Gabe’s girlfriend. Excellent.
~*~
Garrett’s smile of approval put Micara at ease.
“Thank you.” She’d locked the town hall doors, and they stood on the concrete steps that led to a large, dirt parking lot. A handful of people still lingered near their pickup trucks, talking to each other. Griping about the land issue, no doubt. She wished more of them had spoken up during the meeting, but most were afraid to speak out. Sometimes she felt as if she did all the talking at these gatherings. But at least the townspeople listened, and most of them agreed with her. She wasn’t in this fight alone. Tonight’s meeting was a fine example because she hadn’t called it. Other people were getting involved. Pippy Warren, a local lawyer, had stepped in tonight to share lots of information. Having an attorney’s perspective was a real eye-opener.
Garrett seemed like a decent man. And since he was from the town’s founding family, it would be an asset to have him in her corner. Gabriel Hearth came to all the meetings, but she’d never seen Garrett here. Lord knows I need something to go my way.
Micara hadn’t been born in Sweet Home. She’d spent most of her childhood in the big city. But both her mother and her grandmother were Sweet Home natives. She’d spent time during holidays and summers here, and had always dreamed of calling Sweet Home, well, home. Micara and her mother had shown up on her grandmother’s doorstep when Micara was seventeen…and they hadn’t left since. Her mother had promised her a perfect life in Sweet Home. But what was entailed in being happy? And what exactly was a perfect life anyway? She’d read that true happiness centered on appreciating what you have and counting your blessings.
Some folks couldn’t see the danger posed by developers. The hefty amounts of money they offered painted enticing mental pictures of early retirement and lives of ease. Only, these weren’t offers from individuals who planned to build a home and make a life in Sweet Home. The offers came from businessmen who made it clear what they would do with the land once they acquired it. In no time at all, the sleepy little town would give way to restaurants and shopping centers and planned neighborhoods.
And with those things came more people and housing and crime.
Why can’t they see?
So far, none of the town’s major landowners had sold. Many others said they would, but their properties weren’t large enough. The developers wanted the massive lots, the substantial acreage owned by the earliest residents—the Clark, Harris, McKinnon, and Brown family estates. And, of course, they wanted the town’s founding family to sell—the Hearths.
The handsome Hearth standing beside her rubbed at the scruff that covered his face. Micara liked the raw edge. Garrett was rugged but in a purposeful way. He wasn’t out to impress anyone.
His blue-gray eyes were distant, almost hollow. They didn’t match his welcoming smile. His smile said he was glad to be here, but his eyes said he wanted to be somewhere else.
When he looked at her, it was as if he was looking just beyond her. But then again, the eyes were the window to the soul. Maybe she recognized something he wasn’t expressing to the world.
Why had he missed the meeting? And why hadn’t he attended any of the others? There hadn’t been many, but each one was critical. It seemed like a new problem popped up every day. Last week, it was ruts in fields from illegal parking of heavy machinery. This week, it was problems with the school bus routes due to road closures.
“You look familiar. What's your name again?”
Ahh, so he was aware of her. “It’s Micara Lee.”
“Micara.”
His deep voice struck a chord in her soul. She liked the way her name sounded when he said it.
“That’s unusual.”
“My mother had an aunt named Cara whom she was close to. When she was little, she started calling her My Cara, and it stuck. Her aunt passed away before I was born, so my mother came up with Micara in her honor. But you probably didn’t want to know all that. I talk too much. Sorry.”
Garrett chuckled. “It’s all right. I like to hear you talk.”
Was he flirting?
Was she?
“Talking a lot can be a powerful weapon. I keep calling these meetings—well, not this one—hoping that if I talk their ears off, they’ll finally listen to me. It’s been months, and some people still say they’re going to sell.” Sadness overwhelmed her, and she slowed down for emphasis. She met his gaze and found it hard to look away. “All it takes is one, and it starts a trickle-down effect.”
She located her car key on the metal ring. In addition to caring for the lawns of many businesses, she and her mother also cleaned the buildings on a regular basis, so her janitor’s key ring was large.
“I know what you mean.” His head bobbed up and down.
“It was nice to formally meet you, Garrett.”
“Likewise.”
She nodded and then headed for her car.
Garrett strode to his truck and waved before he drove away.
Before she could get her car door open, Pippy called her name. Micara sighed. She was never getting out of this place.
A large woman, Pippy placed her hand on the door and took a moment to catch her breath. “What did you think of the meeting?”
“People are talking. And the information you handed out will help. They respect you more than they respect me.”
Pippy’s breathing was almost back to normal. “They respect you, hon'. It’s just that you’re telling them to turn down large sums of money. That’s a tough decision in a recession when people have bills to pay and most jobs are located in Bishop and other nearby towns anyway. Why not move closer to where they work? The information I gave them is either gonna convince them to stay or help them get a better selling price.” She laughed heartily. “Trouble is, anytime you educate people, you take the risk of it backfiring.”
“That’s true. I can’t help but feel like a troublemaker.”
“Lemme tell you a little something about troublemaking. Did more than my share of protests and rallies back in the day—and several stints in jail for getting a bit crazy w
ith all that. My young years were a time of passion and making changes. One of my most meaningful projects was saving Sweet Home from change.” Pippy’s gaze drifted down as if she was reliving the memory. “Sweet Home is a small, country town but it’s a big city compared to some time ago. When I was growing up here, there was nothing but a folksy downtown area, one building for the school, and only a fraction of the houses that exist now.
“Then developers swooped in and started building new homes. That’s why the brick homes you see look similar. They were built in the same decade. And I protested all of it. Not because I didn’t care for progress, but because I was big into saving the environment back then. I put my heart and soul into it, but progress won.”
Micara stared at Pippy with a questioning gaze. History was known to repeat itself, but could Sweet Home handle round two?
“Now don’t let that scare you. A lot of good came out of that earlier progress. You’re bighearted, Micara, and that heart’s in the right place. Keep doing what you’re doing. I’m here to support you. Feel free to call me anytime.”
“Thanks, Pippy. You’ve been a great help.” Micara climbed into her car and her friend plodded toward her own vehicle.
She had a lot to think about.
2
Micara slammed on her brakes.
A large sign filled too much space on the edge of the Clarks’ property. Its shadow stretched out across half of the road.
She threw an arm across the passenger seat to keep her purse and lunch from spilling into the floorboard, then veered to the side of the road and stared.
Future Home of Hidden Oaks Gated Community. A computer-generated picture of rows of cookie-cutter luxury homes filled the space below.
Just yesterday, she’d told Garrett Hearth, “All it takes is one.” Here was that one. Now the domino effect would begin. No wonder the Clarks hadn’t shown up for the meeting. They must have been too ashamed to show their faces. Or they didn’t care. Probably both.
A rumbling noise drew her attention to the right side of the property.
A yellow bulldozer rammed a group of pecan trees. Her blood boiled and pulsed in her veins. Dust rose up and gushed through the open window. The inside of her cramped car was closing in, making it burdensome to breathe as the air supply diminished and heated up. The roof brushed against the top of her head, her knees crammed into the dash, and her elbows pushed against the compacting door. At least, that’s what it felt like in her mind. Her preference for wide-open spaces couldn’t be more prevalent now. She threw open the door and dashed across the empty street. Her heart raced faster than her legs, but she did her best to keep up. She had to do something.