Love's Returning Hope (Love's Texas Homecoming Book 2; First Street Church #15)

by Sharon Hughson

  “I don’t know.”

  “Call me once you do.”

  “Will do. Thank you.” Bailey ducked his chin and left the room.

  It took less than thirty minutes to clean up the plans his boss requested and email him the link to the file. That put him in Austin traffic at the same time as most of the school buses. At a stop light, he texted to let Jaz know he was on his way.

  Please let her mother be all right.

  He’d prayed the same for his own mother and MaryAnn passed anyway. Lately it seemed like God might be paying more attention to Bailey’s prayers, but who knew how long that might last?

  After too many slams on the brakes and several rounds of the hospital parking garage, Bailey finally emerged from the elevator onto the appropriate floor. Around a corner and down a long hallway, Bailey found Jaz pacing one end of a mid-sized waiting area. On the opposite side her father, arms crossed over his chest, stared out the only window in the room.

  When Jaz spotted Bailey, her green eyes lit up and some of the tension eased out of her jawline. She flew into his arms, and the familiar scent of oranges and ginger tickled his nose. Catching her father’s stern gaze, he fought the urge to bury his face in her hair.

  “Thanks for coming.” Her words were for his ears only.

  “Sorry it took so long.”

  Her father edged a step closer. His face appeared pasty, and his hazel eyes were wide and bloodshot. The puff of hair he usually kept gelled into a deep side part stood on end in a few areas and flattened against his skull in others.

  Bailey shook Ronald Rolle’s hand. “How is she?”

  Ron’s cool hand clasped his firmly and, after a single squeeze and pump, he withdrew it. “Still waiting to hear.”

  A woman popped her head into the room. “Mr. Rolle? The doctor can meet with you now.”

  Ron stiffened and walked toward the doorway. Jaz, her spine arrow straight, followed without waiting for an invitation. Her fingers gripped his as she tugged Bailey along behind her.

  Further along the hallway, the woman gestured to an open doorway and assured them the doctor would join them momentarily.

  Ron’s gaze flitted to Bailey and Jaz’s joined hands, and Bailey fought to keep from flinching or drawing away. He’d only been around Jaz’s dad one time, and the air of disapproval weighed heavily. Her mom had chattered and flitted about, an ideal hostess who still couldn’t warm the room in the presence of Ron’s aloofness.

  A man in scrubs and a white coat with a mask and stethoscope dangling from his neck hurried into the room, shutting the door behind him. The snick of the latch sounded ominous.

  Jaz stepped closer so their hips touched, and her fingers tightened on his.

  “Mr. Rolle, Geraldine is stable. We stitched a couple contusions and insured the spleen was intact. The hardware placement in her hip seems fine, but we’ll want to run a full treatment of antibiotics.” The doctor gestured toward the grouping of furniture. “Why don’t we have a seat while I discuss the prognosis?”

  Before she sat, Jaz said, “She’s out of danger, right?”

  When the doctor confirmed this, Jaz’s tension drained further, but she still leaned into Bailey. He draped his arm around her shoulders and drew spirals on her upper arm.

  “The triple traction remains for at least a week, and she’ll stay here where we can keep her fluids steady, screen for blood clots, and monitor any infections. After that, I might recommend a rehabilitation center for up to a month.”

  Ron clenched his hands between his knees. “What about home care?”

  “Because of her fractured femur and fibula, she won’t be able to walk for at least six weeks. I’ll want her up in a wheelchair as soon as possible, and physical therapy will keep her legs from atrophying, but she’ll need a full-time caregiver.”

  Jaz wilted further into Bailey. Ron straightened but held the doctor’s gaze. “How soon can she come home?”

  “Unless you want a hospital bed rigged with the pulleys that keep the bones aligned in your living room, two weeks minimum.”

  Ron’s shoulders slumped. Jaz twitched toward him but pulled short of touching him.

  “I can help take care of her.” Jaz drummed her fingers on her thigh. “Does that mean she can come home sooner? The house is a single level with only one step up to the stoop.” She straightened away from him. “Mom would prefer to be at home.”

  The doctor glanced between Jaz and her father, studied Jaz for a second longer, then pursed his lips together. “We’ll discuss it. She’s being transferred to a room now, and I’m sure you want to see her.”

  They stood. The doctor shook hands with Ron and nodded to Jaz. “I’ll have the nurse provide the recovery timeline and instructions, so you can talk it over with Geraldine. I’ll check her progress tomorrow afternoon.”

  A moment later, another man in scrubs directed them to follow him. The sterile, antiseptic atmosphere choked Bailey, but he pushed away the dark memories of MaryAnn’s supposedly routine surgery that ended up claiming her life.

  Please, Lord. Don’t let that happen to Jaz’s mother.

  3

  A straight jacket couldn’t have been more confining. Or so it seemed as Jazlyn clambered from the double bed she’d slept in as a teenager. Sweet Grove wasn’t home without Drew and was even less welcoming since Bailey lived in Austin rather than up the road at Travers Guest Ranch.

  Once the doctors released Geraldine Rolle from Travis County General, her father lined up a hospital bed, wheelchair, walker, and everything from a bedpan to a home health nurse. Ignoring her father’s dubious looks, Jaz relocated and became her mother’s primary caregiver while her father continued his job at St. Joseph’s five days each week.

  “Jaz,” her mother called from the family room.

  As she turned toward the sound, Jaz glimpsed Drew smiling from his Special Forces graduation portrait. Her heart clenched. She ducked out of her mother’s home office—now Jaz’s workspace for the foreseeable future. Thankfully Boldt & Associates had a remote system, allowing Jaz to continue her work online.

  At the foot of the hospital bed, weights dangled from two separate pulleys. Jaz’s thoughts spiraled into the realm of science fiction horror flicks. The doctor couldn’t visit soon enough with his portable x-ray machine to determine if the pelvic bones would stay in position without traction. Cleaning the sites of the bolts and screws in her mom’s knee and thigh was her least favorite task. Yes, she preferred emptying the bed pan.

  Jaz stopped beside her mother’s raised head. A drama series streamed on the television behind her. Her mother’s fingers could have been icicles, and Jaz forced away a shiver as she clutched her mother’s hand in hers.

  Her mother’s lips trembled in her pale face. The skin that was always two shades lighter than Jaz’s looked nearly yellow.

  “A drink.” She lifted the glorified sippy cup, its flexible straw flopping like a wagging tail.

  “You want a snack, too?” Her mother’s appetite had dwindled to nothing, and the physical therapist had stressed that she needed to eat high-energy foods, especially before and after therapy sessions.

  Jaz glanced at the clock on the stove. Another three hours until the therapist showed up to torment her mother again. The bending and lifting made the pulleys creak and the weights clank, and the sounds grated on Jaz. At least physical therapy only happened twice per week. Once the traction was gone, the torture sessions would increase to five days out of seven.

  The ice maker ground out some crushed ice. Jaz filled the cup with water and snagged a protein bar from a nearby box. She returned the cup to her mother. After Mom took a drink, Jaz tore the package and handed the bar over.

  Geraldine stared at the bar, finally taking it after Jaz nearly stuck it in her mouth.

  “How’s work going?” Her mother nibbled a corner off the bar.

  “All right. Researching negligence claims against pharmaceutical companies. It’s a little disheartening that the
re are so many to sift through.” Jaz fidgeted with the edge of the sheets.

  “Did you go for a run this morning?” The shadows under Mom’s eyes made a rock drop in Jaz’s midsection. Her mother shouldn’t be worrying about her.

  Jaz nodded. “I miss Bailey.”

  “I thought he called last night.” Brown eyes studied her, reminiscent of her brother’s searching gaze.

  The first month she dated Bailey, they’d carried on their budding relationship long distance, but since May they’d spent time together every day. Going back to the phone calls and video chats left an aching loneliness behind her ribs.

  You could be in traction. Things could always be worse but being trapped in the same house with her father was pretty high on Jaz’s list of things to avoid.

  After her mother had eaten a few bites, Jaz squeezed her thin shoulder. On her trip back to the desk, Jaz tried to ignore the shrine of pictures, medals, and certificates adorning the office wall. A shelf supported several trophies from Drew’s high school football career. Three all-league trophies and two all-state trophies proved he was destined to be a running back, in exchange for a college education at least.

  But after the Twin Towers attacks, Drew changed. News of oppressive regimes in too many corners of the world escalated, and after high school graduation, Drew enlisted in the Army instead of accepting either of the full scholarships he’d been offered.

  That was the only time she’d ever heard her father rail at her brother using the disapproval reserved for her. She’d been floored, but Drew had shaken it off like a just-bathed dog sheds water.

  She forced her focus back to the computer. By the time her backside felt numb, she’d filled out three of the five research requests due that week.

  When the doorbell chimed, Jaz stretched. “Do you need anything?” she asked her mom on her way past. The protein bar was only half-eaten, but her mother shook her head, eyes fixed on the television.

  Jaz swung the door open, and Tabitha Olson stood on the stoop.

  “I’m here to spell you.” The woman smiled.

  Since Jaz returned from the military, she’d attended First Street Church where Tabitha’s husband pastored. Her parents attended a Baptist church in Rosewood, and this offer seemed out-of-place.

  Tabitha squeezed Jaz’s hand. “Elise mentioned you’re feeling cooped up. I know she takes an afternoon walk with Kristina. Maybe you could join them. Get some fresh air.”

  “Mom can’t be by herself.” And my father expects me to stay with her.

  Tabitha gestured to herself. “That’s why I’m here.”

  “I couldn’t impose on you that way. There are bedpans—”

  The pastor’s wife held up her hand. “I’m offering. And I’m no stranger to nursing.”

  Jaz and the woman stared at each other for a few more beats. The pounding in her chest escalated, straining toward the taste of freedom beyond the door.

  Jaz nodded and stepped back, sweeping her hand toward the doorway to her right. “She’s set up in there.”

  Tabitha strode past, a cross-body bag bouncing against her hip with each step. Her mother’s voice pitched in greeting, and after settling Tabitha with a cup of tea, Jaz dodged into her room for walking shoes.

  A few minutes later, Jaz backed her car out of the driveway and headed toward Sweet Grove. Elise replied immediately to her text and told Jaz to meet them at Cider Creek Park. Obviously, this had been a staged intervention, but Jaz couldn’t muster any irritation. She needed to escape the oppression of being a caregiver. How did anyone do it full-time?

  She parked the car and vaulted from the seat. Her arms reached toward the sky, and she wished to hug the humid air and swirl through the parking lot on giddy feet. Instead, she smiled upward.

  Thanks, Lord. I really needed this.

  Elise and Kristina sauntered along a nearby pathway. Elise waved, and her ponytail gyrated wildly. Both women were younger than Jaz but had gone out of their way to befriend her when she’d attended First Street Church in the spring.

  Jaz fell into step with the other women. She inhaled the sunshine. Golden leaves crunched beneath her sneakers. “This is perfect.”

  Kristina talked about an argument between the sheriff and a couple regulars at Mabel’s. Elise griped about separating a pair of over-eager high schoolers who were making out during youth service. The stories grounded Jaz in the world of normal.

  “How’s Bailey?” Elise smirked and elbowed Jaz.

  “Great. We talk every night. He worries about Tess.”

  Kristina nodded. “Jeffrey says he’s always been an overprotective brother.”

  “Not overprotective,” Jaz argued at the same time Elise said, “That’s not a bad thing.”

  The three women burst into laughter. Tension oozed from Jaz’s shoulders, and her palm covered the ache in her side from the hysterics. Fresh air and friendship were good for her mental health.

  Elise discussed possible changes to her job at First Street Church, and the wrinkles between her eyebrows indicated more worry than she admitted with her words. Jeffrey had plans lined up to slowly evolve the diner’s menu, and Kristina’s voice infused with excitement.

  “You’re blessed that your employer is letting you work from Sweet Grove.” Elise glanced toward Jaz.

  A trio of birds swooped toward something in the path ahead. Their twitters distracted Jaz, but her walking partners said nothing.

  She sighed. “It’s boring. I miss Austin.”

  “Sure it’s not Bailey you miss?” Kristina grinned.

  Jaz shook her head. “Sure, I miss him, but as far as work goes, I miss talking to the clients. Most days I spent time with kids while their parents discuss pending lawsuits.”

  “Kids?” Elise arched her brows. “Must not be teenagers. You were pretty hard-nosed with the softball team.”

  When Elise first asked Jaz to help coach the high school team, Jaz’s strict, no-nonsense style hadn’t been popular. After a few weeks, it mellowed into something more encouraging and, more importantly, the girls had improved their batting averages.

  “Maybe it’s your biological clock.” Kristina frowned, still staring straight ahead.

  Maybe her biological clock is ticking, but I’m not even engaged. Did she want to be? Her heart thrummed.

  “This could be the Lord’s way of directing you to something better.” Elise’s eyes slitted.

  “Not in Sweet Grove.” Jaz shook her head. “Not as a caregiver.” She chuckled to take the sting out of the admissions.

  “Let’s pray about it.”

  Elise jerked both of her friends to a stop and said a quick prayer, not even bowing her head or closing her eyes. It was like Jesus stood on the path with them, and shivers prickled along Jaz’s arms.

  As they returned to the parking lot twenty minutes later, Jaz hugged each woman in turn, thanking them.

  “Let’s do this a couple days a week.” Elise stated it like a done deal.

  “Is there someone I can hire to stay with Mom?” Jaz had turned toward her car, but the stiff silence halted her.

  “Tabitha enjoys getting out and visiting.”

  “I can’t ask her to take care of Mom.”

  Kristina apologized and ducked into her car. After she pulled out, waving at them, Elise glared at Jaz. “Then I will. She’s not doing it just for you, you know.”

  Jaz shrugged off Elise’s offer, saying she’d text Elise the next time she was available. Mom didn’t need the strain of entertaining someone, and Jaz knew her father would see Jaz’s break as shirking her responsibilities.

  Jaz called a greeting as she entered the house. In the great room, the television was off, the bed was nearly in a full sitting position, and her mother’s fingers wrapped around a tea cup. Two glossy magazines were open between the women, who barely paused their conversation when Jaz walked past them into the office.

  In fact, Tabitha was still there when Ron Rolle banged through the garage door and called o
ut, “I’m home.”

  Jaz saved her work and typed an email to her boss. She typed carefully to delay the inevitable, and by the time she emerged from the office, Tabitha was gone. Her father sat on the hospital bed holding her mother’s hand.

  “I like that sparkle in your eyes.” Her father’s voice rumbled and tickled. The special tone he used with his wife was so different from what he turned on Jaz that it almost sounded foreign to her ears.

  “Tabitha asked if she could stop by a couple times each week.” Her mother’s eyes lifted and met Jaz’s.

  The silent message sent mixed emotions flooding through Jaz. Apparently, Elise had been right.

  “As long as you don’t overdo it.” Ron squeezed her hand.

  “I need to do more. Just wait until the therapist comes.”

  And like that was an announcement, the doorbell chimed. Jaz scooted around her parents. She felt her father’s gaze boring into her back as she hurried to the door.

  Once she’d admitted the lithe woman carrying an athletic bag filled with exercise bands and assorted medieval devices, Jaz ducked into her bedroom. She flopped on her bed, her heart racing and stomach tightening as she pressed Bailey’s name on the screen of her phone.

  Three rings later, he answered.

  “Hey, cowboy.”

  “Well, hello, beautiful. How’s your day?” He drawled the words. The lazy Texas accent spiraled through her, awakening a flight of birds in her chest.

  “Better.”

  The timbre of his voice soothed her, and the trapped feelings melted away. How could she go another month without seeing him every day?

  4

  Digital technology didn’t remove the quaver of relief that flowed through Jaz’s single word. His heart galloped across his chest.

  Bailey slumped into the ratty camping chair that accounted for one-fourth of the furniture in his loft and stared at the photo of Jaz he’d clipped to the icebox. The fire in those green eyes and the smirk playing with her berry-delicious lips would be absent.

  “How’s your mom?” Bailey had lost two mothers—one to jail and drugs, and then MaryAnn’s botched surgery. His heart buckled at the thought of Jaz losing hers.