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

by Sharon Hughson

  He tapped the brakes at the parking lot beside the stadium. The steering wheel fought the turn as his wheels bounced over the speed bump. A souped up Honda Civic parked near the gate took up a couple spaces.

  Bailey kept his foot off the gas, and his truck idled its way closer to the car. The chrome wheels and wide tires reminded him of some of the racers he’d studied as a teenager. Not that he’d ever have the sort of money to doctor a car that way. It wouldn’t have been practical on a ranch anyway.

  But he didn’t live on a ranch anymore. He stopped beside the car, squinting to see beyond the tinted windows.

  His peripheral vision caught movement inside the fence. His gaze swept upward, and his eyes bulged.

  Long legs sporting fitted yoga capris covered by a long, fitted t-shirt filled his vision. He’d know those legs from any angle. His heart leapt, and he reached for the gear shift. A smoke-skinned stranger stood beside Jaz, his hands buried in the pockets of baggy jeans.

  As Bailey’s fingers latched onto the shifter, Jaz threw herself against the stranger’s chest. Her arms gripped his shoulders, and Bailey’s stomach bucked into his heart. His breath left in a whoosh.

  Who was this guy? Why was Jaz throwing herself at him?

  As the man’s hands came up—did his wrists graze her hips?— Bailey’s control flew out the window. He stomped on the gas, made a U-turn, and sped out of the lot. When he bounced over the speed bump, his chest slammed the steering wheel. The rattling of the truck’s bed couldn’t drown the thrum of blood rushing through his head and pounding in his ears.

  The truck’s back end skidded around the next curve. Bailey plowed mindlessly through town, turned on Orchard Way, and finally bumped onto dirt-packed Armstrong Road. His foot relaxed on the gas and the jouncing lessened.

  Jazlyn with her arms around another man’s neck branded itself into his mind’s eye. The distance was too much for her. Or maybe her old military boyfriend came back. Whatever the case, she’d replaced Bailey. He knew it would happen.

  At the ranch, he pulled next to the barn and shut off the ignition. Closing his eyes brought the scene alive. Would he ever unsee it? His heart throbbed out its usual rhythm. Amazing that a broken heart still worked.

  When his breathing slowed enough to hear the snuffling dogs rather than his pumping blood, Bailey shoved open the door. The squealing hinges sent the dogs ducking out of the way. They were back before he could slam the door, backsides wagging and tongues flapping at his hands.

  Bailey crouched beside them. He ruffled the Aussie’s ears while the other shepherd sniffed his chin. After giving the dogs a thorough petting, Bailey stood and glanced around. The buildings were freshly painted. Afternoon sunlight glistened off the white paddock fence.

  Shamgar whinnied, and another horse answered from the back of the barn.

  Home. Among these animals who were also cast off and unwanted, he belonged. He understood them, and they accepted him. No one wanted the animals, either, so Bailey rescued them. Their brokenness soothed his ragged soul while his hands fed their bodies and his steadiness calmed them.

  Why had he thought loving Jaz would work out? Whenever he loved someone, they left.

  He let himself into the paddock. Shamgar trotted over and snuffed at Bailey’s pockets.

  A few months ago, Bailey had stood at this very fence. He’d told Jaz goodbye because his heart knew they couldn’t have a future. Maybe he didn’t know it was because her old boyfriend would come back, or she’d realize he wasn’t worth loving, but he sensed it.

  His palm slid down Shamgar’s mottled gray neck and cooing whispers eased from his lips.

  Bailey had let Tess convince him he could find love. He’d believed that Jaz was different, that she saw beyond his foster-child-throwaway exterior. And he’d chased her, all the way to Austin.

  Shamgar tossed his mane and bumped his forehead into Bailey’s chest.

  “Miss me, boy?” The words croaked out of an aching throat.

  Bailey scratched the dark spot covered by the gray and black forelock. Shamgar snorted.

  He belonged here. Bailey hadn’t truly fit in Austin. And apparently, he’d been nothing but a diversion for Jaz. A wrenching feeling behind his breastbone made him gasp. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the gelding’s.

  Her silky face beneath his hands. Those berry lips eager against his. The smile that lit up the world so much more than the sunshine ever had. Green eyes that delved into his aching soul. Moments together played on the back of his eyelids, as fictional as the latest film.

  “Fool.” He growled the word.

  Shamgar shied back a step. Barking from the house pulled Bailey’s attention in that direction. The screen door slammed, and his bubbly blonde sister stood on the porch. “I didn’t expect you for hours.”

  Bailey ground his teeth together. He didn’t want to face Tess any more than he wanted to relive his months with Jaz. As usual, his preferences didn’t matter much to God.

  He slid between the rails and jogged toward the house. The siding glowed a pale taupe, a dark blue porch and trim with barn red shutters beside the windows accenting it nicely. Above the front door a sign read “Homestead of Fritz and MaryAnn Travers.” Emotion stung his eyes.

  Tess had done it. She’d brought her dream to life and honored their parents by naming the ranch for them.

  He wrapped her in a hug, noticing how her shoulder blades dug into his forearms. Had she lost weight?

  When he stepped back, his gaze swept her from head to toe. She looked the same. Maybe those purple smudges hadn’t been beneath her eyes, but the smile crinkled the edges as it always had.

  “Guess I can throw another potato in the pot.” Tess pinched his cheek and turned toward the door.

  Her braid swung out and he tugged the end of it, stopping her in her tracks.

  “A man needs meat with his potatoes.”

  “Ha.”

  As soon as she opened the screen door, Poppet bounded out. Bailey crouched down and let the lolling tongue bathe his face. He caressed her floppy brown and white ears. She yipped and groaned, her fluffy tail shaking her backside left and right.

  He’d been missed. All the animals greeted him like he’d been gone for years instead of weeks. And Tess’s arms around his waist grounded him.

  When he entered the house, his phone rumbled against his hip. He pulled it out. Jaz’s text sat on the lock screen. Call me.

  Since they’d begun dating, Bailey had always responded immediately to her messages. Within ten minutes. There was never a meeting at work that would keep him longer than that. And he would happily pull over if he was driving.

  Hearing her voice had meant more to him than anything.

  A vacuum sucked the heart from his chest. Today, the thought of hearing her voice made him nauseous. He didn’t want to hear how the guy she really loved had shown up to reclaim his spot in her life.

  Whenever he tried to convince him he had nothing to offer her, she’d argued that she was the one without a purpose. But he’d been right in the end. He shrugged the thoughts away and hung his hat on the peg inside the door.

  When his phone rang twenty minutes later, he still wasn’t ready to face Jaz. He almost ignored the call, but Tess looked at him with raised eyebrows.

  He sauntered onto the porch before answering.

  “Hey.” Beautiful. But the usual greeting stuck in his throat.

  “Hey, cowboy. Sorry I couldn’t wait for you to call. Did I interrupt anything?”

  He evicted the frog from his windpipe. “Nope. What’s up?” His heart pounded so loudly, he nearly missed her next words.

  “I got a letter from Drew today.”

  Huh? Her brother had been buried for seven years. How could she get a letter from him?

  Bailey leaned over the porch railing. “What? How?”

  “It freaked me out, too. He was carrying it in his pocket on that final mission.” Her voice faded away.

  His
chest tightened at the thought of her choked with tears.

  Buck up. A replay of the embrace she’d shared with that stranger accompanied the reminder.

  He straightened and gritted his teeth.

  “It wasn’t like a goodbye letter. More like the letter he’d been writing to me before the mission. He asked Billy to deliver it.”

  Billy? Was that whose arms she’d fallen into?

  “Seven years to deliver it?” He grunted. That was hard to believe.

  “Billy was injured, and then he was fighting PTSD. But he came through.” She choked to a stop again.

  He supposed a good boyfriend would ask about the letter. But he’d seen her in another man’s arms, and this might be his only chance to end it, walk away with his head held high.

  “I saw you.”

  After a short pause, she asked, “What are you talking about, Bailey?”

  Did she sound guilty? Had there been a different pitch in her tone? If he could look her in the eye, she wouldn’t be able to hide anything. But then, she would be able to read the devastation on his face, too.

  No. It was better this way.

  “I’m at the ranch. I left Austin at lunch.”

  He heard her breathing on the other end of the line. “Why didn’t you come by here?”

  As if she would have been there.

  “I drove by the high school.” He gritted his teeth again. “I saw you.”

  She gasped. “That was Billy. The guy from Drew’s squad.”

  “You were in his arms.” The ice in his voice coated his throat and his chest. Good. Maybe it would numb the emptiness aching there.

  “To thank him for delivering Drew’s letter.”

  “He’s the guy you broke up with a few months ago. And now you’re back together.”

  “What?”

  Her outrage almost convinced him he’d been wrong. A small voice whispered to let her explain, but Bailey squelched it. He’d heard it all before. He was too much trouble. He wasn’t worth loving.

  “I’m out.”

  “Bailey — no —”

  He pulled the phone from his ear, ended the call, and then powered off the phone.

  God help him, he wouldn’t survive hearing her voice for another second.

  8

  Jaz stared between the phone and the letter. Nausea and vertigo spun the room on its side. Her knees crumbled, and she sagged onto the bed.

  He’s the guy you broke up with. Now you’re back together.

  What was Bailey talking about?

  Jaz wanted to share the contents of the letter with someone who would listen to her heart. If Mom wasn’t in her own world of pain, she would gladly share this with her. But for several months, the only person she revealed—even wanted to reveal—her deepest thoughts and feelings to was Bailey.

  I saw you. You were in his arms.

  Tears flooded her eyes. If he thought he could just hang up on her, he should know better. The man had moved to Austin to win her heart and trust. His words, not hers. And he’d done it.

  But he didn’t trust her? And he wouldn’t even let her explain about Billy or the letter?

  Jaz lay back on the pillows. After her eyes stopped burning, she unfolded the paper that had initiated all this drama. And her lips twitched. Because she could hear her brother, as if he stood beside the bed and spoke the words swimming in ink.

  Hey Slugger,

  I’m not surprised to hear your batting average. You’re a natural, oh, and I know the guy who taught you that amazing left-handed cut.

  Things are hot and dull here. Most of the time we’re prepping for missions, but there’s not much actual action. Until there is, and then it’s full-on adrenaline for a few hours and back to boredom. I’ll try to sign up for COM time and call you and the folks. I guess you’ll be back home end of May?

  We’re breaking in a new guy. Doc says he looks about 18, but he can put a spiral on a football. And no, I’m not having second thoughts about college. Thanks for asking, Dad.

  This job is more important than touchdowns and college degrees. Around here, someone has to stand up and protect the ones who need it.

  I’m proud of you. I close my eyes and imagine I can hear the crack of the ball against the bat when you bring another runner home. Can you hear me cheering? Mine is the loud, obnoxious voice chanting, “Slug it.”

  Always follow your dreams. I’ve found that’s the secret to being fulfilled and feeling centered in God’s will (bet you never thought you’d hear me use preacher terms like that, huh?)

  Sending a hug and a noogie.

  Your Bro,

  Drew

  Her eyelids fluttered, and tears dribbled down the side of her face.

  He loved her. He was proud of her. And he made it sound like Dad nagged him about college, too. Jaz couldn’t imagine that. Drew was the golden child, and even if the Army wasn’t Dad’s choice for Drew, he still supported him. She knew because the man’s chest swelled with pride as her parents watched her brother parade across the field, graduating from boot camp, then Special Forces training, and finally his demolitions training.

  But only her mother showed up for Jaz’s military graduations

  The hum of the garage door startled her. Jaz sprung up from the bed, splashed cold water on her face, and stared at her reflection—eyes a little puffy, but not an obvious “I’ve been bawling” look.

  She sauntered into the kitchen where her mother was trying to pull herself up against the counter.

  “Mom!”

  Geraldine jerked and crumpled. Her backside grazed the wheelchair and spun it to one side.

  Jaz dove forward in a second-base-slide under her mother, taking the brunt of Mom’s weight against her chest. Air whooshed from her lungs.

  Jaz grappled for purchase against her mother’s yoga pants and Lycra tank top. Their grunts mingled. Jaz twisted onto her knees. She slid her arm across her mother’s slender chest and beneath her armpits. Thank the Lord years of batting practice made for a strong upper body. Her legs chased the wheelchair against the bar.

  With a surge of effort, she used her other hand to lift Mom’s hips and settle her rear onto the seat. With a groan, Jaz sagged her head into her mother’s lap. Sweat itched against her scalp, and her chest heaved like she’d stolen home plate.

  Thank you, Lord, for keeping her from falling.

  “Does anything hurt?” Jaz glanced up.

  Mom’s honey-colored skin was ashy, and her lips pinched in the way that meant she fought tears. Jaz massaged the knee that wasn’t attached to the leg in a brace. The jarring had to have sent pain searing through the broken femur, and maybe even the cracked fibula. The boot protecting the lower leg cut into Jaz’s thigh.

  Jaz grasped the arms of the chair, and Mom scooted until her butt was fused against the seat back. Jaz sagged against the cabinets behind her, still kneeling at her mother’s feet.

  “Do you want some painkillers? You haven’t taken any today.”

  Mom shook her head. Her lips trembled. “I thought I could balance against the counter.”

  Jaz squeezed her mother’s hand and stood. “Maybe if you locked both wheels, the chair wouldn’t have fought you. Next time wait until I’m beside you.”

  Mom’s chin quivered as she ducked it. “Thank you, Jazlyn.”

  Jaz patted Mom’s trembling shoulder and opened her mouth to reassure her.

  Her father breezed through the doorway, changed from his work clothes to long athletic shorts and a t-shirt emblazoned with the hospital’s logo.

  Jaz stepped away from her mother and toward the pot on the counter where a pork roast had simmered all day. She jerked the refrigerator open and snagged the bottle of her grandfather’s special barbecue sauce.

  “What’s going on?” Suspicion clouded her father’s tone.

  Jaz kept her back to him and removed the lid from the slow cooker. Then she drained some of the juice and shredded the tender meat with two forks.

  “Ja
zlyn?”

  “Want to eat on the porch?” She was proud that her voice sounded firm, not at all shaky after the close call.

  “Gerry? You’re practically crying. Did you have words with your daughter?” The last question rang with accusation.

  Jaz straightened her spine and twisted open the bottle of sauce before pouring a generous portion over the meat. Savory-smelling steam rose from the crock, and her clenched stomach groaned.

  “Let’s eat in here.” Her mother sounded collected, but Jaz resisted the urge to look at her.

  She wanted to offer the pain pills again, but that would be waving a red flag. The past few days, her mother took a dose with breakfast and one thirty minutes before bed. There was time for an additional dose today, but it would mean she’d need to stay up an hour later.

  Jaz returned the crockery to its electric base and covered the saucy meat. She grabbed dishes and silverware and set the table in the nook overlooking the front of the house. The pacing between refrigerator and table calmed her nerves further. Soon, the coleslaw, bean salad, and buns sat in the center of the table.

  Her father rolled her mother into place, his hands colliding with Geraldine’s as they both reached to set the brakes. Jaz lowered her chin. Good. Her mother wouldn’t be forgetting about setting those any time soon.

  After carrying the pot of pork to the table, Jaz poured three glasses of iced tea. Her mother’s slightly sweet tea recipe was nothing like the instant stuff served in the chow hall. Although she had loved the structure and routine of military life, there were plenty of things she didn’t miss. The food topped the list.

  Jaz settled next to her mother and across from her father. He bowed his head, and the women followed suit.

  “Gracious and loving Father, thank You for providing this bounty. Thank You for Your many good gifts, and especially for speeding my wife’s recovery. Amen.”