As he followed her up to the porch, he wondered if that girl still existed, or if the men in her life had ruined something as precious and sweet as a young woman’s joy.
Shame knifed him, but as Liv settled into the corner of the porch glider, another realization hit. God had given him this chance to make things right. But maybe he could do more than simply mend old wrongs. Maybe he could restore Liv’s joyful spirit, the smiling peace that used to reign within her.
He sank into the rocker and watched as she perused the papers. “Jack...” She paused and sat forward with a start, and for a brief moment he read the excitement of old in her eyes. She pointed to an item on the paper he’d printed off the internet. “This says that Lester helped bury the time capsule.”
“That’s important?”
Liv inched closer to show him the printed lines referring to Lester Shaw and nodded. “It could be. With the capsule missing, and no one knowing what was in it, what went on, or why anyone would steal an old memory box from a hundred years ago, maybe someone in Lester’s branch of the family knows something. Maybe he told his family what was in the box. Knowing what was in there might help deputy Cal Calloway and the sheriff’s office figure out why it was taken. There could be some tidbit of information that will clear up this whole mess.” She ticked off two fingers as she continued, “The missing capsule. The fire at the rodeo. Things like this might seem minor in big cities, but in Jasper Gulch...? A tucked-in-a-nook town with generations of the same families living here decade by decade?” Her look of remorse underscored her meaning. “Criminal stuff like that could pull a small town like ours apart.”
It made sense, but... “Lester never married. Chet did, it’s in his baseball records, but Lester died a bachelor. Does it say anything about Chet being involved with the capsule burial?”
She shook her head. The scent of spiced vanilla grabbed him by the throat and wouldn’t let go. The smell drew him closer, ostensibly to look at the history papers she held out, but what he really wanted was one more breath of that sweet country smell, gently spiced.
Liv’s scent.
“Well.”
She seemed totally uninspired by his new proximity, so he leaned back in his chair, reclaiming a proper distance in case Dave came around with that nail gun again.
“I’m going to keep these, if that’s okay?” She looked up and he nodded, pretending he didn’t want to draw closer because they both knew better. Well, she knew better, and he’d just promised her father to think hard and long before starting something he couldn’t finish. Not as if he was even considering starting something with a woman on the rebound, because that rarely boded well. “It’s fine.”
“And can I look at what you’ve got lined up for the game so far?”
Sheepish, he handed over the half-filled single sheet of paper. She stared at the single sheet as if appalled, then made a show of unfolding it—
Examining the empty back side while a mix of dismay and bemusement darkened her features—
Refolding it and looking at him, expectant. “That’s it? To field two teams? The Bombers and the Bobcats?”
“Well, the new pastor’s going to play shortstop for us, and he’s good, so we’ve got one more player. And a few I haven’t heard back from. So we’ve almost got one team manned.”
“Did you give them a follow-up call?”
He hadn’t, no. He swallowed hard and admitted, “I texted them.”
The look on her face said he was clueless, and he couldn’t argue the fact. He hated phones, barely liked people and only took this on because guilt over Wes’s condition pushed him to say yes.
“First, this game is a big deal for the town, right?”
“Yes.”
“Second, not everyone is comfortable texting, and some of these guys are in their sixties and seventies, Jack. They might not even have texting capabilities in their phones.”
She was right, of course.
“And third, for something special like this, do you think the New York Yankees send out a text to their former players about their annual Old-timers’ Day? No, they call and invite them to play. It’s an honor to be asked and an honor to be called.”
A hint of light began shining at the end of his self-imposed tunnel vision. “So, would you—”
“I would not.” She didn’t even let him get the words out of his mouth before refusing, and that said the woman before him was tougher than the girl she’d been a decade before. “But I will help organize the concessions, the flyers and the contact lists for endorsements and sponsors to raise money for the new museum. This way we’re both benefiting from our combined efforts.”
“You’re benefiting because it’s raising money for something you love,” Jack objected. He clapped a hand to the base of his neck and scowled. “I fail to see the benefit to me in all this.”
“It gets you out of the saddle, off the ranch and into the mainstream of life again, which is where we all should be. You can thank me later.” She went inside and came back with a landline phone and a small laptop computer. She handed the phone to him and he had no option but to take it. “Use this. The cell coverage is spotty out here, but you can get hold of most of the guys while I’m working on a sketch and a list for concessions.”
He had no choice.
She knew it, he could tell from the way she tipped her chin and offered the phone as if passing a baseball to a new pitcher on the mound.
He hated making phone calls and didn’t like seeking favors, but the way Liv phrased it, as if asking folks to take part in the centennial was a privilege, made it easier to dial that first number. And when the old right fielder who now lived in northern Idaho gave him an enthusiastic yes and thanked him for the invite, Jack sat back. “He’s coming. Excited, even. And he thanked me for calling.”
She glanced up from her note-making and her gaze didn’t say “I told you so.” It said his words made her happy, that taking charge and doing what he needed to do made her proud.
A little thing, making a few phone calls. By the time he was done, he had eight more firm yesses, two I’m-sorry-can’t-make-its and had left three messages to voice mail. So far so good. And it felt good, too, which made his dread of doing it fairly ridiculous.
“Did you call Pete Daniels?” Liv looked up from her email account as she invited area nonprofits and business owners to take part in the game-day festivities. “I heard he was good.”
Jack set the phone down, frowned and shook his head. “No.”
“You’ve got a solid player right here in town and you’re dissing him? Why?”
“Several reasons.”
Liv’s quiet posture invited him to continue.
“Pete’s a hothead. He sets players off. He annoys the umpires. He’s got a chip on his shoulder and he’s rude. He’s got great playing skills but is that the kind of attitude we want representing the town at the big game?”
“No,” Liv agreed. “I knew he’d played for a bunch of years. Dad sent me the town paper from time to time, and I saw Pete’s stats now and again. But you’re right, there’s no reason to intentionally bring in someone whose attitude can mess up a fun game like this. You’ve got the rest of the guys contacted, though?”
“I do.”
He’d done it in less than an hour and from the wealth of notes Liv had on her laptop, it looked as if they had wrapped up a good deal of the planning in one short evening.
Which meant they could pretty much be all done, but that was the last thing he wanted to be, so he plunged in, wanting at least one more day of working side by side with Livvie Franklin. “Liv, we’ve done well tonight, but shouldn’t we get together again to firm things up? I’ve got a rancher from Wyoming coming in to look at calves tomorrow night, but I’m free the night after.”
She scanned her notes, then him
, with no discernible change of expression. “Aren’t we just about done? I’ll get hold of the ladies’ auxiliary and the Jasper Gulch Hose Company about doing the food. The firefighters do the best chicken barbecue, and that way they can make money for their organizations, while the take at the gate goes to the museum. I’m sure the Sports Boosters will man their hot dog and hamburger stand like they do for the Legion games. If the high school band can do the national anthem and we get someone to sing “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” at the seventh-inning stretch, we’re set, right?”
Jack thought hard and quick. “But what about the flyers? Posting them and getting them done? And by the way, I’m heading to Three Forks on Saturday for the horse auction, and I was wondering if you’d like to tag along.”
She sat back. Stared at him. In fact, she stared at him so long that he half wondered if she’d gone into some kind of shock, but before he could dial 911, her mother’s voice chimed in from the garden around the corner. “Liv, that would be fun, don’t you think? Dad and I are leaving on Saturday and you were just saying how you wanted a chance to reacquaint yourself with riding while you were here.”
“You said that?” Jack leaned forward. Her mother’s reminder had chased the deer-in-the-headlights look from Liv’s eyes, but her current expression said her mother would most likely get an earful when Jack was gone. “So, come, then. We’ll grab food up there. We’d have to take off around eight in the morning. That all right with you?”
* * *
She longed to refuse his offer.
She wanted to hurl his stupid invite back at him and remind him of how many nights she’d spent crying in her pillow. Did he have any clue the amount of money she’d wasted on lotion-treated tissues?
But the other part of her, the part that had gotten downright excited when she passed the Jasper Gulch, Montana, Welcomes You! sign, knowing she’d see Jack again—the more traitorous side—said, “Yes. I’ll be ready at eight. Should I bring anything along?”
Jack stood and shook his head. “Naw, if you email me a copy of your notes and plans, we’ll be good. I’ll print them up at home. And Livvie?” He turned as he got to the stairs, looking for all the world as if he wanted to stay, but the cool expression she aimed his way said there was no reason to linger. “Thanks so much for this.” He held up the paper that now held eighteen players. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“You could have but were choosing not to,” she corrected him smoothly. “And that’s not the Jack I knew. That Jack took everything in stride, the good, the bad and the ugly, and went with it. Until you hurt your arm.”
She refused to sugarcoat his actions. He’d let an injury change him, alter his ways, upset his life. He faced her, looking uncertain, but then dipped his chin in acknowledgment. “It was a stupid thing to do, Liv, and I’m sorry.”
She studied him for long seconds, squinted slightly, then nodded. “It’s a start.”
* * *
A start. That’s what he’d wanted, right? A new beginning, a chance to mend old wrongs, set things right. She got up and walked him to the truck, and when he opened the door, the scent of wildflowers escaped in a rush of late-summer sweetness. Liv sniffed the air and spotted the bouquet. Realization brightened her face as she tipped her head back to look up at him. “You brought me flowers.”
“Yes. And then chickened out when your father approached with his nail gun.”
A tiny grin lit her face like a morning sunrise. “So. What now?”
He frowned, not understanding.
She directed her look to the flowers. “Do I get them now?”
“I— Um...they’re kind of sad looking now, aren’t they?”
She shook her head as he reached across the seat to grasp the slightly wilted bouquet. “A good drink of water and they’ll spruce up fine.”
“You think?”
“Yup.” She reached out and he set the somewhat woebegone flowers in her hand. “Water’s an amazing thing.”
“‘With joy you shall draw water,’” Jack began, and when Liv finished the sweet words of Isaiah, his heart opened just a little bit more.
“‘From the streams of salvation.’”
“You remembered.”
“Your mother has that painted on the little sign above your barn doors. Is it still there?”
It was, kind of like most everything else his mother had done or placed. He and Dad hadn’t moved much of anything. At first that was fine. Now it seemed like neither one knew how to start the process of change. “It is. I think of her every time I walk into that section of the barn.”
“She was a wonderful person, Jack. And she wanted you to be happy.”
He frowned, glanced down and shrugged. “I kind of blew that, didn’t I?”
“Then? Yes. Now?” She gazed up at him once more, and the look she offered him said he wasn’t doing all that badly and that made him feel good inside. Really good. “I think you are happy now. Happy to be here, to be part of the ranch, the town. As long as you break the hermit habit, I expect you’ll do just fine, Jack McGuire.”
Funny how words could make things seem real. Hearing her assessment, he felt better. As if he was taking big leaps instead of small steps. Was that because he was moving with more force or because Livvie showed faith in him?
Maybe both. He smiled down at her and raised his hand, gently grazing her left cheek with one work-roughened finger. “Thanks, Liv. For everything.”
“And thank you.” She stepped back, creating a distance, but raised the bouquet slightly. “I love the flowers.”
He climbed into the truck feeling better than he had in a long while, and as he backed down the driveway, the sight of her standing there, holding a bouquet of native-grown flowers in her hand, made him wonder what she’d look like as a bride.
Would she consider getting married again? Ever?
Would she consider you trustworthy enough to take a chance on, you mean? Probably not. You broke her heart once. Why would she trust you to treasure it again?
Because he was older. More mature. Stronger. More faithful.
Actions speak louder than words, his conscience reminded him, and it sounded slightly doubtful. Give it your best shot, but you heard her father. Think hard. Real hard.
He would, Jack decided. But he wouldn’t just think hard this time. He’d pray. Something as important as Liv’s happiness deserved God on their side.
He’d been a churchgoer for a long time. But the past few years he’d felt as if he was just going through the motions. As if maybe he didn’t really belong.
He’d wondered if others felt like that, but it wasn’t something he talked about. But the other night, when Ethan talked about redeeming love and God’s sacrificial nature, the young pastor’s words hit home.
Jack wanted redeeming love. He didn’t know if he could fix things with Livvie, but he knew that just making things better would benefit both of them. Heal them. And Jesus was a healer, so the mathematics of the situation should work.
Redeeming love, simple yet powerful. He longed for that. Needed it. And he wanted to be the kind of gentle, loving person that deserved it. Starting now.
* * *
“Nice flowers, honey.”
Liv heard the amusement in her mother’s voice and faced her as she gave the arrangement a much-needed drink. “Thanks. They’ve been through a troubling experience tonight, but I think they’ll perk up by morning.”
“There’s an analogy for you.”
“Me and the flowers?” Liv made a face but couldn’t refute her mother’s logic. “True enough. What time are you guys pulling out on Saturday?”
“Around five. I’ll try not to wake you.”
“Well, I told Jack I’d ride to Three Forks for the horse auction, so I’ll be up early anyway. Thanks for
the obvious nudge, by the way.”
“You’re welcome.” Her mother shrugged and grinned. “You’re helping him with the game—”
“And he’s giving me info about the old-time baseball history of Jasper Gulch,” Liv inserted. “All business, Mom.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Jane flicked the flowers a glance. “A private evening planning session, flowers and a date. Is that the way business is done these days, dear?”
“Small-town business, yes. If we met in town, every tongue would be wagging. Half the town has us married already, because how on earth can two single people not end up together when fate and time thrust them into the same hometown?”
“Memories go back a ways. And folks liked seeing you as a couple. But you’re right, that was a long time ago and a lot has changed. And you tried a long-distance relationship with Jack once and it didn’t work. If you get a job in one of the cities, that would be rough on both of you. Of course, you could stay here,” her mother added as she hugged Liv good-night. “I won’t deny that I love having you home. But I also know that jobs are scarce and you need to make a living, so I won’t pester you about it.”
“Any more than you already have.” Liv lifted the vase and turned to carry it up the stairs. “Me and my flowers are going to bed. I’m going to practice getting up early the next couple of days so I don’t mess up Saturday morning. It would be just like me to hit the snooze alarm and wake up to Jack pounding on the door, ready to hit the trail.”
Jane’s expression said she approved of the practice mornings. While she’d said nothing the past week, Liv had noted the concern on her mother’s face the longer Liv stayed in bed each day. Seeing that worry made her want more jump in her step, but coming back to Jasper Gulch held up a dulled mirror image. No job, no marriage, no family.
In baseball talk, three strikes was an out. But seeing Jack after all this time? Working with him?
That made her feel as if she was back at home plate, bat in hand, a new opportunity waiting. Silly, yes. But it didn’t feel silly, it felt real and good and wholesome.
One bouquet of wildflowers and you’re jumping into the batter’s box again? Have you learned nothing from your past experiences?
His Montana Sweetheart (Big Sky Centennial Book 2) Page 4