Spring Texas Bride (The Brides 0f Bliss Tx. Book 1)

by Katie Lane

Waylon spent the rest of the morning dealing with paperwork. At lunchtime he had a strong urge to go over to the diner. Instead, he finished up his reports, then went home and made himself a bologna sandwich with stale bread and iffy bologna. He took the sandwich and a glass of iced tea out to the porch where Sherlock was napping. The dog barely opened an eye when Waylon sat down in the rocker.

  Waylon’s house was one of the oldest houses in Bliss. It had been built in the early 1900s by a pretentious banker who wanted to impress the town. The Victorian-style house was impressive with its three-stories, wide wraparound porch, and ornate corbels. And Waylon’s mother had been thrilled when her new husband bought it for her. Unfortunately, it had been nothing but a money pit to Waylon’s father. From the wiring to the plumbing, something was always going wrong in the hundred-year-old house.

  Still, Waylon loved it as much as his mother had. He loved the long wooden bannister that he and his brothers used to slide down, and the big kitchen where the entire family used to eat their meals. He loved the huge backyard where they’d had neighborhood barbecues and baseball games. He loved the attic that his mother had transformed into her reading room. Whenever he’d gotten tired of playing ball or roughhousing with his brothers, he’d gone up to the attic and laid down next to his mother on the old sofa that his grandmother had given her. His mother would read and run her fingers through his hair in a soothing way that always put him to sleep. And one of her favorite books to read to him had been Alice in Wonderland.

  He missed his mom. He missed his entire family. The house was too big for one person. He pulled his phone from his pocket and tapped the online dating app. Thirty minutes later, he’d sent “hugs” to ten women.

  After lunch, he checked in with Tucker, then patrolled the town. He gave a citation to Jeff Winters for parking in a handicapped space and one to Tiffany Mueller for speeding—although the young teenager had done her best to talk him out of it by flirting and batting her eyelashes. On his way past the diner, he noticed that Spring’s Jeep was no longer parked in front, so he stopped and checked in on Stella. The evening wait staff had shown up and things seemed to be running smoothly. Dinner and lunch were always slower than breakfast.

  Once he finished his patrol, he swung by his house and changed into sweats and running shoes before he headed out to the Tender Heart Ranch. Raff, with the help of Luke and Savannah, had done a lot to the place in the last year. The barn had been painted a bright red and the old log cabin had new windows and a brand-new porch. Raff and Luke were standing in front of the porch throwing a baseball back and forth when Waylon pulled up.

  “Hey, Way!” Raff said as soon as Waylon got out of his truck. “I’m glad you could stop by and give me your thoughts on the new addition.”

  “My pleasure.” He lifted a hand to Luke. “Hey, Luke, how’s it going?” Luke barely lifted a hand. Which made Waylon wonder how well this entire plan was going to work. It was obvious that the kid still held a grudge against Waylon for taking him into custody when he’d run away from home.

  “I’ll walk you around the back and show you where I want to add on in just a minute,” Raff said. “Right now I need to call Savannah before she leaves Home Sweet Home and ask her to stop by the grocery store and grab some milk.” He shot a glance at Luke. “This one goes through milk like a starving calf.” He held out his glove and ball to Waylon. “Why don’t you and Luke toss the ball while I’m inside? Luke is on the baseball team this season.”

  Waylon tried to look surprised. “Really?” He took the glove and ball. “What position?”

  When Luke didn’t answer, Raff answered for him. “He wants to pitch.” He sent Waylon a can-you-friggin’-believe-it look before he headed toward the cabin. “I’ll be right back.”

  Once Raff was gone, Waylon tugged on the glove. “So have you pitched before? Maybe in Little League?”

  “I didn’t do Little League.” Luke glared at him. “And I know what you and Raff are up to. Raff has been telling me what a great baseball player you were in high school and college for the last week. Then suddenly you show up in your sweats and want to toss around the ball. You’re here to coach me at baseball, aren’t you? You’re here because Raff thinks I suck.”

  Waylon hadn’t minded keeping his mouth shut about Raff’s plan, but he couldn’t out-and-out lie to Luke. “Raff just wants you to succeed. He knows how much it means to you, and he thought I could give you a few pointers.”

  “What makes you so great? If you were any good, you would be playing in the pros.”

  “I wanted to play in the pros. I got drafted by the Dodgers my senior year of high school, but my parents talked me into going to college first. My junior year of college, I tore my Achilles tendon and didn’t even make the draft.”

  Luke looked surprised. “You got drafted right out of high school? What round?”

  “The ninth.”

  “Damn.” Luke punched his fist in his glove. “You should’ve gone.”

  Waylon had struggled with the same regret for years. He loved baseball and wished he’d gotten a chance to play in the big leagues. “Yeah. I should’ve. But sometimes life leads you in a different direction than you intended.” He threw the ball straight to Luke. It hit his glove but bounced back out before he could catch it. It looked like Raff was right. Luke’s baseball skills did need some work.

  Luke leaned down and picked up the ball. “So you didn’t want to be a sheriff?” He threw the ball to Waylon.

  Waylon had to stretch to catch it. “I didn’t say that. I’ve always wanted to follow in my father’s footsteps. But who wouldn’t want to play in the pros if they got a chance?” He tossed the ball back and forth with Luke a few times before he asked, “Did your coach ever teach you about the four-seam grip?”

  “What’s that?”

  Obviously, Luke’s coach hadn’t taught him the basics. Probably because most high school kids already knew them. If they hadn’t learned from their dads, they learned from their coaches in Little League. Luke hadn’t had either. That made Waylon even more determined to help him.

  “It’s the best way to hold a ball if you want a powerful, straight throw.” He held up the ball and demonstrated. “You place the middle and index fingers of your throwing hand perpendicular to the horseshoe of the seam. That way your fingers will be in the perfect position to use the seams of the ball to pull down as you throw and get maximum backward rotation. When the ball spins like that it flies true and straight. Squat down and hold your glove up.” He threw the ball hard, and it hit the center of Luke’s glove with a loud smack of leather.

  The kid grinned from ear to ear. “Sweet.”

  “Now you try.”

  The throw was better but was still weak and inaccurate. Waylon walked over and showed Luke again. This time, he adjusted Luke’s hands on the ball before he walked back to his spot. He barely had time to turn around before the ball came whizzing toward him. He caught it before it hit him right between the eyes.

  He lowered the glove. “Sweet. But next time wait until I’m ready.”

  They continued to throw the ball back and forth. With each throw, Luke grew more confident and accurate. The February evening air held just enough chill, and the sound of smacking leather was soothing and familiar. When he was a kid, Waylon and his brothers had played catch with their dad every night in the backyard until his mother had yelled for them to wash up for dinner. He’d loved those evenings playing catch. He’d forgotten how much until now.

  After being injured and passed up by the draft, he’d been angry and resentful. He’d given away his favorite baseball glove and refused any offers to play on recreational leagues. He didn’t even like to watch it on television. Now he realized how childish he’d been. Just because he couldn’t play as a professional didn’t mean he couldn’t still enjoy the sport. He was enjoying it with Luke now. In fact, he felt the tension he’d been carrying in his neck and shoulders loosening and relaxing.

  “So be honest,” he s
aid as he threw the ball to Luke. “Why do you suddenly want to play baseball when you’ve never played the sport before?”

  Luke caught the ball and glanced at the cabin. “Because I really suck at football.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Luke stared down at the ball in his glove. “Raff played football in high school. His name is even up on the gym wall. I know I can never get my name on a wall, but I was hoping I could play something that would make him . . .” He let the sentence drift off, but Waylon got it. Luke wanted to make Raff proud.

  Damned if that didn’t make Waylon almost tear up. The kid had been through hell with his abusive stepfather and according to Raff, his biological father hadn’t been much better. He had run off when Luke was a baby and never come back. Raff was the first man who had ever shown Luke any kind of love and affection, and Luke felt like he had to prove he was worthy of that love.

  Waylon wanted to tell him that Raff would love him whether he played baseball or not. But he knew that a few kind words wouldn’t get rid of Luke’s insecurities. He had to get over those on his own. And maybe baseball would help him do that.

  “Okay,” Waylon held out his glove. “Throw me the heater.”

  The ball Luke threw was far from a ninety-mile-an-hour heater, but everyone had to start somewhere.

  Chapter Eleven

  Working for Waylon wasn’t easy. The man was a perfectionist and had high expectations of his assistant. According to him, Spring wasn’t even close to being as proficient as saintly Gail. She couldn’t do reports as well. She couldn’t take messages as well. She couldn’t keep her desk as neat and clean.

  The first two weeks, she seemed to get everything wrong. Except the coffee. To save herself time, she had stopped picking it up at the diner and had started making it at the office. It was the only thing he didn’t complain about. Of course, he didn’t thank her for it either. Or for ordering him lunch every day from the diner. And dinner if he was working late.

  His lack of appreciation had started to tick her off, and there had been more than a few times when she’d wanted to throw in the towel and quit. The only thing that kept her from it was her desire to prove to her family that she wasn’t an irresponsible ditz. No matter what it took, she was going to keep her job, pay for the repairs to her Jeep, and go on a camping adventure. Although it didn’t look like her daddy would be joining her. She’d left him three messages detailing her plan and how much fun they would have, and he’d yet to answer her. Which made her start to wonder if he’d changed at all, and if she was just a gullible fool to believe that he had.

  “Miss Hadley!”

  Spring quickly slipped on her high heels and got up from her desk. Before she stepped into Waylon’s office, she smoothed out the skirt of her bright green dress and pinned on a big smile. The smile faded when she saw Waylon.

  Earlier that morning, he had looked as spit-and-polished as he always did. Every golden-brown hair had been in place, and his shirt was stiffly starched and buttoned at the cuffs. But this afternoon, his hair looked like he’d been running his fingers through it, his shirt was limp and wrinkled, and his cuffs were unbuttoned and folded back. Since it was the first time she’d seen his forearms, she couldn’t keep her gaze off the muscles that flexed when he turned his computer monitor to her.

  “What’s this?”

  She looked at the monitor and bit back a smile. “It’s three cute little pugs in pink tutus.”

  He took a deep breath and slowly released it. “What are those pugs doing on my screensaver?”

  It had been an impulsive decision. She’d been placing copies of the reports she’d finished on his desk when his screensaver had popped up. The Texas flag with the words Protect and Serve written across the image in big, bold letters was honorable. It was also the last thing Waylon needed to be reminded of every time he sat down at his computer. The man put enough pressure on himself to protect and serve. He certainly didn’t need any more. So she’d changed it to something a little more lighthearted.

  She looked at the pugs. “They appear to be dancing.”

  She expected him to let her have it like he had when she’d called Miley Gaines’s ex-boyfriend and asked him to return her Garth Brooks CDs because he might be hurt over the break up, but he couldn’t ask her to return a gift. Or when she told Glen Stafford that having a neighbor who grew marijuana might not be such a bad thing. Or when she gave Jonas a neck pillow to use when he took naps while on patrol.

  But Waylon didn’t get mad at her. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and didn’t say another word. She stared at him in confusion and finally noticed his flushed face.

  “Are you okay?”

  He kept his eyes closed. “I’m fine. I just have a headache. Do you have any aspirin?”

  “No, but I think I might have some Advil.” She went back to her desk and searched through her purse. She had just pulled out the small bottle when the phone rang. It was Mrs. Miller. The woman called daily with one complaint or another. Spring knew she was lonely after her grandchildren had moved and always spent a good fifteen minutes chatting with her. But last night she’d had an epiphany and thought she’d figured out a long-term solution to Mrs. Miller’s loneliness.

  “Hi, Mrs. Miller. I’m so glad you called. I have something I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “Has the sheriff done something about all the unneutered cats running around?”

  “Actually, he has been pretty busy. But I talked with Joanna Daily and she’s going to see if the vet will be willing to offer discounted spaying and neutering to pet owners.”

  “That’s wonderful! I don’t think I can fit one more stray cat or kitten in my house. I can’t thank you enough, Spring. You’re the only one who really seems to care, and if there’s anything I can do for you, you just let me know.”

  “Actually, there is. My sister-in-law Gracie has been looking for someone to help her with the triplets. And since you took care of your grandchildren before they moved, I thought you might be interested.” There was a long stretch of silence, and Spring wondered if she’d made a mistake. “I realize three babies is a lot so if you don’t—”

  Mrs. Miller cut her off. “I’d love to watch those sweet little girls. I would’ve said something to Gracie myself, but I thought she was looking for a young girl to help her, not an old grandma.”

  “I think a granny nanny is exactly what she’s looking for.” Thirty minutes later, Spring had talked to Gracie and had everything arranged between her and Mrs. Miller. Both seemed thrilled with the solution, and Spring couldn’t help feeling pretty pleased with herself for thinking of it. At least she was pleased with herself until she noticed the bottle of Advil sitting on the desk. Shoot! She’d forgotten all about Waylon.

  She grabbed the bottle, filled a glass of water from the water fountain, and hurried into Waylon’s office. “I’m sorry. Mrs. Miller called and—” She cut off when she saw Waylon huddled beneath his heavy sheriff’s jacket, shivering as if he were freezing.

  “Oh my gosh, you’re sick.” She moved around desk and set down the bottle of ibuprofen and the water and placed a hand on his forehead. His skin was burning up with fever.

  He pulled away. “I’m not s-s-sick.” His teeth chattered. “There must be something wrong with the thermostat. First it was too hot, and now it’s too cold.”

  “That’s because you have a raging fever.” She stared at him, unsure of what to do. She had never been very good with sick people—that was Autumn’s thing. But since Autumn wasn’t there, it was up to her. “We need to get you to the doctor.”

  “I’m not going to the doctor. It’s probably just the flu. It’s going around.” Waylon pushed down his jacket and reached for the bottle of Advil, but his hands shook so badly he couldn’t open the lid.

  She took it from him and opened it. “Then you need to go home and go to bed.” She tapped out three tablets and waited for him to toss them into his mouth before she handed him t
he water.

  He downed the entire glass. “I can’t go home. I have a meeting with the other county sheriffs at two o’clock.”

  “You’ll have to cancel. You can’t go to a meeting when you’re sick.”

  “I can’t cancel. I’ll be fine in a few minutes.” A chill racked his body and all the color left his face.

  The man was so stubborn. But Spring was stubborn too. She didn’t say another word as she walked out and closed the door behind her. The first person she called was the sheriff in charge of the meeting. She explained the situation, and the sheriff was more than sympathetic.

  “Those spring colds are hell,” he said. “You tell Waylon to take care of himself and I’ll have my assistant send him the minutes of the meeting. If he has any questions, he can call me.”

  Once she finished talking with the sheriff, she called Tucker to see if he could come take care of the office, then she called the only person she could think of to get Waylon to listen to reason. A few minutes after she’d hung up the phone, the door to Waylon’s office flew open, and he appeared in the doorway looking haggard—and pissed.

  “You called my mother?”

  She smiled sweetly as she got up and hooked her purse over her shoulder. “Drastic times call for drastic measures. And if you don’t want me to call her back, you’d better let me take you home.”

  He pouted the entire drive home. Pouted and shivered with fever.

  She had never been to his house and was surprised when he grouchily pointed it out. She had expected him to live in a sterile home with an immaculate lawn and nothing out of place. But the three-story Victorian wasn’t sterile. It was grand yet homey with a big yard filled with flower beds, dog toys, and cute little garden gnomes.

  “You live here?” He didn’t answer, and when she glanced over, she saw that he was shivering even harder. “Come on, let’s get you into bed.”

  The inside of the house looked as lived-in as the outside. Hooks with a profusion of coats and cowboy hats hung just inside the door, a couple pairs of muddy cowboy boots beneath. A snap-down western shirt hung over the bannister and more dog toys lay in the middle of the dark wood floor of the foyer.