Just One More Chance: Baytown Boys Series

by Maryann Jordan

  Oliver Dobson’s name had been given to her by an acquaintance and she had contacted him a few weeks ago. She tried to see if he had a website, but found nothing. Nor did he have a studio until recently. It appeared that he was commissioned to do work for clients, but did not mass-produce. He had now purchased an old garage in the northern part of the county and was setting up an apprentice program for a few potters-to-be. When he talked to Jillian, he said that he now had the opportunity to produce more work, plus the work of his students, and was interested in her galleria.

  Hearing a male voice entering the coffee shop and speaking to one of her workers, she made her way to the top of the stairs, giving her the perfect opportunity to observe him as he ascended.

  Tall, dark hair neatly trimmed. Clean shaven. Immaculate, navy, pin-striped suit with a pale lavender tie. As he neared the top, he looked up, and she worked to keep from gasping. Hollywood was the only word that flew through her mind. Latching onto his gaze, she realized his eyes were assessing her as much as she was noting him.

  Sucking in a quick breath, she stuck her hand out, greeting, “Mr. Dobson. Welcome to my galleria.”

  Stepping onto the second floor, he took her hand in his and held it firmly. “Ms. Evans. It’s a pleasure, I assure you.”

  As she led him to the same table where she had met with Lance, she waved her arm around the space keeping a running monologue of the artwork displayed. “As you can see, the original wooden panels still grace the walls and provide the perfect setting for the artwork. All artists are local and, where possible, use local raw materials or muses.”

  Reaching the table, she gestured for him to sit down and then sat across from him. His dark eyes continued to stare until she blushed and looked down nervously.

  “I’m very sorry, Ms. Evans,” he apologized, blushing slightly himself. “I don’t know why I assumed you would be older, but I’m pleasantly surprised to find that a very attractive woman is running this business. And so very successfully.”

  “Oh, my parents started the coffee shop downstairs years ago and I took it over from them, having worked in it most of my life, except for college. And, please, call me Jillian.”

  “And you may certainly call me Oliver. Where did you go to college?”

  “Old Dominion.” Laughing, she added, “It’s not very far, so I’ve been a hometown girl all of my life.”

  Smiling, he shook his head and said, “Don’t apologize for that. I’ve had the opportunity to travel the world, but you notice where I’ve landed? The very rural and quaint Eastern Shore.”

  They continued chatting for a few more minutes as Jillian explained her concept to him and how she felt she would be able to assist him with sales. At the end of her little speech, she took a deep breath and added, “Oliver, I know that you already create pieces for individual clients and while I very much want to showcase your pottery here, I’m not sure my galleria will gain you very much.”

  Nodding, he said, “For myself, I’ve decided that I would like to spend more time teaching the techniques to some specialized students that have agreed to work here with me. But, they are unknowns and their work will need to be showcased. This is a great opportunity for them, as well as me. Beyond that, I’ll also be actively marketing them, but don’t want to bog myself down with the details of shipping. If it is something you would consider, I’d be more than willing to pay for you to ship out our pieces for a commission. You will hopefully sell some here, but we’ll probably sell a lot more directly. If you handled all of our shipping you’d be helping me out a lot, while also earning a bit more yourself.”

  Tilting her head, she smiled. “That’s very generous, Oliver. I’m sure the shipping wouldn’t be too much for you to handle—”

  Chuckling, he said, “What you see here is the cleaned-up version of myself. I much prefer the plain clothes of the potter and working in my shop. I’d package the pieces, since I know how to ship pottery, but then they would be sent by your galleria to my clients. That’d take one burden off of me and give you more of a chance to promote your business. And since you’d also be displaying some of my work and the work of my students, I’d be over to drop off boxes anyway, so it’s a win-win for both of us.”

  Letting out a sigh of relief, Jillian leaned back in her chair feeling the warm sun streaming in through the window. Her dream was coming true right before her eyes.

  “You appear happy, Jillian,” he observed, returning her smile.

  “I am, very much. I can’t thank you enough for your faith in my business, that you would also allow me to market and ship your artwork.”

  Standing, they shook hands and she noticed he held on to hers longer than necessary. He’s handsome, no doubt about it. She glanced down at their connected hands, a flash of disappointment coursing through her at the lack of heat she felt from their contact. Not like Grant—nope, stop! He’s passed up his last chance with me! Smiling up at Oliver, she slipped her hand from his and said, “I’ll walk you out and you can let me know when to expect your first delivery.”

  *

  Grant stomped up the stairs of the coffee shop, ignoring the concerned expressions on the faces of Jillian’s employees as they eyed the angry officer. Rounding the top of the steps, he came face to face with the woman he had just witnessed standing outside her shop, her hand once more being held by another man. Damn, first Lance and now this guy. And who is he anyway?

  “Grant? What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice strident as she warily observed the red-faced, tight-lipped man staring at her. Legs planted wide, his hands were on his hips as he glared, causing her to move back a step.

  “Who the fuck was that guy out front? The one you were hanging onto?”

  Not answering, she blinked several times. Suddenly, jerking out of her stunned silence as fury poured though her, she spouted, “It’s none of your business! You don’t have to know everyone, and certainly not everyone I’m talking to!”

  “I protect the town, so I sure as hell should know everyone…especially if some stranger is lurking about!”

  Jillian’s breath rushed out, her chest heaving. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said, her voice suspiciously low and controlled.

  “I’ve never seen him around here,” Grant contended, his words less sure now that he saw her gaze snapping at him.

  Just then, one of her servers from the coffee shop called up, “Jillian, I hate to interrupt your…uh…discussion, but I need you to sign for the morning delivery.”

  Narrowing her eyes as she drew a shaky breath, she said, “Excuse me,” shoving past him as she jogged down the stairs.

  Grant clenched his jaw as frustration coursed through his body. Swinging his eyes around, he spied a business card lying on the table in front of the large front window and he hurried over. Oliver Dobson, Dobson’s Pottery, Eastern Shore, Virginia. Committing the name to memory, he turned quickly as he heard Jillian’s feet pounding up the stairs.

  Before giving him a chance to speak, she stepped forward and poked him in the chest, her voice now rising. “You know what, Grant. I’m glad you came here. I’m glad to finally have the chance to tell you exactly what’s going on! You want it, well here it is, buddy!”

  She stepped forward one more time and he stepped back in surprise. Looking down at the delicate finger poking him, he did not have a chance to placate her before she blasted.

  “You asked me to be your girlfriend in high school and I gave you my heart. That was your first chance. Then you asked me to wait on you when you joined the Army and I did. I. DID. I waited. I didn’t go out on a single date my senior year of high school. Didn’t date when I first went to college. Why? Because you asked me to wait for you. That was your next chance to have me.”

  Chest still heaving, she glared at the face that had haunted her for years. “I gave you a chance to come home to me like you promised, but you didn’t. You came home, told me that you had changed your mind and left to go live and work in Virginia B
each. But like a fool, I still clung to the hope that one day you’d return to Baytown, and that was another chance I was willing to give. And you did. You moved back over a year ago. But not home to me. Nope, I’ve had to watch you with other women, but never me.”

  Turning, she stalked over to the large window overlooking Main Street, crossing her arms protectively in front of her, her breath ragged as she blinked to hold the tears back.

  His gaze held the beautiful woman standing with the sunbeams catching the light in her hair and the stiff set of her shoulders. Her body, encased in a light blue blouse tucked into a red skirt that cupped her ass in a way that screamed class and sexy all at the same time. Sucking in a breath, he hated himself for once more alienating her. This is exactly why I should just stay away. “Jillian, I never—”

  “No,” she interrupted, sucking in a shuddering breath, still staring down at the street, her voice now spiked with sadness. “No more, Grant. You used up your chances with me. You want friendship only…that’s what you’ll get. No matter how much it might tear me up, that’s all you’ll get.” Turning back to stare at him, she added, “And that friendship does not include you coming in here questioning me about who I’m seeing.”

  “Please…” he said, unable to keep the pleading out of his voice, his hands lifting at his side.

  She stared at the face as familiar to her as her own. His brown hair, short with just enough length at the front to stand on end when he ran his hand though it. She loved seeing him in the old police uniforms, but had to admit the new navy polos with the BPD logo and khakis looked just as good. She knew if she walked forward, she would be able to stand with the top of her head nestled just underneath his chin. Closing her eyes for a second, she shook her head slowly, letting out a long sigh.

  Cocking her head to the side, she asked, “Please what, Grant? Are you asking for one more chance to break my heart?”

  He stood there, the battle waging within. The truth he had tried to bury for so long was that Jillian had stolen his heart when they were children playing on the Baytown beach, and dreaming of a life with her fueled his adolescent dreams. But the man that came back from the war was not the same man she fell in love with and he did not know how to reconcile the two.

  “I don’t want to break you heart,” he said, the words slipping out on a sigh. Running his hand through his hair, he said, “I…I’m sorry.” Turning on his heel, he jogged down the stairs and slammed out of the coffee shop leaving Jillian rooted to the floor.

  Fat, silent tears slid down her face as she realized her heart just broke one more time.

  *

  Grant parked the Police SUV and called in his location. Acres of shoulder-high crops lined the fields of the farm. Looking over at Burt, they stepped from the vehicle and walked along the path toward the barn. The officers noted two children at the edge of the fields before the kids ducked down to stay out of sight. Grant grimaced while Burt cursed. The local school had given them a list of the children who had not shown up for the first two weeks of the school year and were unaccounted for, hoping the town’s police could aid in the truancy.

  “School day and these kids are out here working the fields instead of being in school.”

  Grant, following the dirt, tractor path around the weather-beaten barn, came to the wide-open door. An old farmer, his stomach pulling at the fabric of his stained coveralls was tinkering on a tractor. He looked up as Grant rounded the corner.

  Wiping the sweat from his brow with a faded bandana, he stood up and called out his greeting. “Officer…what can I do for you?”

  Grant pulled off his reflector sunglasses and jerked his head toward the field where the corn stalks were tall and green. “Those your kids out there in the field, Mister…?”

  The old farmer laughed, “Hell naw. My kids done grown up and left years ago. My name’s Jeffrey Todd. Them’s some neighbor kids that help me out. Their dad works for me and he brings his kids.” He narrowed his eyes, making the crow’s feet at the corners even deeper. “What’s the problem? They in trouble? I ain’t gonna have no trouble on my place.”

  “Mr. Todd, the trouble is that school’s started and those kids aren’t in school.”

  “Humph, that ain’t my problem. I ain’t their parent.”

  Just then, a small man appeared from the back, busy wiping the grease from his hands. He stopped suddenly at the sight of Grant and his eyes dropped to the Baytown Police Department logo on Grant’s shirt. Eyes wide, he backed up a step, flight written on his face.

  “You the father of those kids?” Grant asked, watching the nervous man wring his hands.

  “Yes,” came the soft reply. “I’m Keith Montwood. They’re good kids…they’re not in trouble,” he hastened to say.

  Burt walked into the barn with the two boys in tow. One looked to be about ten and the other one close to twelve, but Grant had to admit it was hard to tell from their size. Their eyes were as wide as their dad’s and the youngest one’s chin trembled as he battled back tears.

  Grant knew since Burt was a father himself, he had dealt easily with the boys, but still understood their fear. Turning his head back to the adults, he softened his voice as he spoke to the father. “They’re not in trouble, but they need to be in school. It started two weeks ago and we got a call from the school letting us know that they had not attended yet. The principal is worried.”

  “I work for Mr. Todd,” Keith said, “and my boys work here too in the summer.” He cast a nervous glance to the older farmer, whose lips were set in a thin line.

  “I appreciate that, but the fact remains that during the school day, the boys must be in school. If you have them help here afterwards or on weekends, that’s up to you.”

  “Hell, I stayed out of school to help my pa and my kids missed school to work on the farm,” Jeffrey bit out. “It’s harvest time and I need the help!”

  “What you did yourself or with your kids is not the issue here,” Grant continued. “The law says that the kids must attend school and on top of that, there are child labor laws that are being broken here.”

  Jeffrey blustered more about damned laws interfering with a man being able to do an honest day’s work while Keith jerked his nervous gaze between his angry boss and the two policemen.

  Burt stepped in to calm Jeffrey down as Grant moved toward Keith, motioning the boys to come with him.

  “Mr. Montwood, we need to get your boys back in school. So far, they’ve missed the first two weeks of school and we don’t want them to miss more.”

  Head bobbing, the smaller man agreed, his hands holding onto the shoulders of both boys. “I know, sir. I agree. They’re smart and I want them to finish school, like I never did. It’s just that…” his eyes cut over to Jeffrey, still blustering about the government taking over his life.

  “Is he putting pressure on you to have the boys here?” Grant asked.

  “He pays well and…”

  “And he’s indicated that if you keep the boys here to work through the harvest, you’ll get more money, right?”

  Keith let out a long sigh, answering Grant’s question without speaking.

  Rubbing his hand over his face, Grant met Keith’s sigh. Glancing down at the two boys, uncertainty in their eyes, he knelt to their level and smiled. “Hey boys, my name is Officer Wilder. What’s yours?”

  Swallowing audibly, the oldest jutted his chin out slightly in pride and said, “Keith Jr., sir, but everyone calls me Junior.” His dark hair was slightly messy but his clothes were clean. His eyes darted over to his dad.

  “And you?” Grant asked the other boy.

  “B…Bobby,” the youngest barely managed to croak out.

  “All right, Junior and Bobby. First of all, you have to know that no one’s in trouble here. Not you and not your dad. Okay?”

  The two small heads bobbled in answer.

  “But we do want to see you in school. What grades are you in?”

  “I’m in seventh and my brot
her’s in fifth,” Junior replied with a glance up at his father, who smiled encouragingly at him.

  “What’s your favorite subject?” Grant continued to draw the boys out.

  “I like math,” Junior said. “I’m supposed to be in Algebra this year.”

  “Whoa, that’s pretty impressive,” Grant smiled. “But we need to get you in school so you don’t miss the first part of what you need to learn.”

  “I like art,” came the shy response from Bobby, as he tried to mimic his brother’s bravery.

  “All right then, we need to make sure you have the chance to create all the art you want to.” Standing, Grant faced their father, who’s eyes were filled with pride as much as concern.

  “I know I should have made sure they were in school.” Lowering his voice, he whispered, “Mr. Todd said that we’d have the crop in last week, but the harvest flowed into this week. I’ll take the boys right now.”

  Grant turned to Burt, who had managed to get Jeffrey to shut up, and said, “Mr. Montwood is going to take the children to school right now and then he’ll be back to finish his work. You might have to hire someone to help these last couple of weeks, but the children will no longer be available.” As an afterthought, he added, “And no other children will be available either.”

  Huffing as he turned back to his tractor, Jeffrey grumbled, “Damned government taking over my farm, telling me I can’t hire no kids.” Sparing a glance toward Keith, he said, “Make sure you get right back here and you’ll have to work through lunch to make up for the time.”

  “Yes, sir,” Keith agreed, hustling the boys out of the barn.

  As Burt called into the station, Grant smiled at the boys. “Listen, me and some friends are starting to work with a youth sports league. Think you’d be interested?”

  A flicker of excitement flew through their eyes as they looked to their dad before speaking. Keith’s face scrunched for a second, indecision creeping into his response.