Just One More Chance: Baytown Boys Series

by Maryann Jordan

  “I know some of them leagues cost quite a bit to—”

  “No costs involved,” Grant quickly said, smiling at the astonished look on Keith’s face. “The American Legion is working with the kids and all we ask is for parents to be involved to whatever extent they can. If that’s just coming to cheer at a few games, then that’s fine. If they can supply some water or snacks, that’s good too.”

  “Can we dad?” Junior asked, his eyes bright for the first time since Grant saw him.

  Smiling back, Keith ruffled his oldest son’s hair before turning his gaze to his younger son. “Absolutely.”

  Grant pulled out a business card from his pocket and started to write on the back when he realized he had pulled out the ESMH card. Shoving it back in quickly, he fished for his own card and handed it to Keith after scribbling his phone number down on the back. “Meet us on Saturday morning. If you have to work, then call me and I’ll come pick up the boys.”

  With promises to do that, Grant waved toward the trio as they headed off to their car on their way to school. Turning, he waved to a still grumbling Jeffrey and got back into the SUV with Burt.

  Driving back to town, Burt said, “You get the feeling the dad’ll keep the kids in school?”

  Nodding, Grant replied, “Yeah, I do. And I’ve got them coming to the ball park on Saturday, which’ll give me a chance to keep my eye on them as well.”

  Chuckling, Burt joked, “Look at you, being all caring. Who knew you had any domesticated bones in your body?”

  Laughing as well, Grant drove into town, passing the coffee shop on the way to the police station. His mirth fled as he thought of the way he and Jillian had parted earlier in the week. His mouth tight, he glanced at Gareth’s investigative business on the next street. Harrison Investigations. Grinning, he thought, I might just have Gareth see what he can dig up on Oliver Dobson.

  *

  Sleep came uneasily that night, as with most nights, as the dreams that haunted Grant returned.

  I walked around the vehicle, carefully watching the mirror mounted to the long handle. The wind caught the dust on the road, swirling it around, creating a mini-tornado, just enough to make the bomb detection difficult.

  The dust covered world morphed into a blonde haired, blue-eyed woman, her hair pulled back in a tight military bun at the back of her head. Laughing and joking. A group sitting around a table, shooting the shit. She reminds me of—

  Visions ran into each other…faces…places. Then screams and shouts. Running toward the explosion. A body…blonde hair covered in blood.

  Grant bolted upright, sweat poring off his body as the dark walls of his bedroom greeted him. Fuck! The nightmare still had him in its grip as he tried to breathe through the pressure on his chest. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he sat for a moment until he was sure his legs would hold him up. Stumbling into the bathroom, he splashed water on his face before filling a glass and taking a long drink.

  Lifting his head, he stared at the man in the mirror, hating the haunted look in his eyes. Jillian ran through his mind as he choked back his fear.

  The idea of her with someone ate at him, but he just wasn’t sure he could go there with her. Suddenly, Mitch’s words from the other day came slamming back. “You need to either let her go completely or decide you want to go for her. Either way, sitting on the fence is only hurting both of you.”

  Walking over to his chest of drawers, he picked up the card Ginny had given him and stared at it for a moment. Problem is, I don’t want her to be with anyone else but me. But how can I take a chance on falling in love after…?

  Sucking in a deep breath, he tucked the card into his wallet. Time to make a phone call.

  Chapter 6

  Jillian smiled as Oliver carried a large cardboard box up the stairs of the coffee shop. At the top, he returned her smile before setting the box on top of the table she indicated.

  “I know I saw the pictures of the pieces you created, but I’m so excited to actually see your work in person,” she enthused.

  “Well, keep in mind that my pottery is not famous,” he laughed, “but I do try to use the elements of where I’m living.” He lifted out several bowls, vases, and jars, each fired with the colors of the shore. Some swirled with reds and oranges of the sunsets over the bay and others with the blues and greens of the water.

  Lifting one, Jillian reverently held it in her hands. “Oh, Oliver, the colors are beautiful.” Glancing to the side, she grinned, “And I know just where I’ll display them.” Walking over to the far wall, she placed the bowl on top of a wooden pedestal.

  Oliver followed her, observing the space with a critical eye. The dark, wood paneled walls glistened with the sunlight coming in from the window. Track lighting was not used at the moment, but was available from overhead, offering a chance for the work to be enjoyed in the evening. Jillian had created a section just for his work, and the various pedestals and glass shelves would show off the pottery to perfection.

  “What do you think?” she asked, nervous for his response.

  His smile was the answer she craved and she clapped her hands in glee. “Fabulous! Let’s get the others displayed.”

  They worked side by side for several minutes, giving Jillian time to observe the man working with her. He was much more casually dressed today, wearing nice jeans and a long-sleeved polo. Handsome, he was sure to turn the eye of any woman he met and, if the occasional glances he sent her way were any indication, she was catching his attention as well.

  Capturing men’s attention had never been a problem for Jillian…it was that she compared every man she met to Grant…and found them lacking. Pursing her lips, she shook her head to dispel the image of Grant from her mind.

  “Whoa, are you all right?” Oliver asked. “You don’t look very happy right now.”

  Blushing, she stammered, “I’m…I’m sorry. I…uh…was just a million miles away for a moment.”

  Once the pieces were in place they stood back to admire them. Turning toward him, she said, “Once I get the woodcarver’s work in here and another local artist that creates from sea glass I’ll be ready for our first evening show. I was thinking of hosting a wine and cheese night here at the coffee shop, letting visitors come to enjoy the art.”

  Oliver’s warm gaze landed on her and he nodded his acquiescence. Stepping closer, he kept his eyes on her as he asked, “Your ideas sound wonderful. And, as I promised, I’ll get the pottery to you that I’ve sold so you can send it out through your galleria.” He hesitated slightly, rubbing his chin in thought before asking, “Um…would you like to have lunch with me today? I’m not away from the workshop very much and this would be a treat for me, to eat in town.”

  Jillian’s gaze took him in, wishing she felt more than professional interest. But…nothing. Oh well, a working lunch sounds great. “That would be fine,” she replied, smiling widely. “You can tell me more about your work.”

  “I’ve heard there’s a good pub in town. Would you like to eat there?”

  Jillian plastered on her game face while quickly saying, “Um…actually there’s a nice fish house near the harbor. The Seafood Shack. It’s got local seafood and you can look right out on the water.”

  “Perfect,” he agreed and moved back over to the box to clean up the packing materials, leaving Jillian heaving a sigh of relief. God, the last place I would want to go is Finn’s! She wanted to have a chance to talk to Katelyn before her best friend saw her out with someone. And I don’t want Aiden and Brogan in my business! There were times when living in a small town could be inhibiting—and this was one of them.

  Soon afterward, sitting at a table overlooking the town harbor, the conversation between Jillian and Oliver flowed easily. The restaurant was known for its local seafood and sated from her now-empty shrimp basket, Jillian leaned back in her tall chair. She stared at her lunch partner’s profile as he was turned, looking out the window. He appeared to be studying the sailboats.


  “Do you sail?” she wondered aloud.

  Chuckling, he shook his head. “No, never been. I just always liked the lines of a sailboat.”

  “I never thought about that,” she admitted, “but as an artist, you probably see all kinds of things that us mere mortals never notice.”

  “Probably,” he grinned, tuning his face back toward hers. “But I was honestly thinking about how nice it would be to jump in a boat and just sail away. Go wherever the wind takes you.”

  Casting her gaze toward the bright blue waters of the bay, she said, “Not me. This has always been home.”

  After they finished their meal, Jillian walked Oliver back to his car, still parked outside her shop. “Thank you again, for the opportunity to show your pottery.”

  “The pleasure is all mine,” he answered, offering his hand toward hers. “And thank you so much for lunch. I don’t get out often and being new here, it was a good chance to eat local seafood.”

  Saying goodbye, she withdrew her hand from his, but felt the slight squeeze before he let go. Waving, she watched him drive away before returning to the shop, her mind in turmoil. Why, oh, why can’t I be interested in someone like Oliver?

  *

  “We’ve covered a lot of ground today, Grant,” Thomas Peters, the counselor, said as the session was ending, smiling at the former soldier sitting in front of him. “I’m glad you called and pleased you were so open with me.”

  Grant sat in a comfortable leather chair facing Thomas, the arrangements more conducive to counseling as two friends talking rather than professionally across a desk. The office was neat, with few files on Thomas’ desk and walls lined with beach scene pictures that reminded him of the ones he saw in Jillian’s galleria.

  “I thought I had dealt with everything,” Grant admitted, his attention back on the counselor. “But just lately it’s become apparent to me that I hadn’t.”

  “Most of us have unresolved issues from all sorts of things in our lives, but especially military personnel. Coming back from war, there are inner conflicts that might surface immediately or may lie dormant for years.”

  “When I got out, I knew I wanted to continue in police work, but I couldn’t face working in Baytown and…well, I couldn’t face her.”

  “What brought you back?”

  Grant shrugged momentarily before admitting, “Honestly, when I got back from the war, I saw myself as some worldly guy who needed to be a big city cop. But it only took a few years to realize my roots were here.”

  “And the woman?”

  “Yeah…” Rubbing his hands together, he dropped his chin to his chest. “She’s the reason I’m here today. Things happened over there. Things that were…hell, disturbing is about the best way to describe it.” Squinting his eyes tightly shut, as though in pain, he said, “But I can’t seem to let her go. She’s like my other half. I broke it off, pushed her away, said we were just friends, even brought other women around.” Shoving back in his chair, eyes now wide, he grimaced. “I’ve been a total asshole to her thinking that would keep her away from a mess like me, while trying to hide my mess from everyone else.”

  “I assume it didn’t work?”

  Shaking his head slowly, he said, “No, not really. All it’s done is hurt her and, God knows, she doesn’t deserve that pain.”

  “Did something in particular happen that brought you to the point where you decided to call for help?”

  “I can’t stand seeing her with someone else. And after all this time, she’s finally ready to move on…away from me…and even though it makes me an asshole for giving her mixed signals, I don’t want her with any other man.” Sighing, he lifted his gaze to the counselor.

  Thomas observed the young man in front of him, carefully watching Grant’s body language as well as his words. Smiling slightly, he asked, “So what are you going to do about it?”

  Sucking in a deep breath through his nose before letting it out slowly, Grant pierced the counselor with his clear-eyed gaze. “I can be the man for her, but I’ve got some things to work through. I just need to show her that I’m serious about this. Serious about her. Serious about us.”

  Nodding, Thomas glanced at the clock on the wall before saying, “You’ve made a good decision. Recognizing there’s a problem is the first step. Being willing to work on it is next. We’ll make an appointment for next week and, at that time, you can decide if you’re ready to delve into the actual events that occurred in Afghanistan.” Gaining Grant’s approval, he added, “In the meantime, what’s your game plan?”

  “I’m going to work with the youth league tomorrow and that’ll give me a focus outside my job. A chance to give back to the community that gave me so much. I’ll also start talking to my buddies…it’s about time I let them know what’s going on with me.”

  “And the woman?”

  A flash of the image of Jillian standing on the sidewalk with Oliver, shot straight through him, hardening his resolve. I’m not going down without a fight! “I’m going to start showing her that I can be the man she deserves…the one she once loved.”

  *

  The large, metal tub on the deck held ice and beer, while the lawn chairs had been moved to the grassy yard. The meat on the grill sizzled as it was flipped, juices running down onto the hot coals. Aiden, Brogan, and Zac worked on dividing the equipment list for the kids’ teams they were collecting from town sponsors. Callan and Jarrod, another Coast Guard buddy, tossed a football in the yard, while they waited for the others to arrive.

  “You don’t have a gas grill?” Jason asked, bending over the tub to snag a beer. Twisting off the cap, he drank thirstily before moving over to one of the chairs. Gareth walked up, fist-bumped Jason and grabbed a beer as well.

  Grant, standing by the old charcoal grill, spatula in his hand, just glared at the newcomer. “Nothin’ tastes like meat cooked over hickory charcoal,” he explained as though speaking to a barbeque neophite.

  “Look at him—the grill master connoisseur!” Aiden laughed.

  Grant flipped him off good-naturedly, continuing to stand guard over the smoking grill, the scent of sizzling meat whetting everyone’s appetite.

  Mitch walked around the house, papers in his hands. “Got the AL team signups right here. So far it looks like we’ll start off with about thirty kids ranging in age from eight to about fifteen. Some of the older guys play for the high school, but I figure we’ll pull in more as we go along.”

  As the burgers were served, the group settled around, eating and discussing the upcoming first practice. Ginny ambled around the corner, her face red and sweating, walking with a slight limp.

  “Sorry, my car wouldn’t start so I decided to combine getting here with my daily run,” she panted as she slowed down long enough for one of the men to toss her a bottled of chilled water. “And I tripped on your pothole-filled driveway,” she added, rubbing her ankle. Drinking it gratefully, she eyed the applications in Mitch’s hands. “We got any girls?”

  “Actually, we have three,” Mitch replied, “and I figure there’ll be more coming.”

  “Good,” she nodded, sitting down. Glancing at the empty plates around, she joked, “Looks like I’ve got some catching up to do.”

  Brogan placed a plate in front of her, a large burger with all the trimmings sitting next to a pile of potato chips. Her eyes darted from the plate up to the large man handing it to her, his face unreadable. “I’ll have to run more miles if I eat all this.”

  “You’d blow over in a stiff wind as it is. Eat up,” Brogan ordered, as he turned and walked back over to his chair.

  Ginny watched his retreat before digging into her burger, but Grant noticed Brogan’s eyes drifted often to the pretty police officer.

  As the conversation lagged, the warmth of the day combined with full bellies sent a lull over the group. Settling into lawn chairs to finish their beers, Grant sucked in a deep breath, his stomach in knots. As a few pairs of eyes moved his way, he plunged ahead. “I was thi
nking about what Chester said the other night at the meeting.” Looking around the group, he now had all eyes pinned on him, but managed to push on. “I thought it was good of him to speak about how things were for him…both in the war and well, you know…after he came home.”

  He forced his gaze to travel around again, but with relief realized none of them were staring at him as though he had lost his mind. Emboldened, he continued, “I just thought that it might be good to have some of the older ones share…if they wanted to…at each meeting to give some of us younger veterans the benefit of what they learned. It might keep us from making some of the same mistakes.”

  His palms began to sweat at the silence that greeted him, but Ginny came to the rescue. “I think that’s a good idea, Grant.”

  “None of us came back unscathed,” Mitch admitted, “and you’re right. We tend to gloss it over.”

  “And it can eat at your guts,” Brogan added, his eyes cast down to the beer in his hand.

  “I know I’ve got things I need to face. Anyway, it was just a thought,” Grant said, wanting to take the pall from the gathering. Glancing over at Mitch, he said, “We can bring it up at the next meeting and see who might be interested in speaking.”

  “Can you imagine serving in the military during World War II?” Aiden asked, leaning forward. “Man, think of how far our technology has come since then.”

  The conversation became a lively discussion of how times had changed and the group settled back into easy camaraderie. Grant let out a silent sigh, glad to have broached the emotional subject without drawing undue attention to himself. One step at a time.

  An hour later, the group dispersed, leaving Grant and Ginny discussing a case. As she prepared to leave, he walked her around the front of his house, offering to give her a lift. “After all, it was my driveway that caused you to twist your ankle.”

  “Oh, it’s fine now,” she protested.

  “Come on,” he insisted, leading her to his jeep. A few minutes later, he dropped her off at her small house on the north side of town and they stood on her front steps for a minute chatting.