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

by Sharon Hughson

  Most of his shots bricked off the rim, but he moved in on defense to make several steals and block a few shots. After an hour, the other men called it quits. Sweat glued his clothes to his frame, but Bailey pumped weights for another thirty minutes.

  Why go to his apartment? No one waited for him.

  Again, he wished he’d brought Poppet to the city. At least then the loneliness could be assuaged with some pets, and the silence could be broken with a conversation of meaningless questions and barked replies.

  After eight, he reached his apartment. His phone told him he’d missed a call from his sister an hour previously. She would listen to his recounting of the day.

  An ache deepened in his chest. He hadn’t given Jaz much of a choice. Besides, she deserved someone who wouldn’t doubt her at every turn.

  Bailey drained two glasses of water and threw open every window in the small apartment. As he circled, he punched up his sister’s number.

  And after the first post-breakup conversation, Tess stopped talking about Jaz, too. Still, his sister called him most nights with questions about the ranch or stories about the animals. Like she knew he was barely hanging on.

  Tonight, she answered on the second ring and listened to his rehashing of the meeting with his boss.

  “You should do it.” Her tone was teasing. “Not that I need you at the ranch.”

  The clenching around his heart relaxed a tad. She did need him at the ranch, but she’d never say it.

  “I could finally design an addition for the barn.” He snapped his fingers. “Or a large dining area for guests on the main level of the house.”

  The vision of the larger barn and expanded dining room swam in his creativity center. His fingers itched for a pencil or even a mouse linked to the company’s design software.

  “Someday.” She sighed. “Travers Guest Ranch will be a dude ranch rather than a bed and breakfast. Then I’ll be getting the family discount on those plans.”

  “Family discount? Who said anything about that?” He wanted to make her smile.

  She chuckled. “I did. And you just repeated it.”

  Have you seen Jaz? But he swallowed that question. “Such a tricky little girl you are.” He snorted, almost feeling the mirth. “I want to winterize everything this weekend.”

  “Should I plan to make you supper tomorrow?”

  His stomach dropped. He told himself that it was because he anticipated home cooking, but a voice in his head called him a liar. For a moment, he wanted Tess to mention Jaz, and he hated his weakness.

  He shrugged and sucked in a deep breath. “Maybe just pie.”

  She laughed. The musical tone thawed the ice in his chest. He needed to see Tess, so her joy could rub off on him.

  “Pecan?”

  “Why not peach?” He slumped against the headboard of his twin bed.

  “So much work to blanch the fruit.” She let out an exaggerated sigh. “But since you’re my favorite brother—”

  “Only. I’m your only brother.”

  She giggled. It took him back to the days when they had a real family. “You lucked out.” After a pause she said, “Peach it is. But you have to bring your own ice cream.”

  “Done.” The word released more tension from his gut.

  We’re going to make it, sis.

  But wasn’t there more to life than making it?

  11

  Another Thursday appointment at St. Joseph’s in Rosewood, and today they were meeting her father for lunch. Jaz wrinkled her nose as she rolled her mother’s chair toward the cafeteria, and the stench of deep-fried okra overwhelmed her.

  Jaz pushed the wheelchair along the various counters, snagging a banana, yogurt parfait, and extra granola for herself. Her stomach flip-flopped. She told herself it was the disgusting combination of frying food and antiseptic.

  Her spirit chided the dishonesty.

  After paying for their lunch, Jaz wheeled her mother to a window overlooking the courtyard. With autumn underway, cooler air made the patio inviting, but not when angry clouds glowered at the windswept bushes.

  “I don’t see your father.” Her mother plucked the salad off the tray.

  Jaz scanned the sparse crowd, a sign it was early for lunch, and didn’t see the tall man with side-slicked hair either. She pulled out her phone and opened a message. We’re in the cafeteria.

  She scooted around the table to sit across from her mother.

  “You know he doesn’t text.” Geraldine pulled three napkins from the metal dispenser and dealt them to each place at the table.

  Jaz stifled the urge to huff and groan. At what point would Ronald Rolle enter this century? She scrolled to her contact list, selected his name, and pushed the call button. After four rings, his voice mail picked up.

  “He doesn’t answer his cell phone at work, honey.” Her mother drizzled orange dressing on her salad. Her glossy lips pursed, and her eyes screamed an apology. Like her husband’s quirks were her fault.

  Jaz sipped her water, wishing for a caffeine infusion from tea, but she knew better than to trust sweet tea from a mess hall.

  She fidgeted with her yogurt cup and watched the people trickle through the lines. No pale-complexioned man with a white shirt and monochromatic necktie. She drummed her short nails against the denim of her capris. Why couldn’t he show up on time? He’d be the first to glare disapproval if she was even a minute tardy.

  “He probably got caught in the middle of something.” Her mother’s fork dangled an inch above her salad.

  “I’m going to check his office.”

  Her mother arched a shapely eyebrow. Today, they’d gotten great news from the doctor, and Jaz wanted to see the worry and tension drain out of her father when Mom relayed it. Maybe he’d lighten up. Maybe she’d be able to return to Austin.

  Her heart wrenched. Other than her job, it didn’t seem like there was any big hurry to get back. Bailey wouldn’t let her explain about Billy Jefferson, and she’d been handling all the research assignments remotely, which had become as stale as two-month-old Wonder Bread.

  She shoved her chair back and stormed toward the exit. Blood pumped through her and swept the anxiety away.

  Patients, employees in scrubs, and one white-coated physician populated the elevator. Jaz stepped off on the second floor and headed toward the administrative offices, trying to recall the last time she’d been there. But she couldn’t. Most of her life she’d resented her dad’s job because he used it to excuse himself from every event she held dear.

  The desk in the reception area was empty, but the three doors behind it were clearly marked. She chose the “Department Administrators” door and pushed into another short hallway. Black signage on the second door read: Ronald Rolle, Imaging Administrator. On his rise from an x-ray technician, he’d attended many weekend trainings and conferences and worked countless sixty-hour weeks at the hospital. Home had been a comfortable place when it was her, Mom, and Drew.

  She knocked and turned the handle. It spun beneath her grip, and she walked in, only hesitating a moment on the threshold before letting the door shut behind her. A panel of fluorescent lights burned overhead, but no one sat behind the desk.

  Piles of folders cluttered the desk and a table behind the wide, gray office chair. One tall bookshelf was the only other furniture behind the desk, and two stiff-backed chairs with teal cushions sat in front of the polished black surface.

  Her eyes swept the office, freezing on the photo frames on the right-hand wall. The requisite framed diplomas sat nearest the desk, and a large portrait of her mother took center stage. Two collages hung beside her mother. In one, the photo from Drew’s Advanced Individual Training graduation ceremony caught her attention, his dark face and shapely jaw stern beneath the Special Forces beret.

  Jaz stumbled closer and grappled with the back of the chair to steady herself. Seeing the favored son was no surprise. Her heart seized.

  Beside the frame containing Drew’s photos and
clippings of his military accomplishments hung a shocking sight. A colorful photo caught her eye, the red jersey and Longhorn emblem doubly familiar since she’d been wearing them only a few months ago.

  It couldn’t be the posed portrait taken during her final year of college softball. In the photo, she gripped the bat and stared into the lens with the same intensity she focused on every pitcher she’d faced.

  She sidled closer to the wall. Her fingers brushed against the gold edged frame. Beside the picture were several newspaper clippings. “Local Girl Gets Full Ride at UT” and “Rolle’s Hitting Scores Shorthorn Championship” leapt out and clawed across her soul.

  He’d never even congratulated her for those accomplishments. When she’d been fresh from the scholarship signing, he’d said, “At least that bat will get you an education. Still planning on being a lawyer, I hope.”

  Her stomach clenched at the memory. Every atom of joy that floated her through that day exploded and evaporated into a mist of insignificance. Nothing she did earned his praise.

  During that golden moment, Drew had been in the military, so he couldn’t give her a double-thumbs up or sweep her into his arms, swing her around, and praise her until the sting of their father’s rejection faded. Instead, her mother had hugged her, kissed her cheek, and said, “I’m so proud.” In the next breath, Mom asked if she had homework or could help with dinner.

  Years of practicing, sweating, and training had rewarded her with top honors, but it didn’t even merit a celebratory dinner or positive word from Mr. Hard-to-Please.

  And yet, he’d clipped the article the Rosewood paper had run. Its prominent position on the wall beside Drew’s accolades and his beauty queen wife’s portrait surprised her the most. Did it mean he was proud of her?

  Jaz stared at the headlines. Her eyes scanned through the once-familiar articles. In the bottom corner of the collage she saw a small clipping. It was the general announcement many hometown papers ran about military achievements under an “In the Service” headline on the community page. It read “PFC Jazlyn Rolle graduates with top honors from the JAG Paralegal Program,” followed by the date and the name of the fort.

  “Your father couldn’t get away.” Her mother had embraced her then held her at arm’s length.

  Light had spilled from the sparkling hazel eyes. Jaz never longed for her mother’s pride or adoration. It was always freely given.

  That day, Jaz’s stony heart had hardened. She recalled the bustling plans to drive across three states to attend Drew’s graduation from his training program. Pride beamed brightly enough from their father’s eyes that it could have scorched Drew.

  Her father never congratulated her, but this framed collection on his wall meant something.

  Maybe her mother had documented these important moments and hung the proof there so everyone could see the Rolle family successes.

  The door clicked behind her. Jaz swung toward it and knocked the frame askew.

  Ron Rolle stalled in the doorway, his tie slightly crooked and reading glasses mussing his slicked brown hair. He glanced toward the wall behind her and strode in.

  “I’m late.” It wasn’t an apology.

  He circled his desk and dropped the folders he carried in a neat pile. He removed his glasses and folded them into the empty case beside his widescreen monitor.

  “Mom’s waiting in the cafeteria. We already bought our lunch.” Jaz’s voice sounded high.

  He smoothed his palm over his hair and continued around the desk ending up a foot from Jaz. He pinched the corner of the crooked frame, straightening it. “Alison put this together for me.”

  Jaz wasn’t sure who Alison was, but it debunked her theory that her mother was responsible.

  “It surprised me.” A hollow ached beneath her stomach. She wished Bailey was there to hold her hand, prove she was lovable.

  Except he’d been a typical man and sent her away.

  Her father twisted his head toward her and then returned his gaze to the framed pictures and articles. “I don’t know why. One for Drew and one for you.”

  Jaz curled her lips and narrowed her eyes. “We all know you were proud of Drew.” She clenched her fingers into fists, surprised by how cold they felt. “Me, not so much.”

  He stared at the clippings, and Jaz willed him to say the words, admit that she hadn’t been a complete disappointment.

  He sighed and turned toward her. “I wanted you to be like your mother.”

  Her stomach flopped to the floor. “I’m no beauty queen.”

  He tilted his head and furrowed his brows. “Unfortunately, you got my facial structure. And your grandmother’s stubbornness.”

  He fingered his stubbly chin, then brushed past her to hold open the door. “Let’s not keep your mother waiting.”

  Jaz tried to swallow, but her mouth was arid and her throat tight. Just ask.

  Her father gestured for her to go ahead, a gentlemanly act he always performed for her mother. With leaden steps, Jaz shuffled toward him. A shock ricocheted up her spine when his fingers settled on the small of her back, another small act of care he spent on her mother.

  She froze and turned, barely needed to tilt her chin to stare into his face. Yes, she saw the square jaw and too-wide nose in the mirror every day. For once his lips weren’t pressed into a thin line.

  “Does that mean you were proud of us?” She flipped her hand toward the wall they’d been studying, and her fingers grazed his upper arm. “Me?” It was little more than a squeak.

  “What else would it mean?” His tone was tempered, softer than he usually used with her.

  “It would have been nice to hear it from your lips. That’s all.” Jaz shook her head and stepped through the door, sudden energy lengthening her stride.

  “That’s not my way, Jazlyn.”

  Her stomach bucked into her chest. While her mind flipped through every childhood encounter starring Drew as the center of parental approval, they walked through the halls and to the stairway. As their footsteps echoed in the stairwell, Jaz replayed those moments. Her heart vaulted into her throat.

  Her father’s eyes may have shone, and he might have said “Good job” to Drew’s accomplishments, but the words “I’m proud of you, son” were noticeably absent. How had she not realized that? Why had she yearned for something from him he’d never bestowed on the son everyone bragged about?

  I waited for something he’s never given, might be incapable of giving. For too many years, she let the absence of “I’m proud of you” slash her confidence to ribbons. Worse, she’d fostered anger and resentment, believing if her father wasn’t proud, he must be ashamed. But she’d never once doubted his approval of Drew.

  Lord, I’m an idiot. I distorted his angry words about not being like Mom. He didn’t understand me, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t proud.

  Unmet expectations weren’t disapproval. While her father might have been disappointed she wasn’t more like her mother, he didn’t despise her success in softball or her service in the Army.

  As he held the cafeteria door for her, Jaz shed the burden that oppressed her for two decades. Let him have unmet expectations of her, but she wouldn’t hold it against him. Instead, she hugged this small concession from him close to her heart and spread its blanket over the hollow where his approval had been absent.

  Her lips trembled into a smile. “Thanks.”

  His eyes widened, and his mouth softened from their stiff line. “Ladies first.”

  Since she knew her Heavenly Father showered her with approval, this small acknowledgment from Dad was enough.

  12

  On Saturday afternoon, Bailey sat at the stop sign and stared down Orchard Way in the direction of the Rolle house. He missed her. He’d been wrong to doubt her. His heart played gopher in search of a home into his hollowed-out stomach.

  Had it only been a week since he’d given her the cold shoulder? His barren heart screamed as if it had been ages.

  But he di
dn’t want it to be forever. He’d been wrong, stupid even. What could he say to make it up to her?

  His chest ached. The war raging there wouldn’t ease up. One part of him fought to make things right with Jaz and return to the happy state of coupledom. The darker side thumped the cartons of back issues. Bailey’s broken past had crippled his present. People Bailey cared about left him.

  But that doesn’t have to be the future.

  Words from six months after he and Tess moved in with the Traverses came to mind. MaryAnn’s voice echoed through his memory, I love you, Bailey. Fritz and God love you, too. But you’re the only one who can decide to be loved by us. She’d repeated the statements many times in those first few years.

  By the time he turned twelve, he had accepted their love. And they loved him well until they died.

  You’re the only one who can decide to be loved by us? And loved by Jaz.

  He pictured Jaz weeping in the paddock. Warmth surged through him. He gasped for air and flipped on his turn signal. He cranked the wheel away from Jaz’s parents’ house, unable to face her right now.

  His cool treatment accused her of betrayals he knew she’d suffered at the hands of other guys and would never commit against him.

  He drove past the browning fields. The apple groves greened the roadside, and his truck slowed. Almost automatically, he steered onto the narrow dirt track to the special place. Drew had made it important to him, but he hadn’t been back since Fritz’s funeral.

  His heart thrummed as he recalled Jaz pulling up behind him that day. And the shared joy they felt when she’d helped him remember to check Fritz’s Bible where he found the will.

  The kisses they’d shared. His heart leapt like a horse escaping over a fence.

  After everything she’d done for him, he’d stomped her trust into the dust. She wanted a man to love and accept her, but he’d doubted his worth so thoroughly it had altered his perception of her.

  Branches encroached from one side of the rutted path. He slowed for the final dip in the road and had to swerve to avoid rear-ending a red car. He slammed the brakes. The motor coughed and died.