His Montana Sweetheart (Big Sky Centennial Book 2)

by Ruth Logan Herne

  “I can’t imagine such a thing.” Jane sat straighter, surprised. “Complaining about church bells? Who does that?”

  “Some folks figure sleeping in is more important than going to services,” Dave offered. “But I think there’s something nice about getting up early and using that time to do some good.”

  Liv nodded, but realized she’d fallen more into the first category than the last, and that made her a little sad. Had she gotten lazy these past years? Uninvolved?

  Yes.

  The truth of that lay before her: her grandparents’ circumstances, her lack of contact with family, keeping her distance on purpose. A sense of selfishness rose within her, but her mother put a hand on her arm, a touch that said she understood more than she let on. “It’s hard to keep up with everything when we’re first on our own, in a new area and newly married. Having said that, I’m mighty glad to have you here but sorry for the reasons that brought you back.”

  “Me, too.” Her father’s look said he’d be there if she wanted to talk but wouldn’t pressure her. While she was grateful for that space, she knew Grandma Mason would have no such qualms.

  “Grandma will not share your reserve,” Livvie reminded them. “She’ll delve until she gets answers.” She stood and stretched, ready for the sweet oblivion of sleep, away from failed marriages and old boyfriends. “In a way, that might be healing to both of us. Good night, guys. Love you.”

  They called good-night to her as she entered the house, a feeling of same-old, same-old washing over her.

  She’d taken big steps backward these past few weeks. It pained her to admit it. But as she climbed the steps, the image in her head wasn’t the pretty mountain painting at the ninety-degree turn, or the tiny floral wallpaper from her childhood.

  It was Jack’s expression as he spotted her that evening, his look, his gaze, the way his eyes sharpened in awareness.

  Her gut clenched, remembering. Her heart skipped a beat.

  She smacked a firm “Don’t Go There” on the physical reactions. She hadn’t come back here to see Jack McGuire. She’d come to regather her bearings while at a crossroads of life. To think. Plan.

  Pray?

  Her mother would have added that. Not Livvie. She’d prayed as a child and as a young adult, but she could see no tangible answer to prayer in her life. Sure, she had blessings in her parents, her education, and a few good friends.

  But that seemed like a meager pile at age thirty. Had prayer helped her situation with Jack eight years back?

  No.

  And if she was to list each instance of prayer in the past decade, she came up with a big fat zero on the response page. So be it.

  But as she climbed into the old familiar bed, the memory of those bells, chiming an eventide call to worship, almost made her wish she could answer the invitation. Almost...but not quite.

  * * *

  “Jack, you got a minute?”

  Jack turned at the top of the church steps and nodded to the new pastor of Mountainview Church of the Savior. “Ethan, yeah. What’s up?”

  “I heard through the grapevine—”

  “Gossip mill, you mean.”

  Ethan Johnson’s laugh said he couldn’t disagree. “We’ll work on that over a long, cold winter. Anyway, if you need players for the game, I’m not old-time Jasper Gulch, but I played some ball in my time. I’d be glad to fill a spot.”

  “Do you have a favorite position?”

  “Shortstop.”

  Jack met the thirtysomething pastor’s gaze and lowered his voice. “Folks that play now and again don’t play shortstop. You good?”

  “Played in a couple of district championships back in the day. Did all right.” The humility in his tone didn’t negate the high level of play the words district championship brought to Jack’s mind.

  “I think the Good Lord just dropped a gold mine in my lap.” Jack grinned and pounded Ethan on the back. “You just filled a very important hole in our infield.”

  “Good.”

  “No college ball? You didn’t go on?” Jack’s baseball experience told him that most guys fielding district championship teams on the West Coast went on to play college ball or got flagged by the majors with minor-league contracts. Either way it seemed odd for Ethan to stop cold, unless his baseball career fell to an injury, like Jack’s.

  “Had other things to do.”

  Jack understood privacy. Liked it, even. In a small town known for its warp-speed information sharing, keeping things to one’s self ranked high on his list. “You won’t worry about offending folks from other congregations, will you? Second-guess who you’re throwing out at first?”

  “Not on the ball field. Which may say something’s lacking about my ministerial skills, but when there’s a player’s mitt involved...?” Ethan hiked an eyebrow of competitive understanding. “I’m all in.”

  “Excellent. Thanks, Ethan. And this—” Jack glanced toward the church as Ethan locked the entry door “—was real nice tonight. Kind of peaceful and calm.”

  “Some days we need that, Jack. A chance to just breathe. And not think. Although your expressions tonight said you had plenty to think about.”

  Jack gave him a look that said yes and requested discretion, all in one.

  Ethan took the hint and didn’t delve. “When are we practicing?”

  Jack raised his shoulders. “I have no idea. You’d think a guy who can run a cattle-and-horse ranch would have better organizational skills than this, but I never hung on the fringe of the field. I was always in the middle, working the ball, shifting angles, line of sight, so this planning stuff happened around me. How’s Friday night?”

  “Probably good for most, so yes. Six o’clock all right?”

  Jack hadn’t even thought of the practice, much less planned it, so he nodded. “Six is good.”

  “Want me to get the word out?”

  Jack longed to jump on the idea of passing off that task to Ethan, but Rusty would have his head. Worse? He’d be right. “I’ll do it. And thanks, Ethan. For both things.”

  “It’s all right. See you Friday.”

  Jack logged a message into his phone to set up a Friday practice with the confirmed local players, climbed into his truck and headed home. As he passed River Road, he fought the urge to hang a left and drive to Old Trail. First, it was plain crazy to think he’d be welcome.

  Second, it would be worse to start something he couldn’t finish, and a woman like Olivia Franklin needed someone solid and good to stand by her.

  He’d failed at baseball, then shuffled off his first career, despite the lure of big-city money. And here he was back at the ranch, which was comfortable, but nothing huge and crazy like the Shaw spread up the road.

  He was the King of Mediocrity and Livvie Franklin deserved more than mediocrity in her life.

  * * *

  Jack heard the appreciative male whistle as he loaded barn supplies into the bed of his pickup the following morning. He turned, spotted Livvie walking down the opposite side of Main Street, realized she was the object of the whistler’s attention and had to fight the urge to stalk across the road and stake his claim.

  But when one of the Shaw ranch hands swung down from the back of a full-bed pickup truck and sauntered across the boardwalk to meet her, Jack crossed the road at a sharp angle, ready to interfere. He’d sort out the whys and wherefores later, but for the moment, no whistling cowboy was about to sweep Liv off her feet, so he did her a favor and intervened.

  “McGuire.” The cowboy didn’t look all that pleased to see him. For that matter, neither did Liv. Oh, well.

  “Reynolds.” Jack indicated the other Shaw Ranch cowboy with a direct gaze to the left. The second man was trying to load the truck on his own, with limited success. “Your buddy could use some help.�
��

  “I figure if he needs help, he’ll let me know.”

  “Brent? We ain’t got all day. Let’s get a move on!”

  Jack hid the smirk, but inside he smiled at the perfect timing. He turned back toward Liv as Brent Reynolds strode away, but Liv’s cool expression said he better come up with a reason for breaking up the roadside meeting, and right quick. “I need your help.”

  The minute he said it, he realized it was true. He’d been lollygagging around this baseball thing, pushing himself to tackle it step by step. He realized last night his steps were too slow.

  “With?” She drew the word out, her gaze on his, but her eyes stayed cool, calm and disinterested. Totally understandable, yet a kick in the teeth.

  “The baseball game.”

  Still silent, she raised an eyebrow, one beautifully sculpted slightly-darker-than-blond brow.

  “I kind of fell into this gig, and while I understand baseball one hundred and ten percent, I’m not a great organizer.”

  “You run a half-million-dollar beef-and-horse ranch with your father and you can’t put together a local ball game?” Doubt deepened her voice. “Really, Jack?”

  “Mostly really, but maybe I made that up because I didn’t want that cowboy hitting on you and I’d have grabbed any excuse in the book to walk over here and put a stop to it.”

  Her eyes widened. Her gaze faltered. To his dismay, a quick sheen of tears made him want to either snatch the words back or reach out and draw her into a hug he thought they both could use. “You’re working on the town-history thing, right?”

  She nodded, still quiet.

  “Well, baseball and Jasper Gulch go hand in hand. While so many of the big towns latched on to a football mind-set, small-town baseball leagues helped settle these parts. There’s almost no other place in the country that produces as many strong contenders without a public school baseball program as Jasper Gulch, Montana. And that goes straight back to the first settlers. Two of the original Shaw cousins played major-league ball, then came back and helped set up the Legion ball programs. There’s a lot of bat-and-ball history here in Jasper Gulch.”

  The sheen of tears had disappeared. Her mixed expression said she longed to say yes but wanted to say no. He stopped talking and hoped she could move beyond the wrongs of the past....

  His wrongs.

  And give him a hand. Because working side by side with Livvie again would feel good and right, and not much in Jack’s world felt like that of late.

  “You’re sure of your facts? That two of the boys played ball in the majors?”

  “Twins. Chester and Lester, yes. The family called them Chet and Let. Chet played for Chicago and Let played left field for the Dodgers when they were still in New York. He actually coached Jackie Robinson for a couple of years before retiring to Florida where he worked spring training for the Dodger organization until they moved to L.A.”

  “There’s a part of me that hates baseball, Jack.”

  Her words sucker punched him because of course she’d hate the game. He’d dumped her because of baseball. Correction, he’d dumped her because of his stupid, self-absorbed reaction to not being able to play. “Liv, I—”

  “But—” she held up a hand to stop him, so he quieted down and listened “—I do see a direct link between the game and how things settled out here with the Shaw side of the equation. If those guys had raised families here, the makeup of the town would be entirely different. How do you know all this when you declared baseball off-limits eight years ago?”

  “Coach Randolph.”

  The mention of the esteemed coach’s name softened her expression. “I haven’t seen him since I’ve been back. How is he, Jack?”

  “He’s all right. The senior league had a bunch of away games this past week, so he’s been gone most nights. He lost his wife to cancer about the same time my mom died. The kind of thing that pulls folks together around here.”

  “Bound in grief.” She thought for a few seconds before accepting. “I will help you, but on one condition.”

  “And that is?”

  “Strictly business. No flirting, hand-holding or long, sweet looks allowed. Got it?”

  “I understand. Let’s shake on it.”

  Doubt clouded her expression as she reached out her hand, and he could tell the minute their fingers touched...clasped...that she was in over her head and knew it. He leaned down, easing the height difference between them and kept his voice soft. “Mind, Liv, I didn’t say I agreed to your terms. I said I understood them. That’s a whole other ball game.”

  “I—”

  He left her sputtering as he turned to cross the street. “I’ll come by tonight and we’ll go over the plans, okay? Probably close to seven-thirty by the time I’m done working.”

  He didn’t give her the opportunity to protest unless she chased him down, and he’d known Liv Franklin a long time. She wasn’t the guy-chasing, make-a-scene type. But she’d be prepared to give him an earful tonight, and knowing that made him look forward to hurrying the day along.

  * * *

  He grabbed a bouquet of wildflowers from one of the upland meadows just before six o’clock. He could have stopped at the florist nook tucked inside the Middletons’ grocery store. But if Rosemary Middleton saw him buying flowers after talking to Liv on Main Street, the entire town would be making wedding plans by sundown.

  He didn’t need that. Neither did Liv. But the thought of sitting side by side with her tonight, setting this baseball plan in motion...?

  That notion had lightened his steps all day. When a bossy cow pushed her bovine friend into the electric-fence wire and knocked the system out, he fixed it.

  When the radio offered a country tune laden with angst and dismay, he reached right over and turned it off. The ensuing silence was better than the twanging lament on life and love.

  And when his father reminded him that the horse auction was coming up, his first thought went to Liv, wondering if she’d like to ride along with him to Three Forks and see what was available. The Double M was in the market for a couple of new mounts. They could grab food in town, then trailer the horses back home, together.

  Shouldn’t you see how tonight goes first?

  He should, Jack admitted once he’d cleaned up and headed for Old Trail Road. This evening’s session might be a bust. But even if it was, he had tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that, because Liv said she was going to be in town for a while.

  Which meant he’d have more time than he probably deserved, but as he steered the truck up and off the ranch property with a bouquet of yellow and purple wildflowers by his side, he figured a guy had to start making amends somewhere. This seemed as good a chance as any.

  Chapter Three

  Jack rethought the whole flower thing when he spotted Dave Franklin coming out of his wood shop holding a high-torque nail gun. Not that he thought Liv’s father would actually shoot him full of metal brads—

  He’d had plenty of opportunities these past years if that was Dave’s intent.

  On the other hand, Liv had been living hours away in Helena, and married.

  Now things had changed and even the nicest father could be stretched too far when his daughter’s husband leaves her for another woman. In any case, he left the flowers sitting on the front seat of the pickup.

  “Mr. Franklin?”

  “Jack.”

  No welcome, but no animosity, either. Jack counted that as a plus and nodded toward the house. “Liv and I are going to work together on the Old-timers’ Baseball Game scheduled for the end of the month. I hope that’s all right?”

  “You asking permission?”

  For a split second Jack thought he glimpsed a sheen of humor in the older man’s eye, but when Dave faced him square, he saw nothing but calm, s
teady interest. “Do I need to?”

  Dave sighed, glanced skyward, then drew his attention back to Jack. His face said Jack should ask permission and beg forgiveness, but his voice said something else. “No. But think hard, Jack. Real hard. You get my drift?”

  He did, and couldn’t disagree. “I do, sir.”

  “Dad? Jack?” Livvie stepped onto the porch, and when she did, the melon-rinsed tones of the westward arching sun faded, she was that pretty. “You giving him the third degree, Dad?”

  “The temptation’s mighty strong, Liv.”

  “But?” She met her father’s gaze with a look that coached his next reply.

  “You’re old enough to take care of yourself and are inclined to do just that.”

  Liv smiled as she came down the stairs, slipped an arm around her father’s waist and hugged him. “Well said.”

  “Since you told me what to say, that’s no surprise. I’ve lived with your mother for nearly forty years. If nothing else, I’ve learned how to follow directions.” Humor marked Dave’s face for real this time. It was clear he enjoyed having Livvie back home, but equally clear he didn’t want her hurt again.

  Neither did Jack, and the thought of flirting with a woman who might still love her ex-husband—a conniving cheat who didn’t deserve an amazing woman like Olivia Franklin in the first place—helped keep things in perspective. “I brought some notes you might be able to use for the history thing.”

  Liv took the sheaf of paper from Jack’s hand. For just a moment their fingers grazed, barely a touch, but enough to make Jack long to take her hand in his. Hold it snug and chat about things that would keep her smile firmly in place.

  That’s what had been missing last night, he realized. Liv’s smile, broad and sweet. Inviting. Her contagious laugh, the kind that made heads turn and folks join in for no particular reason.

  Her smile today said she was doing all right, but a woman like Liv should never be doing just all right. She should be happy, joyous and cheerful. The way she used to be, he remembered.