Love's Late Arrival (Sweet Grove Romance Book 1; First Street Church #8)

by Sharon Hughson

Jaz’s pulse raced as she jogged past him. When she tugged it open, the door squawked like an angry goose.

  The cowboy brushed against her shoulder and squished her into the door. Acrobatics in her stomach sent Jaz sidling back until the creaky door groaned to a stop.

  The stranger slid the dog onto the ratty cloth bench seat. He whispered unintelligible sounds while his hands smoothed along the dog’s spine, chest, and legs. When he touched the back leg, Poppet yipped and rolled her baleful gaze toward him.

  “Doesn’t feel broken.”

  Jaz craned to see around him. He twisted, and his chin nearly collided with her forehead.

  Awareness zinged through her shoulders. She jerked her gaze to his, caught in the hypnosis of Gulf blue eyes.

  He tapped the brim of his hat upward, and pink flooded his tanned cheeks. Her lips twitched. Too much time around army guys who strutted and tutted, acting like women should bow to them, increased her appreciation of his shyness.

  “Excuse me.” His voice seemed gruffer.

  “Jazlyn Rolle.” With her back pressed to the door, she barely had room to hold her hand out to him.

  He stared at it. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat and he slid away from her. He rubbed his hands down the seams of his jeans before clearing his throat. “Thanks for bringing Poppet home. I should see to her.”

  Without another glance, he sidled around the truck and slammed into the workshop.

  Jaz blinked. What just happened? She didn’t even know his name.

  She shook her head and gave Poppet’s fluffy ears a gentle rub. Her tail flopped against the seat.

  Jaz stared toward the closed door, but when the cowboy didn’t return, it was obvious he wanted her to leave.

  Turning back to the road, her gaze roved toward the house. A compact car was parked near the porch, shaded by the branches of a nut tree.

  Jaz plugged her ear bud back in. Who knew what had driven the handsome cowboy away. She refused to feel bad about rescuing the dog.

  A warm flush heated her chest. Good deeds like this had motivated her to follow in her brother’s footsteps.

  A breeze whirled the dust along the driveway. She trotted around the minefield of potholes.

  What sort of career could she pursue that would allow her to experience warm fuzzies daily? The cadence of her footfalls and breaths lulled her into the ideal state of mind for mulling the question.

  Easing into the zone chased away the nagging feeling she should know that cowboy, too.

  * * *

  Bailey Travers smoothed his hand down Poppet’s back leg. While he probed and the dog panted, he tried to ignore the tremors ricocheting through every cell in his body.

  Jazlyn Rolle. Why did she have to run across his dog’s path? God surely hated him. At least she hadn’t seemed to recognize him. One small favor.

  “Everything will be okay, girl.” A cramp in his empty stomach didn’t believe the lie.

  He cared too much for the brown-and-white mutt. Once Bailey cared for a person, place, or animal, he was guaranteed to lose it. He’d lost his parents to drugs and prison, and his foster mother to a botched surgery. His foster father hovered near the edge with terminal cancer, so why shouldn’t Bailey expect to lose the dog, too?

  Not that the dog held the same importance as Dad. But she was important. He’d rescued her five years ago, shortly after MaryAnn graduated to Heaven, and the dog had been a bundle of cuddles when Tess left for college.

  Bailey decided the dog probably didn’t need a vet. An elbow nudged his lower back. He glanced over his shoulder to see his sister standing with hands on her hips.

  “Poppet will be fine.” His gruff voice made her scowl.

  “Who was that?”

  Bailey ignored the question by rearranging the gauze in the first aid kit.

  “Why didn’t you offer her a ride?”

  Bailey’s stomach bucked into his heart and zapped his pulse into overdrive. He’d had the same reaction to those muscular chocolate milk legs exposed to the creeping sunlight. When he’d lifted Poppet, he’d brushed against firm muscle and smooth, damp skin. His heart and stomach crashed together while warm tingles dive-bombed his body.

  He hadn’t meant to be rude, but his throat constricted. He didn’t want her remembering how her brother had to rescue him. Drew rescued everyone.

  Seven years ago, Drew Rolle had been killed on active duty. What was Bailey supposed to say to the sister Drew could no longer protect? Not that those sculpted arms and legs left any doubt about her ability to take care of herself.

  “She took off before I thought of it.”

  A finger dug between two ribs. “You have the social skills of a hermit. How do you expect to host tourists if that’s the best you’ve got for a pretty lady?”

  “You’re going to be the hostess.” The guest ranch was her game plan.

  “In the house, sure, but you’ll be leading the ranching stuff.”

  “Maybe there’s a class I can take.” He ruffled the dog’s ears. She grunted and laid her head on the seat.

  “What class would that be? Personality acquirement for the socially inept?”

  “That hurts.” Bailey mimed pulling a stake out of his chest and flicking it over the truck. He dug through the first aid kit.

  Behind him, Tess huffed and grumbled. “She was pretty.”

  He wasn’t going to argue that fact. His fingers were wondering how to get a replay of the skin-to-skin contact. “She’s Drew Rolle’s sister.”

  Silence greeted his offhand comment. Why had he told Tess that? Since returning from college, his sister had a penchant for meddling in his personal life.

  “Am I supposed to know who you’re talking about?”

  His mind spun through all the things his sister missed in the five years she’d been gone. She’d been little more than a teenager in grief when she’d left for school.

  “Probably not. He was a year ahead of me.” He closed the kit. “Big football and track star that headed off to the military when he could have played college ball.”

  Poppet whimpered as he rubbed his hands gently over one forepaw.

  “You were a book geek, so how were you friends with him?”

  “Didn’t say we were friends.” More like Bailey was the invisible man. But that suited him fine—then and now. “I knew him. He was a great big brother.”

  “You should have asked him to tutor you.” Tess giggled as she nudged him with her shoulder.

  What would she think if he admitted the truth? That he’d copied Drew’s method of brothering?

  “He was KIA in Afghanistan seven years ago.”

  Tess gasped.

  Bailey frowned over his shoulder at her. Her bright blue eyes filled with tears and her hand covered her mouth. Thank the Lord she had been too young to remember the hell that hardened his heart.

  “I’m heading to the pharmacy for those new meds the nurse prescribed. You need anything?”

  Bailey shook his head and rolled the dog against his chest. He’d take her in the house, see if she could hobble around. If nothing else, he could leave her bed in Fritz’s room.

  The stereo blared when Tess started her little Kia. After he hip-checked the truck door, Bailey nodded to his sister, who was singing along with the radio as she backed around to head for the road.

  He’d missed his sister’s zest for life while she was away.

  Please, God, don’t let Dad’s death destroy that.

  Praying as if God would answer? They hadn’t been on speaking terms since his mother’s death.

  Inside, he set Poppet on the floor. She whimpered and wobbled to her feet but managed to hobble to her dish and give him a gloomy look since there wasn’t any food.

  Normal behavior.

  He grabbed a cup of coffee and a muffin Tess baked yesterday, another thing he appreciated about his sister. He could cook a passable meal, but baking seemed like too much effort.

  He elbowed his dad’s bedroom door
open. The gray head turned toward him, haloed by the lamp on the bedside table. The hospital bed raised Fritz into sitting position, and his hefty Bible lay open across his lap.

  Some things never changed.

  “Morning.” Fritz’s voice was rough but louder than it had been the previous night.

  Bailey sat in the armchair at the side of the bed. The worn cushions embraced him. Tess’s muffin melted on his tongue, and something like peace draped itself over his shoulders.

  “How’s the ranch?”

  “The cows busted out of the east pasture, and Poppet stepped in a gopher hole.”

  Fritz’s gray eyes blinked, and his hand petted the open Bible. “Your sister is talking nonstop about Travers Guest Ranch.” His lips twitched into a smile, brightening the pasty pallor of his skin.

  “It’s going to take time to get this place fixed up, but Herman Wells has promised to help me.”

  Bailey watched his dad’s face for signs of the melancholy that marked the years between his wife’s death and now.

  “I thought you planned to head back to the city, son.”

  Bailey polished off the muffin and sipped his coffee. In the light of Tess’s excitement, his plans didn’t matter. Once Dad was gone, she was all he had in the world.

  “You need to follow your heart.” His dad stroked the gold band on his ring finger.

  Follow his heart? What did that even mean? Since the day he’d been dumped like yesterday’s lunch, he had worked hard to be useful. If people relied on him, maybe they would keep him around. But nothing he did ever kept them from leaving.

  “This family is my heart, Dad.” He ignored the memory of sage green eyes and the magnetic pull they had on him.

  “Not family like Delores. She would steal the ranch.”

  Bailey stiffened. Why was his dad bringing up his sister? Could the woman come and take the ranch?

  “She’s gone.” His dad’s voice faded, and his eyes closed.

  Did that mean the woman was dead? The muffin congealed to an ache in his gut.

  A withered hand rose off the sheets. “You are my son. Tess is my daughter. I’ve taken care of things.” His father’s voice cracked on the last word.

  A pang tugged at Bailey’s chest. If his dad said it was taken care of, he should trust him. Maybe there was a will somewhere.

  He opened his mouth to ask about it, but Fritz’s eyes were closed. His wrinkled fingers clenched the Bible’s bulk. After a long blink, he rolled his head toward Bailey.

  “I want you to have my Bible.” He lifted the book, but it plopped back on his lap.

  Bailey nearly choked on his next breath. This strong man he’d idolized for two decades couldn’t lift a book. Another pang of loss spiked through his chest.

  Bailey settled his palm on the book’s cover. “You keep it for now.”

  His father licked his lips. “Everything you need is in here, son.” His voice was a mere rasp. “Everything.”

  Bailey nodded. Fritz and MaryAnn had lived out the Bible and taught their children its principles. But it didn’t save them from death.

  With the thickness in his throat and the prickling burn behind his eyeballs, he didn’t trust himself to speak. Pain, like someone yanking his intestines out, wrenched through him. He wasn’t strong, but he could pretend.

  The old man’s eyes drifted shut, fluttering lids struggling against the effects of his pain medication.

  Bailey reached toward the Bible. “Want me to read to you?”

  “Later.” He swallowed, and his next words were a mere whisper. “Get to work.”

  As Bailey stood, Poppet hobbled into the room. When he glanced her way, the dog whined. It almost made him smile.

  He scratched her head, staring at the man he’d called father.

  The impending goodbye echoed through his heart.

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  Read the first chapter of LOVE & ORDER, book 1 of HOLIDAYS IN HALLBROOK…

  Garrett clicked the buckle of his harness into place and pulled tightly on the ends of the straps. “Ready for takeoff.” He gave the helicopter pilot a thumbs-up in case he couldn’t hear him over the low hum of the spinning blades and the motor propelling them. Normally, he would just take his own plane for such a short flight, but he wasn’t in the right frame of mind to be piloting anything, making this chartered flight an easy decision.

  The pilot went through a series of checks with the control tower, and it wasn’t long before the whirring sound increased and the helicopter began to vibrate with the increased power, blocking out any chance of regular conversation. The huge metal bird lifted off from a private section of the airfield. The ground below faded away until New York City became an aerial view of rooftops and skyscrapers all blended together. Garrett let out a deep breath.

  The flight from La Guardia to Glen Haven, New Hampshire, the closest private airport with a helipad to Hallbrook, was ninety minutes by helicopter and then a fifteen-minute drive north to the town where he’d spent most of his childhood. It was a trip he would always regret not making more often. The news of his mother’s death had come as a shock, and now, days later, the ache he felt had deepened, spurred on by guilt. He hadn’t even known she was having heart troubles, but then according to Charlie, her friend and solicitor, she hadn’t either. Her heart attack had taken everyone by surprise. It was hard to believe she was gone.

  He tamped down on the emotions trying to emerge, finding it easier to focus on what needed to be done. Once he settled his mother’s estate, there would be no reason to return to his hometown, a place he’d left long ago and only manage to visit once or twice a year, much to his mother’s consternation. Work had been his priority for as long as he could remember, and the corporate law offices of Bradley & West were proof of the success he and his best friend and partner, Jim, had achieved as a result of their dedication.

  But being rated as the top law firm in Manhattan and in the top twenty nationwide didn’t do a thing to ease the pain of knowing his mother was gone forever, especially since he’d disappointed her by canceling his visit this past summer. The Baden-Hamilton merger had derailed, and the multi-million-dollar deal was his baby, and therefore his responsibility to save. And then one thing after another had popped up, and before he knew it, September was fast rolling in. But for his mother, there would be no September.

  Angelica, his sister, had been notified of their mother’s passing through official Naval communication, but as a U.S. Naval officer on a submarine somewhere in the Pacific, there was no telling when she’d be home. Charlie was taking care of their mother’s arrangements per her wishes, and a woman by the name of April St. James was taking care of the house. Charlie had insisted Garrett arrive as soon as possible to deal with some legal issues. Garrett had cleared his schedule, making sure he could be at the celebration of life to honor his mother on Saturday and could stick around for the reading of her will on Monday.

  Luckily, his partner would be able to help Garrett with his caseload while he was out of town. Garrett wasn’t sure where to begin with his mother’s estate. Until he talked to the solicitor and his sister, his hands were tied. He’d have to close up the house until he could sell it. Neither he nor his sister were in a position to live in or manage a country estate. Finding a buyer would be the easy part, selling it…not so much.

  The place was filled with mixed memories for him and his sister, mostly because it had been the start of their new life without their father after a bitter divorce. His mother had poured her heart into the place after purchasing it, her love of the land filling her with the determination to make a success of the place. Garrett’s love, however, was for the city. His sister’s love of the sea drove her career in the Navy. They’d been three completely different people on different courses in life.

  In no time at all, the pilot land
ed the chopper in Glen Haven, the closest town to Hallbrook that had a private airstrip. Garrett removed his seatbelt, pushed open the heavy door, and waved his thanks to the pilot. He crouched low as he jogged out from under the air current of the blades and made his way to the waiting limousine.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Bradley. Sorry to hear about your mother. Sarah was a fine lady.” George Bowman owned the limousine service, and he still operated some of the bookings for select customers. He was used to Garrett coming and going, although the visits had been few and far between the past few years.

  “Thank you. It came as quite a shock.” His mother had been an integral part of putting Hallbrook on the map. She’d not only managed to raise him and Angelica on her own, but she’d found the time to create a niche for the small town by attracting tourists to the area in search of artisan crafts made by the locals. She’d given up everything for him and his sister, including her marriage and home. And in return, he’d been a horrible son, making business more important than visiting her more often.

  “If you’ll drop me at the house, that would be great. It sounds as though I’ve got a lot to do.” Garrett’s guilt factor ramped up another notch.

  “Ain’t that the truth.” The man shook his head, putting the car in drive and raising the privacy window. But not before Garrett caught the odd expression peering back at him through the rearview mirror.

  Garrett made a mental note of their progress as they got closer to the house.

  They passed by several farms, including the largest dairy farm in the state. Old man Peterson’s place. His mother used to treat him to the delicious hand-made ice cream for excellent grades as a reward. His reward, of course, had been getting into Yale and eventually out of Hallbrook.

  It wasn’t that he hadn’t appreciated the town, but he’d loved the action of the city. It was the land of opportunity, a place where you could make your mark, other than by winning first prize for the fattest cow at the 4-H fair.

  He spotted his old high school, Turlington High. The place where he’d gotten into his first fight with a bully, protecting a girl. They’d dated on and off the first couple of years of high school, but then her interest had turned more toward the high school quarterback and less on the geeky guy who’d preferred to study.