Just One More Chance: Baytown Boys Series

by Maryann Jordan

  JUST ONE MORE CHANCE

  Baytown Boys Series

  By

  Maryann Jordan

  Just One More Chance (Baytown Boys)

  Copyright © 2017 Maryann Jordan

  Kindle Edition

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

  If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, then you are reading an illegal pirated copy. If you would be concerned about working for no pay, then please respect the author’s work! Make sure that you are only reading a copy that has been officially released by the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design by: Becky McGraw

  Editor: Shannon Brandee Eversoll

  Proofreader: Myckel Anne Phillips

  ISBN: 978-0-9984832-4-5

  Dedication

  I was so glad my parents were able to make the trip to the Eastern Shore of Virginia before my mother passed away last summer. They were travelers who managed to fall in love with most places they visited, their quest for new adventures taking them far from their humble beginnings.

  So, to Charles and Camilla, I dedicate this book to two people who so loved the beach.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Author’s Note

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Other books by Maryann Jordan

  More About Maryann Jordan

  Author’s Note

  I have lived in numerous states as well as overseas, but for the last twenty years have called Virginia my home. All of my stories take place in this wonderful commonwealth, but I choose to use fictional city names with some geographical accuracies.

  These fictionally named cities allow me to use my creativity and not feel constricted by attempting to accurately portray the areas.

  It is my hope that my readers will allow me this creative license and understand my fictional world.

  I also do quite a bit of research on my books and try to write on subjects with accuracy. There will always be points where creative license will be used in order to create scenes or plots.

  Four years ago, my husband and I discovered the Eastern Shore of Virginia and fell in love with the area. The mostly rural strip of land forming the peninsula originating from Maryland, has managed to stay non-commercialized. The quiet, private area full of quaint towns captured our hearts and we rushed to buy a little place there.

  It has become our retreat when we need to leave the hustle and bustle of our lives. I gather ideas, create characters, and spend time writing when not walking on the beach collecting sea glass.

  Chapter 1

  Headache? Hell, more like hangover.

  Blinking rapidly, Grant Wilder was grateful for the lack of early morning stirrings in the sleepy town. With one hand on the steering wheel of the police department SUV, he rubbed his forehead, trying to still the pain stabbing behind his eyes.

  He drove slowly down the beach road, his gaze focused straight ahead. The town’s public beach on the Chesapeake Bay, just over the slight dunes, was ready for a day of tourists. On the other side, stately homes stood as sentinels guarding the bay. Turning onto one of the side roads, he proceeded with caution along the tree-lined residential homes. Some in a state of repair, some used as beach rentals, and many with the loving upkeep of residents who knew they were lucky to own a tiny piece of heaven, known as the Eastern Shore.

  Wincing, he hated to admit he drank too much the previous evening, but the engagement celebration of his best friend, Mitch Evans, the town’s police chief, to the woman he had cared for since they were children was cause for Grant to forget his early morning patrol.

  Movement on one of the side streets had him jerking his head to the left, only to groan at both the shooting pain in his head and the realization it was only the garbage truck stopping in front of a house, the banging of trash cans interrupting the peaceful morning. Thankfully, the old town’s streets had been laid out in a square grid making it easy for him to easily view the area at each intersection.

  The men dragging the garbage cans over to the truck threw their hands up in a wave and Grant returned the greeting, grimacing slightly at the movement. Continuing down the road, he forced his eyes to focus, while making sure not to jerk his head around, in an attempt to quell the dull ache.

  Straining to see along the street as he heard a small motor humming, his gaze landed on the hot pink scooter puttering by, a long, blonde braid flying behind the shapely figure of the woman driving. The wild-patterned, tie-dyed shirt in brilliant colors paired with purple capris was familiar to him and the desire to honk and wave warred with the desire to slump down in the seat and hide. God, I was an ass last night.

  The sounds of dogs barking interrupted his self-loathing and he looked up just in time to see an elderly woman straining against the leash of her dog while another man held on to his. Oh, great…just great. Pulling to a stop, he radioed his location to the station and alighted from the vehicle.

  “Officer Wilder!” they both exclaimed at the same time before glaring at each other.

  “Mrs. Malton…Mr. Royer…can you not control the dogs this morning?”

  “That dog of his keeps wanting to…to…you know…with my dog and he isn’t doing anything to stop it!” the elderly woman said, her arms stretched outwards as her dachshund strained at her leash toward the large basset hound. “Petunia is terrified!” Mrs. Malton’s jowls waggled as her bosom heaved in outrage.

  “My dog?” Mr. Royer huffed. “My Harold just wants to get past you and your little hussy won’t leave him alone.” Turning toward Grant, he narrowed his eyes as he ordered, “Do something!”

  Grant watched as the two elderly residents continued their narrow-eyed glaring. Dropping his gaze to the two dogs, their noses eagerly straining forward, it seemed obvious they just wanted to greet each other. Why can’t the owners get along the way the dogs want to?

  “From what I can see, the dogs just want to sniff around a bit and then they’ll be happy to move on—”

  “Sniff? Sniff?” Mrs. Malton chirped, narrowing her eyes toward him. “I know what that dog of his wants and it’s not just a sniff.”

  The two dogs, now kept apart while still straining at their leashes began baying and barking, adding to Grant’s pounding head. Mr. Royer’s thin arms were never going to be strong enough to control his pet, so Grant stepped over to take the leash from him. “Let’s rein him in and then we
can let the ladies pass.”

  “Us? Why us?” Mr. Royer spouted. “I live on this side of the street. She’s the one who comes over here.”

  Grant quickly reeled in the basset and nodded toward Mrs. Malton. “Move on by now, and may I suggest in the future that if you have to walk your dogs at the same time, you stay on opposite sides of the street.”

  Moving to scoop her smaller dog into her arms, Mrs. Malton glared at the two men as she walked past them. “I would think that a true gentleman would allow a lady to walk where she pleased.” Before either of the men could respond, she cast a disparaging glance down to Harold, his tongue lolling to the side as he panted. His soulful eyes followed Petunia as she was carried off.

  As Mrs. Malton waddled down the sidewalk, Grant turned his gaze back to the small man standing next to him. Relaxing his hold on the hound, he asked, “You got it now?”

  Lowering his bushy eyebrows as his lips turned down in a frown, Mr. Royer pouted. “Don’t know what her problem is. She thinks the sidewalks are her personal property and her dog is the queen!”

  Stifling a tired grin, Grant nodded his agreement as he walked back toward the SUV. “Next time, just walk in a different direction before Harold gets a sniff of her.”

  “Who? Petunia or Mrs. Busybody?”

  “Either one, Mr. Royer. Either one,” he chuckled.

  Climbing back into the vehicle, he once more called in his location and began to drive slowly down the street. Head still pounding, he hoped he encountered nothing more than the dog walkers before he had a chance to make it in to the station.

  The oldest part of Baytown was surrounded with Main Street on one side, closer to the small harbor, the Chesapeake Bay on another, where the public beach enticed townspeople and visitors, and a park situated in the middle of town. About fifteen years prior, a developer built a golf course community on a large farm and it was annexed into the city as well. On the other side, another developer built large vacation rental homes as well as a marina and a seafood restaurant.

  Turning the corner, he noted a group of children riding their bikes toward the beach. Waving at the youngsters, he grinned—both at their early morning enthusiasm and the memories it brought back. Growing up in Baytown on the Chesapeake Bay, he had spent many hours running the streets, riding his bike, and hanging with his friends. The group of boys had been given the nickname Baytown Boys because where you saw one…you saw them all. Even their high school team’s adopted the name. The group had dispersed after high school, most joining the military, before eventually coming back to Baytown to live.

  He and Mitch joined the Army, while the two MacFarlane brothers, Aiden and Brogan, served in the Marines before coming back to take over the family pub. Zac Hamilton had joined the Navy before becoming the fire chief, and their friend, Callan Ward, was still with the Coast Guard, now stationed locally at Baytown.

  Driving past the building housing the newly established American Legion, he remembered they had a meeting this evening. I hope we get started on the youth teams. I need to talk to Mitch about helping when I get to the station.

  Grant rubbed his chin, realizing his morning shave had missed a few spots. His hand moved up to his forehead in an attempt to once more still the headache threatening. Drinking too much last night was a stupid thing to do!

  The engagement party for Mitch and Tori Bradford had started at The Dune’s Restaurant in the resort’s golfing community, but then ended up at Finn’s Pub. The dinner included family, friends, and some of the town’s important residents. The mayor and his wife made their appearance, and of course gave a lengthy toast, which was more of a political speech than an engagement toast. By the time the dinner was over, the group of friends migrated into town to the pub owned by Aiden and Brogan.

  I need to finish this pass by Main street and head into the station. I hope Mildred has some aspirin…and coffee. The thought of freshly-ground coffee enticed him as he passed Jillian’s Coffee Shop and Galleria, but he knew he could not go in and risk the ire…or the condemnation of the beautiful shop owner. Not after last night’s performance. Fighting the urge to drop his chin to his chest, he heaved a sigh. Yeah, I deserve this headache, he thought, his mind drifting to the previous evening.

  Even when I kept my distance from her, I always noticed when Jillian walked into a room…and I noticed her last night. Lime green dress, tight in the right places, showing her tanned legs, nipped in at the waist—but wait! Who the hell had their hand on her waist?

  Moving through the room quickly, I made a bee-line to the other side to gain a better view. Hmph! Some young, hot-shot asshole was standing next to her like he owned her. Fucking hell!

  Turning on my heel, I saw one of the local waitresses standing alone near the bar, eying me. Stalking over, I was determined to hit the bar and if I managed to snag the waitress at the same time? All the better.

  Yeah…that plan blew up because I kept my eye on Jillian and finally found a time to approach her. And berate her for her date. Not my best plan. I should have stayed away from her.

  Sighing once again, Grant parked the SUV in the police station lot before climbing from the vehicle and making his way through the front door. The sight of Mildred Score, the indomitable receptionist and operator, greeted him. The fact that she was holding a cup of coffee and two aspirins in her outstretched hand only made him grin wider despite the glare of the fluorescent lights overhead.

  “Oh, my God, Mildred, you’re a lifesaver!”

  With narrowed eyes, she shook her blue-grey curls at him and said, “I had a feeling you were tying one on last night. What on earth were you thinking, Grant Wilder? Drinking last night when you had patrol this morning!”

  “He wasn’t thinking with his head, that’s for sure,” Ginny Spencer quipped. The town’s only female officer dropped her usually serious demeanor to taunt Grant. Her dark brown hair was pulled back in a sleek, tight bun, her sharp, hazel eyes rarely missing a thing.

  Shooting her a painful glare, he took the proffered drink and pills, downing them both quickly. Just then, the two other officers walked in. Looking over at Grant they both grinned. Sam Stubbis, the oldest member of the police force, moved past Mildred to the coffee maker while Burt Tobber clapped Grant on the shoulder as he passed him.

  “You hanging in there this morning?” Burt asked. “You were still going strong when I left last night.”

  “Yeah, well, you and your wife had to get back to relieve your babysitter, so you hardly stayed very long,” Grant grumbled. “It’s not like I was that much later than you.”

  “I remember the days of closing down a bar,” Sam reminisced, patting his slightly protruding stomach as he helped himself to a pastry brought in by Mildred. “But those days are over for me.” Lifting his gaze to Grant, he added, “And never before patrol.”

  Grant slumped into a chair at the table in the workroom, hoping Mitch would make his appearance soon so they could get to business.

  On cue, Mitch walked in. The tall, handsome Police Chief was still wearing the same smile that had graced his face last night every time he had caught a glimpse of his fiancé, Tori. “Morning, everyone,” he greeted.

  “God, you are entirely too happy, Mitch,” Grant grumbled, hanging his head.

  Mitch’s steely gaze dropped to his officer and friend, and his smile widened. “Looks like you drowned your sorrows a little too much last night.”

  At that, Grant’s head jerked up, his frown meeting Mitch’s grin. “Drowned my sorrows? Hell, I was celebrating my freedom!”

  “Whatever,” Ginny said, rolling her eyes.

  Grumbling under his breath, Grant sipped his coffee, grateful when Mitch took pity on him and began the meeting.

  The first items on the morning’s agenda dealt with town business and Grant struggled to focus on the notes. Suddenly Mitch’s tone changed and Grant sat up, watching his Chief’s jaw tighten with anger.

  “Heard from the State Police that drug runners are beg
inning to use the Eastern Shore instead of Highway 95 that runs from Florida to Maine. It takes longer to move drugs through here, but they think they have less of a chance of getting caught.” Mitch pinned his group with a hard stare before adding, “I don’t want anything passing through our town.”

  “Are they just running?” Ginny asked.

  “Not sure right now. The State Police are stepping up their patrols out on the main road going through. They just want us to be vigilant, especially when pulling over speeders with out-of-state tags.”

  “If they stop here, there’s enough of a youth population to be of interest to drug runners,” Burt said. “So far, we’ve done a fair job keeping it out.”

  “Speaking of youth,” Grant looked up, “will the next American Legion meeting get the youth baseball league going?”

  This subject captured the attention of the entire squad since they were all members of the new American Legion. Mitch, as the newly elected President, nodded. “Yes, make sure you’re at the meeting tonight. We’ll get the youth league started.”

  “Been wanting to work with the boys that had their basketball hoops taken down. They might like playing baseball,” Sam commented. “It’s a way to keep the town manager and mayor off our backs.” Earlier in the summer, Sam had come under pressure to keep the teens from hanging around an old school. They had not been a problem, but according to the manager, Silas Mills, they presented a “blight on the town”.

  “Just boys?” Ginny asked, her eyebrow rising in question.

  “No, no, not just boys,” Mitch assured. “The leagues have girls in them as well.”

  The squad continued to discuss the ongoing cases and work schedule for another half hour. Once dismissed, Sam and Burt pushed their chairs back, nodding at the others as they headed out to begin their patrols. Ginny moved into the other room to sit at her desk as she worked on a few open cases.

  Grant, grateful to be able to go home since he only had to pull early morning patrol, was about to leave, when Mitch called him back.