Love's Lingering Doubts (Love's Texas Homecoming Boo 1; First Street Church #9)

by Sharon Hughson

  As he approached the lone woman, she stretched like a cat and stood up. Even covered by long pants, he’d recognize those legs anywhere. Jazlyn Rolle was the legal expert?

  Bailey stopped a foot away and cleared his throat.

  She whirled toward him, pale green eyes widening. “You’re the guy with legal questions?”

  Her befuddlement matched his so well, his frown eased. He raised an eyebrow. “You’re the legal expert Elise knows?”

  Her laugh rolled over him. She slapped her hand over her mouth and gazed beyond him.

  He extended his hand to her, wishing for a moment he’d given it a proper wash after lunch. “I’m Bailey Travers.” Please don’t recognize the name. When her face showed no recognition, tension bled from his shoulders. “Thanks for agreeing to help me.”

  “Of course.” Her hand gripped his in a hearty shake.

  Bailey tried to prolong the contact, enjoying the tingling sensations, but when she tugged, he let go. He took a deep breath and steeled himself. He should have said something when she’d delivered Poppet to him.

  “Is your dog okay?” She asked like she’d read his mind.

  He nodded, searching for something else to say.

  “I’m glad.” She paused for a moment. “What sort of legal questions do you have?”

  Her intelligent green eyes made his heart flutter. He gazed at a point beyond her right shoulder to center his thoughts. “My dad is going to pass soon, and I don’t think he has a will. Since he never adopted us, I’m afraid we’ll lose the ranch.”

  And we can’t lose the ranch. It’s all Tess has.

  Jaz slid into the chair she’d been using and opened a new search window on her computer. Her fingers flew over the keys. Bailey edged closer until the scent of oranges overwhelmed him. The food in his stomach felt like a weight.

  “You were fostered by the Traverses, right?” She glanced at him.

  He bobbed his head.

  “Mrs. Travers has already passed?”

  He nodded again. “Five years ago.”

  Jaz stopped typing and looked up at him. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine losing my mom.”

  Bailey’s gaze met hers. Something dark flickered behind her sympathetic expression, and she turned back to the screen as if to hide it.

  “Even if you weren’t legally adopted, there’s a thing called equitable adoption that should allow you to inherit from your dad.” Jaz pointed to a paragraph on the screen.

  Bailey leaned closer until the heat of her warmed his side. He swallowed to wet his mouth before he could squeak out a question. “What’s that?”

  She swiveled in his direction. Their faces were inches apart, and the full impact of her struck him like a punch to the gut. He couldn’t breathe.

  She scooted her chair back a foot and took a deep breath. Did that mean she was affected by him, too? His gaze drifted to the rise of her chest beneath the feminine shirt she wore. His ears burst into flame, and he snapped his gaze back to her face.

  A small smile tugged on her lips. “Also called adoption by estoppel. It exists if the relationship began during the child’s minority, continued throughout the parent’s lifetime, and clear evidence shows the foster parent would have adopted except for legal barriers.” She counted the conditions off on her lithe fingers.

  Bailey straightened. Although the subject of legal adoption came up several times, the Traverses had never followed through. Would a judge think that meant they didn’t want to adopt Tess and him?

  The fries in his stomach turned to stone.

  “Were there legal barriers to adoption?” Jaz glanced at him again, finger still pointing to the text on-screen. “The other two requirements are met.”

  Sweat beaded beneath his hair, and he scratched at it. Jaz’s gaze followed the motion, so he tucked his hand in his pocket instead.

  “Some. My biological father protested giving up his parental rights.” Bailey shuddered as a memory of the man’s harsh voice replayed in his mind. “He was in and out of jail but always made contact before the twenty-month period expired.”

  MaryAnn had been frustrated when the man’s letters came, but she was too honest to toss them in the trash. It wasn’t like they meant anything to Bailey, but Tess seemed to cherish them.

  “You never lived with him again?”

  Bailey’s heart jolted at the idea. He didn’t have as many gruesome memories of his father as he did of his drug-using mother, but life before he’d come to Sweet Grove was better left in the past.

  “By the time he’d gone back to prison for more than two years, I was already eighteen. MaryAnn had documents drawn up to adopt Tess, but those were never filed either.”

  “Because…” Jaz worried her bottom lip.

  The sight made flutters start in his chest. He couldn’t take his eyes off the white teeth nibbling the berry-colored skin.

  He dragged his attention from her mouth and studied the computer without seeing it. “I was surprised to learn she hadn’t finished the process.” MaryAnn had been irritated by the delays and gung-ho about making the adoption official.

  “Maybe you can find some documentation. Do you know for sure there’s no will?”

  Bailey shook his head. His gaze shifted to the clock in the lower corner of the computer screen. “I’ll check Dad’s office.” He stepped back. “I’ve got to get to work.”

  Jaz ducked her strong chin. “Let me know if you have more questions.” She stood in a single graceful motion. “I’m sorry about your dad.”

  “I’m sorry about Drew.”

  She blanched at the name. Her lips opened and closed. His mind grappled for something else to say, but the tasks waiting at the school called him.

  “Thanks for checking on this.” He reached to tip his hat at her and realized it was in his other hand.

  “No problem.”

  His cheeks burned as he twisted toward the entrance and strode away. At the door, he glanced back, but she had already returned to the computer.

  He hated the idea that Tess might lose the ranch, and his roiling gut confirmed that. But knowing he needed to continue talking to Jaz about the situation sanded the sharp edges from his anxiety.

  3

  Later that day, Jaz slipped into shorts and a t-shirt in the library’s restroom. Something about changing into softball clothes in the locker room at Sweet Grove High felt a little too much like reliving the glory days.

  Like everything good in her life, they were long gone. And she had no clue what her future looked like.

  As ready as she’d ever be, she dropped her other clothes into the back seat of her car, snagged the bag of gear and the cleats she’d tied together, and jogged down the sidewalk, swerving into the athletic field parking lot. The ricochet of tennis balls thrummed along with the thump of her footsteps. One cleat drummed a beat against her shoulder blade while the other sat snuggly in her armpit.

  She pushed through the turnstile and slowed to a walk. The pulsing in her neck had nothing to do with the short run. Back in the day, her mentoring style had always been impatience married with demonstration. Would these girls respond to that?

  When she capped the rise at the end of the football field and began the descent into the groomed softball field, Elise hailed her. The tickling scent of fresh cut grass melded with the stir of dust and chalk in the air, and the familiarity of it dispelled her inhibitions. Softball’s stalwart friendship had pulled her through the grief of losing Drew and the anxiety of fitting in with the JAG crew.

  Jaz leaned her bat against the dugout fence and swung the shoes off her shoulder. Teenage girls in shorts and red t-shirts sporting the Shorthorns mascot scanned her from the infield where they tossed balls back and forth.

  “What’s the plan?” Jaz sat on the metal bleachers behind the backstop. She’d already replaced one sneaker with a cleat when Elise joined her, arms crossed over her chest and shoulders, leaning against the chain link barrier.

  “Lynn’s going
to be late, so how about you run the pitchers and catchers through batting practice first? I’ll head to third base and nag the fielders about their performance.”

  Jaz nodded.

  “Once Lynn takes her crew, you can work the outfielders and the three designated hitters.” A glint in those green eyes made Jaz narrow her own.

  “What aren’t you telling me about the infielders?”

  Elise’s grin ignited. “I’ll let you figure that out on your own.”

  “Delightful.” Jaz double-knotted her shoes and hoped the muttered word didn’t give away her trepidation.

  After pulling on her batting gloves and stretching, Jaz grabbed her bat. Elise gathered the players to the pitcher’s mound where she explained the drill. Furtive glances from the girls became bolder, more speculative.

  “We’re about to turn a corner in the batter’s box.”

  A few girls snorted. One said, “If quicksand doesn’t swallow us first.”

  Several girls laughed at the remark, but many shook their heads and glared at the speaker.

  “I’d like to introduce you to Jazlyn Rolle.” Elise gestured as if she was Vanna White and Jaz was a lighted letter awaiting a turn.

  Jaz nodded, bringing the bat to her shoulder and scuffing dirt over home plate.

  “Not THE Jazlyn Rolle?” A stocky girl with a long blonde ponytail gaped at Elise.

  “Most career home runs with 283. Fifty-nine home runs in a season, and three home runs in a single game. Yep, that’s the one.” Elise beamed as if the records were hers.

  A grumble swelled among the girls.

  Elise held up her hand. “She’s volunteering her time to help us improve our hitting consistency, so I expect you to treat her with more respect than you give me.”

  She stared around the circle of girls. “Pitchers and catchers, you’re up first. Starters, take your positions on the field.” Elise nodded to the dugout, indicating the other six girls should wait there. “Bix, you pitch a few to Coach Rolle.”

  Jaz stiffened at the title. She stepped away from the batter’s box while one of the girls grabbed a mitt and crouched behind the plate.

  “Better protect that pretty face, Dan.” This came from the blonde girl who grabbed a ball and mitt and scanned Jaz through slitted eyes.

  Bix jogged toward the mound while the catcher pulled her helmet into place and another girl secured her chest protection.

  Jaz watched the pair warm up. The catcher signaled and the pitcher windmilled the ball over the plate. Leather snapping against leather proved they worked well together.

  “Batter up,” Elise called, winking at Jaz.

  Jaz swung the bat once more and stepped into the box. She toed a groove with her right foot and sank weight onto her back leg. She squinted at the pitcher and choked up on the bat.

  Bix glared at her, adjusting slightly to a left-handed batter. Her first pitch dropped at the last moment, and Jaz adapted her swing. Her shoulder muscles sang as the bat’s vibrations jarred through her and the spinning ball soared over the shortstop’s head.

  The next pitch looked like it was way outside but curved violently into the zone. Jaz connected again, the neon ball striking a little too close to her hands for depth, but it slammed the ground to the right of the mound and bounced over the first baseman’s head.

  Bix narrowed her eyes and moved through her windup. A fastball sailed into the zone.

  Jaz twisted, one with the bat. Energy sparked through her, and the wood connected with a solid crack. She watched the ball soar over the outfielders and the fence, straight toward a man mowing the field.

  The girls gaped at her. The pitcher’s mitt hung at her side.

  Jaz turned to the line of girls wearing batting helmets. The one in the warm up circle snapped her mouth shut. Jaz waved her in, stepping behind the plate so she could see the oncoming ball and watch the batter’s stance and swing.

  “Let’s start with a fast ball or two.” Jaz raised her chin toward the pitcher. “Then let Dan call the pitches, like in a game.”

  Bix blew a bubble and offered a curt nod. No one liked to see her fastball pounded over the fence.

  “How about a couple swings?” Jaz turned her attention to the batter.

  Girl after girl stepped up to the plate. Jaz watched their first few swings and then stepped in with advice to strengthen their individual style. Some needed help in hand placement, while others didn’t have a strong base because their feet were too close together or their weight was distributed awkwardly.

  The other coach arrived, and a different pitcher and catcher took over while a new rotation of batters came through the line.

  Eventually Elise called a halt and had the girls circle up. Rather than joining the huddle, Jaz collected the bats and balls and stuffed them into the equipment bag.

  She’d changed into her street shoes by the time the girls grabbed the equipment and headed toward the locker room, most looking glum and many red-faced.

  Elise stopped in front of her, hands on hips. “And I thought I was a taskmaster.”

  Jaz glanced up. Elise wasn’t smiling, and Jaz’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

  Elise nodded and pursed her lips. “Some of the girls were practically in tears. You need to go easy on them.”

  Jaz blinked. She hadn’t paid any attention to the girls’ emotions. She’d talked them through batting the same way she’d coached herself for decades. Compared to her father, she was kindness personified.

  Is that a comparison you want?

  “I told you I’m not a coach.”

  Elise sighed. “Your style might work for college girls, but most of this group plays for the fun of it, or to stay in shape for another sport. None of them expect to get scholarships.”

  Dust scratched her throat. Jaz swallowed, giving a curt nod. The lift of her spirits crashed into the pit of her stomach.

  Even softball couldn’t offer the sort of homecoming she wanted.

  * * *

  At lunchtime on Thursday, Bailey drove down Birch Street toward his afternoon job, lunch on the seat beside him. He craned his neck and his foot eased off the gas as he approached the library.

  A lovely dark-skinned woman pushed her way out of the doors at that moment. His foot smashed the brake pedal, and his chest careened forward, jamming into the steering wheel.

  Jaz slid into her car before he could park the truck. Now what?

  Over the sound of his engine, he heard her car whine, but the motor didn’t turn over. His heart leapt in his chest. Car problems he understood.

  Before he talked himself out of walking up to a virtual stranger, he shut off the pickup and shoved open the cab door. He would help anyone whose car was giving them problems. This had nothing to do with sage green eyes, teasing lips, and legs that had no right to be so distracting. Nothing at all.

  His heartbeat drummed a cadence for his footsteps, and his fingers ground into his palms.

  He stopped beside her car and cleared his throat. Her head was crumpled against arms crossed over the steering wheel. His heart nose-dived into his stomach.

  Please don’t let her be crying. Tears from someone he cared about demolished him.

  “Car trouble?” The husky sound of his voice had him coughing.

  She startled, and wide green eyes met his. “It won’t start.” She shrugged.

  “Try it again.”

  She heaved a breath, and his gaze wandered to her fitted tank top. He jerked his attention away, listening as the key clicked.

  “Alternator is my guess. Should be an easy fix.”

  Relief smoothed the wrinkles in her forehead. “I guess I’m walking.”

  She opened the door, and he sidled backward. A single graceful movement later and she stood beside him. The sight of her athletic form covered in fitted crop pants and a shirt that flowed with every motion revved his pulse into overdrive.

  She tilted her head back slightly to meet his gaze and caught him scanning her womanly c
urves. At least she couldn’t know he’d begun to salivate like a starving dog at mealtime.

  He licked his lips. “I think I can fix your car.”

  “I was going to grab a bite and then head back in.” She nodded toward the library. “To finish up some job applications.”

  His gaze lingered on her lips after she’d finished speaking. Their red plumpness reminded him of ripe strawberries.

  He blinked away the thought. Maybe he should have eaten the lunch Tess packed him before he stopped here. His hunger was affecting every thought.

  “I have a lunch in my truck.” Which sounded rude and like he didn’t want to spend time with her. False.

  “Are you offering to share?” Her grin sent a whirlpool spiraling through his gut.

  “Uh.” He gulped air. “I can give you a ride.” Her smile acted like a vise on his lungs.

  “Maybe to the market?” Her eyes flicked over his face. “Unless you’ve got other plans.”

  “No plans.” He’d learned the hard way that family responsibilities came before any plans he might make.

  “Want to walk?”

  “I’ve got to be at the school in less than an hour.”

  She pursed her lips together, and he forgot what he’d said. What did they taste like? It had been years since he’d kissed anyone.

  “Bailey?”

  He shook off the stray thoughts. “I can drop you at the market. Then I can head for work when we’re done.”

  She nodded and leaned back into the car. He whirled away, stomping toward his truck to keep from leering at her again. Sweat itched where his hat pressed his hair against his head.

  The truck door groaned open, and Bailey hopped into the driver’s seat, leaning across to open the passenger door from the inside. Jaz rounded his truck, hips swaying.

  The sight of her stopped his heart. Lord, he’d been so infatuated with her in high school. Apparently, he still was.

  She was only in town until she landed another job. He remembered her determination on the softball field. If she applied the same drive to her career, she’d have offers rolling in before a week passed.