Читать книгу His Montana Sweetheart - Ruth Logan Herne - Страница 11
ОглавлениеIt took every ounce of strength for Olivia to keep her cool when Jack took her hand, but she did it.
And when he talked about his mother’s death, about losing Mary Beth McGuire to cancer three years before, she longed to reach out. Hug him. And maybe never let go.
Residual nonsense from long ago, don’t you dare. You prepared for this possibility the whole drive down. Stay tough. Stay strong. Maintain a distance at all costs and, whatever you do, Do Not Stare Into Those Amazing Green Eyes.
Olivia’s gut recognized the sensibility of the mental tirade, but there was a spot around her heart, a fairly big spot, that longed to make everything right for Jack McGuire. Which meant she was a pushover for that cleft chin and crooked smile, even after all this time. She erected an internal Danger Zone sign and kept her voice calm, her face serene, but inside?
She wanted answers. She wanted love. She wanted something functional out of the past eight years of study, work, marriage and building a home.
And here she was, jobless, homeless, divorced and sleeping in her old room in her parents’ house, as dysfunctional as you could get. She’d become the statistic she abhorred, the failure-to-launch young adult who crept back to the nest. How had this happened?
The sweet rhythmic toll of a bell interrupted her funk.
She turned, surprised, and Jack pointed northwest. “First Monday prayer service at the church.” When she frowned, he continued, “Our new pastor started this. It’s an evening prayer service to mark the first Monday of each month. A call to worship. Ethan says he wants folks to pause and think about things now and again, and there’s nothing like an evening prayer service to do that.” He directed his gaze back to town in a silent invitation to retrace their steps, then added, “It’s kind of nice, though I’ve only been to one so far.”
The thought of Monday-night church seemed odd enough, but the idea of Jack leaving the ranch, getting cleaned up and rolling into town for a prayer service surprised her even more. Work had always come first on the Double M. School. Baseball. The ranch. Chores. Church had fallen well down the list of Jack McGuire priorities, but the look on his face said that might have changed.
She fell into step beside him, thoughtful, letting the recorded bells’ chime call them back to Main Street. They drew near to the corner as the bell went silent. An awkward quiet rose around them until Jack motioned west toward the quaint stone-and-wood church. “Would you like to go? We wouldn’t be all that late.”
She wouldn’t, no, but she didn’t know how to say that and not sound like a jerk. She hemmed and hawed, and let Jack draw his own conclusions.
He did. Quickly. He gave her a glimpse of that endearing smile, then doffed his hat, cowboy to the core. “Nice seeing you, Liv.”
“Nice, yes. You, too, Jack.”
He watched as she climbed into her car, ever the gentleman, except when he tossed her aside like yesterday’s news.
And then he watched as she drove away, his gaze following her until she turned left on River Road and headed home.
Did he turn and go to the church service? She had no idea and wasn’t sure she cared to know, because she used to pray all the time. About life, about love, about Jack, her family, her sister, her dog. Her latest prayers had centered on her marriage and the family she’d longed to have, a couple of cute kids running around, wreaking havoc, making her smile.
She’d lost Jack, her sister had moved away years before, the dog had passed on while she was married to Billy and she’d watched her marriage and dreams of a family go up in a puff of divorce-petition smoke.
So if there was a God...? If He existed somewhere other than the pages of an often-interpreted book? She hadn’t seen much evidence of it, and right now didn’t care to search anymore.
She’d count her blessings, the human ones, and move on, heart guarded, because fewer people got hurt that way. Mainly her.
Bright windows welcomed her back to her parents’ home on Old Trail Road. The house, set into the edge of a wooded grove, looked happy and natural, at peace with its surroundings. The front screen door slapped shut as she exited the car, and the scent of fresh-baked cookies hit the evening air like a gift. “You baked? In this heat?”
Her mother’s smile said yes as she nodded toward the second porch rocker. “I figured evening time would be fine. We’ve got fans in the bedrooms and the cool night air will chase off the oven’s heat by morning.”
“True enough. I know it’s the beginning of August, but the thick morning dew says fall isn’t far off.”
“I won’t wish the summer away,” her mother replied. “They’re too scant here, and after last winter’s wrath, I’ve no desire to see snow for a while. And while fall was always my favorite season in Michigan, here in Montana it comes and goes too fast. And the colors aren’t the same.”
“I noticed that when I went to visit Grandma and Grandpa in Detroit a few years back.” Liv settled into the rocker, and let the easy motion ease the tiredness from her back, her shoulders. “Have you heard from them this week?”
“I call Mom every night, actually.”
Liv turned, sensing trouble, because fear or concern would be the only reason her mother and grandmother would be in constant contact. “Is Grandpa okay?” Her mother’s expression said he wasn’t. “Tell me, Mom. What’s going on?”
“We think it’s Alzheimer’s.”
The possibility of her grandfather succumbing to the mind-numbing illness chilled Livvie. She leaned forward. “You think it is? Or you know it?”
Jane Franklin pursed her mouth and shrugged. “It’s hard to tell in the beginning stages because everyone forgets things from time to time, but for Grandpa it’s been over a year of little things building up.”
“Over a year?” Liv sat straight up in the chair. “And you haven’t said anything?”
“Your grandmother was adamant about not making a big deal if it was nothing more than a phase. But it looks like it’s the real deal, and we can’t leave Grandma to care for him alone. She hates the idea of coming to Montana, but their neighborhood isn’t like it used to be, and a forgetful old man makes an easy target on the streets.”
Mixed emotions swept Olivia.
Her grandparents loved Detroit. They’d been a big part of their local church; they’d known every family, every elder, every kid in their congregation for decades. The butcher on the corner was her grandfather’s best friend, the local bakery was run by a neighbor’s daughter, and the small diner up the road was owned by her aunt’s godparents. Tucked between the city and the suburbs, their neighborhood had survived when others failed, but Olivia had seen the beginnings of decay when she’d visited five years ago.
Guilt swept her. Why was there five years between visits? She hadn’t been that busy, not busy enough to ignore her grandparents. But that’s exactly what she’d done, believing things would go on forever.
Right, her brain chided. How’s that whole forever thing working out for you? She shushed the internal stab and faced her mother. “What’s the plan?”
“Dad and I are spending next week there. We’re taking the car instead of the SUV because Grandma has a harder time climbing into a taller vehicle. And I think...” She paused, then firmed her gaze and her stance in the chair, “I hope we’ll be bringing them back here. That way we can all help each other.”
“Change scares folks.”
Her mother acknowledged that with a dip of her chin.
“But I’d rather have them cranky for a while than hurt. Or alone. Or fearful in their own house.”
“Exactly the case, but now I have to convince my mother of that. Dad’s kind of oblivious to the whole thing. But Mom?” The look she sent Olivia said she was preparing for battle. “She’ll be tough to convince.”
“Which is where I come in.” Dave Franklin approached the porch from his workshop in the garage. “I was able to sweet-talk the daughter into moving west. I think I’ll do just fine with the mother.”
Her parents exchanged smiles, a tangible warmth of time, love and faith, the kind of married-forever look Livvie had longed for.
“I’m okay with you taking the helm,” Jane declared. “My mother hates to think her kids are bossing her around—”
Liv sent a mock-guilty look her mother’s way, because hadn’t she scolded her mother that very morning for leaving fruit on the counter, a breeding ground for dozens of fruit flies?
Her mother’s smile said the fruit was still on the counter because refrigeration broke down the sugar content or some such nonsense. Three bossy women in one house?
That scenario meant Liv better figure out where she was going and what she was doing sooner rather than later. But for now— “Dad’s got a touch, that’s for sure. I’ll make certain the downstairs bedroom is clean.”
“A few prayers would be a nice addition,” her father mused. “I think Grandma’s had a lot on her plate, and the thought of closing up the house, selling things, or sorting through and giving them away, weighs on her.”
“A daunting task,” Jane agreed. “But we can help while we’re there. And if we bring them here, I think your aunt Kathy would step in and oversee the real estate sale. She’s closest.” Jane turned back to Liv. “I’m sorry we’re ducking out on you your second week back, but you’ll be busy with your historical research and the centennial stuff, so it should be fine. Right?”
Talk about embarrassing. To have a mother coddling a thirty-year-old daughter in the very nest she was born in?
Liv bit back a growl of self-contempt and nodded. “I’m knee-deep in research now, and actually loving it. The Lewis and Clark influence on this part of the country, the early settlers east of here, the problems that brought the Shaw and Massey families across the state to settle in the gulch? There’s some truth-is-stranger-than-fiction stuff in those old stories. So I’m fine, I’ll take care of everything here—”
“Including Tabby.”
The overweight cat shifted on the porch glider. He yawned, stretched and settled back into slumber on the woven floral cushion, a purr of contentment lulling the old boy back to sleep.
“I’m putting him on an exercise regimen the minute you’re gone,” Liv confirmed, but she softened the order by reaching out and stroking the gray-striped cat’s head. “He’s gotten lazy with Tank gone.”
Dave’s expression said he agreed. “Cats are disinclined to exercise when they get older. Or maybe he just misses his old friend.”
“We talked about getting a new dog, but a puppy might be too much for Grandma and Grandpa. The way things are going, we didn’t want to jump into anything.”
Kind. Considerate. Thoughtful.
Her parents were that and more, cornerstones of their community. And they did it together, bound by love.
“I almost wrapped up that picnic bench in time to get to the prayer service tonight,” Dave noted as he leaned a hip against a strong, solid porch rail. “Hearing those bells ring, knowing what it meant, to pause and remember what we’ve been given, I think I did an even better job of sanding those seat boards.”
“I love hearing the bells from Mountainview Church, even though it’s a recording,” Livvie admitted. “The area churches near my old condo had to silence their bell towers because neighbors complained.”
“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.
