Love Inspired August 2014 – Bundle 1 of 2 (3 page)

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

J
ack 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, steady 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.

As he followed her up to the porch, he wondered if that girl still existed, or if
the men in her life had ruined something as precious and sweet as a young woman’s
joy.

Shame knifed him, but as Liv settled into the corner of the porch glider, another
realization hit. God had given him this chance to make things right. But maybe he
could do more than simply mend old wrongs. Maybe he could restore Liv’s joyful spirit,
the smiling peace that used to reign within her.

He sank into the rocker and watched as she perused the papers. “Jack...” She paused
and sat forward with a start, and for a brief moment he read the excitement of old
in her eyes. She pointed to an item on the paper he’d printed off the internet. “This
says that Lester helped bury the time capsule.”

“That’s important?”

Liv inched closer to show him the printed lines referring to Lester Shaw and nodded.
“It could be. With the capsule missing, and no one knowing what was in it, what went
on, or why anyone would steal an old memory box from a hundred years ago, maybe someone
in Lester’s branch of the family knows something. Maybe he told his family what was
in the box. Knowing what was in there might help deputy Cal Calloway and the sheriff’s
office figure out why it was taken. There could be some tidbit of information that
will clear up this whole mess.” She ticked off two fingers as she continued, “The
missing capsule. The fire at the rodeo. Things like this might seem minor in big cities,
but in Jasper Gulch...? A tucked-in-a-nook town with generations of the same families
living here decade by decade?” Her look of remorse underscored her meaning. “Criminal
stuff like that could pull a small town like ours apart.”

It made sense, but... “Lester never married. Chet did, it’s in his baseball records,
but Lester died a bachelor. Does it say anything about Chet being involved with the
capsule burial?”

She shook her head. The scent of spiced vanilla grabbed him by the throat and wouldn’t
let go. The smell drew him closer, ostensibly to look at the history papers she held
out, but what he really wanted was one more breath of that sweet country smell, gently
spiced.

Liv’s scent.

“Well.”

She seemed totally uninspired by his new proximity, so he leaned back in his chair,
reclaiming a proper distance in case Dave came around with that nail gun again.

“I’m going to keep these, if that’s okay?” She looked up and he nodded, pretending
he didn’t want to draw closer because they both knew better. Well, she knew better,
and he’d just promised her father to think hard and long before starting something
he couldn’t finish. Not as if he was even considering starting something with a woman
on the rebound, because that rarely boded well. “It’s fine.”

“And can I look at what you’ve got lined up for the game so far?”

Sheepish, he handed over the half-filled single sheet of paper. She stared at the
single sheet as if appalled, then made a show of unfolding it—

Examining the empty back side while a mix of dismay and bemusement darkened her features—

Refolding it and looking at him, expectant. “That’s it? To field two teams? The Bombers
and the Bobcats?”

“Well, the new pastor’s going to play shortstop for us, and he’s good, so we’ve got
one more player. And a few I haven’t heard back from. So we’ve almost got one team
manned.”

“Did you give them a follow-up call?”

He hadn’t, no. He swallowed hard and admitted, “I texted them.”

The look on her face said he was clueless, and he couldn’t argue the fact. He hated
phones, barely liked people and only took this on because guilt over Wes’s condition
pushed him to say yes.

“First, this game is a big deal for the town, right?”

“Yes.”

“Second, not everyone is comfortable texting, and some of these guys are in their
sixties and seventies, Jack. They might not even have texting capabilities in their
phones.”

She was right, of course.

“And third, for something special like this, do you think the New York Yankees send
out a text to their former players about their annual Old-timers’ Day? No, they call
and invite them to play. It’s an honor to be asked and an honor to be called.”

A hint of light began shining at the end of his self-imposed tunnel vision. “So, would
you��”

“I would not.” She didn’t even let him get the words out of his mouth before refusing,
and that said the woman before him was tougher than the girl she’d been a decade before.
“But I will help organize the concessions, the flyers and the contact lists for endorsements
and sponsors to raise money for the new museum. This way we’re both benefiting from
our combined efforts.”

“You’re benefiting because it’s raising money for something you love,” Jack objected.
He clapped a hand to the base of his neck and scowled. “I fail to see the benefit
to me in all this.”

“It gets you out of the saddle, off the ranch and into the mainstream of life again,
which is where we all should be. You can thank me later.” She went inside and came
back with a landline phone and a small laptop computer. She handed the phone to him
and he had no option but to take it. “Use this. The cell coverage is spotty out here,
but you can get hold of most of the guys while I’m working on a sketch and a list
for concessions.”

He had no choice.

She knew it, he could tell from the way she tipped her chin and offered the phone
as if passing a baseball to a new pitcher on the mound.

He hated making phone calls and didn’t like seeking favors, but the way Liv phrased
it, as if asking folks to take part in the centennial was a privilege, made it easier
to dial that first number. And when the old right fielder who now lived in northern
Idaho gave him an enthusiastic yes and thanked him for the invite, Jack sat back.
“He’s coming. Excited, even. And he thanked me for calling.”

She glanced up from her note-making and her gaze didn’t say “I told you so.” It said
his words made her happy, that taking charge and doing what he needed to do made her
proud.

A little thing, making a few phone calls. By the time he was done, he had eight more
firm yesses, two I’m-sorry-can’t-make-its and had left three messages to voice mail.
So far so good. And it felt good, too, which made his dread of doing it fairly ridiculous.

“Did you call Pete Daniels?” Liv looked up from her email account as she invited area
nonprofits and business owners to take part in the game-day festivities. “I heard
he was good.”

Jack set the phone down, frowned and shook his head. “No.”

“You’ve got a solid player right here in town and you’re dissing him? Why?”

“Several reasons.”

Liv’s quiet posture invited him to continue.

“Pete’s a hothead. He sets players off. He annoys the umpires. He’s got a chip on
his shoulder and he’s rude. He’s got great playing skills but is that the kind of
attitude we want representing the town at the big game?”

“No,” Liv agreed. “I knew he’d played for a bunch of years. Dad sent me the town paper
from time to time, and I saw Pete’s stats now and again. But you’re right, there’s
no reason to intentionally bring in someone whose attitude can mess up a fun game
like this. You’ve got the rest of the guys contacted, though?”

“I do.”

He’d done it in less than an hour and from the wealth of notes Liv had on her laptop,
it looked as if they had wrapped up a good deal of the planning in one short evening.

Which meant they could pretty much be all done, but that was the last thing he wanted
to be, so he plunged in, wanting at least one more day of working side by side with
Livvie Franklin. “Liv, we’ve done well tonight, but shouldn’t we get together again
to firm things up? I’ve got a rancher from Wyoming coming in to look at calves tomorrow
night, but I’m free the night after.”

She scanned her notes, then him, with no discernible change of expression. “Aren’t
we just about done? I’ll get hold of the ladies’ auxiliary and the Jasper Gulch Hose
Company about doing the food. The firefighters do the best chicken barbecue, and that
way they can make money for their organizations, while the take at the gate goes to
the museum. I’m sure the Sports Boosters will man their hot dog and hamburger stand
like they do for the Legion games. If the high school band can do the national anthem
and we get someone to sing “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” at the seventh-inning stretch,
we’re set, right?”

Jack thought hard and quick. “But what about the flyers? Posting them and getting
them done? And by the way, I’m heading to Three Forks on Saturday for the horse auction,
and I was wondering if you’d like to tag along.”

She sat back. Stared at him. In fact, she stared at him so long that he half wondered
if she’d gone into some kind of shock, but before he could dial 911, her mother’s
voice chimed in from the garden around the corner. “Liv, that would be fun, don’t
you think? Dad and I are leaving on Saturday and you were just saying how you wanted
a chance to reacquaint yourself with riding while you were here.”

“You said that?” Jack leaned forward. Her mother’s reminder had chased the deer-in-the-headlights
look from Liv’s eyes, but her current expression said her mother would most likely
get an earful when Jack was gone. “So, come, then. We’ll grab food up there. We’d
have to take off around eight in the morning. That all right with you?”

* * *

She longed to refuse his offer.

She wanted to hurl his stupid invite back at him and remind him of how many nights
she’d spent crying in her pillow. Did he have any clue the amount of money she’d wasted
on lotion-treated tissues?

But the other part of her, the part that had gotten downright excited when she passed
the Jasper Gulch, Montana, Welcomes You! sign, knowing she’d see Jack again—
the more traitorous side—
said, “Yes. I’ll be ready at eight. Should I bring anything along?”

Jack stood and shook his head. “Naw, if you email me a copy of your notes and plans,
we’ll be good. I’ll print them up at home. And Livvie?” He turned as he got to the
stairs, looking for all the world as if he wanted to stay, but the cool expression
she aimed his way said there was no reason to linger. “Thanks so much for this.” He
held up the paper that now held eighteen players. “I couldn’t have done it without
you.”

“You could have but were choosing not to,” she corrected him smoothly. “And that’s
not the Jack I knew. That Jack took everything in stride, the good, the bad and the
ugly, and went with it. Until you hurt your arm.”

She refused to sugarcoat his actions. He’d let an injury change him, alter his ways,
upset his life. He faced her, looking uncertain, but then dipped his chin in acknowledgment.
“It was a stupid thing to do, Liv, and I’m sorry.”

She studied him for long seconds, squinted slightly, then nodded. “It’s a start.”