Love Inspired August 2014 – Bundle 1 of 2 (7 page)

Robin smiled.

Mert grinned an “I told you so” look that would spread around town like a late-summer
wildfire by nightfall.

“Actually, I—”

“Coach is excited to see you,” Jack interrupted as if she hadn’t been about to offer
objections. “And we need to catch up on the baseball history and game stuff we never
got to yesterday, once we had the horses.”

True, but—

“Do you want to drive out to the ranch, or can I pick you up?”

“Pick her up,” Mert advised, her face showing approval because picking a girl up sounded
like a date.

“I’ll drive, of course.” Liv scolded Mert with a look, but the middle-aged woman just
laughed and went back to stocking the counter for the Monday-morning crowd. “Jack,
this is Robin Frazier. She’s in town to do some Montana history.”

“Something you know a lot about and you two have in common.”

“So it seems.” Robin smiled at him, and Liv wasn’t afraid to send her a look that
said while Jack wasn’t exactly “taken,” he wasn’t one bit available, either.

“Are you here in town?” Jack asked and Robin nodded.

“I’m at Mamie Fidler’s place, and between Mamie, Mert and now Chauncey, I don’t have
to go very far to find exactly the kind of characters I love to read about. Funny,
smart, sassy, down-home folks with good hearts.”

“Don’t forget nosey.”

Robin burst out laughing. So did Mert. And as Jack stood, he reached out a hand and
quick-grabbed the bill for their coffee and dessert. “This one’s on me, ladies.”

“Jack, I—”

“It’s the least I can do for my new ranch hand, right?” His look toward Mert assured
she heard and approved as she handed him a white to-go sack. When she grinned, he
went on, “I’ll see you later, okay? Around six? I headed into town because I heard
that Granny had made fresh rice pudding and how a certain someone has a particular
fondness for that dessert.” He lofted the bag. “Twice in one day, Liv. That can’t
be bad. So. See you at six?”

He’d driven to town to buy some of Granny’s rice pudding for their dessert because
someone—Mert, no doubt—had called to advise him. Talk about sweet. And to-die-for
good-looking. She waved him out the door but didn’t hide the tiny smile of satisfaction
his trip wrought. “Yes. Fine. Go. You’ve stirred up enough trouble for one day, Jack.”

He smiled, said goodbye to Mert and didn’t look back, most likely because he knew
all three women would be watching him go. And when he’d cleared the door by less than
a foot, Mert refilled their coffee, smiled down at Liv and said easily, “I’m not saying
a word to anyone about this, Liv, and there’s one very good reason for that.”

“And that is?” Liv raised her gaze to the waitress’s wise eyes.

“It’s too important this time, and I don’t want to see anything so sweet, nice and
downright good get messed up again. And that’s the whole of it.”

Livvie wanted to hug her, but Mert wasn’t the hugging sort, except this time, it was
Mert who leaned down and put a quick arm around Liv’s shoulders. “Welcome home, Liv.”

Her words touched Liv’s heart and possibly her soul. Maybe the town wasn’t just bored
and addled with minding everyone’s business. Maybe...like Robin said...most folks
were just plain nice, looking out for each other. And that made a world of difference.

Chapter Six

“I
grabbed a couple of extra steaks to throw on the fire,” Mick McGuire announced as
Jack climbed out of the truck later that afternoon. “And washed up a few more potatoes.”

“Because?”

A shout of laughter pulled Jack’s attention left. Two school-age kids romped in a
clean hay pile that hadn’t existed that morning. The barn ladder gave them easy access
to the pile, and then they jumped, tumbling down the pale green heap, landing and
laughing at the bottom.

“Mick, would you like more tea?”

Jack turned, spotted the nice-looking woman at the side porch door and sent his father
a look of interest that made the older man color up. “That’s Carrie.”

“Hmm.” Jack smiled as the woman crossed the yard. Before she got close enough to hear,
he stepped closer to his father. “Reason to whistle right there.”

He expected his father to grow more embarrassed, but Mick surprised him by just nodding
and thrusting his hands deep into his pockets. “Yes, it is.”

Mick’s simple reply caught Jack up short. If he’d laughed it off, Jack could have
minimized his father’s interest in the fortyish woman heading their way. But a quick
agreement? And the smile he bestowed as the woman approached with two tall glasses
of tea?

That said more than his sparse words ever could. “I’m Jack.” He stuck out a hand and
the woman eyed the tea, his hand, laughed and passed a glass to Mick, flashing him
a look as she did, a look they shared for a quick, bright moment.

“Carrie Landry. And that’s Maggie.” She pointed to the pig-tailed tomboy scrambling
up the barn-side ladder as if born to climb. “And Brian. Mick invited us to supper,
but then he saw your stuff laid out and realized you might be having company. I hope
it’s not an intrusion, Jack. We can always come another night.”

“Nonsense.” Mick waved it off as if a house full of company was the norm, and it had
been, back in the day. When Mom was alive and folks stopped by all hours of the day
for coffee, sweet tea and honest answers about most anything. “We love a crowd.”

“It’s fine, really.” Jack followed his father’s cue as the kids raced their way, shrieking
about how cool the ranch was. “Coach is coming by for a steak roast.”

“It’ll be good to see him.” Mick picked up Maggie and swung her high into the air,
settling her on his shoulders, a move Jack remembered from his own childhood.

“And Livvie.”

His father paused, nodded and almost smiled. “Good to see her, too. I expect there’s
a story behind the livestock that showed up in the front barn yesterday.”

“With women, there’s always a story, isn’t there?”

“Truth to tell, son.” Mick sent Carrie a teasing look, then shifted his attention
to the fire pit. “You want to get the fire going or should I?”

“You take the kids—”

“I’m Maggie!” The little girl caroled the words from Mick’s broad shoulders as if
onstage. “I’m five and I’m in kindergarten but they’re moving me to first grade because
I already know everything.”

“Good to know.” Jack reached up and shook the girl’s hand, and wasn’t surprised when
she offered a wicked-strong handshake for a little kid. “And you’re Brian. I expect
you’re a bit older than your noisy sister, eh?” Jack smiled and squatted to lessen
the height difference. “Eight years old?”

“No, sir. Seven.”

“Well, you look eight,” Jack declared. “Obviously mature for your age.”

A small shy smile told Jack he’d done well, but then the boy glanced down, kicked
the dirt, scrubbed his toe into the tiny divot he’d made and shrugged. “I’m just seven,
though.”

The horses nickered behind the barn. One whinnied, then another followed suit before
they dashed across the new paddock as if they owned the place. The boy shrank back.
His actions pushed Jack to offer a different plan. “Brian, do you want to help me
start the fire? I’d be glad for some company.”

“Sure. Can I?” He turned his face up toward his mother, imploring.

“
May
I,” his mother corrected him, but then she nodded. When she lifted her gaze to Jack,
she sent him a silent look of gratitude. “And yes, but follow Jack’s directions, okay?”

“I will.”

“I like fires,” Maggie announced. “But I like horses more. I want to know everything
there is to know about horses, Mr. Mick. Like everything in the world. Is that okay?”
She leaned down, a totally fearless move because one wrong shift of her weight would
send her tumbling over Mick McGuire’s broad shoulders. Not that Jack’s father was
about to let that happen. He held firm to her legs and shrugged affably. “I can teach
you all I know. And that’s a fair bit.”

“Then that’s perfect,” she declared, righting herself. “When I grow up I want to run
a ranch like this. I want to ride horses all day and night. I want—”

Mick put a finger to his lips and turned his gaze up. “The first thing to know about
horses is this. They like quiet voices. Easy movements. We don’t want to spook them.
Or scare them. Or hurt their ears. They’re big, but they’re sensitive.”

“Like you, Mr. Mick!” Maggie took his cue and said the words softly, but her enthusiasm
didn’t wane with the loss of volume. “I’ll talk soft and steady, just like you taught
me.”

“Good enough.”

Hearing his father coach a small child on the ins and outs of horse training, Jack
pitched back two dozen years to when he rode Mick’s shoulders into the barn. In those
twenty-four years his father had offered a full education in horse mastery. Jack had
learned at the feet and then the side of one of the best wranglers in the West, and
seeing him now, with the five-year-old perched on his shoulders...?

The image hit Jack twofold. Life would go on without his mother, just as she’d promised
him before she passed away.

But it would go on different, and watching his father stride toward the corral, snugging
the little girl’s legs against his chest and chatting with Carrie as she carried two
glasses of homemade sweet tea, made him realize things could be changing around the
Double M, in more ways than one. And he wasn’t sure how to feel about any of that.

“Mr. Jack?”

The boy’s tug at his waist drew Jack’s attention. “Caught me out, kid. I was daydreaming,
wasn’t I?”

The boy’s serious nod said he was, but that it was okay.

Jack grabbed a wheelbarrow, then the boy, tucked the startled child into the wheelbarrow
and rode him across the barnyard to the stacks of firewood seasoning in the sun. When
he dumped Brian out, the boy laughed up at him, a little looser than he’d been minutes
before. They piled wood high into the barrow, big wood first, then kindling on top,
and when they were ready to tote the load over to the fire pit, Brian looked up. “Can
I help push?”

“I’d be obliged,” admitted Jack, and he tamed the threatening smile as the boy positioned
himself in front of Jack, hands on the twin poles. “Ready?”

Brian fisted both poles, puckered his face in concentration and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Polite. Nice. Quiet. Unsure.

The boy’s actions said there was a story inside him, but right now, with Jack’s help,
he concentrated his efforts on moving wood across the long expanse of barnyard and
driveway to the McGuire fire pit behind the house. And when they pulled up alongside
the pit, satisfaction marked the boy’s expression. He set the wheelbarrow onto its
legs, released the poles and scrubbed the palms of his hands against his thighs. “What
next?”

“We build.” Jack pointed to a small pile of dry grass clippings to the left of the
house.

“Grass, then kindling?”

“You’ve started fires before.”

“My dad and me used to do this. A long time ago.”

Jack’s heart tightened. The boy’s joy faded in the shadow of a tough memory. Jack
understood that emotion but kept things light. “Well, then, it’s good to have experience
on our side, right? Grab me a pile of those clippings and we’ll get this fire going.”

“’Kay.”

Within minutes they had a lovely kindling fire burning, and Jack coached Brian on
how to gently place the logs into the heat, not throw them.

“It’s easier to toss ’em,” Brian noted. He eyed the fire with due respect. “It’s hot
when you get too close.”

“It is and I’ll do it if you’d rather,” Jack offered. He pointed toward the hay lots
surrounding the house and the forested ridge beyond. “Fires in late summer can be
dangerous. If it’s windy or too dry, we use the outdoor grill because one little spark
can set off a blaze that takes down a forest.”

Brian’s gulp said he knew that, but then he sucked in a breath, crept closer and gently
rolled a split piece of wood onto the fire. “How was that?”

“Perfect. Now you need two more.”

The boy did the extra two pieces with care, watching as he rolled the split logs from
the built-up stone wall into the campfire area below. “We let these burn for a little
while,” Brian whispered as if repeating directions. “Then add more.”

“Exactly.” Jack squatted low and swept the fire pit a glance. “You know a lot about
the basics of fire building. How’d you get to be so smart, kid? Are you a Boy Scout?”

“No, sir.” Brian stared at the fire, sighed, then drew his gaze back to Jack, but
the look on his face, as if he’d just met a monster head-on, broke Jack’s heart. “My
dad was a firefighter. He was in Hose Company 7 when they dropped into the Crimson
Ridge fire two years ago.”

Crimson Ridge. The forest fire in central Idaho that called in units for a five-hundred-mile
radius. The fire that surrounded an ace team of firefighters, taking the lives of
seven men within minutes. This boy had lost his father in the line of duty, a man
who’d made his living protecting others.

Reality broadsided Jack. He’d been wallowing around, a full-grown man, floundering
for too long because he’d lost his baseball career, then his mom.

This little guy had lost his father at an age when memories would fade with time.
An age when a boy needs a dad, a living example, a big, strong guy with a gentle voice
to build a kid’s confidence and ego.

A light whistle sounded from the barn area, an old kids’ tune, and when Maggie picked
up on the song and started wailing about workin’ on a railroad, Jack’s heart softened.
His gut relaxed.

“‘Prosper the work of our hands for us. Prosper the work of our hands,’” Jack said.

If being here on this ranch with the McGuires helped this young family and maybe led
to something else, something of a more permanent nature, then maybe that’s what God
intended. His thoughts went back to the morning service and Ethan’s advice to live
each day on purpose.

He needed to do that more.

Liv hadn’t shown up in church. Maybe she’d gone to one of the smaller churches in
town. Or maybe she’d avoided him and services and slept in.

A small red car wound its way toward the ranch from the north. A white van sporting
the Bobcats baseball logo followed not far behind. Jack squatted and indicated his
shoulders. “Hop on. We’ve got some old friends to greet.”

“Really?” Brian’s face lit up at the thought of riding high on Jack’s shoulders. “I’m
not too big?”

Jack shot him a look that said “as if,” and Brian scrambled onto his broad shoulders
without waiting for a second invite. And when Coach Randolph and Liv both smiled their
way moments later, the thought of old friends and new acquaintances mingling together
on an August evening seemed mighty fine.

* * *

“Those kids are adorable.” Liv cut a slab of triple-chocolate cake and laid it on
Coach’s plate alongside a scoop of Granny’s rice pudding later that evening. “If your
doctor takes issue with this, it’s not my fault, Coach.”

“I’ll be especially good the rest of the week,” the big man told her in a James Earl
Jones–type voice. “And as for you, Livvie Franklin, it does my heart good to see you
back home here, for however long. We’ve fallen on some tough times hereabouts, not
too many jobs available and some shenanigans going on, but it does this old heart
good to see some of our young people return.”

“Well, gainful employment is a tough go around here.” Liv whacked off another hunk
of cake for Jack before giving herself a serving of the rice pudding Jack had gone
into town to buy. Just for her. That thought warmed her. But she’d keep Jack at a
safe distance no matter how much she loved Granny’s desserts. Better all around. “A
girl can’t live with Mom and Dad forever. Still, the timing is oddly correct. Mom
called today to say Grandma and Grandpa are moving here. I think I can be a help to
them. Or at least a buffer.”

“They need help?” The timbre of Coach’s voice shifted deeper.

“Grandpa has Alzheimer’s. Grandma kept hoping it was something else, but I guess that’s
wishful thinking now.”

“Liv, I’m sorry.” Jack’s expression said he meant the words. “If there’s anything
we can do to help, just let me know.”

She slanted a wistful smile up to him as they moved toward the fire. Carrie, Mick
and the kids had already feasted on dessert and moved straight into toasting marshmallows
on long, thin sticks. “Thanks. I’m going to take it day by day. None of us has any
experience, so—” she lifted her shoulders and made a face of acceptance “—we’ll see.”

“I have always believed life happens for a reason, even if that logic is hard for
us to find.” Coach pointed skyward. “Now, Him, the Good Lord, He’s got himself a mighty
fine vantage point and He sees! Oh, yes, He sees. And did you folks know that Major
League Baseball now hosts an Alzheimer’s Awareness Day in September?” Coach settled
into a spot on one of the broad, wooden benches. “Folks wear purple to support funding
and research.”

“Well, I’ve been in a bubble, it seems, because I honestly knew little about Alzheimer’s
until Mom mentioned it last week,” Livvie confessed. “On top of that, I hadn’t visited
my grandparents in five years, and I’m pretty ashamed of myself right now.”