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

  Love’s Lingering Doubts: Texas Homecoming, Book 1

  First Street Church, Book 9

  Sharon Hughson

  © 2018, Sharon Hughson.

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Cover Design by RockSolidBookDesign.com

  Proofread by Alice Shepherd

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

  No part of this work may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.

  Sweet Promise Press

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  the freedoms enjoyed in the United States.

  Contents

  Publisher’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

  What’s Next?

  You May Also Like

  More from Sweet Promise Press

  More from Sharon Hughson

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

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  1

  Jazlyn Rolle snuck into the hallway at oh-dark-thirty. She tiptoed on stocking feet toward the light her mother left burning in the kitchen. A few more feet and she’d be home free.

  The crackling of a newspaper broke the silence, and every muscle tensed.

  “Why are you sneaking around like a teenager?” Her father’s voice dripped disapproval.

  Her spine stiffened, snapping her into the military attention stance as if he was her commanding officer.

  She forced herself to relax and lifted the running shoes she carried. “Didn’t want to wake anyone up.”

  More like trying to get out of the house before he was awake.

  He grunted. “Are you sending your application to UT? It’s not too late to finish your degree.”

  She turned the water faucet on full pressure, hoping the splashing in the sink would convince him she hadn’t heard. Because what could she say?

  I don’t know what to do with my life now?

  After chugging two glasses of water, Jaz sat in the nook and slipped into her running shoes. She jerked a wave in her father’s direction and hustled toward the door.

  Outside, the powerful smell of her mother’s petunias greeted her. She breathed deeply and crammed one ear bud in, cranking her running playlist.

  Her feet set an easy pace and headed away from Sweet Grove. Only three days back in her hometown and her spirit craved its independence.

  Any chance you can help me get a job? Making demands of God when she hadn’t exactly been paying attention to him the last few years wasn’t fair.

  What was?

  She inhaled and exhaled, focusing on the sound of the air entering and exiting her throat and lungs. Her sneakers pounded a hypnotic tempo against the asphalt. The familiar rhythm carried her into the runner’s zone she craved.

  When her feet slid on loose gravel, her mind slammed back to reality.

  The rising sun stretched her shadow to the curve in the packed dirt road. She breathed in a hint of dust along with the tickle of farm fresh manure. Sage shrouded a barbed-wire fence on her left. Pungent juniper bit into her nose, smelling like a litter box that needed changing.

  Sweat tickled above her brow, and she backhanded it away. She checked the fitness tracker on her left wrist. Nearly seven and she’d gone more than three miles. If she turned around, she would get home before her father left. She’d rather swallow a cockroach.

  Long grass lining the road’s shoulder rustled. A jackrabbit leaped into the road. Jaz stumbled as it dodged her. Her heart jackhammered and her steps faltered.

  An instant later, a brown and white dog burst from the scrub a yard behind her. Its pink tongue lolled to the side, but nothing slowed its pursuit.

  Jaz shortened her stride. Typical Sweet Grove. The traffic included wildlife rather than automobiles.

  The dog scrambled down the berm on the opposite side of the road. Before disappearing, it stumbled tail over nose with a yelp of agony that shivered up her sweat-coated spine.

  Jaz slowed, already past the dog’s crashing point. She couldn’t even run in the middle of nowhere without something interfering. She paused her music and glanced toward the ditch. Nothing.

  Her finger hovered over the play button when she heard a whimper. She sighed, scraping more sweat from her brow. Only a jerk could ignore an injured dog.

  Jaz plodded to the edge of the road. The furry pile lay near the white rail fence. An obstacle course of gopher holes had tripped up the poor animal.

  Jaz squatted a few feet from the dog. “Good boy,” she crooned without thinking.

  Another whine pulled her intestines like taffy. She extended her fingers toward his nose, slow and steady, and he barely snuffled them before letting out another pitiful cry.

  “Gopher hole get you?” She spoke quietly, scanning his body for signs of injury.

  The dog rolled his eyes at her. The brown pools begged for help. Jaz edged closer, hands grazing gently over the long hair. When she smoothed across his hind leg, a yip startled her. The lolling tongue flapped toward the injured area and coated her hand with spittle.

  Jaz huffed out air. So much for a quiet morning run.

  She knelt in the grass, wincing when her knee found a sharp rock. She cooed and slid her arms under the dog. If anything was broken, moving him might make it worse, but the dog didn’t make a sound.

  As she rocked back, rolling the pup against her chest, a warm tongue swathed her chin. Ugh. Dog kisses. But then again, she was a walking salt block.

  With a grunt, she stood and staggered to the top of the ditch, glancing in both directions. Further along the road she noticed an iron gateway. The steer head emblem in t
he center had nearly rusted loose, and the double-bar T brand beneath it shook like a leaf in a windstorm.

  May as well ask at that house. Her brain sifted old memories for the owner of the brand while her feet carried her beneath the arch and down a rutted driveway.

  A fence, paint flaking, lined one side while a collection of fruit and nut trees speckled the grass on the other. It didn’t look much like a working ranch to her. Who had she gone to school with that lived out here?

  She was still trying to work it out when a horse snorted off to her left. Her steps slowed. After all, she was trespassing, and that could be a shoot-first-ask-later offense in small town Texas.

  Jaz stopped and squinted toward the rising sun. A saddled horse on the far side of the corral swiveled its head in her direction. The cowboy kneeling at the horse’s feet stood. Broad shoulders tapered into a trim waist and long legs kept her gaze dropping all the way to the heels of dusty cowboy boots.

  She opened her mouth to call out at the same moment he twisted toward her, but the word petered on her lips.

  “Hey.” The stranger jogged toward her, bent arms flexing firm biceps. Jaz stumbled away from the fence. With his face in shadow, she couldn’t decide if he was angry or concerned.

  Her experience with men advised her to back away and keep her guard up.

  “Poppet?” His rough voice matched his ruggedness.

  The dog rolled its eyes toward the cowboy and whined.

  A moment later, the tall stranger vaulted over the fence and landed a foot away from them. Jaz stumbled back another step, nearly turning her ankle in a rut.

  “What happened?”

  He stepped closer, and Jaz could finally make out his features. Heavy eyebrows peeked from beneath the hat’s brim. His face had high cheekbones and a shapely jaw covered in yesterday’s whiskers. Her heart leapt to attention.

  Jaz cleared her parched throat. “She was chasing a rabbit and caught her foot in a gopher hole.”

  “Silly girl.” His work-roughened hands smoothed over the dog’s head, and she licked his dusty fingers.

  The scent of hay, fresh-cut grass, and salt accompanied him into her space bubble. Jaz stared into his face, trying to place him. He didn’t look much older than she was, so they probably went to school together. In Sweet Grove, everyone knew everyone.

  It was one of the things she’d been glad to escape from ten years ago when she left for college.

  “Let me take her.” He stepped closer, hesitating for a fraction of an instant before jostling his arms beneath hers. Firm muscles scraped along her damp arms. A platoon of shivers marched across her skin and down her spine.

  Then he stepped back, and her empty arms dropped to her sides. She tugged at the hem of her shorts, aware they’d ridden up during the dog rescue.

  The cowboy trod toward the buildings. Shadows danced in the breezeway between a flaking red barn and a workshop. Jaz trailed after him, trying not to notice the swagger of those muscular shoulders or the way his Wrangler’s hugged his backside.

  “Do you think…Poppet needs a vet?”

  He stopped beside a rusty truck. “Would you open this?”

  Jaz’s pulse raced as she jogged past him. When she tugged it open, the door squawked like an angry goose.

  The cowboy brushed against her shoulder and squished her into the door. Acrobatics in her stomach sent Jaz sidling back until the creaky door groaned to a stop.

  The stranger slid the dog onto the ratty cloth bench seat. He whispered unintelligible sounds while his hands smoothed along the dog’s spine, chest, and legs. When he touched the back leg, Poppet yipped and rolled her baleful gaze toward him.

  “Doesn’t feel broken.”

  Jaz craned to see around him. He twisted, and his chin nearly collided with her forehead.

  Awareness zinged through her shoulders. She jerked her gaze to his, caught in the hypnosis of Gulf blue eyes.

  He tapped the brim of his hat upward, and pink flooded his tanned cheeks. Her lips twitched. Too much time around army guys who strutted and tutted, acting like women should bow to them, increased her appreciation of his shyness.

  “Excuse me.” His voice seemed gruffer.

  “Jazlyn Rolle.” With her back pressed to the door, she barely had room to hold her hand out to him.

  He stared at it. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat and he slid away from her. He rubbed his hands down the seams of his jeans before clearing his throat. “Thanks for bringing Poppet home. I should see to her.”

  Without another glance, he sidled around the truck and slammed into the workshop.

  Jaz blinked. What just happened? She didn’t even know his name.

  She shook her head and gave Poppet’s fluffy ears a gentle rub. Her tail flopped against the seat.

  Jaz stared toward the closed door, but when the cowboy didn’t return, it was obvious he wanted her to leave.

  Turning back to the road, her gaze roved toward the house. A compact car was parked near the porch, shaded by the branches of a nut tree.

  Jaz plugged her ear bud back in. Who knew what had driven the handsome cowboy away. She refused to feel bad about rescuing the dog.

  A warm flush heated her chest. Good deeds like this had motivated her to follow in her brother’s footsteps.

  A breeze whirled the dust along the driveway. She trotted around the minefield of potholes.

  What sort of career could she pursue that would allow her to experience warm fuzzies daily? The cadence of her footfalls and breaths lulled her into the ideal state of mind for mulling the question.

  Easing into the zone chased away the nagging feeling she should know that cowboy, too.

  * * *

  Bailey Travers smoothed his hand down Poppet’s back leg. While he probed and the dog panted, he tried to ignore the tremors ricocheting through every cell in his body.

  Jazlyn Rolle. Why did she have to run across his dog’s path? God surely hated him. At least she hadn’t seemed to recognize him. One small favor.

  “Everything will be okay, girl.” A cramp in his empty stomach didn’t believe the lie.

  He cared too much for the brown-and-white mutt. Once Bailey cared for a person, place, or animal, he was guaranteed to lose it. He’d lost his parents to drugs and prison, and his foster mother to a botched surgery. His foster father hovered near the edge with terminal cancer, so why shouldn’t Bailey expect to lose the dog, too?

  Not that the dog held the same importance as Dad. But she was important. He’d rescued her five years ago, shortly after MaryAnn graduated to Heaven, and the dog had been a bundle of cuddles when Tess left for college.

  Bailey decided the dog probably didn’t need a vet. An elbow nudged his lower back. He glanced over his shoulder to see his sister standing with hands on her hips.

  “Poppet will be fine.” His gruff voice made her scowl.

  “Who was that?”

  Bailey ignored the question by rearranging the gauze in the first aid kit.

  “Why didn’t you offer her a ride?”

  Bailey’s stomach bucked into his heart and zapped his pulse into overdrive. He’d had the same reaction to those muscular chocolate milk legs exposed to the creeping sunlight. When he’d lifted Poppet, he’d brushed against firm muscle and smooth, damp skin. His heart and stomach crashed together while warm tingles dive-bombed his body.

  He hadn’t meant to be rude, but his throat constricted. He didn’t want her remembering how her brother had to rescue him. Drew rescued everyone.

  Seven years ago, Drew Rolle had been killed on active duty. What was Bailey supposed to say to the sister Drew could no longer protect? Not that those sculpted arms and legs left any doubt about her ability to take care of herself.

  “She took off before I thought of it.”

  A finger dug between two ribs. “You have the social skills of a hermit. How do you expect to host tourists if that’s the best you’ve got for a pretty lady?”

  “You’re going to be
the hostess.” The guest ranch was her game plan.

  “In the house, sure, but you’ll be leading the ranching stuff.”

  “Maybe there’s a class I can take.” He ruffled the dog’s ears. She grunted and laid her head on the seat.

  “What class would that be? Personality acquirement for the socially inept?”

  “That hurts.” Bailey mimed pulling a stake out of his chest and flicking it over the truck. He dug through the first aid kit.

  Behind him, Tess huffed and grumbled. “She was pretty.”

  He wasn’t going to argue that fact. His fingers were wondering how to get a replay of the skin-to-skin contact. “She’s Drew Rolle’s sister.”

  Silence greeted his offhand comment. Why had he told Tess that? Since returning from college, his sister had a penchant for meddling in his personal life.

  “Am I supposed to know who you’re talking about?”

  His mind spun through all the things his sister missed in the five years she’d been gone. She’d been little more than a teenager in grief when she’d left for school.

  “Probably not. He was a year ahead of me.” He closed the kit. “Big football and track star that headed off to the military when he could have played college ball.”

  Poppet whimpered as he rubbed his hands gently over one forepaw.

  “You were a book geek, so how were you friends with him?”

  “Didn’t say we were friends.” More like Bailey was the invisible man. But that suited him fine—then and now. “I knew him. He was a great big brother.”