Buch lesen: «Bundle of Joy»
Never, Ever Trust A Cowboy
Like the wind, Jackson Stroud plans to blow through Texas ranch country and never look back...proving Shelby Grace Lockhart’s motto correct. But the former Dallas detective doesn’t walk away from ladies—or infants—in distress. So when he discovers an abandoned newborn and a woman looking for a fresh start, Jax knows he came to this special town for a reason. Shelby Grace is just as determined to learn why someone left a baby on her doorstep. As their quest leads in surprising directions, Jax starts to believe he’s finally found a place to belong. What will it take to convince Shelby that this is one cowboy she can count on?
“Guess that old saying is true. Everything looks different in the light of day.”
Shelby turned to fix her gaze on the tall figure at her side holding the baby carrier easily against his chest. That sight was different.
“I’m going to look around and see what I can find.” Jax settled the baby carrier down on the wooden slats at her feet.
Clearly he expected her to stay put and watch over the foundling. Clearly the man did not understand that Shelby Grace was finished doing what other people expected. It took her only a moment to bend and unsnap the safety latches. She lifted the baby and cuddled her close, even as she headed to the steps to follow Jax.
“No one in Sunnyside would have been able to hide a pregnancy, much less a baby for three months.”
“You honestly think there are no secrets in this town?” He looked back over his shoulder at her. “Would you say everybody here knows all there is to know about you, Shelby Grace?”
ANNIE JONES
Winner of a Holt Medallion for Southern-themed fiction, and the Houston Chronicle’s Best Christian Fiction Author of 1999, Annie Jones grew up in a family that loved to laugh, eat and talk—often all at the same time. They instilled in her the gift of sharing through words and humor, and the confidence to go after her heart’s desire (and to act fast if she wanted the last chicken leg). A former social worker, she feels called to be a “voice for the voiceless” and has carried that calling into her writing by creating characters often overlooked in our fast-paced culture—from seventysomethings who still have a zest for life to women over thirty with big mouths and hearts to match. Having moved thirteen times during her marriage, she is currently living in rural Kentucky with her husband and two children.
Bundle of Joy
Annie Jones
People were also bringing babies to Jesus
to have him touch them. When the disciples
saw this, they rebuked them. But Jesus called the children to him and said,
“Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.”
—Luke 18:15–16
For my family, who give me the peace
when I need to write and plenty of space
if I can’t get any writing done.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
Dear Reader
Questions for Discussion
Excerpt
Chapter One
Nobody did anything without a reason, though reason was rarely behind the things that people did. Jackson Stroud didn’t just believe that; he counted on it.
Guilt. Anger. Pain. Longing. The motivations were often so deep-seated that they were difficult to name. But Jackson—Jax, to people who thought they knew him well—knew what made people tick, or at least he figured it out more quickly than the average Joe.
That knack had served him well these past four years on the Dallas police force. Not as well in his so-called “personal life.” Despite the best efforts of the older ladies at his church to set him up with perfectly lovely women, he’d never been able to turn off the drive to figure people out long enough to make a real connection. Certainly not long enough to settle down. He’d accepted ages ago that he was not the settling-down type.
“Okay by me,” he muttered to himself in the darkness of his truck cab. That just meant there were no broken hearts in his wake when he moved on. Jackson Stroud always moved on.
So when he veered off the brightly lit highway down a darkened ramp in the middle of the night, he did not do so lightly. Bone tired, he needed to stretch his legs, get some coffee and maybe...
From nowhere, the headlights of a silver SUV speeding precariously close to the centerline slashed across Jax’s line of vision. He hit the brakes and swerved toward the shoulder. His own lights came to rest on a dark sign by the road: Y’all Come Back to Sunnyside, Texas.
He grumbled under his breath, then guided his truck back onto the road and drove on until he pulled into the well-lit parking lot, under the signs Delta’s Shoppers’ Emporium and Truck Stop Inn and The Crosspoint Café. Framed by huge glass windows, a lone clerk stood at a counter. He was intently texting at his post.
Jax’s boots hit the ground with a thud. He rubbed his eyes, then his jaw. He needed a shave. He knew he looked rough—but felt only hungry.
He put his hand over his stomach, but it was his conscience that made him admit that hunger had not led him to take the off-ramp tonight. Somewhere in the darkness of this warm spring night, it had dawned on him that without the familiar trappings of his work around him, he suddenly felt cast adrift.
He turned toward the Crosspoint Café. A hot meal, maybe a conversation with a waitress who would call him “honey” and make him feel, at least for a few minutes, like he wasn’t all alone in the big, wide world—that was all he needed. He reached into his truck to grab his steel-gray Stetson, slammed the door shut, then took a step in that direction. The lights inside went out.
“Hey, if you want something, you’d better hurry.” The clerk stood in the mini-mart’s open door a few yards away. He shouted, “Whole place shuts down in twenty minutes!”
“Café already looks closed.” Jax gave a nod and started toward the mini-mart.
“Yeah?” The lanky young clerk frowned, then shrugged it off. “Maybe Miz Shelby has something to do.”
“Miz Shelby?” Jax chuckled softly, instantly picturing a sassy red-haired Southern belle in a pink waitress uniform and white apron, smacking gum and pouring out advice about life as freely as she did rich black coffee while she flirted with her transient clientele. “Maybe Miz Shelby met a handsome stranger and—”
“Hey! Don’t you say stuff like that about Miz Shelby! She taught Sunday school to almost every kid in Sunnyside at some time or another, and for your information, she don’t even know any strangers.”
Jax fought the urge to argue that not knowing someone was what made them a stranger. “Sorry, kid. I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m sure Miz Shelby is a fine lady.”
In his imagination, the unseen Miz Shelby’s hair was now white, her face lined and her life full but still missing something.
“You bet she is. Even if she wasn’t, ain’t been no one around to run off with, anyways.” The young man with the name tag reading Tyler on his blue-and-white-striped shirt leaned back against the open door and checked his phone again. “You showing up and a jerk who tried to steal some gas are the only action I’ve seen around all night.”
Not that the kid could see much of anything beyond the small screen in his hand, Jax thought. Then his mind went to the speeding SUV. Like any good cop, he wondered if there was a connection, if something more was going on.
Before he could ask the kid about the incident, the sound of a cat mewing caught his attention. Maybe not a mew—definitely the cry of a small animal, though, probably rooting for food out there in the lonely night.
“Anyways,” the kid said, heading back inside, “I don’t know what’s up with Miz Shelby, but I’m locking the doors at eleven.”
Jax nodded. No gas stolen. Not his jurisdiction—or his business. He decided to let it go and followed the kid inside.
The sound demanded his attention again. Close to the café, maybe on the wide, rough-hewn wooden deck? Jax turned to pinpoint it and caught a movement briefly blocking the dim light from inside the café. Someone was moving around inside.
A screech of a wooden table leg on concrete. The clank of metal, followed by a crash of dishes. A shuffling sound. Then a soft whimper of that small animal in the darkness. Was something up in the café, which had closed uncharacteristically early? Was there an injured animal nearby that needed help?
The sound was none of his business, either, but he wouldn’t be able to walk away not knowing if there was something he should have done and didn’t. The boards of the café steps creaked under Jax’s boots. He wished he had a flashlight. A shape filled the glass window in the café door. He started to call out for whoever had closed the café to stay put until he could check things out, but the subtle mewing drew his attention again.
He glanced down to find a square plastic laundry basket covered with small blue-and-white blankets. Something moved slightly without revealing anything beneath the blankets. He thought of the sound and drew a quick conclusion. Someone, probably knowing good ol’ lonely, grandmotherly type Miz Shelby worked the late shift at the Crosspoint, had left a basket of kittens on the doorstep.
The doorknob of the café rattled, and Jax bent down to snag the basket. “Hold it, there’s a—”
The sickening thwock of the door whacking his head rang out in the night. The door had knocked his hat clean off, but thanks to a gentle nudge from him, the basket had been spared.
“Ow.” He squeezed his eyes shut for a split second. When he straightened up and opened them again, he found himself gazing into the biggest, bluest, most startled eyes he’d ever seen. Eyes that were wet with tears.
“What hap... Why...?” The young woman staggered back a step, clutching a folded piece of paper and an overstuffed backpack covered with multicolored embroidered flowers.
She was just a little bit of a thing. The brief glimpse of her outline through the window had told him that much. It hadn’t told him that she was maybe in her late twenties. Or that when he looked into her face, his heart would race, just a little.
“Don’t tell me. You’re Miz—”
“I’m sorry...I was just... We’re closed.” Still standing in the threshold, with the main door open slightly behind her and the screen door open just a sliver in front of her, she set the colorfully decorated backpack down. She glanced around behind her, then set her jaw and reached inside to flip on an outside light. “I know the sign says our hours go later, but tonight we’re closed. Goodbye.”
Her tone had started out steady, had faded and then had ended firmly again.
He bent slowly to snatch up his hat. His banged-up temple began to throb. “I could see that you were closed. That’s why I came over here.”
“You came here because you saw that we were closed?” She stiffened, then leaned out enough to steal a peek outside, her gaze lingering on the lights of the store, where Tyler was texting away, paying them no notice.
That afforded Jax a moment to take in the sight of her. And what a sight. Her hair was neither blond nor brown, with streaks that beauticians might work hours to try to produce but only time in the sun could create.
When she caught him studying her, she blushed from the quivering tip of her chin to the freckled bridge of her nose. Her lips trembled. He thought for a moment she’d burst out crying, as the telltale tears proved she had been doing. She was obviously in a highly emotional state. Scared, maybe. Vulnerable, definitely.
He put one hand out to try to soothe her. He wasn’t sure what he would say, but he would speak in a soft, reassuring tone. He’d help her because...well, that’s what Jax did. He helped. Whenever and wherever he could. “It’s all right. I just—”
“Didn’t you hear me? We’re closed, cowboy.” Her posture relayed a confidence her voice did not. “Go.”
She blinked a few times, fast, but tears did not well up in her eyes. In fact, Jax got the feeling that if she could have made it happen, fire would have shot from them. And that fire would singe his hide considerably.
That thought made him grin. “Actually, I’m not a cowboy so much as I’m here to—”
“I don’t care who you are or what you want. You need to leave here and be whoever you are elsewhere.” She gripped the edge of the door as if it were the railing on a sinking ship.
The sight of her small hand white-knuckled against the rough wood stirred something protective in his gut, even as her insistence that he leave tweaked his suspicions about what was going on here. Was there a message in her behavior? Was his instant attraction to the lady throwing off his finely honed ability to sense danger and motivation?
“I’m Jax.” The name that no one had called him for so long came out quickly and naturally in her presence. “That is, you can call me Jax.”
“Jax?” Her lips formed the name slowly. She shook her head, as if she didn’t understand why he was still standing there, whatever he asked to be called.
“That is, I’m Jackson Stroud.” He steadied the small basket at his feet, then stood tall, settled his hat on his head, lowered his chin slightly and added with what he hoped was a disarming smile, “Kitten rescuer.”
“Kitten...?” She glanced downward at the basket, which she might have knocked over with the door if she hadn’t beaned Jax instead. Yet she didn’t seem the least bit concerned about the injury to his head.
The screen door creaked loudly as she came outside at last. She knelt down, peeked under the blankets, then turned her face to look at him. The fire in her now had an ominous quality, as if the first sparks of suspicion had become a bed of banked embers that had the potential to smolder on for a very long time. “What is the matter with you?”
“Well, I did recently take a rather nasty blow to the head.” He rubbed his temple and gave her a grin.
The clerk stuck his head out the door again. “Everything okay over there, Shelby Grace?”
“Shelby Grace,” Jax murmured. He liked that better than Miz Shelby. It felt good to say, all Southern charm with a touch of faith. She sounded like a woman he could reason with, maybe even win over if she’d just listen and—
“Call Sheriff Denby, Tyler.” She bent over the basket and fussed with the blankets for a moment.
“He ain’t gonna like being woke up this time of night,” the thin young man called back.
“Sheriff? There’s no call for that.” Jax took a step back as he dipped his hand into his pocket to withdraw his badge. Wait. He didn’t have it on him anymore, and even if he did, it wouldn’t mean anything here and now. He stepped back again and held his hands up. “I was just trying to do the right thing, ma’am.”
“The right thing? You have the gall to talk to me about...” She gathered the blankets back up again, reached into the basket, lifted the contents out all at once and stood. “Call Denby, Tyler. Tell him it’s an emergency. We have a no-account lowlife here who just tried to abandon a baby on my doorstep!”
Chapter Two
“Baby!” The ruggedly handsome cowboy standing inches away from the doorway of the Crosspoint Café looked genuinely shocked at that news. “Lady, I don’t have a baby, but if I did, nothing in the world would make me drop it off somewhere and walk away.”
She wanted to believe him. But then, Shelby tended to want to believe everyone—her dreamer of a dad, her liar of an ex-boyfriend, all her friends and coworkers who told her that things weren’t as bad as they seemed. And she had paid the price for that.
Shelby drew in a deep breath and went over the three promises she had made to herself last night. She had felt so strongly about them, she had included them in the note still clutched in her hand.
1. Never forget that with God all things are possible.
2. Never let anyone else tell her what she “should” feel.
3. Never, ever trust a cowboy.
“I’d like to say I believe you, but...”
She skimmed her gaze over the man before her. Tall, lean, dark-haired, with steely eyes burning into her from the shadow of a gray Stetson. He was the picture of cool, calm and all-cowboy. The culmination of years of disappointment in men like this made it impossible for her to simply trust whatever this one had to say.
“But I did come out and find you bent over this basket. How do I know you didn’t leave it and weren’t just about to take off?”
“Sheriff Denby says to stay put. He’ll get here as soon as he can,” called Tyler Sprague, the teenage clerk, whom Shelby had known since she’d watched him in the church nursery.
“Okay.” Shelby clutched the basket close, relieved to have a chance to look away from the stranger. “Let’s get her inside.”
The cowboy cocked his head. “Her?”
She stopped mid-turn, her foot raised above the threshold. “What?”
He leaned in close. Closer than she’d normally have allowed a man to get to her, especially one she didn’t know. “You called the baby her.”
She could hear her own heart beating. Heat surged up from her neck to her cheeks, then all the way to the tops of her ears. She raised her chin to try to look beyond the man who had just challenged her—in more ways than one—to the kid standing behind him. “We’re taking him or her inside, Tyler.”
The young man gave the thumbs-up even as he began heading for the mini-mart entrance. “I’ll close up and come over.”
The man held the door open for her and the baby in the basket, waiting until she passed so close that the blankets brushed against the sleeve of his denim jacket. Then he murmured, “You said her.”
Shelby went sailing across the threshold, which she thought she would never cross again, her head held high. “I didn’t want to say it. Babies are human beings, not its.”
Once inside, he whisked his hat off his head like a true Texas gentleman. “That much I agree with, but still...”
“Just what are you accusing me of?” She set the basket down on the tabletop. She could see the man’s eyes much better now. That wasn’t making it any easier for her to talk to him. She bent her head and gazed down at the infant’s small, sweet face instead. “That is what you’re doing, right? Accusing me of something?”
“I was just asking a question.” He stood there for a moment, with expectation hanging in the air between them.
Shelby had never been grilled by the police in her life, but she kind of got the feeling this was how it would be. She pressed her lips closed, getting the sense that anything she said could and would be used against her. And yet she didn’t feel threatened so much as...
His gaze sank into hers.
She took a quick, sharp breath and didn’t let it out until he looked into the basket. His eyes narrowed. After a moment, he shook his head. “What kind of person would not only forsake their child, but also leave it alone in the night outside a closed café?”
“We weren’t supposed to be closed,” Shelby said softly, unable to take her eyes off the small pink child in the basket. A baby whose appearance here tonight had foiled her big plans.
The baby stretched and squirmed. Long lashes stirred, then lifted. The baby looked right at Shelby, then at the road-weary, bleary-eyed cowboy.
“She’s so... I just don’t see how anyone could...” The word strangled in Shelby’s throat. Tears burned in her eyes—again. She would have thought after the past few days, since she had made up her mind what she had to do, that she’d cried all the tears she’d been allotted for a lifetime. But nope, here they were again. “I’m sorry. It’s just been a long day and...”
“Her eyes are blue,” he murmured.
“Lots of babies have blue eyes at first,” she assured him, swiping away what she resolved would be her last tear with the back of her hand.
“Your eyes are blue.” He jerked his head up to nail her with a discerning stare.
Really? This total stranger, this cowboy kitten rescuer, was testing her like that? Any other time in her life, she would have stumbled all over herself to assure him she was above reproach...because, well, she was in this instance. But tonight, with her new resolve to take charge of her life, she decided to give as good as she got.
She gave one last sniffle, then moved around the suspicious, questioning cowboy slowly, her gaze fixed on his face. “You just called the baby her.”
He glowered at her—for about two seconds. His smile broke over his face slowly, not at all like the bold grin he had flashed at her earlier that had thrown her completely off-kilter. This smile, and the way his broad shoulders relaxed as he rubbed the back of his neck and shook his head as a concession to her standing up to him, warmed Shelby to the very pit of her clenched stomach.
“Maybe we should look for a note or something.” He started to reach into the tangle of flannel blankets.
“Wait.” She stuck her hand out to stop him. The instant her fingertips brushed his jacket, her breath went still. She curled her fist against her chest and managed to sound a little less flustered than she felt as she asked, “Won’t the police want to look for fingerprints?”
“Not likely. First of all, you won’t get prints off flannel. Besides that, unless whoever left this baby has a criminal record in a database easily accessed by the local cops, it really won’t be an issue.” He reached in, cradled the whole body of the small infant in his large, strong hands, then lifted the baby up.
Despite her clashing emotions, Shelby couldn’t keep herself from smiling at the sight of the cowboy and child framed by the window of the silent café. “You seem pretty sure of what you’re doing.”
“Spent a lot of time in foster care. I learned a lot about looking after little ones.” He shifted to get the baby situated right against his broad shoulder.
“No, I meant...”
The baby let out a soft sound, then snuggled in close, drawing its legs up. A tiny milk bubble formed on the sweet little lips, which made those chubby pink cheeks almost unbearably pinchable.
The stranger leaned back to check out what was going on with the baby. Then he smiled—just a little and only for a half a second at most.
Shelby sighed.
“Around here, everybody knows how to tend to babies and children and old folks and...whatever needs tending to.” Except the one guy she had hitched her heart to, she couldn’t help noting to herself. Mitch Warner hadn’t known how to take care of anyone but himself, and he’d even done that poorly. “What I meant was that you seem to know a lot about police work.”
“That I picked up after foster care.” He began to pat the child’s back.
She stood there, probably looking like a deer in the headlights, waiting for him to elaborate. How did he pick up his knowledge of police procedures? Was he the type to associate with lawmen...or lawbreakers?
“Why don’t you check for a note?” He jiggled the baby slightly and nodded toward the basket.
She rifled through the tangle of pastel-colored flannel blankets. “Here are a few disposable diapers and a full bottle. Nothing else. No note. No personal items.”
“I figured as much.”
She looked up to find him staring at her. Or, more accurately, straight into her—as though he were searching for something she wanted to keep covered up.
He settled the still sleeping child back into the basket. Shelby reached out to pull the top blanket up over the baby. He did the same.
Their hands brushed. The warmth of his callused palm eased through her chilled fingers.
This time she did not yank away, but let her hand flit from the blanket to the baby’s soft curls and on to its soft, plump cheek. “If you don’t mind, I was just going to tuck the baby in and say a little prayer for...the baby...and for whoever left the baby here.”
He nodded. “That’s kind of you. I’m more than a little ashamed that I didn’t think to offer that myself.”
That caught her off guard. “You want to join me in a prayer?”
“For the child, yes, ma’am, I would. I don’t know if I can be so gracious toward the one who walked off and left her....” He bowed his head and shut his eyes, then opened them once again to nail Shelby with a look as he added, “Or him.”
Shelby took a deep breath, acknowledged both the remark and the reservations they both still held for one another with a curt nod. “All right, then...”
“Jackson Stroud.” He held his hand out.
“Shelby Grace Lockhart.” She gave his hand a quick, firm shake and, just before she let her hand slip from his, added in a soft whisper, “Jax.”
The use of the name he had first given her seemed to hit home with him. It appeared to set him off his game for a split second before he nodded to her and bowed his head.
She bowed her head, too, but she did not close her eyes. Instead she focused her gaze on the compelling face of this innocent, seemingly unwanted child as she prayed.
“Every creature matters to you, Lord. Everyone is loved. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that none of us is ever truly alone when we feel lost. Sometimes it’s hard to know what to do and who to trust. Please, Lord, help me...help us...to show your love to this newcomer. And through it all, let us not forget your mercy for whoever found themselves in a place where they thought it best to leave this precious one here tonight. We place them and ourselves in your loving hands. Amen.”
“Amen,” he murmured.
“Amen? Y’all holding a revival in here or something?” Tyler came striding in with his phone in one hand and earbuds swinging in his other with every step. “The store is all locked up tight. Sheriff Denby just pulled up outside.”
Shelby spun around to face Tyler, her heart pounding. A mix of panic and embarrassment swirled through her at the idea of being seen praying with this man, whom she had met only moments ago and clearly had no reason to fully trust.
“Just another hard luck case for Shelby Grace,” she could imagine folks saying. Someone else who would fill her head with promises and her heart with hope, when anyone else with any sense would know it was all a lie or a dream. Shelby had had her fill of that. That was why she had been headed out of town tonight. Slipping away after her last shift, leaving nothing but a note to explain that it was time she started over in a place where she wasn’t known as softhearted Shelby. That was the best way to make an exit from the Crosspoint Café once and for all.
Of course, now that exit would have to wait. She tucked the note into the old backpack she’d had since she was a teen, and looked for something to keep her busy. “I’ll make coffee.”
“You think this will take long?” Jax called out as she hurried off. “I have plans.”
“I hope those plans include watching the baby for the next few minutes, while I do this.” Shelby dove into the task, grabbing a bright red plastic container from a shelf above the coffeemaker.
“Trust her, man. If anyone knows how to get around the old guys in town, it’s Shelby Grace.” Tyler took a seat at the long service counter and began swiveling back and forth on a stool.
“That so?” Jackson Stroud studied her through those piercing, narrowed eyes once again. He might have looked menacing if not for the fact that the whole time he kept one hand protectively on the side of the basket, making sure the baby didn’t wriggle it off the tabletop.
“You want to get this done quickly? Then coffee is the only way to go.” Shelby pulled out the carafe and held it up like she was filming a commercial for it.
The mysterious cowboy just scoffed.
She set the carafe down hard.
He tipped his head to her, as if to say he would bow to her expertise.
That small triumph buoyed her movements as she got out the filter and opened the container. With the rich aroma of coffee filling her nose, she tipped out a spoonful of grounds and said, “Sheriff Denby is not a young man. It’s late. The least we can do for him is have some coffee waiting so he can tackle this case with a clear head.”
“Clear head? That may be hoping for a bit much,” Tyler joked.
“I was supposed to retire over a year ago.” The familiar booming voice of Sheriff Andrew Denby—Sheriff Andy to the locals—echoed in the café as he appeared in the doorway. “But they can’t find a replacement willing to work my hours for the amount the county budget can afford to pay. Nights like this, I don’t wonder if I’ll ever retire. Who are you?”
Jax held his hand out to the man, but his expression remained reserved. “Jackson Stroud. I found the basket.”
“I’m sorry, Sheriff Andy, but this couldn’t be helped.” Shelby poured water in the machine, flipped it on, then turned to find the older man peering down into the basket on the table.
“It’s not just a do-nothing job, you know.” The sheriff spoke directly to Jackson Stroud, who nodded politely. “We get our share of excitement coming in off the highway. Anyone they hire needs to be a diplomat to work with the town council, a stickler to meet state and county regs, a detective and apparently—” he reached in, lifted the baby up and gave a sniff “—a diaper changer.”
“Oh, Sheriff, let me take care of that.” Shelby rushed forward.
“You pour the coffee. This ol’ grandpa knows which end is which.” The sheriff gathered baby and clean diaper and headed for the restroom, calling over his shoulder, “So no idea who the parents are? No clues? No note?”
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