Labor of Love

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  What People are Saying

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  Epilogue

  Thank you

  You Can Help!

  God Can Help!

  Free Book Offer

  Labor of Love

  Mary Manners

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Labor of Love

  COPYRIGHT 2018 by Mary Manners

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or Pelican Ventures, LLC except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  eBook editions are licensed for your personal enjoyment only. eBooks may not be re-sold, copied or given to other people. If you would like to share an eBook edition, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.

  Contact Information: titleadmin@pelicanbookgroup.com

  All scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version(R), NIV(R), Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com

  Cover Art by Nicola Martinez

  White Rose Publishing, a division of Pelican Ventures, LLC

  www.pelicanbookgroup.com PO Box 1738 *Aztec, NM * 87410

  White Rose Publishing Circle and Rosebud logo is a trademark of Pelican Ventures, LLC

  Publishing History

  First White Rose Edition, 2018

  Electronic Edition ISBN 978-1-5223-0091-5

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To my friend Hope Painter...your kindness and generosity inspire me to be a better person. Whenever I snap a photograph, I think of you. Always remember...up and angle!

  What People are Saying

  "...another great story by Mary Manners."

  ~Diana Montgomery, Buried Treasures

  "Love these quick reads, the whole series is delicious! From the first chapter I was hooked."

  ~J. Dunn, Grace's Gold (Sweet Treats Bakery Series)

  "Loved this book! A great start to another wonderful series! Ryder is a scrumptious hero, a good contrast to sweet Ali. Strong writing and gripping characters are all part of this story's charm!"

  ~Susan Mason, Whispers at Willow Lake (Willow Lake Series)

  "Mary Manners always writes a beautiful story that I couldn't put down until I finished reading the book."

  ~Rebecca Booth, Angel Song

  “My heart took delight in all my work and this was the reward for all my labor.”

  ~ Ecclesiastes 2:10 ~

  1

  Addy Shaw rolled over on the couch, rubbing gritty sleep from her eyes as the reality show on the wall-mounted flat-screen segued to a snappy commercial. The announcer’s nasally voice scraped across Addy’s weary nerves like a bad case of road rash, and she groaned as she slapped at the cushions in search of the remote. Finding it beneath the couch on the scuffed wood floor along with an army of dust bunnies, she jabbed the mute button to extinguish the nerve-grating sound.

  Her hands shook as sunlight spilled through an expanse of bay windows, making her wish she’d thought to have Garrett close the blinds before he’d run to catch the school bus. Who would have guessed, though, that after nearly a week filled with a relentless gray torrent of rain that the sun would choose just that morning to raise its sleepy head and peek over the horizon.

  Addy’s temples began to throb as the ache that returned each morning with the regularity of an annoying crow of a rooster set up residence yet again.

  The nagging migraine seemed to be the only company Addy kept these days, what with her nearest neighbor living a hundred acres away. This part of south-central Texas was known for its expanse of cattle ranches, and Addy’s slice of land was no exception. The property ran on for precisely one hundred and six point eight acres—she knew this for a fact since Mack had, with regularity, recited the number to her as well as everyone who paused long enough to listen.

  And her nearest neighbor was Carol Baldwin and her son Jason or Jace or something of that nature, who had just returned home again after a couple of years chasing rodeo dreams, or so went the story floating around town.

  Not that Addy paid much attention to the gossip; she figured the townsfolk had plenty to say about her and the convoluted mess her life had become since she’d arrived here last June.

  The Baldwins lived a mile or so over the ridge as the crow flies. That distance might have been a hundred miles, for all Addy cared. She was a city girl at heart, hauled from a north-western suburb of Chicago to this godforsaken patch of land by a husband bent on chasing his dream to tame the wide open space.

  Less than a month into that dream, merely three months ago, Mack had succumbed to a heart attack while replacing rotted boards on the three-car detached garage. Addy had found him sprawled face-down on the concrete floor, lifeless. A week later she’d buried him. He and Addy hadn’t been transplanted to Atascosa County long enough to build any friendships of consequence, so in attendance at the funeral she had only Garrett at her side, a preacher whom she’d met half-an-hour before the funeral; and Carol Baldwin whom Addy had spoken with a mere handful of times—the first, when the sweet, older woman stopped by with a home-made apple pie the day Addy and Mack moved into the farmhouse; and the last, when the woman had come rapping at the door a few days ago with a platter of pork chops and fried potatoes.

  “How are you doing, Addy?” She’d asked from the front porch when Addy, sensing Mrs. Baldwin would not settle with just walking away, finally threw open the screen door.

  “I’m fine.” The response rang short and clipped, and a shiver of remorse coursed through Addy. She’d never been one to be pointedly impolite. Lately, though, she couldn’t seem to control herself.

  “You don’t look fine, dear.” Mrs. Baldwin had the habit of persistency, to say the least. “You look like you could use a hot cup of coffee and a shoulder to cry on. I brought the coffee—a pound of hazelnut. It’s my favorite.”

  “I don’t want to cry anymore, Mrs. Baldwin, and I don’t want a cup of coffee.”

  “Carol, honey…call me Carol.” She stepped over the threshold and let the screen door slam behind her. As she quickly started toward the hallway, her mass of crisp, salt-and-pepper curls bounced loosely around narrow shoulders.

  As the pair wound their way through the living room, Addy cringed. She saw with an outsider’s eyes, for the first time, the shambles the house had become. Unopened mail littered the coffee table along with paper plates soiled with scraps of frozen pizza and potato chip crumbs from Garrett’s snacks. Abandoned jackets and shoes carpeted the floor while billboard advertising could be printed in the thick layer of dust that blanketed the furniture.

  Addy stifled a groan as they turned a corner and she noted a pile of dirty laundry that spilled from the doorway off the kitchen.

  If Carol noticed the disarray—and who wouldn’t—she gave no sign.

  “My son Jace has come home to stay,” she announced as she set the platter on the counter that Garrett had left littered with cups, some still partially filled with soda. “I told him to stop by and check on you. He
can help you shore up things around here, if you’d like.”

  “I’m fine. I’ll get things done soon. I’ve made a list…” She really had, in her head, during the string of nights when sleep refused to come. The enormity of tasks mounted with each new sheet of mental paper, and left her feeling as if a cruise ship crashed straight into her belly on the crest of a tidal wave. Addy tamped down a surge of annoyance—more at herself than the kind-hearted woman who now stood at her sink, moving aside dirty dishes to make room to fill the coffee carafe with water. “Your son—”

  “Jace.”

  “Yes…that’s right. I’m sure Jace has plenty to do around your house. Isn’t it calving season?”

  “Calves make their way into the world in the spring.” Carol tilted her head, and Addy imagined the older woman was grimacing inside at her cluelessness. “And even if this was calving season, I have several hired hands and a foreman, Sam, to take care of the bulk of activity at the ranch. Jace will offer a measure of guidance now that he’s returned, but the men are quite capable.”

  “That’s very well, but—”

  “Jace will stop by soon.” Carol poked an index finger at the air to emphasize. “Soon, Addy. Now you slide that meat into the oven to keep warm until your son gets home from school. A growing boy needs his nourishment.”

  The memory of Carol’s words raked at Addy’s nerves as she rolled over and stretched languidly, recalling that evening’s meal. Garrett had devoured the contents of the platter and every bite of potatoes while Addy sat by, sipping coffee with her stomach tied into knots of guilt. How long could she go on like this, stuck alone with her melancholy thoughts all day while Garrett went off to school?

  Jace had yet to appear on Addy’s doorstep. Oh, she’d caught a glimpse of him here and there over the past week or so, riding a beautiful spotted horse beneath a sheet of rumbling gray sky through the pasture, rounding up cattle that had little sense but to wander aimlessly through the rain. They were much like her, she thought…those cattle that aimlessly wandered. And though the realization unsettled her, she couldn’t seem to gather the energy to change direction…to bring her life into focus once again.

  Yes, Jace had yet to introduce himself, and Addy was just fine with that. The rigid posture of his body in the saddle of his horse, the determined set to his jaw, told her he most likely felt the same.

  What use did a man like Jace Baldwin have for a woman wallowing in her own misery? Addy gazed through the side window of the living room, to the dilapidated garage that stood as a reminder of one fateful day and all the broken dreams that followed. Drooping planks along the structure’s windows sobbed at the loss. Addy had done her fair share of sobbing—and then some—as well. But over the past three months her tears had been replaced by a sharp flash of anger followed by numbness that draped over her like a veil. She couldn’t seem to shake the overwhelming weariness that filled every fiber of her being.

  Addy stilled her breathing as bird-song drifted. From the sound, she knew a yellow-headed blackbird sat outside the window. Its throaty melody mimicked the grating of a rusty hinge, which had made Addy laugh the first morning she and Mack were awakened by the odd sound. Now the song brought a wave of memories and another waterfall of tears—and just when Addy thought she had none left to shed.

  She snatched a throw pillow that had tumbled to the floor and hugged it to her chest with one arm as she pressed a fist to her mouth with the other.

  How long, Lord…how long can this pain continue? Surely the heartache must be as weary as I am by now.

  Addy had no idea why she even bothered to ask these questions. She might as well talk to the four walls (still bare…as she hadn’t done much in the way of hanging pictures). God didn’t care about her—or about what was left of her family. If He did, He wouldn’t have brought the trio here only to leave them hung out to dry, with an assortment of shattered pieces that refused to fit back together. No, there was no point in praying ever again. Addy had no dreams left…merely a farmhouse in need of repairs she had no earthly clue how to fix, a partially-renovated horse barn that sat as empty as her heart, and an expanse of rolling green pasture traversed by a creek and punctuated by a handful of ponds.

  She had no idea what to do with any of it. Mack had his plans, but he hadn’t been very forthcoming with them, though she’d asked countless times for clarification. Instead, all she got was his pat response.

  “Trust me, Addy. There’s no need to lose sleep over any of this. I’ll take care of everything.”

  It had been Mack’s favorite line through all the storms of their marriage. And most of the time he did take care of things just fine, but not this time. No…not this time. And now, along with the sting of missing Mack came a resounding flood of resentment for the habit he had of treating her like piece of fragile china.

  Addy shifted on the couch as her gaze swept once again to the bay windows that ran the length of the great room. Judging by the position of the sun as it made its sweep across the expanse of Texas sky, Addy figured the day had to be closing in on noon. She should get up, get moving, do something…anything.

  A few more minutes…just one more commercial break and she’d shake the lead off and make a go of it. She promised herself she’d make a move…wash the dishes, tackle a load of laundry, plow dust from the furniture.

  There were bills to pay and groceries to buy. And hadn’t Garrett mentioned that he needed new jeans and tennis shoes, since a growth spurt had caused his current ones to be virtually unwearable?

  Addy hugged the pillow tighter to her chest, and every time she considered rising to start the day, her legs turned to pillars of concrete that refused to cooperate. Her belly grumbled, but not enough to make the trek from the couch to the kitchen worth the effort. Not that she’d find much in the pantry, anyway; a trip to the market stood at the top of her to-do list.

  If she could only take that first step. If only…

  Exhaustion seeped like the pelting rain of a cold, damp storm into every fiber of her being. Even the light task of reading, an activity that had once given her great joy, had become an ordeal. Why would she want to immerse herself in other people’s problems—especially those of fictional characters—at this point in her life? She had enough of her own tribulations to turn her tumble of chestnut waves gray. And her Bible, which was once one of her most faithful companions, had been tossed onto a shelf in the den to collect dust.

  Resentment at her impossible situation surged through yet again as Addy’s gaze drifted to a slip of mustard-yellow paper feathered across the coffee table. The note was proof that her son Garrett had found his way to a small mountain of trouble, failing to turn in an assortment of math assignments and then sassing his teacher instead of taking responsibility for his actions. As a result, he’d earned a few sessions of after school detention as well as a trip to the principal’s office and a firm talking-to. According to the sheaf of paper and a message left on Addy’s voicemail, the next event would result in suspension.

  Please, Lord…no.

  Addy drew a deep sigh and prayed it wouldn’t come to that. Garrett had always been a mild-mannered, inquisitive kid, giving her little to no trouble—at least until the day they’d lowered Mack into the ground. The battle had begun almost immediately, when Garrett ran into a grove of woods that flanked the cemetery and disappeared for over an hour, despite Addy’s repeated pleas for him to return to her.

  Losing his father at such a vital age had proved a mighty blow. Worry coursed through Addy every time she considered her son might not make it through this firestorm, unscathed or otherwise, to find some sense of peace on the other side of grief.

  She might not, either. The months that had passed without Mack had done little to ease the ache in her heart. She’d met him at a photography show a few years into college. He was a good decade her senior, an established businessman looking for office designs, and she had just entered her second semester of classes at Chicago’s Art Institute. She
’d been intrigued by Mack’s take-charge attitude. He forever had a new project or two in the mix—he jokingly referred to the work as his adventures—with the intent to grow his investment company in a fast-forward mode. From their early years of marriage, Addy joked that when people looked up Type-A Personality in a medical journal, they’d find a picture of Mack staring back at them.

  Boisterous, the life of the party, a confident risk-taker with endless dreams to chase—that was Mack. He’d been Addy’s first true love and their marriage, although not without its patches of rough waters and uncertain hairpin curves, had managed to endure for nearly a decade-and-a-half.

  But now Mack was gone, leaving Addy a widow merely two weeks into her thirty-fifth year.

  Just one more hour of sleep and she’d dress to fetch Garrett from detention. She’d stop by the grocery store for supplies to cook his favorite meal—meatloaf and mashed potatoes with fluffy, butter-slathered yeast rolls. They’d share a nice meal and then stroll down to the creek to spend a little time skipping rocks. That might give Garrett an opening to talk to her—if he felt like talking at all.

  Which he hadn’t for months now, at least not more than a few words here and there, and Addy could no longer conjure the energy to coax him. She sat on an island…completely and utterly alone.

  Up, Addy, get up!

  Addy groaned and threw a forearm across her eyes to shield them from the sun. There was still time to sleep before Garrett needed her and, God-willing, dreams of a happier time might drift in. Fifteen minutes…half an hour…and then she’d somehow summon the energy to get something done around here.

  Definitely by tomorrow she’d pull things together.

  Tomorrow…

  2

  Jace Baldwin whistled softly as he rode the fence line along the east side of his family’s property. A sense of relief flooded through as he noted that, although various sections of the wood and wire could use a little pre-emptive work, no major repairs of the boundary-line were evident. A few days’ worth of elbow grease would go a long way to keeping the calves from wandering away from the herd. He’d get with Sam and have a work crew on it first thing in the morning; the last thing he wanted was to hear the gut-wrenching, high-pitched bray that signaled another calf—or even one of the horses—had lost its way.