Finding Peace: Baytown Boys Read online

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Acknowledgments

  Author Information

  Author’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

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Finding Peace

  Baytown Boys

  Maryann Jordan

  Contents

  Copyright

  Acknowledgments

  Author Information

  Author’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

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Finding Peace (Baytown Boys Series)

  Copyright 2017 Maryann Jordan

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

  If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, then you are reading an illegal pirated copy. If you would be concerned about working for no pay, then please respect the author’s work! Make sure that you are only reading a copy that has been officially released by the author.

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

  Cover Design by: Becky McGraw

  Editor: Shannon Brandee Eversoll

  Cover Photographer: Eric McKinney, 6:12 Photography

  ISBN: 978-1-947214-02-6

  Dedication

  There are times in our lives when our paths cross someone else’s and we have no idea at the time how much that person will come to mean to us. For me, I have been so lucky to have met many people like that. But one, in particular, is my photographer, Eric McKinney.

  Some authors use stock photographs but run the risk of similar, if not the same, covers. Many authors choose a picture for their cover, then contact the photographer to purchase the picture.

  When I found the photograph for my book, Tony, I also discovered the photographer. Perhaps, it was that we both come from the hills of Tennessee. Perhaps, it was because he was so easy to work with. Maybe, it was because he took an interest in my books and helping to find just the right model for the character. Whatever the reason…a friendship began…one that I cherish. Eric has now provided almost all the cover photographs for my books and I know our collaborations will continue.

  So, Eric…for everything you have become in my life…thank you!

  Acknowledgments

  First and foremost, I have to thank my husband, Michael. Always believing in me and wanting me to pursue my dreams, this book would not be possible without his support. To my daughters, MaryBeth and Nicole, I taught you to follow your dreams and now it is time for me to take my own advice. You two are my inspiration.

  My best friend, Tammie, who for over twenty years has been with me through thick and thin. You’ve filled the role of confidant, supporter, and sister.

  My other best friend, Myckel Anne, who keeps me on track, keeps me grounded, and most of all – keeps my secrets. Thank you for not only being my proofreader and my Marketing PA, but friend. I do not know what I would do without you in my life.

  My beta readers kept me sane, cheered me on, found all my silly errors, and often helped me understand my characters through their eyes. A huge thank you to Denise, Sandi, Barbara, Jennifer, Danielle, Tracey, Lynn, Stracey, and Jamila for being my beta girls who love alphas!

  Shannon Brandee Eversoll as my editor and Myckel Anne Phillips as my proofreader gave their time and talents to making all my books as well written as it can be.

  My street team, Jordan Jewels, you all are amazing! You volunteer your time to promote my books and I cannot thank you enough! I hope you will stay with me, because I have lots more stories inside, just waiting to be written!

  My Personal Assistant Barbara Martoncik keeps me going when I feel overwhelmed and I am so grateful for not only her assistance, but her friendship.

  Most importantly, thank you readers. You allow me into your home for a few hours as you disappear into my characters and you support me as I follow my indie author dreams.

  Author Information

  I am an avid reader of romance novels, often joking that I cut my teeth on the historical romances. I have been reading and reviewing for years. In 2013, I finally gave into the characters in my head, screaming for their story to be told. From these musings, my first novel, Emma’s Home, The Fairfield Series was born.

  I was a high school counselor having worked in education for thirty years. I live in Virginia, having also lived in four states and two foreign countries. I have been married to a wonderfully patient man for thirty-six years. When writing, my dog or one of my four cats can generally be found in the same room if not on my lap.

  Please take the time to leave a review of this book (on Goodreads, Amazon).

  Feel free to contact me, especially if you enjoyed my book. I love to hear from readers!

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  Website

  Author’s Note

  I have lived in numerous states as well as overseas, but for the last twenty years have called Virginia my home. All my stories take place in this wonderful commonwealth, but I choose to use fictional city names with some geographical accuracies.

  These fictionally named cities allow me to use my creativity and not feel constricted by attempting to accurately portray the areas.

  It is my hope that my readers will allow me this creative license and understand my fictional world.

  I also do quite a bit of research on my books and try to write on subjects with accuracy. There will always be points where creative license will be used to create scenes or plots.

  Four years ago, my husband and I discovered the Eastern Shore of Virginia and fell in love with the area. The mostly rural strip of land forming the peninsula originating from Maryland, has managed to stay non-commercialized. The quiet, private area full of quaint towns captured our hearts and we rushed to buy a little place there.
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  It has become our retreat when we need to leave the hustle and bustle of our lives. I gather ideas, create characters, and spend time writing when not walking on the beach collecting sea glass.

  1

  The full moon cast a long strip of illumination dancing on the surface of the bay as the slight waves crashed against the sand. Pounding footsteps were barely heard over the heavy breathing of the man as he ran along the familiar stretch of beach. Pumping his arms as he ran on the packed sand close to the surf, he kept his eyes on the nearby waves tossing seafoam and seaweed in his path. Sweat poured off his large, muscular body, soaking his t-shirt and shorts. Not caring to wipe his brow, he let the sweat drops fall into his eyes, blinking against the sting.

  Brogan MacFarlane had jarred awake in the wee hours, like so many nights, his chest tight and breathing ragged. He remembered the first time this occurred as though it were only a few hours ago instead of a few years ago. Wondering if he was having a heart attack, he had lay in his military bunk on the other side of the world, hoping he would live long enough to see his family again.

  It was not a heart attack, but it would only be after he left the Marines that he would hear the term panic attack. A fuckin’ panic attack. Like I could tell anyone that I was in a panic. Marines did not panic. So, he kept his nightmares to himself and learned to run as hard as he could to outpace the memories.

  Growing up in Baytown, he had been glad to escape the tiny town…then glad to return. But nothing ever stays the same and returning to his hometown had exemplified that. He and his friends left after high school to join the various branches of the military, sure they had the answer to the world’s problems, only to return later as hardened men, sure that the fucked-up world was no place to live.

  His feet continued their steady beat on the sand as the moon slipped lower into the horizon, allowing the slightest hues of pink and blue to appear. He glanced toward the water, a heron taking flight from its water buffet, a small fish in its mouth. Slowing as he approached the dunes near the town, he bent over at the waist, gasping for breath.

  He ran his hand over his head, the newly short hair feeling unfamiliar…or maybe more familiar if he thought back to his jarhead days. He told everyone it was easier to take care of. Snorting, he shook his head, knowing ease had nothing to do with his decision, but rather hoping she noticed. Standing, he looked over the bay, wishing the surf would wash away the tangle of thoughts going through his head.

  Nothing really worked, when he awoke in the middle of the night, the memories slamming into him like a gunshot straight through the heart. Running, he had found, would come the closest to keeping the horror at bay. Heaving, he slowly began again, turning around so that he was heading toward his home.

  Passing by the dunes near town, he missed the sharp eyes of the woman who was sitting alone at the top, near the tall seagrass, taking in the scenery.

  Brogan continued to jog until his small house came into view. Actually, it was more of a tiny beach bungalow. He bought the run-down property when he returned to Baytown, only able to afford it because of its dilapidated state. The old man who previously owned it had no children and when he needed to go into a nursing home, he sold it to Brogan, preferring it to go into the hands of someone who valued the beach for its beauty and not the value of the land.

  Brogan and a few friends had rebuilt it, not making it fancy, but just livable enough for his needs. Good roof to keep the rain out, new windows, and new siding to withstand the wind from the bay. The yard was sand, the only grass being tall seagrass, and he kept the picket fence that circled the property. A lean-to shed was built onto the side of the bungalow, housing his canoe, kayaks, fishing poles, and a few tools.

  The inside consisted of one large, all purpose room in the front, with a sofa, chair, and TV stand on one end. The kitchen counter divided the space with a couple of barstools giving him a place to eat if he was not camped out on his sofa or out on the deck. He had never gotten around to buying a table, but figured he might one day if the need arose. And he hoped the need would arise.

  The back of the dwelling held one bedroom, a king-sized bed taking up most of the space. When they rebuilt the bungalow, he enlarged the bedroom to accommodate a bed for his stature. At six feet, two inches he needed a big bed—his one luxury after sleeping on the ground or on a bunk. Other than a chest of drawers and a nightstand, the room had a small closet. Across the hall was a bathroom, also enlarged when rebuilt. A shower stall large enough to accommodate him comfortably was also a necessity.

  As he approached his home, his pace slowed, seeing his grandfather sitting on his front step. Concerned, he hurried over. “You okay, Pops?”

  Finn MacFarlane stared at his oldest grandchild—no longer a child—and grinned. “You run before the sun comes up, son?”

  Stepping closer, he sat down next to Finn and replied, “Sometimes.”

  “Does it help?”

  “Sometimes.” Brogan did not need to look at his grandfather to know the expression on his face. Finn had the wizened appearance of a man who lived by the sea and spent a lot of time in its elements. His dark hair was now almost snowy white and the crinkles by his Irish blue eyes were from laughs, as well as time in the sun. And, right now, he knew those eyes were filled with concern.

  “I remember when you boys would get up early to run before the coach could ride your ass in practice.”

  Chuckling, Brogan nodded, “Yeah.”

  “Good boys, every one of you. If you saw one of you youngsters in town, you saw the whole gang.”

  Brogan smiled at the memories of growing up in Baytown, his childhood playmates becoming teammates as they grew older. They had earned the nickname Baytown Boys and it stuck, even now. “We thought we needed to escape this little town, Pops.”

  “Everyone thinks that when they’re growing up, son. I did. Your dad did. Some grow up, leave, and never return. Others leave and realize what they need in life is still back here in this little corner of the world.”

  “Most of us did come back,” Brogan mused. He thought of his brother, Aiden, who returned to run Finn’s Pub with him. Mitch Evans and Grant Wilder both returned from their time in the military to work for the Baytown Police Department. Zac Hamilton was now the Fire Chief and Callan Ward was still in the Coast Guard, but stationed at Baytown. Their numbers had grown as they had all invited fellow military friends, with no place to call home, to come live in Baytown.

  “Yeah, but most ‘a you all came back with scars deeper than the skin.”

  Brogan knew his grandfather was right, but had no response.

  “So, you run in the wee hours…”

  Sighing, Brogan added, “The physical release is good, Pops. I need the exercise.”

  “Might be true, but then it appears to me that you ‘bout run yourself into the ground. You come staggering back here, looking like a man who’s got the devil after him.”

  Nodding, Brogan said nothing. What was there to say? Pops was right. Sighing, he shoulder-bumped the older man slightly, asking, “So, did you come by here at the ass crack of dawn just to ride me about my nocturnal running?”

  Finn chuckled as he placed his hand on Brogan’s broad shoulder to give him leverage to push himself to a standing position. Grimacing, he cursed, “Damn knees. My body’s wearing out before my mind is ready to let it go.”

  Standing quickly, Brogan peered at his beloved grandfather, seeing age where before he had only seen strength. “Pops, are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Hell, boy, it’s just a little rheumatism. It’s so early in the morning, my legs haven’t gotten un-stiff yet.”

  “So…uh…why did you come by?”

  Finn turned his gaze on his grandson and shook his head. “I guess you and me are more alike than I figured.” He allowed his eyes to roam over the beachy yard, the seagrass sprouting up at all angles and the rickety picket fence separating the house from the dune. “You run when you can’t sleep, to forget. I walk w
hen I can’t sleep, to remember.”

  “Remember?”

  Smiling, Finn replied, “Your grandmother, son.”

  “I’m sorry, Pops.” Brogan’s heart squeezed, remembering his grandmother. Petite in size but a hellion when someone hurt her family—and her family included all the kids in the neighborhood.

  “I had over fifty years with the most beautiful Irish girl I’ve ever laid eyes on. And when I can’t sleep, I do some walking and the quiet morning allows me to remember all the good times we had.”

  Brogan steadied Finn as his grandfather took a step down the path. As Finn made it to the crooked gate, he turned and said, “I know you got demons, son. I know you can’t find your peace. But I also know that life’s passing you by. Make sure you find that special someone so you can make the memories that one day you’ll cherish.”

  Brogan watched Finn as he meandered down the dirt road leading to his house. Sucking in a deep breath, he whispered into the sea breeze, “Already have found her, Pops. Already have.” He headed inside to shower, stopping to pet the silky cat swirling about his legs. He wondered if the woman of his dreams would ever know the depths of his feelings. Or would ever reciprocate them.

  Ginny Spencer had watched as Brogan ran by from her seat on the dune above. Unable to sleep, she had run to the beach from her house in the center of town and had not stopped until she collapsed on the north side of Baytown. As her feet rhythmically hit the sand, she had willed her mind to stop the images in her head and her stomach to cease churning. Finally slowing, she had climbed a dune and lay, looking up at the stars dimming as the sun chased them away.