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Garrett (Sweet Home) (Volume 1)

By Jayna Morrow

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CHAPTER ONE
“I see you decided to show up.” The harsh words grated like a meat grinder in Garrett Hearth’s
ears. They echoed with double impact in the small metal building that served as the town hall.
His brother, Gabriel, shoved a straw cowboy hat on his head and stomped in the direction of the
large, glass front door. He slammed into Garrett’s shoulder as he passed—a childish gesture, but one
that spoke volumes.
Garrett took a step back to absorb the shock of the aggressive move. The churlish greeting came as
no surprise. Gabriel could always be counted on to let him have it, no matter what the situation or who
was watching.
“Good to see you, too.” He raised his voice loud enough for others in the room to hear. He wanted
to draw attention, simply because his brother disliked it, but Gabriel never looked back. Guess he
wasn’t in the mood today.
Garrett didn’t understand Gabe’s animosity and he never would. Their lives were so opposite they
might as well live on different planets.
He pulled his attention back to the here and now. The folks filing out of the city hall building wore
a variety of expressions, from angry to nonchalant to visibly stressed. He’d missed the meeting. Not
that it mattered. Most everyone in town was against him anyway. Well, he didn’t care. His property
belonged to him, and he could sell it to whomever he wanted. He didn’t owe anyone anything.
A shaft of late-afternoon light pierced his eyes as the front door opened, and he squinted. A young
woman with bouncy brown hair and long, slim legs jogged out the door and caught up with Gabriel. He
watched as the two talked, the woman using lots of descriptive hand gestures.
Moments later, she returned to the building more slowly than she’d left. By this time, Garrett stood
in the entryway alone. She stopped in front of him, the smell of earth and flowers wafting around her,
and gave him a slight smile that ruffled his soul like a warm breeze.
“I need to lock up. Are you ready to leave?” A pleasant enough voice, Garrett decided, although
she looked a bit tired from this closer perspective, and she seemed a bit exasperated.
She stood in the doorway and jangled a set of keys from fingertips that sported well-chewed
fingernails. Her jeans were worn in the knees and torn in places. Soil covered the tops and sides of her
athletic shoes. She wore a t-shirt that read It’s Easy Being Green on the front. Rich, brown hair was
pulled into a ponytail, but some of it had worked free and was tucked behind her ears. She’d clearly
been working outdoors, but her beauty shone through all the dirt.
She tapped her toes, and Garrett remembered she’d asked a question.
“Yeah, I guess I missed the meeting. I better head out.”
“It was a good one. I think we’re finally starting to convince the property owners that selling out to
the developers is bad news for Sweet Home. We’re already beginning to see the effects of heavy
construction everywhere. Those vultures.” She pursed her lips and narrowed a pair of hazel brown
eyes. Garrett stepped around her and out the door. He didn’t want to get into a debate right now.
The roof’s overhang blocked the light, making it possible to see without a glare. Her expressive
eyes sparked with raw emotion, and for a moment her passion for the town almost swayed him from
his resolve on the issue dividing Sweet Home—to sell or not to sell.
Almost.
Progress had been creeping into the small Texas town for years. A rural area not far from Bishop,
Texas, Sweet Home had drawn the attention of big-city developers. Landowners were being offered
good money to sell. The situation had neighbor pitted against neighbor. For months, town meetings had
tried to bring unity, but so far, the efforts had only added fuel to the fire.
“I’m sure I’ve seen you around before, but I don’t think we’ve officially met.”
The young woman’s statement refocused his mind and he noticed her ringless hand stretched out
toward him. How long had he been lost in those beautiful brown eyes?
“Garrett Hearth.” Their hands made a warm connection. Hers sported a layer of dirt, which she
transferred to him during the handshake, leaving his skin feeling a bit gritty.
Enthusiastic and beautiful. Too bad she was on the wrong side. That made her a beautiful bother.
“I saw you talking to my brother, Gabe. How long have you two known each other?”
Rumor had it that Gabe was involved with some dark-haired woman. One of his co-workers told
him that she was a well-to-do real estate broker from Bishop. Gabe always traveled there to see her.
Could this be her? For some reason, he hoped not. She looked more country than city.
“Gabe’s your brother?” Her eyes lit up like amber stars. “Then you’re another descendent of this
town’s founding family!”
A sense of pride surged through him, then fell away like leaves from a tree in autumn. His
ancestors had settled here long ago, and others established homesteads around them. The Hearth family
had named the town. For many years, life in Sweet Home had been ideal for all residents—pure, simple
country living.
Now it was time for change.
“Yeah. That’s my family.”
“You must be so proud of your rich heritage. What a history this area has.”
Her eyes sparkled as she looked toward the surrounding hay fields, where golden bales glowed in
the early evening sun. Beyond them, a densely wooded area boasted a variety of trees—old oak, pecan,
and cottonwood stood tall and majestic alongside smaller mesquite trees. All of them slated to be cut
down.
“War, drought, the Depression, flooding...this town has made it through it all.” This gal was
nothing if not single-minded. “I can’t imagine anyone wanting bulldozers coming in and tearing it all
down. Oh, well. We just have to keep praying.”
A big smile spread across her face, replacing the serious expression from half a second before.
Garrett allowed his eyes to roam from her face to take in the rest of her. Whatever it was that she did
outdoors, it must involve physical labor. Well-defined muscles in her arms flexed slightly as she turned
the locks on the door. Even in work clothes, she had a classy air about her.
“Oh! Your brother.” Her ponytail bounced as she spoke. “I didn’t answer your question. I haven’t
known him long. I own a small plant farm and sometimes do installs for clients. Gabriel hired me to
complete his landscaping project at his house. Been working over there all day, and I’ll be there at least
another two days. Lots of work.”
Thinking about the job must have made her self-conscious because she dusted her jeans and held
grimy hands in front of her, fingers splayed. “I’m a mess. Barely made it to the meeting—not a chance
of going home to clean up. I didn’t call the meeting this time, and it wasn’t convenient at all.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Garrett couldn’t help grinning at her sudden discomfiture. “You look great.
And these old farmers and ranchers don’t give a hoot about appearances. You’re fine.”
So she wasn’t Gabe’s girlfriend. Excellent.
* * *
Garrett’s smile of approval put Micara at ease.
“Thank you.” She’d locked the town hall doors, and they stood on the concrete steps that led to a
large, dirt parking lot. A handful of people still lingered near their pickup trucks, talking to each other.
Griping about the land issue, no doubt. She wished more of them had spoken up during the meeting.
Sometimes she felt as if she did all the talking at these gatherings. But at least the townspeople listened,
and most of them agreed with her. She wasn’t in this fight alone. Tonight’s meeting was a great
example because she hadn’t called it. Other people were getting involved. Pippy Warren, a local
lawyer, had stepped in tonight to share lots of information she’d printed out. Having an attorney’s
perspective was a real eye-opener.
Garrett seemed like a nice man. And since he was from the town’s founding family, it would be an
asset to have him in her corner. Gabriel Hearth came to all the meetings, but she’d never seen Garrett
here. Lord knows I need something to go my way.
Micara hadn’t been born in Sweet Home. She’d spent most of her childhood in the big city. But
both her mother and her grandmother were Sweet Home natives.
Micara and her mother had shown up on her grandmother’s doorstep when Micara was
seventeen…and they hadn’t left since. Her mother had promised her a perfect life in Sweet Home, and
until land developers threatened, her life had been just that. She loved this place. Who needed a big city
to be happy?
Some folks couldn’t see the danger the developers posed. The large amounts of money being
offered were enticing, painting pretty mental pictures of early retirement and lives of ease. Only these
weren’t offers from individuals who planned to build a home and make a life in Sweet Home. They
came from businessmen who made it clear what they would do with the land once they got their hands
on it. In no time at all, the sleepy little town would give way to restaurants and shopping centers and
planned neighborhoods.
And with those things came more people and housing and crime. Why can’t they see?
So far, none of the town’s major land owners had sold. Many others said they would, but their
properties weren’t large enough. The developers wanted the big lots, the massive acreage owned by the
earliest residents—the Clark, Harris, McKinnon, and Brown family estates. And, of course, they
wanted the town’s founding family to sell—the Hearths.
The handsome Hearth standing beside her rubbed at the scruff that covered his face. Micara liked
the raw edge the look created. Garrett was rugged, but in a purposeful way. He wasn’t out to impress
anyone. At least, that’s the vibe she was picking up.
His blue-gray eyes were distant, almost hollow. They didn’t match his welcoming smile. When he
looked at her, it was as if he looked just beyond her. But then again, the eyes were the window to the
soul. Maybe she saw something he wasn’t expressing to the world. His smile said he was glad to be
here, but his eyes said he wanted to be somewhere else.
Why had he missed the meeting? And why hadn’t he attended any of the others? There hadn’t been
many, but each one was important.
“I introduced myself, but you never gave me your name. You look familiar, but I can’t recall.
What’s your name again?”
Ahh, so he was aware of her. “It’s Micara Lee.”
“Micara.” His deep voice struck a chord in her soul. She liked the way her name sounded when he
said it. “That’s unusual.”
“My mother had an aunt named Cara that she was very close to. When she was little, she started
calling her My Cara and it stuck. Her aunt passed away before I was born, so my mother came up with
Micara in her honor. But you probably didn’t want to know all that. I talk too much. Sorry.”
Garrett chuckled. “It’s all right. I like to hear you talk.”
Was he flirting? Was she? Micara liked to talk, but she didn’t normally ramble like this.
“Talking a lot can be a good weapon. I keep calling these meetings—well, not this one—hoping
that if I talk their ears off they’ll finally listen to me. It’s been months and some people still say they’re
going to sell.” Sadness overwhelmed her and she slowed down for emphasis. She met his gaze and
found it hard to look away. “All it takes is one, and it starts a trickle-down effect.”
She located her car key on the metal ring she always carried like a janitor. In addition to running
her plant farm, she and her mother also cleaned buildings on a regular basis.
“I know what you mean.” His head bobbed up and down.
“It was nice to formally meet you, Garrett.”
“Likewise.”
She nodded, then headed for her car. Garrett strode to his truck and waved before he drove away.
Before she could get her car door open, Pippy called her name. Micara sighed. She was never
getting out of this place.
A large woman, Pippy placed her hand on the door and took a moment to catch her breath. When
she could speak, she did. “What did you think of the meeting?”
Micara nodded. “You got the people talking. And the information you handed out will help. They
respect you more than they do me.”
Pippy’s breathing was almost back to normal. “They respect you, hon. It’s just that you’re telling
them to turn down large sums of money. That’s a difficult decision in a recession. The information I
gave them is either gonna convince them to stay or help them get a better selling price.” She laughed
heartily. “Trouble is, anytime you educate people, you take a risk of it backfiring.”
“That’s true. I can’t help but feel like a troublemaker.”
“Lemme tell you a little something about troublemaking. I was a hippie in the sixties. Did more
than my share of protests and rallies—and several stints in jail for getting a bit crazy with all that. The
sixties were a time of passion and making changes. One of my most meaningful projects was saving
Sweet Home from change.”
Pippy’s eyes drifted down and to the left, as if she was reliving the memory. “You think Sweet
Home is a small, country town but it’s a big city compared to what it used to be. When I was growing
up here, there was nothing but a small downtown area, one building for the school, and only a fraction
of the houses that exist now. Then developers swooped in and started building new homes. That’s why
all the brick homes you see look similar. They were all built in the same decade. And I protested all of
it. Not because I didn’t care for progress, but because I was big into saving the environment back then.
I put my heart and soul into it, but ultimately progress won.”
Micara stared at Pippy with a questioning gaze. History is known to repeat itself, but could Sweet
Home handle round two?
“Now don’t let that scare you. A lot of good came out of that earlier progress. You got a big heart,
Micara, and it’s in the right place. Keep doing what you’re doing. I’m here to support you. Feel free to
call me anytime.”
Despite the moment of doubt, she found herself smiling. “Thanks, Pippy. You’ve been a great
help.”
She got into her car as her friend plodded toward her own vehicle. She had a lot to think about.

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