The Prodigal Returns
Twelve years ago, Lorrie Ann Ortega left the tiny town of Clear Water with stars in her eyes. Now she’s back home—trying to live right and put her mistakes in the past. Even so, she’ll never be the kind of woman who would make a good wife for the handsome widowed pastor, John Levi. But when she agrees to be nanny to his two sweet daughters, she’s thrown constantly in his path. And she can’t keep herself from dreaming that a man like John could one day love her. Can a prodigal daughter turn into a pastor’s wife?
“Are you lost?”
His deep Texas drawl washed over her. Lorrie Ann shook her head and searched for words.
“No, but I’m sure that depends on who you ask.” Raising her gaze, she flashed her best smile. In California it had never failed her.
Instead, he glanced off into the pasture, at the cows. “Is that your car up ahead?”
She sighed. Apparently, Texas cowboys were a completely different breed from the men she had been working with in Los Angeles.
“Yeah, I ran out of gas.”
“Anyone I can call for you?”
“No, no. Really, as soon as I get my phone, I’m good.”
He turned that devastating smile back on her. “How your phone ended up in a cow pasture is bound to be an interesting story.” He held his hand out to her, the fence still between them. “I’m John Levi.”
Lorrie Ann smiled back at him, a genuine smile this time. It felt good. The past couple years anything real had been hard to find.
JOLENE NAVARRO
Jolene’s life, much like her stories, is filled with faith, family, football, art, laughter, dirty dishes and all of life’s wonderful messiness. She knows that, as much as the world changes, people stay the same. Good and evil. Vow-keepers and heartbreakers. Jolene married a vow-keeper who showed her that holding hands and dancing in the rain never gets old. When she’s not teaching art to energetic middle-schoolers or hanging out with her four kids, she loves creating stories of love and faith in her much-loved Texas.
Lone Star Holiday
Jolene Navarro
Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.
—Matthew 11:28
To Granner, JoAnn Hutchinson,
for sharing her faith and love of writing. For Katrina, Storm, Tate and Bridger, thank you for all the dinners cooked and dishes washed. My greatest joy is being your mother. To Fred for being you and allowing me to be me.
Contents
Chapter One
Lorrie Ann’s sports car hugged the curves of the country road. Fence posts and cattle flew past her window as she ran back to the small town she fled twelve years ago. No one had warned her that in the pursuit of fame and fortune she could become emotionally and spiritually bankrupt. She glanced at the Bible with the purple tattered note sticking out of it. Well, her aunt might have, but she had been too stubborn to listen.
On the soft leather seat, next to the Bible, her cell vibrated again. Brent’s face filled the screen. How did she ever find her now-ex-fiancé’s grin charming? For two years she had ignored his behavior—until yesterday. Their last fight had escalated to the point where he’d hit her. When had she become her mother? Relationships were not her thing, and the situation with Brent proved her right.
That was the moment she took a long hard look at her life and didn’t like what she saw. She had no one to turn to. They shared the same friends. He played the drums for the band she managed.
She hadn’t taken a vacation in three years. With the holidays coming up she’d called the lead singer of the band she managed and told her she was heading home. Where was home? With nowhere to go, she headed to the only place she had family—her aunt’s pecan farm in Clear Water, Texas. She couldn’t imagine anyplace more different than Los Angeles.
The phone went quiet only to start chiming again a moment later. Teeth gritted, she shifted gears and picked up speed. She didn’t want to hear his apologies.
A burst of anger had her grabbing the phone and throwing it out the window. She dashed past the green sign that said Clear Water was eight miles. She turned up the music and pushed down on the gas pedal only to have the engine sputter and jerk. The steering wheel became stiff under her hands. With all her muscle she forced the BMW to the side of the road.
She checked the gauges and sighed. No gas, no phone, and she only had herself to blame.
One moment of temper had caused her to chuck her phone out of her car. Now she could walk the eight miles to town or walk back to find her phone—and hope that it still worked.
She needed to make the call she had been avoiding anyway, so she started the hike to find her phone.
Lorrie Ann fought to keep her balance as she walked back up the hill she had just driven down. Her five-inch-heel boots, designed for flat city life,