She couldn’t think of a reply to his curt answer, and the silence rang uncomfortably long. Her first instinct had been right; she shouldn’t have come out.
Marshall forced his gaze to stay on the nail head and not sneak back to the auburn highlights kissed by the afternoon sun. How can a woman who just gave birth a week ago look so beautiful? The lilac sundress didn’t help, caressing the curves of her breasts and allowing a good bit of the long, lean legs to show beneath. He creased his brows against the temptation for another look, reached deep for the past, for the anger, and smashed down another nail into the two-by-four.
But his attention was drawn to her fidgeting hands—the same tendency she’d had in the bar last week. Odd, she never used to be a nervous person.
The conversation she’d had with her cousin at the hospital came instantly back to mind—both the words and her reaction:
I know how hard it was with Hank this last year. He didn’t need to be so cru—
Don’t, Andee. I don’t want to talk about that anymore.
He’d only met the man a few times, but didn’t have much use for him—had Hank been mean to her; had he abused her?
A streak of pure, blazing fire scored from his gut to his head. If the man laid a hand on her, I’ll kill h—though the fire burned, it dulled slightly when he remembered the man was already dead.
“Marshall?”
He took a breath to douse the flames before glancing back to her. His brows drew down further and he couldn’t help scouring her from head to toe for signs, bruises, scars…
“Marshall.”
Snapped out of his study, he shook his head. “What?”
“I said I came by to thank you.” Her arm swung behind her in an annoyed gesture toward the honk tonk. “To thank everyone actually, so don’t look so pissed off, or worry that I’m here for anything else. We’ll be leaving, and trust me, I won’t bother you anymore.” With that she spun and stalked back around the corner.
Dammit. The hammer smacked the ground with a solid thud spraying up sawdust and peanut shells not too far from his boot. He should have aimed better—it would have served him right.
He put his hands on his hips and stared at the pavement. It was so easy to remember the times they were together; he’d been on cloud nine, happier than he’d ever been. What he was feeling now was nothing like that. History had turned the lightness to molten lava in his chest, burning up the back of his neck. And he didn’t know if he could get past it. At the same time, no one deserved to be treated wrongly by a man, especially a husband.
He took an involuntary step forward and then stopped—what if I’m wrong? What if he’d misinterpreted what he heard? What if he was only hearing what he wanted to hear? How many times had he wished it upon them that they have a miserable life together? It’d made it easier to stay angry, easier than feeling the loss, the pain.
A small stab of guilt at possibly making matters worse settled beside the boulder in his chest and, with a heavy breath, he gave in and headed into the Lonesome Steer.
The place was dim after working for the last couple hours in the bright sunshine, and he made his way more by instinct than sight. The dimness lifted as he walked into the main room just in time to see a pale-faced Amy hustling out the door with baby carrier in tow.
She’d been pissed when she stalked away from him, not distressed like this. “What the hell happened?” he asked, approaching the threesome.
Keira’s lips rolled together as her attention shifted to Tulsa Blue sitting at the table beside them.
“How was I to know?” the waitress said with a guilty expression and raise of her hands.
“It’s not her fault. She made a comment about how the babe’s father must be so proud and…”
Damn. “He’s dead.”
Keira nodded. “Yeah, Dad just told us.”
All three faces dropped with concern and guilt.
“Poor girl,” Gus said.
“I’m really sorry,” Tulsa Blue added as she sulked back to the cutlery pile on the bar.
Marshall waved off her apology because there were too many things they didn’t know. And even more things he didn’t know now—like if Amy missed her husband? Was she upset that Hank would never see his daughter? That she was left to do everything alone?
Being a single mother wasn’t going to be easy, and he was now thankful for Andee’s brow-beating Amy to stay—she needed family right now.
Not that’s it’s any of my business.
At least that’s what he tried to tell himself as he headed back the way he had come—in more ways than one. Because the one thing he didn’t even want to admit to himself was, despite what Amy had done to him, he still cared about her…whether he wanted to or not.
Chapter Six
“With all the baby stuff in here, maybe this place isn’t as perfect as I thought. Are you sure I can’t convince you to stay at the house with us?”
Amy followed Andee’s gaze around the bachelorette apartment. Small, yet bright, the cozy little place was far more welcoming than the cold mausoleum in Fort Worth Hank had bought.
“It’s perfect,” she assured as she continued folding a tiny onesy from the laundry basket on the small kitchenette table. She glanced from the rusty, mop-top of her twenty-month-old nephew, Jackson, playing on the carpet to the wide-eyed baby in the basinet next to her, then to the clock that read barely past five o’clock in the morning. “Besides, with Charlotte having her days and nights mixed up, this is the best for everyone’s sanity,” she added with a light laugh, even though in truth, it wasn’t very amusing at all. She stifled a yawn behind the next piece of pink material.
Andee deflected a rubber duck tossed by her son. “Well, I’m at least thankful you’re staying in Redemption.”
“For now.”
She hadn’t decided what she was going to do. There was still the house to sell, but thankfully, the insurance money had come through—after the investigation ruled out suicide.
A hard rock of guilt rolled in her stomach, just like yesterday at the Lonesome Steer when the waitress innocently asked about Charlotte’s father; coming after the humiliation with Marshall, it’d been just another reminder of the mess she’d made of all their lives.
The daybed creaked, and she glanced over her shoulder to find Andee grabbing Jackson away from the lamp on the small bookcase. Her cousin blew out a frustrated breath as she pulled the toddler onto the cheery green and yellow pillows plumped in the corner.
“Don’t you have to get the café opened?”
“In a bit.” There was an expectant tone to her cousin’s voice that matched the sudden, impish smile on her face.
Amy stopped mid-fold. “What?”
“I’m waiting to hear what happened at the Lonesome Steer yesterday.”
Amy turned back and finished folding the last burp cloth. “Nothing to tell. I stopped by to say thank you. They were so sweet and just adored Charlotte.” Pride tamped down the anger that threatened to rise again.
“Mmm-hmm and…” Andee carried the last word into three states. “What did Marshall say when you asked him about the ring?”
She bit her lips, opting for a simple shrug. Thinking about the confrontation with him simmered the anger to the surface.
“Amy.”
The stern tone didn’t help her mood. “Nothing, okay,” she snapped. “I never even got the chance to ask, let alone thank him. He just stared at me like I’d grown horns or something.”
Her shoulders drooped, and she covered the reaction by pulling the basket from the table. She hated to admit that his disdain hurt. She hadn’t expected an easy reunion, or a reunion at all for that matter, but was a little civility too much to ask? As for the ring he’d mentioned, if it were true, that tidbit was staying in the closet with the ghost of their relationship. A heavy breath filled her lungs. No doubt it would come out to haunt her again and again over the years. Redemption might be the name of the town, but it obviously wasn
’t in Marshall to give, and she’d just have to accept that.
“I’m sorry, Amy. I should have kept my nose out of it.”
When Andee leaned in to wrap an arm around her, two more little ones reached over to join in.
She put her hand up to cover her cousin’s and kissed the top of her nephew’s red curls. “Not your fault. All these things were my doing, right from the start—my choices. What doesn’t kill us only makes us stronger, right?”
Her cousin snorted and tightened her hold. “Then you should be freakin’ Hercules by now.”
An unexpected chuckle burst out and she thanked the powers that be again for her cousin’s unfailing support. Andee didn’t need to know that it wasn’t strength as much as sheer willpower keeping her from collapsing in a heap of misery at what she had made of her life.
Amy glanced over to the basinet holding her daughter. Her beautiful little baby. No, she couldn’t let herself go down that path. She’d seen first hand what living in the past could do to a woman. She loved her mother dearly, but everything in life, good or bad, had been turned into a pity party centered on her. She didn’t want that for herself, and especially her own daughter. Dwelling on the past would get her nowhere, she simply had to learn how to accept it and move on. No matter how much it hurt.
Andee gave her another big squeeze before hiking the squirming Jackson higher on her hip. “Why don’t you two come down for breakfast later? I’ll make your favorite.”
“Okay, after another load of laundry and a trip to the market. I’m almost out of diapers already.” She dropped the basket on the floor, leaned on the counter, and stifled another yawn. “I know, I know, this is just the beginning, right?”
Her cousin’s laughter trilled in the small space. “You got it.” And with that, Andee and her son breezed out the door.
Resisting the urge to lay her head down on her arms, Amy instead perused the classifieds opened on the counter. Yes, the insurance money had come through, but she would still need a job eventually. And maybe once the house sold, she’d look for a small place for her and Charlotte—somewhere with a little porch, and swing in the back yard. Maybe even here in Redemption like Andee wanted. Heaven knew she didn’t realize how alone she had really been until coming up here. Another glance at her daughter had her wondering about the validity of believing in fate.
Turning back to the paper and flipping over the page to the real estate section, she paused at a picture of a beautiful little two story Victorian.
Too big for the two of us, was her first reaction, until she caught the words, Bed and Breakfast. Interest piqued, Amy read on. “Good location…wonderful business opportunity…gables, garden, porch swing, gazebo overlooking creek in the back.”
She bit down on her lip. The spurt of excitement that rose with each word was dented by the memory of the last time the thought arose. When Hank’s frustration at losing the partnership escalated, she’d suggested he simply quit and they start anew with their own business; she’d always dreamed about owning her own inn. His sardonic laughter still rang in her ears as he’d scoffed at her “lame” ideas and started a rant about all her shortcomings.
With a tight jaw, Amy lifted her chin, read the ad again, grabbed a nearby pen, and circled it with a strong, firm hand just for good measure.
Hank wasn’t in charge anymore. She could handle it. Sure, maybe she never attended college, but she’d worked in the hospitality industry since the age of sixteen, right from housekeeping all the way up to manager, even including a stint in bookkeeping.
The more she thought of it, the more her spirit lifted with the possibilities. In fact, a little B&B would be perfect because they could live in one of the smaller rooms, and then she wouldn’t need daycare.
Amy pictured Charlotte playing in a little playpen at the back of the kitchen as she prepared breakfast for the patrons. And it would have the big backyard…
The price caught her attention again, sticking a pin in the balloon of excitement. “What am I thinking?”
The price alone would take up the amount she hoped to get from the house sale. And what if the place needed repairs or renovations? Yes, steady income from guests would eventually offset the costs…eventually being the key word. Did she really want to take something like that on right now? Even if she did know what she was doing, it could prove to be a big financial risk.
Or the best idea you ever had.
Her track record didn’t give much weight to that thought, and Amy flipped the paper closed before she did something stupid, like call for more information.
****
Marshall spat out the dust that billowed around him as he lay face down in the dirt. He clawed at the dry earth from the practice arena, pulling his hands beneath him in an attempt to press up enough to get breath back into his lungs.
Damn bull.
But that wasn’t entirely true. His mind had been elsewhere—and elsewhere was not the best place for a mind to be when you were on the back of a ticked-off bull.
“Need a hand up?”
Marshall grimaced at the shadow falling across the dirt. The humor in Chase’s voice irked him as much as the fall.
He shook his head, and heaved his arms straight beneath him, pushing his body away from the settling dust and into fresher air. Despite his refusal, his buddy’s hand appeared, locked around his arm and hoisted him to his feet.
“I know I’m aiming for some mean bulls for the circuit,” Chase began, “and business wise, I’d like to think it’s my bulls, but…”
Marshall cast him a glare and readjusted the protective vest before swiping up his Stetson from the dirt and returning it to his head.
“I heard about the excitement at the Lonesome Steer last week. Wanna talk about it?”
“Nope.” He aimed himself toward the gates, refusing to acknowledge his friend’s chuckle behind him.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Chase’s father, Roy, and two other hands working hard to get the bull back into the enclosure. The silver beast had potential that was for sure. In fact, he’d probably used up a bit of his luck today by not getting a hoof in the head. Then again, maybe that would have knocked some sense back into him, or at least a haunting auburn-headed ghost out of his head.
Not bothering to push the gate open, he hiked himself up and over the metal rail.
Marshall grabbed his water bottle, rinsed the dust from his mouth, and hung his hands over the training pen, shaking his head at his own stupidity.
A hand slapped him on the back. “I’m calling it quits for today. I’ve seen enough—and I think you’ve had enough of a beating for one day.”
What could he say? Chase was the one liable if anything happened to him in the ring. Guilt added another rock to his gut. He was here to test the quality of the bulls his friend raised for the rodeo circuit, not get himself killed.
“Sorry, buddy,” Marshall finally said. He tipped the water bottle toward the bull pen. “That young’un is the one you’re gonna want to watch. He’s got the fierce streak you’re lookin’ for.”
“Hot damn, that’s what I was hoping you’d say. That’s Muffin’s youngest.”
Marshall couldn’t help but grin. Chase’s prize bull might be of quality rodeo stock, but the thing’s name made him sound like a puff ball thanks to the original owner. “You should’ve changed the poor guy’s name the minute you brought him home.”
“Thought about it,” Chase said as he readjusted his straw hat. “But I figured the name gave him his power—sort of like Sampson’s hair—if I changed it, he’d lose his best genes. Couldn’t risk that after the investment we put into him.”
Marshall snorted and stood as Roy approached them.
“That was some good riding there, until you got swatted off like a pesky fly.”
“We’re calling it a day, Pop.” Chase didn’t bother to hide his smile.
“Probably a good thing in more ways than one.” Roy winked at Marshall and nodded to his son. “Best
head over to the Sunrise Café then. Your granddad’s probably talked the waitress’s ears off by now.”
“Mind if I tag along?” The words fell out of Marshall’s mouth before he realized. When he glanced over, both men stared at him like he’d hit his head during one of the falls. “What?”
“You haven’t come to breakfast with us in almost two years. Not since that mornin’ you skedaddled out of their like a coyote was on your tail.”
He held the cringe inside, figuring they wouldn’t have remembered that.
Realizing his friends were still looking at him, Marshall simply shrugged his shoulder. “What can I say? Getting my ass kicked by a bunch of pansy-named bulls makes me hungry.”
Roy quirked a brow, but the grin on his son’s face spoke volumes, and made Marshall regret his hasty decision.
Twenty minutes later, he regretted it even more as he walked across the navy-and-white linoleum and pulled up a stool beside Chase’s grandfather Elwood and two other older men.
“Howdy, son. Glad to see you joinin’ us today. How’re those bulls my grandson is raisin’?”
“Meaner than an old fart last in line at a dollar buffet.”
Elwood’s cackled laughter filled the diner. “Good to hear. Your title-carrying endorsement of the beasts sure has bolstered his business.”
Marshall buried himself in the coffee the waitress set in front of him. “Titles don’t mean a damn thing, Elwood.” His didn’t bring him anything but heartache…and a reminder of what he was doing here—or rather, what a mistake it was to be here.
He shoved the coffee away. “You know, I’m not as hungry as I thought. I’m gonna head out.”
“But we just got here,” Chase said from behind, his words emphasized by the jingle of the bells above the door. “What is it about this place that drives you out—the food here is great, honest.”
Just then a brunette head pushed through the kitchen door. For half a second his breath held, but the overly round face of the waitress that followed depleted the rest of the air from his lungs, and he blew it out on a long, slow breath. Pathetic.
Honky Tonk Hearts Volume 2 Page 40
