“I’m sure it is,” he said and reluctantly pulled his coffee back in front of him.
What had be been hoping for? Just a glance? Or did he actually plan to talk to Amy if he saw her? And what would he say? He hadn’t forgiven her, but at the same time, the small, nervous changes in her mannerisms and the holes in the new information about Hank bothered him.
Halfway through breakfast, Amy’s cousin came through the kitchen door. By the daggers Andee threw his way, Marshall figured he was lucky not to get his ass kicked out of the place—or a loogie in his eggs.
The conversations in the cozy café came to an almost complete silence, and he glanced around to find everyone staring between the proprietor and himself.
Elwood leaned in. “What the hell did you do, son? I haven’t seen her that mad since she found out Joey Cahill spray painted those profanities on the apartment door.”
“Nothing.” Not a damn thing, and he let his own irritation at the silent accusation flow from a returned glare.
When the door to the kitchen banged shut, the drone slowly began again, and Marshall wiped his mouth with a paper napkin.
“Can’t wait to get the scoop on that from Honey tonight.” Chase’s wide grin closed around a forkful of eggs.
Just his luck, his buddy’s fiancée was a close friend of Andee’s. This had been a big mistake.
“I think it’s time for me to head out.”
Chase raised his fork. “You good to come back day after tomorrow? Muffin needs a workout—don’t want those pansy genes getting lazy.”
Despite his mood, Marshall chuckled. “Sure, no problem. See you then.”
He stood and reached into his pocket for a few bills. A thick, wrinkled hand on his arm stopped him.
“Oh no, I got it, son. We owe you,” Elwood said, grinning from ear to ear and nodding toward the older men beside him. “Short as it was, that was the best damn breakfast entertainment we’ve had here in ages.”
Not impressed, he tugged his arm away to toss the bills on the counter amongst the boisterous laughter at his expense.
With a mind to get the hell out of there, he spun and came up short of knocking his boss to the ground. He reached a hand out to steady the Lonesome Steer’s owner. “Gus. Sorry about that, I…”
“No, uh, no problem.”
The old man’s anxious gaze darted to the woman next to him. Chase’s Aunt Fiona had one arm linked through Gus’s as she smiled and brushed back a silver tinged strand of auburn hair with the other.
Gus fixed him with a curious, oddly guilty stare. “Didn’t think you came here.”
Marshall glanced behind him to the old men avidly watching the exchange. Tired of being other people’s idea of entertainment, he blew out another frustrated breath. “I don’t.”
He turned back to find Gus patting the woman’s hand and nodding toward an empty table. “Why don’t you go save us a table, Fi?”
She gave him a sweet smile and headed off while Gus grabbed Marshall’s arm and pulled him off to the side. Marshall couldn’t help a slow smile at the pink tinge growing on the old man’s cheeks just above the prominent mustache.
Why, you old dog.
“Don’t mention this to Keira, okay? Me and Fi—Fiona—we’re just, well…we’re just getting to know each other again, that’s all.” A twinkle in the old eyes made them appear younger, and told a very different story.
Marshall slapped a hand onto the light denim shoulder. “Sure, Gus. Enjoy your breakfast.”
His lips twitched and Marshall shook his head as he finally escaped the restaurant. Maybe he sucked at relationships, but he couldn’t begrudge his good friend the chance at a little happiness later in life. As he passed the large window, a glance back showed Gus taking a seat across from Chase’s aunt. The smile on her face said just as much.
His brows drew down as he contemplated Gus’s words…we’re just getting to know each other again.
Would he and Amy ever come to that point? Ever meet on the street and not have it turn into a confrontation of painful history? He closed his eyes and turned away. She at least had made the effort—on two occasions, even; he, on the other hand, never gave her a chance.
Marshall scrubbed a hand over his tight chin as if the motion would rub away the raw truth. Not even close.
Setting his Stetson lower on his forehead, he headed toward his truck, but the odd creaking of metal on metal mixed with crumpling paper and a frustrated female voice muttering obscenities drew his attention down the small alleyway behind the café.
At the bottom of a set of wooden steps, Amy, hair tumbling in her face and a bundled baby in one arm, fought with a half-collapsed stroller that banged rhythmically against paper grocery bags on the ground.
Though his brows drew down at the sight of her, Marshall couldn’t help the twitch of his lips…or his feet turning down the alleyway.
Chapter Seven
“Can I help?”
Amy’s relieved hazel eyes darted up, then the pretty face hardened, lips thinning as she averted her gaze.
“No. Thank you.”
Her harsh tone belied the second statement.
“If you’re here to set me straight,” she continued before he could respond, “I’ve got it, okay? You were perfectly clear the last time—the last two times.” She spat the sentences, each punctuated by a jerk of the stroller as her eyes darted in frustration to the top of the stairs. “You’ve made it perfectly clear where you stand. Hell freezing over and all that. I got it. Loud and clear. You don’t have to worry. I won’t be bothering you again.” She stopped long enough to adjust the baby in her arms before resuming her fight with the buggy. “Stupid thing, it says you can fold it down with one hand…”
Marshall clasped his fingers around hers on the handle. The thin bones stiffened beneath his.
She stopped altogether to stare at his hand. A world of emotions crossed her face in a blink before she snatched her fingers away from him, and he was taken aback to catch the tears glistening in her eyes before she averted her gaze.
“Crap.” She swiped at her eyes. “God, I hate hormones.” After another wipe, she grabbed the stroller back. “Can you just leave, please. It’s been a rather stressful morning already, and I just don’t have it in me to deal with you right now.”
A flash of his circuit buddy Meza’s wife after the birth of their third child came to mind. Invited for dinner after an event, he’d been surprised when Lily burst out crying over forgetting to put pepper on the table. Meza had pulled her close and grinned at him over his wife’s head, saying something about mood swings and birth screwing with their hormones for a while.
Marshall tried for that same, understanding smile, finding it came easier than he expected. “I was just passing by and heard your…difficulty. I’m not here to upset you. But I am here, so why not let me help?”
That only got him another sob, but she eventually released the buggy, grabbed one of the three grocery bags and hightailed it up the stairs.
He didn’t even know where to begin with the stroller, so he simply hefted the whole thing and followed her up.
After a small peek through the door, he entered and set the stroller down. The place wasn’t big, barely big enough for the daybed, small pine desk, matching bookcase, and two-seater table near the kitchenette. Dotted in the leftover spaces were various baby accessories, two baskets of folded laundry, and a frilly bassinet.
“I, uh, usually leave the stroller at the bottom of the steps.” Across the room in the small kitchenette, Amy dabbed at her eyes with a paper towel. “But they’ve been calling for some much needed rain and…” She stopped herself, cleared her throat and turned to face him. “Th-thank you.
The upward tilt of her chin and firm set of her spine ate at his gut. The tired circles under her eyes should have made her look haggard, but they only enhanced the lighter hazel in her eyes. When those eyes began to narrow, he realized he’d been staring too long and too hard, again.
She shook her head and waved a hand in front of her. “It’s just lack of sleep, a-and hormones…from the birth.” Her lips tipped up in a sardonic grin as she pressed the heel of her hands against her eyes. “At least that’s what they say. And I hope to God it’s true because it’s a pain in the ass crying at the drop of a hat. I was never a crier, you know that—” The words broke off and her hands dropped, the wide gaze jumping to his.
Marshall gave a small wave of his hat. “It’s okay.” He replaced the Stetson on his head, and tucked his hands in his pockets before he did something awkward, like pull her into his arms.
Amy cleared her throat and hurried to the small basinet next to the daybed. “Um, do you want to see her?” she asked, speaking quickly. “Well, I guess, technically, you already have since you were there at her birth—”
“Amy.”
“—so I guess you don’t need to see her again. It’s just kind of crazy how it all happened. But I’m still really thankful you were there, I mean you and K—”
“Amy,” he repeated, this time with a chuckle as he stepped toward her and put a hand on her shoulder to slow her down.
Her rose lips squeezed together. When the hazel gaze darted to his hand, he pulled away first, not wanting to cause her more distress.
He motioned to the little bow lips pulsing in and out in a sucking motion as the baby slept, the face a smaller, heart-shaped version of her mother. “She’s beautiful.”
Amy smiled, and he was glad to see the tension ease from her body.
“Yeah, she is, isn’t she?”
Auburn waves fell over her cheek, and he watched her finger them back behind her ear, giving him a good glimpse of her slender neck.
A beauty. Just like her mom.
Marshall dropped his gaze to his boots in an attempt to rein in his thoughts. The baby seemed the safest topic so he asked one question he didn’t know the answer to yet, “What’s her name?”
“Charlotte Marie, after—”
“Your mom.”
“Yeah.” Her chin tilted in wonder as she raised her gaze to his.
Though she looked as if she wanted to say more, she didn’t, and Marshall felt the need to fill the silence before he got caught staring again. “How is your mom?” Not that Beverly had any use for him, or much of anything but a bottle. She’d probably been thrilled when Amy married a well-to-do lawyer.
The old irritation threatened to grasp his shoulders, but the sensation stalled as Amy’s face broke, the smile vanishing, replaced by a sorrowful pull of her lips against suddenly pale cheeks.
Her chin came up again. “She passed away. Back when you were on the circuit.”
Sucker-punched, he held out a hand toward her. “God, Amy. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
She pulled away to sit on the daybed. “No reason you would have.”
The higher note in her voice, though, hinted that he should have.
Marshall tried to figure out how he hadn’t known. But in reality, how would he?
Was that why she never returned my calls while I was on the road? Eventually, he had given up trying and put all his focus on winning, stupidly believing if he could get back to her with a ring, everything would be perfect. After she chose another guy, he hadn’t been about to stick around to catch up on family history.
Hands on his hips, he took a deep breath, unsure what to say.
Amy leaned against the backdrop of pillows. Eyes shut, she squeezed the bridge of her nose. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. It’s just the lack of sleep—Charlotte’s got her days and nights mixed up.”
“Then why don’t you just sit there for a bit?” He rocked back on his heels and nodded toward the door. “I’ll go get the rest of the groceries.”
“No, you don’t have to do that,” she said, opening her eyes.
“It’s okay, I don’t mind.” My foot on the stairs is better than in my mouth again.
After a tired, resigned nod, she rested her head on her hand, elbow propped on the thick cushions. She looked so worn out and endearing at the same time, he turned away before he did something stupid, like stay.
And what do you call going out to retrieve her groceries?
He couldn’t answer that. Good or bad, like it or not, they had a history. Turned out, he couldn’t turn off the caring as easily as he had thought.
Flying down the steps, he grabbed up the two bags topped with diapers in one and fruit in the other and returned. A few strides and they sat next to the other on the small kitchen countertop.
“There you go,” he said, turning around. “No problem at al—”
The sight of the innocent beauty asleep on the daybed stole his breath. His chest constricted. Over the long months after he walked out, when he couldn’t stop her from invading his mind, this was how he remembered her most; how he would wake up in the middle of the night and just stare at her sleeping, then wake her with a…
Marshall stepped closer, leaned over and pulled the light quilt atop her. She didn’t even stir. The soft skin drew him, and he found his lips inches from her forehead before he caught himself. His heart started pounding, and he pushed himself upright. Old habits died harder than he realized.
Needing to get out of there, he took the few steps to the door. Small cooing and scuffling sounds began from the basinet as his hand grasped the knob. He froze for a moment, sure the child would settle, but she turned out to be a scrapper like her mother.
Remembering the mighty lungs the small babe had the night she was born, he darted a glance to the settee. Amy’s brows dipped in sleep, as if sensing her daughter’s distress.
Marshal went to the child. Bright eyes stared up at him for a moment before the nose wrinkled and mouth puckered open. He reached in and laid a hand over the baby’s tummy. “Shhh, there now, sweetheart. Your mama needs a little rest.”
Charlotte appeared immune to his plea as her eyes clenched shut and the little chest beneath his hand readied a deep breath. Instinctively, he reached down and lifted the babe before she could finish the thought.
Holding her head in the palm of one hand, he tucked her body beneath his arm like a football and swayed her gently. Meza had thought it funny to hand him the new babe on that visit, giving him pointers for when it was his turn. At the time, Marshall hadn’t appreciated his friend’s amusement at his awkwardness.
Yeah, buddy, well look at this, he thought as he continued to rock back and forth, and the child calmed down. He glanced to Amy, sleeping like a baby herself, brows no longer creased. Marshall grinned to himself, wishing his buddy could see him now.
Then reality hit—he’d made a huge tactical error.
If he set the baby down, she’d cry and wake Amy.
If he continued to hold her, escape was impossible.
Chapter Eight
Marshall eased down in the small rocker and blew out a breath as he readjusted the babe in the crook of his arm.
“Well, Peanut, now what do I do?” he whispered. The question took on a whole new meaning when he glanced to the sleeping beauty on the daybed across from them.
He removed his hat and wiped the tension from his brow with his forearm. When he replaced the Stetson, he glanced down to find wide eyes staring back. The little nose scrunched as if to tell him he was an idiot.
“Not you, too,” he all but sighed. “I’m getting the same look from Gus and Keira. You remember them,” he added with a tap on the button nose. “They own the Lonesome Steer—first place you ever saw. And I don’t want to see you back there again ’til you’re twenty-one.” He chuckled under his breath. “Bet you’ll be as pretty as your mama, too.” Marshall sobered quickly, then heaved a
heavy breath. “God, I loved her.”
Small fingers stretched up toward him. He held out one of his own, and tiny ones curled tight around it as innocent eyes gazed up in pure trust.
“She used to look at me like that, too. I just don’t get why she stopped. I told her to trust me, it would all work out. She obviously didn’t believe me.”
The baby’s fair brows tipped up, and his finger was yanked.
“Well, she didn’t,” he argued quietly. “She went and married another guy, didn’t she. Pretty damn quick, too, if you ask me. Wouldn’t be surprised if your gram put her up to it, though.” He scrubbed at his chin and raised his gaze to find a small streak of sunlight brushing the ends of Amy’s silky hair. “Maybe if I had tried a bit harder, not taken Beverly’s word for it. Insisted she get Amy on the phone…” He shook his head and dropped his attention back to his small listener. “Sorry, but your gram could be a spiteful woman, and I didn’t want to cause any friction for your mama. But I guess I should have.”
Another yank on his finger was emphasized with a loud gurgle that almost sounded like, A-a-and?
“Okay, okay, shhh already,” he whispered, wagging the tiny hand back and forth gently. “Yes, maybe I should have come back after Beverly read me the riot act that night. But I was so mad your mama wasn’t taking my calls and…and I figured she’d change her mind if I could just show her I was as good a man as any lawyer.”
Marshall interpreted the small snuffle-snort as Charlotte’s disapproval. And he couldn’t blame her. The more he said it out loud, the less logical it sounded to him, too.
“Maybe you’re right after all, Peanut. Maybe I am an idiot.”
The fingers let go to fist wave haphazardly against his chest.
His lips tipped up. “Okay, okay already. I’ll take my part of the blame in this.”
But the admission didn’t take the rock out of his chest. Or change the fact that Amy stopped waiting and married another man.
****
Amy burrowed deeper into the cozy warmth, knowing if she opened her eyes, the lazy comfort would go away because—
Honky Tonk Hearts Volume 2 Page 41
