“Miz Solis left a message for you on the phone last night.” He jerked his chin toward Erik. “While you were out sucking his face.”
Isabella felt her legs turn to water. She sank down onto the couch. “Oh, Murphy,” she whispered. Why hadn’t she just told him the truth about his mother being found? They could have talked it out. At least tried to. “What did the message say?”
His lips twisted. “That my ma got the ’surance money but now they can’t find her again.” He looked away. “She doesn’t want me, either. Never did.” His voice dropped. “Just like you.”
“Murphy, I do want you!” She knew his uncertainty. His fear. Growing up, she’d felt it all herself. No child deserved this. “No matter what happens in the future, I’m always going to want you. Can’t you see that by now?”
His throat worked. He jerked his chin toward Erik again. “You won’t if you’re with him.”
Isabella opened her mouth to answer, but no words came to her lips. She didn’t know what to say.
And she could see by Erik’s expression that he knew it. His eyes stared into hers for what felt like an eternity. Then he looked toward Murphy. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning,” he said. “You’ve got work waiting at the Rocking-C. Be ready.”
Murphy looked from her to Erik. “You got any root beer?” His voice was challenging.
Isabella started to protest, but Erik’s hand moved subtly by his side and she subsided. “You gonna break all the windows in my house like you threatened?” he challenged in return.
Murphy’s lips twisted. He looked away. “No.”
Erik’s lips twisted, too. But he didn’t look away. “Then I got root beer.”
And then, as if he’d done everything he could do, had taken everything he could take, he handed her the cold bag again, turned on his heel and left.
She wanted to run after him.
But she didn’t.
Next to burying Murphy’s father, standing there while Erik walked away was the hardest thing she’d ever done.
Chapter Twelve
“Good Lord, Isabella.” Tabby stared at her with horror when Isabella walked into Ruby’s Saturday morning after her tap class was finished. “What happened to your face?”
She flushed, realizing that Tabby wasn’t the only one staring. The breakfast rush had passed, but there were still a half-dozen customers there and they were all goggling. Something she hadn’t even considered when she’d sought the comfortable familiarity of Ruby’s. “Nothing. Just clumsiness.”
“More like a good right hook,” someone said, earning a chorus of shushes.
Tabby had come around the counter and was peering more closely at her face. “Lordy,” she breathed, and wrapped her hand around Isabella’s arm as if she were afraid she wouldn’t be able to stand otherwise. She drew her over to the nearest stool. “Sit down. Why are you even here?” She raced around the counter, grabbed a clean dish towel and dropped a scoop of ice cubes into the center of it, then handed the bundle across to Isabella. “Here.”
Isabella dutifully pressed the improvised ice pack to her face. “Don’t worry,” she told Tabby. “I’m not going to ask to be put on the schedule.”
“Good thing,” Bubba grunted, coming out of the kitchen to have his own look-see. “You’d scare off alla customers.”
Tabby shooed him back to the kitchen. She poured a cup of coffee and doctored it up with a dollop of cream the way Isabella usually drank it, then slid it in front of her.
“Thanks.” Isabella took a sip. It didn’t exactly steady her, but it didn’t hurt, either. Truth was, she hadn’t been remotely steady since Erik had said he wanted to marry her.
Tabby dished up a warm, gooey cinnamon roll studded with pecans and set it in front of Isabella before folding her arms on the counter and leaning in. “So? What happened?”
She just shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.” It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate the support that everyone had shown when Murphy ran away, but having them all know her business was uncomfortable.
“Honey, we can all see that was a fist that hit you.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she repeated. And hoped to heaven that it wouldn’t. She’d never taken any sort of punch. She had no idea how long the discoloration would last. But the last thing she needed was for Monica to visit and see her with the remnants of a black eye, delivered by none other than the ward she was supposed to be raising in a loving, nurturing environment. A ward who’d tried to run away.
Every other foster parent on the planet would be preferable to Isabella.
Her cheek felt numb, so she set aside the ice and reached for the enormous cinnamon roll. “How’d you learn to make these, anyway?” She wanted to think about anything other than Monica Solis’s upcoming visit and what had occurred the day before. But she couldn’t. Murphy was out at Erik’s. He’d picked him up early that morning, just as he’d warned.
And Murphy had been ready and waiting.
He’d been silent.
But he’d been ready.
And twice, Isabella had completely lost her train of thought with the little girls in her tap class because she’d been so preoccupied worrying about how the two males in her life were managing together.
She realized Tabby was smiling at her. “The cinnamon rolls? Ruby Leoni is the one who started the diner. She’s Erik’s great-great-grandmother. At least, I think I’ve got the greats right. Ruby made these great rolls. People loved ’em. Came from miles just to have them. Eventually, Justine took over the café and started making the rolls just the way that her grandma Ruby had taught her. I started working here when I was, oh, fifteen, I guess. Somewhere along the way, it got to be my job.”
Isabella never expected that the café had anything to do with Erik’s family. He’d never said boo about it. “So who owns the café now?”
Tabby gave her a funny little look. She smiled slightly. “Technically, Erik and his brother. But Justin’s back east at graduate school and never has been interested in things here.”
“Erik owns Ruby’s?” She was actually working for the man!
“Well.” Tabby’s head waggled back and forth as if she couldn’t believe this was news. “Yeah.”
Isabella didn’t know why she was so stunned. After the past few days, what was one more surprise? “I assumed it was you and your family that owned Ruby’s.” Tabby was the one who ran things, after all.
Tabby grinned. “Well, I live in hope.”
“You’d like to own it?”
She nodded. “Funny, too. Because I used to drool over plans of going to Europe and being an artist there.” She shrugged. “I still paint. And Sidney—she’s married to Derek—”
“Another cousin,” Isabella interrupted. She’d met Derek at the barbecue, and she thought he and his wife had been at the house yesterday morning. But she’d been so numb and worried that she couldn’t be sure.
“Exactly.” Tabby didn’t miss a beat. “She’s partners with Tara at Classic Charms. She was pretty involved in the art world before she came to Weaver, and she likes my paintings. She has one painting of mine hanging in the shop and has even taken a few to a gallery she knows in New York.”
“Tabby! That’s amazing.”
She shrugged. “Well, who knows what’ll come of it. Maybe nothing. Or maybe enough that one day, I’ll be able to buy this place outright from Erik and his brother.”
Isabella realized she’d somehow polished off the entire cinnamon roll. “I think you ought to be selling these cinnamon rolls in the stores, too.” Strangely enough, she was feeling better. Maybe that was what brown sugar, yeasty rolls and pecans secretly did for a person.
The bell over the door merrily jangled, followed abruptly by a not-so-merry “Hey!”
Isabella looked over her shoulder to see Lucy standing there, looking fit to be tied, her hands propped on her impossibly slender hips. Her friend hadn’t been teaching at the studio that morning.
“I have to hear from Pa
m Rasmussen that somebody mugged you?”
Isabella gaped as she came down off the padded stool. “I wasn’t mugged!” She was fairly confident no such thing had ever occurred in Weaver. Aside from Murphy running away, the town practically defined the word peaceful.
Lucy’s sharp blue gaze lasered in on Isabella’s face. “Then what’s that all about?”
“I ran into the corner of a kitchen cabinet,” Isabella said loudly, looking around at the faces avidly turned her way. For all she knew, rumors of what had occurred in the Braden bus station had already made their way to Weaver. “Clumsy, yes. Mugging? Not even!” She blew out a breath after the outburst and exhaustedly plopped back onto the red stool. She waved her arm at her audience. “You all can go on talking about somebody else now.”
Lucy crossed the diner and leaned on the counter beside her. “What good’s a grapevine when it gets all the details wrong?” She leaned closer and dropped her voice to a whisper. “I know you’re lying,” she said nearly soundlessly. “But it’s okay for now.”
“Goody,” Isabella muttered under her breath.
Her friend gave her a quick wink then looked across at Tabby, who’d probably heard the exchange but could be trusted. “She’s been baptized well by Weaver standards by now, wouldn’t you say, Tab?”
“Pam only gossips about the people who belong here,” Tabby provided. “She leaves the passersby alone.”
Isabella let out a strangled laugh. “Gee, I guess I’m strangely comforted by that.”
And she was.
Maybe she didn’t have a clue how to deal with Murphy or Erik, much less the words he’d left her with.
But at least she had a town where she might possibly belong.
She and Lucy left Ruby’s together and walked over to the studio. There, in the sanctity of their own office, Isabella told her friend everything. From start to finish. Including the kiss. The proposal that wasn’t a proposal but a statement of fact. And the confusion. And when it was all out, Isabella sat exhausted in the chair, twisting the diamond ring around and around her finger.
“Wow.” Lucy canted her head to one side. “Grief. A needy child. A new love.” She ticked them off. “It never dawned on me how similar this is to Beck and Shelby and me.”
Isabella made a face. “Do not start matchmaking.”
Lucy’s brows shot up and her eyes filled with mirth. “Iz, my friend, that match has already been made. I figured as much at the barbecue when I saw Erik pacing around waiting for you to get there, but I wasn’t so sure about you.”
“I’m glad you find it funny. The man’s banned me from his ranch!”
Lucy’s expression sobered as she gazed at Isabella with sympathy in her eyes. “You do understand he’s doing that as much for Murphy as anything, right? If you have to choose between being around each other right now or having Murphy feel more secure, who’s going to win out?”
“But that’s a choice that’s mine to make. Erik—” She broke off, not even knowing how to describe what she was feeling.
“Erik is in love with you,” Lucy said bluntly. “He told you his intentions pretty clearly. But he’s no fool, either. He knows you’re going to turn backflips to make sure Murphy doesn’t feel the way you felt growing up without a family. That choice is yours, and he’s figured out which way you’re facing. What else would you expect him to do?”
Isabella blew out a noisy breath. It was that or cry. “Why me? We’ve never even slept together. Why does he have to go and get interested—” she nearly tripped over the word that was so extraordinarily inadequate “—in me?”
“Why shouldn’t he?”
Isabella silently lifted her hand and wiggled her fingers. The engagement ring flashed in the light.
“That is not this.” Lucy lifted her own hand, rubbing her wedding band. “And if you’ll forgive the cliché, the heart wants what it wants. Frankly, the fact that Erik hasn’t slept with you speaks volumes to me. That man is seriously serious about you.” She took Isabella’s hands between her own, squeezing gently. “I am not discounting how much you loved Jimmy,” she said steadily. “You agreed to marry him, and I honestly thought you’d never agree to that with anyone. I didn’t even have a chance to meet him, because it all happened after I’d left the dance company.”
Isabella smiled sadly. “You’d have liked him. Everyone liked him.” He’d been gregarious and outrageous and he’d drawn her to him despite her initial resistance.
“I’m sure I would have. And I’m sure you were as happy together as pigs in clover. You were finally about to have everything you’d ever dreamed of. A family of your own.” Lucy’s gaze was steady.
Isabella swallowed. “Was it the man I loved or was it simply what he represented?” The notion was upsetting. “Is that...is that all Erik is? A family waiting to happen? Is the man who’s in that spot interchangeable?”
“I don’t know.” Lucy lifted her shoulders. “That’s something you’re going to have to figure out.” Then she nodded toward Isabella’s black eye. “In the meantime, you’d better get some ice on that swollen face of yours or it’s still going to look that way when that caseworker of yours comes calling.”
* * *
Seeing the unopened package of fabric on her table when she got home a while later gave Isabella something to focus on while she listened like a hawk for the sound of Erik’s truck bringing Murphy back. But when she did hear his truck a few hours later and her nerves started firing at Mach speed as she darted to the door, she caught nothing more than a glimpse of his profile in sunglasses. He stopped only long enough for Murphy to hop out and reach the door before he drove away.
Staring after his truck accomplished nothing, but she could scarcely keep from doing so, despite Murphy’s noticing.
She finally closed the door when Erik turned the corner and disappeared from sight. She looked at Murphy. His jeans were filthy with heaven only knew what. She didn’t want to guess, considering the odor coming off him. “Everything go okay?” she asked warily.
“Guess.” He pulled off his Yankees cap in a puff of dust, reminding her strongly of an old cartoon. He also looked exhausted.
“Are you hungry?”
He nodded. “His cows are havin’ babies.” He plucked at his shirt, which had dark stains all over it. “We gotta wash this stuff before Monday.”
It took Isabella a moment to realize that Murphy couldn’t go back to school on Monday. He was still suspended. And Erik had said he’d take him.
So he would.
“He said there’s no point in ruinin’ more clothes ’cause next time’ll be more of the same,” Murphy added. “He says the heifers are already calved out and we can be glad ’cause that’s even more work ’cause most of ’em need help their first time.”
His. He. Evidently, Erik’s name was not going to be uttered in her presence by Murphy. As for everything else, her young ward might as well have been speaking Swahili. She got the gist of the calving part and frankly didn’t want to think too hard on the rest.
“But you...got along okay?” She studied him closely, watching for any sign that he might be on the verge of doing something desperate.
He didn’t answer. His dark eyes skipped over her face. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Prob’ly hurts, huh?”
“A little.” She wasn’t going to lie. But he didn’t have to know just how badly her cheek still throbbed, either. “I know you didn’t mean to hit me, Murphy. But you shouldn’t have tried to hit Erik, either. I know you’re angry and hurting about a lot of things, but you have to find a way of not lashing out. With your fist. With a baseball bat. With anything like that.”
Any tolerance he’d had for the discussion obviously stopped short of that point. “Whatever.” He turned and headed down the hall into the bathroom, peeling his grimy shirt over his head and throwing it on the floor as he went. A second later, his jeans followed, landing in a heap on top of the shirt in the middle of the hall.
Sighing,
she gingerly retrieved the clothing and quickly stuck them in the wash.
With a lot of detergent. She didn’t have a hope of getting out the stains. But she sure did hope to get out the smell.
* * *
On Monday morning, Erik gave a quick honk when he came by to pick up Murphy. Murphy grabbed the two slices of toast Isabella was just pulling out of the toaster for him and bolted for the door, as if he was afraid that Isabella might dare to beat him to it.
Then he was gone, and the sound of the truck died away.
She sighed, reminding herself that Murphy was the priority and not her own tangled emotions.
Then, because there was nothing else to do but continue on, she wiped up the toast crumbs and went to work.
And so it went. Through the rest of April.
Into May.
Ultimately, Bethany loved the wedding gown that Isabella and Jolie put together in record time, and when one of her bridesmaids asked Jolie and Isabella to make her wedding gown, too, Isabella found herself with yet another project to work on. But at least this time around, they had the luxury of several months and a bride who was more agreeable.
Murphy started talking incessantly about summer vacation and playing in Weaver’s community baseball league with Zach and Connor Forrest. He showed up one Saturday afternoon, after Erik dropped him off, wearing a pair of leather gloves identical to the pair that Erik had been wearing that first day Isabella had taken Murphy out to the Rocking-C. He started tossing around unfamiliar ranch phrases as if he’d been born on one instead of in New York. His pale skin turned golden, and lighter strands of brown started showing up in his black hair. And one day, Isabella realized he’d shot up a good inch.
When he dropped a paper napkin onto his lap after she gave him a slice of pie for a snack one afternoon at Ruby’s, she wanted to sit right down on the floor and bawl like a baby.
He was doing exactly what she’d needed him to do.
Without the complication of Isabella and Erik together, Murphy was settling in.
And every day, she missed Erik. Missed everything about him.
A Weaver Vow Page 16
