by Melissa Tagg
Or perhaps something to make their parting sting a little less.
The thought knotted inside him. For days he’d tussled with the conviction that he couldn’t stay here. What he’d felt in the hospital when Mara had vanished—the kind of helplessness he’d hoped to never experience again—it was too much.
Too much emotion. Too much fear.
Too much . . . everything.
“I think I’ve lost you.”
Captain Wagner’s gravelly voice drew his attention and he slid from the arm of the loveseat onto the cushion. “Sorry. Just tired. Been pulling long days.” Mostly outside. He’d weeded the garden, trimmed hedges in the back, and planted flowers and bushes all along the new porch. Even though temps were mild, the sun had reddened his cheeks and nose.
He glanced out the den’s picture window. Sunlight spilled through the grove, dappling the lawn with light, and a chorus of birds chirped away. He wished he could find the right mood to match such a perfect spring day.
Especially with Captain Wagner so carefully watching him. “Captain, are you ever going to explain what you’re doing here?”
“Already told you. Alex keeps complaining that your sister keeps complaining that you don’t check in often enough. So I’m doing the checking-in myself. And consequently, saving you from one or both of them showing up here in that minivan of theirs.”
“That’s a long drive just to keep tabs on me. You could’ve called.”
Captain Wagner leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers laced around his can. “I’m getting the feeling you aren’t all that happy to see me.”
“Of course I’m happy to see you. Gives me a chance to apologize for the way I left your office that day.”
“I didn’t come here for an apology.”
“Still, I owe you one.”
“Actually, I think what you owe me is a ‘thank you.’”
“Say again?”
“You may be tired, Hawkins, but you look healthier than I’ve seen you in years. Don’t I deserve a little credit for pushing you into this? I don’t know if it’s the physical labor or the sun or both, but something in this Iowa air is doing you some good.” He took a measured pause. “Would I be right in thinking you’ve laid off the pills?”
Marshall’s gaze shot from the new rug on the floor to his captain’s face. “You, um . . . you knew about that?”
“I knew you came to work too often with your eyes glazed over.” He took a drink. “My first thought was alcohol, ‘til I saw you at your locker one day with a prescription bottle. Narcotics?”
Marshall set down his pop can, palms sweaty. He gave a stiff nod. “Some. But also sleeping aids. Sir, I’m really sorry. I get regular migraines, but still, I shouldn’t—”
“I have three daughters, Hawkins. If I lost one of them, I’d fall apart at the seams. Might not be pills for me but it’d be something.” He waited until Marshall looked him in the eye again. “Do you need help?”
Oh, that question could have all manner of layers. But at least he could honestly answer the one at the surface. He’d been dependent on the meds, yes, but not to the point of life-altering addiction. “I skirted a danger zone there. Beth cleaned me out before I left Milwaukee. Nothing since.”
“Any withdrawal?”
“I passed out a couple of times the first night, but other than that . . .” He shrugged. “Got lucky, I guess.”
“More likely, luck didn’t have a thing to do with it. You have plenty of praying people in your life, son.”
He slumped in his seat. “Yeah, well, I would’ve rather those prayers worked a little earlier. Before I had a reason to start . . .” He clamped his mouth closed. Captain Wagner didn’t deserve his ire.
“A reason to start self-destructing?” The older man’s tone was quiet, patient.
He thudded to his feet, moved to the fireplace and leaned on the mantel, head down. For once, there was no headache squeezing his thoughts. But there might as well have been. “I quit the pills, sir, but I don’t think I can quit the grief. I don’t think . . . it’s never going to go away.”
He didn’t hear his captain stand. Didn’t hear his steps. But he felt the warm hand on his shoulder, firm and gentle. “I can’t speak to your grief, but I can promise you that you’re not alone. You’ve got your family, you’ve got me, you’ve got friends on the force. If I’m not mistaken, you might have some friends here, too, correct?”
Marshall could only nod, the clogging in his throat too tight for words.
“You’ve tried pills, son, and that didn’t work. You’ve tried pushing us away, isolating. That didn’t work either.” Captain Wagner squeezed his shoulder. “So try something different this time. Try leaning into the love and support of the people in your life. If not those of us back in Wisconsin, then here—though your sister would probably kill me for suggesting it. But I’m not blind. You seemed completely at home showing me around this place. Far more at ease than you’ve been around the bullpen in the past two years.”
Marshall pushed away from the mantel, Captain Wagner’s hand dropping from his shoulder. “I can’t stay here.”
“Why not?”
Because it wouldn’t be fair to Mara. It’d become so clear to him in this week away from her. He kept remembering back to what she’d told him about her parents. How her mom had never been able to get over her dad’s abandonment. Had been so engulfed in her own despair she’d stopped seeing her daughter.
Marshall had already done that to Penny. In some ways, he’d even done it to Laney in those final, desperate months.
He wouldn’t do it to Mara too.
Or maybe you’re just a coward. Too scared of getting too close. Because the thought of losing another person . . .
Like he could’ve lost Mara in that hospital parking garage.
“Maybe I should catch a ride back with you,” he said. Better than driving the rental all the way to Milwaukee.
“Not going to answer the question of why you can’t stay here?”
“Are you trying to tell me I no longer have a job?”
“Of course not. But you still have several weeks of leave left. I’m not letting you come back early, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Well, no, but—”
“Marshall!”
The call echoed through the house followed by the sound of the front door closing. Mara?
There hadn’t been enough money to insulate the flooring—which meant he could hear every one of her steps as she hurried through the house. She was at the den’s doorway in seconds. How had she known to look here first?
“Hey, Marsh.” She set a packed grocery sack down.
“Hey yourself.”
Her clothes were wrinkled from the drive and there was a slight frizz to her copper hair, but it was her tentative smile that held his gaze so long that he almost forgot—
“Oh, Captain Wagner.” The words tumbled out. “Uh, Mara this is my boss. Cap, this is Mara. She runs this place.” He glanced back at Mara in time to see a flicker of disquiet in her eyes. But she quickly blinked it away.
“Captain Wagner, nice to meet you.”
The captain shook her hand. “It’s only ‘Captain’ to my men in uniform. You can call me Eli.”
Marshall swallowed, too many thoughts and questions twisting at once. Why hadn’t she called or texted to let him know she was coming home today? Was Lenora with her? Why the groceries?
And did she have any idea what she did to him? He wanted to pull her to him and kiss her—forget Captain Wagner or the decision he was pretty sure he’d just made.
Instead, he jammed his hands into his pockets. “I didn’t realize you were coming home. Why didn’t—”
“We never went on that date, Marshall.”
Was that a snort from the captain? He felt the back of his neck heat. “What?”
“I came back so we could.”
“So we could go on a date.”
Another snort and now a s
lap on the back too. “You heard her, son.”
A gentle evening rain hadn’t been a part of Mara’s plan.
Yet its steady pattering against the metal roof of the train had a calming effect on Mara’s nerves. Or maybe that was the dim light of the lantern. Or the view outside the freight car’s open doors, the last sliver of subdued sunlight peeking over the horizon through thin rainclouds. Twilight fell lazily in shades of blue over the field that stretched in front of the Maple Valley Scenic Railway.
“I’m a police officer, Mara. I should be the last person committing a crime.”
Mara reached for the picnic basket sitting between her and Marshall on the blanket they’d spread over the train car’s floor. Her laughter bounced off the steel walls. “This isn’t a crime.”
Marshall propped his elbows on his crossed legs. “The depot’s closed. Technically, we’re trespassing.”
“Technically, we’re not doing anything that hundreds of Maple Valley teens don’t do every year.” According to Jenessa, anyway. She’d said it was practically a rite of passage for local kids to come out to the heritage railroad stationed at the edge of town at night, hang out in this empty boxcar.
“Look for the black freight car with the orange stripe down the middle. The door’s heavy but it’ll slide open.”
“We won’t get in trouble for it?”
“Nah, but if it makes you feel better, I can give Case Walker a call. He runs the depot. He has a soft spot like you wouldn’t believe, and frankly, it’d probably relieve him to know it’s adults sneaking into the boxcar this time instead of hormonal teenagers.”
Mara wouldn’t have thought of a boxcar as romantic, but the low glow of the lantern was enough to make out the hundreds of scraped markings all around its interior walls. Initials, names, hearts and plus signs.
That, along with the view, along with the handsome man sitting across from her—and now, along with the rain—made this night perfect.
Or at least as close to perfect as it could be before she knew how Marshall would react to what she was about to say. To ask him. Ever since talking to Lenora yesterday, since concocting this plan, she’d been rehearsing her words. Summoning the bravery to . . .
Well, to push open another door. Take a step through it.
Mara was grateful Lenora had understood. In fact, she’d been the one to urge Mara not to wait. To take her car that had been parked at Davis Saddler’s house for weeks and hit the road at the crack of dawn this morning.
But Lenora wasn’t here to prod Mara on now. Maybe it’d be better to wait until tomorrow to present her plan. Maybe they should just enjoy this date. Talk like normal people getting to know one another. She could ask him about his job—what had made him want to be a detective? What was his most interesting case? Maybe he’d even open up about Laney and—
“Mara? You going to open that picnic basket?”
She blinked. Laughed again. “That depends. Are you going to keep grumbling about how we’re committing a crime?”
Why did his smile seem so strained at the edges? “You call it grumbling. I call it responsible thinking.”
“I can’t believe the same man who didn’t give a single care as to whose property we went sledding on a few weeks ago is suddenly worried about trespassing.” On her knees, she started pulling items from the picnic basket. Chicken caesar wraps. Pasta salad. Fruit.
“No cereal?”
She met his eyes. Even in the faint light, she could see the tension hovering in his gaze despite his teasing. He’s just tired. He’s been working so hard.
Or perhaps his captain showing up earlier today had taken some kind of stressful toll on him. She’d gotten the feeling after the fact that they’d been in the middle of an intense conversation when she’d arrived.
Or maybe there was something else going on. She closed the picnic basket. “Marshall, can we talk for a sec before we eat?”
He let out a long, slow breath. “Actually, yeah. That’d be good.”
She lowered to the blanket, folding her legs like Marshall, her knees nearly brushing his. Just say what you came to say. “Lenora wants to sell the Everwood,” she blurted.
Marshall peered at her. “That’s . . . unexpected.”
“You’re telling me.” She smoothed out the blanket, moved her fingers through its tassels. “The thing is, I understand her reasons. I can’t blame her. Even if it does break my heart a little.”
To anyone else, her words might sound dramatic. But Marshall would understand. He’d witnessed firsthand her love not only for the house, but her place in it. He’d watched her pour her heart into reviving it. He knew her hopes for the future.
Some of them, anyway. He knew she’d hoped to stay and run the place longterm.
But did he know her hope had expanded to include him? If he didn’t, he was about to.
Because that was the other thing she’d come here tonight to tell him. Another door she wanted to walk through. No, run through. Take a giant, romantic leap and let him know how she felt.
Oh, how she prayed he felt the same. If Lenora was right, if God didn’t just see her but cared—deeply, intimately—about all the details of her life then surely He heard her heart’s hopeful desire. And He’d point Marshall’s heart in the same direction. Wouldn’t he?
“If Lenora sells, what are you going to do?”
“Lenora said I could stay with her. She’ll need some in-home assistance for a while.” No more stalling. “But what I really want to do is stay here. I want to buy the Everwood. I know it’s a little crazy since I don’t exactly have a pile of cash handy, but we figured out how to save the Everwood once. If we put our heads together—”
“We?” He wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at his lap, at his tightly folded hands.
She closed her eyes just long enough to catch her breath and beckon whatever bravery she had left. “I was, um . . . I was hoping you’d stick around. We’ve made a really good team so far, haven’t we? We’d be perfect business partners. More than that, we’d be perfect—” She made the mistake of looking up.
And what she saw snatched the rest of her rehearsed words.
Marshall still wasn’t looking at her, but his palms had moved to his knees, knuckles as tight as the rest of him. Instead of leaning toward her as he had earlier, his spine was straight, his shoulders stiff.
Oh. Oh.
This wasn’t the look of a man who was ready to be on the receiving end of any kind of bold declaration of love or even just affection.
The same sickening feeling she’d had as a twelve-year-old, wearing that silly dress, sitting at the silly overly ornamented table, waiting for Dad to say he’d stay, finally realizing he never would—it staggered through her all over again, finding all her tender places.
She scrambled backward, slid the picnic basket back into place between them, mindlessly reached inside. “Sorry. It was nervy of me to think . . . to assume . . .”
“It wasn’t—”
“You have a whole life in Wisconsin and great career. Of course you don’t want to give that up to help run an old B&B.”
“Please don’t put words in my mouth, Mara.”
“But you’re leaving, aren’t you? It’s written all over you. I can see it now.” Please argue.
He didn’t argue.
She closed the basket. Stood.
“Mara—”
“It’s okay. I get it. But now it feels kind of weird to have this date. Let’s just go back and—”
“Believe me, I’ve thought about staying. For days, weeks now, I’ve been thinking about it.” His tone was agonizingly apologetic. The freight car rattled as he rose. “But I’m not the kind of person you need. As a business partner or as . . . anything else.”
“Why do you get to decide what I need?” She pulled on her spring jacket and tipped its hood over her head. “And who said anything about need anyway? I want you to stay. Because I care about you.” Maybe even love you.
; And she’d thought he felt the same. She tried to zip her coat, but it snagged halfway up. With a huff, she snatched the picnic basket and hopped from the freight car. Marshall could grab the blanket.
“Mara, wait,” he called after her. “Please don’t be mad.”
“I’m not mad.” She was embarrassed. Hurt. And, well, fine. She was mad. But not at him.
She was mad at herself. For letting her heart run away with her. For letting herself need something he apparently couldn’t give. Like she’d needed Dad. And Mom. Even Lenora, in a way.
Marshall caught up to her, his long strides slowing to match hers, the blanket draped over his arm. “I have some money.” He took the picnic basket from her hands. “Life insurance. I’ve never been able to bring myself to spend it. I can give it to you. You can use it for a down payment and—”
She halted, rain slicking over her hood and down her jacket, seeping through her canvas shoes. Gone was the last light of dusk. “I can’t accept your money.” Not if he didn’t come with it.
As if he’d heard that last part, he winced. “You have to know I care about you too. More than care. I . . . ” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “But that’s why I have to go. You deserve someone who isn’t broken on the inside.”
“We’re all a little broken on the inside, Marshall. But Lenora would say that God—”
“You don’t get it. I haven’t even told you . . . Look, remember the night I had that really bad migraine and fever and I snapped at you about not wanting any meds? It’s because for two years I survived on sleeping pills and painkillers. The reason I was on the road when I came here in the first place? Captain Wagner forced me into administrative leave because of how often I messed up on the job.”
She stared at him through the rain, her heart aching for him. For herself.
“I’ve been living in a bubble here, Mara.”
“Knowing those things doesn’t make me think less of you. It makes me want to help. Maybe if you open up more, if you talk about Laney—”
“I don’t want to talk about Laney.” He swiped moisture from his face.
She was out of arguments. Out of her last reserves of emotional strength. “Then let’s just get out of the rain and go back.” She strode toward Lenora’s car without looking to see if he followed. She dropped behind the steering wheel, closed the door harder than she meant to.
