Lonesome Cowboy (Honky Tonk Hearts) Page 6

  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—

  “Charlotte.”

  Fighting the grogginess, she shoved herself to a sitting position. How could she sleep! What if her baby needed her? What if she hadn’t heard h—

  “It’s okay, Amy. She’s fine.”

  The low, gentle voice threatened to lull her back to sleep, and she wiped at her eyes, clearing the last of the fogginess away. But what she saw made her think she was still dreaming.

  Marshall…holding her daughter. A small smile on his handsome face, the tiny child in the crook of big, solid arms. Her emotions warred within her, the sight so amazing and heartbreaking at the same time.

  Heartbreaking won.

  She should’ve been your child. This should have been our life…

  Amy fought the collapse of her chest and pushed the “should have beens” back into the dark closet of her heart. “H-how long have I been asleep?” She avidly remembered him coming upon her in a weak moment when she’d been tired and angry at the stupid stroller. How embarrassing to cry in front of him over something so ridiculous.

  “Less than an hour.”

  And he stayed? Why?

  “She was getting a little antsy,” he said as if reading her mind. “You were pretty worn out, and I didn’t want her to wake you.”

  So, you just picked her up and rocked a baby for an hour? And he looked so natural sitting there in the chair, her daughter’s small body protected within his arms.

  Reality took hold along with a singeing of her cheeks, and she rushed over to relieve him of his undue burden.

  Charlotte’s warm body nestled into hers, her little chin immediately rooting around her breast.

  “She’s, uh, hungry.” If possible, her cheeks burned hotter as his gaze went to her chest.

  Marshall’s eyes darkened and the heat raked from her cheeks to more intimate places.

  He cleared his throat and stood. “I-I should be going.”

  Amy didn’t quite know what to do about the muted gravel in his tone, or the way it ignited embers she’d thought long turned to ashes.

  Heart pounding, she simply nodded and followed him to the door. “Thank you,” she remembered to say at the last minute.

  Marshall turned and paused, blue eyes softening. “No problem.”

  He ran a finger over Charlotte’s plump cheek. “We had a good talk.” His
gaze rose to meet hers, the grin tipping his lips again. “Few things I needed to work out. She was a good listener.”

  In his eyes, Amy read the war he was battling, the hurt, the questions. He had every right to be mad…or had he? There was still that comment he made about the ring…causing questions of her own she needed answered.

  “Marshall—”

  His warm fingers pressed gently against her lips.

  A quiet, “Shhh,” escaped his. “It’s okay. We will talk, just not right now.”

  His soap-musky scent whirled around her, making her dizzy, and with his fingers still pressed against her lips, she could only nod, and gulp.

  His gaze dipped back down and the pressure in and around her breasts became more than apparent. When his attention returned to hers, his eyes were dark as a moonlit lake.

  Then he did something she didn’t expect, didn’t imagine would ever happen again in her lifetime. He bent, and his lips grazed her forehead, paused, and then pressed a tender kiss to her heated skin.

  Then he was gone.

  Amy stood there in the open doorway, the small, annoyed mewing sounds from her daughter muffled by the thunderous pounding of her heart.

  ****

  With a long-broom in one hand, Marshall flipped a chair over and set it seat down on the table Tulsa Blue had wiped down earlier. The jukebox played low in the background and the aroma of Gus’s special, after-hours brew filled the quiet honky tonk. He pushed the broom along the floor and repeated the closing exercise at the next table.

  “You know, you’ve put a whole new spin on the Lonesome Cowboy moniker tonight.”

  He glanced over his shoulder to find Keira, two mugs in hand, headed his way. “Excuse me?”

  “They used to call you the Lonesome Cowboy because you’ve been working here so long. But you played lonesome on a whole new level tonight.”

  Marshall frowned and accepted the mug of strong, black coffee, not planning to comment on the ridiculous statement. After a short, hot sip, he set the mug down and grabbed up another chair.

  Keira obviously didn’t get the hint as she continued to stare at him expectantly.

  The chair clunked onto the scarred table-top. With quick jerks, he swept out peanut shells and an old receipt from under the table. “Did you have a point?”

  “You wanna talk about her?”

  The concerned brown eyes of his longtime friend were too understanding and compassionate for him to handle at the moment, and he dropped his attention back to his task. “No.”

  “Come on, Marsh. You’ve been sulking about ever since Amy showed up, and then tonight it’s been like you’re on another planet. You actually gave a Margarita to Big Ed for goodness sake.”

  “He liked it, didn’t he?” he grumbled.

  Her shoulder bumped his, and Keira’s throaty laughter trickled out. “Yeah, and thanks for that. I lost five bucks to Dad betting Big Ed would never touch the glass.”

  His lips twitched thinking about how he covered his absent-mindedness by convincing the three-hundred-pound truck driver the women would come crawling over to him if they saw him drinking it.

  Her tone sobered. “That’s the first glimmer of a smile I’ve seen on your face in a week.”

  Marshall stopped and folded his arms over the end of the broom, dropping his chin on his knuckles. He opened his mouth to speak, but settled for a heavy sigh against his friend’s knowing stare.

  She tucked the heavy blonde hair behind her ear and leaned back against a table. “Love’s a bitch, isn’t it?”

  Narrowing his eyes, he took in her slouched shoulders and thin finger rimming the brim of the cup. “You hooked up with him again, didn’t you?”

  “No.”

  But the brush of a phantom hair from her cheek was her tell, and he knew it. This time the sigh was for her. “Josh’s a jerk, Keira.”

  Her gaze darted to the kitchen door and then back, her voice a harsh whisper. “Hey, we’re not talking about me—it’s you who needs to get his head out of his ass and see what’s right in front of you.”

  He leaned in and matched her low volume. “Seriously? This coming from you? The woman who’s hung up on a jerk who hooks up for a bit of tail, and then heads to the next rodeo before the bed is cold.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” She pushed off the table and came right up to his face. “But yeah, maybe Josh isn’t Mr. Perfect, but at least he admits he wants me. More than your sorry ass has done. I don’t blame Amy for—”

  Marshall raised his hand between them in an attempt to stop her momentum before it took them both somewhere they didn’t want to go. After a few more seconds of heated stare-off, he dropped it.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t want to fight with you, Keira.” He was so damn tired of fighting—mostly with himself. It was like he was split in two and didn’t know how to pull himself back together again. Worse, he hated to admit out loud, “You’re right, okay? Happy now?”

  She collected herself with a purse of her lips and eyed him up and down before letting out a heavy breath of her own. “No, I’m not.” Leaning back against the tabletop, she tilted a smile his way. “We’re really a pair, aren’t we?”

  He chuckled and reached out a hand to chuck gently at her chin. “Yeah. Lonesome’s finest.”

  “So, what are you gonna do about her?”

  Marshall shook his head. Having been burned to ashes, he didn’t know if he had it in him to risk even going near that flame again. “God knows I’ve thought about it until my head hurts.” Not to mention his heart. “But, honestly, I haven’t the slightest idea.”

  “Maybe you’re thinking too hard. You know what Dad always says”—she twisted the end of an imaginary mustache—“‘Thinking can put more walls around a heart than cement.’”

  Chapter Nine

  Marshall rubbed gingerly at his thigh again; there’d be a bruise there the size of Texas by morning. He returned his hand to the steering wheel and turned the truck off Main Street and onto Route 66 out of Redemption.

  If he didn’t get his head on straight, he’d get more than a hoof in the thigh next time. Even Chase had chewed him out for not having his head in the game. Guilt tipped his lips down; his buddy trusted him to ride the bulls for assessment, paid him for his expertise, and here he was acting like a greenhorn on his first circuit ride.

  He needed to get Amy out of his head.

  Focusing his attention back to the road before he ended up in a ditch, he slowed down when he noticed a car on the side of the road outside the old Johansson place. He grimaced at the For Sale sign in the front yard near the road. The Victorian Bed and Breakfast had been a booming little business in its day.

  What a waste.

  Marshall pulled up behind the blue Camry and jammed the gear shift into park. He grabbed his cell phone from the cubby in the dash and slid it into his pocket as he exited. The heat of the afternoon was bad enough in an air-conditioned vehicle, he didn’t want to imagine what it would be like for someone stuck on the side of the road for hours.

  The low rumble of an idling engine told him there wasn’t anything wrong with the car, and there was no appearance of a cell phone being held to the head silhouetted though the rear window. So why pull over here?

  Figuring he was there anyway, Marshall approached the driver’s side, but the occupant didn’t move or acknowledge his presence in any way. The sun’s rays on rich, reddish-brown hair caused his hand to pause as he reached to tap the glass. A quick glimpse of an occupied baby seat in the back confirmed his surprise.

  Amy?

  He followed through with the gentle knuckle rap against the window.

  Hair fanned over the soft curve of her cheek as she spun toward him, her startled eyes wide for a moment before slowly closing in relief.

  The window hummed down. “Marshall? What are you doing here…and scaring me half to death?”

  A floral peach scent floated on the cool draft from the air conditioner, tighteni
ng his throat for a moment. He covered the lapse with a shrug. “I saw the car on the side of the road. Didn’t know it was you until I got here.” His agitation made his words come out harsher than he intended. “You should pay more attention. Any lunatic could’ve pulled up behind you, and you never would have known.”

  She tossed a guilty look over her shoulder at the baby sleeping soundly in the backward-facing car carrier. “I should have been paying more attention,” she said almost to herself as her slim brows creased in concern. Then her frown turned toward the window.

  “What are you doing here?”

  The auburn strands danced slightly as she shook her head again, one hand settling on the steering wheel and the other on the gearshift. “Just fantasizing—old dreams die hard I guess.”

  The last was muttered almost to herself before she glanced up with a small, self-conscious smile on her pretty face. His heart did a flip.

  “I appreciate you stopping, but we’re fine.”

  The whimsical look in her eyes dimmed for something more foreign than he remembered from her—resignation.

  “You sure?” he asked.

  With one last look at the bed and breakfast, she nodded with a half-sigh of, “Yeah, we’ll be fine,” almost to herself.

  Don’t do it, Marsh. Let her go.

  But he couldn’t, not when he knew exactly what that whimsical look had meant.

  With a hand on the top of the car, he glanced over his shoulder to the empty house. The mantra continued, but this time his head wasn’t winning the battle.

  “Wanna take a look around?”

  The window stopped halfway up, and he almost laughed at her bright eyes widening as they ricocheted between him and the property.

  “What? N-no…I can’t. There’s no one here. We can’t go traipsing around someone else’s property. Besides I don—”

  Marshall grinned and opened the door for her. “I know the realtor. It won’t be an issue, I’m sure.”

  Amy remained in her seat. “But Charlotte, I’d have to get the stroller and—”