Lonesome Cowboy (Honky Tonk Hearts) Page 8

  Marshall’s words broke off at the keen half-gasp, half-whimper as Amy’s hands wrapped around her middle. She stumbled away from him, her face crumbled into a mask of confusion and pain.

  She shook her head in denial. “No, y-you didn’t call. Mom would have told me. And I checked my machine every night after work…she wouldn’t have,” she repeated to herself.

  “Amy.” He stepped forward, hesitated, and clasped her shoulders, squeezing the cold skin gently until she looked up at him.

  The despair in her watery gaze revealed an agonizing truth, and the years’ worth of anger at her spun back in a one-eighty onto himself, too blinded by his own mission and beliefs to even consider someone would be out to sabotage them.

  Marshall forced himself to hold her pain-filled gaze. “I swear to you, Amy. I called, every day for that first month. Even when your mother told me I didn’t deserve you, I still called weekly. When you still wouldn’t talk to me—when I thought you still wouldn’t talk to me—then yes, I stopped to focus on one thing…becoming someone you did deserve.”

  “But you already were,” she said so quietly, her eyes filled with so much that it clogged his throat.

  Amy shook out of the moment and pushed away from him. Marshall was wrong; he had to be. “No, no,” she repeated adamantly, a hand running through her hair. “My mother wouldn’t do that to me. She knew how much I cared about you, saw what a wreck I was because you didn’t call.” Anger burned her tear-stained face and sharpened her steps pacing the patio. “I told her you would. I knew you would. Every part of my being knew you’d be back. B-but I believed her when I’d come home from work and she said you didn’t call. And there were never any messages on the machine…actually, there were never any messages at all.”

  She slowed and stared out over the gardens. Her mother had always been a bit selfish and manipulative, but this? Sabotaging a relationship was a far cry from playing the constant pity card to get her way.

  “She was far from perfect, but I trusted her, she was my mother.” She pinched the ridge of her nose, fighting a losing battle, again. “When weeks and months went by, I started doubting…us. Believing her when she said you weren’t coming back. Believing everyone. Everyone…as in all her friends.” She slapped the railing. “My God, how could she do that to me? I believed her. I…I gave up on us because…”

  Amy pushed herself slowly away and brushed the tears from her eyes. This wasn’t happening. Everything she’d believed in turned out to be a lie—first with Hank and now her mother. It was all rushing back, all those little innuendoes her mother subtly tossed into a conversation, playing Hank up the whole time Marshall was gone. Now she understood everything. She’d been played, by everyone.

  “How naive can one person be?” Betrayal and shame twisted her stomach until she thought she was going to be sick.

  “Amy, don’t.”

  Firm hands grasped her shoulders and pulled her back. Settled in a cocoon of security and warmth against Marshall’s chest almost started another bout of tears. But she refused to shed one more for the sins of the past.

  “No, it’s true. You don’t understand.” But I finally do.

  She cleared her throat and glanced to Charlotte, the one and only spark of light in this whole maniacal farce.

  He squeezed her shoulders. “Then help me understand.”

  Amy threw up her hands and stepped out of the comfort she didn’t deserve. “Why not? You of all people deserve the whole truth…or, I guess more apt, all the lies.”

  She stepped around him and pushed her hair behind her ear, working up the courage to get through the rest of this humiliation.

  “It wasn’t a good time for me. I was…heartbroken, still fighting every day just to get up in the morning, thinking you’d abandoned me…and then Mom died.”

  The shuffle of a footstep closer pulled her hand up between them. If he touched her now, she’d never get through this without falling apart. But he needed to know, needed to know how close he came to picking the wrong girl—a stupid, stupid girl. Maybe her closet would be full of ghosts forever, but at least she could free his.

  “What happened to her?”

  “Workplace accident at the factory.”

  Amy cleared her throat and sat down on the porch swing to lean her arms on her knees, folding her hands in a tight ball. The chains squealed tight with the motion. A more apt sound if she ever heard one.

  “There were obvious legal issues, and Hank was there to save the day. He was there when I thought everyone else had left me.” Her hands fanned open of their own accord. “I didn’t have to think anymore, he just took care of things. Everything had happened so fast and I was…numb. So, when he asked me to marry him I thought…why not? I had lost you—I thought I had lost you—and I had lost Mom. Andee had her business and new baby on the way…” Closing her eyes, she leaned forward and brushed a hand through her hair, ending at her nape where she rubbed the tense knot of hard memories. “I admit, I was weak, and alone, and scared the emptiness inside would consume me. So I said yes.”

  Long, silent moments passed before boots scuffed across the porch and the swing shifted under Marshall’s weight.

  A comforting hand settled on her back, no demands, only support. And patience, waiting for her to continue.

  Waiting for me. Just as he’d done back then.

  And what I should have done.

  “Hank was the one who rushed the wedding date,” she continued quickly, whether to validate it to him or herself, she wasn’t sure. “It wasn’t until almost a year into the marriage that I found out all the attention hadn’t been for my benefit, but simply for show. He was up for partner in a firm with strong family values. He needed a wife, fast, and what better than one with a sad, unfortunate story that put him in the role of compassionate hero in the eyes of the other partners. But when they chose another lawyer over him, he was, well, let’s just say he didn’t take it very well.” She could still hear the crash of the furniture in his office at the house. “From then on he became moody and angry and—”

  The hand on her back tensed, and she turned to find eyes dark as midnight sapphires staring at her intently.

  “Did he hurt you?”

  She shook her head. “No, he never took it out on me, at least not physically. But he became so miserable, it was almost palpable.” She dug her fingers into her forehead to ease the tightness the memories caused. The humiliating way he enjoyed telling her the truth of their relationship, that she should feel lucky he chose her, sloppy seconds of some rodeo chump who used her up and spit her out.

  Amy swallowed the indignity and stared off in the distance. “Since he helped me through a really hard time in my life, I naively thought this was my turn to help him. But I walked on eggshells waiting for his next tirade about his job, or freak-out because I brought home the wrong brand of bread. If I suggested a new job or opening his own business, well…” His harsh laughter at her “stupid” ideas still rang in her ears. “It got to the point where I was ready to leave…and then I found out I was pregnant.”

  She pushed off the swing and moved to the stroller, folding the blanket around her sleeping daughter as she hurried on. “I saw it as a positive, that maybe if Hank had something—someone—else to focus on other than himself, he might come out of his depression.” And, unlike her own childhood, she’d wanted to give their child a chance to know her father.

  The little lips grinned in innocent sleep, and Amy reached a hand out to caress her daughter’s soft cheek. The regret of what Charlotte would never know warred with the thankfulness that she would, at least, never know her father like he’d been.

  “He’d had a business meeting the night he died.”

  This last part of the story was harder to tell than the first. There were no lies to hide behind, only the cold truth.

  “He was responsible enough to call me if they ended up at the bar afterwards,” she continued, “which was most every meeting, and I’d always dri
ve the hour into the city to pick him up. But it’d been a bad day and worse night.” He’d grumbled all day about the meeting, taking his frustrations out on her in spiteful episodes of snide remarks and insults. “I was still in the first trimester, sicker than a dog and dead tired. So I turned the ringer off, figuring this once he’d get one of the other lawyers to drive him home.” Guilt burned her stomach at the selfish choice. “He never came home, and there were numerous messages on the phone when I checked the next morning.” Each one angrier than the last. “Then the police arrived. Turned out Hank decided to drive home when he shouldn’t have. He skidded into a tree. Thankfully no one else got hurt.” That had been her first thought at the time, too, rather than the loss of her husband. “Apparently, when the police talked to the firm about the meeting he had been attending, his depression and change in work ethic came to light. The accident was then investigated for suicide,” she added with a sardonic frown. “But that was eventually ruled out. It was just stupidity on his part…and mine.”

  “It wasn’t your fault, Amy.”

  Blinking, she was startled to find Marshall behind her. Strong hands turned her around and clenched her tight to his chest.

  “Hank made the choice. Don’t take this on yourself, not on top of everything else.”

  The heat of him penetrated and she gave in, leaning into the strength of his arms, breathing in that scent that was all male, all him. For a brief moment, she could almost imagine that it had all been a bad dream she’d just woken up from, and everything was the way it should be, the way it should have been.

  But that only happened in movies; life didn’t have a rewind button.

  She began to pull away only to have his finger graze her chin, raising it until she looked at him.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Wh—” The hand moved to brush hair from her cheek and caused the breath in her lungs to hitch. She cleared her throat and tried again. “What do you have to be sorry for? I’m the one who caused all of this—if I had just waited, kept the faith, believed in us more…Even if I hadn’t come here and left well enough alone…”

  “Then we wouldn’t have known the truth, and I wouldn’t have ever gotten another chance to do this.”

  His hand wove beneath the hair at her nape, pulling her forward until his lips sealed his words.

  It was as if the earth dropped from beneath her feet, the memory of his lips so pure, so vivid, so all consuming, time was suspended, as if she’d been in a drought and he was the water of life. Two years closed together, and she almost cried out for the need she had suppressed for so long.

  The warm lips, slow and sweet at first, became strong and demanding, as if he too needed her to survive. The realization was empowering, and she clasped his shirtfront, unwilling to let even a breath of air come between them.

  Chapter Eleven

  Dark blue eyes held Amy’s gaze, their expression mirroring her own turbulent emotions as their air-starved lungs pulled in short breaths. She slowly lowered from her toes, thankful the strong arms were around her, because if Marshall let go right now, her weak knees would surely give out.

  A kiss from him was something she never expected to experience again, ever. Talk about your world turning inside out and backward in the blink of an eye.

  Trembling fingers came up to brush her cheek and she leaned into the warmth. A heavy breath fanned her face as his forehead pressed against hers and his eyes closed.

  She wished he’d say something, anything. This afternoon’s confessions turned out to be so much more than either of them had expected. How did they move on from them…could they move on from them?

  “I don’t know…” he finally began, breaking off on another heavy sigh. “I don’t know what to do about—”

  “Helloooo? Marshall? Where are you?”

  A cool spot opened on her forehead as he raised his to the feminine voice coming from the kitchen. Marshall stepped away from her and ran his hand over his jaw like he used to do when he was thinking too hard—something she’d found endearing then, but currently wobbled her fragile optimism.

  Amy’s attention was pulled to the creaking of the screen door. She couldn’t help the widening of her eyes at the bleached blonde in a tailored pencil skirt and six-inch heels stepping through the doorway.

  “There you are. I saw your truck and…” The overly familiar tone gave way to a raise of one slim brow when her gaze circled to Amy.

  And that’s when it hit her, hard, yet another fist to her chin today. Had she really thought Marshall would’ve just sat around pining for her all these years? How naive can you get, Amy? Of course he would be in a relationship. He was a great catch; she of all people knew that firsthand.

  But then, why did he kiss…

  Marshall cleared his throat and waved a hand between them. “Amy, this is Lee-Anne. She’s the real estate agent I mentioned.” He turned his attention to the other woman. “Amy’s interested in checking the place out.”

  The wary expression instantly transformed to business, ready and inviting. “Great.” She clicked over and extended her hand. “Since I’m here, why don’t I take you through the place. It has a lot of great features.”

  She shook the cool, perfectly manicured hand, all the while thinking that now would be the perfect time for Charlotte to wake so she’d have an excuse to leave. But her daughter slept on like an angel, a small smile on her cupid-bow lips.

  Amy stepped to the stroller and maneuvered it out of the corner anyway. “That’s okay. I’ve seen all I need to.” More than I needed to. “Thank you, though. But I should get going.”

  With all the airing of their past, she thought they’d connected again. She fought the urge to raise a hand to her lips. Boy had we. But that was just the past catching them unaware, and didn’t change the reality of here and now. Marshall had a life that didn’t involve her anymore, and she had a new baby and a future to figure out.

  She bit her inner cheek, knowing one thing for sure, her timing still sucked.

  “Thank you, Marshall,” she managed to get out, unable to meet his gaze. “I appreciated you taking the time to”—finally talk to me. Let me accept the blame for my naive trust of those who destroyed us. Make me remember what it was like to have you, to kiss you, to—“show me around,” she finally choked out.

  With a tight grin to the realtor, she shoved the stroller back through the house the way they had come, only realizing her mistake when she halted at the front porch steps.

  “Here, let me help.”

  Those words were becoming too easy to hear, and Amy shook her head as Marshall reached for the carriage. He ignored her and hefted the buggy, baby and all to the paved walkway.

  “You don’t have to leave. Lee-Anne will take you around the rest of the place if I’m what’s bothering y—”

  “No, it’s okay. I don’t know what I was thinking,” she rambled on as he frustratingly followed her down the path. “It was a stupid idea anyway.”

  “Hey.”

  The stroller stopped short, his hand brushing hers where he held it firm. Blue eyes captured her gaze, holding on just as tight.

  “It is not a stupid idea. And now with Char—”

  A clickety-click on wood pulled her gaze away from his sermon to find the thin, perfect form of the stylish blonde watching them from the porch. Was that his type now? Had it always been?

  He’d been about to say something when he broke off the kiss. “I don’t know what to do about—” About Miss Vogue, or about me?

  “Amy?”

  What did it matter anyway? The whole thing was ridiculous for her to even think…no, she’d just add the silly hope that had popped up onto her pile of foolish mistakes. And right now, she’d need one hell of a shovel to get past it all.

  “Amy.”

  When she brought her attention back to Marshall, his brow dipped as his gaze skipped between her and the house.

  Comparing us? Seriously? She knew it was callus, but with her em
otions on overload right now from all she’d learned, not to mention one whopper of a kiss, she couldn’t help it and dropped her gaze. Probably thanking his lucky stars he escaped my bullet when he did.

  Marshall crouched slightly, his face coming into her view, waiting until she looked at him again before he stood tall. A sexy smile tilted one corner of his lips, causing all sorts of electrical pulses to zip through her. Not fair.

  “Are you…jealous?”

  “Noooo, of course not,” she sputtered. “I-I just…”

  His lips were on hers again in an instant, stealing her sanity and any coherent thought.

  When he let her come up for air, the smile was back full force. “I have a few things to discuss with Lee-Anne. Come to the Lonesome Steer tonight.”

  She wanted to, God, she wanted to, but without his lips on hers, clarity slowly filtered back in. “No, I don’t think that would be a good—”

  “Right. Charlotte. I understand.”

  Amy let him think that was the reason, but he didn’t let up as she’d hoped.

  “What about lunch tomorrow? We can take the babe to the park?”

  She shook her head. “Marshall, I—”

  “Then dinner. I’ll take the night off.”

  The hopeful excitement shining in those beloved blue eyes weakened her resolve, and she bit her lip.

  His hand came up to rest on her cheek. “Trust me. This will all work out.”

  The whole world shifted off its axis for a fraction of a second. She’d heard those words before…

  Trust me. This will all work out.

  The angry wail of her daughter snapped the shift back to the present, before she could be fully pulled into the time warp.

  Amy blinked and nodded. Anything to get her out of there as soon as possible. The quick kiss he gave her didn’t diminish the dark shadow that hovered so close to the surface.