Lonesome Cowboy (Honky Tonk Hearts) (5 page)

Amy snorted at the obvious answer, and, with a wide grin of her own, nodded.

“Well bring her on over.” Keira waved her hand excitedly toward a nearby table.

Setting the carrier on the worn oak surface, she peeled back the pink blanket just as the other woman came over to join them. Keira let out a long and low awwwwhhh almost simultaneously with the waitress.

“What did you name her?”

“Lonesome Steera McGill, in memory of where she was born and to thank you for all your help.” When the woman’s brows jumped above wide brown eyes, Amy couldn’t hold the straight face. “Just kidding.”

“Oh, thank God!” Keira’s slim hand rose to pat the ample chest beneath the honky tonk logo on her navy blue tank. “But, really, it’s not unusual these days. Name choices are getting more outrageous and obscure.” She hiked a thumb to the woman beside her. “Take Tulsa Blue over here for instance.”

“Hey!” the young brunette exclaimed with a good-natured sock to her boss’s arm. “At least people remember me,” she added with a laugh.

“Well, I went for something a little more traditional,” Amy said. “Charlotte Marie.” She brushed a hand over her daughter’s pale, downy hair. “Marie for my mom,” she added quietly.

The oooh and awws erupted again.

“I don’t know.” A twinkle beamed from the eyes of the older man approaching. “I think Gussa or Gussalyn woulda been a good choice.”

Keira laughed and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Amy, this is my dad, Gus.”

He held his hand out. “You were a little busy for introductions last week. Nice to finally meet you.”

She accepted his warm greeting, now recalling the graying, handlebar mustache from behind the bar when she first arrived that night.

“Speaking of thank you.” She turned to include Keira in her earnest affirmation. “Thank you both so much for the basket but especially everything you did for me, for us, that night.” Her cheeks warmed. “I am so sorry for disrupting your business and—”

“No need for that. We were only too glad to help.” Gus peeked over at the baby. “Besides, the beauty is the first baby born in this old honky tonk—we had a close call with Lance Dugan’s little one—but she’s the first. Makes her kinda extra special, don’t you think?”

Amy glanced to her daughter, her heart ballooning with pride until her chest almost couldn’t hold it. “Yes, she is.”

“Can I hold her?” This came from Keira who aimed a hopeful smile her way.

“Sure.” Undoing the straps of the carrier, she lifted the pink swaddled baby out and placed her in the other woman’s arms. Tiny rose lips turned down at the disturbed nap.

“She is so adorable,” Keira gushed, and inhaled a deep breath. “I love that baby smell.”

Gus shimmied up beside her. “I think my daughter doesn’t plan to give your little one up for a bit.” He nodded his head toward the kitchen. “Marshall’s out back. I’m sure he’d like to see you, and the babe too, since he was a big part of it all.”

Amy’s chest constricted at the thought. “Oh, I don’t know about that.” Even though he’d been gracious enough to set aside his anger to help out in an emergency, she had no illusions the unexpected drama changed anything. Still, part of her had hoped he’d come by the hospital so she could talk to him…ask him…

“I appreciated his help more than he’ll ever know,” she finally said in all honesty. “But I’m afraid I’m not one of his favorite people right now.” She tried to hold the small smile, but it was hard.

“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve never known Marshall to hold a grudge.”

“Yeah, well, he has a good reason this time.”
Because I burned that bridge to cinders.

A low chuckle twitched the long ends of his mustache. “Good reasons are like tumbleweeds, a change in wind and they disappear down a whole new path.”

Her lip tilted. Something told her this old man wasn’t going to give up that easy. And wasn’t the reason for coming here today to thank them, all of them? At least if she did, then she wouldn’t have that hanging over her for the rest of her life, too.

“You’re right. Where did you say he was?”

“Out back.” He raised a hand, motioning behind the bar. “Through the door, turn left and you’ll see the exit.”

“Thank you.”

A quick glance to her daughter caused sudden anxiety to overtake her, and she hesitated.

“Don’t you worry none there.” Gus’s comforting hand rested on her shoulder. “We’ll take good care of little Miss Charlotte. Why, she’s practically family now.”

Amy returned an embarrassed grin. How silly to panic at leaving her daughter. It still amazed her how immediate it all became, the love, the worry, the protectiveness. She nodded, thankful for their understanding, for all their help to a complete stranger. They really were a remarkable family, and she felt honored they included her daughter in their fold.

With a nervous gesture, she pointed to the door. “I’ll just head out then—but I won’t be long.” That last bit came not only with the need to be with her daughter, but with the expectation that Marshall wouldn’t have much to say to her, anyway.

With coos and praise over her daughter bolstering her nerves, Amy walked—on her own this time—through the door next to the bar and turned left, down the hall toward the propped-open door at the end. Shading the bright sun with a hand on her forehead, she followed the rhythmic hammering coming from the side of the wood-paneled building.

Her heart upped its rhythm with every step closer. What would Marshall think? Would he give her the chance to thank him this time, even though he didn’t give her the chance to apologize the last time he saw her? Every scenario flashed through her mind on fast forward…every scenario
but
the one that greeted her when she rounded the back corner of the honky tonk.

Holy cow.
Sunbeams glinted off the bronze muscles of his bare chest and arms with a god-like intensity, stealing the breath from her lungs and raising the heat in her cheeks to sunburn level. Add the low-riding jeans and Stetson pulled low over his forehead and…

Amy gulped, at least tried to, but her throat was suddenly too dry.

Corny as the description sounded in her own head, one
glorious
bicep rippled as the hammer in his hand came down over a two-by-four; his easy strength propelling the thick nail deep into the wood.

Vaguely, she knew the repetitious pounding stopped, but couldn’t remove her gaze from the shimmering appendage. It wasn’t until the silence penetrated her brain that she snapped out of the unexpected fascination.

Raising her focus to his face, she immediately noted the low brow stare. An odd stare, like he was deciding if there was someone in front of him or not.

“G-Gus said you were back here,” she stuttered, trying to restore her equilibrium.

His jaw ticked and tightened, and the previous fanciful thoughts of riveting biceps and god-like visions vanished.

What was I thinking?

As if shaking himself out of his own thoughts, he stood up straight and removed his Stetson, using his forearm to swipe at his forehead before replacing it.

To avoid another stare session at his sun-drenched body’s fluid movements, Amy took in the saw horses, lumber, and peanut shells scattered in the sawdust. She stepped closer and grasped for the first thing that came to mind to break the awkwardness. “What are you making?”

His eyes glanced up quickly before he grabbed up another nail and bent his head back to the job. “Fixing the garbage enclosure.”

She couldn’t think of a reply to his curt answer, and the silence rang uncomfortably long. Her first instinct had been right; she shouldn’t have come out.

Marshall forced his gaze to stay on the nail head and not sneak back to the auburn highlights kissed by the afternoon sun.
How can a woman who just gave birth a week ago look so beautiful
? The lilac sundress didn’t help, caressing the curves of her breasts and allowing a good bit of the long, lean legs to show beneath. He creased his brows against the temptation for another look, reached deep for the past, for the anger, and smashed down another nail into the two-by-four.

But his attention was drawn to her fidgeting hands—the same tendency she’d had in the bar last week.
Odd, she never used to be a nervous person
.

The conversation she’d had with her cousin at the hospital came instantly back to mind—both the words and her reaction:

I know how hard it was with Hank this last year. He didn’t need to be so cru—

Don’t, Andee. I don’t want to talk about that anymore.

He’d only met the man a few times, but didn’t have much use for him—had Hank been mean to her; had he abused her?

A streak of pure, blazing fire scored from his gut to his head.
If the man laid a hand on her, I’ll kill h—
though the fire burned, it dulled slightly when he remembered the man was already dead.

“Marshall?”

He took a breath to douse the flames before glancing back to her. His brows drew down further and he couldn’t help scouring her from head to toe for signs, bruises, scars…

“
Marshall.”

Snapped out of his study, he shook his head. “What?”

“I said I came by to thank you.” Her arm swung behind her in an annoyed gesture toward the honk tonk. “To thank everyone actually, so don’t look so pissed off, or worry that I’m here for anything else. We’ll be leaving, and trust me, I won’t bother you anymore.” With that she spun and stalked back around the corner.

Dammit.
The hammer smacked the ground with a solid thud spraying up sawdust and peanut shells not too far from his boot. He should have aimed better—it would have served him right.

He put his hands on his hips and stared at the pavement. It was so easy to remember the times they were together; he’d been on cloud nine, happier than he’d ever been. What he was feeling now was nothing like that. History had turned the lightness to molten lava in his chest, burning up the back of his neck. And he didn’t know if he could get past it. At the same time,
no one
deserved to be treated wrongly by a man, especially a husband.

He took an involuntary step forward and then stopped—
what if I’m wrong?
What if he’d misinterpreted what he heard? What if he was only hearing what he
wanted
to hear? How many times had he wished it upon them that they have a miserable life together? It’d made it easier to stay angry, easier than feeling the loss, the pain.

A small stab of guilt at possibly making matters worse settled beside the boulder in his chest and, with a heavy breath, he gave in and headed into the Lonesome Steer.

The place was dim after working for the last couple hours in the bright sunshine, and he made his way more by instinct than sight. The dimness lifted as he walked into the main room just in time to see a pale-faced Amy hustling out the door with baby carrier in tow.

She’d been pissed when she stalked away from him, not distressed like this. “What the hell happened?” he asked, approaching the threesome.

Keira’s lips rolled together as her attention shifted to Tulsa Blue sitting at the table beside them.

“How was I to know?” the waitress said with a guilty expression and raise of her hands.

“It’s not her fault. She made a comment about how the babe’s father must be so proud and…”

Damn.
“He’s dead.”

Keira nodded. “Yeah, Dad just told us.”

All three faces dropped with concern and guilt.

“Poor girl,” Gus said.

“I’m really sorry,” Tulsa Blue added as she sulked back to the cutlery pile on the bar.

Marshall waved off her apology because there were too many things they didn’t know. And even more things
he
didn’t know now—like if Amy missed her husband? Was she upset that Hank would never see his daughter? That she was left to do everything alone?

Being a single mother wasn’t going to be easy, and he was now thankful for Andee’s brow-beating Amy to stay—she needed family right now.

Not that’s it’s any of my business.

At least that’s what he tried to tell himself as he headed back the way he had come—in more ways than one. Because the one thing he didn’t even want to admit to himself was, despite what Amy had done to him, he still cared about her…whether he wanted to or not.

Chapter Six

“With all the baby stuff in here, maybe this place isn’t as perfect as I thought. Are you sure I can’t convince you to stay at the house with us?”

Amy followed Andee’s gaze around the bachelorette apartment. Small, yet bright, the cozy little place was far more welcoming than the cold mausoleum in Fort Worth Hank had bought.

“It’s perfect,” she assured as she continued folding a tiny onesy from the laundry basket on the small kitchenette table. She glanced from the rusty, mop-top of her twenty-month-old nephew, Jackson, playing on the carpet to the wide-eyed baby in the basinet next to her, then to the clock that read barely past five o’clock in the morning. “Besides, with Charlotte having her days and nights mixed up, this is the best for everyone’s sanity,” she added with a light laugh, even though in truth, it wasn’t very amusing at all. She stifled a yawn behind the next piece of pink material.