by Marin Thomas
“No. He’d placed all his faith in God and told me that if God wanted me to get pregnant it would happen and if he didn’t, it wouldn’t.”
Marsha understood some of the guilt her mother had lived with, knowing that God had played no role in her ability to become pregnant. And she felt bad that her mother had deceived her father but she was the last person who should judge her mother.
Her father may have his prejudices, but he loved her mother. They had a fulfilling marriage and her mother had been active in helping him in his ministry—she was the perfect pastor’s wife. “Why did you marry Dad if you knew you couldn’t have children?”
Tears dribbled from her mother’s eyes. “I was young and scared and full of guilt. I believed the path to God’s forgiveness was marrying a pastor and working by his side.”
“Do you love Dad?”
“I didn’t when I married him.” A dreamy expression filled her mother’s eyes. “But it wasn’t long before my admiration for him grew into love and now—” her voice wobbled “—I don’t know what I’m going to do without him.”
Marsha hugged her mother. “It looks like we’ve both kept a pretty big secret in our lives.”
“But you’re making things right, honey.” Her mother brushed her hand over Marsha’s hair. “You’re giving Ryan and Will the chance to be father and son.”
“I’m sad you couldn’t have children yet grateful that God picked you and Dad to be my parents. I love you both.” Marsha hugged her mother.
“Where is Will taking you today?”
“He’s surprising me.”
Her mother went to the door. “After I got the abortion...the deacon wanted nothing to do with me.” She sniffed. “Be careful, honey. I learned the hard way that a man will say things you want to hear so he can have his way with you, then he moves on without a backward glance.”
Marsha felt terrible that her mother had been used in such a way. “I’m older and wiser, Mom.”
“Let’s hope your heart as well as your brain was paying attention in all those college classes you took.”
“We’ve made Will wait long enough. I’d better rescue him from Dad.” When she stepped outside she spotted her father and Will beneath the carport. “Hi, Will.”
“Marsha.”
“Drive carefully.” Her father hugged her and walked off.
“Is Ryan here?” Will said.
“He hasn’t come outside?” That her son had hidden in the house angered Marsha. She’d taught him better manners. “Give me a second.”
Inside the house she called Ryan’s name before entering his bedroom. He lay on the bed reading. “Why haven’t you gone outside to speak to your father?”
“I’m almost finished with this chapter.”
She crossed the room and removed the e-reader from his hand. “You’ve never been this rude before.”
“What does it matter if I say hi to him?” Ryan swung his legs off the bed and sat up. “He doesn’t like me.”
“Why would you think that?”
“He hardly talked to me at the barbecue.”
“You were the one who walked off when he built the doghouse.”
“He didn’t want my help.”
“Did Will tell you that?”
“No, but I know he was angry, because I didn’t want to use the nail gun.”
“We’ll discuss your attitude when I get home tonight.” She returned to the carport and said, “I’m afraid Ryan’s not feeling well.”
Will’s stare burned a hole through her dress. “You don’t have to lie. He doesn’t want to see me, does he?”
Aware of her parents watching through the window, she said, “Let’s talk about this on the way to wherever it is we’re going today.” She hopped into the front seat and less than a minute later, Will turned the truck onto the highway and headed south away from Stagecoach.
* * *
“SO...WHERE ARE WE GOING?”
Will expelled a frustrated breath, then relaxed his grip on the wheel. “I thought we’d drive toward Ajo.” He breathed in the sweet scent of Marsha’s perfume. The last female who’d sat this close to him had been Isi when he’d taken her on a date as a favor to Conway. The physical attraction hadn’t been there between them, but they’d enjoyed talking to each other and as a result had become friends. He was comfortable with Isi, because he felt her equal—he couldn’t say the same for Marsha.
“There’s a restaurant called the Devil’s Plateau that serves great steaks,” he said. “It’s built at the top of a mesa near Ajo. The panoramic view of the desert is pretty impressive.”
“Sounds nice.”
He hoped to impress her with the restaurant—he’d worn his newest pair of jeans and dress boots. He assumed Marsha was used to upscale eateries in California, whereas he preferred the food found in desert dives along the highway.
He squirmed in his seat, wracking his brain for a conversation starter. Funny how he hadn’t been the least bit nervous when he’d coaxed a much younger Marsha into the backseat of his grandfather’s pickup.
In an effort to redirect his thoughts he asked, “What do you like most about teaching?”
“The kids, of course.” She shifted toward him. “It amazes me how smart my students are.”
“How many science classes do you teach a day?”
“Four, and one is an AP course.”
At the risk of sounding stupid, he asked, “What does AP stand for?”
“Advanced placement. The classes are college level and if the student’s passing score is high enough on the comprehensive exam at the end of the semester, then they earn college credit for the course.” She waved a hand in the air. “There’s a big push by parents for schools to offer more AP courses, because it saves on tuition costs down the road. I’ve seen kids accumulate enough AP credits to begin college as sophomores instead of freshmen.”
“Is Ryan taking any AP courses?”
“Next year, he’ll be in two classes.”
“Which ones?”
“Biology and English.”
When Will had been a sophomore, all he’d thought about was girls. “Are you sure it’s smart to push him so hard?”
She stiffened. “I’m not pushing him. I’m restraining him.”
“What do you mean?”
“I had Ryan tested a couple of years ago.”
“Tested for what?”
“His IQ.”
With Marsha for a mother, Will assumed his son would be bright. “How smart is he?”
“His IQ score two years ago was 144.”
“Is that high enough to be considered a genius?”
“Not quite, but it’s close.”
Will’s stomach bottomed out. No wonder Ryan had snubbed his nose at building a doghouse. If Will had suggested they construct a nuclear generator, Ryan would have been over-the-moon excited.
“Can I ask you a personal question?”
He braced himself. “Sure.”
“Do you know much about your father or his side of the family? Was he a professional? Maybe a doctor?”
The fact that she’d skipped over him and assumed their son might have inherited his high IQ from a relative of Will’s, tweaked his pride. “I know very little about my birth father.” Only that the man was a cruel bastard.
“Have you ever had your IQ tested?” she asked.
Will laughed—the sound a harsh bark, not a heartfelt chuckle.
“I know you didn’t apply yourself in school,” Marsha said. “But a lot of high IQ kids don’t, because they’re bored in class.”
Will might as well set Marsha straight, but he hated discussing his handicap. When he’d been sent to the special-education center in elementary school, he’d convi
nced his friends that he was being punished because he refused to do his class assignments—not because he had trouble reading. He was tempted to lie to Marsha, but lies had gotten them into their current situation. “I was diagnosed with dyslexia in third grade.”
“Really?” Marsha frowned. “You hid it well.”
“So now you know that Ryan couldn’t have inherited his intelligence from me. He must have gotten his genes from your side of the family.”
“Will, dyslexia has nothing to do with intelligence. Besides, I wouldn’t know if Ryan inherited his smarts from my side of the family.”
“How come?”
“You never heard?” she asked.
“Heard what?”
“That I’m adopted.”
Shocked, he gaped at her. “I had no idea.”
“I don’t talk about it much, but my close friends in school knew.”
“Have you kept in touch with your birth parents?” he asked.
“They’re dead. I lived with them until I was two, but I don’t remember them.”
“What happened?”
“My parents were drug-addicted teenagers. One day a neighbor called the police and reported a toddler walking in the parking lot of the apartment complex wearing only a diaper. When the police arrived, they found my parents dead from a drug overdose inside the apartment.”
“You had no relatives to take you in?”
“No one came forward to claim me.”
Will’s mother had come and gone through the years, but his grandparents had always been there for him and his siblings. “Considering what happened to you, I’m surprised you didn’t go through with the abortion.”
“I was raised in a religious home. Abortion wasn’t an option.”
Will hadn’t sorted through all his feelings about Marsha keeping Ryan a secret and thought it best to keep his thoughts to himself lest he ruin their afternoon together. “You must like teaching, because it gives you summers off,” he said, changing the subject.
“I never take the summers off. I usually teach summer school, but since I’m spending almost three months in Stagecoach, I took a job as an online tutor for the UCLA science department. I’d like to work as a professor at UCLA so I can earn more money.”
“Do you have a lot of student-loan debt?”
“Not really. I was on full scholarship my first four years of college, then I received a grant, which paid for my master’s degree. My doctoral degree was expensive and I haven’t paid off those loans yet.”
“Did your parents help you financially after you had Ryan?”
“Yes, but I wish I wouldn’t have taken their money.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because they used up most of their retirement savings fighting Dad’s cancer and there’s little left for Mom to live on after he passes away.”
While Marsha coped with all her responsibilities, Will went about his day-to-day activities only caring for himself. Had one of the reasons she’d kept Ryan a secret from him been that she believed she couldn’t count on him for financial support? A pit formed in the bottom of Will’s stomach when he recalled his father’s shadowy image standing behind the door. Will couldn’t decide which rejection hurt the most—his father’s or Marsha’s.
What had happened in the past was done. Finished. Over. None of them got a redo. From here on out Will was determined to find a way to earn his son’s respect and maybe Marsha’s, too. “Did Ryan enjoy hanging out at the farm?”
“He wouldn’t stop talking about Javier, Miguel and Bandit,” she said. “Ryan loves dogs, but with both of us at school, I didn’t think it was fair to own an animal and leave it alone all day.”
Maybe Will could win Ryan over if he bought him a dog. It had worked for Conway.
“Don’t even think about it,” Marsha said, as if she’d read his mind.
“The dog could live with me and when Ryan visits—”
“That’s a generous offer, Will, but Ryan’s going to be focusing more and more on building his résumé for college and depending on what activities he becomes involved in, he may or may not have time to travel to Stagecoach in the summer.”
Will choked the steering wheel and pulled off the road, then shifted into Park. He couldn’t believe Marsha would tell him he had a son after all these years and then not give him an opportunity to be with Ryan. “What good will it do to connect with Ryan if you two never come back to Stagecoach?”
“You can’t expect us to drop everything in our lives, so we can spend summers here, while you go about working your construction jobs?”
He swallowed his anger, grudgingly admiring the way she stood up to him. The spark in her eyes ignited a slow burn in his gut and suddenly he found himself leaning across the seat. “I’m going to kiss you.”
“Okay.” The word escaped her mouth in a whisper of air that caressed his cheek.
He angled his head and brushed his mouth against hers. His first thought was how soft her lips felt. He slid his fingers through her hair, holding her head while he deepened the kiss. She tasted sweet and hot all at once and he couldn’t get enough of her taste and scent. He moved his hand to her hip then up along her rib cage to her—
His cell phone beeped, startling them apart.
“Aren’t you going to check the text?” she asked in a husky voice.
The spell had been broken. Will released Marsha and looked at his phone. “It’s from Johnny,” he said. “Shannon went into labor. They’re heading to the hospital in Yuma.”
Any plans to pick up where they’d left off had died a quick death. “My niece or nephew has rotten timing.” He texted Johnny that he was on the way to the hospital, then made a U-turn. “I’m sorry about lunch, but family comes first.”
Marsha was awfully quiet during the drive to Yuma and Will suspected that didn’t bode well for the kiss they’d shared.
Chapter Eight
“Did I make it in time?” Will said when he entered the waiting room of the maternity ward at the Yuma Medical Center where his brothers had gathered.
Marsha hung back, not wanting to intrude on the family moment.
“They took Shannon into the delivery room,” Porter said. He glanced behind Will. “Hey, Marsha.”
“Hello.” She sat in the chair nearest the door.
Conway’s gaze swung between Will and Marsha and she hoped her mouth wasn’t swollen from the kiss Will had given her a short while ago. She’d been so flustered she hadn’t touched up her lipstick before entering the hospital.
“Where were you going when Johnny texted you?” Conway asked.
“Ajo,” Will said.
Mack pointed to Will’s mouth and grinned.
“What?”
“When did you start wearing pink lipstick?” Mack chuckled and the rest of the Cash brothers hooted.
Embarrassed, Marsha felt her face warm.
“Knock it off, Mack,” Will warned. “Where’s Clive and Shannon’s brothers?”
“Shannon’s dad left Phoenix an hour ago, but I don’t think he’ll make it in time and Matt and Luke are in court today,” Conway said.
The waiting-room door opened and Johnny stepped inside, wearing a green surgical gown. He wasn’t smiling.
Marsha’s embarrassment forgotten, her stomach tightened.
“What’s wrong?” Will grabbed Johnny’s arm.
“The doctor said Shannon’s not dilating fast enough and the baby’s in distress.”
The room swelled with a nervous silence.
“Where’s Dixie?” Johnny asked. “Shannon wants her.”
Porter stepped forward. “She was at the farm with Isi when we called her.”
“She should be here by now.” Johnny paced the floor.
&nb
sp; “This is Dixie,” Conway said, checking a text on his phone.
“When’s she getting here?” Johnny asked.
Marsha’s heart went out to the father-to-be. The Cash brothers had been larger-than-life teenage fantasies in high school, but seeing them interact with each other in a crisis proved they were as human and vulnerable as the next person.
Conway glanced up from his phone, his face pale. “A tire blew on Dixie’s car as she was pulling out of the driveway. She thinks she drove over a screw.”
Johnny gaped. “You’re kidding?”
Will grimaced. “Damn. I might have dropped a screw or nail when I made the doghouse. I’m sorry, Johnny.”
“Can’t Isi give her a ride into Yuma?” Porter asked.
Conway shook his head. “Isi’s car is at Troy Winters’s garage having the carburetor replaced.”
Will reached for the door handle. “I’ll get Dixie.”
“There’s no time,” Johnny said.
Marsha stood, her heart pounding fiercely. “I’ll talk to Shannon.”
Johnny shook his head. “Thanks, Marsha, but—”
“Ryan was born by cesarean section.” She glanced at Will, noting his surprised gaze before he stared out the window overlooking the parking lot. She hated that he had to learn about Ryan’s birth in front of his brothers.
“Follow me.” Johnny held the door open for her. “Thank you. Shannon will appreciate the support.”
Outside in the hallway Marsha said, “She’s going to be okay, Johnny.”
“I thought watching her come out of the chute on two thousand pounds of raging bull was scary, but this is a lot worse.”
They stopped at the nurses’ station where he introduced Marsha. The nurse gave her a gown, cap and gloves to put on, then told Johnny she’d get him a fresh gown after she escorted Marsha into the operating room.
“Shannon, Marsha’s here,” the nurse said. “Johnny will be back in a minute.”
When Marsha saw the tears in Shannon’s eyes, she offered an encouraging smile.
“Is Dixie coming?” Shannon asked.
“She had a flat tire and she and Isi are stranded at the farm. Will got the call you’d gone into labor while we were on our way to Ajo.” She squeezed Shannon’s hand, but when she attempted to let go, Shannon clung to her fingers.