Lonesome Cowboy (Honky Tonk Hearts)

by Dawn, Stacy

  It wasn’t supposed to be like this; he’d hardened himself the day he left, and pushed those feelings for Amy deep down into a cast-iron box with a cast-iron lock on it.

  Yet one visit, one look from those smoky eyes and his stupid body was begging for her again.

  No way.

  He couldn’t, wouldn’t do it. That moment she’d turned toward him with the ring of another man on her finger was the equivalent of a bull horn rammed through his chest. How was a man supposed to get over something like tha—

  A guttural cry of pain crashed into him from behind, hauling him back around in time to see Amy double over, a white-knuckled grip on an old wooden chair the only thing keeping her upright.

  What the hell? Vaulting over the bar, Marshall was at her side before the nearest patron could react. Her weight collapsed against him. As her hand left the chair to clutch her middle, he followed it with his own to assess the cause of her suffering, and came up short against a hard and very round belly.

  His heart pounded in his ears. “Amy?”

  Her strained lips formed words, but the only sound that came out was another groan as a contraction rippled the abdominal muscles beneath his palm.

  Chapter Two

  NotlikethisNotlikethisNotlikethis...oooohhwwwww...

  Amy clasped a hand over the gripping bulge of baby that chose now of all times to make its appearance. Her fingers grazed the firm hand on her stomach, and she was both thankful and mystified by the other around her shoulders preventing her from collapsing to the floor.

  All the Lamaze classes in the world couldn’t have prepared her for her water breaking two weeks early in the middle of a busy honky tonk, or the intensity of physical pain she’d suffer—one clenching her body in a vise, and another keener stab of Marshall’s contempt deeper into her heart. She wanted nothing more than to disappear and wallow with her tail between her legs, but it looked like her child had inherited her bad timing.

  “Amy?”

  Pressing her lips together against the one pain, she raised her gaze to face the other, unsure how Marshall could even stand to touch her after his reaction to her visit.

  His dark brows creased in a mixture of confusion and concern over eyes swimming with a myriad of questions in their cobalt stare. But a heavy groan and the fierce clench of her fingers around his on her abdomen were the only responses she could give.

  In the blink of an eye, Marshall swept his hand from her belly and slipped it under her knees. Air swept beneath her as she was easily hefted into his arms.

  Pressed against his solid chest, she inhaled his familiar, soapy-musk scent. It sent her back to another time and tilted her equilibrium as he spun her away from the staring crowd. The present slammed back just as quick as identical, wide-eyed gazes of the older bartender and young blonde snapped to her belly.

  “Keira, call 911,” Marshall shouted above the jukebox as he rounded the back of the great oak bar.

  The woman nodded and immediately grabbed the phone on the wall behind the register.

  “I got it, you go help them,” the bartender said as he took the receiver. “Take her to the couch in the office.”

  Being carted around like a sack of feed only added to Amy’s humiliation as she struggled to breathe through another contraction. Should they be coming so close so soon? She didn’t remember this scenario in any Lamaze class—heck, she wouldn’t have imagined this scenario in a million years.

  Cheeks burning, she had no choice but to hold on tight as Marshall maneuvered them through a doorway and down a short hall, only to repeat the successful tactic through another doorframe.

  Amy barely caught a disorganized old desk framed by a bulletin board full of smiling couples before a feminine voice yelled, “Not Dad’s office, Marshall,” with the exasperation only a woman’s tone could inflect. “You don’t want to be delivering a baby in that mess.”

  I don’t want to be delivering my baby here, period! Ramped fear sped through her every vein as Marshall easily dodged them into another room on the other side of a small kitchen.

  A seizing pain attacked her with enough force to almost double her over in his arms.

  “It’s okay, I’ve got you. Hold on, Sweethea—”

  Her chin whipped up at the same moment Marshall’s glance snapped down. His whole body tense around her, and the taut V of his brows and clenched jaw revealed the irritation at his grievous slip of the tongue.

  Then why was he helping her if he obviously still hated her as she’d always feared? Truthfully, if not for the baby, she wouldn’t have had the courage to seek him out in the first place. A fearful attempt to face the biggest regret of her life so she could free herself from guilt that had eaten away at her. Didn’t her child deserve a mother who could look to the future and not wallow in the what-ifs of the past? But it seemed like that same child wasn’t going to make it easy on either of them.

  His gaze darted away as he deposited her on a red sofa, gentle enough, but the minute she was out of his arms, Marshall stepped back, hands rising to his head, knocking his Stetson to the ground. He stared at her in a mixture of anger, confusion, and a hint of fear that made him look ready to run.

  And she wouldn’t blame him a bit.

  Adjusting her position to alleviate the discomfort in her back, Amy squeezed the arm of the sofa until her knuckles whitened. By the time she was able to focus again, the blonde bartender hurried through the door with a blanket and towels. She set them on a matching chair near the small oak desk and came to Amy’s side.

  The woman’s concern softened into a smile of compassion as a soothing hand rubbed her tight one.

  “I’m Keira.”

  “Amy Mc...McGill,” she panted with an attempt at a smile of thanks for the stranger’s kindness.

  “Don’t worry. Dad says the ambulance is on the way.”

  She said something else, but Amy’s focus was behind the slender shoulders where Marshall paced the room, one hand at his waist, the other scrubbing at his firm jaw. She frowned and pulled her gaze away from his palpable discomfort. That had never been her intention in coming here.

  “I’m so sorry about all this,” she stuttered to Keira.

  Her slim hand waved between them. “Nothing to be sorry for. Just try to relax. I’m sure the paramedics will be here soon.”

  She hadn’t meant the small groan to sneak out, but couldn’t help it when she opened her mouth to reply and another contraction hit. “I don’t know…if it’s going to be…soon enough,” she hissed, clamping down on the arm and back of the sofa this time as an overwhelming urge to push took over.

  A large, calloused hand clasped hers, peeling it off the sofa before folding the massive palm around her shaking fingers. Marshall’s unexpected comfort distracted Amy and she heaved a surprised—and much needed—breath through her nostrils. Except the breath was full of Marshall, the heat of his skin, the spice of his cologne and it amazed her that in an intense moment like this, he could still be so all-consuming. Memories and sensations overwhelmed her sanity, adding to her anxiety, and she couldn’t hide her fear as she gazed up into his apprehensive blue eyes.

  Regret tightened what space she had left in her lungs and she squeezed her eyes shut. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be, none of it—not this meeting, not the pregnancy, not my life.

  “What do we do?”

  Amy opened her eyes, but his focus and question now lay with Keira. Turning her head, she couldn’t help but snort at the other woman’s brows dipped low over confused brown eyes.

  “How should I know?” Keira replied in an incredulous tone.

  Marshall shook his head in exasperation. “You’re a woman, aren’t you?”

  The blonde turned, her honey-brown gaze narrowing toward Amy. “Please tell me he did not just say that.”

  This time a welcome snort did escape her lips, but didn’t last long as she was besieged by the most intense contraction yet. Amy automatically gripped the strong hand holding hers. />
  Maybe Marshall hated her for what she’d done, maybe he would never forgive her and she would never have closure where he was concerned, but he was here now, and that thought was the only thing keeping her from totally freaking out as the need to push forced all other thoughts from her mind.

  Chapter Three

  Flashing lights disappeared like shooting stars down the darkened highway. Only when he pulled his gaze away did Marshall notice his hand still outstretched toward the vanishing ambulance. Amy’s haunting, desperate grip still burned his palm.

  In the last forty minutes, the life that should have been his flashed before his eyes: Amy, children, a small inn on the edge of town…

  His hand trembled and he let it drop, heavy, just like his heart. Numb, his legs felt like sludge as he stood there with too much in his head to formulate a coherent thought.

  A firm hand clasped his shoulder. Slow as molasses, Marshall forced his chin to turn through the muddy numbness.

  The Lonesome Steer’s neon lights flickered above as Gus’s understanding gaze nodded toward the double doors. “Come on, son. I bet you could use a drink ’bout now.”

  Obediently following the slight tug, he trailed behind the old man back into the honky tonk.

  Keira sent him a sympathetic smile from behind the bar as they passed. He tried to wave a hand in thanks, but it remained heavy at his side.

  Though Gus aimed him at the first office in the back, his gaze couldn’t help roaming down the hall to the other door where the most miraculous thing had just happened. Funny how he’d been a part of it…but not a part of it…

  Marshall shook his head and dropped into the tattered leather seat across from Gus’s desk. The longtime bartender set two glasses on the worn oak top and then bent to a drawer on the left side. A bottle of burnished liquid appeared beside the glasses, and the ancient office chair creaked when Gus bent forward.

  “I save this for when it’s needed most…and if this isn’t one of those moments, then I don’t know what is.” His mustache twitched up as he poured two fingers in a glass and slid it across the tabletop. “You did good, son.”

  Marshall reached for the whiskey, swigging it all back in one go, and choking on the heat for his stupidity.

  Good? He’d been terrified out of his mind. The second he heard Amy’s cry behind him, his heart seized and pure instinct took over. There’d been no thought of the past few minutes or the past few years—she needed him, and he had to be there.

  Still, when he’d discovered she was pregnant, everything froze; he didn’t even think he breathed there for a few minutes.

  Amy, pregnant. With another man’s child. It was all just…wrong.

  He dropped his head to the back of the leather chair, squeezing his eyes shut. “That should have been my kid, Gus.” Beneath his Stetson, he rubbed his lids with the heel of his hands. Should have been my child.

  “Wanna talk about it?”

  A small snort escaped the tight line of his lips. “No.”

  He dropped his hands, opened his eyes, and stared at the water stains on the ceiling from years past when a storm had nearly taken off the roof. A raging storm; that was something he could relate to right now. Raging, blowing, swirling storm of emotions that threatened to rip him apart just like the roof.

  When he dropped his chin to his chest, he found Gus just sitting there, sipping his whiskey. A finger whittled away at the end of his salt-and-pepper mustache.

  Marshall tilted the corner of his lip, knowing the old man would simply sit there, no more questions asked. He leaned forward, pushing his glass across the desk for another hit. “It was that season I finally won the circuit finals, the last time I competed.”

  “I figured that.” Gus’s mustache twitched as he splashed another two fingers into Marshall’s glass. “You were happier than a pig in muck when you called to say you wouldn’t be back to the honky tonk for a bit. Then meaner than Chase’s prize bull for weeks after you did get home. Only a woman can do that to a man.”

  This time Marshall simply stared into the liquid like a portal to the past.

  “I thought she was it Gus. The One.” He swirled the whisky around, his memories spinning along with them. “Amy managed this inn on the outskirts of Fort Worth. Smart, funny…God, I could’ve just sat and listened to her talk all day about nothing.” The liquid hit his tongue and he welcomed the burn all the way down his throat, his voice coming out a bit scratchy with the effects. “But I was the outsider, and had a bit of competition with a local lawyer. Still, I thought she’d chosen me.” He fell back in the seat again. “Hell, we spent every moment together. I wanted her, Gus, no other word for it. But I wanted to do right by her too. So, I kissed her sweet lips and got back on the circuit with the goal to win big enough to get us started. I thought if I did, she’d know that I was serious, and worth something. That I could work just as hard as any lawyer and provide a good life for her…for us.”

  He’d had it all worked out, the perfect woman, the perfect life…

  “Five months I spent on the road thinking about Amy every night, every minute I wasn’t on the back of a bull, trying to call her when I could. And I accomplished everything I set out to do, broke some records and won the whole damn thing.” He raised his glass in salute, slugged back the whisky and set the glass on the desk a little harder than he meant to. “Found us a place, and got a pretty little ring…” His eyes clenched shut, the next images stabbing him like knife blades. “But when I got back…she already had one on, a big one…and the white dress and everything.” He forced his eyes open, his teeth biting into his lip set in a wry grin. “Yep, came back on her freakin’ wedding day, and she looked just as beautiful as I’d imagined…except it wasn’t me she was marrying.”

  The distant murmur of the honky tonk patrons was like white noise closing in the walls of the small wood-paneled room.

  “The lawyer I take it?”

  Marshall could only scoff, disgusted at himself, at her and the horrible moments grinding his gut as strongly as they had that day. The image of Amy in the elegant white gown was burned into his memory like a tattoo on his brain. She’d been so beautiful, like an angel…

  He shook the thought away. Beautiful or not, there’d been no excuse for what she had done to him. “Yep, guess she didn’t want me after all. Must’ve figured classy Hank could give her the good life more than I could.”

  “That what she said?”

  He glanced up at the serious silver gaze aimed his way.

  “What do you mean?”

  The chair creaked as Gus leaned back and kicked a boot up onto the desk. “What did she say when you showed up at the weddin’?”

  Marshall didn’t want to think about that day anymore and shrugged a shoulder. “Her face said it all. You should have seen the guilt riding those pretty hazel eyes.” The flash of the chandelier lights glinting off the sheen of tears as she ran toward him. He couldn’t look at her anymore and had turned and walked out, thrusting her hand off his arm as he stormed back to his truck, and came home. And this was where he’d stayed, no longer even interested in going back on the circuit because it all reminded him of her and the future that would never be.

  A long silence stretched as he stared at the empty glass. Had tonight even happened? Had Amy been real or just a figment of his imagination? He turned his hand over, staring at the red slice where she’d marked him when her nails dug into his hand just as the baby met the world.

  A baby. Amy.

  Thank God the paramedics showed up when they did. He didn’t think he’d ever been so scared for anyone in his whole life. And after, she’d looked at him with the most amazing, awestruck smile. Almost the same expression as…as the night he’d told her he loved her. The night before he returned to the circuit.

  Had that been his mistake? He’d be lying if he didn’t admit the thought snuck into his mind a number of times over the last couple years, but what else could he have done? He had to leave, needed to pr
ove to her that he could take care of her, that he was worthy of her trust in him…

  A trust that obviously hadn’t been there to begin with.

  “What are you going to do now?”

  Gus’s quiet question made him drop his chin back to his chest and shake his head. “Nothing.”

  With a slow, calculated movement, Gus set his glass on the desk and glanced to the board on the wall next to him. Marshall followed his gaze then turned away, not wanting to stare at the multitude of couples smiling back.

  “Maybe you’re right. She’s got a new baby and a husband somewhere waiting for her.”

  “No, Hank’s dead. Couldn’t have been too long ago though.” He’d been a little taken aback when she’d introduced herself to Keira as Amy McGill—had she not taken Hank’s name? Or had she gone back to her maiden name after he died?

  “Poor thing. Won’t be easy for her then. Alone with a wee babe and all.”

  He squeezed the bridge of his nose. “She’s got a cousin up in Redemption. She’ll be fine.” He didn’t want to know if he was convincing Gus…or himself.

  “I’m sure you’re right.” His mentor’s head nodded then settled in a puzzled tilt. “Wonder why she came here tonight?”

  Marshall wasn’t stupid; he’d seen Gus work his musings before and shook his head. “Don’t even think it, old man. She came to apologize, looking for her own redemption. Clear the past…and why now? Obviously because of the kid.”

  “Well, she sure has enough on her plate. Good thing you forgave her then.”

  His brows pulled together and he tugged the rim of his Stetson down.

  “Marshall? You gave her the redemption she wanted, right? Let bygones be bygones? Closure and all that stuff?”

  The tick in his jaw grew strained, and the only answer he could give was a small shake of his head.

  Gus’s weathered fingers twirled the corner of his handlebar mustache again, the expression in his steel gaze saying it all—You’re an idiot.