Lonesome Cowboy (Honky Tonk Hearts)

by Dawn, Stacy

  Or the best idea you ever had.

  Her track record didn’t give much weight to that thought, and Amy flipped the paper closed before she did something stupid, like call for more information.

  ****

  Marshall spat out the dust that billowed around him as he lay face down in the dirt. He clawed at the dry earth from the practice arena, pulling his hands beneath him in an attempt to press up enough to get breath back into his lungs.

  Damn bull.

  But that wasn’t entirely true. His mind had been elsewhere—and elsewhere was not the best place for a mind to be when you were on the back of a ticked-off bull.

  “Need a hand up?”

  Marshall grimaced at the shadow falling across the dirt. The humor in Chase’s voice irked him as much as the fall.

  He shook his head, and heaved his arms straight beneath him, pushing his body away from the settling dust and into fresher air. Despite his refusal, his buddy’s hand appeared, locked around his arm and hoisted him to his feet.

  “I know I’m aiming for some mean bulls for the circuit,” Chase began, “and business wise, I’d like to think it’s my bulls, but…”

  Marshall cast him a glare and readjusted the protective vest before swiping up his Stetson from the dirt and returning it to his head.

  “I heard about the excitement at the Lonesome Steer last week. Wanna talk about it?”

  “Nope.” He aimed himself toward the gates, refusing to acknowledge his friend’s chuckle behind him.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Chase’s father, Roy, and two other hands working hard to get the bull back into the enclosure. The silver beast had potential that was for sure. In fact, he’d probably used up a bit of his luck today by not getting a hoof in the head. Then again, maybe that would have knocked some sense back into him, or at least a haunting auburn-headed ghost out of his head.

  Not bothering to push the gate open, he hiked himself up and over the metal rail.

  Marshall grabbed his water bottle, rinsed the dust from his mouth, and hung his hands over the training pen, shaking his head at his own stupidity.

  A hand slapped him on the back. “I’m calling it quits for today. I’ve seen enough—and I think you’ve had enough of a beating for one day.”

  What could he say? Chase was the one liable if anything happened to him in the ring. Guilt added another rock to his gut. He was here to test the quality of the bulls his friend raised for the rodeo circuit, not get himself killed.

  “Sorry, buddy,” Marshall finally said. He tipped the water bottle toward the bull pen. “That young’un is the one you’re gonna want to watch. He’s got the fierce streak you’re lookin’ for.”

  “Hot damn, that’s what I was hoping you’d say. That’s Muffin’s youngest.”

  Marshall couldn’t help but grin. Chase’s prize bull might be of quality rodeo stock, but the thing’s name made him sound like a puff ball thanks to the original owner. “You should’ve changed the poor guy’s name the minute you brought him home.”

  “Thought about it,” Chase said as he readjusted his straw hat. “But I figured the name gave him his power—sort of like Sampson’s hair—if I changed it, he’d lose his best genes. Couldn’t risk that after the investment we put into him.”

  Marshall snorted and stood as Roy approached them.

  “That was some good riding there, until you got swatted off like a pesky fly.”

  “We’re calling it a day, Pop.” Chase didn’t bother to hide his smile.

  “Probably a good thing in more ways than one.” Roy winked at Marshall and nodded to his son. “Best head over to the Sunrise Café then. Your granddad’s probably talked the waitress’s ears off by now.”

  “Mind if I tag along?” The words fell out of Marshall’s mouth before he realized. When he glanced over, both men stared at him like he’d hit his head during one of the falls. “What?”

  “You haven’t come to breakfast with us in almost two years. Not since that mornin’ you skedaddled out of their like a coyote was on your tail.”

  He held the cringe inside, figuring they wouldn’t have remembered that.

  Realizing his friends were still looking at him, Marshall simply shrugged his shoulder. “What can I say? Getting my ass kicked by a bunch of pansy-named bulls makes me hungry.”

  Roy quirked a brow, but the grin on his son’s face spoke volumes, and made Marshall regret his hasty decision.

  Twenty minutes later, he regretted it even more as he walked across the navy-and-white linoleum and pulled up a stool beside Chase’s grandfather Elwood and two other older men.

  “Howdy, son. Glad to see you joinin’ us today. How’re those bulls my grandson is raisin’?”

  “Meaner than an old fart last in line at a dollar buffet.”

  Elwood’s cackled laughter filled the diner. “Good to hear. Your title-carrying endorsement of the beasts sure has bolstered his business.”

  Marshall buried himself in the coffee the waitress set in front of him. “Titles don’t mean a damn thing, Elwood.” His didn’t bring him anything but heartache…and a reminder of what he was doing here—or rather, what a mistake it was to be here.

  He shoved the coffee away. “You know, I’m not as hungry as I thought. I’m gonna head out.”

  “But we just got here,” Chase said from behind, his words emphasized by the jingle of the bells above the door. “What is it about this place that drives you out—the food here is great, honest.”

  Just then a brunette head pushed through the kitchen door. For half a second his breath held, but the overly round face of the waitress that followed depleted the rest of the air from his lungs, and he blew it out on a long, slow breath. Pathetic.

  “I’m sure it is,” he said and reluctantly pulled his coffee back in front of him.

  What had be been hoping for? Just a glance? Or did he actually plan to talk to Amy if he saw her? And what would he say? He hadn’t forgiven her, but at the same time, the small, nervous changes in her mannerisms and the holes in the new information about Hank bothered him.

  Halfway through breakfast, Amy’s cousin came through the kitchen door. By the daggers Andee threw his way, Marshall figured he was lucky not to get his ass kicked out of the place—or a loogie in his eggs.

  The conversations in the cozy café came to an almost complete silence, and he glanced around to find everyone staring between the proprietor and himself.

  Elwood leaned in. “What the hell did you do, son? I haven’t seen her that mad since she found out Joey Cahill spray painted those profanities on the apartment door.”

  “Nothing.” Not a damn thing, and he let his own irritation at the silent accusation flow from a returned glare.

  When the door to the kitchen banged shut, the drone slowly began again, and Marshall wiped his mouth with a paper napkin.

  “Can’t wait to get the scoop on that from Honey tonight.” Chase’s wide grin closed around a forkful of eggs.

  Just his luck, his buddy’s fiancée was a close friend of Andee’s. This had been a big mistake.

  “I think it’s time for me to head out.”

  Chase raised his fork. “You good to come back day after tomorrow? Muffin needs a workout—don’t want those pansy genes getting lazy.”

  Despite his mood, Marshall chuckled. “Sure, no problem. See you then.”

  He stood and reached into his pocket for a few bills. A thick, wrinkled hand on his arm stopped him.

  “Oh no, I got it, son. We owe you,” Elwood said, grinning from ear to ear and nodding toward the older men beside him. “Short as it was, that was the best damn breakfast entertainment we’ve had here in ages.”

  Not impressed, he tugged his arm away to toss the bills on the counter amongst the boisterous laughter at his expense.

  With a mind to get the hell out of there, he spun and came up short of knocking his boss to the ground. He reached a hand out to steady the Lonesome Steer’s owner. “Gus. Sorry about that, I�
�”

  “No, uh, no problem.”

  The old man’s anxious gaze darted to the woman next to him. Chase’s Aunt Fiona had one arm linked through Gus’s as she smiled and brushed back a silver tinged strand of auburn hair with the other.

  Gus fixed him with a curious, oddly guilty stare. “Didn’t think you came here.”

  Marshall glanced behind him to the old men avidly watching the exchange. Tired of being other people’s idea of entertainment, he blew out another frustrated breath. “I don’t.”

  He turned back to find Gus patting the woman’s hand and nodding toward an empty table. “Why don’t you go save us a table, Fi?”

  She gave him a sweet smile and headed off while Gus grabbed Marshall’s arm and pulled him off to the side. Marshall couldn’t help a slow smile at the pink tinge growing on the old man’s cheeks just above the prominent mustache.

  Why, you old dog.

  “Don’t mention this to Keira, okay? Me and Fi—Fiona—we’re just, well…we’re just getting to know each other again, that’s all.” A twinkle in the old eyes made them appear younger, and told a very different story.

  Marshall slapped a hand onto the light denim shoulder. “Sure, Gus. Enjoy your breakfast.”

  His lips twitched and Marshall shook his head as he finally escaped the restaurant. Maybe he sucked at relationships, but he couldn’t begrudge his good friend the chance at a little happiness later in life. As he passed the large window, a glance back showed Gus taking a seat across from Chase’s aunt. The smile on her face said just as much.

  His brows drew down as he contemplated Gus’s words…we’re just getting to know each other again.

  Would he and Amy ever come to that point? Ever meet on the street and not have it turn into a confrontation of painful history? He closed his eyes and turned away. She at least had made the effort—on two occasions, even; he, on the other hand, never gave her a chance.

  Marshall scrubbed a hand over his tight chin as if the motion would rub away the raw truth. Not even close.

  Setting his Stetson lower on his forehead, he headed toward his truck, but the odd creaking of metal on metal mixed with crumpling paper and a frustrated female voice muttering obscenities drew his attention down the small alleyway behind the café.

  At the bottom of a set of wooden steps, Amy, hair tumbling in her face and a bundled baby in one arm, fought with a half-collapsed stroller that banged rhythmically against paper grocery bags on the ground.

  Though his brows drew down at the sight of her, Marshall couldn’t help the twitch of his lips…or his feet turning down the alleyway.

  Chapter Seven

  “Can I help?”

  Amy’s relieved hazel eyes darted up, then the pretty face hardened, lips thinning as she averted her gaze.

  “No. Thank you.”

  Her harsh tone belied the second statement.

  “If you’re here to set me straight,” she continued before he could respond, “I’ve got it, okay? You were perfectly clear the last time—the last two times.” She spat the sentences, each punctuated by a jerk of the stroller as her eyes darted in frustration to the top of the stairs. “You’ve made it perfectly clear where you stand. Hell freezing over and all that. I got it. Loud and clear. You don’t have to worry. I won’t be bothering you again.” She stopped long enough to adjust the baby in her arms before resuming her fight with the buggy. “Stupid thing, it says you can fold it down with one hand…”

  Marshall clasped his fingers around hers on the handle. The thin bones stiffened beneath his.

  She stopped altogether to stare at his hand. A world of emotions crossed her face in a blink before she snatched her fingers away from him, and he was taken aback to catch the tears glistening in her eyes before she averted her gaze.

  “Crap.” She swiped at her eyes. “God, I hate hormones.” After another wipe, she grabbed the stroller back. “Can you just leave, please. It’s been a rather stressful morning already, and I just don’t have it in me to deal with you right now.”

  A flash of his circuit buddy Meza’s wife after the birth of their third child came to mind. Invited for dinner after an event, he’d been surprised when Lily burst out crying over forgetting to put pepper on the table. Meza had pulled her close and grinned at him over his wife’s head, saying something about mood swings and birth screwing with their hormones for a while.

  Marshall tried for that same, understanding smile, finding it came easier than he expected. “I was just passing by and heard your…difficulty. I’m not here to upset you. But I am here, so why not let me help?”

  That only got him another sob, but she eventually released the buggy, grabbed one of the three grocery bags and hightailed it up the stairs.

  He didn’t even know where to begin with the stroller, so he simply hefted the whole thing and followed her up.

  After a small peek through the door, he entered and set the stroller down. The place wasn’t big, barely big enough for the daybed, small pine desk, matching bookcase, and two-seater table near the kitchenette. Dotted in the leftover spaces were various baby accessories, two baskets of folded laundry, and a frilly bassinet.

  “I, uh, usually leave the stroller at the bottom of the steps.” Across the room in the small kitchenette, Amy dabbed at her eyes with a paper towel. “But they’ve been calling for some much needed rain and…” She stopped herself, cleared her throat and turned to face him. “Th-thank you.

  The upward tilt of her chin and firm set of her spine ate at his gut. The tired circles under her eyes should have made her look haggard, but they only enhanced the lighter hazel in her eyes. When those eyes began to narrow, he realized he’d been staring too long and too hard, again.

  To hide the obvious, he removed his Stetson and thumbed the rim. “No problem.” He glanced back up to find her stance less firm and an odd expression on her face, as if he’d taken her by surprise with his civility. Guess he couldn’t blame her. Her eyes shimmered again, and he bit his lip and took an involuntary step forward.

  She shook her head and waved a hand in front of her. “It’s just lack of sleep, a-and hormones…from the birth.” Her lips tipped up in a sardonic grin as she pressed the heel of her hands against her eyes. “At least that’s what they say. And I hope to God it’s true because it’s a pain in the ass crying at the drop of a hat. I was never a crier, you know that—” The words broke off and her hands dropped, the wide gaze jumping to his.

  Marshall gave a small wave of his hat. “It’s okay.” He replaced the Stetson on his head, and tucked his hands in his pockets before he did something awkward, like pull her into his arms.

  Amy cleared her throat and hurried to the small basinet next to the daybed. “Um, do you want to see her?” she asked, speaking quickly. “Well, I guess, technically, you already have since you were there at her birth—”

  “Amy.”

  “—so I guess you don’t need to see her again. It’s just kind of crazy how it all happened. But I’m still really thankful you were there, I mean you and K—”

  “Amy,” he repeated, this time with a chuckle as he stepped toward her and put a hand on her shoulder to slow her down.

  Her rose lips squeezed together. When the hazel gaze darted to his hand, he pulled away first, not wanting to cause her more distress.

  He motioned to the little bow lips pulsing in and out in a sucking motion as the baby slept, the face a smaller, heart-shaped version of her mother. “She’s beautiful.”

  Amy smiled, and he was glad to see the tension ease from her body.

  “Yeah, she is, isn’t she?”

  Auburn waves fell over her cheek, and he watched her finger them back behind her ear, giving him a good glimpse of her slender neck.

  A beauty. Just like her mom.

  Marshall dropped his gaze to his boots in an attempt to rein in his thoughts. The baby seemed the safest topic so he asked one question he didn’t know the answer to yet, “What’s her name?”

 
“Charlotte Marie, after—”

  “Your mom.”

  “Yeah.” Her chin tilted in wonder as she raised her gaze to his.

  Though she looked as if she wanted to say more, she didn’t, and Marshall felt the need to fill the silence before he got caught staring again. “How is your mom?” Not that Beverly had any use for him, or much of anything but a bottle. She’d probably been thrilled when Amy married a well-to-do lawyer.

  The old irritation threatened to grasp his shoulders, but the sensation stalled as Amy’s face broke, the smile vanishing, replaced by a sorrowful pull of her lips against suddenly pale cheeks.

  Her chin came up again. “She passed away. Back when you were on the circuit.”

  Sucker-punched, he held out a hand toward her. “God, Amy. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  She pulled away to sit on the daybed. “No reason you would have.”

  The higher note in her voice, though, hinted that he should have.

  Marshall tried to figure out how he hadn’t known. But in reality, how would he?

  Was that why she never returned my calls while I was on the road? Eventually, he had given up trying and put all his focus on winning, stupidly believing if he could get back to her with a ring, everything would be perfect. After she chose another guy, he hadn’t been about to stick around to catch up on family history.

  Hands on his hips, he took a deep breath, unsure what to say.

  Amy leaned against the backdrop of pillows. Eyes shut, she squeezed the bridge of her nose. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. It’s just the lack of sleep—Charlotte’s got her days and nights mixed up.”

  “Then why don’t you just sit there for a bit?” He rocked back on his heels and nodded toward the door. “I’ll go get the rest of the groceries.”

  “No, you don’t have to do that,” she said, opening her eyes.

  “It’s okay, I don’t mind.” My foot on the stairs is better than in my mouth again.

  After a tired, resigned nod, she rested her head on her hand, elbow propped on the thick cushions. She looked so worn out and endearing at the same time, he turned away before he did something stupid, like stay.