Once a Marine (Those Marshall Boys)

by Loree Lough

  The men laughed as she dropped the curtain.

  “I thought the mechanical bull would be tonight’s star attraction,” Trish said, tiptoeing into the booth. She waved a thick stack of cash. “Turns out, it’s you two. There must be three hundred bucks here, and the night’s not half over yet!” She laughed all the way to the former tack room, which had been converted into a coat check for the night. Ellen was there, waiting to add the money to the strongbox.

  Libby devoured a deep-fried Twinkie, tapping her toes while Summer checked the time. The hands of the big antlered clock above the double doors must be stuck—how could it be nine o’clock already?

  “Did you get something to eat, Summer?”

  She smiled up at Trish. “No. Wasn’t hungry.”

  “You’ll have time later.” She pointed at the lines, which were much shorter than they had been earlier.

  The way Trish chattered as they walked back to the booth made it clear she had no idea what had happened to her. Oddly, the admission made Summer smile. You’re a better actress than you thought, she told herself.

  Twenty minutes into their second shift, Summer turned to add ticket stubs and dollar bills to the cash box. Just half an hour more, and she could legitimately say she’d passed a major milestone.

  Then she faced front again, and stood eye to eye with Zach. He fanned five tickets on the counter. A dozen questions flitted through her mind: What was he doing here? Had Libby known he’d show up? How long had he been at the ranch? And why did he have to look so gorgeous in his white cavalry-style shirt?

  She took a deep breath. If being near his lips had caused a heart-hammering dream, what would the real thing do to her crazy, mixed-up mind?

  “I’m surprised to see you.”

  “You are?”

  “Libby said you had work-related meetings,” she managed.

  He shrugged, tapped the top ticket. “I did. But they’re over.”

  Summer blinked. Straightened her collar. Tugged at her sleeves. Tucked her hair behind her ears as he separated one ticket from the rest.

  “Don’t worry,” he said softly. “I don’t bite.”

  He couldn’t have known the comment would revive a repulsive memory, so she did her best to pretend he hadn’t said it.

  Leaning in, his lips gently grazed her right cheek. He slid a second ticket forward and bussed the left. The third ticket paid for a peck to her forehead. The fourth, a kiss to her chin. With just one left, she expected him to kiss the tip of her nose. Later, she thought as relief washed over her, she’d thank him for being so caring. And understanding. And gentlemanly.

  Then Zach took her face in his hands and, using both thumbs to lift her chin, pressed such a sweet, lingering kiss to her lips that it inspired applause, hoots and hollers from the crowd.

  Her knees were weak, and her pulse pounding when Libby thumped the top of his head.

  “Stop that, you big ape. Didn’t you read the rules?” When he straightened, she pointed at the sign behind her. “‘Lips together,’” she read. “‘Two-second time limit.’”

  “I’d apologize,” he said, never taking his eyes from Summer’s, “but I’m not the least bit sorry.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  HOW HAD HE known she’d say yes when he asked her to dance? Had he guessed that the two-step was her favorite? The best question of all…why had she said yes?

  Summer blamed the sweet, caring look on his handsome, Stetson-shaded face when she’d given in to kiss number five.

  Zach pulled her close as the band’s lead singer belted out a rousing rendition of Taylor Swift’s “Our Song.” At first, Summer followed, feeling like a cross between a rag doll and a tin soldier. She hadn’t been held by a man in more than two years. At least, not this way.

  “So was it awful?” he asked, looking down at her.

  “Was what awful?”

  “All that kissing. Couldn’t have been easy for you.”

  “I pretended it was immersion therapy.”

  “Ah, Libby’s idea, no doubt.” He inclined his head slightly. “So? Did it work?”

  She shrugged one shoulder. “If I can get through the next few nights without waking up to nightmares, I guess it’ll be safe to assume I passed the test.”

  “Test.” Zach shook his head. “I wonder how that sister of mine stays in business, doling out advice like that.”

  “It was my decision to stay.”

  “True, I suppose.” He studied her face. “Still, I’m glad I was your last customer.”

  Summer was glad about that, too. How weird, she thought, that she’d mustered the courage to kiss all those guys, but couldn’t make herself say, “I’m glad, too.”

  The music stopped, but Zach didn’t turn her loose. Instead, he pulled her closer. Close enough that she felt his heart beating hard against her chest. When the band started up again, they launched into their interpretation of “Can’t Live without You.”

  He nodded and returned the smiles of people who swayed nearby, bending slightly as an elderly couple danced past. “That’s Mrs. Centrino,” he said, “music teacher at my old high school.”

  “Well, well, well,” the woman said. “Zachary Marshall, is that you under that ten-galloner?”

  He tipped the hat. “Good to see you, ma’am.”

  She snorted good-naturedly. “Still the big flatterer, I see.”

  As her partner led her away, Summer heard Mrs. Centrino say, “That boy has a heart of gold…and a tin ear. Worst semester of my career was the one he decided to play the saxophone.”

  Laughing, Summer rested her forehead on his chest. Then, looking up at him, she said, “Do you still have the sax?”

  “It’s on a shelf in my closet at the folks’ house.” He groaned quietly. “Haven’t opened the case in ten, twelve years.”

  “Unless Mrs. Centrino is mistaken, that’s probably best for music lovers everywhere.”

  He threw back his head and laughed.

  She did her best to look confused. “I’ll have you know that wasn’t a joke.”

  He pressed his cheek against hers. “Shh…this is one of my favorite songs.”

  If someone had told her six months ago that she’d help run a kissing booth at a charity function attended by hundreds, or snuggle up in a man’s arms—and enjoy it—she would have said they were crazy.

  “‘You say you’re happy, here in my arms,’” Zach sang, “‘and I hope it’s true…’” Zach began to sing along to the music.

  Mrs. Centrino had been right. He did have a tin ear. But Summer didn’t have the heart to tell him how off-key his lyrics were.

  “‘…’cause I’m sure am lovin’ being close to you.’”

  When the song ended, Zach walked her to the edge of the dance floor. “Need to talk business with that guy,” he said, pointing. “Catch you later, maybe.”

  Maybe? Summer’s upbeat mood instantly deflated, which made no sense, considering what she’d promised herself about Zach.

  She joined Libby at a table near the door.

  “What was all that about?” her friend asked. “And don’t give me that ‘huh?’ face. I saw you and my brother on the dance floor.” Giggling, she added, “You couldn’t fit a sheet of typing paper between the two of you!”

  “It was a waltz. People are supposed to be close.”

  “Not that close. But that’s beside the point. I saw the way you were looking at each other, too.” She folded her hands and tucked them into the crook of her neck. “To quote Mr. Rogers, ‘Can you say moony-eyed?’”

  She threw her head back and laughed, just as Zach had earlier, drawing the attention of people at nearby tables.

  Libby lowered her voice and scooted her chair closer. “All kidding aside, I’m happy for you.”

  “Why do I sense a ‘but’ at the end of that sentence?”

  “It’s none of my business, but I have to get this off my chest. I know you’re both single. But Zach’s still nursing a broken heart. And yo
u’re nursing…other things.”

  “Don’t worry. Tomorrow that waltz will be history, for both of us.”

  Libby sandwiched Summer’s hands between her own. “You’re shaking like a leaf!” She drew her into a sisterly hug then held her at arm’s length. “Why are you so upset? Because of the kissing booth?” She hid behind one palm. “What kind of therapist am I, forcing you into a decision like that?”

  “You didn’t force me. I made a choice.” In truth, Summer wasn’t shaking because of the crowd, not even because of the booth. In a perfect world, she would have taken similar steps, ages ago. The problem was…she’d allowed herself to have feelings for Zach, and unless she was seriously mistaken, he cared about her, too.

  She needed to tell him. Everything. He deserved to hear the whole ugly truth, from her.

  “Listen, I can tell that you have reservations about starting a relationship. But I know my brother. He can be a bossy know-it-all at times, but he has a heart as big as his head. Whatever is keeping you from taking the next step…” She sighed. “Just be straight with him. If you tell him you’re scared, that you want to take it slow, he’ll respect that.”

  She spotted him in the middle of the room, laughing as he danced with a little girl who’d planted tiny pink sneakers on the toes of his boots. Her heart thumped with affection for him…and then it sank. Because if he was that kind of interested, he deserved to hear—before things progressed to the next level—that she might not be able to give him children of his own.

  With a nod, she drew Libby’s attention to the dance floor. He had scooped up the child and was now stomping across the floor, whirling and twirling as she squealed with glee.

  Summer heard the fondness in Libby’s voice when she said, “That big goofy idiot. He’d do just about anything to entertain a kid. I remember once, he sat cross-legged on the floor and let a pal’s little girl clamp a couple dozen pink and purple plastic barrettes in his hair, then put rouge and lipstick on him!”

  She laughed, and as Summer pictured the scene, tears filled her eyes. She wiped them away before Libby could see them. “You think anyone would mind if I went up to bed? I’m exhausted.”

  “Of course not.” Libby yawned then got to her feet. “I’m tuckered out, too. I’ll walk back to the house with you.”

  They followed the swath of moonlight that led from the barn to the corral. For a moment, they stood side by side, patting the noses of the horses that ambled up.

  “If Zach said something to upset you, would you tell me?” Libby asked.

  “Probably not.” She grinned. “But in all honesty, he’s always been a perfect gentleman. And I like him.”

  “Potato, poe-tah-toe,” Libby said. And when Summer’s brow furrowed, she quickly added, “Like, love. Just semantics.” She studied Summer’s face. “I hope you don’t mind my saying this, but it’s natural and normal to be self-focused for a while.” She held up a hand. “Don’t look all defensive. I’m not judging. I’m just stating facts. Walling yourself off…that’s how you protected yourself from bad memories.” She laid a hand on Summer’s forearm. “Pardon the lack of psycho-babble, but that was then and this is now. You owe it to yourself—and Zach—to give things a chance.”

  With that, she said good-night, and left Summer at the corral gate.

  “If only Libby knew,” she told the horses, “that it’s the other way around.”

  They nodded, almost as if they understood. Several times as a child, she’d wished she could be a horse, and run free across the green fields of her grandfather’s farm.

  “I hope you never waste a minute of your simple, beautiful lives, wishing you could be like us,” she told them.

  The horses moved left and huffed a greeting, and she turned to see who had approached.

  “The lady’s right,” Zach said, patting each horse.

  “You forgot to tell me you had a nickname,” she said.

  “A nickname?”

  “Stealthy.”

  He leaned both forearms on the corral’s top rail. “So what’s yours?”

  “My grandfather called me Pepper.”

  Turning to face her, he smiled. “Because of the freckles.”

  She nodded.

  “So what are you doing out here, all alone in the dark?”

  “I’m not alone.”

  As if to back up her story, Taffy whinnied.

  “When you’re right, you’re right.” He laughed. “Allow me to rephrase. What are you doing out here in the cold? They’re about to announce the winners of the door prizes.”

  “Do you have to be present to win?”

  “’Fraid so.”

  She shrugged. “I’d still rather stay out here.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’ve never won anything in my life, and I’d hate to break my perfect record.”

  Zach nodded and faced the horses again. “So how long will your folks be gone this time?”

  Was it her imagination, or had he put extra emphasis on those final words?

  “I have no idea. Unfortunately, neither do they.” And because it sounded self-pitying, Summer added, “They can’t rush things.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they’ve been waiting a long time for a chance like this.”

  “I see.”

  His tone and posture said otherwise. She watched him slide two carrot sticks out of his jacket pocket, and it surprised her how slowly and patiently the horses ate them.

  “Considering how enormous they are,” she said, “I’ve always been amazed at how gentle they can be.”

  Chinook sauntered off, and Taffy followed. “The equine version of ‘can’t judge a book by its cover.’”

  “Something like that.” She picked at a knothole on the fence rail. “Can I ask you a question?”

  He angled his head, so that he could meet her eyes. “Will you get mad if I can’t give you the answer you’re looking for?”

  “Probably,” she said, laughing. Leaning her backside against the gate, Summer propped a heel on the center board. “Why aren’t you married? You’re the right age, have the right temperament to be a good husband. And from what I’ve seen, you’d make a great father. So I don’t get it.”

  “My grandmother took all of us boys aside when we went off to college. ‘You’re liable to meet up with someone who looks like wife material,’” he said, doing his best to imitate her voice. “Then she told us to dig deep, until we found her biggest defect, and ask ourselves if we thought we could put up with that flaw for the rest of our days.”

  “And if the answer was yes?”

  “We’d have a fifty-fifty shot at a happy marriage.”

  “Just fifty-fifty…”

  “The rest, according to Grandma, was good old-fashioned commitment and hard work.”

  Summer saw herself as a whole bunch of flaws, held together with hopes and dreams. “I see.”

  “Do you?”

  She nodded. “I thought maybe it was PTSD or something.”

  “That term gets thrown around too much. Weakens it and what it means, in my opinion. Like the word love. I love pizza. I love blue skies. I love my truck. And happy. When I have more money, a bigger house, that promotion, I’ll be happy. If I could just lasso the moon, I’d be happy. Overuse cheapens and diminishes the words. Seems to me if people weren’t just plain lazy, they’d find better ways to express themselves.”

  He thumbed his Stetson to the back of his head. “But to answer your question, I’ve never been officially diagnosed, but I don’t need an MD to know I have a few symptoms. So does Libby. And you. And anyone else who has survived a major trauma.”

  Zach exhaled a long, hard sigh. “As for your original question, the reason I’m not married… It isn’t because I’m too judgmental to tolerate a flaw or two, and it isn’t PTSD, either.” He faced her. “It’s because I’m a big sap.”

  “That’s the last word I’d use to describe you.”

  He told her about Martha, the gi
rls who’d come before, and Libby’s belief that he had a rabid case of KISAS.

  His voice trailed off, but this didn’t seem the time or place to press for more details.

  “So how are your toes?”

  “My toes?” He laughed. “What?”

  “Well, I know I accidentally stepped on them at least twice on the dance floor. And then you deliberately put that sweet little girl on them. For two or three songs!”

  His expression, his posture, even his voice gentled. “My toes are fine.”

  For the next few minutes, neither Zach nor Summer spoke. Usually, long quiet pauses made her edgy. Not so this time, and she relished every moment of the companionable silence.

  “Libby said you two went riding for a couple hours today.”

  “We did, and it was magnificent. My rear end is a little sore, but my leg is fine.” She leaned forward, so that she could see his face. “Does it bother you? Being around someone with a limp, I mean?”

  His head swiveled slowly, and when at last Zach faced her, he was frowning.

  “I hardly notice it anymore, so no, I don’t mind it a bit.”

  “What about the scar?” She tucked her hair behind her ears and took a step into a shard of moonlight. “People notice. I can see them staring at it.”

  He chuckled. “They’re probably wondering what the other guy looks like.”

  “He didn’t have a mark on him because even when I wasn’t tied up, I didn’t do a thing to defend myself.”

  Zach kept gazing straight ahead. “And?”

  Summer didn’t know what he meant, and said so.

  “And it happened. You survived. Better than that, you’re stronger than before.” He met her eyes. “Does anything else matter?”

  Libby was right. He could be arrogant and a know-it-all. But this certainly wasn’t one of those times.

  “When the ‘why didn’t I do this’ or ‘why did I do that’ doubts get you down, ask yourself one question—‘Did I have a choice?’”

  Something told her it was a lesson he’d learned the hard way. Another topic for a future conversation. And she believed they’d have a future, if not in a dream-come-true way, then at least as friends. If she had to, she’d settle for that.