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* * *
BY ELEVEN, THE BABY was squirming from being held too long and Effie couldn’t tell whether Wallace and Mabel were fighting for real over the flowers or having a brief lovers’ quarrel.
Rainbow Bridge Floral was owned by the same family who owned the town’s only funeral home, so the rentable wedding arches and casket displays didn’t make for the most ideal ambience. At least the place smelled good, with its sweet mix of roses, freesia and carnations.
“If we hold the ceremony at Rock Chapel but the reception at the Grange Hall, then we’ll have to decorate both places, which means double the cost,” Mabel explained to her fiancé, whose cheeks had turned red.
“But, darlin’, I already told you,” he said, “I don’t give two green figs about the money. I’ve got more money than time, and want to spend my money and time on you.”
Mabel opened her mouth to form a fresh argument, but Wallace leaned in to kiss the fight right out of her.
Swoon.
As frustrating as this whole wedding business was, Effie couldn’t help but be thrilled for her grandmother—even a bit jealous. Being a single mom had never been part of her grand plan. She was supposed to have had a rewarding nursing career before even thinking about starting a family, but that hadn’t exactly worked out, either.
Gloria, their floral consultant, cleared her throat. “Since your choice of venues is decided, are we ready to get back to deciding between roses and chrysanthemums?”
“Mums,” Mabel said with a firm nod. “Much more budget friendly.”
“Roses,” Wallace said with a firm smack of his hands against the planning table.
“What if I kind of like mums?” Mabel asked. “Especially for fall?”
“Then we’ll have both. Would that make you happy?”
Mabel nodded, and then she and her groom-to-be started in again with their kissing. Really?
Effie couldn’t remember the last time she’d been well and truly kissed—probably the night Cassidy had been conceived. The notion made her sad. She used to love a night spent smooching beneath the stars.
A flash of Marsh and his oh-so-kissable lips popped into her mind’s eye, but she squashed that image the way she would have a picnic ant. When—if—she ever found a suitable man for her and father for her children, he needed to be a whole lot more dependable than a guy who couldn’t even be bothered to stick around for the official end of a meal.
* * *
“SOME BEST MAN you turned out to be.”
“Sorry.” From his seat on the living room sofa, Marsh glanced up from the online article his team member Rowdy had forwarded on the escalation of piracy along the Ivory Coast. He was just in time to catch the full brunt of the furrow between his frowning grandfather’s bushy white eyebrows.
As if sensing trouble, Rocket, the massive Maine coon Wallace had found on the side of the road as a kitten, leaped from Marsh’s lap to dart under the sofa, only his gut was so big, his entire ass end, complete with whipping tail, stuck out.
“Sorry doesn’t cut it.” Wallace slammed the front door. “You embarrassed the hell out of me, and hurt that sweet little gal Effie’s feelings.”
“Did she say something?”
“Didn’t have to.” Wallace snorted before collapsing onto his recliner and pushing himself fully back. “Poor thing had disappointment written all over her pretty face.”
“Hope she didn’t use permanent ink.” Marsh didn’t bother looking up from his iPad. He already had his grandfather’s crotchety expression locked in his head.
“You’re not too old for me to put soap in your mouth.”
Marsh rubbed his suddenly throbbing forehead. “Point of fact, I kind of am, and I’m sorry. Next time I see Effie, I’ll apologize.”
“No, you’re gonna do it now. By the time this wedding rolls around, I want everybody feeling harmonious. Besides, I left my wallet in that ugly minivan those women drive, and not only do I want it back, but I want you to take Effie into town and have her pick out a nice new SUV—something big enough to hold me and my bride, plus all those cute rugrats. Don’t care what it costs. Oh—and don’t skimp on the bells and whistles. Be sure you get those fancy heated seats and some of those TVs in the seat backs for my new great-grandsons.”
“Is that all?” Marsh raised his right eyebrow. Another tour in Afghanistan was starting to sound simpler than his current ranch life. “You do realize the nearest dealer with a rig that swanky is gonna be in Colorado Springs?”
“I don’t care if you have to drive all the way to Denver, just bring back that girl’s smile or else.” He signaled the conversation’s end by using the remote to flip on his giant TV. The old guy loved Let’s Make a Deal.
After setting his iPad on the coffee table, Marsh fished Rocket out from his hidey-hole to plop him back on the sofa, then trudged to the kitchen, where he’d left his truck keys.
Honestly, even if Wallace hadn’t been adamant about Marsh apologizing, he’d planned on it anyway. Leaving Effie in the lurch hadn’t been cool.
On the way to her and Mabel’s place, he got stuck behind a school bus. This far out on their dead-end road, it no doubt carried Effie’s sons.
Strange, but being around them hadn’t dredged up the same stinging frustration that spending time with Effie’s baby girl had. Maybe because Tucker had died so young, Marsh hadn’t had the privilege of seeing him at the stage where Colt and Remington now were.
He hung back—not just to avoid the dust cloud the vehicle raised on the dirt road, but to gain time to gather his composure.
What happened at breakfast wasn’t just out of character for him, but one more indicator that his CO had been right in casting him off on extended leave. His head was in a bad place. But while there were all kinds of facilities and doctors he could have turned to for help with medical issues or PTSD, what was a guy supposed to do to cure the heartbreak of losing a kid? Oddly enough, he wasn’t even that upset about his divorce. What did that mean?
When the bus stopped at the end of Mabel’s drive and the boys shot off the vehicle in a sprint to the house, Marsh pulled the truck onto the road’s weed-choked shoulder. And then he watched as Effie, with her adorable baby riding her hip, burst out the screen door to meet her twins. Clearly eager to talk about their first day back to school, the boys bounced like a couple of springs.
Effie’s smile was big enough to see from fifty yards.
But then she raised her hand to her forehead, blocking her gaze from the sun. Understandably, upon seeing him, her happy expression faded.
Shit. Not that he much cared about losing her favor, but considering how much they’d be forced together till after the wedding, it made sense to keep the peace.
What didn’t make sense was the fact that a long-buried part of him craved bringing back her smile.
On edge about a possible confrontation, Marsh’s pulse hammered uncomfortably when the bus left, giving him the space needed to aim his truck down the drive.
By the time he parked, both boys raced to greet him.
Marsh opened his door slow enough not to accidentally give one of them a conk, then grabbed his trusty cowboy hat from the passenger seat to plant on his head. The heat was intense, and he welcomed the shade.
“Guess what?” asked the twin in a red T-shirt with Spider-Man on it.
“We got hamsters in our school room and the dad ate his baby!” The other twin, wearing a blue T-shirt with the same character, beat his brother to the epic story.
“Yeah, and Miz Logan got all pinchy faced and told us to go to the reading corner, but I wanted to see, so I just stayed even though we weren’t supposed to.”
“Colt got a time out, and a poor choice X on Miz Logan’s chart. He’s in big trouble and gots a note for Mom to sign.”
“Has a note for me to sign.” Effie had slowly walked their way. “Marsh. I’ll bet you’re here for Wallace’s wallet. Grandma just found it.” Her words might have been friendly enough, but her expression wasn’t. The boys’ teacher wasn’t the only “pinchy faced” woman in town.
“Right. He sent me to get it. Plus, I owe you an apology for what happened this morning.”
“I’m okay.” She jiggled the baby.
“I’m glad, but seriously, I’m sorry to have run out on you like that, and it won’t happen again.”
She shrugged.
“Hey!” A grubby hand tugged the hem of Marsh’s black T-shirt. “There was blood in the hamster cage, and Miz Logan got sick-looking and called the janitor to clean it. He said that wasn’t in his job disk-kiption, but he took it anyway, and then brought it back all clean.”
“Colt...” Effie said in the universal mom warning tone. “Why don’t you and your brother start on your chores, then we’ll do homework.”
“Don’t have any!”
“Liar!” his twin said. “We’ve got math and a word find!”
“You’re a tattletale!” The kid in the red shirt that Marsh assumed was Colt grabbed a fistful of dirt and chucked it at his brother.
“Ouch! You hit my eyeball!” The kid who had to be Remington by default started crying.
“Colt,” Effie barked, “go to your room.”
Cassidy’s eyes welled as if she wasn’t sure what to make of the situation.
“Mommy, my eyeball fell out!” Effie’s youngest son clamped his hand over his left eye.
“Aw, honey.” She looked to him, her huffing daughter, then Marsh. “Would you mind?” She held out the baby to him.
“Not a good idea.” Backing away with his hands up, he added, “I’ve got germs.”
She waved off his concerns and thrust her crying infant into his arms. “By the time you get to your third kid, you kinda give up on the whole germ thing.”
Of course, Marsh grabbed hold of Cassidy or she might have fallen, but that landed him in the untenable position of feeling as if he were falling. The baby smelled so good and pure. And then there was pretty Effie wrapping her son in an invisible quilt made of love. Had fate not taken everything, this might be his life. Tucker would easily be old enough to have had a baby sister, and his ex had been great with their son.
“See, silly?” Effie pried Remington’s hand finger by finger to get him to move it. “Your eyeball is not only still there, but I’ll bet it works just fine. Want to check and see?”
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