The Seal's Second Chance Baby
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“Humph.” The tall, slender man with a shock of white hair and an impressive handlebar mustache wandered to a sagging brown recliner. A massive Maine coon cat took up the entire seat. He hefted it up to toss onto the sofa, then settled into his chair. “Have a seat.”
The offended cat glared before starting a tongue bath.
Effie chose a simple oak rocker, unsure how to broach the matter that had brought her here.
“How is Mabel? I trust she’s okay?” Interesting. Far from being the monster Mabel had portrayed, Wallace seemed cordial enough—at least once he’d confirmed she wasn’t witnessing or selling unwanted items.
“She’s good.”
“Does she talk much about me?” He leaned forward. “The last time we met at the Grange Hall, we’d both had a few spirits and I’m afraid I may have said something to offend her.”
“I’m sure not.” So much for Mabel’s claim to never imbibe. “In fact, she’s the one who suggested I come over, to—”
“Does she want me to come for supper? I’m available most any night of the week. My grandson’s living with me, so he’d probably enjoy a good meal, too. Lord knows, neither one of us cooks.”
“Actually—” now Effie was leaning in “—would your grandson happen to be named Marsh?”
“Yes. Why?”
She forced a deep breath. “I’m not sure how to say this, but I was working on our roof when I spied a horse carrying a man slumped in his saddle. Making a long story short, the man’s hand was a mess, and showed signs of having been snake bit. I called an ambulance, and paramedics took him into La Junta.” She fished Marsh’s wallet from her back pocket, along with his broken wedding ring. “He should be fine, but—”
“Take me to him.” He stood, holding out his hands for his grandson’s things.
“E-excuse me?” She gave him the two items.
“I don’t drive, so you’ll have to take me to him.”
“Oh—sure. Have trouble seeing?”
“Hell, no.” He’d already stood and took a black leather cowboy hat from a rack next to the front door. “I got so many damned speeding tickets that the law revoked my license. Don’t get it back till next month.”
* * *
THE ANGEL HAD RETURNED.
Marsh winced from the too-bright lights when he tried focusing on her. She sat quietly by his bedside, staring down at him as if he was no longer a man, but a museum exhibit.
We’ve administered forty-six units of antivenin. It’s too soon to give an accurate prognosis of the probability of lasting damage.
That didn’t sound good.
In fact, nothing sounded good except for the angel’s soft, nonsensical hum. The tune soothed him in a way that he didn’t understand, but welcomed.
His wife hadn’t been in to see him, but his son had assumed a large role in Marsh’s dreams.
The two of them played Frisbee with the dog and made sand castles on the beach. Tucker must not have drowned, because his smile reminded Marsh of his reason for living. His job as a SEAL was important, but being a dad was his life’s true calling.
“Are you awake?” the angel asked.
“I—I think so?” His mouth was so dry that his tongue protested forming even the simple words. Do you have water? He might have asked the question, or maybe he’d only touched his lips?
“Thirsty? I’m not sure if you’re allowed to have anything to drink. There was talk of you having surgery, but I’ll go see.” She stood, as if planning to leave.
“No,” he said. “Stay.”
“I’ll be right back. Let me find a nurse.”
“Stay. Meet my son.” He locked his gaze with hers and more than anything, he needed that connection. Everything was messed up in his head. But if she promised not to leave him, he just might be okay.
* * *
EFFIE TIGHTENED HER grip on the ICU waiting room’s courtesy phone. After Effie had explained that their mystery man was Wallace’s grandson, Mabel asked about Marsh’s condition.
“Wish I had better news to report, but he’s still pretty out of it.”
“What does his doctor say?”
“Nothing specific. He’s not in danger of dying, but his hand’s in bad shape.”
“I’ll say more prayers for him. You stay as long as you need. The kids are all fine.”
“Thank you for watching them. Since Wallace lost his license due to a few too many speeding tickets, I don’t feel right leaving either of them.”
“You’re right to stay with Marsh. The poor soul’s grandfather might be a heathen, but that doesn’t mean he’s guilty by association.”
After chatting with Remington for a few minutes—Colt still wasn’t talking to her—Effie hung up and wandered her way back to Marsh’s room.
Poor Wallace. The man had been downgraded from scoundrel to heathen.
She froze outside Marsh’s room, hesitant to interrupt his lovable grandfather, who sat near the head of the bed. The last of the day’s sun filtered through generous windows, softening the harsh reality of Marsh’s grim situation.
Where was the man’s wife? The son he’d earlier mentioned?
A machine beeped in time with Marsh’s painfully slow pulse. His bed was surrounded by IVs pumping him full of fluids and different medicines. His handsome features twitched from the venom. The sight broke her heart, yet she couldn’t look away. Hash marks had been drawn up his arm to show how far the poison advanced.
Maybe because she’d been the one to find him, Effie felt an inexplicable connection to the man. A fierce protective streak made her irrationally angry at his wife, who should have been by his side.
Unable to remain silent, she approached Wallace. “If you have contact information, I don’t mind calling Marsh’s wife. I’m sure having his family here would be a comfort.”
“You’re a sweet gal, but it might be best for you to steer clear of messy family business.”
“Oh. Okay.” The cramped room only had one chair, so she leaned against the far wall, trying to make sense of Wallace’s cryptic words. Messy family business? She’d experienced more than her fair share of that. Were Marsh and his wife divorced? Had his ex been given sole custody of their son?
As bothersome as her boys could sometimes be, Effie couldn’t imagine a life without her children.
“On second thought...” Wallace grunted before leaning hard on the armrests to rise from his blue vinyl chair. “Show me the way to a cup of strong black coffee and I’ll get your take on the matter.”
“There’s coffee in the waiting room, but it’s fresher in the cafeteria. Plus, they have surprisingly good sandwiches.” Why couldn’t she stop rambling? How had Marsh Langtree grown to matter so much in such a short time?
She took a lingering glance at him before letting Wallace lead her from the room.
At eight thirty on a Monday night, the sandwich selection was slim, but Effie found a turkey on rye and Wallace opted for ham and Swiss, along with a piece of banana cream pie.
He insisted on paying for both of their meals, then showed her to a corner table.
They both ate in silence punctuated by faint metallic bangs and trays clattering in the kitchen. The antiseptic smell on the ICU wing had been replaced by the more pleasant aroma of fresh-brewed coffee.
Hospital employees came and went. The only other patient visitors in the dining area were a family Effie recognized from the ICU waiting room. The father had suffered a heart attack, but his prognosis was good.
Wallace had only eaten a third of his sandwich when he changed course to attack his pie. He finished in four bites, then washed it down with half his cup of joe. “That’s better.” He wiped pie crumbs from his mustache. “Now, I suppose this is something best kept in the family, but I would appreciate a woman’s take on the matter.”
“Of course.” Effie leaned in.
“Let me first say I’m no angel. What seems like a hundred years ago, I made a killing in oil. I let the money go to my head, stepped out on my wife, and she packed up our little girl and left me. Marsh is my daughter Jacinda’s son. I only cheated that one time, and I was so damned drunk I didn’t remember much other than waking up with a head throbbing with regret, but my wife wasn’t having it, and she moved back out east to stay with her folks. They were a hoity-toity bunch who dabbled in Thoroughbred breeding and never much cottoned to me. We were separated for forty years before Jacinda called to tell me her mama died from flu.” He shook his head while tears shone in his eyes. “Flu. You hear about folks dyin’ from it on the news, but it seems like an unnecessary way to go.”
“I’m sorry.” Effie placed her hand over Wallace’s.
He snatched his hand back and waved off her concern. “No need for sympathy. The damned fool woman made her choices, same as me. Save for ten minutes, I was faithful to her my whole life, but got nothin’ to show for it. Now, I finally have my grandson with me, and look what happened to him.”
“You could no more control Marsh getting bit by a rattler than you could the outcome of your infidelity. Sometimes life just plain sucks.”
He snorted and reached for his fork, pressing crumbs between the tines. “What’s worse, my grandson’s now in the same kind of bind.”
“Marsh cheated on his wife?” Effie’s respect for him plummeted.
“No, no. Of course, not. Hell, they’ve been divorced for darn near three years, and he still wore his ring—took a rattler to pry it off him. I just meant that he’s as alone as I am. When his little boy drowned, Jacinda worried grief might drive Marsh under.”
Wallace’s story trapped Effie’s heart on a spinning carnival ride. Up and down, around and around. Whereas moments earlier, she’d felt contempt for the man, she now ached for him. Had his wife blamed him for the loss of their son? And was that why their marriage died, too?
She drew her lower lip into her mouth. Poor, poor Marsh.
“I didn’t share all of this to draw pity. I don’t get out much, and am genuinely curious to hear a woman’s point of view. Was my wife right to never speak to me again? Was Marsh’s wife right to leave him?”
Effie slowly exhaled. “Honestly, without hearing both sides, it’s hard to say. But just having heard your version, sounds like you and Marsh both deserved another chance.”
Silent tears streamed down the man’s weathered cheeks.
He wadded his napkin, turning his back to her while drying his eyes. “I’m a silly old fool.”
She rose to hug him. “It’s never wrong to love someone, and it sounds to me like you and your grandson loved your wives very much.”
Achy longing took hold in Effie’s gut.
More than anything, all she’d ever wanted besides being a nurse was to be a great mom and to be loved. Love seemed like such a simple thing. Lots of people had it. What was it about her that Moody had found so unlovable?
Would any guy find her worthy of his affection?
She chided herself for even asking the question. With three kids and a grandmother and ragtag ranch to tend, the last thing she had time to even think about was a man.
Chapter Three
Marsh woke to bright sun, cartoons and fighting. Since none of that made sense, he closed his eyes, figuring when he next woke, life would once again be normal.
Give it!
No!
Yes!
Boys!
Something broke.
Both of you sit down. If I have to tell you again, you’re not going to Scotty’s party.
I hate you! I’m calling Dad!
Colt William Washington! This voice was different—older sounding, in a scolding, grandmotherly way.
Grandma, I’m sorry. I thought the boys would behave, but—
“Hey...” Marsh fully opened his eyes to find not one boy who would have been older than Tucker when he’d passed, but two. “How come you’re giving your mom such a hard time?”
“You’re awake!” A petite blonde rushed to his side. My angel? He recalled the sweetest humming and soft strokes to his hair. She clapped her hands to flushed cheeks, then her hair, then to his shoulder. “Oh my gosh. I need to get your grandpa. He’s going to be so happy.”
One of the boys stepped alongside his mom. “Your hand blew up to the size of a football and had lots of icky gunk squirting out of it. It was awesome!”
Not to be outdone, a clone of the first boy said, “When I was little, a stick poked out my eyeball!”
“Remington, Colt, come here.” The grandmotherly voice was attached to a slim body with spiky white hair. “Leave that poor man alone.”
Marsh licked his lips. “Would one of y’all mind helping me out with a few clues as to what’s going on?”
The boy scampered to a window seat, where he joined his other half in coloring in a Transformers book with crayons.
“I’m sorry.” The angel’s flighty hands were back to her cheeks. “I’m Effie. You were bitten by a rattler, and I found you and your horse. These little hellions are my boys—Colt and Remington. And this—” she put her arm around the older woman who had her impish smile “—is Mabel. My saint of a grandmother, who took us all in.”
Mabel said, “We’re your grandfather’s neighbors to the east.”
“Guess I owe you a heap of gratitude.” Marsh struggled just to scratch his stubble-covered jaw. “Everything that happened is kind of a blur.” Mostly what I remember is you, Effie. The way you made me want to fight my way back from the dark.
A crying whimper came from somewhere near the window.
His angel headed that way to pluck an infant from a carrier. With a cherub-cheeked mini version of herself, only with curls, settled on her hip, Effie returned. “This is Cassidy. She gets cranky when she’s left out of the action.”
“Don’t blame her.” Marsh tried reaching for the nearest of the infant’s bare feet, but even that small effort seemed too great. The sensation of not being in control of his body was not only unfamiliar, but intolerable.
He needed out of this bed now.
“You probably shouldn’t try to do too much at once.”
“Lifting my arm is hardly too much.”
“I’ll be damned...” His grandfather took off his cowboy hat while entering the cramped room. “You lived.”
“Don’t have to sound so excited about it.”
His granddad chuckled. “Believe you me, I am. If something happened to you while you were out here, your mama would have my hide.”
“True.” For as long as Marsh could remember, Wallace had been part of his life. He called every Sunday morning and sent him cash-filled cards for holidays with extra on his birthdays. When Marsh’s perfect family had officially gone to hell, and his CO told him to get his head on straight and not even think about coming back until he’d made peace with his son’s passing and his wife leaving, the only place that made sense for him to go was to the ranch where he’d spent every childhood and teen summer. His maternal grandmother’s Thoroughbred farm where he’d grown up was home, but about as regimented as his Navy schedule. What he needed was plenty of time and wide-open spaces to make sense out of the mess that had become of his life. “Have you talked to Mom? Told her I’ll be all right?”
Wallace nodded. “She wanted to fly out, but I told her you didn’t need a woman interfering in your business.”
“Sounds like something you’d say.” Mabel crossed her arms, and a slash replaced her pretty smile.
“Thank you for proving my point,” his grandfather snapped before slapping his hat back on his head.
Never had Marsh wished more for the strength to form a simple time-out T with his hands. After the two septuagenarians bickered for another five minutes, he glanced toward Effie and caught her gaze.
She smiled.
His chest tightened when they shared a moment of mutual frustration with their elders.
“Gramma?” One of the boys had left his coloring book to cock his head and stare up at her. “How come you tell me and Colt not to fight, but you and Mr. Wallace fight, too?”
Marsh didn’t even try hiding a smile.
Effie squeezed her son’s shoulder, steering him toward the door. “Colt, would you please pack up your coloring books and crayons, then grab Cassidy’s carrier. We should probably go.”
“Agreed.” Mabel glared toward Marsh’s grandfather. “I need out of here before this darn fool goes and tells me again that I’m shakin’ like a wet dog.”
“You’re still holding a grudge about that?” Wallace asked.
Effie winced. “Remington, please help your brother put those crayons back in the box.”
“Woman...” Wallace made the mistake of pointing his finger in Mabel’s face. She looked angry enough that Marsh wouldn’t have put it past her to break his grandpa’s finger clear off. “What in the world are you talking about?”
“Oh—now, you’re going to fake amnesia? My poor Dwayne had barely been in his grave a year, and I was finally able to get back to square dancing. You blustered into the regular Saturday night party and sauntered up to me without even taking off your hat. Then you said those horrible words, and Wallace Stokes, I’ve hated you ever since.”
“Hated me? I said you shook like a dog as a compliment. I used to have an old hound named Peacock, and I loved that girl something fierce. Nothing made me happier than taking her down to the swimming hole and watching her play in the water, and then shake off. Made me smile—truly. Just like your dancing.” He removed his big black cowboy hat, pressing it to his chest while making the strangest smile. “Miss Mabel, from the bottom of my heart, I give you my deepest, most sincere apology.”
Mabel shook her head. “Boys, hurry along before we all suffocate from Mr. Stokes’s bloviating hot air.”
“Grandma.” Effie shifted her baby to her other hip. “Wallace said he was sorry. After hearing his explanation, don’t you think this is all sort of funny?”
Marsh yawned. “I don’t mean to interfere in anyone’s business, but I sure could use a nap.”
“Aw, now, I’m sorry,” Effie said to him. “Boys, Grandma—let’s go.”
“Gladly.” Mabel huffed and headed toward the door.
The boys marched behind her, as did Wallace, smooth talking all the way out into the hall.
When only Effie remained, she said, “I really am sorry. After what you’ve been through, you should have woken to a nice, peaceful scene.”
“It’s all right.” He cast her a faint smile. “Guess I’m lucky to even be alive.” Which surprised him. At what point had he decided living was better than dying?
“You sure are.” She came close enough to cup her hand to his shoulder. Her simple, kind touch flooded him with a sense of calm and well-being. “Since my crew isn’t exactly suitable for hospital visits, now that you’re awake, I probably won’t be back.”
“Sure. I understand.” Only he didn’t. Why did he suddenly want more than anything to see her and her wild brood again? “Thanks for the time you were here—and for calling an ambulance for my pitiful behind.”
“It was my pleasure.” When she smiled, the pleasure was all his.
* * *
“THAT MUST HAVE been horrible.”
“It was,” Effie said.
It was Sunday afternoon, and while the twins splashed in Scotty’s pool, Effie sat at the back porch table with Cassidy asleep on her lap. Scotty’s mother, Patricia, and three other moms she’d just met whose names she couldn’t remember had shared Little League gossip until the conversation turned to Marsh’s snakebite ordeal, whose injury made the local paper.
“Will he regain full use of his hand?” one of the moms asked. She had big hair and wore an equally large purple sundress patterned with cows jumping over pink moons.
“Hope so.” Effie wished she knew what was going on with Marsh. Had he been released? It seemed strange that she’d spent so much time with him when he’d been unconscious, yet now that he was awake, she hadn’t seen him at all. How could she miss him when she didn’t even know him?
The conversation wound to the upcoming school year that officially started in the morning. Effie excused herself to grab the boys from the pool. With all the excitement over Marsh, she hadn’t even started shopping for their supplies.
Rounding the edge of the free-form pool, she couldn’t help but notice how luxurious Patricia’s home was. Scotty’s father, Roy, was a lawyer, and had spent more time on his cell phone than playing with the boys, but now he’d joined his wife on the porch. They shared a kiss, and when he whispered something for only her to hear, Effie fought a jealous pang.
She didn’t miss Moody, per se, but she missed the intimacy of being a couple. Of knowing no matter what curves life threw her way, he had her back. Only in the end, he hadn’t. The fact still kept her up nights, and when the boys acted out, it made her more convinced than ever that they needed a firm masculine presence in their lives.
Effie turned from the happy couple to summon her boys.
The pool had been constructed to resemble a country pond. A pile of boulders at the deep end featured a grotto with a swim-up bar and slide. Country music played from speakers hidden in more rocks, and the sweet scent of petunias blended with suntan lotion and chlorine and lingering smoke from the grill to form the perfect backdrop for a lazy summer afternoon.
“Colt! Remington!” she called above the splashing, shifting Cassidy to her other hip. “We need to go!”
“No!” Colt swooshed his hand through the water, creating a massive wave. “We’re having fun!”
“Now.” Effie walked to the pool’s edge. “If you’re not out of this pool by the time I count to ten, you’re grounded from TV and your friends for the whole first week of school.”
Cassidy must have sensed the change in her mother’s mood, as she whimpered. “It’s okay, sweetie,” Effie said with a light jiggle. “Mommy’s not mad at you.”
Remington sloshed to the pool’s edge and hopped out, racing across the sandstone pavers for his towel.
“Don’t run!” she shouted after him.
Meanwhile, Colt crossed his arms and glared. “I don’t wanna go!”
“One.” Why was Colt doing this? He never used to talk back when Moody had been around. Was she such a horrible parent that she’d brought out this defiant streak?
He stood chest-deep in the water, staring.
“Two.”
His friends stopped playing keep-away to gawk. Apparently the parental showdown was more entertaining?
“Three.”
“Colt, come on,” his brother said. “We gotta pick school stuff.”
“No!” Colt looked away to swim to the deep end.
“Four.” Effie’s heart pounded. She’d always hated confrontations, and fighting with her son in such a public setting was the worst.
“I’ll get him, Mom.” Bless his little heart, Remington handed her his towel, jumped back in the pool, and swam to his brother. He whispered something in his ear, then Colt slapped the water but eventually turned for the shallow end.
“Thanks for your help,” she said when Remington stood beside her while Colt took his time getting his Spider-Man towel.
“You’re welcome.”
She wanted to ask Remington what he’d said that had worked such magic but in the end realized she didn’t want to know. What if her youngest boy had told his big brother that if he didn’t come, Mom was going to have a stroke? Or embarrass them even more in front of their friends?
When Colt finally reached her, Cassidy’s weight had taken a toll on Effie’s lower back. Eager to place the baby in her car seat, she said to both boys, “Go and thank Mr. and Mrs. Crawford, then get dressed. We need to hurry and get to the store.”
* * *
TWO HOURS LATER, frazzled didn’t begin to cover Effie’s mood. The school supplies had cost double what she’d budgeted and Colt had insisted on specialty items instead of plain number-two pencils and standard notebooks. She knew she should have told him no, but it was tough when Remington behaved like a saint in the crowded back-to-school aisle and deserved a little something special for the start of first grade.
She had money tucked away from selling vegetables and eggs at the summer farmer’s market, and every so often Moody did send a check, but she hated needing his money and felt guilty living off Mabel’s generosity. Effie vowed to one day finish nursing school so she’d be able to support herself.