Lonesome Cowboy (Honky Tonk Hearts) (13 page)

Her hand paused with her cell phone half-way out of her pocket, hearing only bits and pieces through the pounding of her heart as Elwood continued to talk about Marshall and the upcoming rodeo. Air deflated from her lungs as a slow, icy chill crept up her spine. She turned away from them to stare out the window as flashes of the past assaulted her—Marshall kissing her and walking away.

Trust me. This will all work out.

Those were the words; his last words before he abandoned her for the rodeo.

And those were his last words to her yesterday…

Amy knew it was crazy, knew she was being irrational, but she couldn’t stop her breath coming in short, hyperventilating gasps. In her mind, all she saw was Marshall driving away, and the long, lonely nights trying hard to keep the faith even as her heart broke. She grasped the table, knuckles white on the Formica as she tried to pull air into her tight lungs.

“Lee-Anne was sure pawin’ over Marshall this morning.”

The comment filtered through the ringing in her ears, and Amy whipped her head around toward the men, being caught eavesdropping too low on her list to care when the rapid thunder of her heartbeat threatened to explode in her chest.

“From the sounds of it, they was making up for some little tiff they had last night,” Elwood supplied.

The room began to spin.

“She’s a mighty handful,” Charlie hooted.

“The way Marshall handles those bull, Lee-Anne’s no problem.”

Cackles from the cronies at the counter echoed like macabre laughter around her, at her.

He’ll go back to the rodeo and leave you all alone again.

Hank played you. Your mother played you, of course Marshall is playing you! Getting his revenge for you losing faith, for
marrying
another man.

Kiss you, keep you, throw you away.

Playing you, just like everyone else.

The laughter and viper-like, inner voices continued until she jerked out of the booth with a gasp.
No!
That wasn’t going to happen
again
. A fierce fire burned through her core. She wasn’t going to be anyone’s pawn
ever
again.

Charlotte’s angry cry at the sudden jolt joined the mayhem, and she cradled her daughter close as the fire burned into anger. Anger at those who thought they could manipulate
her
life for their own selfish amusement. Well, she was done with all of them.

A hand grasped her arm and she snapped her gaze up to find Andee’s filled with concern.

Her cousin set down a plate of eggs and toast. “Amy? What’s wrong?”

“I have to go.” It was time she started taking control of her life. Drowning in her own undertow of past versus present, Amy scrambled to collect the papers on the table, clinging to them like a lifeline. “I need to go settle the house.” And get the hell out of there before her chest and head exploded.

“But, Amy…”

A shake of her head was all she could manage in her mad dash from the café.

Up in the tiny apartment, she carefully set Charlotte in the bassinette, and then started tossing baby items into the diaper bag. Her chest was so full of red-hot fire, she was afraid the tiny clothes would ignite beneath her hands. Right now, her survival instincts were on overload. And she
would
survive; her daughter depended on her. If it was the last thing she did, she would survive, and flourish—but on
her
terms, no one else’s.

She’d been a fool to think she could clean out the ghosts from her closets. Ghosts never left. If you were lucky, they faded to a distant memory; and if you weren’t, they kept howling at the door, reminding you how stupid you’d been.

Amy tossed her own suitcase on the bed. She’d never been lucky.

A quick call to the realtor set up an appointment to sign the papers first thing tomorrow morning. Once they were signed, she’d start looking for a small apartment, and then a job—no, a bed and breakfast or small inn. Maybe it was the anger talking, or she just finally found the strength to believe in herself, but she
knew
she could run her own business, and she’d be damned if she let anyone tell her she couldn’t again.

A cold chill snuffed some of the fire out as she put her cell back in her pocket. Marshall hadn’t actually told her she couldn’t; in fact, he was the only one who believed she could—and that little B&B off the highway had been perfect…

Amy shook her head. No, it didn’t matter. She couldn’t,
wouldn’t
risk that he was playing her, too, flashing something in front of her face only to have it come with a price too high to pay, like her dignity…or her heart.

A pounding started on her apartment door, and she opened it to find Andee, eyes wide as her cousin glanced at the mess of clothes and pile of baskets by the door.

“Amy? What are you doing?”

She went back to forcing clothes into the suitcase, unable to keep eye contact. It would have been nice to stay with family again, real family who cared about them. But if she was going to take control, it couldn’t be here. “I told you. I have to go back to sign the papers. As much as I’ve loved being here, it’s time I get back to reality. I’ll need to find an apartment and…”

The hand on her shoulder stalled her nervous chatter.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.” She shook her head, closing her eyes against the burn and pain of the truth. “
Everything
. I’m tired of being the victim in everyone else’s game, Andee.” Opening her eyes, she pleaded for her cousin to understand. “I need to make my own life, for Charlotte. You of all people know how important a child is, how hard it is. I need to focus on her right now.”

“But Mar—”

“He has his own life,” she cut in quickly, before his name was spoken and another chunk of her heart broke off. “He’s got the rodeo and the realt—”

“What do you mean? He hasn’t—”

Amy held up a hand. The last thing she needed right now was to hear more about him. “Look, I admit it. I made the wrong choice not waiting for Marshall. I made the wrong choice marrying Hank, not answering the phone the night he died. And believing my mother might manipulate others, but would never do that to her own daughter.”

“Oh, Amy, none of that was…”

She waved her hands, sidestepping her cousin’s embrace. “Yes, it was, they all were.
I
made those choices. I chose to believe my mother.
I
lost faith in Marshall. I chose to marry Hank. Sure, we might have been manipulated, but
I let
it happen. No one held a gun to my head…and nothing can change
any
of it.” She swiped at an angry tear and glanced down to her daughter, bright eyes gazing at the world in innocent wonder. “I don’t want to make the wrong choices with Charlotte. I
can’t
.” She turned and gave her cousin a tight hug. “I appreciate all you’ve done. But I can’t keep living in the past. I can see now that is exactly what my mother did, and I don’t want that for Charlotte. She’s so young. I don’t want to mess up her life as much as I’ve messed up mine.”

“You didn’t mess up your life.” Andee squeezed her shoulders tight. “And now you have the best reason of all to stay
here
, where you have family who loves you.”

And a handsome, six-foot reminder of my biggest mistake.

Chapter Thirteen

Well, damn. That’s Amy’s car.

Marshall watched the Camry head in the opposite direction. He’d been hoping to take Amy and the babe for a walk in the park, talk to her, be with her like he’d wanted to since she left yesterday.

Figuring she was headed to the market for more diapers or the like, he parked his truck to the side of the Sunrise Café, planning to grab something to eat while he waited for her to get back.

The bells on the door announced his arrival. Several customers looked up and then back to their plates; one set of steely eyes, however, glared at him from behind the counter, a coffee urn frozen mid-pour.

Now what?

Elwood guffawed. “Here we go again, boys.”

He ignored the old cronies and took a seat at the far end of the counter.

“Just waiting for Amy to get back,” he said when the glare didn’t waiver.

“Then you’re going to have a long wait.” The café owner finished pouring coffee then slammed the carafe back on the warming tray. “She’s gone.”

His gaze snapped to her face, searching for signs of deceit. Right now, he didn’t trust Amy’s family as far as he could throw them. But the hazel eyes only showed anger…and hurt.

Cold fingers clamped over his chest, squeezing tight. “Gone? Where?”

“Back to Fort Worth.” She swiped up a cloth and headed to the end of the counter.

Marshall scrambled to follow. “Why?”
What the hell happened between yesterday and today?
Was he stupid to think they’d been given a second chance—that
she
wanted a second chance? He could have sworn yesterday…

“Why do you think?” At the kitchen door, Andee spun around and faced him. “She’s done with her past, Marshall. And I don’t blame her a bit. About time she did something for herself.”

For herself.

So, where did that leave him?

Alone, again.

Damn. Son of a bitch.
His jaw tightened. He’d done it again. Gave his heart away,
again
, to the one person who kept tossing it right back at him. When would he ever learn?

The cold fingers around his chest turned burning hot, scorching through muscle and bone to fist his heart into cinders.

****

Amy parked in the driveway, her chest tightening at the monolith of cement and columns she used to live in. It had never been a home, and she couldn’t wait to sign the papers and close the deal on this part of her life.

On the long drive back, she’d held onto her new mantra,
my choice
.

She collected the car seat and diaper bag and hauled them to the front door. Dried leaves and small seed shells blown into the alcove by the late summer breeze crunched beneath her feet as she set the baby carrier down.

The clunky lock box secured to the doorknob had her biting her lip, fighting to keep her resolve. It was similar to the one Marshall opened to get the key for the bed and breakfast. The perfect little inn. The perfect man.

No.
They were both “once upon a time,” and that’s where they would stay from now on. This time she would write her own fairytale; and somehow figure out how to help her daughter believe in happily ever after, even if she didn’t.

Amy swung the box aside and opened the door with her own key, thankful she had it because she didn’t remember the code the realtor had given her.

Marshall had, though. What did he say—the realtor used the same code for all her houses? Not very good security for her clients.
Talk about a dumb blonde
.

The key paused in the lock.
Funny, she hadn’t looked like a dumb blonde at all.
Poised, stylish, quick…she couldn’t really see her doing something like that.

Amy shook her head. Not that she knew the lady at all, and naming the attributes of the woman Marshall ha—

Stop!
Those thoughts weren’t keeping her head in the right spot, and she had to stop, now.

Still, something niggled at her brain as the cool emptiness of the house greeted her. She had half a mind to shut the place up and find a hotel, but that wouldn’t be prudent in conserving her finances for a down payment on her business goals, and their livelihood. First thing tomorrow, she’d get a newspaper and start looking for an inn up for sale, or even a big house she could convert into a bed and breakfast. Maybe somewhere out of the city, in a little tourist town. She’d loved the small town feel of Redemption. And having Andee nearby.

Her shoulders sank as she bent to pick up the car seat. “I did so well to keep everything at bay on the drive here,” she complained to Charlotte as she set the seat on the cold, dark coffee table by a colder, darker fireplace. “Why is every thought now revolving around what I miss the most?” She swiped at a few leaves and seed husks that clung to the carrier. “Wasn’t the whole point of coming home to break the shell
I
was living in and make the choices that are right for us?” she asked, but her gaze was stuck on the little seed shell stuck to her finger
.
Again, that niggling at the back of her mind bothered her, like she had overlooked something, something important.

Shells?
Like sea shells? Egg shells? Oh, this is ridiculous.
She brushed away the annoyance to release Charlotte from her carrier. “Come on, Peanut, let’s—”
She frowned at her daughter. The nickname had just slipped out; another reminder of Marshall, and worse, images of his tenderness with her daughter.
Peanut.

Peanut shells…

Oh my God.

Her gaze darted behind her to the clunky lock box as the niggling pieces swirled and fitted neatly into place. He
knew
the lock box combination. Sawdust and
peanut shells
had littered the corner of the dining room—just like Marshall’s work area behind the Lonesome Steer. And how many men know every room in a bed and breakfast, let alone one that had been on the market for a couple years? All its
best
features?