The SEAL's Second Chance Baby (2 page)

“Yuck! That's gross!” He ran toward the house. “I want steak and a pool!”

Effie sighed.

Mabel leaned out the screen door. “Eff, hon, do you have that poor stranger's wallet?”

“I forgot it in the barn.”

“Could you please get it?” Mabel asked. “I want to call his wife. She's no doubt beside herself with worry.”

“Agreed.” To her son, Effie said, “Colt, get in the house, and don't forget to thank Grandma for cooking.”

“I don't want a stupid sandwich! I want steak!” Instead of joining his brother and sister inside as he'd been told, Colt darted around the back of the house.

“The boy needs a firm hand,” Mabel noted.

“I know.”
He needs his father.

“Let him sulk for a bit. Might do him good.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I see him through the bedroom window. He's sitting on the swing. Go ahead and grab the wallet, then get in here and eat before your soup gets cold.”

“Yes, ma'am.” In this heat, Effie doubted anything could get cold, but after swallowing the all-too-familiar knot at the back of her throat, she marched back to the barn.

At the moment, that poor stranger needed her help far more than her smart-mouthed son.

* * *

M
ARSH
DRIFTED
IN
and out of consciousness.

We tried intubating on the way, but he was too combative. He's bleeding from the site, so we had to restrain him to keep him from pulling tubes out.

Light. So much light. He squinted against the fluorescent track's glare. Where was his boy? His wife? The angel who'd found him?

How much Crotalidae was given?

He got the initial six, and we're hanging another six right now.

“Sir? Could you tell us what kind of snake bit you?”

Were they talking to him?

“Sir? Were you bitten by a rattlesnake?”

Marsh tried nodding but couldn't be sure if he'd even moved.

“Sir, judging by the severity of your symptoms, we need to double-check you weren't bitten by something more exotic. Are you sure it was a rattler?”

“Y-yes,” Marsh managed. After having to put down one of his grandfather's best horses when it broke its leg in a prairie dog hole, Marsh had been out on the range, filling as many of the damned things as he could, when the snake lunged without warning. It clamped onto the webby flesh between his thumb and forefinger for an eternity before Marsh shook him free. He'd done his best to stay calm, drunk as much water as he could, then climbed into his chestnut's saddle, strapping himself in before aiming the horse for home.

Sounds definitive to me. Look at the poor guy. He's twitching all over. See the fasciculations? How his muscles look like worms under his skin. It's bad. One of the worst snakebites I've seen in a while.

Chapter Two

“Marsh Langtree...” Mabel
held up the stranger's ID to check it with her reading glasses. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

“Is he a neighbor?” They'd finished lunch, and while Mabel fed Cassidy her baby food pears, Effie cleared the kitchen table. “I mean, think about it. I found him on horseback, so he couldn't have come from too far away.”

“Hmm...” Mabel wiped drool from the baby's chin.

Cassidy grinned and blew a raspberry.

Effie's daughter had her blue eyes, but the twins had Moody's soulful brown gaze. Every time she looked at her boys, Effie could be bitter, but she was only thankful that her brief marriage had created such blessings.

“Seems to me—” Mabel fed Cassidy another bite “—Wallace Stokes has family out east.”

“Who's Wallace?”

“Let's just say he's a neighbor and leave it at that.”

“Why haven't you mentioned him before? You had to have known him, right?”

“Girl, leave it alone.”

“I'm intrigued.” Effie fitted the stopper in the sink, turned on hot water, then added a squirt of dish soap. “This sounds like a good story.”

“Ha! He's got a fresh mouth.”

“This just keeps getting better...” Effie didn't try hiding her grin. Mabel might be a great-grandma three times over, but that didn't stop her from flirting up a storm every Saturday night she went square dancing. “What did he do?”

“Poor Dwayne had barely been in his grave a year when Wallace showed up at the Grange Hall for dancing and told me I was shakin' my behind like a wet dog.”

Effie tried not to laugh—really, she did—but Mabel's pinched scowl was too funny.

“How's that funny? The man's a scoundrel.”

“Grandma, even you have to admit that when you've had a few beers—”

“I don't imbibe in spirits, and shame on you for inferring I do. I might have had cider, but that's all.”

“If you say so.” Effie winked.

“Girl, you'd better be glad you're too big for a spanking, or else.”

“Sorry, Grandma. But do you have Wallace's phone number? If so, I'll give him a call to save you the trouble.”

“Why would I have the old coot's number?”

“We could try calling information or looking it up online.”

“Girl, I've got no patience for your fancy detective work. Go see him in person. It's that rock house a fair piece down the road with the leaning barn. Not only is the man foulmouthed, but lazy.”

“I've never heard you say a bad word about anyone. Is this Wallace character really so bad?”

As if on cue, Cassidy spit out her last bite of pears.

“See?” Mabel said. “If even hearing about the man left a sour taste in this sweet baby's mouth, then you know what I say is true.”

* * *

T
HIRTY
MINUTES
LATER
, Effie had finished cleaning the lunch dishes, gotten the sulking twins started on their afternoon chores and allowed her grandmother to coerce her into visiting this supposedly wretched Wallace who might or might not have kin named Marsh Langtree.

She now stood on the man's front porch, wishing for even a hint of a breeze to cut the oppressive heat.

At least his yard sported three cottonwoods. She welcomed the shade.

Effie had just raised her hand to knock on the peeling red front door when it opened. Startled, she jumped back, pressing her hand over her pounding heart. “You scared me.”

“Good. I don't need religion or a new vacuum, so you'd best be on your way.”

“No, sir. I'm Effie Washington—your neighbor from down the road. My grandma says we share a property line with you, and—”

“Mabel's your grandmother?”

“Yessir...” Effie held her breath. If he harbored half as many hard feelings toward Mabel as she did toward him, this visit might turn even more unpleasant.

“Well, why didn't you say so? Come on in.” He stepped back to hold open the door.

She entered, and nearly purred with pleasure from a humming window-mounted air conditioner's chill. “Wow, does this feel nice.”

“Mabel doesn't have AC?”

“No, sir.”

“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.”

* * *

T
HE
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.

* * *

E
FFIE
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.”