The SEAL's Second Chance Baby (5 page)

As for the view across the table?
Whew...

Even brooding, Marsh Langtree's chiseled features were ridiculously easy on the eyes. Proven by the fact that she wasn't the only woman staring. How could his wife have left him? He seemed like a stand-up guy. Why had the death of their son driven them apart instead of bringing them closer?

Her cell rang.

One glance at the caller ID snapped her from her thoughts—Admiral Byrd Elementary.

“Need to get that?” Marsh asked.

“Unfortunately.” What had Colt done? Dipped a girl's braids in paint? Freed the occupants of the teacher's hamster cage or ant farm? Effie steeled herself for the worst. “Hello?”

“Mrs. Washington? I'm sorry to bother you, but—” Effie recognized the voice of Samantha, the school office clerk.

“What did Colt do?”

Samantha laughed. “Actually, nothing. The twins' teacher just wanted me to see if you're available next Thursday for a brief field trip. The kids are learning about money, so they'll be walking to the bank at the end of our block. Mrs. Logan is desperate for volunteers.”

“Please tell her I'd be happy to help.” Effie released the breath she'd been holding.

“Perfect. I'll let her know.”

Upon disconnecting, Effie couldn't help but smile.

“Good news?” Marsh asked.

“In a roundabout way.” She skimmed her palm over Cassidy's soft blond curls. “My twins are a handful—well, mostly Colt. He's oldest by three minutes, and always in trouble. This school year couldn't have come at a better time, as I'm in sore need of a parental breather. Anyway, during kindergarten, I got far more calls than I would have liked from the boys' teacher, and with today being the first day of school, I saw the caller ID and assumed the worst.”

“But everything's okay?” He held a bacon strip to his lips, causing her tummy to flutter. When he'd been in the hospital, she'd stared at him for hours at a time, but he'd always been asleep. Now that he was awake, it was tough not to notice even more—like the way a fraction of an inch up or down at the corners of his mouth made him look happy or sad or devilishly sexy.

“Yes.”
Or was it?
Face flushed from her latest assessment of her companion, she focused on squirting ketchup on her hash browns. For the moment, her twins might have been behaving, but her overactive imagination certainly wasn't. It was high time she focused more on this wedding and less on the best man!

* * *

M
ARSH
COULDN
'
T
GET
away from Effie and her cute-as-a-button baby fast enough. He'd paid the bill, and Effie was back on her phone, gabbing with someone about healthy school snacks, when the baby dropped her toy. In the moment, he found himself back on parental autopilot, reaching to the floor to get it, then dipping his napkin in his water to wipe the whale clean.

He returned it to Cassidy, and her smile filled him with the kind of awe and wonder he'd long ago had for his son. He never would have pegged himself for the kind of guy who liked kids, but not long into Tucker's brief life, Marsh found himself wholly consumed with his son. What he ate, what he wore, what toys he played with. Tucker had been his world, and when he died... Well, for all practical purposes, Marsh had, too.

Effie's crew was his first exposure to kids since Tucker's passing, and Marsh found the experience to be all at once heady and cruel. He'd caught himself sneaking peeks at little Cassidy's chubby pink cheeks and big blue eyes that matched her mama's. When he bent forward to return her toy, he'd caught a trace of her baby-lotion scent, which led him right back to Tucker's infant years, and to how much fun it had been to make boat noises while playing with his rubber fleet in the tub, then wrapping him in a big soft towel, lotioning him before adding a fresh diaper and PJs before rocking him and watching his wife, Leah, nurse before they'd tucked him into his crib.

Knowing he'd never again kiss his son good-night or play catch with him or watch him shriek at the beach while running from a crab was too much to bear.

He had to get out of there.

Away from Effie and her sweet baby girl and her talk about how relieved she was to have breathing room away from her boys when he'd have literally given anything for one more moment with his son.

In that instant, hearing Effie laugh over the fact that she was actually happy to be away from her kids filled him with irrational rage. Not with her, per se, but his particularly painful lot in life.

On autopilot, desperate for fresh air and the kind of quiet he could only find in the middle of nowhere, Marsh pushed back his chair, pressed his hat tighter on his head and left the diner and town.

Grief drove him to push his truck too fast, and back at his grandfather's ranch, he followed the same trend while four-wheeling to the old homestead.

Only when Marsh had well and truly driven to the end of his world did he allow himself badly needed release.

He screamed at God.

Cursed fate.

He broke down and cried and wished that damned snake had finished what he'd started. Most of all, Marsh wished for a moment's respite from the heartache stemming from being well and truly alone.

Chapter Five

“Effie May Washington,” Mabel scolded. “What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

Mabel planted her hands on her hips. “You had to have done something to make Marsh bolt out of here faster than a spooked horse.”

“Did he at least have the courtesy to pay for your meal?” Wallace asked.

Effie nodded.

“Since Marsh ran off with his truck, Effie, looks like you're our official chauffeur.”

Swell.

“No worries. We'll have fun.” Forcing a smile, Effie took Cassidy from her high chair, then vowed the first time she saw Marsh again, she'd give him a piece of her mind.

* * *

B
Y
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.

* * *

“S
OME
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?”

“I don't know...” He sniffed and his bottom lip quivered. “It's
really
broken.”

“Holy heck,” Marsh shouted, “Remington, watch out for the lion!”

“What? Where?” The little boy removed his hand and opened his eye to look. “There's no lion.”

“Sorry, bud. Guess my eyes might be broken, too, because that bush sure looked like a great big lion to me.”

“It's okay.” Remington played with the beads on his mother's necklace. “I sometimes get confused, too.”

“But hey, at least your eyeball works, right?” Marsh kept a firm hold on the baby while crouching to give the little guy a high five.

“Wow, it does! Cool!” He turned to Effie. “Mom? Do we have any of that banana pudding Great-Gramma made?”

“Sure, babe.” She ruffled his dark hair. “Help yourself. It's in the fridge.” Once he'd scampered onto the porch and creaked open the screen door only to let it fall shut with a bang, Effie said, “Whew. Crisis averted. If I had a nickel for every time that kid has lost his eyeball...”

Marsh chuckled. “Kids are funny. My guy used to have a thing for Band-Aids. I swear a fly could land on his arm and he'd need it covered.”

Instead of laughing, Effie's eyes shimmered. “Is this hard for you? Being around kids? At the restaurant this morning, I didn't even think about the fact that being around Cass might be rough.”

“I'm good.” Cool Marsh, in-control Marsh, the guy he wanted everyone to see, shrugged off her concern. But inside, her words soothed like the ointments and creams Tucker had always wanted along with his bandages. It had been a while since anyone had given a second thought to what he might be feeling. Hell, before his breakdown that morning, he'd begun to doubt he even still had feelings. Turned out he did, and instead of being short with her as he had when she'd first broached the subject of his son, this time around, the notion that his angel still cared touched him. “Want Cassidy?”

“If you don't mind, my back would appreciate leaving her right where she is. Besides, she looks awfully content. Hope that's not one of your favorite shirts?” She pointed to the SEAL insignia on the T-shirt's chest pocket.

Marsh glanced down to find the baby gumming the fabric while cooing. Drool formed a wet spot, and honestly, for a split second, the sensation felt like the normal operating procedure with Tucker. But then reality struck when he remembered time travel hadn't yet been invented and this baby wasn't even a boy, let alone his son.

“Thanks for that lion trick.” Effie cocked her head in a way that had her long golden ponytail catching glints of afternoon sun—not that Marsh cared. It was just an observation.