He could hear the swallow drain down her delicate throat. The light peach of her shampoo filled his nostrils, and he shoved himself back, away from the unwanted temptation to run the dark strands over his cheeks like he used to do.
Her gaze dropped to the bar. “I-I’m sorry.”
The low spoken words didn’t work back then with tears in her eyes, and they certainly weren’t going to work now with her brows creased over her pale features.
Marshall made a quick glance around the honky tonk, thankful their little “chat” wasn’t drawing too much attention. The pounding of the rockabilly, karaoke classic didn’t help his growing headache.
“Go home, Amy. You picked your bed. Go back to the pretty little life you chose over me. Go on back to good ol’ Hank.”
The minute he spoke her husband’s name, a little quiver quaked through the bow lips; a telling sign if ever he’d seen one. A quick glance at her naked fingers confirmed his theory.
Marshall leaned a hand back on the grooved oak and narrowed his gaze. “Is that what this is about? Did you come to find Bachelor No. 2 because Hank finally saw what a two-timer you were and kicked you to the curb?”
His lips twisted at the snap up of her chin, steel fire glinting in the stern eyes.
Bullsey—
“Hank’s dead.”
He straightened again, pulling the brim of his hat down to cover the instinctive raise of his brows in surprise.
“And no, that’s
not
why I’m here.”
Amy stared him down. Marshall held his lips firm, waiting, unable to stop the melee of questions bucking through his head. How long had she been alone?
Was
that the reason she was here…one life gone, why not pick up where they left off?
No, doesn’t work that way either, darlin’.
“I knew showing up out of the blue like this wouldn’t be welcomed…” Her chin dropped along with the words.
He bit the inside of his lip to keep from commenting, planning to let her stutter through whatever bullshit excuse she wanted to give.
Her slim shoulders rose with a deep breath. When she raised her chin, the tightness was gone from her lips, leaving only a sadness marring the beautiful features. His chest clenched, and he hated the gut reaction.
Folding his arms hard across the black T-shirt, he fought to stay firm and not let the old emotions surface.
“I’m only here to apologize, Marshall. That’s all. So many things are…changing in my life. Things that have made me take a hard look at where I’ve been and where I want to be.” The second napkin was now a pile of confetti on the burnished wood. “I need to make a fresh start for the ba—” She cleared her throat. “I just wanted to make amends with the past so I could make a fresh start.” Her chest heaved in a deep breath. “I only came here tonight because I never got the chance to tell you…to let you know how sorry I truly was, am. I never meant to hurt you, never meant to—”
“How ’bout I stop you right there because you’re wasting your breath.” He laid his hands back on the counter, forcing his palms against the hard surface as anger burned up his spine. “Why would
I
give
you
the freedom of redemption? You want a fresh start—again—go ahead, but it isn’t going to be with
my
blessing or forgiveness. That’s one bridge you burned, baby. Down to the ground.” He lowered his voice, not trying to hide the anger and hurt that broke loose with each word. “Maybe it’s spiteful, but I want you to live with the regret, knowing that you tossed me away without a second thought…until now.”
He fought against the pain staring back from her hazel eyes. How many times had he wanted to have this moment? How many times had he played out this scene in his head, having the tables turned, having it not be him with the painful rock in his gut. “Sucks, doesn’t it?”
Marshall pushed off the bar until he stood tall before her. “And here I had always thought I was the one not good enough for you. Looks like I had it backwards, didn’t I?” He pointed to the large double doors. “Go on, take your empty apologies and pretty little ass out the door. You’re not getting what you came for. It’ll be a cold day in hell before I ever give you that satisfaction.”
He hardened his heart against the sheen in her beautiful eyes. She deserved this. There was no excuse, no forgiveness for what she’d done to him. Marshall gritted his teeth against the war going on between his head and his heart. His whole heart, his whole future had been planned around
her
, and she’d tossed him aside like yesterday’s trash.
“I…I understand. But no matter what you think of me, please believe that I hope you’re happy, that you have a good life.”
With a crisp nod, she turned her head away, but not before he saw the tear streak down her cheek.
Turn away, too, Marsh
.
She made her bed two years ago…and it wasn’t yours.
He turned and stormed down the length of the bar, jaw tight enough to bite through steel and muscles coiled in a battle not to spin and call her back.
A battle he was losing.
His head dipped of its own accord, turning slightly to glimpse her in his peripheral. One of her hands shook as she moved away from the bar, and Marshall whipped his focus away, angry at himself for the protective feelings surfacing so easily.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this; he’d hardened himself the day he left, and pushed those feelings for Amy deep down into a cast-iron box with a cast-iron lock on it.
Yet one visit, one look from those smoky eyes and his stupid body was begging for her again.
No way.
He couldn’t,
wouldn’t
do it. That moment she’d turned toward him with the ring of another man on her finger was the equivalent of a bull horn rammed through his chest. How was a man supposed to get over something like tha—
A guttural cry of pain crashed into him from behind, hauling him back around in time to see Amy double over, a white-knuckled grip on an old wooden chair the only thing keeping her upright.
What the hell?
Vaulting over the bar, Marshall was at her side before the nearest patron could react. Her weight collapsed against him. As her hand left the chair to clutch her middle, he followed it with his own to assess the cause of her suffering, and came up short against a hard and very round belly.
His heart pounded in his ears. “Amy?”
Her strained lips formed words, but the only sound that came out was another groan as a contraction rippled the abdominal muscles beneath his palm.
Chapter Two
NotlikethisNotlikethisNotlikethis...oooohhwwwww...
Amy clasped a hand over the gripping bulge of baby that chose now of all times to make its appearance. Her fingers grazed the firm hand on her stomach, and she was both thankful and mystified by the other around her shoulders preventing her from collapsing to the floor.
All the Lamaze classes in the world couldn’t have prepared her for her water breaking two weeks early in the middle of a busy honky tonk, or the intensity of physical pain she’d suffer—one clenching her body in a vise, and another keener stab of Marshall’s contempt deeper into her heart. She wanted nothing more than to disappear and wallow with her tail between her legs, but it looked like her child had inherited her bad timing.
“Amy?”
Pressing her lips together against the one pain, she raised her gaze to face the other, unsure how Marshall could even stand to touch her after his reaction to her visit.
His dark brows creased in a mixture of confusion and concern over eyes swimming with a myriad of questions in their cobalt stare. But a heavy groan and the fierce clench of her fingers around his on her abdomen were the only responses she could give.
In the blink of an eye, Marshall swept his hand from her belly and slipped it under her knees. Air swept beneath her as she was easily hefted into his arms.
Pressed against his solid chest, she inhaled his familiar, soapy-musk scent. It sent her back to another time and tilted her equilibrium as he spun her away from the staring crowd. The present slammed back just as quick as identical, wide-eyed gazes of the older bartender and young blonde snapped to her belly.
“Keira, call 911,” Marshall shouted above the jukebox as he rounded the back of the great oak bar.
The woman nodded and immediately grabbed the phone on the wall behind the register.
“I got it, you go help them,” the bartender said as he took the receiver. “Take her to the couch in the office.”
Being carted around like a sack of feed only added to Amy’s humiliation as she struggled to breathe through another contraction.
Should they be coming so close so soon?
She didn’t remember this scenario in any Lamaze class—heck, she wouldn’t have imagined
this
scenario in a million years.
Cheeks burning, she had no choice but to hold on tight as Marshall maneuvered them through a doorway and down a short hall, only to repeat the successful tactic through another doorframe.
Amy barely caught a disorganized old desk framed by a bulletin board full of smiling couples before a feminine voice yelled, “Not
Dad’s
office, Marshall,” with the exasperation only a woman’s tone could inflect. “You don’t want to be delivering a baby in
that
mess.”
I don’t want to be delivering my baby here, period!
Ramped fear sped through her every vein as Marshall easily dodged them into another room on the other side of a small kitchen.
A seizing pain attacked her with enough force to almost double her over in his arms.
“It’s okay, I’ve got you. Hold on, Sweethea—”
Her chin whipped up at the same moment Marshall’s glance snapped down. His whole body tense around her, and the taut V of his brows and clenched jaw revealed the irritation at his grievous slip of the tongue.
Then why was he helping her if he obviously still hated her as she’d always feared? Truthfully, if not for the baby, she wouldn’t have had the courage to seek him out in the first place. A fearful attempt to face the biggest regret of her life so she could free herself from guilt that had eaten away at her. Didn’t her child deserve a mother who could look to the future and not wallow in the what-ifs of the past? But it seemed like that same child wasn’t going to make it easy on either of them.
His gaze darted away as he deposited her on a red sofa, gentle enough, but the minute she was out of his arms, Marshall stepped back, hands rising to his head, knocking his Stetson to the ground. He stared at her in a mixture of anger, confusion, and a hint of fear that made him look ready to run.
And she wouldn’t blame him a bit.
Adjusting her position to alleviate the discomfort in her back, Amy squeezed the arm of the sofa until her knuckles whitened. By the time she was able to focus again, the blonde bartender hurried through the door with a blanket and towels. She set them on a matching chair near the small oak desk and came to Amy’s side.
The woman’s concern softened into a smile of compassion as a soothing hand rubbed her tight one.
“I’m Keira.”
“Amy Mc...McGill,” she panted with an attempt at a smile of thanks for the stranger’s kindness.
“Don’t worry. Dad says the ambulance is on the way.”
She said something else, but Amy’s focus was behind the slender shoulders where Marshall paced the room, one hand at his waist, the other scrubbing at his firm jaw. She frowned and pulled her gaze away from his palpable discomfort. That had never been her intention in coming here.
“I’m so sorry about all this,” she stuttered to Keira.
Her slim hand waved between them. “Nothing to be sorry for. Just try to relax. I’m sure the paramedics will be here soon.”
She hadn’t meant the small groan to sneak out, but couldn’t help it when she opened her mouth to reply and another contraction hit. “I don’t know…if it’s going to be…soon enough,” she hissed, clamping down on the arm
and
back of the sofa this time as an overwhelming urge to push took over.
A large, calloused hand clasped hers, peeling it off the sofa before folding the massive palm around her shaking fingers. Marshall’s unexpected comfort distracted Amy and she heaved a surprised—and much needed—breath through her nostrils. Except the breath was full of Marshall, the heat of his skin, the spice of his cologne and it amazed her that in an intense moment like this, he could still be so all-consuming. Memories and sensations overwhelmed her sanity, adding to her anxiety, and she couldn’t hide her fear as she gazed up into his apprehensive blue eyes.
Regret tightened what space she had left in her lungs and she squeezed her eyes shut. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be, none of it—not this meeting, not the pregnancy,
not my life
.
“What do we do?”
Amy opened her eyes, but his focus and question now lay with Keira. Turning her head, she couldn’t help but snort at the other woman’s brows dipped low over confused brown eyes.
“How should I know?” Keira replied in an incredulous tone.
Marshall shook his head in exasperation. “You’re a woman, aren’t you?”
The blonde turned, her honey-brown gaze narrowing toward Amy. “Please tell me he did not just say that.”
This time a welcome snort did escape her lips, but didn’t last long as she was besieged by the most intense contraction yet. Amy automatically gripped the strong hand holding hers.