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This is the only frame containing anything different. Four men, dressed in desert camo and laughing, a younger Marshal in the middle. His signature blue eyes stare out, missing the thick dark five o’clock shadow he wears now, smiling like I’ve never seen.
“When was this?” I ask, stepping closer, nodding toward the picture. There’s a darkness in his eyes, a hesitation, like the words are at the tip of his tongue but he just won’t let them come.
“When you learned it’s none of your damn business, Red. Now, leave me alone. I’ve got a lot to finish.”
Typical Marshal. Rude, but predictable. I turn, regretting my stupid question, wondering why I thought he’d give an answer that doesn’t resemble spitting in my face.
I take one last quick glimpse of him before wandering back into the cold, shutting his door. He’s hunkered over his desk again, a wrench in his hand, but he isn’t moving.
He’s staring into space, his blue eyes narrow, but full. I think he’s more annoyed with himself.
Regardless, I don’t wait around to find out. I shut the door and race into the house, where Mia is wrestling Whiskey on a kitchen chair, her juice tipped over and dripping sticky red stuff on the tabby cat’s tail.
For once, I’m grateful for the mess. I’ll take every distraction I can get this evening so I don’t have to dwell on Marshal’s haunted eyes.
It’s well over an hour before he comes in. By then, I’ve got Mia in her bath, dropping a few toys in the bubbles to keep her company.
I read on my phone in the bathroom, listening to her splashing for background noise. Even Whiskey stands on the edge of the tub, giving honeybee a skeptical look every time she tries to coax him in. Nobody pays any attention to the heavy footsteps in the kitchen, the scrape of the chair, the loud stab of a fork on a plate.
I hope he likes simple. It’s chili mac tonight, one of the first things mom taught me how to make. I dressed it up as healthy as I could with lean beef, but I can’t work miracles. Thank God for the salad kit I found buried in the fridge, still fresh.
Of course, I’m not really sure why I care whether big daddy likes my cooking.
He practically put a gun to my head and told me to make dinner, and then let me know exactly how welcome questions are in his man cave.
Infuriating. As much as he is mysterious. I can’t stop thinking about his six feet something of frustration, dipped in ink as rude as his tongue, heart as hard as the rest of him.
I hate how my ears prick up every time he stomps around in the kitchen, devouring his food, the small TV mounted to the corner playing the evening news.
I hate it even more how I’m halfway hoping he’ll come here, giving me a chance to redeem my ego before he puts Mia down for bed.
And I hate it most how hard it is to get his muscle shirt and savage looks out of my brain. It sticks like his bulging muscles, his smudged cheeks, his arrogant eyes a silent interrogation just for prying into His Highness’ secret kingdom.
God.
“Ms. Sadie?” Mia clucks from the tub, poking her hands up from the bubbles laying them on the edge.
Too adorable. I temporarily forget the grudge against her father. “Yeah, honeybee?”
“Do I have a mommy?”
I stop cold. An awkward smile hides the speechless, painful twist in my guts. Whatever else I was ready for tonight, it wasn’t answering this kind of question.
Hell, I don’t even know how.
“Sure you do, Mia,” I try. “You’re here. Everybody born on this planet has two parents. At least starting out…”
“Then…where is she? Why’s daddy all alone?”
My heart skips a few more beats. Crap.
Such hard, damning questions spoken in such an innocent voice. I don’t even know where to begin, even if I had the answers. After today, finding out anything from Marshal is as likely as him spontaneously discovering a conscience.
“I…I don’t know, honeybee. Ask your father. Those are big questions.” I’m being dead honest. I reach for the towel, ready to lift her out of the tub, hoping she forgets the conversation once she’s dried off and dressed.
She’s very quiet as I get her ready for the night. But I figure it’s just my imagination once I hear her familiar sing-song humming, just as I finish sliding on her PJs.
Her little hand is tucked in mine when I open the bathroom door. My heart leaps into my throat and collides with a gasp. Marshal blocks my path, his steely blue gaze a few seconds away from lighting something on fire.
“I’ll take her from here. Good dinner, Red,” he says, bending to take honeybee. I watch as they disappear into her room, and linger in the hall until I hear his deep voice soften, asking if she remembers what chapter they stopped at last night.
