men turn to complete mush when they caught sight of her dark curls.
“Oh, who’s this?” they’d ask in unusually high-pitched voices. There was something about a fat-cheeked, smiling baby that brought out the sweetness in almost everyone.
But not Chuck Stanley. He was a Grade A asshole, but he was a Grade A asshole with a very successful mechanic shop the next town over and came to me fairly frequently looking for parts. Stanley’s garage helped keep me in business, and I wasn’t about to fuck up my relationship just because I was in a bad mood.
“What the fuck is taking so long?” he snapped while I tried to drive the forklift without Marigold getting a good grip on the wheel.
“Earmuffs, baby,” I whispered to her. As if she could cover her ears against the man’s bad language. “Almost got it,” I said louder to the man flinging cigarette ash into a nearby Chevy sedan chassis.
When I finally got the engine block loaded onto the back of his truck and had the cash in hand, I grunted a thanks and made my way back into the house to put the money in my safe. It was time for Marigold’s bottle and afternoon nap anyway, so hopefully no one else would stop by needing anything until I could get her down.
My head had been spinning all day with thoughts of Parrish and the situation we now found ourselves in. Watching him lie to his uncle was very uncomfortable because I knew that his family meant everything to him. And now he was possibly alienating them. For me.
I fumbled the baby bottle and accidentally punted it across the kitchen floor. Cursing under my breath, I reached down to grab it and threw the whole thing in the sink in order to start over with a clean bottle. When we finally, finally settled into my favorite chair with the bottle, I was pretty sure we both heaved a sigh of relief.
Two seconds later the doorbell rang, startling us both.
“Dammit,” I said under my breath. Marigold was half-asleep in my arms, so I stood up carefully in hopes of keeping her that way.
I answered the door to see Mal and Brooks standing on the porch with a casserole pan. Mal’s grin was mischievous enough to scare me a little.
“We heard congratulations are in order,” he said in a singsong voice. “Cindy Ann couldn’t wait to tell Brooks what she heard up at the Jazzercise studio from Becky Lynn, who heard it from Winter Munsen, who ran into Beau at the coffee shop a little while ago. And you know Brooks’s mama when she hears big news… casserole city. Pretty sure she makes up a pallet of these suckers in advance just in case.”
Brooks nodded absently and tried to peer around me into the house. “You got any beer in there? I could stand a drink or three after the visit from my mom.”
I closed my eyes and prayed to Snow White and the Seven Dwarves. “Come in. Let me put this one down in her crib. Kitchen’s over there. Help yourself.”
After settling the milk-drunk girl into the crib and double-checking the baby monitor settings, I made my way back out to the living room and tried to ignore Mal looking through all of my shit. Instead, I threw myself down onto the sofa and kicked my feet up onto the coffee table. “Gimme one of those,” I grunted at Brooks.
He set the bottle on a tidy little square of folded paper towel. Our eyes met for a brief moment of WTF before I took a glug of the cold brew and let out a sigh.
“What’s going on?” I asked once Mal stopped being nosy and took a seat on the arm of the chair where Brooks sat.
“You and Partridge. Spill.” Mal rubbed his hands together in glee before swiping the beer from Brooks’s hand and taking a sip.
“What about him. Us. Him. What about him?” Way to stay cool, Ace.
Brooks lifted an eyebrow but remained quiet. Mal wasn’t so polite. “You’re engaged? To be married? To Parrish?” His voice kicked ever higher with each question until I was sure the coyotes in the forest a few miles away were probably twitching their ears in annoyance. Brooks took a sip of beer like this was just Mal being Mal. I kinda felt sorry for the guy and wondered if I should recommend the brand of ear protectors I used with my chainsaw.