Picnic in Someday Valley (Honey Creek #2)(11)

Back then she’d held it all in. She’d told no one. She’d been too afraid. She thought part of it must have been her fault. She hadn’t locked the door like her daddy told her. She hadn’t screamed loud enough. She hadn’t . . . Marcie let all the hurt and pain and loneliness inside of her pour out while Brand tugged her against his chest and rocked her.

Somehow he had become her one safe place. She let down her guard and stopped trying to be strong. She crumbled against him.

When exhaustion overtook her, she rested to the rhythm of his heart beating, as she tried to not let another tear fall. The rain pounded harder against his windows. As she drifted into sleep, she felt Brand carry her back to the couch. He laid her down as if she were a baby and covered her with the blanket. He’d kept to his word. He’d taken her home with him and made her feel safe.

Then he turned off the lamp and tossed a few more logs on the fire. The stormy morning seemed to be twilight. He walked away, leaving her to sleep without fear.

Hours later, she woke to a weak sun trying to fight through the clouds. For a moment she wasn’t sure where she was. The room was spotless, almost as if it had been a show home that was staged in western décor. A pair of men’s pajamas was on the table in front of her. She smelled coffee.

Slowly, as if waking up from days of sleep instead of hours, she stretched and lowered her feet to the floor. As fast as she could, she slipped into the pajamas, rolling up the arms and legs. They were red flannel and soft all over. She smiled as she wondered who gave them to Brand for Christmas. Someone who obviously didn’t know him, for the set had never been worn.

“Coffee,” she murmured, as if echoing the smell’s call coming from the kitchen.

She heard low laughter. “Lunch is almost ready. Hope you like chili and cornbread.”

Marcie walked into the kitchen knowing that she looked ridiculous. “Thanks for the clothes.”

“I’m glad they fit.” Brand set two bowls on the table. “Milk or coffee?”

She took a seat. “How about milk in my coffee?”

He nodded and passed her both. They ate in silence. Several times she wiggled and accidentally brushed his leg. He didn’t complain, but once she caught his gaze just as she’d bumped against him. They’d both smiled.

When Marcie leaned back after her second bowl of chili, she noticed her guitar by the door.

“You remembered my guitar.”

“Figured you’d want it.” He picked up the bowls and returned with her guitar. “Any chance you’d play for me?”

This guy was growing on her. “I usually dress for my performances.”

He moved his chair back a foot, put his elbows on his knees, and fisted his hands beneath his chin. “You look fine in my pajamas.”

“These are not your pajamas.”

“Only pair I have.”

“You’ve never slept in them.” She waved one of her sleeves. “They’ve never been worn by anyone but me, so that makes them mine.”

“Nope. I was saving them in case I needed to loan them to a lady wearing a towel.”

She was reading between the lines. “How long have you been waiting?”

“A while.”

There was so much she wanted to know about Brand, but she had a feeling she’d have time to learn. His brown eyes reflected more of his feelings than his words probably ever would.

Her fingers ran over the strings of the guitar. For a while she just played, then with a low voice she began to sing. He never moved and she knew he was taking in the music as if it were a grand gift.

When she finally stopped and looked up at him, he nodded once. “Thanks,” was all he said, then he asked if she wanted more coffee. As she stared at him she saw something in his eyes.

He treasured spending time with her. No one, all her life, had ever done that.

“Can I stay another night? Just one more. I don’t want to go home after I play at Bandit’s tonight.”

“You can stay as long as you want. When you’re working tonight, I’ll go back to your place. I’ll fix that window and put good locks on the door.”

“You don’t have—”

“I do.”





Chapter 8


Pecos


The sun was up by the time Pecos Smith got finished with his job as Honey Creek’s dispatcher. On Saturdays he didn’t have to drive to Clifton Bend, and because it was raining he didn’t have to work at the Lane bee farm. Kerrie’s grandfather said if the bees were staying inside, so was he.

Kerrie would still be asleep when he got back to the rooms they rented from Mr. Winston. Pecos could crawl in beside his wife and sleep the morning away.

He tiptoed up the stairs to their rooms. After five months of knowing his in-laws, who lived down the street from Winston’s place, Pecos knew no matter how bad life got, they’d never move in with them. Renting a place seemed more independent, more grown-up. With the free room they’d offered would come never-ending advice.

He might be twenty, but Kerrie didn’t turn nineteen for another month. The baby might come before then. They’d bring it home here.

Slipping into their room, he stood watching Kerrie in the tiny slivers of light from the window. She was so beautiful. For the rest of his life he’d wonder how he got such a wife. He wasn’t her baby’s father, but no one would ever know that. He’d love her baby as he loved her.