of them.”
“You’re right to stay with Marsh. The poor soul’s grandfather might be a heathen, but that doesn’t mean he’s guilty by association.”
After chatting with Remington for a few minutes—Colt still wasn’t talking to her—Effie hung up and wandered her way back to Marsh’s room.
Poor Wallace. The man had been downgraded from scoundrel to heathen.
She froze outside Marsh’s room, hesitant to interrupt his lovable grandfather, who sat near the head of the bed. The last of the day’s sun filtered through generous windows, softening the harsh reality of Marsh’s grim situation.
Where was the man’s wife? The son he’d earlier mentioned?
A machine beeped in time with Marsh’s painfully slow pulse. His bed was surrounded by IVs pumping him full of fluids and different medicines. His handsome features twitched from the venom. The sight broke her heart, yet she couldn’t look away. Hash marks had been drawn up his arm to show how far the poison advanced.
Maybe because she’d been the one to find him, Effie felt an inexplicable connection to the man. A fierce protective streak made her irrationally angry at his wife, who should have been by his side.
Unable to remain silent, she approached Wallace. “If you have contact information, I don’t mind calling Marsh’s wife. I’m sure having his family here would be a comfort.”
“You’re a sweet gal, but it might be best for you to steer clear of messy family business.”
“Oh. Okay.” The cramped room only had one chair, so she leaned against the far wall, trying to make sense of Wallace’s cryptic words. Messy family business? She’d experienced more than her fair share of that. Were Marsh and his wife divorced? Had his ex been given sole custody of their son?
As bothersome as her boys could sometimes be, Effie couldn’t imagine a life without her children.
“On second thought...” Wallace grunted before leaning hard on the armrests to rise from his blue vinyl chair. “Show me the way to a cup of strong black coffee and I’ll get your take on the matter.”
“There’s coffee in the waiting room, but it’s fresher in the cafeteria. Plus, they have surprisingly good sandwiches.” Why couldn’t she stop rambling? How had Marsh Langtree grown to matter so much in such a short time?
She took a lingering glance at him before letting Wallace lead her from the room.
At eight thirty on a Monday night, the sandwich selection was slim, but Effie found a turkey on rye and Wallace opted for ham and Swiss, along with a piece of banana cream pie.
He insisted on paying for both of their meals, then showed her to a corner table.
They both ate in silence punctuated by faint metallic bangs and trays clattering in the kitchen. The antiseptic smell on the ICU wing had been replaced by the more pleasant aroma of fresh-brewed coffee.
Hospital employees came and went. The only other patient visitors in the dining area were a family Effie recognized from the ICU waiting room. The father had suffered a heart attack, but his prognosis was good.
Wallace had only eaten a third of his sandwich when he changed course to attack his pie. He finished in four bites, then washed it down with half his cup of joe. “That’s better.” He wiped pie crumbs from his mustache. “Now, I suppose this is something best kept in the family, but I would appreciate a woman’s take on the matter.”
“Of course.” Effie leaned in.
“Let me first say I’m no angel. What seems like a hundred years ago, I made a killing in oil. I let the money go to my head, stepped out on my wife, and she packed up our little girl and left me. Marsh is my daughter Jacinda’s son. I only cheated that one time, and I was so damned drunk I didn’t remember much other than waking up with a head throbbing with regret, but my wife wasn’t having it, and she moved back out east to stay with her folks. They were a hoity-toity bunch who dabbled in Thoroughbred breeding and never much cottoned to me. We were separated for forty years before Jacinda called to tell me her mama died from flu.” He shook his head while tears shone in his eyes. “Flu. You hear about folks dyin’ from it on the news, but it seems like an unnecessary way to go.”
“I’m sorry.” Effie placed her hand over Wallace’s.
He snatched his hand back and waved off her concern. “No need for sympathy. The damned fool woman made her choices, same as me. Save for ten minutes, I was faithful to her my whole life, but got nothin’ to show for it. Now, I finally have my grandson with me, and look what happened to him.”
“You could no more control Marsh getting bit by a rattler than you could the outcome of your infidelity. Sometimes life just plain sucks.”
He snorted and reached for his fork, pressing crumbs between the tines. “What’s worse, my grandson’s now in the same kind of bind.”
“Marsh cheated on his wife?” Effie’s respect for him plummeted.
“No, no. Of course, not. Hell, they’ve been divorced for darn near three years, and he still wore his ring—took a rattler to pry it off him. I just meant that he’s as alone as I am. When his little boy drowned, Jacinda worried grief might drive Marsh under.”
Wallace’s story trapped Effie’s heart on a spinning carnival ride. Up and down, around and around. Whereas moments earlier, she’d felt contempt for the man, she now ached for him. Had his wife blamed him for the loss of their son? And was that why their marriage died, too?
She drew her lower lip into her mouth. Poor, poor Marsh.
“I didn’t share all of this to draw pity. I don’t get out much, and am genuinely curious to hear a woman’s point of view. Was my wife right to never speak to me again? Was Marsh’s wife right to leave him?”
Effie slowly exhaled. “Honestly, without hearing both sides, it’s hard to say. But just having heard your version, sounds like you and Marsh both deserved another chance.”
Silent tears streamed down the man’s weathered cheeks.
He wadded his napkin, turning his back to her while drying his eyes. “I’m a silly old fool.”
She rose to hug him. “It’s never wrong to love someone, and it sounds to me like you and your grandson loved your wives very much.”
Achy longing took hold in Effie’s gut.
More than anything, all she’d ever wanted besides being a nurse was to be a great mom and to be loved. Love seemed like such a simple thing. Lots of people had it. What was it about her that Moody had found so unlovable?
Would any guy find her worthy of his affection?
She chided herself for even asking the question. With three kids and a grandmother and ragtag ranch to tend, the last thing she had time to even think about was a man.
Marsh woke to bright sun, cartoons and fighting. Since none of that made sense, he closed his eyes, figuring when he next woke, life would once again be normal.
Give it!
No!
Yes!
Boys!
Something broke.
Both of you sit down. If I have to tell you again, you’re not going to Scotty’s party.
I hate you! I’m calling Dad!
Colt William Washington! This voice was different—older sounding, in a scolding, grandmotherly way.
Grandma, I’m sorry. I thought the boys would behave, but—
“Hey...” Marsh fully opened his eyes to find not one boy who would have been older than