Читать книгу Marry Me, Marine - Rogenna Brewer - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

HATCH HAD A QUICK STOP to make before heading over to his aunt’s house. He pulled up to a log cabin on the outskirts of town. On the porch a black bear poised to strike wore a rough-hewn wooden sign around its neck with the word Taxidermy burned into it.

After driving around to the garage marked Deliveries, Hatch put the truck into Park. “Wait here. I’ll just be a minute,” he told her.

“Okay.” Her stomach growled a reminder for him not to get sidetracked. He wasn’t sure taking her over to aunt’s for dinner was such a good idea, but he needed to feed Angela before sending her off on her own again. He shut the door with more force than necessary and went in through the garage.

The air inside was heavy with tanning acids and pickling baths. Big and small game mounting forms and kits covered the walls.

Hatch used the connecting door into the workshop.

Will Stewart looked up from painting the finishing touches on a squirrel. “Was wondering if we’d see you tonight.”

“Said I’d try and stop by.” Granted, he didn’t get to town that often and had been vague about the time when he’d spoken with Stew yesterday, but it wasn’t even five o’clock.

“I told Mia she shouldn’t believe everything she hears.” Stew shoved aside the lighted magnifying glass he used for detail work. Wiping his hands on his apron, he got up from the stool. “There’s a rumor going around town that you got married.”

“Is that Hatch?”

Before he could even digest that bit of information about the rumor mill, Mia, with little Alex on her hip, was dragging him into a hug as close as the boy and the baby bump would allow. It was good to see her happy again.

“It’s true, isn’t it?” Stepping back, she looked him over as if to confirm it.

“She’s in the truck,” he admitted.

“Dammit!” Stew got out his wallet and handed his wife a dollar bill. “You couldn’t pick up a phone and call your best friend since second grade?” he muttered as he headed for the door. “I’m going to get the trophy head and introduce myself to your trophy wife.”

Stew stopped in the doorway, shaking his head. “Twenty? Seriously, Hatch. Is that even legal? But it’s better than hearing you married a Marine.”

“She’s not a Marine yet,” he qualified. “But we did get married just so she could join.”

“Yeah, right.” Stew was laughing as he left.

“I’d better go run interference,” Hatch said to Mia.

She adjusted little Alex on her hip. “Your wife is in the store.”

THE SHOWROOM WAS PACKED floor to ceiling with wall-mounted and freestanding displays. Slowly, Angela turned to absorb it all. She did a double take when Hatch appeared beneath a moose head mounted above an archway.

A pregnant woman carrying a toddler entered behind him. According to their marriage license application, he’d never been married.

But Angela hadn’t asked him about a significant other.

“Quite the menagerie you have here.” She hoped that hadn’t come across quite as awkward as it sounded.

“Welcome to my world,” the woman said, a smile playing at the corner of her generous mouth as she stepped onto the showroom floor. “I’m Mia Stewart, and this is my son, Alex.”

“Hi, Alex.” Angela zeroed in on the dark-haired, blue-eyed child. “I have a little boy at home about your age.” The tot buried his face in his mother’s shoulder and then turned to peek again at Angela from beneath spiky lashes. He was a heartbreaker, all right.

“You must be the bride we’ve heard talk about.” Mia paused expectantly.

Angela glanced at Hatch. How was she supposed to respond to that? Surely he didn’t want people calling her his bride, when future ex-wife was more appropriate. How much simpler if they’d been able to keep the marriage a secret.

“Angela Adams,” she said, introducing herself to the other woman.

Or as the other woman?

She hoped she wasn’t creating a headache for him.

Chimes rang as a chubby guy in a paint-stained apron entered through the front door. They all pivoted toward him.

“Couldn’t find her—” He spotted Angela and stopped. “Hello.” He turned accusing eyes on Hatch as he approached her.

“Will Stewart,” he said in introduction. “If you’re Hatch’s bride, then why wasn’t I his best man? And how come he never mentioned you?”

Angela really didn’t know how to answer that. Because we just met?

“No, seriously. How come?”

“I’d love to hear the story,” Mia said. “You’re welcome to join us for dinner.” She grabbed the baby monitor from the counter.

Hatch checked his watch. “My aunt’s expecting us.”

“Some other time, then,” Mia offered. “Angela, it was nice meeting you. Hatch has our number. Maybe we can get the boys together for a play date. And by boys I mean the four of them, so we can have time for some girl talk. I know all his secrets, dating back to high school.”

Will pointed at himself. “Second grade,” he bragged in a stage whisper.

“Afraid Angela’s headed back to Denver tonight,” Hatch said. “We’ve got to get going. I’ll be dropping off the meat as soon as it’s cured.”

“You’re not leaving without your eye, are you?” his friend demanded.

“I’ll stop by next week sometime.”

“It’s ready now,” Will insisted. “Won’t take but a minute for me to get it.”

“You sell prosthetic eyes?” Angela studied the animals on display. In particular the glass eyes, which were incredibly realistic. “For humans?”

“For Hatch.” Will chuckled.

“Will’s a third-generation glassblower,” Mia bragged, while bouncing the fourth generation on her hip. Alex didn’t look much like his dad. But he looked more like a combination of his mom and dad than he did Hatch. That was a relief. Maybe he would grow up to be a glassblowing taxidermist. “Eyes are his specialty.”

“But I thought prosthetic eyes were made of silicone.” Angela looked to Hatch. He might not be an expert, but he had to know a little something about it.

“Silicone is more durable,” Will said. “But you can’t beat glass for appearances. Wait here?” he asked Hatch.

He nodded, but didn’t look pleased.

Folding her arms, Angela looked around, following Will and Mia with her gaze as they walked off. “Which is more comfortable?”

“You did not just ask me that,” he said.

“Sorry.” She shifted her eyes back to him. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. What are you wearing right now?”

“Why does this conversation remind me of a dirty phone call?”

Now that she knew he had a sense of humor, she could appreciate the subtlety of it. “So you wear nothing under that patch?”

“Didn’t you ever hear curiosity killed the cat?” He inclined his head toward a stuffed mountain lion. Or so she thought, until she saw the domesticated kitty curled up near the lion’s paw.

To her relief the kitty got up and stretched.

“It’s not like I asked you how you lost your eye. I mean, that would be rude, wouldn’t it? And I just assumed…” She looked down at her feet. “Because you were a Navy SEAL, it was a battlefield injury.”

“Silicone,” he said. “An empty socket isn’t all that comfortable. I caught a piece of shrapnel in the eye.”

“So why do you need the patch?”

“It’s practical.” He didn’t elaborate.

Will returned with a hinged case about the size of one for glasses, which he handed to Hatch. Angela got a peek inside when he opened it. She couldn’t believe the fine detail Will had achieved in the cobalt coloring and veining. The artisan beamed with pride as Hatch nodded in appreciation.

“What’s the suction cup thingy for?”

Hatch frowned at her. “When are you leaving?”

“As soon as you feed me and fix my car.” Her stomach growled on cue.

“Then I guess we’d better get going.”

Saying goodbye to the Stewarts, Angela plugged Mia’s number into her cell phone, though a play date for Alex and Ryder was doubtful. She wouldn’t be in these parts much longer. Still, she didn’t really have all that many friends after having dropped out of high school pregnant. It was always nice to add someone to her social network.

Hatch held the truck door for her. “What’s so funny?” he asked when she gave a nervous laugh.

“Nothing,” she said, tucking her phone away. Mia had just sent a text explaining the suction cup, which was used to position the glass eye and remove it.

“You do know you’re damn inconvenient for a marriage of convenience.”

A SHORT WHILE LATER THEY pulled up in front of a turn-of-the-century brick Victorian with a powder-blue roof and beige, blue and white gingerbread trim. The plaque beside the door declared the place a historical landmark, while the sign out front identified it as Maddie’s Boarding House. Est. 1829

Nowhere near as old as the establishment, Hatch’s aunt Maddie met them at the door. She wore colorful layers of loose crinkle skirts and cotton shirts. Angela wouldn’t have been surprised to find a crystal ball somewhere in the house.

Maddie held her at arm’s length, looking her over from top to bottom. “I thought you said she was pregnant.”

“I said no such thing and you know it.”

“Wishful thinking on my part, then.” Maddie returned her attention to Angela. “Welcome! Never mind me. It’s my job to give the boy a hard time. Thirty is a good age for a man to settle down and start a family.”

Thirty. That’s how old he was.

His aunt ushered them inside. Where Judge Booker T. Shaw was seated at the dining room table. He stood and nodded as they entered the room. “Clay, Angela.”

Hatch didn’t seem all that surprised to find the judge at his aunt’s. Which would explain why he hadn’t been afraid to tell the judge exactly what he’d wanted in the way of a wedding ceremony.

She, on the other hand, had prepared herself for the “to have and to hold” version, justifying this in her mind as words said every day by people who later regretted them. She felt relieved not to have entered into that lie.

Especially now that she’d come face-to-face with the judge again. “Your Honor.”

“Judge will do, Ms. Adams.”

“Angela, please.”

“I hope you’re hungry.” Maddie showed Angela where to wash up, and had her seated by the time Hatch came down the stairs a few minutes later.

He’d done more than just wash up. He’d trimmed his beard and pulled back his hair. What couldn’t be pulled back fell in damp waves around his face. He still wore his eye patch. Which meant what?

He didn’t like his new eye? Or was he just that self-conscious? He didn’t seem like the self-conscious type.

For whatever reason, he chose to present an in-your-face tough-guy image to the world. Which left her to conclude that the patch covered the vulnerability she’d glimpsed earlier and not just his prosthetic eye.

“So, Angela,” Maddie said as she sat next to the judge. “I’d say you went above and beyond the call of duty to join the Marines.”

Hatch was the one who’d gone above and beyond. “I just did what I had to.”

“Be sure to tell Calhoun I’ll be collecting,” Hatch said. “From him, not from you.”

He must have added that qualification because he’d seen the look of panic in her eyes. She didn’t like being indebted. And she knew he would come away with nothing from their arrangement except being lighter by a few dollars. Which she intended to pay back.

Before helping himself, he passed the bread basket from Maddie to her.

“Thank you.” Angela set a homemade roll on her plate.

She couldn’t recall the last time she’d sat down for a meal like this. Must have been that last Thanksgiving with her parents. And here it was not even a week away from that holiday.

“What made you choose the military?” the judge asked.

“My dad got his start in the Navy as a photographer and went on to make a career of it after he got out.” She broke the crusty roll in half as Hatch passed her the butter.

“Explains why you tried the Navy first.” She shouldn’t be surprised he remembered that from their earlier conversation. “You can choose any branch of the service.”

“Said the Navy man.” She wondered if he missed it. Her father had always spoken of his service with pride. “I didn’t choose the Marine Corps—it chose me.” The Navy recruiter had seen a single mom. The Marine recruiter saw beyond the single mom to what she wanted to be.

“What does your mother do?” Maddie asked.

“She was a volcanologist. Both my parents were killed in a plane crash four years ago.” Angela took her time spreading butter on the roll. She hadn’t been on board, but hadn’t flown in a plane since.

“I’m so sorry, dear.” Maddie touched Hatch’s forearm as if he’d pass her sincerity along, the way he did the meatball stroganoff and the green beans.

He didn’t reach out to her. But Angela shrugged off the sympathy just the same. Normally the platitudes “at least they died together” or “at least they died doing what they loved” followed such expressions of condolence. All that meant was she’d lost both parents.

“I was homeschooled until high school. A family vacation for us was a trip to Yosemite to see the supervolcanoes. That’s where my folks met. She was working on her master’s thesis and he was shooting a coffee table book.”

Angela speared several green beans with her fork. “They never did get married. But they were together almost two decades.”

They’d loved each other. And they’d loved her.

But any stability in her life had come from Shirley, because her parents didn’t always take her with them. After they’d died, her grandmother had insisted on enrolling her in a public high school. Of course, that hadn’t turned out so hot.

Angela slanted a glance toward Hatch, who appeared to be digesting more than just his dinner, even though he didn’t comment. Not that her parents were opposed to marriage, but she wondered what they would have said about her reason for marrying him.

Did it matter? She’d gotten what she wanted. “Shirley—that’s my grandmother,” she said for Maddie’s and the judge’s benefit, “says I inherited a restless heart. Which is why I can’t hold a job.”

“You’re only twenty.” Hatch frowned. “You have plenty of time to figure out what you want in a career.”

“I still have a responsibility to Ryder.” She met Maddie’s sympathetic gaze across the table. “The military is my chance to do something with my life while providing some stability for my son. It’s a start, anyway.”

“I’d love to see some pictures of your little one,” the older woman said.

“After dinner,” Hatch suggested when Angela reached for the cell phone beside her plate.

He wasn’t much of a conversationalist, and she’d already said too much. But Maddie more than made up for it with engaging family anecdotes.

Maddie was his paternal aunt, his father’s sister.

She’d never married, never had any children.

Though she doted on her nephew, obviously.

Hatch had a room upstairs. But he preferred to “rough it.” Whatever that meant. And Maddie had no other tenants, because they were too much bother and got in the way of her restoration work. According to Maddie she’d inherited a money pit.

The judge was a family friend and frequent dinner guest. And Maddie hinted at romance there. He’d likewise never married.

“My great-great-great-grandfather had this house built for his mistress,” Maddie said. “Rumor has it she ran it as a brothel. The first Maddie Miner was their illegitimate daughter, who turned it into a more respectable boarding house.”

Leaning over her plate, Angela listened to Maddie carry on about the Miners’ colorful history.

“The Henrys, in contrast, were the salt of the earth,” Hatch said with a touch of familial sarcasm. “Founding fathers. Land owners. Six generations of cattlemen.”

“Don’t let him fool you.” Maddie used her fork for emphasis. “That side of the family had quite a few outlaws and bandits.”

They bantered over which family had the more infamous characters. As Angela saw it, Hatch won either way, being a member of both. But he seemed to identify more with the Henrys.

Maybe because of his namesake.

If there was one member he considered the salt of the earth, clearly, it was his grandfather.

“This house was passed to me around the time my brother, Matt, went to work for Clayton Henry,” Maddie said. “Isabella Henry was a rare beauty and Matthew could be real a charmer. Those two were on a collision course from the moment they met.”

The man between them tensed.

“It’s a shame everything fell apart after.” Maddie adjusted the napkin in her lap and patted her nephew’s arm. “Lots of good times before the bad. And I see the best of both of them in Clay.”

“You still planning on putting Two Forks up for sale?” the judge asked.

“I have more work to do around the place, but yes,” Hatch replied.

“What’s your asking price?”

“One point three.”

“In this economy? Why wouldn’t you hold on to the property? You’re not going to get that, and it’s worth twice as much. Bennett’s place is listed dirt cheap and has been on the market three years.”

“Bennett doesn’t have two forks of the river running through it, two pine groves, the peach orchard. And I could go on about the outbuildings.”

“All of which are in disrepair,” the judge argued. “He’s got just as much acreage in meadowland.”

“I’m sure Clay’s thought of all that,” Maddie said, coming to her nephew’s defense. “You can’t bully him into keeping it, Booker.”

“I’m not trying to bully anyone. It’s just a shame the land was ever parceled out. But, Clay—” the judge returned his attention to Hatch “—you could take what’s left and make something of it.”

“Sometimes a person just has to let go,” Maddie said.

“Then answer me this.” The judge used his fork to emphasize his point. “If he’s so eager to let go, why hasn’t he?”

“There’s still work to be done,” Hatch said.

Angela didn’t know what to make of their heated debate. Most of what was said went over her head. But it wasn’t as if the two men were angry with each other. Just opinionated.

“Call a cleaning company,” the judge continued. “Have the house cleared out in a couple of days, instead of spending all your damn time holed up at the ranch, chasing people off the property. Which is going to land you in my courtroom,” he warned.

“Booker, you make him sound like his mother,” Maddie said with a nervous laugh. “He didn’t make that mess.”

“No, the judge is right,” Hatch said, springing to the man’s defense. “It is my mess. It always was.”

Angela didn’t interpret this as a confession of a secret life of slovenliness. So why was he accepting responsibility?

“If you don’t want to live in your mother’s house, the foundation was laid for a new house a long time ago,” the judge said. “Build on that.”

The conversation seemed to have taken an uncomfortable turn for Hatch with the mention of his mother and the house. He focused on his plate. She bumped his knee underneath the table, causing him to look at her in question.

Accident? Or on purpose?

She bumped him again as he held her gaze. Although they’d had their awkward moments today, Angela saw this as her chance to rescue him for a change.

“These Swedish meatballs are delicious,” she said, taking another bite.

Maddie went into detail about the recipe, as Angela had been hoping she would, starting with stale bread and sour milk.

Angela stopped chewing when the woman got to venison.

Deer meat? Just like the deer carcass they’d left swinging from a tree while they’d dropped off his head to be mounted and sold.

“Are you planning on bow hunting this season?” The judge trod on neutral ground. “What are you doing about a kill plot?”

“Kill plot?” Angela looked at Hatch and swallowed. Then took a big gulp of water to wash down the meatball stuck in her throat.