Crossing Hope (Cross Creek Series Book 4) Page 6

  “Yes, indeed,” said the judge. “I will remind you that the choice is yours. If you’d like a court-appointed attorney—that’s a freebie, now—and a trial date in the future, I can make that pony prance, too. But if you want to get on with it right now—”

  “Yes.”

  Marley’s answer vaulted out and collided with Greyson’s in a simultaneous burst, and the back of her neck prickled with heat. She had no doubt he wanted to be tethered to both her and this courtroom for as little time as possible. He’d probably be thrilled to never clap eyes on her again. And weren’t they just BFFs in that regard?

  “Excellent!” Judge Abernathy clapped her hands like a kid at a carnival, her robes swirling around her arms. They went through a few minutes of legalities that included case numbers and trial dates set for the right-here, right-now and evidence being entered for each, and then the judge pushed her glasses over the bridge of her nose, all business.

  “Alrighty, now. First thing’s first. Does either defendant—that’s y’all,” she paused to say to both her and Greyson, “have anything to add to the evidence presented herein?”

  Somewhere in the far reaches of Marley’s brain, it occurred to her that she was still being lumped in with Greyson. But the judge seemed to be A) interested in efficiency, which was a big yay for Marley, and B) off her freaking rocker, so Marley opted for a simple “no, ma’am,” in the interest of getting the hell out of the courtroom with her punishment in-hand as fast as the space-time continuum would allow. Greyson echoed the sentiment, and Judge Abernathy nodded.

  “So noted. Miss Rallston, you’ve entered a guilty plea to the crime of attempted shoplifting, and this court finds you as such based on the evidence at hand. Mr. Whittaker, your parking tickets speak for themselves, and since you’re not contesting them, this court also finds you guilty of violating Section 124 of the Town of Millhaven’s traffic code. Now…what to do with you both?”

  Greyson snapped to awareness beside her, his body strung with enough tension that she could practically feel it on her skin. “Us both?”

  “You’ve committed separate crimes, to be sure, but it’s the opinion of this court that y’all will benefit from the same penance. First, the nitty gritty.” Judge Abernathy swung her gaze to Marley, and ugh, here it came. “Miss Rallston, to finish your retribution for the attempted shoplifting, the court will require an apology from you to The Corner Market. Mr. Whittaker, you’ll have to make good on those tickets by week’s end. All six, paid in full.”

  Marley allowed herself the tiniest exhale. Okay, that didn’t sound so bad. Maybe the judge had just been making them sweat a little, like some sort of scared-straight life lesson or something. Maybe—just maybe—she’d get out of this without a high-dollar price tag attached to her permanent record.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Marley said, and even Greyson had the good sense to nod in agreement.

  “I’ll take care of it on my way out, Judge,” he said.

  “Thank you kindly, but I’m not done with you troublemakers just yet.”

  Before Marley could fully register the words as the sucker punch they were, Judge Abernathy followed through with the haymaker. “I’m also sentencing you each to two hundred hours of community service.”

  “Two hundred?” Marley blurted. Holy shit, that might as well be a lifetime!

  Not that it seemed to bother the judge one whit. “Yes, I think that’ll serve nicely.”

  “Begging your pardon, Judge,” Greyson said. “But it’s the growing season. I’ve got a farm to run.”

  Marley noticed that he spoke the words not with argument or attitude, but with something that looked dangerously close to actual panic. The sentiment disappeared even more quickly than it had arrived, though, almost as if it had been purposely extinguished, and he straightened, clenching his fists at his sides.

  “I’ve got a job, too,” Marley volunteered, a fresh wave of dread crashing over her at the thought of trying to balance her work hours—which already required a built-in hour and a half for travel to and from Lockridge—with that much community service.

  “Mmm,” Judge Abernathy murmured. “We’ll get things arranged around your work schedules. Justice needs serving, but not at the expense of your livelihoods. That’s not how the law works, now. Louis Kerrigan needs help over at the animal shelter on the east side of town. I’m sure he can figure out a way to get the two of you in there for some good, hard teamwork.”

  Marley’s jaw unhinged. No way. No way. She couldn’t possibly mean… “Wait. Greyson and I have to do the community service together?”

  Several voices rippled through the gallery behind her—she could easily parse Eli’s as more disgruntled than the others, although none of them sounded thrilled.

  Greyson least of all. “You want me to spend free time I don’t have at an animal shelter. With her?”

  The disdain in his words hit Marley with an unexpected sting, and she crossed her arms over her chest to cover it up. “Believe me, I’m as underwhelmed as you are.”

  “Well, it wouldn’t be a punishment if y’all were thrilled with it,” Judge Abernathy pointed out over a smile. “But with you two tussling like cats and dogs, it only seems appropriate for you to learn to take care of them properly. To answer your question, Miss Rallston, yes. You and Mr. Whittaker will be required to serve your two hundred community service hours together, as your work schedules allow, under Louis’s supervision. Ninety days should be enough time for y’all to get things done. You can report to the shelter first thing Saturday morning to get started. I’ll tell Louis to expect you. Oh! And, of course, you’ll both be on probation for the duration of your community service. No more toes out of line for either of you. Any questions?”

  Marley opened her mouth to fire off no less than a dozen of them, all with vehement protests attached. How on earth was she supposed to work enough to keep up with her payments to the hospital and slog her way through two hundred hours of community service, especially since those hours would probably feel more like millennia working next to Mr. Tall, Dark, and Douchebag? Her boss at the boutique was hardly what Marley would call accommodating (and more like what she’d call a preferential bitch). Adjusting her work schedule to allow for this fresh hell was going to be damn near impossible, and without that job—or, more specifically, the paycheck it garnered—she’d never get out of Millhaven.

  Except she couldn’t exactly say that, nor could she fess up in front of the crazy judge and her decent-to-a-fault brothers and Greyson goddamned Whittaker that she hadn’t stolen those groceries at all, but rather, that she’d lied about doing so in order to keep a scared, hungry pre-teen girl from being taken from her mother. Marley might be older, and her circumstances different, but that end result was the same.

  She knew what it felt like to be taken from her mother, and she knew how deeply it hurt. So she did the only thing she could.

  “No, ma’am. No questions.”

  “Wonderful,” Judge Abernathy said after Greyson’s silence extended long enough to count as a concession, too. “Then this court is adjourned.”

  6

  Marley rolled over, drifting in the no-man’s-land of being mostly asleep, partly foggy, and wholly relaxed. She was warm, her body loose and her mind fluid, her thoughts sliding from one to the other with ease. Her mother sat beside her, leaning over the bed and smoothing her hair away from her face, and even though Marley knew she was too old for the gesture, she leaned into it anyway. But then the hands grew different, the face in front of hers fading too fast for her to even cry out. The hands were on her arms now, and there were more of them, grabbing her wrists and shoulders, pulling her in different directions, away from her mother. A new face, young and scared and framed by long, stringy hair, appeared in the background, light brown eyes wide and pleading for help, and Marley’s heart surged up to lodge in her throat, blocking her scream.

  The harder she struggled, the more hands appeared. On her shoulders. Digging in to he
r forearms. Invisible fingers latched on to her, the contact close, too close, like clammy breath in her ear. They pulled her away, holding her down, and oh, God, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see that spot in her nice, warm bed where she’d felt so happy, where she knew she belonged. Panic rolled through her chest, and she searched wildly—where was it? Hadn’t she just been right there with her mother? And where was Sierra now? God, she had to get back. She had to find the place where she’d been. She had to help them both.

  Marley struggled harder, to no avail. Her fear grew slick in the depths of her belly, her panic pouring over her like ice water. But then the dozens of hands became one set of arms, the hold on her strong and unyielding, yet somehow, she wasn’t frightened.

  Gotcha, darlin’…

  Marley woke with a ragged gasp. Levering up with a jerk, she shot off a series of rapid-fire blinks, registering the wash of golden sunlight streaming through the sheer curtains, the birds chirping happily outside the window. The reality of losing her mother, of being stuck in a town where she didn’t belong, of everything that had happened yesterday, crashed back into her like a wrecking ball, filling her with sadness so deep that, for a second, it was actually painful.

  “Shit.” She dropped her chin to her chest. Squeezing her eyes shut, she forced her pulse to slow and her breaths back toward a normal pattern. In. Out. In again, this time, a sip deeper. A step further from the loss. The sadness.

  “There,” she finally whispered with a nod. Nightmares were part of Marley’s regular repertoire, and she was used to coaching her way out of them when she woke. She’d be fine in a minute. She just needed to forget the panic, to clear her mind of the fear that clawed into her pretty much every time she closed her eyes. It had only been a dream, and almost certainly a product of yesterday’s mental stress.

  How the hell else would Greyson Whittaker and his stupid, sexy drawl have ended up in her head, and comforting her, no less?

  Flinging the quilt off her legs, Marley planted her bare feet over the floorboards and padded to the bathroom. She scrubbed her teeth, then her face, with more enthusiasm than either probably required, gathering the fortitude she’d need to get through her day. Her brothers had all made separate attempts to talk to her about her arrest after she’d been dismissed from the courtroom yesterday afternoon, ranging from stern and serious (Owen) to laid-back yet concerned (Hunter) to joking and jovial (ah, Eli), but she’d met them all with enough one-word answers to shut down any chance of deeper conversation before retreating to her room. Marley got that they were doing their family-obligation thing, each of them trying to fix the problem in his own way because they felt like they should, but, truly, the less she dwelled on what had happened, the easier it would be to forge ahead with her agenda.

  Complete this community service as fast as possible. Change her work schedule as little as possible. And think about what Greyson Whittaker’s ridiculously muscular arms would feel like around her aching, needy body as never as possible.

  Marley was so busy snuffing out the thought—and the pulse of heat it had sent to a spot between her legs that had seen far too little action in the last year and a half—that she didn’t do her customary look-and-listen before descending the stairs to the main house and making her way into the kitchen in search of a cup of coffee or six.

  Which was how she managed to walk smack into Hunter just as soon as she crossed the threshold.

  “Crap!” Marley’s hands flew up just a beat after her brother’s, and he caught her biceps with his palms, steadying her with ease.

  “Whoa,” he said, replacing his surprise with a smile as soon as she was solid on her feet. “You okay, there, kiddo?”

  She’d long since stopped trying to get her brothers to drop the various, little-sisterly terms of endearment they had on a regular rotation, even though her belly still sank with each one. It made them feel better, she supposed, to try to make her part of the family, and they were decent guys. Good, even. Not that she’d ever be part of the family. After twenty-four years of not wanting her, Tobias wasn’t likely to change his colors now. Just as she wouldn’t belong here, even on the other-worldly chance that he did.

  “Yeah, sorry. Guess I just need to caffeinate.” Marley ducked her chin in equal parts apology and chagrin, the latter tripling in her gut as she realized that—while Tobias was not-so-suspiciously absent—all three of her brothers, plus Hunter’s wife, Emerson, all stood in the kitchen.

  Shit. Marley made her way to the coffeepot on the far side of the kitchen, feeling every set of eyes on her as she went. But, true to form, Hunter just gave up a nonchalant shrug.

  “No worries. I think we’ve all been there,” he said, moving back to the spot where Emerson stood at the far end of the butcher block island in the center of the kitchen. The room had always reminded Marley of one of those kitchens in a home and garden magazine, all light and airy, with everything in its rightful spot even though none of it looked staged or overly organized, as if every object had a place to belong and simply gravitated there to nestle in seamlessly. The white ceramic bowl holding nectarines and plums on the time-scuffed butcher block. The oversized mugs and matching plates behind the glass-paned cabinet over the coffeepot. The big, inviting oak table that they’d recently placed a leaf in and long, cushioned benches on either side of rather than chairs, so Emerson and Scarlett and Cate would always have room. Everyone always paired up so perfectly, each one of her brothers and their significant others finding their proper space and fitting in like puzzle pieces.

  Well, everyone except her, that was.

  “So.” Emerson cleared her throat softly, pulling her auburn curls over one shoulder before sending a careful look in Marley’s direction. “How are you doing this morning?” Translation: are you ready to talk about what happened yesterday yet?

  Marley’s stomach tightened and dropped behind her dark green sleep shirt. Truly, there wasn’t enough coffee for this. Not even if she spiked what she’d just poured with a gallon of Kahlua.

  “Spectacular. You?”

  Despite her defensiveness, Marley meant this question. Emerson had multiple sclerosis, a disease Marley had known nothing about when she’d landed on her ass in Millhaven last year. While Emerson had far more good days than bad thanks to a solid wellness plan and a support system that might as well be made of titanium for how carefully Hunter and the rest of the Crosses looked out for her, Marley knew the road wasn’t an easy one, and her sister-in-law had never been anything other than genuinely kind to her. Marley might not want to dive headlong into bestie-ship with the family she hadn’t even known she’d had at this time last year, or, hey, even stick around town for any longer than was absolutely necessary. But she couldn’t justify going full-frontal bitch on Emerson, even if she’d rather be boiled in oil than talk about having been arrested yesterday.

  “I’m okay,” Emerson said. The silence that hung in the air afterwards had all the subtlety of a brick sailing through the French doors, and okay. Time to maneuver her way out of this.

  Marley pressed her back to the counter, cradling her mug to her chest. “Shouldn’t you guys be, I don’t know. Working, or something?”

  “We are working,” Owen volleyed, and Marley had to bite back an involuntary smile at the edge of stiffness in her oldest brother’s voice. God, he was probably Type A in his sleep. “We were just getting the weekly marketing plans all set before Hunter and I head over to the north fields to check the irrigation system and bale hay with Dad.”

  The word “Dad”, so easily slung around, like “chair” or “weather” or “car”, stuck into Marley like a bee sting, unexpected and sharp, and she grunted into her coffee in reply. Although she’d set eyes on Tobias twice after returning home yesterday, and she was certain he’d gotten the full story from her brothers about how she’d been arrested for shoplifting, he had been the only person who hadn’t made some sort of effort to get her to open up about the heap of trouble she’d gotten herself into.
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  Not that his silence had shocked her, really. He’d spent her whole life not making an effort. Why start now?

  Marley mashed down the ache in her chest and yanked on her armor, good and tight. “You guys just aren’t usually all hogging my breakfast spot,” she muttered, bringing herself back to the reality of the abnormally crowded kitchen.

  “It’s nice to see you, too, sprout.” Eli gave up a grin that was caught somewhere between confident and charming, and she softened despite her conviction not to.

  “I’m only four years younger than you, you know,” she pointed out, and Eli’s grin became a laugh.

  “Yeah, but I’m practicing. I’ve only got two and a half months to go before Jordan arrives.” He paused, and Marley noticed just a beat too late that his blue stare had lost a bit of its crinkle around the edges. “Speaking of which, we missed you last night.”

  Ah, right. The family pep rally at Eli and Scarlett’s new place to paint the baby’s room. “Yeah, sorry.” Marley took a large sip from her mug, the coffee burning a path to her belly. “I had a thing.”

  Since she was pretty sure Eli wouldn’t count her sitting in her room with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s, flipping through old photo albums and having an extended conversation with a mother who could neither answer nor even hear her an actual thing, she kept the particulars to herself. But despite her brothers’ efforts, she could barely make it through the weekly Cross family dinner that went down every Saturday night without feeling like a total outsider, let alone survive something as family-oriented as painting the baby’s room. Plus, there was little point in getting that close with everyone when she was only going to turn around and leave as soon as she could, anyway.

  And hey, speaking of which… “So, yeah. I should go get ready for work.”

  Marley pushed off the counter, her sights set on the exit leading back to the hallway and the front of the main house. The squeak of the back door that allowed entry to the kitchen through a small mudroom to her right stopped her in her tracks, though, and the sight of Lucy, the black and white mutt who was always within a four-foot radius of Tobias’s boots at any given time of the day or night, sent her heart tripping against her ribs and her coffee sloshing up the sides of the mug still in her hand.