usual, he’d tell her that he wasn’t.
But he sure would like to be.
SAM LEANED INTO the deck rail, marveling at his view of the river. After witnessing the aftermath of the 2010 flood, he considered himself lucky to be on the fourth floor, safe from rising waters should the Cumberland overflow its banks again. He was mildly surprised at how quickly he’d adjusted to life in a nine-hundred-square-foot condo after spending most of his life on a sprawling ranch in the shadow of the Rockies.
The hardest adjustment had been sleep patterns. Back at the Double M, he’d turned in early, bone tired from long days of hard labor. Got up early, too, ready to dig in to the demanding work all over again.
Since injuring his leg, Sam rarely got to bed before three, either because he put so much effort into his lesson plans, lecture notes and handouts, or because of a performance that lasted until two. Lack of sleep was one of the only negatives to life in Nashville.
Except for the occasional bout of homesickness.
Fortunately, the cure was simple enough...
According to his watch, it was six in the morning, Mountain Time. He could picture his folks at the kitchen table, fully dressed and with breakfast behind them, his dad thumbing through the morning paper while his mom scribbled her to-do list for the day.
Sam refilled his coffee mug and carried it to the balcony, leaned back in his deck chair and propped both boot heels on the glass and steel railing.
“You must have ESP,” his mom said. “‘Call Sam’ is at the top of my list today!”
“Oh? What’s up?”
“Let me put you on speakerphone, so Dad can talk with you, too.”
“Hey, son. ’Bout time you touched base. Your mother cries herself to sleep every night, wondering if you’re all right. Sprained her wrist wringing her hands, too.”
He heard a giggle, then a quiet slap. “Clay Marshall, none of that is true and you know it.”
Sam chuckled. He’d always loved watching his parents interact. To the rest of the world, Clay Marshall seemed tough and gruff. But when he gazed at his wife of many years, the rough edges softened. Victoria’s eyes overflowed with indisputable adoration, too. If Sam could find a woman who looked at him that way, he’d—
“Coming home for Thanksgiving and Christmas?” she asked.
“Don’t think I can manage both.”
“I had a feeling you’d say that. But I wouldn’t be your mother if I didn’t try. Besides, you know if I have a choice, I’ll take Christmas every time. The whole family will be here!”
With the exception of Sam, the entire Marshall clan showed up for every holiday. A few of the family’s celebrations were so grand, they’d earned the attention of local media. The slower pace of Thanksgiving had always been more to his liking, but since moving to Nashville, he’d spent the week between Christmas Eve and New Year’s at the Double M. It gave him plenty of time to catch up with extended family.
“Already booked my flight.” And God willing, he wouldn’t face weather or mechanical delays as he had in years past. “So what’s new?”
“Same soup, different day,” his dad said.
“Listen to him,” his mom put in. “We had another cougar running around here for weeks, giving us all nightmares.”
“Yeah, but we took care of him, same as always.”
He’d talked to Zach and heard all about it. “Too bad she took so many horses and cows before you got her.” But unfortunately, that’s life on the Front Range.
“How’s Aggie?” his mother asked.
During their few visits to Nashville, his parents had met his cantankerous landlady. “‘Same soup, different day,’” he quoted. Then he chuckled. “Still bragging that she’s a descendant of Andrew Jackson. If you want my honest opinion, the reason she never married is because she’d have to give up that famous last name.”
“Hard to imagine any right-minded man popping the question. That woman would try the patience of a saint.”
“Oh, now, Clay, that isn’t very nice!”
“The truth hurts sometimes.” He quickly changed the subject. “How’s your leg, son?”
“Fine.” It wasn’t, but they didn’t need to know that. Funny, the way his dad asked about it more often than his mom. Sam wondered how much of that was due to a fear of the answers...
“Have you talked with your cousin Nate lately?”
Sam heard a smile in his mother’s voice, and unless he was mistaken, it meant she was about to disclose a big secret. More accurately, what she considered a secret. During their last phone call, Nate had told him that he’d asked Eden to marry him...and she’d said yes. But why spoil his mother’s fun?
“We talked a while back. Why?”
“He and Eden are officially engaged, and they’re planning a June wedding. Though why they want to be like every other couple out there is anybody’s guess. At least they won’t have to worry about a venue. A very good thing, since they still haven’t chosen a date.” She lowered her voice to a near whisper. “I’m not supposed to know, so if he confides in you, mum’s the word.”
Sam heard his father’s good-natured groan. “The boy knows better than that, Vicky.”
He considered telling them that he’d bought into Mark’s club, then thought better of it. The announcement would be less confusing when delivered in person.
The sound of chair legs squawking across the hardwood told him his dad was on his feet. The man was a lot of things, but subtle wasn’t one of them. Laughing to himself, Sam said, “I’d better get to work and let you guys do the same.”
“Call soon,” his mom said. “And remember, you haven’t heard a thing about the wedding!”
He promised to keep Nate’s news to himself, even though in his opinion, secrets—even small ones—took folks into dangerous territory.
Long after hanging up, Sam remained on the balcony, watching the September breeze rustle going-gold leaves as sunlight flickered on the water’s surface. The shrill call of a bald eagle drew his attention skyward. No doubt it was one of those released along the river a few years earlier. The bird circled as it descended. It had probably hoped for a fat white bass but bagged a crappie.
“Better than nothin’, I guess,” he muttered, getting to his feet. He’d barely had time to lock the slider when the phone rang.
“Hey, young’un!”
He’d recognize Nate’s teasing voice anywhere. “Your ears were ringing, huh?”
