Liars (Licking Thicket 2)

Wow. Could I sound more like a self-righteous, lecturing asshole? The poor father was having a hard time, and here I was, implying he was selfish, mostly because I was cranky. Way to go, Parrish.

The giant blinked at me in the mirror, stunned. “That—”

The bathroom door pushed open with a squeak, and the red-faced man from the hallway poked his head in. “It’s time, dude. Now.” He slipped back out.

The giant stared at me in the mirror another second, then grabbed the pink striped bag off the floor and bolted out.

I closed my eyes, dropped my chin to my chest, and took a deep breath.

Ah, well. Not the first time I’d been a little too forthright with someone, and it wouldn’t be the last. I shut off the water and grabbed a paper towel to dry off the pacifier. I felt bad, but really this was a sign that I needed to stay focused on…

The pacifier? Crap.

I grabbed my folder and ran out into the hall in time to see the giant disappear into a courtroom. I charged after him, only to be pulled up short when a bailiff with a clipboard stepped in front of me, blocking the door.

“Sorry, sir,” the bailiff said. “This is family court. Proceedings are closed to the public. Unless you’re representing one of the parties seeking custody of the child?”

Seeking custody?

“What?” I whispered.

“Are you one of the parties seeking custody of the orphaned child, Marigold Church?” he repeated impatiently. “Are you representing the grandparents or the uncle?”

I shook my head mutely.

No, I was the poor sap who’d misjudged the situation completely. I hadn’t just been a trifle rude back in the bathroom. I’d been incredibly insensitive to a guy seeking custody of an orphan.

“Beau wants to open a restaurant with a market area,” Brooks Johnson, the guy who handled all of Partridge Pit’s marketing, explained to his boyfriend, Mal. “Where local artisans can show their craft.”

“That’s amazing,” Mal said. “What a cool idea.”

I blinked out of my daze for about the eleventy billionth time in two days and forced myself to pay attention to my surroundings. I was standing in Malachi Forrester’s display tent at Licking Thicket’s annual Lickin’—a festival devoted to all things bovine, because why not?—surrounded by my uncle Beau and aunt Marnie, Brooks, Mal, and Brooks’s business partner, Paul Siegel, watching Uncle Beau make faces at baby Beau, Paul’s infant son. I was fairly confident I hadn’t contributed anything to the conversation in quite some time, which was probably why Uncle Beau was giving me not-so-subtle looks of concern. It wasn’t like me to be so distracted, but I couldn’t seem to help it. I was pretty sure less than 50 percent of my brain had been present and accounted for at any time over the weekend.

I’d trudged out of the courthouse Friday, so consumed by planning my epic apology—should I send the guy flowers? A singing telegram? A new car?—that I’d gotten halfway home before it dawned on me how tricky apologizing would be when I didn’t know the man’s name or even where he lived in the county. What little information I did have either wasn’t helpful—“I’m looking for a tall guy with light brown hair and tattoos. Two eyes. One nose with a mouth just below. Have you seen him?”—or, like the baby’s name, seemed creepy and wrong to google.

But, because I was me, of course I couldn’t let the incident go either. The man had seen me at my know-it-all worst, and I couldn’t say why it bothered me so much that he’d have a negative opinion of me, but it did. The desire to find him and explain myself had swelled all out of proportion, and I couldn’t seem to focus on real stuff—important stuff, like my job—until I did it.

So, I’d spent the last couple of days looking for the tattooed man’s face in every store and coffee shop to no avail. I’d even debated asking my friendly landlady at the bed-and-breakfast if she knew him, since she seemed to be acquainted with everyone between here and Nashville, but I’d held back because I didn’t want to confess why I wanted to find the guy.

It was starting to get ridiculous.

I cleared my throat and turned toward Mal.

“I hadn’t seen much of your work before today other than the tables at the restaurants, but I love it,” I offered kinda lamely, “I could use a piece like this for my office.” I picked up a random cow sculpture from the table of artwork for sale, but when I actually looked at it, I grinned. It was kind of adorable. It was even wearing a tiny football jersey.

Mal’s eyes widened, and he rushed toward me with his hands outstretched.

“Oh, no, wait! Not that one!”

I instinctively took a step back and collided with something behind me—something so huge, that for a second I thought the tent had come down on me. It wasn’t until it started talking that I realized I’d knocked over a person.