Liars (Licking Thicket 2)

“But consider Marigold,” Terry encouraged. “Consider what having that stable environment sooner than later would mean for her future.”

Diesel’s eyes burned and he turned to look at Marigold, who was babbling happily, completely unaware that her wonderful, selfless uncle was about to slice his heart into pieces because Terry the Tool was suggesting that might be best for her.

“Screw that!” I cried. “There is no one more capable of taking care of this baby than you, Diesel. And Terry, if you look at this man and see a ‘nice enough’ guy, I encourage you to open your eyes. He’s not ‘nice enough,’ he’s the best person I’ve ever met. Every person who’s ever met him loves him. Bikers, church ladies, famous sculptors, you name it. And we don’t love him because he’s ‘nice enough.’ Pfft. We love him because deep at the core of his being beats the pure heart of a man who strives to do right even when it causes him all kinds of trouble.”

I clasped a hand to my chest passionately. “This is a man who doesn’t give up on people or let them down when they need him. And you came here today to give him a choice like freakin’ Solomon? You’re telling him that if he loves the baby, he’ll give her into the care of people he truly believes will break her spirit, even as they pad her trust fund? Why? Because he runs a salvage yard? Because he’s chosen to adorn himself with these beautiful tattoos?”

I shook my head vehemently. “No. No, Terry. Absolutely not. He will not take that deal. We will not take that deal. Because I am not going to give up on him or let him down when he needs me. You know who I am, right? Who my uncle is? Diesel didn’t want me to use my money to help him get a good lawyer. He likes to believe that he can win this fight on his own because other people are as good and trustworthy as he is. But hear me now: I am not going to let him lose custody of Marigold. No matter how long it takes, no how much money it costs. So you tell the Kensingtons that if they want to fight, they can bring it on. And tell them Partridges fight dirty.”

I stood and stared down at him, channeling every bit of my uncle Beau’s fiery temperament. I was shocked to find that I’d actually gotten to my feet at some point in my tirade, but I threw my shoulders back and pretended I’d meant to do it.

Terry got to his feet slowly. His mouth quirked a little to one side as he nodded at me. “Well. I’ll make a note of that too, Mr. Partridge. Now. It might be best if we get going while Marigold’s still so content, I think?”

Diesel stood too. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, like he very badly didn’t want to let Terry take Marigold away, even for the one planned night. “You’ll bring her back, right?”

“Legally, they cannot keep her,” Terry assured him—assured us, given the way he darted a glance in my direction too. “I’ll bring her back myself by five o’clock tomorrow evening.”

Diesel swallowed and nodded. “I’ll get her things. I packed ’em up last night. Please tell the Kensingtons that she needs her chicken pacifier to sleep with, and she prefers lavender bubble bath, and…” He broke off. “I guess they’ll figure the rest out.”

I took Marigold out of the exerciser, kissed her dark curls, and murmured a bunch of nonsense in her ear as I carried her to the car. “You’re gonna have an adventure, baby. And then you’ll be home with us tomorrow, okay? I’ll be waiting right here when you get back, and we’ll have fruit squeezes. As many as you like. And then a tubby with untold quantities of lavender bubbles, because I do not trust them to use the right kind, oh no I do not.”

Hilarious how I’d just told Miss Sara hours ago that I was going to extricate myself from Marigold’s life, beginning today, huh? I was clearly doing really well with that.

Diesel came with her bag and helped strap her into the car. He said his own goodbye, and then before either of us was ready, Terry drove her away.

We stood for a minute in the sunshine, watching until the car was a speck at the end of the road. My throat worked, but I wasn’t sure what to say.

“I’m sorry,” I began. “I fucked this whole thing up. I couldn’t remember my lines. And I got all aggressive at the end there.”

Diesel turned to look at me, his eyes hot on my face, but I couldn’t read the expression in them.

“Say something,” I pleaded. “Yell at me if you have to.”