Promises of the Heart (eBook, ePUB)
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It was the screams that caught his attention.Murphy. It was so easy to recognize his voice... especially when he screamed so loudly it shattered eardrums.Isabella Lockhart felt her stomach drop to her feet, like a heavy slab. She dropped the cleaning rag on the Ruby's Café counter and ran for the door.Closed.How could it not be? There wasShe had locked it herself thirty minutes earlier. She went back to find the keys Tabby Taggart had left for her. They were on the stainless steel kitchen counter, where she had left them after locking the back door.He ran back to the main entrance and, after ...
It was the screams that caught his attention.
Murphy. It was so easy to recognize his voice... especially when he screamed so loudly it shattered eardrums.
Isabella Lockhart felt her stomach drop to her feet, like a heavy slab. She dropped the cleaning rag on the Ruby's Café counter and ran for the door.
Closed.
How could it not be? There was
She had locked it herself thirty minutes earlier. She went back to find the keys Tabby Taggart had left for her. They were on the stainless steel kitchen counter, where she had left them after locking the back door.
He ran back to the main entrance and, after struggling with the lock for a few seconds, finally managed to get out. The screams continued, growing louder.
It was all happening in the middle of Main Street, right in front of the café. There was a huge blue pickup truck parked along the sidewalk.
"Murphy, please don't get into any more trouble."
The silent plea was already beginning to
repeating themselves too much. Everything was supposed to change at Weaver.
He ran toward the truck, toward the place where the screams were coming from. A very thin boy was standing up to a tall, big man.
What worried him most, however, was the baseball bat Murphy was gripping tightly. His knuckles were white.
"Of course you knew what you were doing!" the man's voice sounded violent and threatening.
"It was an accident!" Murphy shouted.
I've told you a thousand times! Murphy! Isabella intervened
between the two men.
He grabbed the bat just as Murphy raised it in the air. He was only eleven years old, but already over five feet tall. He still had a few inches on him, but only because he was wearing wedges. He yanked the bat hard, clutching his hand to his chest. The boy, however, wouldn't let go.
Let go!
His brown eyes, irreverent, just like her father's, pierced her. His knuckles were turning whiter and whiter around the wood.
-No!
She heard the man behind her mutter something and then felt a large hand close over hers.
"Give me that before you hurt someone," the man said, snatching the bat away from them.
He threw him into the truck and closed the door.
Murphy began to swear, which embarrassed her.
Dude! It's my bat. You can't take my bat!
"Well, I just did, man." He grabbed the boy by the shoulder and pulled him away from Isabella. "Stay still," he added.
Isabella looked at him closely for the first time. He was wearing a very old brown cap and aviator glasses that hid his eyes.
Take your hands off him!
Whatever had happened, that man had no right to lay his hands on her.
Who do you think you are?
The man whose son nearly hit him with a baseball
his sharp jaw was hidden under a couple of days' worth of beard.
"I didn't do that!" Murphy yelled in her ear.
Isabella grimaced and glared at him.
"Go sit down," he pointed to the wooden bench on the sidewalk in front of the café. His head was about to explode.
How had it occurred to him to think
who could mother Murphy? The boy needed more than a woman he couldn't stand. He needed a male figure, his father, but all they had was each other.
Murphy. It was so easy to recognize his voice... especially when he screamed so loudly it shattered eardrums.
Isabella Lockhart felt her stomach drop to her feet, like a heavy slab. She dropped the cleaning rag on the Ruby's Café counter and ran for the door.
Closed.
How could it not be? There was
She had locked it herself thirty minutes earlier. She went back to find the keys Tabby Taggart had left for her. They were on the stainless steel kitchen counter, where she had left them after locking the back door.
He ran back to the main entrance and, after struggling with the lock for a few seconds, finally managed to get out. The screams continued, growing louder.
It was all happening in the middle of Main Street, right in front of the café. There was a huge blue pickup truck parked along the sidewalk.
"Murphy, please don't get into any more trouble."
The silent plea was already beginning to
repeating themselves too much. Everything was supposed to change at Weaver.
He ran toward the truck, toward the place where the screams were coming from. A very thin boy was standing up to a tall, big man.
What worried him most, however, was the baseball bat Murphy was gripping tightly. His knuckles were white.
"Of course you knew what you were doing!" the man's voice sounded violent and threatening.
"It was an accident!" Murphy shouted.
I've told you a thousand times! Murphy! Isabella intervened
between the two men.
He grabbed the bat just as Murphy raised it in the air. He was only eleven years old, but already over five feet tall. He still had a few inches on him, but only because he was wearing wedges. He yanked the bat hard, clutching his hand to his chest. The boy, however, wouldn't let go.
Let go!
His brown eyes, irreverent, just like her father's, pierced her. His knuckles were turning whiter and whiter around the wood.
-No!
She heard the man behind her mutter something and then felt a large hand close over hers.
"Give me that before you hurt someone," the man said, snatching the bat away from them.
He threw him into the truck and closed the door.
Murphy began to swear, which embarrassed her.
Dude! It's my bat. You can't take my bat!
"Well, I just did, man." He grabbed the boy by the shoulder and pulled him away from Isabella. "Stay still," he added.
Isabella looked at him closely for the first time. He was wearing a very old brown cap and aviator glasses that hid his eyes.
Take your hands off him!
Whatever had happened, that man had no right to lay his hands on her.
Who do you think you are?
The man whose son nearly hit him with a baseball
his sharp jaw was hidden under a couple of days' worth of beard.
"I didn't do that!" Murphy yelled in her ear.
Isabella grimaced and glared at him.
"Go sit down," he pointed to the wooden bench on the sidewalk in front of the café. His head was about to explode.
How had it occurred to him to think
who could mother Murphy? The boy needed more than a woman he couldn't stand. He needed a male figure, his father, but all they had was each other.
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