Home > Beat by Beat (Riggins Brothers #5)(3)

Beat by Beat (Riggins Brothers #5)(3)
Author: Kaylee Ryan

“Yes, please. I’m so embarrassed. I can’t thank you enough for this. I will never forget your kindness, and I promise to pay it forward.”

“You’re more than welcome. That’s all that I ask.” Bending over, I offer my index finger to the little girl. She takes it, and her cries die down to a whimper. “Hey, sweetheart. Mommy has your medicine, and you’ll start feeling better soon.”

Her breath shudders, and I swear she can understand what I’m telling her because she’s no longer crying.

Taking my finger back, I stand and face the mom. “Good luck. I hope she feels better soon.”

“Thank you…” Her voice trails off.

“Marshall. Marshall Riggins.” I wait for recognition to take hold, but I see nothing in her eyes that says she recognizes me or my last name.

“Thank you, Marshall. I’m Wren, and this is Madeline.”

“It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too. Thank you again. I just… thank you, Marshall Riggins.”

“You’re welcome, Wren, and you too, Madeline. Feel better, sweetheart,” I tell the baby. With a nod, she walks away, and I step up to the counter. “Hi, I have a prescription for Lena Riggins,” I tell the tech.

“That was really nice of you.”

I shrug. “It wasn’t a hardship, and it looked like they needed it.”

The older lady nods and turns to retrieve Mom's prescription. When she comes back, what she tells me has my gut twisting. “You know, her husband used to work here. He was in pharmacy school. Only had a year to go when it happened.”

I shouldn’t ask, but I have to know. “What happened?”

“Not my story to tell.”

I want to yell at her and tell her she shouldn’t have brought it up, but I keep my cool, pay for Mom’s prescription and get the hell out of here.

In my car on the way to my parents’, I can’t help but think of the woman. She wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, but apparently has a husband, an infant, and is obviously struggling financially. It’s not often that I think about life outside of my work and my family. I’m not a snob. You just live within the comfort you’ve always known. I’ve been very fortunate in life, and right now, that luck is sitting like lead in my stomach.

 

 

Chapter 2

 

 

Wren

 

By the time I reach our tiny apartment, just two blocks from the pharmacy, I’m exhausted. Madeline and this seat together are heavy. Add the diaper bag, my purse, and the fact that we got zero sleep last night, and I’m dead on my feet.

My sweet girl fell asleep on the walk. The movement, I’m sure, as her seat bounced against my hip did the trick. I hate to wake her up, but she needs this medicine. The sooner we get it started, the sooner she will start to feel better.

As carefully as possible, I place her seat on the floor next to our small couch. I hold my breath waiting to see if she’s going to wake up. Thankfully, she stays sleeping. I just need a minute—just a quick moment in time to catch my breath. I had to sell our cars when Travis died. I also had to give up our apartment. It wasn’t huge, but compared to the crackerjack box that we live in now, it was a mansion. It also didn’t have paper-thin walls with neighbors that argue all hours of the night. However, it’s a warm, safe roof over our heads. That’s something.

Madeline whimpers, and my heart breaks for her. This is the second ear infection in two months. With a heavy sigh, I stand from the couch and grab the diaper bag, digging out the bag from the pharmacy. I hate that I couldn’t even afford the medication she needs. I have exactly thirty dollars to my name until I get paid tomorrow. We’re running low on diapers, and thankfully, I breastfeed. I never thought that was something that I would do. It just didn’t feel like it was for me, and well, my husband died, and baby formula is expensive. At first, it made me uncomfortable, but now, it’s our bonding time.

Taking the bag to the small galley kitchen, I reach inside for the medicine. Pulling out the bottle, I gasp when I see two one-hundred-dollar bills and a fifty-dollar bill. Hot tears prick my eyes.

Marshall Riggins.

The handsome stranger that helped me more today than he could ever imagine. Fifty dollars for medication isn’t in the budget. Not when I have to pay for childcare and diapers. My stomach grumbles from hunger as if it senses that I have money that I wasn’t expecting to have. It’s an incredible gift, but I can’t accept it. I know he meant well, but I just can’t. Paying for Madeline’s medication was more than enough.

Nashville is a big city, but surely someone knows who he is. Maybe I can hop on a computer at work and search for him. I sold Travis’s and my laptops after he passed. I liquidated everything that I could to keep us on our feet.

A tear rolls down my cheek as I place the money back into the bag. Two hundred and fifty dollars feels like a million at this point, but I still can’t keep it. His generosity will forever be with me and is greatly appreciated, but the medication was more than enough. I meant what I told him. As soon as I’m able, I’ll be paying it forward. I can’t pay forward three hundred dollars.

Madeline begins to cry. Wiping at my cheeks, I work to get her medication ready and take it with my back to the small living area. “Hey, sweetie,” I coo to her. She doesn’t seem to care as her cries grow louder. She’s hungry and her ear hurts. Luckily the pediatrician had samples of Tylenol. The nurse was so sweet and gave me three bottles—more than enough to get us through this ear infection.

I had to give up my job at the local day care when I gave up the apartment. I needed to find something closer to our new place, work, and Madeline’s day care. I have to be at my job for ninety days before I can get health insurance. That’s Monday. I was able to maintain the bills and my old apartment until Madeline was born. After that, we had to move. I should have moved sooner and saved some of our cash. I just… couldn’t. That was my home with Travis, and I was pregnant. I needed things for our daughter. She needed a bed. In hindsight, I wish I could have pulled myself out of my funk of missing him to see that saving that money was the better option. Grief does that to you. It keeps you from thinking clearly.

“Come here.” I lift my daughter from her car seat, and she quiets down a little. “I know you don’t like the icky medicine, but I promise it will make you feel so much better.” I position her on my lap and place the syringe in her mouth. She takes it with a grimace as she chokes back a sob. “Shh,” I coo as I rock her a little in my arms.

Placing the medicine dropper on the table, I settle back against the couch and pull up my shirt. My girl knows exactly what’s happening as she roots to latch on. Her cries stop completely.

“All better,” I say, soothing her. Resting my head back against the couch, I fight the exhaustion that weighs heavy on me. Doing this alone is hard. Travis was a foster kid, raised in a children’s home from the time he was ten. Families didn’t want to foster or adopt the older kids, so for eight years, he lived in the home as a ward of the state. I was his only family.

As for me, my mom passed when I was a little girl from a ruptured ovarian cyst. It was a freak thing. I was seven, so I don’t remember much. Just that my dad had our neighbor pick me up from school, and when he came home, he told me my mom was gone. That she was with the angels. Later I learned what it meant, and my dad, well, he retreated into himself. He stopped socializing. He went to work and took care of me the best that he could. He passed three years ago at home alone in his sleep from a heart attack.

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