The Marshal's Ready-Made Family Page 3

  With a grumble, Bert circled his right shoulder and rubbed his biceps with his left hand.

  The marshal crossed his arms and cleared his throat.

  Leaning down, Bert plucked her hat from the boardwalk and dusted the brim against his thigh before returning it. “I was just checking on Tom. Heard you locked him up again.”

  The marshal braced his legs apart. “Tom’s responsible for his own actions. You can pick him up before supper. He should be sober by then.”

  “It’s nobody’s business what a man does on his own time.”

  “Tom makes it my business when he goes smashing up property.”

  Bert tossed a glare over his shoulder as he beat a hasty exit.

  Jo replaced her hat and frowned at Bert’s retreating back. “That was odd. He usually doesn’t back down that quick.”

  Marshal Cain shrugged, his expression deceptively neutral. “Seems like Bert’s got a grudge against both of us.”

  “We’ve been feuding since the eighth grade.” Jo snorted. “Since I gave Tom a shiner. The Walbys are too afraid of my brothers to settle the score outright, but whenever Tom or Bert sees me alone... You get the idea.”

  “I do.” A muscle ticked along the marshal’s jaw.

  Cora skipped between them with her doll. Miss Lily sported a red coat trimmed in navy blue rickrack.

  Garrett yanked open the café door, clanging the bell suspended above them, his attention focused on the street. His gaze settled on the spot where Bert had taken up vigil near the jailhouse. Garrett looked between the two of them, and his eyes narrowed. Jo’s shoulders sagged. So much for flirting with the marshal. Now he’d see her like everyone else in town did—a rebel who scrapped with the boys.

  She set her jaw. It was best not to pine for something she’d never have. Over the years she’d grown wiser, more protective of her emotions. Loosening her resolve was a road paved with disaster.

  It was best if Garrett thought of her as a buddy, because a friend couldn’t break her heart.

  * * *

  The café bustled with activity. Plates clanked together and the low hum of voices surrounded them. The succulent aroma of fried chicken filled the air. Garrett pulled out a chair for Cora and Jo in turn, then caught the curious glance of a middle-aged woman in a burgundy bustled dress.

  He touched his forehead in greeting and leaned nearer Jo’s ear. “Is it all right? You and I eating together. I don’t want any gossip.”

  Jo rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry about it. We’re fine.”

  For an instant he thought he saw a flash of disappointment. The moment passed so quickly, he shook off the odd feeling. Why would Jo want people gossiping about them?

  Starched white cloths draped the wooden tables, and mismatched china covered the surface. The decor was a curious blend of faded elegance and homespun crafts. In the center of the table, a pint-size milk jug tinted a clear shade of blue-green held a posy of coneflowers.

  Garrett kicked back in his chair and studied his surroundings. Most of the people in town were familiar by now, and they’d moved passed their initial wariness. A few gentlemen nodded in his direction, and Mrs. Schlautman flashed him a smile.

  Jo rested her menu on the table. “How’d you end up here, anyway?”

  He couldn’t hold back a grin. “You sure are direct.”

  “Is that bad?”

  “No, no. I like it.” Too much.

  Garrett planted his elbows on the table and fisted his hands. “I was bored. I needed a challenge. When I heard what I was up against, what the previous sheriff had let go on around here, I knew this was the perfect job for me.”

  “Will you stay? After you’re done cleaning up the town and all?”

  “Hadn’t planned on it.” His gaze slid toward Cora. “But things have changed.”

  Their waitress bustled past and took their orders, momentarily interrupting his troubled thoughts. Jo and the woman exchanged a few pleasantries, their friendship obvious by their banter. The woman returned a moment later with a pencil and paper, and Cora happily accepted the distracting items.

  Garrett scratched his head. “I never even thought of that.”

  “You’re new to all this. You’ll learn.” Jo pressed her thumb against the tines of her fork. “Do you have any other family? Someone who could help out for a bit?”

  “Just a cousin and his wife.” Garrett glanced away. “They won’t be much help.”

  “I thought you said you didn’t have any family.”

  “None that claim me.” He ducked his head. “I guess that’s different than no kin at all.”

  There was no love lost between him and Edward. For a time after his parents’ deaths, Garrett had stayed with Edward’s family. They’d been mortified by the scandal, and resentful of the added burden of two extra children. Especially Garrett, who bore a striking resemblance to his father.

  He shook his head. “It must seem strange to you.”

  “I’ve never wanted for brothers, that’s for certain.” Jo drummed her fingers on the table. “Is your cousin a lawman, too?”

  “Nope. He owns a sawmill back East. My father was a doctor. I’m the only one who went West.”

  “I guess that explains your parents’ deaths.”

  His heart stuttered and stalled. “Explains what?”

  “You know, the smallpox. Doctors get exposed to all that kind of stuff all the time.”

  His blood gradually resumed pumping again, moving sluggishly through his frozen veins.

  “Of course,” he replied.

  These people respected him, gave him their trust. What would they do if they knew of his past? A lawman, the son of a murderer. They’d run him out of town on a rail. If he and Cora settled here, he’d have to guard the secret with even greater care. He wasn’t alone anymore.

  Garrett braced his left palm on the table and his right one against his chest.

  Jo leaned forward, a crease between her delicately arched brows. “Are you all right? You don’t look so good.”

  “Fine.”

  Avoiding her penetrating gaze, he glanced instead at her fingers. They were long and tapered, the nails blunt and neatly rounded. A smudge of ink darkened the tip of her index finger.

  He turned from the distraction. Cora scribbled away, her head bent in concentration. Noting his interest, she lifted her paper and proudly displayed her picture. Even with her rudimentary skills, Garrett recognized his sister and her husband on either side of Cora, their hands linked together.

  Cora’s lower lip trembled. “Look. I made my family.”

  His throat tight, Garrett knelt before her and pulled her into his embrace. She wrapped her arms around his neck and a single sob shook her delicate body.

  “Oh, dear,” the woman in burgundy exclaimed, half rising.

  Jo gently waved the concerned woman aside. “She’ll be all right. She’s right where she needs to be.”

  Grateful for Jo’s assistance, Garrett closed his eyes.

  After Cora had calmed, he took his seat once more. Jo resumed the conversation as if there’d been no break, and her light chatter was a grateful distraction. As he watched her and Cora laugh, he let his mind wander. What would it be like, courting Jo? Actually courting her like a proper gentleman?

  Garrett spread his work-roughened fingers over the stark white tablecloth. No use thinking the impossible. She deserved better. What if the evil that had snapped his father’s soul lived within Garrett? He couldn’t take the risk.

  Jo rested her hand over his. “You don’t have to be alone in this. I hope we can be friends.”

  “I’d like that.”

  Sour guilt swelled in his throat for even thinking about Jo romantically. She deserved someone who could love her with his whole heart, wit
hout reservations. Garrett wasn’t that man.

  * * *

  That evening, Jo returned to her solitary room at the boardinghouse. She lit a single candle and perched on the edge of the bed. Without Cora for company, the room seemed unnaturally quiet.

  Lately she’d begun to realize what a lonely place she’d carved out for herself. Rising at dawn each day, spending her shift at the telegraph office, home each evening. Every other weekend she helped her family on the farm. She kept herself busy, sure, but even that felt false.

  Like at the mercantile, when Mr. Stuart ran low on supplies and spread out the remaining stock to make it look as if there were more goods available. That’s how Jo felt lately, like she was spreading herself thin to make it appear there was more to her life. Covering up the empty places in her heart with bits of nonsense. Except she wasn’t hiding them from other people, she was hiding from herself.

  Always before, she’d known what she’d wanted, and she’d sought her goal with single-minded determination. Except she didn’t know what she wanted anymore.

  Jo stood and crossed the room, then pressed her forehead against the cool windowpane. She did know one thing—being with Cora and Garrett felt right.

  Blowing out a warm breath, Jo fogged a circle on the glass. Garrett had accepted her offer of friendship. Together they’d look after Cora, ease her through the transition of losing her parents.

  Simple as that.

  The fog on the glass quickly dissipated. He hadn’t shown signs of interest toward any of the single ladies in town earlier, now that he had Cora to look after... Her stomach pitched. A single man around these parts who needed a wife didn’t stay single for long. There’d be no setting her cap for Marshal Cain. She’d never set herself up for that kind of demoralizing rejection again.

  Jo glanced at the tips of her battered work boots. She knew what she wanted, all right: she wanted something that could never be.

  Chapter Three

  A week after the marshal’s return, Jo shaded her eyes with one hand and searched the horizon. A kick of dust indicated his timely arrival. Her ma had finally invited the marshal and Cora for dinner. By coincidence, this was Jo’s weekend home.

  A soft object thumped against the back of her head. She bent and retrieved a faded leather glove from the ground.

  “Hey!” Frowning at her brother, Abraham, she waved the glove. “Did you throw this at me?”

  “You weren’t paying any attention.” He tugged off his second glove. “Why all the daydreaming?”

  “I wasn’t daydreaming.”

  No matter what happened during the week, when Jo rounded the bend and caught sight of her childhood home on the horizon, her mood lightened. Lately, she needed the comforting sight more than ever. That strange yearning hadn’t abated, and a restless need for something more in her life itched beneath her collar.

  Abraham lifted an eyebrow. “It’s like working with Caleb. Are you in love with Mary Louise Stuart, too?”

  Jo winged the glove in Abraham’s direction. He ducked and easily avoided her revenge. At seventeen, he wasn’t interested in courting just yet.

  “I don’t see what all the fuss is about Mary Louise,” Jo grumbled. “What does anybody know about her other than she’s pretty?”

  “What else do you have to know?” Abraham shrugged.

  “Be serious.” Jo knelt before a hay bale and clipped the wire. “God gave her those looks. It’s not like she had to work for anything.”

  “How do you think Mary Louise feels? She can’t hardly step from behind the counter without causing a stampede.”

  “It’s strange, you know, when you really think about it. Some people are rewarded for how they look, not who they are.” Jo sat back on her heels. “While other people are paying the price for how they look, when none of it is their fault. And nobody’s happy about it.”

  “You know what your problem is, Jo? You think too much.” Abraham kicked the loose hay over the uneven ground of the muddy corral. “Looks like the marshal and his niece are here.”

  Her brother had a point. She had been thinking too much lately. Only the day before she’d offered to hold Mrs. Patterson’s baby while the new mother shopped in the mercantile. When Jo had caught herself wondering how the marshal’s coffee-colored eyes would look on a chubby little toddler, she’d promptly returned the baby and fled the store. That sort of behavior had to stop.

  In desperation, she’d arrived at the farm earlier than normal and donned her comfortable trousers. She’d tackled her chores with vigor, hoping the physical exertion would ease her mental turmoil.

  Her face damp with perspiration, Jo spread another bale of hay while the wagon lumbered up the driveway, stopping only when her visitors halted before the barn.

  She pinched off her gloves and met them on the drive.

  “JoBeth!” Cora called.

  The little girl leaned out of the wagon and wrapped her arms around Jo’s neck. Marshal Cain met Jo’s gaze over the girl’s shoulder, and her breath strangled for a split second. There was something heady about having those dark eyes focused on her. She’d seen him every day this week, and his effect on her had grown rather than blunted. Each time she saw his face, her heart pounded, and her head spun as though she’d been twirling in a circle.

  Attempting to break the mysterious spell, she squeezed Cora tight and pulled her from her perch, then set her gently on the ground.

  Six-year-old Maxwell, Jo’s youngest brother, bounded down the driveway, his knees pumping. “JoBeth, JoBeth!” he called. “Are they here yet?”

  “Peas and carrots, Maxwell. Look with your own eyes. Can’t you see? Slow down before you run us over.”

  Her brother skidded to a halt before them. He wore his usual uniform of a tan shirt and brown trousers with a pair of red suspenders. A crumpled hat covered his dark hair. “Who are you?” he demanded of Cora.

  The little girl clutched her rag doll close. “I’m Cora.”

  “How old are you?” Maxwell asked.

  “Five.”

  The front door swung open and Mrs. McCoy stepped onto the porch. “Who do we have here?” She descended the stairs, her fingers busy unknotting the apron wrapped around her waist. “Gracious, you must be the prettiest little girl this side of the Mississippi!”

  “Our guests have arrived, Ma.” Jo tucked Cora against her side. The McCoy clan could be overwhelming, and Jo didn’t want the girl spooked.

  Maxwell dashed up the stairs and tugged on his mother’s skirts as she approached them. “That’s Cora. She said she’s five years old.”

  Edith McCoy smiled, her expression full of unspoken sympathy. “We’re pleased to have you. Why don’t you come on inside.”

  Edith labored up the walk, her gait stiff, and Jo sighed. Her ma’s left hip sometimes acted up, but Edith McCoy never complained. Complaining wasn’t ladylike. When Jo was younger, her ma had dressed her in frills and lace, but that hadn’t lasted. Despite being a paragon of feminine qualities in an untamed land, Edith had never swayed her daughter into fripperies.

  Her ma waved them toward the house. “Welcome to our home, Marshal Cain. I hope you like pot roast.”

  The marshal flashed a wry grin. “Just as long it’s not fried chicken.”

  “I see you’ve taken the fried-chicken tour of all the single ladies in Cimarron Springs.” Edith chuckled. “I figured I’d wait until the spring and let you enjoy a pot roast for a change.”

  Maxwell danced around them, his scuffed boots kicking up a whirl of dust. “Cora! Cora! The barn cat just had kittens. You wanna see them? Their eyes are open and everything.”

  The little girl tugged on Jo’s hand. “Can I?”

  Jo waited for Marshal Cain’s nod of approval. “Of course you can.”

  Maxwell spun around, and Jo caugh
t him by the cuff of his shirt. “Cora isn’t from the country, so you be nice. No spiders, no frogs, no beetles...”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Maxwell rolled his eyes. “I know guest rules.”

  “Not just any guest. Cora is a special guest. I want you on your Sunday best.”

  “I’ll be good.”

  Jo released Maxwell and planted her hands on her hips. “I bet Reverend Miller would have a thing or two to say about your Sunday best.”

  Her youngest brother scowled. “He boxed my ears last week.”

  “That’s because he got to you before I did.” Jo pointed a finger. “Now don’t get Cora’s pretty pink dress all dirty.”

  “I won’t,” Maxwell grumbled.

  Edith McCoy sighed and shook her head. “I hope that’s not her best dress, because dirt multiplies on this farm. And it doesn’t wash out easy.”

  “Don’t worry, Mrs. McCoy,” the marshal replied, dusting his hands together. “She’s got plenty more dresses where that one came from.”

  Jo and Marshal Cain followed Edith into the cozy farmhouse. The aromas of fresh-baked bread and pot roast drifted from the kitchen, sending Jo’s mouth watering. Since the spring temperatures cooled after dark, a fire danced in the hearth.

  “You two have a seat,” Edith ordered. “I’m putting the finishing touches on dinner.”

  Marshal Cain pulled out a chair and paused. Jo glanced behind her. He waved his hand over the seat. “Ladies first.”

  A spoon clattered against the floor.

  Her ma bent and retrieved the utensil. “Clumsy of me. I’ll just rinse this off in the sink. If you don’t mind my being forward, how are you getting along, Marshal?”

  Jo snorted and flopped onto the proffered chair.

  The marshal sat down across from her. “No need to apologize, Mrs. McCoy. I’m sure Jo has told you all about Cora.”