The Marshal's Ready-Made Family Page 4

  “Not Jo, no. But gossip travels with the speed of boredom around here.”

  The marshal glanced around the tidy room, and Jo knew exactly what he was noticing. All of the spices above the stove were arranged alphabetically, the pots were hung by size, and even the glasses were arranged by height. When she was younger, her ma’s habits had annoyed her, but as she grew older she realized that order made even the most cramped spaces cozy and welcoming.

  Marshal Cain shook his head. “How do you manage to keep everything in place with children running underfoot?”

  Mrs. McCoy wiped the spoon on a towel draped over the sink. “More help, I guess. I’ve got more people to make the mess, but I’ve also got more people to help with the chores.”

  “I don’t think more children will solve my problems.” The marshal rubbed a weary hand over his eyes. “I can’t keep up. I feel like my whole jailhouse was hit with a pink bomb. That little girl must have come with a magic trunk, because when I opened it, the contents tripled in size.”

  Jo hid a grin. The marshal did look a bit disheveled. And she’d never heard him so talkative. As she pondered his uncharacteristic admissions, another thought darkened her mood. They’d seen each other in passing each day this week, and yet he’d never once confided his concerns with her.

  The marshal pressed his thumb into the soft wax of the candle burning in the center of the table. “I hope nobody gets arrested, because Cora set up a tea party in the jail cell. I can’t put a fugitive in there with a couple of rag dolls having tea. There’s even a pink blanket on the cot.”

  Jo clapped her hands over her mouth.

  Her ma lifted a lid from the roaster, sending a plume of steam drifting toward the ceiling. “I can see where that would be a problem,” Edith replied, her voice ripe with amusement. “Sometimes I wish we had more pink in this house. We’re full up on boys since Jo left, and she was never one for tea parties anyway.”

  Jo scowled, her amusement waning. Just because she didn’t throw tea parties didn’t mean she wasn’t a girl. She was different, that’s all. Why did everyone insist on bringing it up all the time?

  “And it’s not just her stuff.” The marshal picked off a chunk of wax and rolled it into a ball between his thumb and forefinger. “Cora doesn’t eat much in the morning. Should I be worried about that? And she never stops asking questions. Sometimes I don’t know the answers. But if I tell her that I don’t know the answer, she just asks the same question in another way. Is that normal?”

  “That’s a five-year-old child for you, all right. As curious as a kitten and just as precious.” Edith placed a Mason jar filled with lemonade before the marshal. “You better drink something or you’ll get parched.”

  A flush of color crept up the marshal’s neck. “I guess I’ve been around Cora too much. I can’t stop talking all of a sudden.”

  “Children don’t come with instructions, that’s for certain.” Her ma set out a loaf of bread and a pat of butter on wooden slab.

  “I know.” The marshal slathered his bread with the softened butter. “Like, how often should you wash them? What kind of soap should you use? I only have lye soap. Is that bad for girls?” A note of desperation crept into his voice. “I don’t know what to do. What if I do the wrong thing?”

  “The fact that you’re worried makes you a better parent than most others.” Edith dried her hands on the towel and crossed the room. “The bad folks aren’t worried about what’s right and wrong, you know?” She perched on a chair beside him and patted his hand. “You’re doing fine.”

  The marshal raked his free hand through his hair. He paused for a moment, his Adam’s apple working. “She cries at night.”

  “Of course she does,” Jo exclaimed, her heart twisting at his words. “She’s lost both of her parents. She’s lost her home. That’s enough to make anybody cry.”

  Something flickered in his eyes, but it passed quickly. Jo ached to reach out and comfort him, but she knew better. She never had words for times like these—soothing, comforting words. He’d said it himself over lunch last week. She was direct.

  With grudging admiration, Jo studied her mother. While the rest of the McCoys were dark-haired with green eyes, Mrs. McCoy stood out with her pale blue eyes and dark blond hair. Even the streak of gray at her temple lent her an air of elegance.

  Jo had never really valued cosseting before. Blunt truths were faster and more efficient. Now she realized there was a time and a place for coddling.

  Marshal Cain pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know what to do,” he repeated.

  “Love her,” Jo replied. “Just like you’re doing.”

  “Jo is right.” Edith smiled and patted his shoulder. “Love goes a long way.”

  The door swung open, and her brother Caleb stepped into the room surrounded by a noxious aroma. Jo waved a hand before her nose. “Gracious, did you take a swim in Pa’s cologne?”

  The tips of her brother’s ears reddened. “Mind your own business, runt.” He strutted across the room in his crisp blue shirt and navy trousers.

  Caleb was the oldest of the boys at twenty-two, tall and slender with the distinctive McCoy coloring of dark brown hair and bright green eyes. They all took after their pa’s looks in that regard, though Ely McCoy was short and stout. Jo was the only child who’d inherited his lack of height. Much to her chagrin, she was embarrassingly petite.

  Being small with five younger—and much taller—brothers had taught her a thing or two about strategy. “I think someone is going into town. This must be your third trip to the mercantile this week.”

  “What’s it to you?”

  “Nothing.” Jo studied the jagged tips of her blunt fingernails. “It’s just that you’re not the only one visiting the mercantile on a regular basis.”

  The owner’s daughter was a pretty blonde with blue eyes and a ready smile, and since Mary Louise had turned eighteen and started working behind the counter, the store’s revenue had leaped tenfold.

  Caleb fisted his hands. “Who else have you been noticing?”

  “There’re too many to count. You better screw up your courage for courting or she’s gonna slip away.”

  Her brother glanced around the room, caught sight of Marshal Cain and stopped short. “Evening, sir.” Caleb straightened and tucked his shirttail into his pants before glaring at Jo. “It doesn’t matter because I don’t care. I’m going into town because Ma is out of sugar. Isn’t that right?”

  Edith smiled indulgently. “Of course.”

  “See?”

  Caleb stomped out of the room, and her ma shot Jo a quelling glance. “Don’t be too hard on the boy.”

  “What?” Jo drawled. “I’m just trying to help.”

  The marshal grinned. “Mary Louise better make up her mind soon or I’ll be breaking up fights. There’s nothing like a pretty girl to get a young man’s blood boiling.”

  An uncharacteristic spark of jealousy pricked Jo. Apparently, Marshal Cain had noticed the pretty little blonde, too. She crossed her arms over her chest. “I bet her pa hopes she never decides on one suitor. He makes sure all those boys buy something while they’re panting after Mary Louise. I heard he even ordered a new wagon from Wichita.”

  “No more gossiping, JoBeth,” her ma scolded from her place by the stove. “And let up on that boy. Being in love is harder than it looks.”

  A huff of anger settled at the back of Jo’s throat. They all acted as if she had no emotions. She couldn’t recall one time when her ma had told the boys to let up on her.

  Jo braced her arms against the table and locked her elbows. “How come you never tell them to go easy on me?”

  “Because you’re tougher than they are.” Her mother waved her wooden spoon for emphasis. “And smarter, too.”

  Jo caught the marshal study
ing her with those dark, intuitive eyes and decided it was time to change the subject. “How are the Elders?”

  Her ma’s face lit up. “I just got a letter. Watch the gravy while I fetch it.”

  Marshal Cain rested his hat on his knee, his enormous palm dwarfing the crown. “I think I’ve heard that name before.”

  “Probably.” Jo stood and crossed to the stove. “The Elders used to live over the rise. They moved to Paris, Texas, going on ten years ago.”

  “Wasn’t there something about an outlaw?”

  “Mrs. Elder’s first husband was a bank robber. He hid the loot in a cave by Hackberry Creek. The boys sell tours for a penny every summer.”

  “They do what?” The marshal set down the lemonade he’d raised to his lips. “Don’t the new owners mind all those kids tramping across their property?”

  “No one lives there.” Jo shrugged. “The place has been empty for years”

  Her pa stepped into the room. A great bear of a man, Ely McCoy vibrated the floorboards with his heavy steps. Jo dropped the gravy spoon and dashed toward him. “Pa!”

  He enveloped her in a bone-crushing hug, lifting her feet from the floor. “There’s my little girl. I heard you brought company.”

  Jo’s heart soared. Her pa was the only person who treated her like a girl without making her feel weak. He was a stout man with a thick salt-and-pepper beard and a mop of unruly mahogany hair hanging over his twinkling green eyes.

  “This is my pa, Ely McCoy.”

  Marshal Cain rose from his seat and held out his hand. “Nice to see you again, Mr. McCoy.”

  “Call me Ely.”

  Her pa slapped the marshal on the back, nearly launching him into the hearth. “Glad you’re here, son. I need help balancing the pasture gate.”

  Jo grimaced. She loved her pa, but he was always putting the guests to work. “Why don’t you get the boys to help you?”

  “Because Caleb’s cologne turns my stomach, and David has gone to Wichita to buy a horse.”

  “Glad to help,” Marshal Cain replied easily.

  Jo appreciated his calm acceptance of the request. She also liked how his chambray shirt stretched across his broad shoulders. He was quiet and thoughtful, never missing a detail. She liked watching as he sized up a room. He looked at people, not through them.

  What did he think of her?

  Did he see her as everyone else in town did—as an oddity? Somehow or other she didn’t think so. He regarded her with the same deference he showed Cora and her ma. Maybe that’s why he appealed to her—he treated everyone he encountered as though they were important, as though they were worthy of his time.

  The marshal tossed a resigned grin over his shoulder and followed her pa out the door.

  As the two men left together, Jo considered how different they were. Not just in size and shape, but in temperament. Her parents were opposites, too. Ely McCoy was a loud bear of a man whose bark was worse than his bite. Her ma was more refined, more reserved than her pa. Yet they worked well together, and no one expected either of them to change.

  Jo had learned early on that boys expected her to change. At thirteen years old, a boy had told her flat out that if she wanted him to stop teasing her, she’d best let him win at marbles.

  Jo had decided then and there that she’d rather win.

  A scant few minutes later, a knock startled Jo from her vigil at the stove. She crossed the room and opened the door. The reverend stood on the doorstep, a dark shadow against the orange glow from the setting sun.

  “Reverend Miller. What brings you here this time of the evening?”

  He doffed his cap and smoothed his thinning hair. “A telegram arrived for the marshal. The clerk said the marshal should see it right away.”

  Chapter Four

  Garrett strained beneath the weight of the gate, a fine sheen of perspiration forming on his brow. The evening air was cool and a stiff breeze whipped the hair over his perspiring brow. The incessant, relentless gales dried up the earth and left every surface dusty and gritty. When a changing weather front blew in, Garrett stuffed rags around the windows and still awoke with grit on his tongue. He sometimes wondered why the whole prairie hadn’t been swept away already.

  Thankfully, as the evening stretched on, the breeze gentled, and the sun sank low on the horizon. Hills rolled toward Hackberry Creek, and a smattering of trees softened the view. Garrett didn’t consider himself a sentimental man, but he appreciated the quiet beauty of nature settling into nightfall.

  Ely broke the silence first, saying, “That little Cora sure is a cute one.”

  “That she is.”

  “Heard she’s taken a shine to Jo.”

  “Word travels fast around these parts.”

  “That it does.” Ely ratcheted the hinges tighter. “What are you planning on doing?”

  Garrett gritted his teeth against the strain of the heavy metal gate. “Doing?”

  “You gonna raise that little girl all on your own?”

  “Not much other choice,” Garrett bit out over his exertion.

  At Ely’s signal, Garrett released his hold and leaped back, scooting his boots free from a possible collapse. To his relief, the hinges held firm. He flexed his sore fingers. Ely must be twenty years his senior, but the older man didn’t show any signs of strain. Mr. McCoy was a tough, portly man with a fierce scowl and a ready smile. Garrett recalled how Jo had launched herself at her pa earlier. Though Ely could snap a sturdy tree limb with one hand, his children didn’t seem afraid of him.

  The idea gave Garrett pause. What was it like for the McCoy children, not being afraid all the time?

  Ely swung the bars back and forth, examining the smooth action with a satisfied expression. “When I look at your little girl, I wish I could go back in time.”

  Garrett glanced up in surprise. “Why?”

  “Jo never had time to be a baby. To be a girl. By the time she was walking, we already had Caleb. Then David came along and Abraham and Michael. We had a little bit of time, but then Maxwell surprised us. With all those boys, well...let’s just say she had to be tough.”

  Garrett couldn’t help but wonder how Jo had survived with all those rough-and-tumble boys. She wasn’t as tough as she pretended. He’d seen her vulnerability. Despite her confidence and bravado, she really was a tiny little thing. Those boys should be sheltering and protecting her, not the other way around. A half grin stretched across his face. Garrett had a feeling Jo would never stand for coddling.

  Ely considered his dirt-stained hands. “The missus used to dress her up. Jo wouldn’t stand for it. It’s funny, you know? The missus thinks they butt heads because they’re too different. I think they’re too much alike. You ever noticed that? It’s the parts of ourselves we see in others that frustrate us most.”

  Ely’s insight surprised Garrett. With all those children running underfoot, who had time for speculation?

  The older man paused. “Probably why David and I argue like a couple of old-timers.” He nodded. “We’re too much alike.”

  A sense of helplessness chased away Garrett’s earlier serenity. Ely’s observations hit too close to the heart of the matter. That’s what Garrett feared—being like his father. The blood of a murderer flowed through his veins like an unlit fuse.

  The McCoys were unencumbered by the past. They didn’t know the secret he bore like an albatross around his neck. They’d never been burdened with a scandal that had destroyed an entire family.

  “Pa!” a voice called.

  Garrett glanced up and saw the youngest McCoy dashing toward them.

  Maxwell skidded to a halt and grasped his side, leaning over as he heaved in a noisy breath. “The reverend is here. He’s got a telegram for Garrett. Says it’s about Cora. And it’s important. And it’s bad news
.”

  Even without the power of Ely’s unexpected insight, Garrett had a sinking feeling this evening wasn’t going to end well.

  * * *

  Jo watched as Marshal Cain paced before the fireplace, his hands on his hips, a fierce scowl darkening his handsome face. “I’ll go back to St. Louis myself and fight this if I have to.”

  “No!” Jo exclaimed.

  Her ma placed a gentle hand on her arm. “Let him be.”

  Reverend Miller worried the shallow brim of his black felt hat in his hands. “Perhaps it’s better if the marshal’s cousin and his wife raise the child. You’re a single man with a dangerous job...”

  “They don’t want Cora,” Garrett announced. “They want the money from my sister’s estate. It says so right here. They want custody of Cora.” He jabbed a finger at the telegram. “And the proceeds of the estate for her care and comfort.” He crumpled the paper in his fist. “Care and comfort my foot. My sister’s husband was an architect. Did well for himself.”

  The reverend hung his head, revealing the bald patch at his crown. “Still, we must consider what’s best for the child.”

  The marshal braced his hands against the mantel and stared into the blazing fire. “That’s not all. I heard a rumor that Edward’s sawmill is failing. He doesn’t want Cora, he wants an influx of cash for his business.”

  Mrs. McCoy stood and faced the group, her hands thrust out in a placating gesture. “I don’t like this any better than the rest of you, but we don’t know your cousin’s motivations for certain. Right now it’s only blind speculation.”

  Marshal Cain turned and shook his head. “Whatever his motivations, he’s already got a judge on his side.”

  Ely fisted his hands beneath his biceps and propped his shoulder against the wall. “Let me get this straight. He told the judge that the little girl is in jeopardy because she has a marshal as a guardian?”

  “Because I’m a single man. A single lawman. They think I can’t care for her properly.”

  “Can you?” Edith bluntly demanded.