The Marshal's Ready-Made Family (6 page)

“You can’t keep secrets with a child underfoot.”

He chuckled, the sound more grim than amused. A flash of lightning sparked in the distance, brightening the room for an instant and illuminating his somber expression.

Garrett squinted out the window. “Looks like we might get some rain. That’s bad timing with the creek rising fast from the melting up north.”

“Not much use in worrying about something you can’t control. My pa likes to say, ‘Keep your faith in God, and one eye on the river.’”

“I like the sound of that.”

The image of the raging creek resonated in Jo’s head. It felt as though her beliefs about herself were slipping away, eroding beneath a deluge of new possibilities. Somehow, she’d always imagined things going on just the way they had. The boys growing and marrying. Her little room at the boardinghouse. Coming home for dinner on Sundays.

Then she’d found herself picturing her own family, having her own Sunday dinners.

Marshal Cain approached her and grasped her shoulders, his touch light. “You have to know something about me. I’m not good husband material. If you’re looking for love, if you think this might grow into love someday, you’ll be disappointed.” He interrupted her murmured protest. “It’s not that I don’t like you, admire you, but I just can’t.”

Can’t or won’t?
Once again the words balanced on the tip of her tongue, but her courage deserted her when she needed it most. Besides, what did it matter?

She must remain focused on the true problem. “We’ll be friends. We’ll both love Cora, and that will be enough love for all of us.”

“I still need to think.” He rubbed his forehead. “I’m not saying no, but I need to think this through. We can’t make a rash decision. There are things about me you don’t know.”

He said the last words so quietly, she barely registered them.

“You said it yourself,” Jo urged. “People have married for worse reasons. At least you and I have good intentions. How can things go wrong if we’re making a decision based on what’s best for Cora?”

“Things can go wrong.” He tipped back on his heels, his voice somber. “Believe me, things can always go wrong.”

Jo glanced at her scuffed boots. Once again she wondered if he’d make a rash decision if she looked like Mary Louise at the mercantile. Probably so. Men made rash decisions about pretty women every day. With tomboys, they made rational, thoughtful decisions based on logic.

Jo plucked at a loose thread on her trousers. Was she willing to change? For Marshal Cain? For a man?

Never.

But what about Cora?

Jo yanked the thread loose, exposing a tear in the fabric. Even if she could change, she didn’t want to. She liked the person she was
—inside and out.
Marshal Cain either accepted her the way she was or not at all. As simple as that.

“Maybe,” Marshal Cain spoke, his voice hesitant. “The answer is maybe. Let’s leave it there for now.”

Tears threatened, and Jo hastily blinked them away. This was no time for going soft. In life,
maybe
meant
no.
“Promise me you’ll think about it.”

“I promise.”

“Can I still take Cora to the telegraph office with me tomorrow?” she added hopefully.

“Of course. This doesn’t change anything.”

“Of course.”

With fisted hands, Jo rubbed her eyes in tight circles. Her hasty words had changed
everything.
Yet she didn’t regret them, not for an instant. “Either way, we should think about finding you and Cora a new place to live. Outlaws and tea parties make strange bedfellows.”

The marshal threw back his head and laughed, a rich hearty sound that vibrated in her chest and sent her blood thrumming through her veins.

“I can’t argue with you in that regard.” He swiped at his eyes. “Thank you. I needed a good laugh.”

Feeling brazen, Jo grinned. “Can you imagine if word reached Wichita there was a pink afghan in the jailhouse?”

“Maybe crime would go down. It’s hard to be a tough guy when there’s a doll in your cell.”

“This could be the best thing that happened to Cimarron Springs in a long while.”

Garrett stared down at her, and Jo tipped back her head. Their gazes collided and they stood frozen for a long moment.

He reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, his finger coasting along the sensitive skin of her neck. “I had a job in Colorado Springs before this. My deputy told me I was a fool for coming to Kansas. He was wrong. Coming here was the best decision I ever made.”

“Even with all that’s happening?”

“Especially now. You’ve been heaven-sent for Cora.”

His admission awakened a sliver of hope. “I have next Monday off from work. Cora and I are picking mulberries down by the creek.”

Garrett grasped her hand, caressing her blunt nails. “Come Monday afternoon, you’ll have purple fingers.”

“And purple lips.”

His eyes widened and he made a strangled sound in his throat. “Uh, well,” he muttered as he dropped her hand and stumbled back a step. “I’d best get Cora home. I don’t want her out in the rain.” He jerked one thumb over his shoulder. “The wagon and the rain and all.”

Frowning, Jo touched her cheek as he made a hasty retreat. Why did he run off every time she thought they were making progress?

She crossed her arms over her chest. The fool man was running hot and cold and his indecision was driving her mad. Either way, he had to make up his mind on his own. She wasn’t chasing down someone who didn’t want her, no matter how stupid he was for rejecting her.

Even if she wasn’t pretty on the outside like Mary Louise, she was worthy on the inside.

How did she convince Garrett of that truth?

Chapter Six

G
arrett plucked a stuffed bunny from his favorite chair and collapsed onto the seat. In five short days, Cora had stamped herself indelibly on the few rooms he occupied above the jailhouse. Before the little girl’s arrival, he’d thought the space more than adequate. Now there simply wasn’t enough room for all the fripperies that accompanied a little girl.

As he dug a pink ribbon from beneath the cushions, a soft whimper caught his attention. Garrett cocked his head and realized the gentle noise was coming from Cora’s room. Worried, he heeled off his boots in a jack and crossed the distance in his stocking feet, then peered behind the partition. Cora rested on her side facing him, her rag doll clutched against her chest.

Tears streamed down her face.

A nauseating wave of sadness buckled Garrett’s knees. He knelt beside Cora’s bed and brushed the damp curls from her forehead. Her eyes remained closed, and Garrett realized she was crying in her sleep. Hesitant and uncertain, he murmured soothing nonsense words and gently rubbed her back until her sobs eased.

Surrounded again by silence, long-buried memories leaped into his head. He’d been strong for Deirdre after their parents had died, and he’d be strong for Cora, too. He gently tucked the blankets over Cora’s thin shoulders.

Doubt chipped away at his resolve. Cora was younger, more innocent and vulnerable than Deirdre had ever been. He and his only sister had been old before their time. Their lives had been torn asunder by their father’s frequent rages. A devastating back injury during the war had driven him into constant pain, and the alcohol he’d used to dull the agony turned him mean.

Garrett’s father had been a physician, and his inability to heal himself had driven him mad. Garrett used to believe the whiskey bottle held madness, because with each drink, the bottle drained and the rage in his father grew.

When the alcohol had ceased working, he’d turned to laudanum. That’s when the hallucinations had started. He’d see things. Hear things. He’d relive the war, shouting commands and calling for his dead comrades. His paranoia ruled the family. Then one day he’d mistaken his wife for an enemy soldier.

He’d shot her.

When he’d sobered and realized what he’d done, he couldn’t live with the pain.

Garrett and Deidre had set out on their own for a short time before staying with his uncle. There had been no love lost on the siblings when they’d been thrust upon his aunt and uncle all those years ago. In desperation Garrett had fled, joining the army scouts at seventeen. He’d hoped they’d treat Deirdre more kindly without him around as a constant reminder of their father.

His sacrifice had been unnecessary—Deirdre had soon married a fine man, an architect with good standing in the community.

No matter what happened, Garrett wouldn’t let Edward raise Cora. His cousin had a pinch-faced wife with a perpetual expression of sour disappointment. They also had four more children on whom they doted. Garrett might as well send Cora to an orphanage.

Fifteen years had passed and the wound still ached. And now Garrett had another soul to protect. Cora was innocent of all the tragedy in the past. She deserved better than a set of rooms above the jailhouse.

Jo’s solution tugged at his conscience.

His legs stiff from the awkward position, Garrett pushed himself upright. The town had been mercifully quiet, but what would happen if he was called out late at night? What happened if a prisoner had to stay downstairs in the jail overnight or longer? A jailhouse was no place for a little girl and he couldn’t count on Jo every time he needed someone to watch Cora. He was already too beholden to her already.

Not to mention his other problem. Truth be told, he liked spending time with Jo and he didn’t know what to make of his new affliction. Garrett absently rubbed his chest. She deserved someone without a past. She was too honorable for her own good. She’d sacrifice herself to make Cora happy. He couldn’t let her.

What did Garrett know about making a woman happy? The only thing he’d ever seen in his life had been pain. Jo needed more. She deserved what she’d had growing up—love and warmth. The only love Garrett had known was hard love, and he was a hard man for it.

He paired up Cora’s discarded boots and glanced at the farm-filthy dress hanging in the corner of the room. Mrs. McCoy hadn’t lied—dirt sure had a way of finding you on the McCoy farm. When he’d arrived, even Jo had had a charming smudge on her check.

Jo.

He wasn’t a fool. He recognized the signs of fear—heart pounding, palm sweating. But what was he afraid of?

He was terrified Jo was someone he could love.

The more time he spent around her the more time with her he craved. He wanted to protect her from bullies like Tom and Bert Walby. He wanted to hear her laugh. He wondered if she ever thought of him, too.

Only this morning the shaving lather had dried on his face while he pondered whether or not he looked better with a beard. He’d bought two new shirts and he didn’t even really need new shirts. His old ones were fine except for a little wear around the seams. He couldn’t recall when another person’s opinion of him had carried such weight.

Garrett didn’t know if he believed in a higher power, but he knew right then he was lost. Always before there had been a clear path in his head, a clear way out of trouble. Not anymore.

“Dear Lord,” he pleaded. “Guide me. I’ve never asked for anything for myself, but Cora deserves better.”

He’d done the right thing by Deirdre. He’d given his sister a fresh start by taking with him the reminders of their father. The reminders he carried with him every day—in his looks, in his mannerisms, in his very voice. Things he couldn’t change or alter.

Since he hadn’t refused Jo’s proposal outright, he’d left her a sliver of hope. His weakness didn’t serve either of them.

Garrett had thought leaving Deirdre behind was the greatest sacrifice he’d ever made. Little did he know, one day he’d meet an even greater challenge. Turned out facing a difficult choice was a whole lot more agonizing than running away.

Chapter Seven

T
he following morning, Jo crossed the distance to the jailhouse fifteen minutes before her shift at the telegraph office began. This was her favorite time of day, watching and listening as the town sputtered awake. In the distance, the steady clang of the blacksmith’s hammer beat out a comforting rhythm. The mercantile owner flipped his window sign reading Open and propped up a slate board declaring the daily specials meticulously spelled out in chalk.

A harnessed set of horses stomped and snorted between the buildings. Jo scooted into the street, giving them a wide birth. The cranky old swayback mare on the left nipped if you strayed too close. As Jo passed the butcher, the mouthwatering aroma of smoking bacon filled the air. She inhaled a deep breath.

Sometimes she loathed Cimarron Springs, feeling frustrated and trapped by the hackneyed town. But at times like this, the familiar sights and sounds soothed her like an old pair of boots—battered and worn, but comfortable for having been broken in.

Jo paused and took another deep breath before facing the marshal again. When she encountered him this morning, she’d act nonchalant. They’d go on as they had before, as though nothing had changed.

Jostled along with the bustling morning activity, she nodded greetings to familiar faces. A hesitant figure standing in the alcove between the saloon and mercantile caught her attention.

“Beatrice?” Jo stepped closer, and the figure emerged from the shadows.

The auburn-haired woman lived above the saloon and danced with the cowboys for a nickel a song. She was older than Jo in years and decades older in experience. Beatrice had traveled around the country and seen things Jo couldn’t even imagine. Most of the townspeople spurned the saloon workers, but Jo understood a thing or two about being different, and she always made a point of exchanging conversation when they met. She and Beatrice had even become friends over the past year.

“Jo.” Beatrice’s cautious gaze darted over the crowd, searching for any sign of censure. “Are we still meeting tonight?”

“Same as always. I’ll work up some examples this afternoon.”

Beatrice wanted a job as a telegraph operator, but feared her boss would fire her if he discovered her plan. Since she still needed her place next to the saloon, Jo met with her after dinner three days a week. Beatrice’s work didn’t begin until after dark, which gave them plenty of time for their informal lessons.

“I just wondered.” The auburn-haired woman’s gaze turned mischievous. “Since things have changed and all.”

“Nothing has changed,” Jo assured her. “You’ll be a full-fledged operator in no time. Why would you think something was different?”

Beatrice winked. “I heard the marshal was having dinner at the McCoy place last night.”

Jo hustled Beatrice deeper into the darkened passageway. “What else did you hear?”

“I didn’t hear anything. It’s just that’s he’s all any of the girls talk about these days.” The older woman patted her auburn hair. “I might just want that handsome marshal to rescue me from outlaws.”

She giggled like a schoolgirl, and Jo’s eyes widened.

“Beatrice. You sly thing. You’ve got a crush on Marshal Cain.”

“I may be older than you, but my eyes work just fine.” Beatrice wiggled her index finger. “If I were five years younger, that man wouldn’t know what hit him.”

“There are other men more handsome,” Jo teased. “He’s a bit rough around the edges.”

“He’s got honest eyes.”

Jo pictured the marshal’s rugged face and warmth flooded through her. He
did
have honest eyes— compassionate and earnest. She’d only known two other men with eyes like that—Jack Elder and her pa. Mr. Elder had married Elizabeth, the woman whose late husband had robbed banks. Jack was a good man and a good father. As far as she could tell, he was a good husband, too. His wife, Elizabeth, certainly adored him.

Unbidden and unwelcome, elusive longings tugged at Jo’s heart again. Everything had seemed so simple a few years ago, but Marshal Cain’s presence had muddied the waters. It was easy staying single when there was no one who caught her fancy.

Glancing behind her, Jo searched the street. Satisfied no one was paying attention, she faced Beatrice once more. “I asked the marshal to marry me.”

“You did not!” Beatrice’s eyes widened into twin saucers. “What did he say?”

“He said maybe.” Jo huffed. “That’s how people say no when they don’t want to hurt your feelings.”

The amusement on Beatrice’s face instantly faded. “Well, it’s his loss. That’s what I say. Did he tell you why not?”

“Not really. Just some nonsense about things in his past that I wouldn’t understand.”

“That doesn’t seem so bad.” Beatrice tugged her lower lip between her teeth and studied Jo. “Maybe we just need to butter the biscuit a little.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“You know.” Beatrice touched Jo’s sensible bowler hat. “Put a little sauce on the pudding. A little gravy over the turkey. Sweeten the pot a little.”

Certain her friend had lost her senses, Jo stared blankly.

Beatrice rolled her eyes. “Fix yourself up. Buy a new dress and let me cut your hair. We’ll have a wedding in no time.”

“No.” Jo huffed with dawning understanding. “Absolutely not. He likes me the way I am or not at all. I didn’t let Percy win at marbles so he’d like me better, and I’m not changing for Marshal Garrett Cain. He likes me the way I am or not at all.”

“I’m not saying you need to change. Just spruce up the package a bit.”

“The package is just fine the way it is.” Jo tapped her foot. “Now, I’d best go. I don’t want to be late.”

The older woman shook her head. “Suit yourself.”

“My mind is made up.” Jo adjusted her hat. “Besides, he’s the one who needs me. Not the other way around.”

Beatrice lifted an eyebrow. “Whatever you say.”

Jo kept her silence.

“Ah, don’t be sore,” Beatrice pleaded. “I’m just trying to help.”

“I’m not sore. I’m just—” Jo heaved a sigh “—confused.”

“Men will do that.” Beatrice yanked Jo into a quick embrace. “And thank you. For the lessons. A lot of people wouldn’t go to the trouble for someone like me.”

“And that’s
their
loss. I’ll see you at six,” Jo replied with no hard feelings. “There should even be some apple cobbler left.”

Beatrice flashed a relieved grin and set off in the opposite direction.

Jo caught sight of the marshal and Cora on the boardwalk outside the sheriff’s office.

The cool morning air was burning off with the rising sun. The marshal had whitewashed the front of the sheriff’s office, and the building appeared too cheerful for prisoners. They’d even etched the oval front window with his name. The marshal kept an open-door policy, and the shades were always raised.

“Good morning,” Jo called, her voice a touch too loud.

“Mornin’.”

His gaze didn’t quite meet hers. He studied the tips of his boots. “Nice weather we’re having.”

“Seasonal.”

“Could be worse.”

“Yep.”

The knotted muscles in Jo’s neck tightened. This wasn’t going quite as smoothly as she’d hoped.

He cleared his throat and focused his attention on his niece. The marshal hovered behind Cora, and Jo’s pulse trembled. His dark hair hung low over his forehead, and his coffee-colored eyes flashed with worry. “Are you sure you’re gonna be all right?”

The little girl leaped up and launched herself at Jo, gripping her around the waist. “You’re here!”

Jo mocked an exaggerated stumble. “Easy there.”

“I guess that answers my question,” the marshal declared.

Cora glanced over her shoulder. “Jo is teaching me how to be a telegram operator today.”

“Tele
graph
operator,” Jo corrected.

Garrett crouched and handed her a pail. “This is Cora’s lunch. If you need anything, I’ll be at the lawyer’s office. He’s got some information from Missouri.”

“We’ll be fine.”

“And after that I’ll be in my office going over some paperwork. The judge is coming through town next week.”

“Okay.”

“I might have lunch at the hotel. If you can’t find me at my office or with the lawyer, check over at the hotel.”

Jo rolled her eyes. The man was circling like a mother hen. “Relax. I’m taking her to the telegraph office, not a wolf den. Cora and I have developed our own routine. Don’t forget, we’ve already been doing this for a couple of days.”

Remorse flitted across his bold features, and once again her conscience pricked. How come she never said the right thing?

Hooking his thumbs into his belt loops, Marshal Cain glanced down the street. “I reckon you’re right. This business with my cousin, Edward, has me shook up. I’d best let you two get to work.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep her safe.”

“I know you will.”

“I promise.”

“Okay, then.”

The marshal tipped his hat with a murmured “Ladies,”
and set off.

Jo and Cora watched his receding steps before strolling along the boardwalk. So much for all her previous resolutions. She’d blown it on their very first conversation after her staunch resolution only moments before. Her feet slowed.

Cora stared at her expectantly, and Jo plastered a smile on her face. “Ready?”

“Ready!” Cora declared.

Tapping her foot, Jo paused a moment. “I give him an hour before he comes and checks on you.”

Cora giggled, and together they crossed the short distance, passing the depot and the platform.

Because telegraph lines followed train tracks, Jo’s office sat near the station. Upon arriving, she unlocked the door and flipped over the sign reading Open. The office was little more than a lean-to jutting from the depot. The government had provided a single desk, swivel chair, a brass lamp with a bottle-green shade and a small table. A storeroom had been portioned off along the back. If someone left a package unclaimed at the station, Jo locked it up or delivered the parcel herself when she found time.

The space was cozy, but two windows on opposite sides gave her a cross breeze in the summer. A squat, potbellied stove provided heat in the winter.

She’d put Marshal Cain out of her mind and concentrate on her job. Work was the best balm and the ultimate distraction.

Despite Jo’s resolve, her thoughts wandered as she spun around on her chair and arranged her supplies. Outside, a train whistle blew.

She met Cora’s frightened gaze. “That’s the eight-thirty from Wichita. She’s half an hour early.”

As was her routine, the little girl scooted beneath the desk and stuck her fingers in her ears. The train rumbled past, rattling the windowpanes and vibrating the floorboards.

When silence descended once more, Jo ducked her head beneath the desk. “That was a coal train. Those trains are the longest, but they usually travel the fastest.”

“They’re loud.”

“You get used to it. When I first moved to town, I woke up with the five-fifteen every morning. Now I don’t even notice.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Cora had arrived in Cimarron Springs ready for adventures—as long as that adventure didn’t involve the teeth-jarring clatter of a passing train.

A moment later Cora emerged from her hiding place and returned to the makeshift play area Jo had set up for the little girl. There was a square of slate board and chalk, several rag dolls and a set of marbles.

An hour later, her busywork finished, Jo tipped back in her chair and considered the child. Cora drew flowers, trees and stick figures on her slate board, but never words. “You said you know your letters, didn’t you?”

“Some.”

Jo remembered being a child and how much she loathed being forced into learning. Perhaps if she couched the lesson in another way, Cora would show interest. “You want to see what I do?”

Cora danced on the balls of her feet. “Yes, yes, yes!”

Jo laughed. “Okay, pull your chair over here and I’ll show you.”

They settled side by side, and Jo dug out a sheet of paper.

The bell above the door jingled. Marshal Cain stuck his head in. “I just happened to be in the neighborhood.”

Jo suppressed a grin. He’d gone a whole hour without checking on them, and it had obviously taxed him. “Of course you were.”

“What are you ladies up to?”

Frowning, Jo studied his expression. That was the second time today he’d used the formal term. No one had ever referred to her as a “lady” and she wasn’t sure if she was being mocked.

Then again, he’d never shown any other signs of mockery, and he’d had plenty of opportunity. Especially when she’d bluntly asked him to marry her.

Her cheeks heated at the memory.

“I was about to show Cora how Morse code works. What are you doing, other than checking up on us?”

The marshal glanced around, his gaze innocent of mischief. “Mr. Stuart at the mercantile said he’s having problems with a group of boys. I have a bad feeling it’s that bunch we saw the other day. One of them is Tom Walby’s son. Thought they might have come this way.”

Jo quirked a questioning eyebrow.

Marshal Cain set his hat back on his head and revealed an abashed grin. “Okay. I was checking on Cora. But as long as I’m here, I might as well brush up on my skills. It’s been years since I’ve used Morse code. I used to know my letters. Can I look at your cipher sheet?”

Not many people in town understood her work, and Jo appreciated having someone she could talk with other than Beatrice. “You’re a man of many talents.”

He shrugged. “It’s a good tool if you’re in a pinch. I’ve heard of men signaling each other at night.”

“How do they do that?” Cora asked.

“They use a lamp.”

Jo tapped her pencil. “I’ve heard of blasting crews sending signals down the mountain with mirrors reflecting the sunlight. Doesn’t seem too efficient to me.”

“I guess you learn ‘take cover’ pretty well.”

Jo giggled. She pinched the worn and ink-stained edges and slid her alphabet cipher sheet across the table. Cora and Marshal Cain flanked her, and Jo’s heart did a curious ripple. She cleared her throat and scooted her chair tighter toward the desk, then pointed at the sheet, surprised by the tremble in her finger.