Sherri Shackelford - The Marshal's Ready-Made Family

“I know what you mean about Cora.” The marshal ran his hand along his chin. “When I saw her that day at church, peeking out from behind your skirts, I felt the same way.”

Jo’s heart soared at his reluctant admission. He was softening toward her idea, she could tell.

“This is a lifetime decision, Jo.” His dark gaze ran the length of her and Jo suddenly realized she was still wearing trousers. “You’re young. Someday you’ll fall in love.”

She pulled out the chair beside him and hitched her pant legs over her knees, then she sat facing him. If Garrett was disappointed in what he saw, that was his loss.

No matter what happened, she wouldn’t change who she was—not on the inside, and certainly not on the outside. “Maybe this is God’s way of bringing two people together who wouldn’t normally marry otherwise.”

“But what if you want children of your own someday?” he spoke, not quite meeting her eyes.

The memories of all the births she’d attended rippled through her. All the fragile bodies she and her ma had swaddled in christening blankets for untimely burials. Not every mother survived the process, and not every baby. Garrett might be a marshal, yet Jo was certain she’d seen more death than he had.

She pushed back a wash of sadness. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there. No one knows what the future will bring. But we do know what needs to be done right now.”

She leaned forward and cradled his hands. They looked at each other for a long moment, and her breath grew shallow. His shoulders were broad, strong and capable. Sitting this close, the room bathed in lamplight, she noticed how his eyes were rimmed by a darker circle, making the color appear even deeper.

Could she do this? Could she spend the rest of her life as his friend without wanting more?

He rubbed the pad of his thumb over the back of her hand and her whole body pulsed with his touch.

Jo tightened her grip. What choice did she have? She could marry him and risk her heart, or risk never seeing him again. As much as she adored Cora, they were a package deal. She couldn’t have one without the other.

He dragged his hands away, stood and turned his back. A sudden sense of emptiness overwhelmed Jo. In that moment, the room appeared lifeless, abandoned. Unfinished place settings covered the table, unfilled waterglasses sat near the sink, empty chairs remained strewn haphazardly around the room.

When he faced her again, his face had smoothed into an unreadable mask. “We can’t rush into this.”

A heavy weight settled on Jo’s chest. She felt him moving away, physically and mentally, regretting his hasty words already. Her last, best chance for a family of her own was slipping away. Was she selfish for wanting him to agree?

Her stomach churned. “Please don’t make any decisions without telling me first.”

“I couldn’t keep something from you even if I tried.” He tossed her a knowing look. “Not with Cora around.”

“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.”