Marshall's Law

by Denise A. Agnew

  Marshall’s got the ball. His determined expression as he sprinted down the field with the ball gave him the look of a warrior going into battle.

  “All right, Marshall.” Dana clapped.

  Almost as if he’d heard Dana’s exclamation Marshall glanced her way. It took that minor distraction to slow him the slightest fraction.

  A Blue Angel defender roared across the field, brawny legs pumping as he charged. Dana opened her mouth to shout a warning, but the sound fell victim to the screaming crowd. With a growl Gregory plowed into Marshall. Taken off balance as Gregory pushed him out of bounds, Marshall slammed into the chain-link fence, his entire body shuddering from the impact. Then he fell into a crumpled heap.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Marshall.” Dana’s cry rang through the area as she ran toward the fence with Logan following.

  Boos and howls of indignation issued from the stands. Dana knew Gregory would be in mega trouble for adding the extra touch to the flag football. The coward didn’t stick around to see what kind of damage he’d done to Marshall. Instead Gregory turned and ran back to the sideline. Dana knelt by the fence, gripping the links. Marshall lay on the ground on his right side, a cut above his left eyebrow pouring blood. His eyes remained closed and his face pale as chalk.

  Unleashed fear slammed through Dana. “Marshall.”

  Logan’s concerned expression and voice echoed Dana. “Marshall, you okay?”

  At the sound of their voices, Marshall’s eyes popped open, and he struggled onto his elbows. His stunned expression sent deep worry through her.

  She took a shuddering breath. “You’re bleeding. Are you all right?”

  A look between dazed and amused crossed his face. “Never been better.”

  Relief poured through her. If he had his sense of humor he might be okay.

  Before anyone could say a word, Eric rushed up with the coach and several other Red Devils. Eric knelt beside his friend with the medical bag. “Hey, don’t move.” He quickly pressed gauze against the cut on his friend’s forehead. “You hurt anywhere else?”

  Marshall sat all the way up and shook his head, then winced as if the movement hurt. All the while his gaze stayed pinned on Dana, and she took him in like a starving woman. “Great. I feel just great. Remind me to kick Metcalf’s butt when I get the chance.”

  Dana licked her dry lips. “He’s bleeding, Eric.”

  She knew her obvious statement sounded stupid, but she didn’t care. Worry continued to batter her as she saw blood drip onto Marshall’s shirt.

  Eric threw her a reassuring look. “It doesn’t mean it’s serious.”

  Logan pressed her shoulder. “He’ll be fine. He’s tougher than twenty-year-old jerky.”

  Eric began his examination, testing Marshall’s vision and pupils. A quick bandage was taped to the cut on his forehead, and within a minute or two Marshall was able to stand. The crowd cheered as they saw Marshall on his feet. Dana rose at the same time, wishing she could help him.

  Eric looked over at Dana and Logan. “I’m taking him to the hospital.”

  But Marshall shrugged off helping hands. “I’m finishing the game.”

  “Brennan Marshall,” Dana said, her mouth opening and the words spilling before she could stop herself. She gripped the chain-link fence and realized her fingers hurt from the pressure. “Don’t be stupid. What if you have a concussion?”

  Marshall’s stern expression turned almost icy cool. He glanced at Eric. “Do I have a concussion?”

  “You don’t appear—”

  “Okay, then. I’m playing.”

  Eric looked about ready to protest, and so did the coach, but Marshall gave them a solid glare. Eric shrugged. “All right, but if you fall over dead because you’re too damn stubborn, don’t blame me.”

  As Eric and the others walked away, Dana added her own glare to the implacable look on Marshall’s face. “You big, dumb—”

  Logan put his hand on her shoulder again. “She’s right, Marshall. You could be hurt worse—”

  “Save it,” Marshall growled, and started to walk away.

  Dana’s concern, churning in her gut, mixed with piss and vinegar. “Why you arrogant, unfeeling…” She sputtered for words. “You…you…”

  Marshall spun around and marched back to her. Logan must have realized his presence added fuel to the conflagration, so he stepped several yards away. Marshall’s continued hard-ass look puzzled Dana down to the roots. When he reached the fence, she kept her grip on the metal, using it like a lifeline.

  “I’m playing,” he said with deadly soft assurance.

  Unexpected tears welled in her eyes, and she blinked them back with determination. “You don’t care about anyone but yourself.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Your friends are worried about you and you want to march right out there and maybe drop over minutes or hours later because you’re too freaking stubborn to admit when you’re defeated.” Releasing her death grip on the fence, she started to turn away. Tears escaped and she brushed at them, hoping he wouldn’t see them. She turned back a half step. “Fine. Go ahead and see if I care.”

  Taking a shuddering breath, she left the area without Logan, heading toward the food stand at a trot. Good deal, Dana. You’ve acted like an idiot in more ways than one. First you show that you give a damn about him, then you cry. He’ll get the idea that you’ve got a thing for him. She couldn’t, wouldn’t have that.

  Marshall felt pole-axed. Not by the brutal kiss of the chain-link fence, but by the look in Dana’s eyes as she marched away. Logan appeared pissed. It had been a long time since Logan had speared him with that contemptuous an expression. Realization came two-fold. His head felt like cottage cheese and in the morning his body would ache like crazy.

  Something else reared up and bit him in the butt. He’d seen more than anger in Dana’s eyes. He’d seen tears.

  Tears of worry? No way, he must have been mistaken.

  Logan approached the fence as Marshall watched Dana march away. “I guess you really did get the sense knocked out of you, Marshall. I’ve never seen you act so stupid in all my life.”

  With that admonition, his friend followed Dana toward the food stand.

  Stupid all right. Ignorant as a mule with a lobotomy. He’d let Dana distract him when he noticed Logan striding along with her, his arm looped about her shoulders. Unreasonable, blazing jealousy had rocked him enough to slow him down. Gregory had taken advantage and slammed into him. An illegal slam, but a kick-butt maneuver that had taken him out of commission and prevented a touchdown for the Devils. He shook his head and regretted the movement as a dull ache penetrated his skull. With one last glance at Dana and Logan, he headed back to the gaggle of people at the bench. Jenny had stayed in the background when everyone else had run to his aid. With the way she’d hung all over him since the game started, he’d been glad she’d stayed back.

  Eric came up to him as play resumed. “You all right?”

  Marshall shook his head. “Nope.”

  “What’s wrong? Do you feel dizzy or sick?”

  Marshall crammed his hand through his hair. “No. I’m just mad as hell. You’re right.” With that he started toward the ambulance. “I need my head examined.”

  Eric strode alongside him as Jenny appeared from the side. The pesky woman grabbed Marshall’s arm and almost brought him to a halt. “Oh, Marshall, that’s going to make a scar.”

  Marshall wondered if she liked the idea of a scar on a man, or hated the concept. Either way, he decided to say nothing. When he gave her a bland look and kept going, she pouted and released him. As he remembered the way Dana had accepted Logan’s arm around her, Marshall realized he didn’t want to see another man holding Dana. Dangerous thoughts, man. Very dangerous.

  He yanked his rampant feelings back into a safe place. So what if Logan and Dana had a thing for each other. Dana’s heart would be broken when Logan went back to Atlanta, but he couldn’t
make that his concern.

  An examination at the hospital showed Marshall didn’t have a concussion, so Eric released him. Marshall ached in several places—bruises had popped up as time went forward. Most of the time he kept stone faced and displeased. When a nurse came in the cubicle and announced that the Red Devils had won by a touchdown, both men shook hands and clapped each other on the back. She then told them Gregory hadn’t repented, even when the referees had slapped him with a penalty and refused to let him play for the rest of the game.

  “Serves him right,” Eric said. “Bastard had no right to hit you like that.”

  Marshall grunted. “If I hadn’t been distracted, it wouldn’t have mattered. I almost outran him.”

  “Oh, come on, you may be a fast runner, but he’d have caught you anyway.”

  Marshall didn’t know whether to feel pleased at Eric’s assessment, or hacked off. “Thanks. I think.”

  The nurse smiled and shook her head, muttering something about men as she left.

  “Get outta here,” Eric said as Marshall slipped off the examination table. “If you suffer any strange symptoms, get back here immediately or call an ambulance.”

  Marshall smiled and saluted. “You got it. I have work to do tonight, though.”

  “What?”

  “A stakeout at Lucille’s house.”

  Eric followed him into the hall. “You sure you’ll be welcome there?”

  Marshall frowned. “Yeah, why not?”

  Turning back, Marshall waited for his friend to speak. He’d seen Eric look this uncomfortable before, but didn’t understand why he’d look that way now.

  “It’s none of my business, but I think you owe Dana an apology.”

  “What for?”

  Eric sighed. “Think about it. The answer will come to you.”

  Marshall thought about it all the way home. Could those have really been tears he’d seen swimming in Dana’s eyes? He marveled that she might have worried about him that much. He couldn’t remember anyone other than his mother caring about him that way. Yeah, Eric and the guys in the sheriff’s department cared about him like good friends would. But a woman, no.

  His ex-wife Helen had never looked at him with that dewy-eyed terror that said she feared for him in the line of duty. When a stray bullet from a hunter’s rifle had taken skin off the top of his right shoulder, she’d barely acknowledged concern.

  In contrast he visualized Dana crouching next to the chain-link fence as he’d opened his eyes. Metcalf had barreled into him so hard his insides had rattled, and for a full half minute he couldn’t capture a breath. When he’d seen Dana’s wide eyes, he didn’t know if her stark worry had been real. Instead he’d let his jealousy rule his actions. Instead I acted like an idiot and a jackass.

  Back home he took a shower, made a sandwich for dinner, and recruited his courage. He dialed Lucille’s house.

  Lucille answered after three rings. “Well, I’ll be. How are you doing? I was about ready to call and see if your bell had stopped ringing.”

  He chuckled. “I’m okay. Not even a headache anymore. Eric pronounced me alive and well.”

  Lucille’s sigh came heavy over the phone. “Dana will be so pleased to hear that.”

  He made a noise that sounded halfway between a grunt and a laugh. He eased his butt into a kitchen chair. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”

  “By the way, what did you say to that girl? She had a look of disappointment on her for the rest of the game. After you climbed into that ambulance, she looked away and didn’t say much until after we’d gone home. Then she tried this cheerful act. She’s as peppy as a teenager. I don’t believe it for a minute.”

  Marshall put his hand up in defense, though he knew she couldn’t see him. “I think it’s what I didn’t say to her. Look, can I talk to her?”

  “I don’t suppose you’ll still be coming over tonight?”

  “Actually, it’s still on…as long as Dana will have me there.”

  Aunt Lucille paused before heaving another dramatic sigh. “Well, you’ll have to ask her. Just a moment.”

  He knew Lucille had repeated his words back to him on purpose. He put his elbow on the table and sat in the semi-darkness as night spilled into the room. If he wanted to catch so-called ghosts, he’d keep his resolve to hang out in the basement with Dana.

  “Hello?” Dana’s soft, level voice made heat stir low in his midsection.

  “Hey.” It was all he could get past the roughness in his throat.

  “Marshall? Aunt Lucille didn’t tell me it was you.” Her voice sounded somewhat accusatory.

  “If you’d known would you have talked to me?”

  “Probably not.” The reply came sharp and certain.

  Okay. I deserved that. “Look, Dana—”

  “I’ll understand if you have to cancel tonight.”

  Her interruption made him sting with rebuttal. “I’m not canceling. I’ll be there at eight o’clock.”

  “What…what about your head injury?”

  “Eric sent me home. I’m fine.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. On another topic, where are Neal and Gregory? Wallowing in their defeated dreams?”

  She chuckled, and the sound gave him hope. “Apparently. They said something about heading to a party for all the beleaguered Angels.”

  Marshall knew the one. “Better them than me. I’ll see you later.”

  He hung up before she could think of a reason to refuse him.

  Dana’s nerves pinged like rats racing in a maze, trained to perform a stress test. She rushed about the basement, cleaning. She didn’t know why she cared what the place looked like. As Lucille had pointed out before she left for her meeting, “the place is so clean you could lick the floor”. Dana looked at the thick gray carpet and thought better of the idea.

  She’d had the rest of the day after the game to contemplate her feelings. And she didn’t like them one bit. Embarrassment smothered her. She’d cried because of the big doofus, and she’d hated the confused, worried, unmanageable feelings she’d allowed to invade her space. She’d shown more than one person today that she cared a lot about Brennan Marshall. Aunt Lucille and Kerrie had questioned her mood the rest of the game, but she’d brushed off their queries. Unhappy with being grumpy, she couldn’t seem to shake it. If she could have gotten her hands on Gregory and wrung his thick neck she would have.

  “You should have let me talk to Gregory,” Dana had said. “I would have kicked his balls from here to eternity.”

  Aunt Lucille had grinned. “No doubt, my dear. That’s why I didn’t let you talk to him. You’ll need all your energy for tonight.”

  Her aunt’s crafty smile had made Dana curious. “Oh?”

  “For ghost hunting, my dear. Ghost hunting. From what I’ve heard it can be an exhausting business.”

  Dana couldn’t quite tell if her aunt referred more to the beasties that rattled the bed, or if Marshall’s presence would wear her out.

  Attempting to write hadn’t calmed her soul. She’d sat on the hammock, lolling in the fading sunlight, absorbing nature and trying to leave butterfly stomach behind. When words wouldn’t come, she’d gone into the house to change into a warmer top—a burgundy waffle knit Henley tunic. Jeans and sandals would have to do. Not like she was going on a date.

  When she’d found herself primping in front of the bathroom mirror for the tenth time, checking what little makeup she wore, and applying another coat of clear lip-gloss, she’d groaned in disgust.

  She sank onto the sectional couch, stared into the fireplace and fiddled with her father’s ring. Today the weight of the jewelry hung heavy about her neck. Perhaps she’d put it away.

  “Well, Dad, what would you advise? Run? Hide?”

  She waited in the quiet, knowing she wouldn’t receive an answer. One thing her dad had always done for her. He’d let her make mistakes and as a result she’d grown up fast. Sure, she’d made some big ’uns but no
more than the average person. So why did she feel like running to Daddy now? But Dad couldn’t be here, hadn’t been here for so long.

  She glanced at the long bar, unable to see the heart-shaped bed from this angle. Did Marshall honestly believe the bed would make noise tonight? If it did, it would be the oddest occurrence in the annals of paranormal phenomena. She’d placed a tape recorder on the bar in hopes it would pick something up when and if the bed began to make noises.

  When the doorbell rang, Dana knew the one man who could drive her crazy had arrived. She scampered up the stairs. Once she reached the front door she looked through the side curtain and saw Marshall’s vehicle. Nervous flutters took up residence in her stomach. Inhaling a fortifying breath, she opened the door.

  Marshall stood with his hands behind his back. His expression went from blank to a warm grin. The fluttering in her stomach accelerated and joined with her heart in a mad dash to see who could go faster. Calm down. So what if he looks better than a hot chocolate sundae with sprinkles on top? So what if he’s lost the ‘I don’t give a crap look’ and replaced it with come hither sensuality? His dark hair, swept back in waves, and the bandage on his forehead made for a rakish picture. He’d topped it off with a black cowboy hat. The whole get up made him look like a rustic, a man ready for the range or to croon a country-western melody. A few seconds passed before she realized she stood like a dunce, staring into his heart-stopping eyes.

  “Hey,” he said a little gruffly. His hands came into view and he held out a single red and white carnation wrapped in green florist paper.

  Her breath left her as she reached for the flower. “Oh. Wow. Um…thank you.” Feeling dry mouthed and awkward, she moved back from the door. “Please come in.”

  Superb. You sound like a nervous schoolgirl on a first date.

  When he slipped through the door and closed it behind him, she said, “I love carnations.” Then something perverse sprang to life and she had to know more. “What’s the occasion?”