His work and the separate living arrangements from Cora during the repairs on the jailhouse meant they’d only seen each other in passing. While he’d visited his niece twice, Cora had been sleeping both times. He hadn’t lingered. They were both painfully aware of the watchful eyes of others. Neither wanted to stir up anymore gossip.
Jo touched the bandage on her cheek. Gracious, the man just kept getting better looking. Each time he was near, she found herself wanting to touch him, brush her hand against his. When they were apart, her thoughts strayed to the dimple in his left cheek that appeared when he smiled. He was a part of her day now, a part of her worries.
And now the two of them had a problem.
Garrett paused before her, his gaze intense. “What’s wrong?”
Jo tilted back her head but couldn’t get a clear look at his eyes since they were shaded by the brim of his hat. “It’s Cora. I’m worried.” She glanced around the boardwalk. There weren’t many people stirring yet, but it only took one person to spread a rumor.
They’d caused enough talk already. “Let’s go back to the boardinghouse.”
Jo led him into the familiar boardinghouse parlor, gestured toward the pink-chintz chairs before the hearth and sat down across from him. Her ma had volunteered to sit with Cora while she and Garrett discussed her recovery. Jo’s memory drifted to the last time they’d sat across from each other here. When they’d kissed.
The marshal doffed his hat. “Cora has been awfully quiet, but the doc says she’s not hurt.”
“Not physically, no.” Jo paused and carefully measured her next words. “At first I thought she was just tired and I let her sleep as much as she wanted. My ma came by, and well, a lot has happened.”
At her words, Garrett shifted in his chair and tugged on his collar as though it was strangling him. “I forgot to tell you, I talked with your pa.”
“Oh, dear.” Jo almost wished she’d witnessed the encounter. “You don’t appear any the worse for wear. I guess that’s a good sign.”
The marshal chuckled. “He was looking out for his daughter. I’d expect no less.”
“That’s Pa for you.” She braced the heels of her hands against her knees and locked her elbows. “I don’t exactly know how to say this, but Cora has barely spoken since the fire.”
Garrett narrowed his gaze. “Are you certain? Maybe her throat hurts from the smoke.”
“I’m certain.”
“She’s seen a lot for one so young.”
“I know. And this probably brought back all sorts of memories from the night her folks died. What happened, anyway?”
Garrett rested his elbows on his knees and clutched the brim of his hat with both hands. “I sent for the newspapers, but there wasn’t much information available. The fire started in the kitchen and spread fast. Looked like a faulty stovepipe. Cora’s pa got her outside and went back for Deirdre. They didn’t make it.”
“I can’t imagine what it must have been like for her.”
His expression closed, Garrett pinched the bridge of his nose. “I should have been there for her.”
“We can’t change the past. You did the best you could...” Jo let her voice trail off. She doubted he wanted her comfort. “I guess I shouldn’t lecture you on not feeling guilty. I’m blaming myself, too.” She curled her hands into fists. “When the fire started and the door was stuck, I didn’t think fast enough. I panicked.”
The marshal tipped forward out his chair and knelt before her, then grasped her clenched hands. “It’s not your fault. Don’t ever think that.”
Drawn toward his comfort, Jo wrapped her arms around his strong shoulders and buried her face in his neck. “I didn’t know what to do,” she spoke, her voice muffled against his starched shirt.
Garrett kneaded her tense muscles, rubbing his thumb in circles. “It’s not your fault. We’ll talk with the doc about Cora. He might have an idea.”
He hadn’t shaved, and the day’s growth of beard along his jaw abraded her cheek. His warm breath caressed her ear with each word.
Her thoughts scattered. “I didn’t even think of the doc. I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you. It’s been an exhausting forty-eight hours. Your body needs time to heal.”
Jo relaxed into the luxury of his comforting embrace. The marshal was solid and sure, and it felt good to rest her head on his capable shoulder. Her tightly cinched emotions eased for a moment. Despite her various aches and pains and a throat raw from smoke, a curious serenity possessed her. She angled her head to one side and rested her chin deeper in the hollow of Garrett’s neck.
The floor creaked. Jo glanced up and caught sight of Agnes in the arched doorway. The landlady held her tea tray with its red-rose enameled pot and cups. Her gaze slid over their embrace and she puffed a breath, fluttering the gray corkscrew curls resting on her forehead. With a mutter, she spun around and retreated.
Jo and Garrett sprang apart. Jo pressed one hand against her cheek, capturing the comfort of Garrett’s touch. Gathering her wits about her, she turned and found her ma descending the stairs.
Edith twisted a lace handkerchief in her hands. “It’s no use. She’s awake, but she hasn’t said a word.”
Jo and Garrett exchanged a worried glance.
Edith paused on the landing, one hand holding the banister. “Maybe you two should talk with her, together. Show her that she’s safe now.”
Garrett stood and held out his hand for Jo. “Your ma is right. I think it’s best if we go as a pair.”
Numb with worry, Jo pushed off from her chair and stood.
Garrett touched her sleeve. “No sad faces. This isn’t a funeral, after all.”
Jo mustered a weak smile.
“That will have to do.”
Together they ascended the stairs, and Garrett pressed open the door. Cora perched on the edge of the bed clutching her rag doll, her blond curls a shiny halo around her solemn face. They eased into the room, and Garrett and Jo settled on either side. Jo took in her surroundings. What must Garrett think of her small room? There were no samplers or chintz pillows.
Just the necessities.
“Cora,” Jo began, “I hear you don’t feel like talking.”
The little girl’s enormous cornflower-blue eyes blinked slowly as she shook her head from side to side.
“That’s okay. You can talk when you feel like it.” Jo offered a hesitant smile. “Uncle Garrett and I have a surprise for you. We’re getting married. To each other.”
Garrett made a strangled sound at her odd declaration.
A wide grin spread across Cora’s face.
Encouraged, Jo continued, “Would you like that?”
The little girl nodded.
“Do you want a new dress for the wedding?”
Another hesitant nod.
“I understand you’re scared, but don’t forget how much we love you. When you’re ready to talk, your uncle and I will be here, okay? Just remember, you’re safe with us.”
A small hand reached out and touched Jo’s knee.
Garrett covered the tiny fingers and Jo felt his gentle pressure.
“I’ll tell you a secret,” he spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. “I’m afraid of snakes. When I saw Jo holding that ten-foot-long monster, I nearly fainted. Why, it was as big around as my leg.”
Cora giggled.
“And the fangs.” Garrett crooked two fingers like a hook in front of his upper lip. “They could put out a man’s eye. But while all the boys were shaking in their boots, you braved that monster like it was a tiny little worm.”
Jo couldn’t tear her gaze away from the marshal’s face. His voice wrapped around her like an afghan. The security of his hand felt comforting and right. They
might have gone about it the wrong way, but marrying Garrett was the right thing to do. The three of them together supported each other, giving each other strength.
As long as they were focused on their family, only good could come from their union. Garrett had an affinity for children that surprised her. Cora’s expression had lightened beneath his genuine confession.
While Cora still hadn’t spoken, Jo was encouraged. “Tomorrow we’ll spend the day together. Just the three of us.”
Garrett snapped his fingers. “I almost forgot. I bought you something.”
He reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a wrapped package.
Cora’s eyes lit up. “For me?”
“Of course for you.”
She ripped open the package and pulled out a yellow lace bonnet. “It’s just like the one at the store!”
Jo smiled at his thoughtfulness.
Cora rubbed the lace edge of the bonnet between her fingers. “Will we still have to live over the jail?”
Jo and Garrett exchanged a glance over her head. Jo grasped for an answer. “I don’t know where we’ll live. I guess we haven’t thought much about that yet, have we?”
Garrett considered each of them in turn. “There’s the Miller place on the edge of town. It’s big. Too big for the three of us, really. But it’ll do in a pinch. We haven’t much other choice.”
A tinge of apprehension skipped down her spine. Her impending marriage had been at the forefront of her mind, but she hadn’t considered their living arrangements. Of course, they’d need a new place. Garrett couldn’t stay at the boardinghouse, and the jail was no place for a family. Despite the obvious conclusion, she’d imagined them all staying put.
Living with Garrett.
Jo mentally shrugged. It would be like living at the farm again, tripping over her brothers’ discarded shoes and fighting over whose turn it was to fetch the water.
Garrett flashed an encouraging smile, and her skin tingled with nerves. This was what her ma had tried to warn her about. She wasn’t just becoming a mother to Cora, she was becoming Garrett’s wife.
Only her living arrangements would change. Her life needn’t change with their marriage.
* * *
Three days later, Garrett walked Jo and Cora to the telegraph office. He would have preferred they rest another few days, but both of them were chafing at the confinement. Jo craved a return to her regular routine, and Cora’s boundless energy had returned tenfold.
They’d promised him a shortened workday and he’d accepted the compromise. An overwhelming list of tasks loomed ahead of him.
He tightened his grip on the package he held, the leather hat he’d bought for Jo. He’d thought of giving it to her a dozen times, but the moment had never been quite right. What if she didn’t like the gift? Garrett blew out a hard breath. Maybe he’d find the courage tomorrow.
Upon reaching the jailhouse, he paused. The door hung open. Cautiously stepping inside, his eyebrows lifted at the sight of six McCoys lined up before the wall by height—Caleb, David, Abraham, Michael and Maxwell, with Ely rounding out the group.
He couldn’t tell from their impassive expressions whether or not this was a friendly visit.
Garrett widened his stance and propped his hands on his hips. “What brings you folks around this early?”
Perhaps Mr. McCoy hadn’t been as accepting of the situation as Garrett had supposed.
Ely stepped forward. “This place isn’t livable. David gave us a list of the repairs. The office will need to be taken down to the studs and rebuilt before it’s fit for work. We’ll get your stuff out and finish boarding up the windows this afternoon. You know where you’re staying in the meantime?”
“I thought I’d take a look at the old Miller place.”
“Good choice. The boys and I will get started on the jail.”
“I appreciate the help, but I can manage on my own.”
“We’re family now,” Ely replied matter-of-factly, as though that explained everything.
Garrett wasn’t adept at family life, and the McCoys would find that out soon enough. He swiped a hand across his forehead. “I’d be much obliged for the assistance.”
“You’re coming to dinner on Sunday, right?” Ely inquired in a voice that indicated an order rather than a question.
Usually Garrett spent his day off alone, but it sounded as if the McCoys had a ritual, and he didn’t want Jo disappointed. “I’ll be there.”
“Good.”
Uncomfortable with all the attention, Garrett glanced around. “I’ll box up what’s left upstairs, then I’ll visit the lawyer’s office about the deed.”
David braced a hand against the soot-darkened wall. “I’d rather be busting down walls than sitting in a lawyer’s office anyday.”
Garrett grunted. “You and me both.”
He’d been spending the majority of time in the law offices these days. Unsure what else to say, Garrett stood in silence while the McCoys filed past him. As each of them crossed his path, they chucked him on the arm. By the time it was Maxwell’s turn, Garrett figured his arm was black and blue. The McCoys didn’t seem to know their own strength.
The littlest McCoy stared up at him. “Are you going to be my new brother?”
“Um, yes.”
Garrett hadn’t considered the full significance of his decision. He wasn’t just marrying Jo, he was marrying into her family. The feeling was odd, but not entirely unpleasant. The McCoys had seemingly accepted him without question.
Maxwell tugged a slingshot from his back pocket and extended his hand. “I made this. For you.”
Garrett accepted the gift and made a point of studying the rudimentary craftsmanship. “This is a fine piece. I’m proud to have it.”
“Jo is the best shot, but I’ve been practicing.”
“That’s good.”
“I have a target range behind the barn.”
“Um, that’s nice.”
“You can practice with me.”
Garrett figured shooting with Max was better than being shot at by Max. “It’s a deal.”
The boy trailed behind his family and sketched a wave over his shoulder. Pondering the unexpected encounter, Garrett replaced his hat and adjusted the brim. He tested the stairs and gripped the banister, his hand coming away darkened with soot. He unfurled his bandanna and rubbed the black from his palm before continuing upstairs.
A fine layer of powdery gray dust had settled on every surface, and the pungent smell of burnt wood stung his nostrils. Even after a good cleaning and repainting, Garrett figured they’d be fighting a lingering stench.
They’d removed Cora’s belongings first, washing and airing everything. The lingering scent of fire brought back too many disturbing memories. With the McCoys’ help, he’d erase the evidence of the fire in no time.
They’d put their trust in him. Would they be as welcoming if they knew his past? Garrett shook his head. He’d kept his secrets this long—there was no reason he couldn’t keep them forever.
Chapter Fifteen
Two weeks later, Jo stood on a dais in the backroom of the mercantile wearing a perfectly ridiculous concoction of heavy ivory satin. The lace collar choked her throat and stretched so it tickled her earlobes.
“Stand still!” Mrs. Hankins ordered, the seamstress’s words muffled around a mouthful of pins. “I can’t properly measure the hem if you don’t stop wiggling.” The aggravated woman sat back on her heels. “Are these the shoes you’ll wear?”
“Yes,” Jo replied curtly.
Her ma clutched her chest. “While I’m afraid of the answer, I have to ask. What are you wearing?”
Jo hiked her skirts. “The usual.”
“Oh, good gracious.” Edith slapped one hand over her mout
h. “You’re wearing a drover’s boot.”
“Nope.” Jo bent at the waist. “It’s called a cowboy boot. Mr. Stuart says they’re all the rage in Texas. Check out the stitching on the side.” She tipped her stacked heel and admired the elaborate craftsmanship.
“I don’t care what you call it. That shoe is positively hideous. You cannot wear those.”
“No one will see them.”
“I’ll know you’re wearing work boots during the ceremony. That is absolutely unacceptable.”
“If no one can see them, why does it matter?”
“It matters.”
Jo glowered. “That doesn’t make any sense!”
Cora shifted in her perch on a chair in the corner and Jo immediately regretted her outburst. Good heavens, she was behaving like a child and frightening Cora in the process. Jo straightened and turned toward the little girl.
“It’s all right,” she called with a reassuring smile. “We’re just agreeing on a dress.” Pressing down a mountain of itchy ruffles with one hand, Jo grimaced. “What do you think of this one?”
Cora wrinkled her nose and shook her head.
Jo tossed a withering glare over one shoulder. “See, Ma? I told you I looked ridiculous.”
“That’s not the only dress in town.” Edith raised her eyebrows. “If this wasn’t such a rush, if we had more time, I could sew something nice for you.”
“You’re the one who insisted on setting a date for the wedding.”
“And you’re the one who’s been avoiding me.”
“I don’t like to dress shop.”
“Hiding from the task isn’t going to change anything.”
“Either way, I need a break from all this girl stuff.” Jo scurried behind the screen. As she yanked the suffocating yards of satin and lace over her head, the bell above the mercantile door chimed.
Footsteps sounded and Mary Louise called out, “Marshal Cain is here. He wants to know if he can talk with you.”
Jo’s heart lodged in her throat. She hadn’t seen him in days, and it felt like an eternity. “Be right out.”
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