The Marshal's Ready-Made Family

by Sherri Shackelford

  It was wrong, it was dangerous, and she couldn’t help herself.

  Her reluctant fiancé sat back on his heels. “Sounds like a good compromise to me.”

  Though they didn’t touch, he remained only a breath away. Warmth rushed through her veins, and her pulse quickened. The memory of their last kiss sent a shiver down her spine. She recalled the feel of his shoulders, the corded muscles against her fingertips.

  Cora danced on the balls of her feet. “Can I pick the kitten? Please?”

  Garrett rubbed his chin. “I suppose.”

  The little girl glanced around the tiny space with its single bank of whitewashed cupboards. “What’s this room?”

  “A nursery,” Garrett replied.

  Jo’s legs quaked. If this were a real marriage, she’d have added curtains, and her mother would have passed on the hand-carved bassinet from her grandmother.

  The realization sank through her body like a stone, dragging down her spirits. Emotions flickered across Garrett’s face, and she wondered if he felt the same loss, the same disappointment.

  Suddenly chilled, she wrapped her arms around her body. “This would make a better playroom for you than a nursery.”

  Garrett flinched and turned away.

  Cora stepped between them, jerking Jo’s thoughts back to the present.

  “Which room is mine?” the little girl asked.

  “You can pick,” Garrett replied, his voice hoarse. “I guess Jo gets the biggest room.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Jo ran her finger along the window sash. There’d be no need for curtains at all, not for a playroom. “You can have the larger room.”

  “I couldn’t.”

  “Fine then.” She turned, but couldn’t bring herself to look him in the face. “I’ll take the room at the head of the stairs.”

  Anything to end this painful conversation.

  “How come you’re not sharing?” Cora asked. “My mommy and daddy shared a room.”

  Jo sputtered, and Garrett coughed.

  “Well.” She cringed. “There are so many rooms, there’s no need for any of us to share.”

  Jo snatched the bandanna from her head and rubbed the perspiration from the back of her neck. “You can pick the kitten. We can go next weekend.”

  “Today.” Garrett spoke a notch too loudly. “We could leave right now.”

  Jo giggled at the absurdity of it all. The tension in the room eased at her outburst, and she and Garrett backed away from each other, putting space between them. Separating them from the swirl of emotions permeating the cramped room.

  Garrett caught her amused expression, and a smile spread across his face. “Maybe it’s time for a break.”

  “That’s a good idea.”

  Jo remained in the room long after they’d both returned downstairs. There was no going back now. Even if she refused the marriage, where did that leave her? Back to her room at the boardinghouse, back to her job each morning, back to Sunday dinners at home.

  The boys would bring home their new brides, and soon the babies would follow.

  A baby.

  It was like a revelation, this sudden driving need. Worse yet, it had appeared out of the thin blue sky with no warning. She’d long ago given up the thought of a family of her own. Standing with Garrett, imagining the nursery decorated as it was intended, she’d been rocked with a need stronger than anything she’d ever known.

  Alone, her future was certain. Married, there was always a glimmer of hope. Perhaps through the years he’d come to see her as more than a tomboy. More than a companion.

  She’d thought marrying someone out of friendship was the easy solution.

  Turned out there were no shortcuts in life.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Stunned, Jo focused on her image in the looking glass. “Is that really me?”

  Beatrice fluffed her veil and let the lace settle around her shoulders like a gossamer mantle. “You’re lovely.”

  A gasp sounded from the far side of the room and Jo turned. Her mother stood in the doorway, one hand clutching Cora’s and the other covering her mouth.

  “Oh, my goodness,” Edith said, her voice watery with emotion. “How? When?”

  Jo pleated her ivory skirts with two fingers. “This is the dress Elizabeth left for me. Beatrice took the lace off the collar and we left the pin tucks.”

  “But what about the dress from the mercantile?” Her ma took a hesitant step forward, her arm outstretched. “And your hair.”

  “Beatrice arranged it for me this morning.” Jo touched the elaborate knot at the base of her neck. “How do I look?”

  “Lovely. Absolutely lovely.”

  For once, Edith McCoy didn’t look pressed and polished. Her ma had obviously dressed quickly that morning and a loose end of her shirttail hung limply beneath the bodice of her best Sunday dress. Her hair had been whipped into a serviceable braid and wrapped around her head, but one loose end trailed down her shoulder. She appeared more frazzled than Jo could ever recall seeing her.

  “Ma, why don’t you have a seat.” Jo hooked her arm beneath the dazed woman’s elbow. “You were up all night with Mrs. Hendrick’s newborn. Didn’t the doc’s wife come by? She said she was going to help when the time came.”

  “She was dear,” Edith replied with a distracted nod. “She trained as a nurse back East, you know.”

  “Pa said everything went all right.”

  “I couldn’t leave the poor thing alone. Her husband had his hands full with the two little ones and she was frightened something would happen to the new baby. She’s still terrified since the last one was stillborn.”

  “That’s why we let you sleep.” Jo pressed her finger against a poking hairpin near her ear.

  Beatrice slapped away her hand. “You’ve got ten more minutes. Stop wiggling.”

  “But it hurts.”

  With an air of long suffering, Beatrice adjusted the pin. “That better?”

  “Yes.” Jo scratched at the sore spot. “Beauty is painful.”

  “And your veil,” her ma added breathlessly. “Is that your grandmother’s veil?”

  “Don’t you remember? You sent it over yesterday.”

  “I know, but I thought...I thought I’d help you get ready.” A fine sheen of tears formed in her ma’s eyes.

  Unsure of the cause of Edith’s distress, Jo awkwardly patted her hand. “I did just fine on my own.”

  Her ma choked out a sob.

  “Uh...” Jo hesitated. Everything she said made the situation worse.

  Beatrice clucked and steered the distressed woman before the looking glass. “You look a bit windblown from the ride. Why don’t I fix your braid and give those cheeks a pinch of color.”

  “My cake didn’t turn out,” her ma moaned as Beatrice fussed around her, smoothing her hair and brushing the dust from her jacket. “It’s too hot and the frosting melted. It looks like one of Maxwell’s mud pies.”

  “I’m sure it tastes fine,” Jo chimed in helpfully.

  “And I didn’t fix the lemonade,” Edith continued without pause. “Now we’ll be stuck with Mrs. Stuart’s lemonade and she never puts in enough sugar.”

  “I’ll have the boys sneak in an extra cup.”

  Edith remained limp beneath Beatrice’s ministrations. “I wanted today to be special for you.”

  “It is special.” Jo stood behind her ma and met her gaze in the mirror. “Now, stop worrying.”

  Her ma whirled and squeezed Jo until the tiny pearl buttons bit into her back. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  Jo groaned, and her ma loosened her hold and held her at a distance. “You look beautiful. You look just like your grandmother.”

  Jo g
rimaced at the dim memory she held of her paternal grandmother, a squat woman with dark, bushy eyebrows. “I guess I didn’t know Grandma McCoy when she was young.”

  “Not her!” Edith lightly swatted Jo’s shoulder. “My mother. She was quite a beauty in her time. Gracious, the stories they used to tell about her. Your grandfather followed her from England. He said he would have followed her around the world and back again.”

  A pang of emotion fluttered in Jo’s chest. She resolutely tamped it down. This wasn’t a dime novel, this was her life, and she was facing the truth of her situation head-on. They were doing this for Cora, and the sacrifice was well worth any personal doubts. Cora was opening up, smiling and talking. She still didn’t speak of her parents or her loss. They took each good day as a blessing and each painful day as a cobblestone on the path toward healing.

  A gentle knock sounded, and Mary Louise peered in. “Are you ready? Looks like the whole town turned out. They’re getting restless.”

  “I’m ready.” Jo glanced down as Cora lifted a basket for her inspection. “They look like pear blossoms, don’t they?”

  Cora nodded.

  “I love you.” Jo grinned, then knelt and embraced the little girl in a warm hug. “Do you know you get the seat of honor during the wedding? Right between Grandma and Grandpa.”

  The little girl’s cornflower-blue eyes widened, and Edith sniffled. “Come along. We’d best claim our seats.”

  As Beatrice, Cora and her ma hustled from the room, Ely McCoy appeared in the doorway. He wore his finest navy suit, pressed and cleaned for the occasion. He’d even trimmed his mustache and shaved his beard for the occasion. When she’d seen him early that morning, he’d been as bristly as a bear.

  Jo gaped. “You look so...so young! Did you go to the barber?”

  Ely rubbed his hand down his face, dislodging a bit of cloth covering a nick from his close shave. “Couldn’t walk my little girl down the aisle looking like a fur trapper.”

  Tears prickled in Jo’s eyes as her pa pulled her into his comforting embrace.

  He stepped back and held her at arm’s length. “I don’t want to muss you up now. You look as pretty as a princess.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re sure this is what you want?”

  “I’m sure,” Jo lied with newly practiced ease. “More certain than I’ve ever been about anything in my life.”

  Her reply wasn’t the whole truth—there were parts of her future she feared. No one need know of her unease.

  “Because I’ve got the wagon hitched outside.” He jerked his thumb over one shoulder. “We could hightail it outta here.”

  “Pa,” Jo warned. “Garrett Cain is a good man.”

  “I know. But I’m losing my little girl. Give your old man a chance to hang on a little longer.”

  “You’ll never lose me, Pa.”

  “I will lose a part of you, but that’s how it’s meant to be. You grow and go your own way. It doesn’t mean it’s easy, though. I remember the first time I held you in my arms. You fit right in my hand.” He held out his arm, palm up, as though reliving the memory. “I still you see you that way.”

  Jo pressed a hand against her quivering stomach. “I’m all grown up now.”

  “I want you to know what a blessing you’ve been in my life. You’re the spring in my step each morning. I know you and Garrett will make a fine family together. Despite my teasing, I have a good feeling about you two. A real good feeling.”

  “I don’t think Ma is too happy. She hasn’t said anything outright, but whenever the subject comes up, she pinches her lips together and inhales through her nose.”

  “It’s never good for any of us when your mother gets to looking like she ate a lemon. I do know one thing—your ma wants what’s best for you.”

  “This is what’s best for me.”

  “Then you’ll have to show her, won’t you? She’ll come around.”

  They linked elbows, and her pa covered her hand with his and gave her fingers a squeeze. “You know in your heart if what you’re doing is right.”

  “I know, Pa.” If she said the words enough, maybe they’d come true. “I know for certain.”

  Cora needed her, and Garrett needed them both.

  Ely searched her face. Appearing satisfied with what he saw, he asked, “Did you get the present I left you?”

  Jo lifted the hem of her skirts, revealing her brand-new cowboy boots of butterscotch-colored leather with cream floral stitching. “They’re perfect.”

  “I had ʼem sent down on the train from Wichita special.”

  “Aren’t you afraid of what Ma’s going to do when she finds out?”

  “Why should I be?” Her pa toed open the door. “She picked them out herself.”

  * * *

  Garrett paced a tight circle in the tiny church vestibule, fidgeting with the red rose in his lapel. Had it only been a few short weeks since he'd sat before the reverend, absorbing the news of Deirdre’s death?

  Little Maxwell tugged on his pant leg. “Do you know why bees buzz?”

  “Uh, no.”

  “Because they can’t whistle.”

  Garrett chuckled. “That’s a good one.”

  The little guy had attached himself to Garrett earlier in the day and didn’t show any signs of disappearing. “Shouldn’t you be with your family?”

  “Nah. I’m okay with you. Caleb said if you were nervous I should tell you jokes. Are you nervous?”

  “A little bit.”

  “How come?”

  “Because I want to do the right thing, and I’m not certain what that is anymore.”

  Garrett considered Flynn’s advice. He should have told Jo the truth. He’d started telling her a thousand times and then stopped himself short. He craved her respect. She liked him, even trusted him. Exposing his past risked their untried friendship. Was he betraying Jo for his own peace of mind?

  “I have another joke,” Maxwell announced.

  Garrett nodded. “I’m listening.”

  “How do you get a rooster to stop crowing on Sunday?”

  “I dunno, how?”

  “Eat him on Saturday.”

  Garrett chuckled again. “That’s a good one, too.”

  “My ma says that she hopes Jo knows what’s she’s doing, or you two are going to be miserable.”

  “Your ma’s right.” Garrett thought of the one thing that had given him courage over the past weeks. “Have you ever known a time when Jo didn’t know her own mind?”

  The littlest McCoy screwed up his face in concentration. “Nope.”

  “Me neither.”

  “Can I come play with Cora when you and Jo are married?”

  “Certainly.”

  A knot of townsfolk filed through the vestibule. Ely McCoy approached the opposite door, and Garrett spun around. He didn’t want to see JoBeth before the ceremony. Not that he counted himself a superstitious man, but he wanted to wait.

  “Do you have a ring?” Maxwell asked.

  “Yep.” Garrett fished in his vest pocket and revealed a circlet of flat ruby stones set in gold. “What do you think? It’s been in my family for generations.”

  Deirdre had insisted he keep the ring, and he was glad for once he’d listened.

  “Wow.” The young boy’s eyes widened. “That’s fancy.”

  Garrett ruffled Maxwell’s dark hair, then turned at the press of a hand against his shoulder.

  Reverend Miller motioned. “It’s time.”

  Sucking in a deep breath, Garrett nodded. “Max, I reckon we’re the two best-looking fellows in Cimarron Springs.”

  “I reckon we are.”

  The two joined hands and set off down the aisle. Garrett kept his attentio
n focused on the altar. The church was packed with townspeople, and he felt their curious gazes following his progress. Voices rippled like waves with each of his steps.

  Doubts crowded his thoughts. If his past was a lie, did he deserve a better future? As his steps slowed, he caught sight of the back of Cora’s head, her coronet of flowers and the yellow ribbons trailing down her back. He shook his head, clearing the cobwebs. Cora deserved the best he could offer. Jo was a gift to each of them. He’d do right by her.

  Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass window and cast angled rainbow patterns over the wooden floor. He’d pretend his past was the blank slate he’d created in his mind. The doubts would return; they’d worm their way into his heart and soul once more, but for now he held them at bay.

  For today, he’d pretend nothing chained his soul.

  He caught sight of Jo at the end of the aisle, and his heart tripped. She glided toward him, hand in hand with her father, an aged lace veil draped over her thick, dark hair. From beneath the fluttering edge, he caught the elegant curve of her neck. She wore an ivory gown—simple, elegant. His heart ached at the missing braid she usually wore tossed over one shoulder.

  The barest glimpse of the nape of her neck warmed his blood. His gaze swept down the length of her, taking in the graceful sweep of her dress. The bodice had a modest V neck lined with delicate pin tucking, nipped in at an impossibly slim waist. She clutched a posy of wild red roses in her hand.

  Her father flipped her veil over her hair, then kissed the bloom of each cheek. Garrett’s palms dampened, and his mouth went dry.

  She paused before him, and he found himself mesmerized by her rose-colored lips. The sound of someone clearing his throat sent the congregation tittering, and Garrett jerked his gaze away from Jo. Ely McCoy stared at him, one bushy eyebrow raised in censure.

  Garrett flashed an abashed grin. “Sir.”

  Grasping his hand, Ely leaned in and whispered, “You take care of her or you’ll answer to me.”