Garrett nodded. The older man pumped his hand in a bone-crushing grip and took his seat in the first pew with Cora and his wife. The little girl remained solemn, but she appeared brighter than she had since the fire, and Garrett took that as a sign of encouragement.
The rest of the ceremony passed in a blur. The resonant words of the cleric echoed off the timber ceiling in solemn declaration. Garrett repeated his lines on cue and slipped the ring on Jo’s finger when the moment arrived. She glanced at the rubies and back up at him. Garrett held his breath and waited for her reaction. When she smiled her approval, the tension drained from his shoulders. He hadn’t even realized he was nervous until she’d flashed her assent.
The relief remained when Reverend Miller closed his Bible and cleared his throat. “You may now kiss the bride.”
Garrett blinked.
Jo tipped back her head.
The church and all the congregants faded into the background. In that moment, only he and Jo existed. He slipped one hand around her waist, his callused fingers catching on the satin-wrapped buttons at her back. The arm clutching her bouquet lifted, and the scent of wild roses drifted through the air. For the rest of his life, he knew he’d always associate the scent with this moment.
The moment their lips touched, Jo sighed. Her hands crept up his neck, lifting her bouquet as a floral shield against their rapt audience. She clung to him with a fervor that matched his own before they broke apart and stared at each other in breathless silence.
The room erupted into noisy applause, and he and Jo faced the congregation. They trusted him, and he was more determined than ever to keep that trust.
Chapter Nineteen
The next few hours passed in a blur for Jo. Seemed like everyone within a fifty-mile radius of Cimarron Springs had come. Her ma’s cozy wedding had turned into a bustling crowd, and Jo’s feet ached in her new boots. The party had been too large for the confines of the church and spilled into the sunny afternoon.
Checkered cloths covered the tables and children crowded hip to hip along the benches. They eagerly jostled forward, loading their plates with cakes and pies. Abraham emerged from around the corner of the church, a pitcher of lemonade in his hands, the contents sloshing from side to side.
He winked at her. “Sweet enough even for Ma.”
Edith McCoy stood in a clutch of women holding their ribboned bonnets against the afternoon breeze. Once the ceremony had passed, her ma had finally relaxed.
Jo snagged a glass of lemonade and ducked behind the shed. Her solitude was short lived. Tom and his wife circled around the opposite side, their voices raised in harsh, arguing whispers. Jo gulped her lemonade and slipped around the other side. She didn’t want Tom ruining her day with any of his rude comments.
Unaccustomed to being the center of attention, she plastered a stiff smile upon her face and called cheerful greetings in response to the many well-wishers.
Catching sight of her sagging against a doorjamb, Garrett grasped her hand and pulled her away from the crowd.
Jo groaned and patted her face. “My cheeks are going to crack if I smile anymore.”
“Mine, too.”
“Do you think we can sneak out of here?” she muttered. “Cora is staying with my family tonight, remember? Maxwell promised her a slingshot lesson in the morning.”
Garrett rubbed his forehead. “I’ll have two women who can outshoot me in the family now.”
“Then you’d better behave yourself.”
“Come along.” Garrett clasped her hand. “If we cut behind the buildings, we can make it home in no time.”
“It’s a half mile down the road from town.”
“A good stretch of the legs.”
Jo groaned. Her feet ached, but she wanted an escape more than she wanted to rest.
They’d spent the past week painting and cleaning the house, and Jo had delivered her belongings that morning. Working beside Garrett had finally made their impending marriage real. After spending days scrubbing every dusty corner of the house, she’d grown no more accustomed to the idea of living with Garrett.
Together they tiptoed behind the livery, giggling and shushing each other. As they slunk around the corner, Garrett flung his arm around her waist and pressed a finger against his lips. Jo stilled. He cupped one hand against his ear and Jo leaned forward.
She caught the low hum of her brothers’ voices from inside the livery.
She heard David’s voice first.
“Are you sure you saw them leave?” he asked.
“They’re sneaking back home, I know it,” Caleb replied.
“We can throw the marshal in the horse tank.”
“Nah,” Caleb muttered. “This is better.”
“Okay,” David agreed. “I’ve got the lard for the doorknobs and pots and pans.”
Jo gasped, and the marshal pressed a hand over her mouth, then scooted her away from the boysʼ hushed conversation.
“It’s a shivaree!” she exclaimed in a harsh whisper.
“What’s that?”
“A horrible country custom,” Jo declared. “They’ll run through the house making noise and causing pranks.”
“Then let’s not go home.”
“What do you mean?” Torn between duty and propriety, Jo hesitated. “Where will we go?”
Garrett flashed a mischievous smile. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” Jo answered, feeling as addled as when he’d kissed her at the altar.
“Then let’s go for a ride.”
Garrett grasped her hand and tugged her into a dash. Joy rushed through her, and the pain in her feet faded into the background. They rounded the corner of the livery, and Garrett peered in the door. He held a finger to his lips, compelling her to silence, and disappeared inside. A moment later he returned, grasping the reins of his horse.
Jo glanced behind her, relieved her brothers were distracted by their plotting. Garrett leaped onto the horse and held out his arm. She clambered onto the mounting block and perched sidesaddle before him, one knee looped around the saddle horn.
A voice called, and Jo craned her neck. Beatrice chased after them, waving her arms.
“Wait,” she called breathlessly. “Don’t ruin your grandmother’s lace.”
Jo reached up and touched her head. She still wore the heirloom veil. She quickly released the pins and shook off the decoration. “How did you find us?”
Gasping, Beatrice leaned heavily on Jo’s leg and pressed a hand against her side. “I came to warn you. Your brothers are planning a shivaree.”
“We caught them in the livery. They’re getting lard for the doorknobs.” Jo scowled. “And after I spent the whole week cleaning.”
“Don’t you worry. I’ll let your pa know they’re up to something. He’ll keep them in line.”
“You’ll be saving their hides from me.” Jo leaned down and shared an awkward embrace from her high perch. “Thank you for remembering my veil.”
Beatrice sketched another wave and backed away from the prancing horse. Jo heaved a sigh of relief. Between her parents and Beatrice, the boys couldn’t cause too much mischief.
Garrett fiddled with the saddlebag at her knee and pulled out the hat Jo had been eyeing at the mercantile weeks ago. A leather drover’s hat.
“How did you know?” She gaped.
Garrett winked at her. “Can’t a groom give his wife a wedding gift?”
She lifted her gift and felt the supple brown leather.
Garrett reached for the hat, and she pulled it away
“You don’t have to wear it now,” he said. “I didn’t think about your hair.”
Touching the pins poking her tender skull, Jo grimaced. “I think I can let it down now. I’ve suffered enough.”
She loosened the pins and shook her hair free of all Beatrice’s careful ministrations. For a blissful moment she ran her fingers over her sore scalp, groaning with relief. “That’s better.” Jo caught his pained expression. “Oh, dear, I didn’t get you anything. I’m sorry.”
“Yes, you did.”
Jo searched his expression. “What?”
“I’ll tell you later. Now hang on.”
She slapped the hat on her head and smiled. It fit perfect. Not too loose and not too snug.
She sneaked a peek at his relaxed expression. He obviously wasn’t holding a grudge over her oversight. “Let’s go.”
Kicking his horse into a gallop, Garrett let out a holler. Unused to the awkward position, Jo clutched the corded muscle of the arm anchored around her waist.
He was strong and solid. He’d never let her fall.
She clutched her hat with one hand and glanced over her shoulder. “Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.”
As the horse galloped, the wind tugged on her hair like a thousand fingers, ripping loose the carefully created curls at the nape of her neck Beatrice had worked on only hours before. With the wedding done, and the ground rushing by, Jo was herself again.
Garrett kept his right hand looped in the reins, his left arm protectively around her waist. “You okay?”
“Yes,” Jo shouted over the whistling wind. She was more than okay. “I want to holler,” she called.
“Then do it.”
Jo whooped, her voice lost on the breeze. She released one hand and raised her palm to the sky.
The horse’s gait slowed as they rounded a corner out of town, out of sight of any curious eyes that might have seen their escape.
Jo adjusted her hat and glanced around at the familiar surroundings. “Say, we’re going back to the house.”
“Not quite.”
Garrett reined in the horse and cut across the field toward Hackberry Creek. Tall grass brushed at her knees, and Jo tucked her skirts tighter to her body as they crossed into the tree line.
When the underbrush became too impassable for the horse, Garrett halted. “We’ll walk from here.”
Growing more curious by the moment, Jo slid down first, and Garrett followed. He looped the reins around a low-hanging tree branch and fished in his saddlebags.
After a moment he turned and shook out a long duster. “Put this over your dress so you don’t get too dirty.”
He wrapped the enveloping coat around her shoulders, and Jo sank into its warmth. The sun was setting, cooling the evening air. Garrett clasped her hand and led her deeper into the wooded area surrounding the creek. The smell of damp earth teased her nostrils. Her feet sank into the soft earth, and branches tugged at her skirts. It would take a load of elbow grease to remove the stains, but she didn’t mind. She was ready for an adventure, and nothing was going to hold her back.
Garrett halted and pointed toward the towering branches. “I found this when I was walking the property line.”
Jo tilted back her head and shaded her eyes. “It’s a tree house.”
A great pin oak towered above the timberline, and someone had built a crude structure in the sheltering cradle of its branches. Jo circled the enormous trunk, her fingers trailing along the rough bark. “I bet if we held our hands together, we couldn’t circle that trunk.”
“This tree must be fifty years old.”
“Can you imagine? Think what this tree has seen. There wasn’t even a town around here fifty years ago.”
Boards had been nailed into the sturdy trunk and Garrett grasped one. “They’re solid. I climbed up myself two days ago. There’s a break in the trees, and you can see all the way to the road.”
Jo gauged the distance. “Let’s climb up.”
“Are you certain? You’ll ruin your dress.”
“I don’t care.”
His expression remained dubious. “Can you climb in skirts?”
Jo flashed a mischievous grin. “All my life.”
She grasped the bottom rung and hoisted herself up. Her boot caught on her hem and Garrett tugged the material loose. She looped her skirts over one arm and easily climbed the rest of the way. The wood was rough with age, but she barely noticed with her work-roughened hands. A trapdoor had been cut into the floor, and she hoisted herself over the edge.
As Jo studied the tiny house, Garrett clambered inside. Someone had built a perfect little structure, complete with a roof and open-air windows. The enormous trunk burst right through the middle of the floor and the branches stuck out through the center of the shingled roof. Every surface was dusty, and Garrett’s previous footprints showed in the dirt.
He pushed off with a hand on one knee and stood, his back hunched against the low ceiling, then reached for her. “C’mon, I’ll show you the best part.”
Curious, she let him guide her to the opposite edge. A window cut in the side offered a view all the way to the road, and the roof of their new house showed in the distance.
Clouds gathered on the horizon, blocking the setting sun. “Looks like we might get a storm.”
Garrett shrugged out of his coat and laid it over the floor. He helped her down and sat beside her. “We can wait here for a while until your brothers lose interest.”
“Or until the rain comes.” Jo glanced up at the spotty ceiling. “There’s not much shelter.”
Jo shivered, and Garrett wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Are you too cold? We don’t have to stay.”
“No,” Jo protested quickly. She liked it here. She liked being alone for once. Since Cora’s arrival, her life had been full of people and activity. Not that she minded, but having an hour to themselves felt like decadent luxury.
Jo studied her hands. “I saw you talking with Mr. Stuart.”
“Yep.”
“Are you any closer to finding out who shot Mr. Hodges?”
“Some.”
His clipped response soured her jubilant mood. At times she thought she’d gained ground, earned his trust. Then she realized he remained rigid and unyielding, closed off from her behind his monosyllabic answers.
Garrett pressed his cheek against the top of her hair. “I’d rather talk about something more cheerful.”
“Fair enough,” Jo replied.
They sat in companionable silence as darkness fell. She yawned, and Garrett soon followed with a yawn of his own. “Why don’t you close your eyes and rest a moment,” he said. “I’ll wake you when it’s time.”
A curious lethargy stole over Jo. She hadn’t slept well the evening before, worrying about the wedding. She’d risen earlier than normal to get ready. “You don’t mind?”
“Nope.”
She closed her eyes and rested her head on his shoulder. Cottonwood leaves rustled overhead and crickets chirped around her, lulling her into sleep. She dozed off and on, comforted by the warmth of Garrett’s embrace. At one point she heard voices in the distance, and figured the boys were up to their mischief.
“Garrett,” she said around another yawn. “Thank you for a perfect day.”
* * *
Garrett woke with a start. Disoriented, he glanced around and realized he and Jo had fallen asleep in the tree house. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and stretched. Dew dampened his hair and face, and he shivered in the purple light of dawn.
He hadn’t won any awards for romance, that’s for certain. Jo curled against his side for warmth, and he cradled her against his chest, savoring the moment. Rarely did he have the chance to study her, and, suddenly, it seemed important he take this rare opportunity. Her face was serene in repose, innocent. Surrendering his rigid self-control, he remained still until she stirred against his side.
He reluctantly broke the contact, determined to
keep the promise he’d made to himself. To Jo.
The sun hadn’t yet banked the horizon, and only a faint hint of Jo’s ivory dress glowed in the darkness. Lightning sparked in the distance, briefly illuminating the canopy of leaves above his head. As much as he wanted to linger, he feared the gathering storm.
He felt around the floor for the lamp he’d left there earlier. Upon discovering the tree house, he’d made plans to show Jo the charming structure. Not on their wedding night, of course, he thought with a wry chuckle, but he was grateful they’d avoided the shivaree.
Careful not to jostle his sleeping bride, he lit the wick and adjusted the light. Jo grumbled beside him, then stretched and yawned. His heart thumped against his ribs. She’d been breathtakingly lovely in church, but he preferred her this way—wild and untamed. Her hair, shaken free from its pins, hung over her shoulders in loose waves beneath her leather hat.
Even as he watched, her eyes fluttered open. A delicate frown appeared between her brows. She stared at him for a long beat, her pale face sleepy and vulnerable. He’d give every possession he owned to kiss her awake, but he held himself rigidly in check. Since Flynn’s arrival he’d kept his distance. Yesterday had been a dream, but it was after midnight and yesterday was gone. Their brief peck in the church had shaken his resolve, but he hadn’t faltered.
Another flash of lightning startled her upright, and he immediately felt the loss of her comforting warmth.
Jo hugged his slicker around her shoulders and trembled. “Looks like we’ll get more rain this evening.”
Reluctant to abandon the precious cocoon of the evening, Garrett nodded. “We’d best get back.”
He descended the crude ladder first and reached for the lantern. Jo handed down the light and scaled the ladder, her movements quick and agile.
“Do you know your way in the dark?” she asked.
“Mostly. Let me fetch my horse. Take my hand, there’s a lot of underbrush.”
Her fingers were cold, and he tucked them into the crook of his elbow. She tightened her grip and leaned into his support. Holding the lantern ahead of them, he lit their way through the darkness. Jo made a soft sound, and he halted. She plowed into his back.
The Marshal's Ready-Made Family Page 17
