The Marshal's Ready-Made Family

by Sherri Shackelford

  Merrilee Daniels Davenport.

  “John?” Merrilee’s full mouth gaped open, her gloved hands clinching in a ladylike knot at her waist. His name sounded like a gentle caress—almost as if she’d been waiting for him.

  John’s insides tightened. For a split second, he was nineteen again, and this spitfire of a girl belonged to him just like he’d belonged to her.

  But working hard and trying to live right hadn’t been enough for her or her father. Jacob Daniels had raised his daughter with all the manners and refinement of a true Southern lady. He’d hoped that one day Merrilee would join her life with that of a lawyer or a banker from the county’s elite, not a poor sharecropper who had to scrimp and save for a month to get a marriage license. Jacob had forced him to walk away from Merrilee, and she hadn’t said a word or done a thing to make him believe she wanted him to stay. But she had to have known she was with child, his child, by the time he’d sent the divorce papers. Why had she never told him?

  Snatching his hat off his head, John nodded his head in a mocking bow, taking in the inviting front porch to the majestic house that had been known as the Daniels homestead for well over a hundred years. He turned his head, glancing out over the small groups of people mulling around in the yard. “I didn’t know you’d be entertaining today.”

  “It’s just a few friends here for the wedding.”

  A movement caught John’s notice and he suddenly remembered they weren’t alone. Outfitted in the blue woolen uniform of the Army Air Corps, the man stood just short of eye level. A glance back to the stripes on his sleeves added fuel to the bitterness settling low in John’s stomach. A major, just the kind of man Jacob Daniels had always thought Merrilee should marry. Well, the major could have her, John thought, ignoring the dull stab of pain just under his ribs. The only reason he’d come back to Marietta in the first place was to see his daughter.

  It might be his only opportunity.

  Lord, please give me the chance to know my baby girl before the navy sends me away.

  John slipped his hand in his jacket pocket, his fingers sliding over the soft folds of paper. “When can I see my daughter?”

  Merrilee blinked, then seeming to recover, tilted her head toward the man beside her. “Could you give us a moment, Patrick?”

  “Are you sure?”

  John’s midsection unexpectedly clenched. No mistaking the concern in the man’s voice or the tenderness in his touch when he reached for her elbow. Not that John blamed him. A man would have to be dead and in his grave not to notice Merrilee. She’d always been a beauty, even as a young girl of sixteen.

  She’d been leaner then, more angles than curves, her upturned nose covered with a delicate garden of pinkish brown freckles from working her father’s cotton fields, punishment for defying Jacob. It hadn’t mattered to John how she’d come to be working beside him. He’d been so taken with her that he’d stumbled in introducing himself, but Merrilee had responded with a sweetness he’d rarely seen in his eighteen years. If only he’d known her father was Jacob Daniels, one of the richest men in Cobb County. And the man who held the lease to John’s land.

  A fool, that was what he’d been. A complete and total fool.

  The only good part of the whole mess was their child. Claire.

  John shifted his attention from his former wife to her companion. What if this man planned on marrying Merrilee, becoming Claire’s stepfather? The thought didn’t set well with him, but he’d have to be civil, find out everything he could about the man. It was the only way to keep both his wife and his daughter safe. No, just Claire, he corrected to himself.

  John extended his hand. “John Davenport.”

  The man studied him for a long moment, then as if satisfied by what he saw, clasped John’s hand. “Major Patrick Evans, Army Air Forces.”

  “Major Evans oversees the Bell Bomber Plant right down the street,” Merrilee added.

  Evans tightened his grip. “What about you, Davenport? You serve anywhere?”

  Something about the man’s attitude set John on edge. “Independent contractor for the navy, training the men of the Sixth Construction Battalion out of Hueneme. Shipped out with them.”

  “Almost a Seabee, huh?”

  The touch of humor in Evans’s voice grated on him. Never let the enemy see you sweat. Well, if Evans wanted a war, he’d give him one. John smiled as if he were in on the joke. “Must be nice having a stateside job far away from the fighting, Major.”

  Bull’s-eye! The man tensed, glaring at John as if he’d fired the first round.

  Merrilee’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “The last I heard, you were heading for Australia.”

  She’d kept track of him while he was overseas? The thought of it was a surprise attack much worse than anything the Japanese had ever thrown at him. John lowered his gaze to meet hers, ambushed by the fleeting look of concern worrying the faint lines around her eyes in the moment. John shook his head. “Hawaii.”

  No sense mentioning his time in Guam. Or the military inquiry hanging over his head. The repercussions of helping one child make it through this war would be a small price to pay.

  Merrilee nodded, a quiet sigh on her lips. Was it possible she’d been worried about him, personally, while he was overseas? No. She had a soft heart—she probably only felt the same sympathy for him that she would for any man coming back from war. Best if he stayed focused on his mission: getting to know their daughter. “Can we talk?”

  Merrilee’s chin bobbed in affirmation. “If you’ll excuse us, Major.”

  The man’s shoulders stiffened beneath the dark blue wool of his uniform coat. He obviously wasn’t used to being dismissed. “I hope we can finish up our conversation—maybe later this afternoon?”

  Merrilee rubbed her thumb across the tips of her fingers in tight circles. “I might still be busy, cleaning up after the wedding.”

  “Then in the morning over one of your fine breakfasts and a cup of joe.” Putting his cap on, Evans lifted his hand to the brim in a mock salute. “Davenport.”

  “Evans.”

  The major walked down the porch stairs and across the yard, joining a small group of people John didn’t recognize. John frowned as he watched the major chat and smile. He didn’t like the man, not one bit.

  “Would you like a glass of iced tea? Or maybe a piece of wedding cake?” Merrilee grasped the handle of the screen door, once again the society hostess her father had shaped from a very young age. “Folks have told me it’s pretty good considering the rations I had on hand.”

  Part of him wanted to demand to see his daughter immediately—a meeting that had already been postponed for eleven years. But first he had to know if Merrilee’s future included the pompous major. For Claire’s sake. The wooden planks trembled beneath him as he marched near where she stood, whipping off his hat. “You’re not marrying that guy, are you?”

  The high-pitched crack of wood slamming against the door frame echoed across the porch as Merrilee marched toward him. Eyes darkened to the color of swirling waves tossed about by a raging storm glared at him, the bright spots high on her cheeks dull compared to the flash of fiery curls bouncing around her shoulders. Merrilee pulled up short of him, but not far enough for him to miss the faint scent of vanilla that teased long-forgotten memories of happier times. “Who do you think you are to voice any opinion on who I marry?”

  John grimaced. She’d always done this—answered a question with a question—but he wouldn’t let her get away with it this time. “Merrilee.”

  Her full lips thinned into a stubborn line, one perfectly shaped eyebrow cocked high in a dare.

  Blast her! Couldn’t she see that he was just looking out for Claire? Even their brief meeting had been enough to show John that Evans was the type of man who liked to maintain a firm grasp on the people in hi
s life, who thrived on controlling the world around him and everyone in it. Little things like a bad grade or a burned dinner might set his temper into a rage.

  John’s fingers crushed the soft felt brim of his hat, swallowing against the knot of bile rising in his throat at the thought of his own stepfather. If Evans so much as touches a hair on either of their heads, I’ll beat him to within an inch of his life!

  But before John could interrogate her further, Merrilee beat him to the punch. “Why do you want to see Claire now, after all these years?”

  He wasn’t finished with the subject of Major Evans, but figured she might be more cooperative if he answered some questions himself. John shoved his hand back into his pocket, fished out the letter and held it out to Merrilee. “I got this from Claire a couple weeks ago.”

  Taking the letter, she skimmed over the childish handwriting on the envelope, a tiny line worrying the smooth skin between her eyes. “How did she know where to send this? Beau never mentioned having your address.”

  “You’ve heard from him?” Seemed his daughter had failed to mention Beau had come home to Marietta.

  Merrilee’s lips turned up into a soft smile, her dark reddish-brown lashes resting shyly against the curve of her cheek. “Who do you think got married this afternoon?”

  “Beau!” Was she serious? It would be just like Merrilee to tease him like this. He knew Beau, had taken Merrilee’s nephew under his wing after they’d found him in their barn, half beaten to death by his low-life father. Beau had followed John into the Civilian Conservation Corps and when the papers that had ended his marriage to Merrilee were delivered, Beau had been the one to fish him out of the hole he’d crawled in. “I thought he didn’t think too much of marriage.”

  “That was before he met Edie Michaels. I’ve got to admit, for a while there, I didn’t know if they were going to fall in love or come to blows,” Merrilee said with a soft chuckle. “But once they figured things out, Beau couldn’t get that girl to the altar fast enough.”

  “Are they here? I’d like to meet the woman who hogtied your nephew.”

  She looked out over the yard, then shook her head. “You must have just missed them. They only have tonight for a honeymoon before Edie has to get back to work at the bomber plant.”

  Beau married. If anyone in this world deserved to find happiness with a wife and children, it was his friend. Merrilee grinned back at him, clearly pleased as punch about the married couple. Without really knowing how it happened, he felt his lips hook upward. Sharing a smile with Merrilee for the first time in years felt far too comfortable, as if their years apart were nothing more than the blink of an eye. He stepped back to give himself a moment to think. “Hopefully they can make a better go at it than we did.”

  The color drained out of Merrilee’s face. She took a step back as if his words had struck her with the force of a fisted blow. John grimaced. The words had been aimed to hurt her, only now her reaction sliced through him like a bayonet. “Look, I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “You were only speaking the truth.”

  “Right.” But the truth had still hurt her, hadn’t it? And John knew more than anybody how words could inflict pain. As a peace offering, he asked, “Why don’t you tell me about Claire?”

  Merrilee unfolded the letter, her slender fingers tracing the small tears along the worn edges of the paper. “Looks like it’s been to the other side of the world and back.”

  “I only got it a couple weeks ago.” Which was true, but he’d read it until he’d memorized each of his daughter’s words. Getting that letter from Claire had been a treasure he hadn’t expected or deserved.

  “I guess this shouldn’t surprise me. Claire has always asked questions about you.”

  “Really?” The thought of his daughter wanting to know him shed light into a place he’d long thought locked away for good. “What kind of questions?”

  “You know. What do you look like? What kinds of things did you like to do? What cities have you been to? She particularly liked Beau’s story of how the two of you had to hang off the side of Boulder Dam to do rock work.” She hesitated, her eyes widening with understanding and the unmistakable shadow of a battle lost.

  An uneasiness slid down his spine. “What is it?”

  “Claire hasn’t asked about you in a long time.”

  Why would his daughter suddenly stop asking questions about him? Had she given up on him just like her mother? “How long are we talking?”

  Merrilee held out the letter. “Probably not long after she wrote this.”

  “That doesn’t make sense.” John shook his head. “Did something happen last spring?”

  Merrilee jerked her head up. Soft lines arched in somber grief around her eyes and mouth, her pained stare meeting his, begging, pleading. “I don’t think Claire’s ready to meet you just now.”

  Evasiveness again. Irritation pricked John. “And why is that, Merrilee?”

  “Mama?”

  They turned in unison. The young girl was tall for her age, the perfect height to fit under his arm and rest her head on his chest. Strands of reddish-gold hair curled around her delicate face while the rest of her thick mane had been pulled back into a neat ponytail. Her eyes matched his former wife’s, that blue-green storm of color the memory of which even now managed to keep him awake long into the night. Then her lips lifted into a tentative grin that resembled the one staring back at him in the mirror every morning, and John’s heart tumbled over in his chest.

  Claire. His baby girl.

  Her eyes widened on him. He wanted to reach out to her, but the thought that he was a father—correction, this child’s father—warred with his usual confidence. Give him a building to erect or a landing strip to dig out and he’d know just how to respond. Those things he’d been taught to do. But how could he be a good father when the only lessons he’d learned from his own father were brute force and abandonment?

  Thump!

  John’s gaze shifted lower to the crutch pulled taut against her side as she dragged her right foot forward. His insides did a sickening flip, and for only the third time in his whole thirty years, he felt the burn of salty tears behind his eyes. He slammed them shut before he made a ninny out of himself, his prayers already lifting to Heaven.

  Please, Lord, give me the wisdom to be the daddy my baby girl needs!

  Copyright © 2014 by Patty Smith Hall

  ISBN-13: 9781460326152

  THE MARSHAL’S READY-MADE FAMILY

  Copyright © 2014 by Sherri Shackelford

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