Marrying the Marshal

by Laura Marie Altom

  “New freakin’ Jersey?” Caleb said, eyebrows raised. “You trying to tell me the closest marshal we could get was all the way from out east?”

  “Sorry, man.”

  “Sorry? That’s not gonna cut it. Adam, bro, I trusted you.” Lowering his voice, he said, “Allie is more than just a case to me. I mean, I’d protect any ordinary assignment with my life, but for her—”for my son, I’d give my soul.

  “I get it,” Adam said. “It won’t happen again.”

  “It better not.”

  JUST WHEN ALLIE thought her current case couldn’t get worse, it did. Mr. Foster, the sweet old man who lived across from the post office, was dead. The initial coroner’s report said heart attack. But there were a lot of unnatural ways a so-called natural death could be caused.

  “Ordinarily,” she said from her bench, the courtroom again bursting with reporters and victims’ families, “I’d want to recess in light of last night’s events. But in this case, I think it’d be best for all concerned if we forge ahead.”

  The defense attorney launched into a showboat cross-examination leading to a series of sustained objections, during which, Francis’s expression grew steadily darker.

  “Damn commie bitch,” the defendant eventually mumbled.

  “Mr. Ashford,” she said, slamming her gavel against the bench. “Congratulations. You’ve just earned a oneway ticket back to your cell. Bailiff.”

  From the gallery came a smattering of applause.

  “Order,” Allie said with another slam of her gavel while the defendant was escorted out of the room. When the gallery finally settled, she turned to the defense, starting to feel like the proverbial broken record. “One more stunt like that, Mr. Bennett, and you’ll be fined.”

  The defense attorney sputtered, “But all I was doing was pointing out to the jury that my client loves to receive mail, so therefore, he couldn’t have even conceived of performing a stunt so heinous, as to destroy that sainted facility from whence his beloved mail flows.”

  “Mr. Bennett, congratulations. You’ve just donated five hundred dollars to the victims’ memorial fund.”

  The gallery erupted in still more applause—with the frequency of fines and/or courtroom removals a now regular occurrence.

  By the time she’d called it quits for the afternoon session, Allie was beyond tired. With any luck, they’d be adjourned for good within a week—two at the latest.

  “MOM, YOU SHOULDA’ SEEN Caleb at your office today! While you were in court, he was crazy. We turned your desk around backwards and made it into a soccer goal. He got more goals than anyone ever in the whole world!”

  “That’s awesome, baby.” Allie gave the Italian sausage and onions she was frying for spaghetti a stir.

  “And then at lunch he taught me how to make a cookie Frisbee.”

  “And that’s a good thing?” She opened a can of stewed tomatoes.

  “Yeah. It was awesome. All my friends are gonna love him. ’Specially Billy.”

  “Who is this Billy?” Allie asked. After shaking salt on the meat, she grabbed some canned mushrooms. She’d have rather used fresh, but in light of all the recent excitement, she hadn’t exactly had time for shopping. “I’ve never heard you talk about him.”

  “I dunno.” From his seat at the table where he was writing his weekly spelling words, Cal shrugged. “He’s just a kid in my class.”

  “He’s been bugging you?”

  “No.”

  Great. Now what? Violate the confidence Cal had placed in Caleb by telling her son his private conversation had been shared?

  “Dinner almost ready?” Cal asked. “I’m starved.”

  “Almost. Just have to drain the meat and—”

  “Caleb!” Cal tossed down his pencil, leaped from his chair and ran across the room, tossing his arms around his father’s waist. “I had fun with you today! Wanna stay for dinner? What’s in the bag?”

  “Slow down, man,” Caleb said, ruffling the boy’s hair. “First off, there’s a little something I picked up for you and your mom.”

  “Mom?” Cal asked. “Can I open it?”

  “Sure.” What was up with the curious flutter taking over her belly?

  Cal ripped into the bag to pull out another memory. “Cool!” he said. “What is it?”

  “A Chia Pet,” Allie said, gently taking the box containing the terra-cotta Chia Man that would hopefully soon sprout green hair. Years earlier, Caleb bought her a Mr. Chia, turtle and rabbit. All lived on the kitchen windowsill of her rented house. Allie and Caleb took turns watering them. When she’d left, she’d debated whether or not to even take them. They’d been in a sense like kids. In the end, knowing Caleb’s tendency to sometimes forget to water, she’d stowed them on the backseat floorboard of her Honda, where they’d gotten irrevocably mangled during a sudden stop at the intersection of Blueberry and Pine.

  “Does it talk or anything?” Cal asked, suspiciously eyeing the ceramic head.

  “It’s a plant,” she told him. “But we have to grow it ourselves.”

  “Oh.” Cal didn’t look impressed. “Thanks,” he said.

  Allie was already taking the head and seed packet from the box. “Thank you,” she said to Caleb. “I love these things.”

  “I know.” He stepped up behind her, creating an instant physical hum. “Whatever happened to ours?”

  Nibbling her lower lip, fighting the oddest sensation that nothing between them had changed, she said, “They kind of met with an unfortunate end.”

  “Sounds familiar,” Caleb said with a solid nod.

  The flutter in her stomach died.

  “Well? Can you stay for dinner?” Cal asked his father.

  “Shouldn’t you ask your mom first?” Caleb looked Allie’s way, stealing her breath with not only his rugged good looks, but also his resemblance to her son. Correction—their son. Guess she might as well get used to the fact that now that Caleb knew about his child, he wasn’t about to vanish from their lives, even after his team’s protective services were no longer needed.

  “Nah,” Cal said. “She won’t care. Right, Mom?” Her darling son flashed his most irresistible smile. Crap. The little booger knew full well she couldn’t be firm when he pulled that stunt!

  Even worse, Caleb flashed the same smile.

  Double trouble!

  “Well, Mom?” Cal asked. “Can he stay?”

  “Sure. Why don’t you clear your books from the table, then set three places.”

  “Wanna help, Caleb? We could race.”

  “Sounds good,” Caleb said. “You start.”

  “’Kay.”

  While his son tore around clearing and setting, Caleb headed for the boy’s clearly put out mother. “If it’s a problem for you—you know, me staying for dinner—I can go.”

  “Not at all,” she said, dumping the tomatoes on top of the meat so hard that little red splatters flew all the way to the stainless steel fridge.

  “Sure?” He put his hand on her shoulder. For a split second, he could have sworn she’d leaned into his touch, but then the moment passed when Cal shot him with a spoon gun.

  “Bang, bang! You’re a bad guy and I got you!”

  “Ugh—” Caleb said, grabbing his gut, groaning in serious mock pain. “The agony. It’s too much.”

  Cal grinned. “I’m a U.S. Marshal.”

  “A durned good one from the looks of it,” Caleb said.

  “Don’t,” Allie said under her breath.

  Cal galloped to the table with napkins and silverware.

  “Don’t what?” Caleb asked.

  “What do you think? Encourage him to go into a dangerous profession. My god, Caleb. You’ve been around him a whole two days and already he’s making guns from spoons.”

  “What’s wrong with that? Girls play with dolls, boys with guns. Who knows why. That’s just how it is.”

  “And that’s supposed to make it right?”

  Damn, you’re beautiful. Caleb
had the craziest urge to cup her cheek.

  “Mom?” Cal asked, wedging himself between them. “Are we out of chocolate milk?”

  “Um, I think so,” she said. “Drink regular.”

  “I don’t like it. Makes me fart.”

  “That’s such a fibber.” She landed a light swat to his behind. “Finish setting the table.”

  “I’m already done.”

  “Then wash your hands.”

  “Aw, Mom, I already washed ’em this morning.”

  “Cal,” Caleb warned.

  “Yes, sir.” Cal scampered off to the half bath tucked beneath the stairs.

  “That did not just happen,” Allie said, grabbing the salad and slamming it on the table. “You did not just pull rank with our son. And no way did he call you, sir. You teach him that?”

  He rolled his eyes. “A janitor loaned us an old John Wayne army flick to watch on that relic of a VCR in your office. Cal must’ve picked it up then.”

  “Caleb, please,” she said, hands on her hips. “I’m serious. I see what you’re trying to do. Wooing him away from me with all this manly crap. It’s dirty pool.”

  “You get my present this morning?”

  Her checks grew hot just thinking about how much she’d enjoyed reading the latest Hollywood gossip during recesses. And the Jolly Ranchers acted like fruity tranquilizers, carrying her back to a simpler time. “Yes,” she said. “Thank you. But you shouldn’t have done it. I ate so many green apples my teeth are going to rot out of my head.”

  “And what if I did this?” Caleb asked, slipping his hands around her waist, then kissing her the way he’d wanted to since first walking into her office. Cursing the love-hate emotions for her coursing through his body. Intending the kiss to play with her, mess with her mind—just like his gift. Sure, he’d wanted to bring her a little something just to break the ice, but maybe it’d been more about wanting her to remember what a great guy she’d thrown away. How happy she’d been with him. Fun-loving and less stodgy.

  His kiss was hard and claiming, the way it would’ve been had she been his wife. And when he was good and satisfied, certain he’d left no question in her mind as to the fact that having a man around the house was a damned good thing, he released her only to whistle his way to the stove, wishing like hell he hadn’t kissed her. Praying to God and every angel he’d someday get the chance to kiss her again. “Got a colander for the noodles?”

  “I can’t believe you just did that,” Allie hissed, lips still humming from the infuriating man’s feel and taste. What she really couldn’t believe was that for a second there, she’d actually enjoyed that spectacle of macho—grrr. She couldn’t even begin to label what she was feeling over that stunt. “What if Cal had seen us kiss?”

  “He’d have done what all kids do—said, eeuuww.”

  “Stop it, Caleb. Just stop. Stop the charm. The kisses. The gifts. It’s not going to work. I’m not just going to turn my son over to you.”

  “Correction,” he said. “He’s my son, too. And what would it hurt for the poor kid to see his uptight mother chill?”

  “Mom?” Cal said, voice small from the kitchen door. “That true? Is Caleb really my dad?”

  “Oh, baby….”

  “You lied!” he screamed. “You told me my dad was dead, but he wasn’t. You lied! You—” He was crying so hard he couldn’t talk.

  When he ran up the back staircase, Allie chased after him, but Caleb held her back. “Let me,” he said. “I’ll smooth it over.”

  “Oh, like in two days you’ve become an expert parent? Where were you when he was up all night with colic? When he was eight months old and had a hundred-and-four fever? When he refused to go to kindergarten because he was afraid they’d make him sit next to a girl?”

  “Where was I?” Caleb rammed his index finger at his chest. “I was back in Portland, dreaming, night after night of how things might’ve been if only you hadn’t…Christ, the fact that you could lie about something like that. I don’t know what I ever saw in you. I don’t even know why I kissed you just now.” He swiped his fingers through his hair. “Behold, the power of Grandma Beatrice’s spaghetti sauce.”

  “Don’t joke at a time like this.”

  “What else can we do, Allie? The kid’s hurting. Now, you gonna keep me down here scolding me, or you want me to tackle damage control?”

  “Go on,” she said. “Obviously, he doesn’t want to talk to me.”

  “He’ll come around,” Caleb said.

  “How do you know?”

  He kissed her tear-stained cheek. “I forgave you, didn’t I?”

  Watching Caleb mount the back stairs two at a time, Allie had to wonder how he could forgive her. Yes, her convictions for having kept Cal’s father from him all these years were still strong, but while she’d spent all that time protecting her son, she hadn’t stopped to consider the potential harm she might also be causing.

  All this business with Billy at school was bad enough. Apparently she’d made Cal a sitting duck for schoolyard bullying. But worse than that, what had her lies done to him emotionally? How much richer might his life had been if she’d been straight with Caleb from the start?

  In the same respect, how many sleepless nights would she have spent, worrying about Caleb being hurt on the job? Worrying about what kind of emotional black hole her son might fall into?

  She closed stinging eyes, covered them with her hands.

  If only she could’ve seen this coming.

  But honestly, what would she have done different? Moved Cal to another state? Country? And what purpose would that have served? Sure, she might have sheltered her son for a few more years, but somewhere along the line, someway, her secret was bound to have come out.

  Unfortunately for her, it’d happened now. Transforming what was already a hellish week into her worst nightmare.

  “HOW YOU DOIN’, BUD?”

  “Bad,” Cal said, voice muffled. He sat upright on his twin bed, cross-legged, his comforter making a tent over his small frame. “Go away. I’m sleeping.”

  “Okay, cool. Then I’ll just sit here and talk to the dog.”

  “We don’t have a dog,” Cal said. “Mom says it hurts too bad when they die.”

  Caleb frowned.

  Geez. Why didn’t that excuse surprise him?

  “Well…” Caleb said. “I suppose I could talk to the cat.”

  “We don’t have one of those, either.”

  “Hamster?”

  “Nope.”

  “Fish?”

  “Caleb! Stop makin’ me have to laugh, ’cause I’m really mad.”

  “All right, then how ’bout I just talk to this stuffed airplane?”

  “Guess that’ll work,” Cal said.

  “Okay, then here’s the deal. Yeah, I’m your dad. And I gotta tell you, I’m beyond thrilled. I’m—man, there aren’t even enough words to describe how much I’m loving you, and until yesterday, I didn’t even know I had you.”

  “Really?” Cal asked.

  “Would I lie?”

  “Mom did.” The boy sighed.

  “True,” Caleb admitted. “And she’s sorry about that, but sometimes grown-ups lie to protect kids.”

  “That’s stupid.”

  “Maybe so, but you gotta know, deep in her heart, your mom felt like she was doing her best by you.”

  “I’m still mad,” Cal said.

  “And that’s okay. I’m mad, too, but you’ve got to work past that and look at what good came out of this.”

  “What?”

  “What?!” Caleb tackled him, tickling the squirming laughing bundle under the covers. “You don’t think having me for a dad is good?” He tickled him until the kid—his wonderful, intelligent, handsome kid—snorted.

  “Quit it! I’m gonna pee my pants!”

  Laughing right along with him, Caleb did quit, and after sneaking an air hole in Cal’s tent, he held him and hugged him and kissed the top of his precious head right t
hrough the comforter.

  I love you, I love you.

  “I’m never gonna talk to Mom again. I’m only gonna talk to you. I’m even gonna live with you. And then I can have a dog and cat and rooster and donkey.”

  Great. Guess his speech hadn’t gone quite as well as he’d thought. “Look, dude, I’m all for you living with me, and the dog and rooster sound good, but I don’t know about the donkey and cat. And don’t you think if you just moved out, your mom would be awfully upset?”

  The human comforter tent shrugged.

  “She’s already cried enough the past few days, don’t you think? I can’t even imagine how much she’d cry if you weren’t around to make her happy.”

  “Maybe I’ll stay just a few more days. But can we go ahead and get the rooster?”

  “HOW IS HE?” Allie asked from her favorite lounge chair, looking up from the dating show she’d been watching to get her mind off the horror of quite possibly being on the verge of losing her son.

  “Asleep.”

  “But he didn’t have dinner.”

  “He’ll survive,” Caleb said. “You eat?”

  She shook her head.

  “I’ll fix us a couple plates.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Yeah, well, I am and I don’t like eating alone.”

  “Thanks,” she said when he returned, handing her a plate loaded with enough spaghetti, salad and garlic toast to fill even Adam!

  Caleb lowered himself onto the chair beside her. “Quite a mess we’ve got going here, huh?”

  “It’s my mess,” she said, swallowing a tasteless bite of Caesar salad.

  “True enough—until I went and blurted that bit about Cal being my son.”

  “You haven’t said much about what went on upstairs. I’m taking that as a bad sign?”

  “You want something to drink?” he asked. “I could grab us both milks—’course according to Cal, we might fart.”

  Laughing through tears pooling in her eyes, she said, “Oh god, he hates me. This was my worst fear.”

  “I thought your worst fear was having him love me, then lose me?”

  She shot him a look. “You know what I mean. Having him hate me was my worst fear after my others.”

  “Think it’s time to let go of a few of those fears?”