Marrying the Marshal

by Laura Marie Altom

  Stabbing a chunk of meat, twirling it with a forkful of pasta, she said, “You don’t know what it was like. Granted, you lost your mom at a pretty young age, but you at least got to say goodbye. For me,” she said, dropping her fork with a clang to the plate’s edge, “one minute we were planning the new built-in bookcase Dad was building in my room, and the next, he was just gone. I freaked out, Caleb. I don’t think anyone but my mom and shrink know to what degree.”

  “I’m sorry about that, Al, but grow up. For the sake of our son, get over it. If I die tomorrow, is Cal going to be worse off for having known me? For that matter, you’re not going to live forever. And no—no one connected with this case is going to get you, but god forbid, cancer could. Or fifteen gazillion other crappy diseases. Then who’s going to watch over our boy? Have you even given that a thought?”

  “Duh. In my will, I give Mom custody.”

  “Great. And she’s in her sixties.” Caleb roughly forked a bite of pasta and sauce. Damn Allie. His first assumption that because she’d had his child meant she obviously still had feelings for him…? Wrong! Geez, what a slap in the face to be told even if Allie died, she didn’t want Cal being with his father. Total b.s. That’s what that was.

  He stood, then headed for the kitchen.

  “Where are you going?” Allie asked, chasing after him.

  “I’ve gotta get out of here. Your arctic chill is blowing my mind.”

  “But what about Cal? What do I say when he wakes up?”

  “Good question,” Caleb muttered. “Lucky for you, you’ve got a whole night to think up an answer.”

  Chapter Five

  “Hey, Gilly,” Caleb said to his sister’s answering machine once he got back to his motel. “Got your message, but—”

  “I’m here,” his sister said, out of breath, sounding as if she’d been laughing. Glad one of them was having fun. “Sorry. Couldn’t find the phone.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t have much to say, just getting back to you.” Caleb eased his shoes off, leaning back on the lumpy mattress, conking his head on the headboard in the process. In his mind, he fired off a few dozen foul words.

  “Oh. no,” she said. “You’re not getting off that easy. How’s it going? Have you told Cal you’re his dad?”

  Caleb’s answer was a sarcastic snort.

  “Was that a good sound or bad?”

  “He knows,” Caleb said. “But purely by accident. He overheard me and his mom fighting about when to tell him.”

  “Oh, Caleb, I’m sorry. That had to be rough.”

  “Rough?” He laughed. “The poor kid. He’s confused, Gil, and I feel so helpless. Like I just want to grab him up in a hug, but can’t because he hardly knows me. And then there’s his mom. She’s got my head spinning.”

  “In a good or bad way?”

  “I kissed her. Don’t even know why. She was just standing there needing to be kissed.”

  “Could your male ego be any bigger? I mean, I’m still mad at this woman for ever hurting you in the first place, but that wasn’t cool.”

  “I know. It’s just—”

  “Take a deep breath, sweetie. Cal’s going to adore you. All kids do. As for his mom…” She sighed. “Sounds like you might want to back off.”

  ALLIE HAD SET her alarm an hour early, hoping that old adage about the way to a man’s heart being through his stomach applied to little boys, as well.

  By the time she was back upstairs to wake Cal to head for the office, the kitchen table was loaded with French toast, pancakes and waffles. She’d found bacon and sausage in the freezer and thawed melon and berries in lieu of fresh ones.

  Her palms were sweating and her pulse hammered faster than the last time she’d worked out.

  What was Cal going to say to her? Would he even talk?

  “Baby,” she said, perched on the edge of his bed. “Time to wake up. I made you a special breakfast.”

  Cal slowly came around, rubbing red eyes.

  Guilt didn’t begin to describe the crushing pain in her chest. She’d done that to him. Caused those tears. Sure, at the time she’d written on his birth certificate that his father was deceased, she’d felt her actions justified. In her mind, Caleb might as well have been dead.

  But now…Now, she wasn’t so sure.

  “Come on,” she said, giving her son’s back a rub. “Gotta get ready for work.”

  “Is Caleb coming?” Cal asked.

  “With you? To hang out in my office?”

  He nodded.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Probably. Want me to find out?”

  He nodded.

  “Sweetie, I know you’re upset with me, but—”

  “Excuse me,” he sat up, then scooted around her and off the bed. Had she only imagined him giving her a wide berth so as to not have to touch her? “I’ve gotta go to the bathroom.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Need help picking out clothes?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Okay, well….”

  He shut and locked the bathroom door.

  “HOW’S IT GOING?”

  Allie jumped. Put her hand to her chest. “Caleb. Wish you’d learn to knock.”

  “Sorry,” he said, joining her at the kitchen table. “Quite a spread you’ve got here. This might even feed Adam.”

  She flashed him a weak smile, appreciating his stab at humor, but he wasn’t the one who’d just lost his son.

  No. He gained a son, no thanks to you.

  Shame washed over her, but still she kept her chin high.

  What’s done is done. No matter what Cal thought of her, she was still his mother. Nothing would change that. It was her duty to protect him from a father who protected everyone under the sun except himself.

  “So?” Caleb said. “How’d it go with Cal? I’m assuming he’s still upstairs?”

  She nodded, unable to speak past the lump in her throat.

  “Want me to talk to him?”

  She nodded again.

  Hand over hers, he said, “He’ll come around, but just for a second, put yourself in his shoes.”

  “I know,” she said with a messy sniffle, napkin to her nose.

  Caleb took the stairs two at a time.

  Allie sat at the table making swirls in congealing syrup with her fork. Everyone who knew the truth about Cal’s father, her closest friends and mother, told her they supported her decision, but in their eyes, Allie had seen their true opinions. That she’d been wrong to keep Cal from his father. But what did they know? They had no idea how devastated she’d been by her dad’s sudden death. Right off the bat, poor Cal would’ve had to deal with a father whose career put him on the fast track to his grave.

  How many nights during her pregnancy had she lain awake weighing her options? And despite Caleb’s belief that all she’d been thinking about was her own possible pain if he’d been unexpectedly killed, she had thought about his hopes and dreams. Just because she disapproved of his career path, that didn’t give her the right to impose her fears upon him. All his life Caleb had wanted to be a marshal—just like his dad.

  It was a sickness. In his blood.

  True, she could have begged him to put aside those dreams. Asked him for the sake of their baby, for her, to become something safe, like an accountant. But realistically, how long would their marriage have lasted? Caleb would’ve been miserable. She couldn’t have done that to him. She couldn’t have let her fears steal his dreams.

  “Allie?” Caleb said. “How about fixing this hungry boy a plate?”

  She looked up.

  Caleb led their son down the stairs.

  Cal had a death grip on his dad’s big hand.

  “Want a little of everything?” she asked their son.

  As if he couldn’t bear to look at her, he stumbled into his usual chair, then nodded.

  Caleb, drawing out the chair beside Cal, flashed her a sympathetic look, but she could well imagine what he was thinking.

  Y
ou reap what you sow.

  “How about thanking your mom for this great spread?” Caleb asked, slathering butter on his pancakes.

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  “You’re welcome, baby. Want some juice? Hot chocolate?”

  He shook his head.

  Cautious morning sun snuck past the shuttered windows, lending the usual cheerful kitchen the feel of a cave. As if she were stuck deep inside, when just a few feet away was freedom. Her old, happy way of life. She resented Caleb for even being here, yet in the same breath was thankful to him for at least trying to smooth the way for her with their son.

  Caleb said, “Heard you had to boot Francis from the courtroom yesterday. Think he’ll give you trouble again today?”

  “Who knows.” Who cares. All she could think about was the damage she’d done to her son.

  “Cal,” Caleb said while reaching for the platter of bacon. “You tell your mom about your soccer goal yesterday?”

  “I forgot.”

  “You forgot? Buddy, it was awesome! The way you handled that ball—once you show those skills of yours out in public, I wouldn’t be surprised if scouts pulled you from third grade to make you go pro.”

  “Really?” His smile lit his whole face. “That’d be awesome.”

  “Except for one thing,” Allie said. “I’d miss you.”

  “Dad could go with me on the road,” Cal said. “You could stay here. By yourself.”

  “I, ah—” Allie pointed toward the stairs. “Better get ready for work.” Pushing back her chair, she took off at a dead run, before the dam of tears broke.

  “Allie, wait,” Caleb called out. “He didn’t mean it.”

  “Yes, I did,” Cal spat. “I hate you, Mom. You’re a liar! I only love Dad!”

  “ALLIE, HON,” Caleb said. “Please stop crying. He’s just eight. Half the time I’m sure he doesn’t know what he’s saying.” Caleb had found her in her bedroom, sobbing her eyes out while their son gorged himself on the waffles and pancakes and breakfast meats she’d undoubtedly been up preparing since dawn.

  “Y-yes, he does,” she said with a sniffle. “He’s right. I’m a horrible mom. I’ve been lying to him his whole life. And what’s wrong with me? I never cry, but lately, I can’t stop. I’m always strong and in control, but now…I’m horrible on multiple levels.”

  He pulled her into an awkward hug, wishing her every curve didn’t still fit him like a glove. “You’re not horrible, just confused. On a lot of issues—especially my job. Damn, Al, you seem to think I’m some Rambo out there with guns blazin’. But it’s not that way. Most days, I’m in my office, chasing paper trails. And even on days I am doing dangerous work, I’ve got equipment and procedures that your father never had to keep me safe.”

  She drew back, snorted and nodded. “I’m sorry,” she said, pushing at her hair. “I’ve got to pull myself together. I’m due in court in twenty minutes.”

  “Want me to get you out of it? Cite personal safety?”

  She shook her head. “Thanks, but that’d just be delaying the inevitable. I’d just as soon get this one over with.”

  “Cal’s going to come around, you know. No kid I’ve ever hung with stayed mad long.”

  Her master bath was partially open to the rest of the room, and he just stood there like a goon, watching her brush her long, blond hair into a stark, professional ponytail, watching her apply sheer coats of eye shadow and mascara. She wore her white flannel pj’s and big, white robe. Even now, with her makeup on and hair polished, she had a vulnerability about her sucking him in. He wanted to protect her, hold her, hug her, make everything better.

  But why?

  The woman had destroyed him.

  It’d taken years to recover emotionally—if he ever had. To find out she’d had the audacity to keep Cal from him all these years—it was the cherry on the cake leading to a forever kind of splitsville.

  No matter how beautiful she still was, or how much she seemed to need him, the two of them, together again as a couple? That wasn’t going to happen.

  Now, he and his son, that was a whole different story.

  Caleb would have partial custody. Might be a bear to hammer out the terms, but he and Allie were two reasonably intelligent adults. Between them, they could figure out an equitable split.

  While he’d been lost in thought, she’d ducked into her closet and shut the door. She now emerged. All business in a sleek black suit. “Guess if you’re ready to take me, I’m…” That last word seemed stuck in her throat.

  “Um, great,” Caleb said. “Let me alert the team and we’re good to go.”

  “YOU OKAY?” Adam helped himself to the stash of Jolly Ranchers Allie now kept in a crystal bowl on her office desk.

  “Depends on your definition of okay.” They were on lunch recess, and after a tense morning of expert forensic testimony, she doubted she’d be able to eat a thing. Still, a long afternoon of testimony loomed ahead, so if she didn’t grab a bite now, she’d be out of luck till dinner.

  “Well,” Adam said, crunching his candy, “you haven’t been shot at lately. That’s a good thing. And hey, any day spent without my grumpy-ass brother is a good day.”

  “He’s been testy?”

  “As a bull in line for castration.”

  She winced. “Love you, Adam. You always have had a way with words.”

  “Any idea what bug flew up his butt?”

  “He hasn’t told you?” she asked, raising her eyebrows while sinking her teeth into her dry ham sandwich.

  “Obviously not.” Snatching the bundle of grapes from her lunch, he asked, “Can I have these?”

  “Sure.”

  “So?” He put his feet on her desk. “What’s up between you and my brother?”

  She took another bite of sandwich, wishing she had globbed on about a gallon of mayonnaise to help it go down. “You should probably let him tell you.”

  “Ha! That’ll be the day. He never tells me a thing except what I do wrong.”

  “I thought you two had a great relationship?”

  He shrugged. “Used to. ’Bout the time you two split, it went sour. He’s been all work, and not much play.”

  “So he hasn’t dated much?”

  “Try never—well, except for a waitress down at the I-5 Waffle Hut. But I don’t think they ever got serious.” He popped a grape. “Last I heard she married a truck driver. Caleb wasn’t too busted up. How ’bout you? Date much?”

  She laughed. “No time.”

  He rolled his eyes. “You must’ve had time somewhere along the line. How else did you get—” He stopped talking long enough to count on his fingers. “Whoa. No wonder my brother’s pissed. Not cool, Allie. Not cool at all.” He lowered his feet. Tossed what was left of her grapes back on her flattened paper bag. “I’ll be outside when you’re ready to head back in.”

  “Adam, wait. Let me expla—” What was it about the Logue men that constantly had her playing catch-up?

  Why did she even care?

  Why? Because her and Adam had always been buddies. That condemning look he’d just given her hurt. It was the same look she’d seen on Cal and Caleb and her mother and even her good friend and neighbor, Margaret. And dammit, she didn’t want to see it again.

  She was tired of being judged.

  Yes, she’d made a not very popular decision, but Cal was her son. As his mother, she’d had to do what she believed was in his best interest. At his birth, keeping him from a father who played Wild, Wild West for a living had seemed like a very good thing.

  In retrospect, maybe she hadn’t thought the whole plan through. Maybe she should’ve planned for a contingency like this. But back then, all she’d had to go on was her gut feeling. The one screaming that Caleb’s job was reckless and inconsiderate and selfish.

  Yeah, but if he’s so selfish, then why’s he here, putting his life on the line for you and your son?

  Rubbing her forehead, Allie closed her eyes and sighed.

&nb
sp; “MS. SMITHSON,” the prosecution asked during the afternoon session. “Could you please tell the court what you observed the morning of the bombing?”

  “Well…” The middle-aged, strawberry-blonde hesitated before answering, darting glances toward the jury, then back to Francis. “I was out watering. We’d had a bit of a dry spell. I was just coiling up the hose when I noticed a gray pickup slowly approach the post office. I thought it was odd—the way it just stopped at the door instead of pulling into a space. Loretta—the Postmaster, bless her soul—she frowned on that sorta thing seeing how one car in the lane blocked the whole lot. She always said it wasn’t near big enough to accommodate all the traffic.

  “I was just about to call the sheriff on account of that truck just sittin’ there, clogging everything. Alice Beasley pulled up behind, honking and honking her horn, which got my little dog, Cocoa, all wound up. Next thing I knew, Francis was jumping out of the truck, running and running just as fast as he could. Alice kept honking, then started shouting out the window, and then, bam! The whole thing just blew.”

  “Just the truck?”

  “No. Everything. The truck. Post office. Poor Alice. It was like the whole world was on fire.” Shaking her head, she said, “I’ve never seen anything like it. Scared me half to death.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Smithson. Now, just one more thing. You sure you got a good look at the man running from the truck?”

  “Yessir. It was him.” She pointed to the defendant. “Francis William Ashford.”

  The gallery went nuts. Allie slammed her gavel, but it didn’t help. “Order!”

  Finally, the crowd quieted down. The prosecuting attorney thanked Ms. Smithson for her testimony. The defense had a short, bumbling rally with her, then excused her from the witness chair.

  The heavyset woman let the bailiff take her arm. On her way out the room’s rear exit, she shot a worried glance over her shoulder.

  Allie said a quick prayer for the witness’s safety. Testifying against Francis had been a very brave thing.

  If only Allie had had the same kind of courage nine years earlier when she’d first told Caleb she was pregnant. Maybe then everyone wouldn’t now be hating her—including her son.