Chapter Six
“Sorry, bud,” Caleb said to his son the next morning, Allie was still upstairs, getting ready for her day. “But with all that’s been going on lately, I’d still feel better with you hanging out here at home, or at your mom’s office.”
“That’s not fair,” Cal said, slamming his red backpack on the kitchen floor. “I’m bored. All this is Mom’s fault. If she wasn’t so mean to everyone in court, they wouldn’t—”
“Whoa.” Caleb yanked his son back by his shirt collar. “Don’t ever say something like that about your mom. What she does is important. She doesn’t hurt people, she helps them by making sure bad guys like the one who blew up the post office and shot at you get sent to jail for a very long time.”
“I don’t care,” Cal said. “I hate her, and now I hate you, too, ’cause you’re yellin’ at me. My real dad wouldn’t ever yell. He loves me. You’re just some fake dad! I wish I’d never even seen you!”
While Cal raced up the stairs, crying all the way, Caleb parked on a bar stool, turning his own hate on his boss, Franks. All of this was somehow directly his fault. For had Caleb been given a choice, there was no way in hell he’d have voluntarily gotten messed up with Allie again.
But wait. If he hadn’t had to suffer through seeing her, he never would’ve met his son. And no matter how upset the little guy was with him at the moment, Caleb could take the heat. No matter what Cal thought, Caleb knew damned well he was his real dad by blood.
Now, the trick was to start being his real dad by actions.
Starting with sucking down his wounded male pride and taking care of business he’d started some nine years earlier.
Taking the stairs two at a time, he ignored the obnoxious pop music blaring from his son’s room, and headed toward the opposite end of the hall.
His first inclination was to storm through Allie’s closed bedroom door. But in light of the question he’d come up here needing to ask, maybe it’d be best if he adopted a gentlemanly technique.
Knocking, he called out, “Allie?”
Her answer was to switch on the blow dryer.
At the other end of the hall the noise level went down, then came the click of an opening door. Cal stuck his head out. “Thought you left.”
“Nope.”
“But I told you to,” Cal said.
“And you think that’s going to make me go?”
Cal shrugged.
“How long’s it usually take your mom to dry her hair?”
“Forever.”
Caleb sighed. “That’s what I remember, too.”
Cal stepped one foot outside his room, but kept his hand on the doorknob. “How come you know so much about my mom? I mean, I know you guys were friends in college and stuff, but I don’t know how long it takes my friend Clara to dry her hair.”
“Long story, bud.” Caleb sighed. “Let’s just say we were a little more than friends.”
“Like she was your girlfriend?” Cal made a face akin to having his mouth full of brussel sprouts and worms. “Eeeuuw.”
“Be careful,” Caleb said. “One of these days you just might find a girl you like, too.”
“Nuh-uh. Girls stink.”
Allie’s hair dryer went quiet.
“She’s done,” Cal said.
“Yep.” Caleb slipped his hands in his pockets.
“Well? What’d you wanna talk to Mom about? You gonna tell on me?”
“Nope.”
“Really?” The boy’s eyebrows shot up.
“You think there’s something I should tell her?”
He touched his chin to his chest.
“Look,” Caleb said, crossing to Cal’s end of the hall. “What happened downstairs—it’s between me and you, ’kay?”
“I wasn’t very nice.”
“You’ve had a lot to get used to in the past few days. We all have. Guess I haven’t been feeling very nice, either.”
Cal peeked up. “Can I go to school?”
“Nope.”
“Please?”
“Not a chance,” Caleb said.
“When are you gonna catch those bad guys?”
“Soon as possible.”
“Then I can go to school?” Cal asked.
“Yep.”
Cal threw his arms around Caleb’s waist, nearly toppling him with the force of his hug. “Sorry,” he said.
“Me, too.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t say mean stuff.”
Allie’s door creaked open. “How come I wasn’t invited?” she said.
“To what?” Cal asked.
“The party.” She looked cool and professional with her long hair smoothed into a ponytail, her curves downplayed by a severe black pantsuit.
A few minutes earlier, Caleb had been one hundred percent clear on his mission. Now he wasn’t. What if he told Allie it was high time they got married and she flat refused? What if he stood there feeling and looking like a damned fool, yet he still wasn’t any closer to sharing custody of his son? Even worse, what if she followed a page from her past by pulling another vanishing act?
“You look good,” Caleb said.
She flashed a faint smile. “If you were Francis, would you be scared of me?”
“Oh, hell yeah,” he said, forgetting his munchkin audience. “Sorry,” he added for Cal’s grinning benefit.
“That’s okay,” the boy said. “Billy says way worse words than that all the time at recess.”
“Great,” Caleb said, shaking his head at his son’s admission.
“Remind me when this trial is over,” Allie said, “to schedule a meeting with your teacher.” To Caleb she said, “Should Cal stay here today, or go with me to the office?”
“I’ve already sent one of my men to get his assignments for the rest of week,” Caleb said. “Then I’d feel better keeping him with us. Keeps my crew more concentrated.”
“Sounds logical,” she said with an efficient nod. “Okay, then, let me grab a coffee and granola bar and we’re good to go. Cal, you already eat cereal?”
The boy nodded.
Caleb opened his mouth to tell her about his plan for them to marry, but no sound came out. Yeah, he wanted to wake up to this amazing little boy’s hugs every day, but what about Allie? Marriage implied a helluva lot more than just being a dad.
There were logistics to be worked out. Big logistics.
All stuff he could handle later.
Much later.
Like maybe tomorrow.
Even better, the day after.
“Dad?” Cal asked, already heading down the back staircase. “Didn’t you need to talk to Mom?”
“No,” Caleb said, gesturing for Allie to led the way.
She glanced at her watch. “I’m not due in court till nine. What’s up?”
“Nothing. It’ll wait.”
She brushed past him, flooding his senses with her feminine smell. Pretty shampoo and soap supercharged by her heat. “It’s okay. Really, I’ve got time.”
He closed his eyes and swallowed.
What was he going to do? Granted, he would ask her to marry him, but shouldn’t he try pizazzing the moment? Maybe beg a favor from one of the off-duty guys to at least grab some flowers?
“Caleb?” She blocked his way, brushing the backs of her fingers against his forehead. “You feeling okay?”
“MS. HINSHAW,” Francis’s attorney said to the elderly woman on the witness stand—another in a long line of neighbors to the usually peaceful Limon Street Post Office Francis William Ashford was accused of having blown up. “I know this must be exhausting for you, but bear with me just a few minutes more. Now, I realize you’ve already been over this in a roundabout way with the prosecution, but for the benefit of the record, could you please tell me what you witnessed the morning of the supposed crime.”
Arthritic hands trembling, she reached for the water glass that sat on the witness stand rail. She took a slow sip before carefully setting the glass back d
own, then clearing her throat.
“Ms. Hinshaw,” the attorney said, “I don’t mean to rush you, but whenever you’re ready.”
She glanced at Francis, then to her hands clenched on her lap. “I didn’t see anything. I don’t even know why those people brought me in here.” She pointed to the glaring prosecuting attorneys.
Murmurs filled the gallery, and for the umpteenth time since the trial’s start, Allie slammed her gavel.
“Ms. Hinshaw,” Allie said, “I have to ask, has anyone, in any way, threatened you if you testify against Mr. Ashford?”
“Of course not,” the woman said, her gaze darting everywhere but to Allie. “What kind of person do you think I am?”
A scared person.
“WHILE CAL’S still in your office,” Caleb said to Allie while she was on a court recess three days later, “I’d like to run something past you.”
“Sure,” Allie said. They stood in the secure hall leading from the courtroom to her chambers. With Caleb mere inches away, smelling far too yummy for comfort and wearing a suit with a crumpled white shirt she had an insane urge to hand press the wrinkles from, standing around gabbing was a danger to her emotional well-being. Still, she asked, “What’s up?”
“You know my sister, right? Gillian?”
“Sure.”
“Well…” Caleb scratched his head. “Gil got married a few years back, and ever since then, she’s turned into this bizarre cross between Rambo and Mother Goose.”
Allie grinned. “Don’t tell me she went into the family business? She a marshal, too?”
“Yes, ma’am. Currently on extended leave. So anyway, she married a great guy, Joe, who already had a great little girl, Meghan. They also have a baby of their own, Chrissy. Makes for big fun around the holidays.”
“How wonderful,” Allie said, squelching the pang ripping through her upon the realization that along with keeping Cal from his father all these years, she’d also kept him from family. Cousins and aunts and uncles. A grandfather.
“Yeah, well,” Caleb said, “I used to think so, too, but then I made the mistake of letting her in on our secret.”
“You mean about Cal?”
He nodded.
“And…” She waved him on.
“She, and ah, my dad and the rest of the gang want to meet him. Now.”
“Oh.” Another pang came along with wondering where she’d fit in to the meet-and-greet. Cal was their blood relative. She was only the woman who’d kept him from them all those years.
Caleb said, “I was thinking once the trial wraps up, we could do something special. Invite my family. Get that first meeting over with.”
Get it over with?
Allie took a deep breath and counted to ten.
Was it just her, or did that phrase sound eerily similar to the one he’d uttered when she’d told him she was pregnant? The one where instead of proposing to her, he’d mumbled over and over about how he’d make it right.
“Well?” he said, nodding toward her closed office door, behind which Cal was presumably getting his homework done. “Sound like a plan?”
“I don’t know,” Allie said. “Even if Francis’s fate is a done deal by then, think it’ll be safe? I mean, with all that’s been going on around here lately, maybe it’s not the best place for a little girl and baby.”
He rolled his eyes. “Not only will my crew still be on duty, but my whole family, aside from Joe and the kids are marshals. We’ll handle a weekend with kids just fine.”
“What about that incident on the porch?” Allie asked. “You couldn’t handle that.”
“I wasn’t there.” He sharply looked away, then back. “If I had been, it never would’ve happened. So what’s it gonna be, Al? Assuming the trial’s over, is my family welcome?”
“It’s not that easy,” she said.
“What’re you scared of?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh, come on. You think my family’s sole reason for coming over here is to drill you? Condemn you?”
“And you think they won’t?”
“Who knows what they’ll do. They’re not my puppets, but friends. Can you blame them if they’re bitter? You didn’t just lie to me, Allie, but to all of them.”
“I know,” she said under her breath, wishing the entire issue would go away. Knowing, deep in a secret place in her heart, that to never see Caleb again would destroy her. “Do we have to go over this here? Now?”
“If not now, when? I don’t like plans left up in the air.”
“Soon, okay? I just need time to think.” Breathe. Somewhere safely away from her crazy urge to plant her hands on his chest, eternally seeking comfort where there was none.
“Sure. Sorry to pressure you, I just—” He reached out to her, hooking his index finger with hers. The touch was so slight, it shouldn’t have meant anything. But it did. It meant everything that even though he understandably still held a grudge for her many sins against him, there was also a part of him compassionate enough to try to help her through this latest awkward patch in what’d begun to feel like an increasingly awkward life. “I want us to feel the way we used to,” he said. “Like my favorite jeans and sweatshirt.”
“Stop.” If she hadn’t laughed, she’d have cried. Fingers over his lips, she said, “Do you have any idea how many unflattering things you’ve said to me in the past five minutes?”
“Like what?” He captured her fingers, tucking them against the chest she’d so longed to touch. Whether he knew it or not, he’d made a mistake in placing her hand over his heart. For it’d never been able to keep a secret, and now was no different as it beat an erratic tune against her palm.
“Oh,” she said. “Like I should be flattered you’re comparing me to one of your ratty old sweatshirts?”
“Hey, I could’ve compared you to—”
“Judge Hayworth,” said Giselle, one of her clerks. “Sorry to bother you, but before you head back to the bench, could I get you to sign these?”
“Sure,” Allie said, taking the sheath of papers.
“Thanks,” Giselle said, not hiding her curiosity about Caleb. “Well?” she asked Allie. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”
“Sorry,” she said, fumbling her way through introductions. Hating herself for gritting her teeth through a handshake that went on for far too long. But was that really what Caleb was? Her friend? Just her friend?
“Nice to meet you,” Giselle said. “If the judge here ever gives you time off for good behavior, be sure and let me know.”
Allie frowned when Giselle’s parting gift to Caleb was a sassy wink.
“Will do,” he said, just a tad too flirty.
HOURS LATER, after a grueling afternoon in court viewing crime scene photos, Allie was loading briefs into her satchel when a knock sounded on her closed office door. Cal was safe, playing video games with Adam and three other marshals in an office down the hall.
The door opened, and Giselle popped her head through. “Judge Hayworth, do you have a second?”
“Sure,” Allie said. “What’s up?”
“That’s what I was going to ask you.” The tall, creamy-complexioned brunette walked the rest of the way into the room. She’d graduated at the top of her law school class, and spent every spare second studying for the bar. Her father was a federal judge in the state’s largest district. He wanted her to gain practical experience before joining her uncle’s thriving criminal defense firm in D.C.
“Here’s the thing,” Giselle said. “You know Mom’s hosting a reception for me in Portland this weekend, and she wants me to bring a date.” She rolled her eyes. “Like I really have time to date.”
The sick feeling in Allie’s gut told her she didn’t like the direction this conversation was about to take.
“Office gossip says you and the head of your security detail have a past. But he’s way hot, and I’m wondering if you all have a future? If not, is he fair game?”
&
nbsp; Good question.
“Mom and Daddy just love salt-of-the-earth, hero types.”
“Sure?” Allie was more confused than ever where her feelings stood on Caleb. The only absolute was that the mere thought of him going anywhere with the gorgeous creature standing before her, let alone on a date to meet Daddy, had Allie’s pulse raging.
“Sure,” Giselle began, “meaning sure, he’s fair game? I don’t want to step on any toes, but…” She flashed Allie a beautiful smile. Was it wrong to want to claw out Giselle’s blue eyes even though Allie had no business wanting Caleb for herself?
“Actually,” Allie said, slamming her desk drawer shut, “Caleb and I are sort of an item.”
Giselle’s eyebrows shot up. “Sort of?”
“It’s complicated,” Allie said.
“I’ll bet.”
“I HAD AN INTERESTING chat today,” Allie said that night while helping Caleb prepare a salad. While she washed lettuce, he sliced tomatoes.
His gift for the day had been a giant, jewel-toned totem pole of sorts, only instead of carved images, there were hundreds of rhinestones and beads and tiny mirrors. Never would she have thought to pick it out for herself, but it looked amazing in the den. She’d squealed and hugged him—then felt guilty for lingering in his arms. For liking the feel of those strong arms even more than the gift.
“With who?” Caleb asked.
“Giselle. One of my clerks.”
“She that hottie we ran into at recess?”
She flicked him with cold tap water.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” He grabbed a green pepper she’d already washed.
“Anyway,” she said, striving to infuse an appropriate devil-may-care lightness into her tone, “looks like you have a secret admirer.”
“Giselle?” His eyebrows shot up. “Cool.”
“She wanted to know if you were available for escort services this weekend.”
“You told her I am, didn’t you?”
“That’s mean,” she said.
“Oh,” he teased, “like you aren’t being mean by keeping me hanging?”
“How have I done that? I wasn’t aware we even have a topic between us to hang.”
“There could be,” he said. “If you wanted.”
“Oh, yeah?” Standing shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, she was having a hard time keeping up her half of the witty banter. “Like what kind of topic?”
Marrying the Marshal Page 7