Marrying the Marshal

by Laura Marie Altom

  “Miss me?” he asked, leaning against the fireplace wall, looking more handsome than any man had a right to. His smile tightened her insides. Dried her mouth. Had just the sight of him always had this effect?

  “Maybe.” She wished she felt as calm as she sounded.

  He laughed. “Guess that’s better than not at all.”

  Not in the mood for games, she put the brief she’d been reading on the floor, then went to him, curving her arms around him. “All right, yes,” she said against his chest, breathing in his smell, only enhanced by the latest rain and the sweet, smoky scent of a neighbor’s wood-burning fireplace. “I missed you. I worried about you. I’ve been utterly and completely out of my mind. There—” She pulled away and grinned up at him. “Happy?”

  “Yeah.” He wrapped her in a blanket of a hug.

  “Hungry?” she asked.

  She felt him shake his head. “Just tired.”

  “I’ll bet. Adam told me what happened.”

  Pulling away, he took her hand, drawing her toward the sofa. When they’d gotten comfortable, he said, “Ballsy of our friend Francis to think he could pull it off—blowing up the whole courthouse. This time, though, he screwed up big-time. We got at least twenty of his pals.” He winced. “Of course this means more work for you in helping to prosecute all of them, but—”

  “If it means once and for all cleaning up our corner of the world,” Allie said, thinking of the cultlike compound Francis had established that housed so many families who stood against every principle America had been founded upon. Calling themselves the Disciples of Truth, local authorities had long known of Francis’s organization but had been shocked to discover just how large it was. “I’m ready.”

  “Good.”

  “So?” She drew her legs up beside her, angling to face him. “Now that you’ve made a huge dent in Francis’s posse, when are you heading back?”

  “To Portland?”

  She nodded, hating the lump in her throat that’d formed the second she’d even thought the question, let alone asked it. Though the trial wasn’t over yet, surely the Disciples had been crippled to the point that they could no longer function. “You are going back, aren’t you? I mean now that Cal and I are no longer in danger….”

  A myriad of emotions flashed over his face. “So that’s it, then? Now that I caught the bad guys, you want me gone?”

  “No,” she said. “I was just asking. You know, wondering if this meant your boss would call you back to the Portland office.”

  “Sorry,” he said, “but you’re not officially getting rid of me until after Francis is sentenced. That said, it should be all right for Cal to go back to school once the jury reaches a verdict.”

  “Good.” She licked her lips, looking to the fire instead of the suddenly unreadable mask Caleb had made of his features.

  “We still on for Halloween if you wrap up by then? Reason I ask is that my sister called my cell about an hour ago. She’s coordinating travel plans and a party. Guess she’s even booked a few rooms at a local B and B. The Morning Glory Inn. Heard of it?”

  “Sure. It’s a beautiful place. The owner’s a friend. Now, can we please get back to discussing the important stuff?”

  He pushed himself up, stood in front of the fire. “Didn’t know we were discussing anything important.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  He shook his head. Laughed. “Mind telling me what is?”

  Hands to her forehead, she said, “This afternoon, when Cal and I were holed up in my office, not knowing what was going on, I couldn’t believe the things going through my head. One minute I was cursing you, blaming you for my son and I somehow ending up in this mess…”

  “And the next?”

  She clenched her jaw.

  She’d cursed herself. For not marrying Caleb now. Most of all, for not marrying him then. Because at least then she would’ve had nine idyllic years with him. Cal would’ve have known his father. She would’ve stored a lifetime of memories to keep her warm for dozens of years to come.

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

  “You should be,” he said with a sharp laugh. “I’m so sick and tired of you blaming me for every little thing that goes wrong in your life, Al. I’m a man. Not some danger magnet.”

  “I know,” she said, bowing her head.

  “Do you know, Allie? Do you have any idea of the life we could share?” He crossed back to her, knelt before her, eased his hand under her chin, smoothing his fingers along her throat, the pad of his thumb over her lips.

  Yes, she almost said, but since she couldn’t form the word, she simply nodded. “I was so afraid of losing you today.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “But now that the crisis has passed, you’re right back where you started, wondering what you’re going to do with me?”

  Since she didn’t know what to say to him, she settled for throwing her arms around his neck, crushing him in a hug. “Make love to me,” she said. “Please.”

  He groaned.

  “Please, Caleb.”

  Drawing back, he asked, “Why?”

  “Does it matter?”

  He looked away, then back. “Yeah, we could sleep together, but what then? I’m here to protect you. That’s my job. Ethically, sleeping with you would go against every professional oath I’ve taken. And what happens in the morning? When I want to make you my wife, and Cal my son in every sense of the word, and you run away again?”

  “That’s not fair,” Allie railed. “Just because I’m not going to marry you, doesn’t mean I’m running. I already told you I would never do that again. I was wrong the first time. Why would I do it a second? How could I? There’s my job. Cal’s school. The logistics alone—it would never work.”

  “That mean you’ve considered it?”

  “That hurts, Caleb. Really hurts.”

  “I know,” he said, mouth set hard. “Better than anyone—I know. Oh, and I picked up a real palm tree for your bedroom. It’s in the kitchen. Thought your cold-ass sleeping quarters needed some life. ’Course that was before you gave me an invitation to join you.”

  Chapter Eight

  “You nervous?” Caleb asked two days later upon entering the courtroom. The jury had just given word that they’d reached a verdict. It’d taken less than thirty minutes for the sentence to come down.

  “About what?”

  “How fast all of this happened. The trial. The verdict.”

  She flashed him a weak smile. “Guess I’m trying not to think about it. Thanks for reminding me.”

  “My pleasure. Oh, and for the record, we haven’t had much chance to talk lately, and so anyway, sorry about what I said about your bedroom. It’s actually kind of hot in there—or at least could be.” He thrilled her with a quick, ultrahunky wink before slipping into Rambo mode, checking to make sure the coast was clear and talking into the microphone hidden up his sleeve. As much as Allie hated what Caleb did for a living, even she had to admit, he did look kind of—all right, a lot— sexy when he was doing his marshal thing.

  When on duty, he became a chameleon, adjusting his clothes to blend with the scenery. In deference to their current courtroom setting, he wore a black suit, rumpled white shirt and navy tie. In college, she used to starch his shirts before their mock court sessions, lovingly smoothing her fingertips along the crisp cotton. She’d also helped him with the knots on his ties, because she’d loved easing her fingers inside his shirt collar, feeling the warm, smooth skin of his neck.

  “All’s clear,” he said, jolting her out of an entirely inappropriate daydream.

  Hoping the hot rush of awareness seizing her system was only evident to her, she gruffly thanked him, then proceeded to her bench.

  One look at the victims’ exhausted families was all it took to bring reality back. Those poor, devastated people. No one should lose loved ones before they’d lived a long, happy life. And to lose them in suc
h a brutal, senseless manner….

  Allie gritted her teeth.

  Innocent until proven guilty.

  The bailiff led in the jury. The two oldest women looked as if they may have been crying.

  A good sign or bad?

  Save for a far-off sniffle on the back row, the jury was painfully quiet.

  Allie looked to the jury forewoman. Eve Parks. A pretty brunette, single mom to three doe-eyed little girls. She was also an accountant. Owned Uncle Sam’s Tax Service on the corner of Elm and Provincial. The defense fought hard to have her disqualified. In front of the converted gas station she used as an office stood a twelve-foot statue of Uncle Sam. She and the girls changed his clothes and hat to match the different holiday seasons. To the defense’s way of thinking, this automatically made her an overly patriotic postal-worker lover, and therefore, biased.

  To Allie’s way of thinking, it made her American.

  No more biased than any other hardworking, law-abiding citizen in the courtroom who had an innate disgust for their fellow, hardworking citizens being blown to bits while standing in line to mail a package to Cousin Ima in Duluth.

  Allie took a deep breath, then asked, “Has the jury reached a verdict?”

  “We have your honor. We the jury find the defendant, Francis William Ashford, guilty on all counts.”

  Pandemonium broke out.

  On those siding with the victims, jubilant cries.

  On those praying for the defense, bone-chilling sobs.

  “Commie bitch is what you are!” Francis shouted at Allie while bailiffs led him from the room. “You’re gonna die! I don’t give a damn if they wanna fry me, you’re gonna die before I go!”

  She’d barely had time to process the man’s words before Caleb and Bear whisked her away to the shocking calm of the hall leading to her chambers.

  “You all right?” Caleb asked.

  Though she wasn’t quite sure, she managed a nod. “The sentencing. I need to go back in. A date has to be set.”

  “It’ll wait. Let’s get that mob quieted down. Bear,” Caleb said, “take Al on to her office. Make sure she gets a snack.”

  The giant of a marshal eyed him funny. “A snack?” he said out of Allie’s earshot.

  Caleb sighed. “Cut me some slack, okay? She refused to eat breakfast. I know how she gets when she doesn’t eat. Hell, we might end up having to protect Francis from her.”

  “You being careful?” Bear asked.

  “Come again?”

  Bear checked out Allie’s office, ushered her in, then shut the door before continuing. “We all like you, Caleb—a lot. Which is why no one’s said anything about you guarding your own son, and for all practical purposes your wife.”

  “Whoa,” Caleb said. “For the record, Allie’s not my wife. Nothing’s happened that shouldn’t have.” Except for a few damned hot kisses that he’d wanted to take a lot further.

  “Hey,” Bear said, massive paw of a hand on his shoulder, “it’s all cool. You don’t have to defend your actions to me. I just know you have a lot higher ambitions than the rest of us schmucks. I wouldn’t want anything tarnishing your shiny silver star. You know, mucking up your stab at turning it gold.”

  “Think I should take myself off the case?” Caleb looked away. Sighed. “I gotta admit, even for myself, there’s a couple times the line has been blurred.”

  Bear shrugged. “You’re the only one who can make that call.”

  THREE WEEKS HAD PASSED since the end of Francis’s trial. Due to defense appeals, the sentencing phase—typically eleven weeks after a ruling—could be months away. Fortunately, Francis seemed to have accepted his fate, as had those in his posse who weren’t already behind bars. Which was why Allie had insisted upon loosening up both her own and Cal’s security. Not that they wouldn’t still have round-the-clock protection, just that in her, and Caleb’s, professional judgment, Cal could safely return to school as long as he was accompanied by a security detail. Allie also hoped a few well-planned weekend outings would ease his feelings of frustration and isolation, as well as her own lingering pangs of impending doom.

  “This is so good for him—for both of us,” Allie said Saturday afternoon at a petting farm ten miles outside of town. The place was straight out of a storybook, complete with a big, red barn and rambling white farmhouse where they’d eaten lunch. The day itself, an Oregon jewel. Perfect sun. Perfect temperature. Perfectly blue sky capping the perfect day.

  Cal sat in a small, grassy enclosure, giggling under the weight of two licking baby goats.

  “It’s good for me, too,” Caleb said. “Despite having to drag them around.” He eyed his brother.

  Adam waved.

  Allie waved back. “I know now that things have calmed down around here, you all are probably bored, but thanks for sticking by us. The end of Francis’s trial was dicey, and it’s a comfort knowing you’ll be around for the long haul.”

  “Sure,” he said, awkwardly looking off toward a chicken coop, like he wasn’t sure what to do with her appreciation.

  She held her hand out to a pony, letting him nuzzle her open palm.

  “Try this.” Caleb put a quarter in a feed machine, then gave her the grains.

  She did and the pony went wild, snorting and licking her palm. His hot breath and fuzzy lips tickled and for the first time in days, she laughed.

  “Euw,” she said, wiping her slobbered hand on Caleb’s denim shirt. It was missing a button near the collar and at that moment, old and new affection for him made her want to mend his shirt along with their relationship.

  “Hey!” he complained. “Wipe your pony spit on your own clothes.”

  “Oh,” she teased, “but it looks so much better on yours.”

  “Come here,” he said, leading her by both her hands to a hand-pump. Freeing one of her hands, he worked the pump, getting her good and wet, then, pressing soap from the dispenser, slowly rubbing her palms and fingers with cool, slick suds. His service felt more like a massage than hand-washing, but she wasn’t complaining. To the contrary, she closed her eyes and smiled. “Ahh, this is the life.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “If you’re the one getting pampered.”

  She opened her eyes to catch his smile.

  “So?” he asked. “What’s your verdict on the rooster?”

  “The city really said it’s okay?”

  “Yep. Your house is just outside city limits. You’ve got enough land out back that you could even have a cow, horse and that donkey Cal’s been wanting.”

  “Gee, great. Like I don’t have enough on my plate already?”

  “The kid needs a pet, Al.”

  “We’ll get him a goldfish. He can have some of that fancy colored decorator gravel. But a rooster? Where are we going to put him? What are the neighbors going to say when he starts crowing Sunday morning?”

  “Who cares about the neighbors? As for a shelter,” Caleb said, “I was thinking me and Cal could build something. For now, for Cal’s safety, we’d do the actual construction in the garage, but it shouldn’t be too hard to then move the coop out to the yard.”

  “Why are you pushing so hard for this?” Allie asked.

  “I don’t know.” Caleb plucked a late-blooming daisy from alongside the gravel trail and tucked it behind her left ear. “Just thought it might be fun. You know, a father-son project.”

  Allie knew she should say ixnay on the backyard barnyard, but one added benefit besides Cal and his dad doing something fun together, was that even after Caleb returned to Portland, Cal would still have the pet to remember him by. “Okay,” she said. “You twisted my arm. But you two farmers have to build the coop before you get chickens.”

  “Agreed.”

  “How long you think it’ll take?” she asked.

  “Maybe a week. Two tops.”

  Shading her eyes from the sun, she asked, “That’s not long, considering there’s still six weeks after that till Francis learns his ultimate fate and you head back
to Portland.”

  “Nope,” he said, his tone unreadable. “Six weeks. Not long at all.”

  She trailed her hand along the smooth corral rail. “What then, Caleb? What happens to us after the trial?”

  “Simple. We figure out a shared custody agreement, or…” The obvious hung between them. If she didn’t willingly give Caleb a large portion of their son’s time, he’d take her to court. “Work with me, Allie. There’s no reason for any of this to go beyond your kitchen table. We’ll just sit down with a calendar and figure out how we want to divvy Cal’s time.”

  Her throat tightened. Still, she nodded. The last thing she wanted was to see Cal dragged into court. Lord knew, she spent enough time on the bench. She sure didn’t want to be on the other side, too.

  “I know this must be rough on you,” Caleb said, his large hand strong and warm on her back. “Thanks for being civilized abut it.”

  “Sure. I want what’s best for our son.”

  “Me, too, Allie.” He paused where they’d been walking alongside the corral. “So what are we talking? I’ll take school vacations? A big chunk of his summer?”

  “Then when I do I get to see him?” Allie asked.

  “Every night after school,” Caleb said. “Every weekend. I mean, I’ll for sure drive down whenever I can, but—”

  “No. I understand.” Allie started walking. Fast. As fast as she possibly could.

  “Then why are you running from me?”

  “I’m not running.”

  He snatched her by her shoulders, spinning her around. “Then talk to me. It doesn’t have to be this way. Neither of us should be sad. I mean, while I’ve got Cal, take a vacation. A pottery class. Try having a social life.”

  She closed her eyes. Swallowed hard.

  Allie didn’t want a social life.

  She wanted her son.

  Truth be told, what she really wanted was a family, the way it might’ve been with Caleb. If only he loved her enough to give up his death wish of a career. If only he wanted the same things she did. A nice home. Lazy evening dinners and Saturdays spent in the garden or riding go-carts at the park. But Caleb wanted none of that. She knew, because he could have had all that and more nine years ago when she’d first told him she was pregnant.