Marrying the Marshal Page 3

  The witness cleared his throat. “I was watching my shows. Price is Right and the like, when I went to the front window to draw the curtain. That time of morning, sun shines right through. Produces a glare.”

  “Yes, sir, and did you see something suspicious?” asked the chief prosecuting attorney.

  “Objection!” the defense attorney shouted. “Leading the witness.”

  “Overruled.” To the clearly shaken witness, Allie said, “Please, Mr. Foster, continue.”

  “All right, well, Bob Barker had just started the second Showcase Showdown. I was pulling the curtain closed, when I saw this primer-gray truck pull up to the post office. Ford. Powerful dirty. Mud splatters all over. Had those big, oversized tires. A confederate flag hanging in the back window.”

  “Did the flag shock you?”

  “Objection! Leading.”

  Allie, in no mood for attorney jockeying, shot Mack Bennett, lead attorney for the defense, her most stern look. “One more outburst, Mr. Bennett, and you will be fined. Mr. Foster, please, go on.”

  “All right, well, that boy—”

  “Excuse me,” the prosecution said, “but which boy? Is he here? In the courtroom today?”

  “Yessir.”

  “Would you be so kind as to point him out?”

  “I’d rather not.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “He’ll shoot me.”

  The courtroom erupted in low rumbles.

  “Order!” Allie slammed her gavel.

  “Mr. Foster,” the prosecution said once the crowd quieted. “Rest assured, in the county jail, the defendant has no access to firearms.”

  “Not him I’m worried about.”

  “Then who?”

  “His friends. Everyone in town knows Francis has lots of friends living on that compound of his, and every danged one of them have lots of guns.”

  The accused jumped to his feet. “That’s a bald-faced lie. I ain’t never—”

  “Order!” Allie said when the gallery exploded again. “Mr. Bennett, control your client or I’ll have him removed!”

  “Shut up, you commie bitch!” From out of the gallery someone flung an object. A balloon?

  By the time she’d registered what’d happened, the courtroom had erupted in screams. Caleb and another marshal ushered Allie out of a scene that could only be described as chaos.

  In her chambers, trembling, she put her hands to her face. Something wet and warm coated her cheeks. She pulled her hands down to find her palms stained with…blood?

  “Hurry,” Caleb said, tugging Allie’s ashen-faced secretary and clerks into her office, then dead-bolting the door. He shut the drapes, then barked directions into the radio in his sleeve. “Everyone okay?” he finally asked the women assembled.

  Allie nodded while her secretary fussed over wiping the blood with a tissue.

  “Excellent,” Caleb said. “Looks like everyone in the courtroom’s all right, too. They’ve all been cleared. Francis is headed to his cell, and I’ve got a cleaning crew on the way.”

  “Cal?” She was almost afraid to ask.

  “Just called his detail. All’s clear. Per his teacher’s instructions, they’re at the kitchen table practicing multiplication by making macaroni necklaces.” Caleb shot her a grin. A wonderfully sweet, strong grin so out of place in their current situation, it made her burst into a relieved nervous laugh.

  “I—I’m sorry,” she said. “I just—wow. That was—”

  She was still-rambling when Caleb pulled her into his arms. Impossibly strong, capable arms. How long had it been since she’d been held? Since she’d had someone to lean on? Yet as good as leaning on Caleb felt, she couldn’t open herself to the hurt of falling for him again. It would be all too easy, losing herself in the good. Forgetting the bad.

  “S-sorry,” she said. Releasing him. Backing away. Trying hard to look anywhere but at his face. Only that tactic landed her gaze squarely on his chest. On the rumpled white shirt he’d worn under his suit, now covered in blood. If she’d needed a sign to warn her to steer clear of the man she’d once loved, this was it in blazing neon.

  Sure, this time the blood was part of a sick prank.

  But what if next time, it was for real? What if her worst fears about Caleb being shot came true?

  Somehow she managed to say, “I—I should clean up.”

  Movements stiff and robotic, Allie locked herself in her small, private bathroom. Washed her hands and face, then sat on the closed toilet and prayed blood-balloons were the worst of Francis’s friends’ arsenal.

  “GOOD,” CALEB SAID late that afternoon from the courthouse parking lot, hand lightly shaking as he held his cell up to his right ear. “I caught you.”

  “Caleb?” his sister, Gillian, asked. “What’s up? I thought you were on assignment?”

  “I am.”

  “You got a cold?” she asked. “You sound weepy.”

  “Weepy?” He hadn’t cried in like…a day? Just the previous afternoon, upon his first sight of his son, hadn’t he spouted like a sprinkler? “I’m, ah, outside. It’s damned cold.”

  “Cut the whole defensive tough-guy routine,” Gillian said, “and just tell me what’s wrong. I thought over the past year or so we’ve gotten further than this. You know, like we could talk.”

  “We can,” he said. “Which is why I called. Gil, you sitting?”

  “No. But I can be. Just let me put the baby down for her nap. I’ll be right back.”

  “’Kay.”

  In rapidly fading daylight, drumming his fingers on the hood of his SUV, he grinned at the sound of his six-year-old stepniece’s cartoons blaring over the phone.

  A few years back, his sister married a great guy, Joe. The marriage turned out to be healing not just for Joe, but also for Gillian, who’d carried a chip on her shoulder the whole of her adult life.

  Caleb’s sister had never bothered to say anything to either her three brothers or their dad. He guessed she’d always felt as if they didn’t believe she could accomplish anything other than being a classic girly girl, and the men in her family went out of their way to shelter her. Or were condescending because she wasn’t their equal.

  What they all knew was that hell no, she wasn’t their equal. She was better than any of them! Tougher, smarter, with a forked tongue a guy didn’t stand a chance of winning an argument against!

  Good thing for them, since finally figuring out all of that for herself, she’d mellowed. Taken time from her crazed agenda of proving herself better than the guys to instead learn to appreciate her own unique feminine strengths and weaknesses.

  “Hi, Uncle Caleb,” six-year-old Meggie said into the phone.

  “Hey, potato bug.”

  “I’m not a bug,” the girl said with giggle.

  “Then what are those things sticking out of your head? I thought those were your antennae?”

  “Those are my ears!” she shrieked.

  “Oh, well, in that case,” Caleb said, “maybe instead of a bug, you’re just a Mr. Potato Head?”

  “I’m a girl! I’d be a Missus Potato Head!”

  “You sure? Let me ask your momma. You might be an imposter, and I’ll have to call the police.”

  She giggled again. “You are the police!”

  “Gimme that phone,” Gillian said in the background. “You big sneak.”

  Giggling shrieks said his favorite little potato bug was getting tickled.

  “All right,” Gillian said. “I’m back. The baby’s hopefully asleep, and your niece is getting popcorn crumbs all over my new sofa.”

  “What was that?” Caleb asked. “My tomboy sister’s feeling protective toward a sofa?”

  “Hey, cut me some slack. It’s a really comfy sofa. Perfect for making out on.”

  “Ack.” He clutched his chest. “I don’t want to hear this.”

  “Hear it? Just wait till Thanksgiving when you’ll get to see it. Think you’ll be done in time? We’re doing turke
y and a ham. Dad and Beau are coming. Joe’s former in-laws, too. I’m assuming you’ll be holding Adam hostage?”

  Caleb sighed. Rubbed his forehead.

  “Out with it, sweetie. Here I am going on about the holidays when something’s obviously bugging you.”

  “All right, here goes. Remember Allie?”

  “The girl who broke your heart?”

  “Aw, geez, it wasn’t all that bad.”

  “The hell it wasn’t. Adam said you didn’t get out of bed for two weeks. He also said she was pregnant, then told you in a letter she’d lost the baby after leaving town.”

  “Adam’s got a big mouth,” Caleb said. “Anyway, the short of it is, she didn’t really lose the baby.”

  “What?!”

  “Gilly, I’ve got a son. He’s so damned handsome it hurts to look at him. He’s got my eyes.”

  “God, I’d like to hug you right now. Congratulations, honey. I can’t wait to tell Dad—and Joe. I’ve got to see if he can wrangle time away from the office, then we’ll be right over.”

  “Not a good plan.”

  She laughed. “Just try keeping me away. I love staying home with Chrissy, but truthfully, I could use a little action.”

  “Yeah, well, there’s too much action here. And Allie and my son are at the heart of it.”

  “MOM,” CAL SAID at the dinner table that night, “I wish you’d let me go back to school. Sam called and said Kelly got her noodle necklace stuck up her nose. And then Miz Talbert came over to try yanking it out, and then the whole thing broke, and noodles were like, wham—” he swung his left arm for emphasis, in the process dumping his chocolate milk “—everywhere. Sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” she said, sopping the mess without skipping a beat.

  “Need help, ma’am?” The newest marshal assigned to protect them stepped in from the living room. She didn’t know him, but he seemed nice enough. Cal seemed fascinated by his size and smooth-shaven head.

  “No, but thanks,” she said.

  “Sure.” All eight feet of him ducked back into the living room.

  “You mad?” Cal asked, munching on a carrot stick.

  “Not even a little bit.” She tossed the milk-soaked rag in the sink, then joined him at the table.

  “How come you’re not sayin’ anything?”

  “Sorry,” she said. “Guess I’m just tired.”

  “Then how come you’re not eating? I thought Great-Grandma Beatrice’s meat loaf’s your favorite.”

  “It is. Guess I’m not all that hungry, either.”

  “I am.” He helped himself to thirds on meat loaf and mashed potatoes, carefully steering clear of the steamed broccoli along the way.

  “That’s good,” she said, not in the mood to lecture Cal about vegetables.

  “Man,” he said, mouth half-full of potatoes. “This was the crappiest day ever. At least Sam told everyone I have bodyguards. Wish that Caleb guy could’ve stayed here with me, but he said he had to hang out with you. Bet he was bored.”

  If only!

  “Yeah,” Allie said, sipping iced tea. “It was a pretty dull day.” Nothing but a few blood-balloons whizzing through her court.

  “Sorry. Wanna stay home with me in the morning? After I do my work, we can go see Power Force.” The dear look on his face was so sincere, so hopeful, she couldn’t help but smile. Then she happened to flash back to that afternoon, and how Caleb had worn the same concerned expression.

  A pang ripped through her at the notion that no matter how hard she’d tried convincing herself that in her mind Cal’s father was dead, he wasn’t. He was alive and well and quite possibly lurking just outside the house.

  “Oh, baby,” she said, grabbing her son’s small, sticky hand. “I would love to stay home with you, and then go to a movie, but I can’t—we can’t.”

  “How come you look like you’re gonna cry again? You never have before.”

  “I know. There’s just a lot going on that—”

  “You’ll understand when you get older.” Caleb strolled into the kitchen. His choppy, dark hair was wet, as were the shoulders of his denim shirt. For the most part, his faded jeans were dry, kind of like her mouth once she’d finished eyeing the ridiculously gorgeous combo of his body and face. In his left hand dangled a plastic bag.

  “It still rainin’ outside?” Cal asked.

  His father nodded. His father.

  “Sure is,” Caleb said. “Want to go outside and play?”

  “Yeah!” Cal leaped from his seat. “Can I take my plastic boats?”

  “Whoa,” Caleb said, rubbing the boy’s head. “Slow down, mister. That was a joke. It’s a nasty night.”

  “It’s nice in here,” Cal said. “We’ve got meat loaf. Want some?”

  “That depends. Is it Grandma Beatrice’s recipe?”

  “Yeah,” Cal said. “How’d you know?”

  Eyeing Allie, he shrugged. “Lucky guess.”

  “Man,” Cal said, back in his seat. “You’re good. What’s in the bag?”

  “This,” he said, pulling out a Hershey bar the size of Cal’s head.

  “Cool!” Cal said. “Thanks! Can I eat it now? What else is in there?”

  “You can eat part of it now,” Caleb said. “And only if it’s okay with your mom. As for what else is in there, that’s for me to know and you to find out.”

  Cal made a face.

  Caleb returned the look.

  “Can I eat it?” Cal asked Allie.

  “Sure,” she said. “After dinner. You the new shift?” Allie asked Caleb.

  “Nah. I went ahead and sent Bear out to the front porch, but I’m officially off for the night.”

  Cal asked, “Then how come you aren’t at the new movie, Power Force? That’s where I’d be goin’ if I didn’t have to work.”

  Caleb laughed, and the rich normalcy of his voice washed through Allie. “You work a lot?” he asked his boy.

  “Yeah. Mom makes me take out the trash. I have to make my bed, too. And sometimes when I forget to take the trash, she yells at me and I get talked to about ’sponsibilities.”

  “What’s so bad about that?”

  “It’s hard. You ever take out the trash? And sometimes, if it’s raining, I even have to take out Miss Margaret’s trash.”

  “Who’s that?” Caleb asked Allie.

  “Next-door neighbor, and a good friend. Before all this mess with Francis, we used to hang out a lot at each other’s houses. I told her she’s still welcome to come over, but she says you all intimidate her.”

  “Hmm…” The man Allie used to love rubbed his chin. A fine shadow of stubble had grown over the afternoon. Back in college, he’d sometimes shaved twice a day. And sometimes, when he’d chosen not to shave and they’d been messing around, he’d rubbed his rough cheeks on her neck or belly…. And she’d liked that feel. She’d wanted—

  “You know,” he said to Cal. “I think maybe once or twice your mean old mom nagged me about taking out the trash. But then I wised up and took it out before she even had to ask.”

  He shot a wink Allie’s direction, and her heart flip-flopped.

  Cal wrinkled his nose. “That still sounds like too much work.” To his mom he asked, “Can I go watch TV and practice my knitting?”

  “After you clear the table and put back the fridge stuff.”

  “Aw, man.”

  “Come on,” Caleb said, reaching across the table for the ketchup and butter, flooding Allie with his all-male scent. “I’ll help.”

  In a few short minutes, the job was done, leaving Cal scampering off to the den for TV, leaving Allie alone with his no-longer-smiling dad.

  “He’s good kid,” Caleb said, joining her at the table.

  “Thanks. I think so.”

  “But no way did I hear right in that he actually wants to practice knitting?”

  “What’s wrong with knitting? It’s good for hand-eye coordination. Plus, if he ever gets a job in Alaska, he’ll be able to kee
p himself warm.”

  Shaking his head, Caleb’s only response was a grunt.

  After a few seconds spent folding a leftover paper napkin into a ship, he asked, “Cal get good grades?”

  “As and Bs.”

  “Any discipline problems?”

  “Other than sass now and then, nothing serious.”

  “What’d you tell him about me?”

  The hardball question came from left field. It took a second to regain her composure. “I—I told him you died.”

  Caleb cursed under his breath. Shook his head.

  “Well?” she asked. “What was I supposed to say?”

  He half smiled. “For being such a brilliant woman, you don’t have a clue.”

  Chapter Three

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Allie asked.

  “Think about it. If you couldn’t stomach being around me, how hard would it have been to at least share custody of our son? What did I ever do to make you pull something this cold? Christ. You know how much I wanted to be a dad one day….”

  “One day,” she said. “Not your junior year of law school. Not with marshal training after that. Not with endless hours of chasing bad guys and playing shootout till all hours of the night.”

  “So basically, you’re saying you told Cal I died as a favor? So I wouldn’t be bothered?”

  “Right.”

  “And you actually believe that?” He pushed his chair back, putting her further on edge by standing directly behind her, rubbing her shoulders. Powerfully kneading, the way he’d always done after she’d had a hard day. “See, I’m thinking the whole thing goes deeper. Back to a little girl who lost her cop father at an impressionable age.”

  Despite his all-too-pleasurable strokes, Allie froze.

  “Know what else I think?” he asked.

  “Wh-what?”

  “You didn’t do this out of some saintly desire to shelter your son—our son—from pain. You were protecting yourself. That little girl inside was afraid that just like your old man, I’d get shot in the line of duty.”

  Brushing Caleb’s hands from her shoulders, she said, “I should do the dishes.”