The Marshal's Ready-Made Family (11 page)

Chapter Twelve

T
his was going to hurt.

Garrett sat on a low stool in the livery while Mr. McCoy paced before him. The sky was clear and cloudless, a faded indigo bleached by the sun. After taking one look at Ely’s face, Mr. Lynch, the livery owner, had fled. Garrett wished he could have followed.

The red-faced man crossed back and forth and back and forth again, muttering all the while. This odd ritual had been repeated for fifteen minutes, and Garrett was growing restless. He had an appointment with the lawyer that afternoon. When Mr. McCoy reached the far end of the enclosure, Garrett discreetly fished out his pocketwatch.

“I’m sorry,” Mr. McCoy boomed. “Am I taking up your precious time?”

Garrett hastily stowed the watch. “Well, no, but...”

“I had other plans for this morning,” the incensed man continued. “And they didn’t include that busybody, Mrs. Fletcher, stopping me on the street at first light.”

“I’m—”

“I’d like to know how my daughter ended up in your rooms in the middle of the night.”

“She—”

“I know she was sitting with Cora while you broke up the fight at the saloon, but that doesn’t explain how the two of you wound up lying on the street together.”

“We—”

“You rescued her from the fire. Sure.” Mr. McCoy raked his fingers through his thick mop of hair. “Jo has always been headstrong, but you’re a lawman. You should know better.” He paused and glared. “I blame you.”

“I blame myself, sir.”

“That’s, well...” Mr. McCoy sputtered. “Good.”

Garrett opened his mouth for a response. Mr. McCoy’s fierce scowl silenced his defense.

“I don’t know what you two were thinking,” Ely continued. “But the missus isn’t happy. She’s not happy at all. And if she’s not happy, I’m not happy. You get my point?”

Not really.
“Uh...”

“Jo is special. Not a lot of people realize that, but I think you do. That’s why I’m not going to kill you.”

“I apprec—”

“You’re gonna do the right thing, ain’t ya?” Ely glared.

“I already have. Looks like she’ll have me after all.”

“Oh, she’ll have you. Her ma will see to that. But if I hear one bad thing, if you hurt her in any way, I’m gonna, well, I’m gonna...I’m gonna pin your ears back.”

Garrett had a feeling Mr. McCoy wanted to expand on his threat or at the very least increase the stakes, but the older man suddenly seemed at a loss for words.

Keeping his head down, Garrett replied, “Yes, sir.”

Mr. McCoy stuck out his hand. Garrett jerked back, then flailed as the stool tipped.

The older man grabbed his hand, hauled him forward and slapped him on the back. “Call me Ely.”

“Pa,” a youthful voice called.

The two men faced the youngest McCoy, Maxwell, who’d been patiently waiting during the past twenty minutes of pacing and muttering. The boy had braced his toes on the lowest railing of the corral fence and draped his body over the top railing. His hands dangled and his hat rested brim up beneath his bent head.

Max raised his eyes. “Pa, does this mean you’re not gonna shoot Marshal Cain like you said earlier?”

“Of course not, son. We’re family after the wedding. I can’t very well shoot my own son-in-law.”

The boy screwed up his face as he weighed the answer. A flash of disappointment crossed his expression before he lifted his shoulders in an upside-down, resigned shrug. “Can I drive the wagon?”

“Maybe next year.”

Max scrambled over the fence and retrieved his hat, then scuffed at the dirt with his toe. “I thought this day was gonna be fun. But you’re not gonna shoot anyone and I can’t even drive the wagon.”

As Garrett absently rubbed his chest, he pondered the boy’s answer. Which part was more disappointing? Not being able to drive the wagon or missing the opportunity to see a man shot? He decided not to ask.

Ely fisted his hands beneath his biceps and Garrett thanked his lucky stars once more that he hadn’t had to fight the man.

The McCoy patriarch thoughtfully scratched his chin. “This town hasn’t had a wedding in a month of Sundays. This’ll be quite a shindig.”

“About that.” Garrett shifted on his feet. “I think we’ll go before the judge when he comes through town in a few weeks. There’s no need for anything fancy.”

Ely threw back his head and guffawed. “You got a lot to learn about women, son. A lot to learn.” The older man chaffed his hands together. “This is going to be fun.”

“Jo and I agreed on this.” Garrett bristled beneath Ely’s amused regard.

“It ain’t Jo you gotta worry about.” Ely motioned for his son. “Come along, Max. I need a salt lick for the south pasture and a word with Caleb. I believe we’ll find both things at the mercantile.”

Abandoning Garrett in confused silence, Ely pivoted on his heel, his merry whistle floating behind him on the breeze.

Garrett scratched the back of his neck. Who would protest if he and Jo went before the judge?

Max threw one last disappointed look over his shoulder, then shrugged in resignation. “You bringing Jo for dinner next Sunday?”

“Maybe.”

“Can I shoot your gun?”

“No.”

“Peas and carrots. I never get to do anything fun.”

The boy flapped his arm in a dismissive gesture and Garrett sketched a hesitant wave in return. That hadn’t gone so badly, had it? He’d been dreading the encounter with Ely all morning, but it seemed like Jo’s pa wasn’t opposed to the marriage. The conversation had been disjointed, but not overly violent. Except for that last cryptic remark.

He had a lot to learn.
Garrett slapped his hat against his pant leg before replacing it. He couldn’t argue with that.

Either way, Jo wasn’t the sort of woman who wanted a big fancy wedding. Thank heaven. The thought of standing before a congregation of people in his Sunday best sent shivers down his spine. Outside of his job, he loathed being the center of attention. Nothing attracted more attention than standing at the altar. That wasn’t even the worst part. Afterward, he’d have to sip punch and make small talk.

Memories of his youth drifted through his exhausted brain. A long-dormant sadness suffocated his emotions. In better days, his family had been part of the St. Louis social elite, and his parents had thrown parties nearly every weekend during the summer. He hadn’t realized it as a child, but his mother had been putting on a show. Dressing them up and making the world believe they were one big, happy family. Good thing no one had seen behind closed doors.

Garrett didn’t want to repeat the same pattern. Plastering on fake smiles and pretending things were one way, when in reality, they were living an entirely different truth.

He shrugged and faced his horse, a bay gelding with a white strip down its nose. “Don’t worry, old Blue.” Garrett patted the horse’s muzzle. “I’ve only known JoBeth a few months, but I know enough. We’ve got nothing to worry about.”

* * *

“JoBeth McCoy,” her ma admonished. “You’ll have a church wedding and that’s the last I’ll say on the matter.”

“I agreed to the marriage.” Jo sulked. “Isn’t that enough?”

Edith’s pacing stilled in a huff.

Jo drummed her fingers on the arm of her chintz armrest.

Her ma perched on the edge of a wingback chair. Jo had expected her parents to voice an opinion, but not this soon.

Her ma carefully arranged her blue calico skirts over her bent knees. “I was against this marriage in the beginning, but my thoughts on the matter have changed. Marshal Cain has proved himself to be an honorable man, and I respect that.”

Jo bit off a groan. Her ma was correct. She’d seen it in Garrett’s eyes. He’d do the honorable thing even if it meant shackling himself to her for the rest of his life.

The traits she admired about him were the very things that would make this marriage such a disaster. Would his honor hold up through the years, or would he grow to resent her? She feared the outcome of their hasty union if the marshal felt as if he’d been coerced into the marriage.

Jo dug her heels into the carpet and lifted her toes. “Garrett and I are getting married, but we’re going before the judge. Not some fancy church wedding.”

“And that’s how you want to begin your married life together?” Her ma lifted an eyebrow at the familiar use of the marshal’s name. “Alone. Before a judge?”

“I’m agreeing with you and you’re still criticizing me?” Jo stalled with a throat-soothing gulp of cool water. “I agreed to the marriage. What else matters?” she repeated.

“You’re my only girl, JoBeth.” Her ma fiddled with the crocheted lace at her collar. “When the boys get married, their wives will arrange the wedding.”

Jo shrugged. It didn’t matter who planned the wedding. “I’m making things easier on you this way.”

“Don’t you start with me, JoBeth. Nothing about this is easy. In fact, the whole thing is a disaster. Everyone in town already thinks the worst.” Edith stood and crossed before the cold hearth once more. “If you and the marshal sneak off before a judge, you’ll only give the gossips more fodder.”

“There’s going to be talk anyway,” Jo pointed out helpfully. “The last exciting thing that happened in town occurred when the sheriff got himself arrested and replaced by a county marshal. This will blow over as soon as Tom Walby goes on another bender or Mrs. Fletcher’s goat gets into another garden. I’ll simply stay low until the next gossip-worthy event. Once someone else slips up, the marshal and I will be old news.”

Agnes, her landlady, appeared in the arched doorway from the kitchen. She held a tray with a red-rose-enameled teapot and two cups. A lace napkin fluttered over the edges. Agnes took one look at Edith’s stiff back, spun around and retreated.

Her ma cut her hands through the air. “It matters because people’s impressions are difficult to change. You’re not a goat or a drunk. This sort of gossip sticks. Elizabeth and Jack have been gone for ten years, and their courtship is still legendary around these parts.”

“I’ll give you that one.” For some reason, gossip about a romance had more staying power than other news. “People should have better things to do than talk.”

“Of course they should, but that’s not the point. You and Marshal Cain have made a real mess of this. Don’t make it any worse.”

Jo felt herself losing ground. “Don’t you see? Having a church wedding would be a disaster. I’m not like Mary Louise. I’ll look like a fool all decked out like a sugar cake, and everyone will laugh at me.” Jo slapped her glass onto the table, sloshing water over her sleeve. “I’d rather be known as a fallen woman than a laughingstock.”

A fine sheen of tears appeared in Ma’s eyes, and her mouth crumpled along the edges. “I’ve never asked you to be anything but who you are, JoBeth. I never forced you into skirts or made you put up your hair. Maybe I should have, but even when I was tempted, your pa wouldn’t let me.” Edith swiped at her eyes. “But I’m asking you for this. Let your pa and I give you a nice wedding.”

Jo sopped up the spilled water with her sleeve. Sheer desperation kept her arguing. “You have five other children. Why are you picking on me?”

Her ma gasped. “How on earth is planning a lovely wedding, even though I don’t agree with the circumstances, picking on you?”

“We don’t need a ceremony.” Jo sagged in her chair and threw her arms over the sides. “How many times do I have to tell you that? The judge is coming through town in a few weeks, and we’ll sign the papers.”

“You are making a covenant before God.” Her ma planted her hands on her hips and loomed over Jo. “And even if the two of you don’t take that seriously, I do.”

Rising, Jo imitated her mother’s implacable stance. “It’s not your wedding. I’m an adult and I can make my own decisions.”

“As an adult, you have responsibilities.”

“I already have plenty of responsibilities. I take care of myself. I have my own place and my own job.”

“You’re being selfish.”

Jo’s jaw dropped. “I’m not selfish.”

“Your actions reflect on the people around you.”

Her mother’s voice caught on the last word, and Jo’s chest tightened. Guilt finally won out over the thought of being ostracized in front of the entire town. Though she dreaded the idea of Mary Louise and the others snickering over her, she couldn’t refuse her ma’s plea.

Edith McCoy had never made a demand on Jo. Even when they’d argued over Jo’s midwife duties, her ma had backed down. Obviously, this meant more to her than Jo understood. “If it means that much to you, then fine.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

Her ma’s face lit up at Jo’s grudging reply and she felt like a first-rate heel for putting up such a fuss in the first place. Who cared what Tom Walby or Mary Louise thought of her? No one mattered but her family—and Garrett. She wouldn’t embarrass him.

Her ma pulled her into a hug. “You’ve always been so independent. Let this be our gift to you.”

How could Jo refuse? Her ma may have wanted her in frilly dresses with crimped hair, but she’d never forced the issue. When Jo wore trousers around the farm, her ma rolled her eyes but never insisted she wear skirts.

There was someone else they must take into consideration. “I’m not sure how Garrett will feel about all this. We kinda agreed on going before a judge.”

“If he knows what’s best for him, he’ll agree in a lick.”

“I suppose.”

Jo didn’t know much about men, but if she explained about her ma, surely Garrett would agree. She sure hoped so, otherwise she had another tangle to unravel.

“JoBeth, you’re taking on an awful lot. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

For a brief moment Jo considered confiding in her ma, then changed her mind just as quickly.

How did she explain that somewhere along the line she’d gotten lost? That she’d felt a yearning for something she couldn’t name, and marrying Marshal Cain felt like a step in the right direction. How could she explain that she was terrified of childbirth, and lately her fear had warred with her loneliness? That she was tired of being treated like a second-class citizen because she wasn’t married and raising a family, and she was annoyed with herself for the vulnerability?