The Marshal's Ready-Made Family

Ely broke the silence first, saying, “That little Cora sure is a cute one.”

“That she is.”

“Heard she’s taken a shine to Jo.”

“Word travels fast around these parts.”

“That it does.” Ely ratcheted the hinges tighter. “What are you planning on doing?”

Garrett gritted his teeth against the strain of the heavy metal gate. “Doing?”

“You gonna raise that little girl all on your own?”

“Not much other choice,” Garrett bit out over his exertion.

At Ely’s signal, Garrett released his hold and leaped back, scooting his boots free from a possible collapse. To his relief, the hinges held firm. He flexed his sore fingers. Ely must be twenty years his senior, but the older man didn’t show any signs of strain. Mr. McCoy was a tough, portly man with a fierce scowl and a ready smile. Garrett recalled how Jo had launched herself at her pa earlier. Though Ely could snap a sturdy tree limb with one hand, his children didn’t seem afraid of him.

The idea gave Garrett pause. What was it like for the McCoy children, not being afraid all the time?

Ely swung the bars back and forth, examining the smooth action with a satisfied expression. “When I look at your little girl, I wish I could go back in time.”

Garrett glanced up in surprise. “Why?”

“Jo never had time to be a baby. To be a girl. By the time she was walking, we already had Caleb. Then David came along and Abraham and Michael. We had a little bit of time, but then Maxwell surprised us. With all those boys, well...let’s just say she had to be tough.”

Garrett couldn’t help but wonder how Jo had survived with all those rough-and-tumble boys. She wasn’t as tough as she pretended. He’d seen her vulnerability. Despite her confidence and bravado, she really was a tiny little thing. Those boys should be sheltering and protecting her, not the other way around. A half grin stretched across his face. Garrett had a feeling Jo would never stand for coddling.

Ely considered his dirt-stained hands. “The missus used to dress her up. Jo wouldn’t stand for it. It’s funny, you know? The missus thinks they butt heads because they’re too different. I think they’re too much alike. You ever noticed that? It’s the parts of ourselves we see in others that frustrate us most.”

Ely’s insight surprised Garrett. With all those children running underfoot, who had time for speculation?

The older man paused. “Probably why David and I argue like a couple of old-timers.” He nodded. “We’re too much alike.”

A sense of helplessness chased away Garrett’s earlier serenity. Ely’s observations hit too close to the heart of the matter. That’s what Garrett feared—being like his father. The blood of a murderer flowed through his veins like an unlit fuse.

The McCoys were unencumbered by the past. They didn’t know the secret he bore like an albatross around his neck. They’d never been burdened with a scandal that had destroyed an entire family.

“Pa!” a voice called.

Garrett glanced up and saw the youngest McCoy dashing toward them.

Maxwell skidded to a halt and grasped his side, leaning over as he heaved in a noisy breath. “The reverend is here. He’s got a telegram for Garrett. Says it’s about Cora. And it’s important. And it’s bad news.”

Even without the power of Ely’s unexpected insight, Garrett had a sinking feeling this evening wasn’t going to end well.

* * *

Jo watched as Marshal Cain paced before the fireplace, his hands on his hips, a fierce scowl darkening his handsome face. “I’ll go back to St. Louis myself and fight this if I have to.”

“No!” Jo exclaimed.

Her ma placed a gentle hand on her arm. “Let him be.”

Reverend Miller worried the shallow brim of his black felt hat in his hands. “Perhaps it’s better if the marshal’s cousin and his wife raise the child. You’re a single man with a dangerous job...”

“They don’t want Cora,” Garrett announced. “They want the money from my sister’s estate. It says so right here. They want custody of Cora.” He jabbed a finger at the telegram. “And the proceeds of the estate for her care and comfort.” He crumpled the paper in his fist. “Care and comfort my foot. My sister’s husband was an architect. Did well for himself.”

The reverend hung his head, revealing the bald patch at his crown. “Still, we must consider what’s best for the child.”

The marshal braced his hands against the mantel and stared into the blazing fire. “That’s not all. I heard a rumor that Edward’s sawmill is failing. He doesn’t want Cora, he wants an influx of cash for his business.”

Mrs. McCoy stood and faced the group, her hands thrust out in a placating gesture. “I don’t like this any better than the rest of you, but we don’t know your cousin’s motivations for certain. Right now it’s only blind speculation.”

Marshal Cain turned and shook his head. “Whatever his motivations, he’s already got a judge on his side.”

Ely fisted his hands beneath his biceps and propped his shoulder against the wall. “Let me get this straight. He told the judge that the little girl is in jeopardy because she has a marshal as a guardian?”

“Because I’m a single man. A single lawman. They think I can’t care for her properly.”

“Can you?” Edith bluntly demanded.

Four pairs of eyes turned in shock.

Jo glared at her ma, who returned the sharp glance and pursed her lips. “I don’t mean because you’re a man. But you voiced your own concerns rather eloquently earlier this evening. You can’t have a little girl in the jailhouse with murderers and rapists.”

“Edith!” Ely exclaimed. “Language.”

Jo’s ma directed an exasperated look at her husband. “It’s the truth, whether we want to face it or not. You’ve got a sweet little girl living above a jail cell.”

Marshal Cain adjusted the gun belt strapped around his narrow hips. “She’s barely been here a week. I haven’t sorted out all the details. If living in the jail is the problem, then we’ll move.” He faced the reverend. “What about the Elder place? The one just over the rise? I’ll buy that.”

“You can’t,” Reverend Miller declared. “Someone already owns it.”

The room erupted into noisy chaos.

“Who?” Jo demanded.

“Why, Jack Elder’s brother,” the reverend declared. “I heard he was driving a herd of cattle from Texas.”

Ely planted an elbow on the mantel. “When did this happen?”

“Last month or so. Haven’t heard anything in a while.”

“Longhorns, I suppose?” Ely ran a thumb and forefinger along his silver-streaked beard. “Huh. I guess there’s good grazing land on the other side of the creek. He better move quick. There’s talk of closing the borders farther east. Those longhorns bring Texas Fever.”

“Does he have any kids?” Maxwell asked from the doorway.

The adults fell instantly silent at his sudden announcement. Not a one of them had noticed his arrival.