Marrying the Marshal. Laura Altom Marie

“Took him long enough. For a minute there, I thought I might have to slip him a mickey.” He winked. “You, on the other hand, had no trouble falling asleep. Seeing you curled up on the sofa…It brought back memories.”

      “Good, I hope.”

      “Most.”

      Turning her back on him, heading to her room, she said, “Guess we should call it a day.” She flicked on the overhead light—a modern chandelier.

      “Nice,” he said, hot on her trail, shrinking the once generously sized room. “You always did have a flair for decorating.”

      “Thanks.” The money she’d spent had been her reward for having to sleep in there alone. The ultramodern acrylic canopy bed with its sheer white curtains was a floating cloud, complete with downy white sheets, comforter and pillows. She’d done the floor in dramatic black granite. Half the walls were white, the others bamboo-green. Aside from a few original botanical watercolors, all oversized and abstract, the room had few adornments.

      Clutter made her crazy.

      Not because it bothered her, but because Caleb had been renowned for his clutter, and she didn’t want to be reminded of him. One look into her son’s sage green eyes was painful enough.

      “It is a little cold in here, though.” He shot her a sexy-slow grin. “Needs paperbacks and newspapers. Definitely a few good flea market finds.”

      Arms crossed, she asked, “Am I in so much danger I need a marshal in my bedroom?”

      He reddened, tipped an imaginary hat. “Sorry, ma’am. I forgot my manners.”

      “It’s okay this once,” she said, trying not to smile at his antics, but having a tough time. He’d always been a big fan of the old west, right down to adopting a truly awful fake cowboy accent. Guess he hadn’t lost his touch. “Just don’t let it happen again.”

      “Will do,” he said with another gorgeous grin. “Seriously, you all right? You know, about this afternoon?”

      She shrugged. Slipping off black leather heels, she headed for her walk-in closet, switching on the light.

      From the bedroom came the swish of blinds being drawn on the wall of windows overlooking the backyard and Cascades range beyond. “You gotta be more careful,” he said. “Until this whole mess is over, I recommend keeping all the curtains and blinds closed.”

      “Thanks.” She emerged from the closet wearing white flannel pj’s and her favorite white robe.

      “Sure.”

      He reached out to her.

      She flinched from his anticipated touch.

      “Geez, Allie, all I was trying to do was get that chunk of hair from your collar. You know how you were always getting it stuck.”

      “Please, don’t,” she said, biting her lower lip.

      “What?”

      “Try ingratiating yourself by dredging up old memories. Yes, Caleb, we share a past, but that doesn’t mean we share a future.”

      He snorted. “Ah, hate to interrupt your pretty speech, but there’s a boy in there with my DNA who sorta says different. Our futures are intimately entwined.”

      “You’re not playing fair.” She gripped the clear acrylic bedpost, squeezing till the square edge dug into her palm. “No one’s denying Cal’s your son. All I asked for was time to digest all this. You showing up here out of the blue.”

      “Oh—like nine years hasn’t already been long enough for you to devise a way to tell a son obviously needing a dad that he just so happens to have one?”

      “What are you intimating? That I’m a bad mom?”

      “Not at all. Just that you’re not a dad. Did you know your expert knitter’s being made fun of at school because he’s lousy at sports? When’s the last time you had him out playing catch or at a batting cage?”

      “Stop,” she said. “You’re coming across like a sexist pig. Besides knitting, Cal takes art lessons. He’s a highly skilled artist for his age. His teacher’s quite impressed.”

      “Great.” Caleb laughed. “Tell that to Billy Stubbs. He’ll beat our poor kid to a pulp.” Shaking his head, Caleb left the room.

      “What’s that supposed to mean?” Allie whisper-shouted, chasing him down the hall and stairs. “And who’s Billy Stubbs?”

      “Ask your son.”

      WELL, OBVIOUSLY, Allie wasn’t going to wake Cal to ask, so she’d planned on asking first thing in the morning. But a storm and power outage during the night had messed up her alarm and she’d overslept, leaving her with barely enough time to ask Cal what he wanted for breakfast, let alone who this Billy Stubbs was!

      And could someone please tell her, with six grown, highly capable men outside, all knowing the court schedule, how not a one of them had delivered a wake-up call?

      As if being late wasn’t bad enough, first thing she encountered on the kitchen counter was the plastic bag Caleb had brought in last night.

      A note on it said: Allie’s relaxation supplies.

      Curiosity piqued, she looked inside only to swallow hard. How in the world had Caleb remembered?

      Her favorite way to wind down after a really tough day was with a guilty pleasure she hadn’t indulged in since…

      Well, since leaving him.

      With reverence, she removed the jumbo bag of mixed-flavor Jolly Rancher candies and a movie-star gossip magazine. She sniffed the bag. Her favorite green apple flavor shone through.

      Running her hand over the magazine’s glossy cover, she drooled over Catherine Zeta-Jones’s latest premiere gown—stunning. She snuck a quick peek inside….

      Aw, Gwyneth’s baby, Apple, is adorable.

      Mmm…could Jude Law be any hotter?

      Could Caleb be any sweeter?

      Cal bounded down the stairs. “Mom? What’re you doin’? It’s time for us to go.” He’d been so bored at the house by himself the day before, that today she’d decided to take him with her to the office. At least there, with her mostly female staff fussing over him, he wouldn’t lack for attention.

      “I know,” she said, tucking the magazine and candy in her satchel. Just having the contraband goodies tucked beside her felt akin to taking part of Caleb to work with her—the best part. His fun side!

      She was feeling good about her day ahead—how could you not feel good when gazing at Jude? Then, on the trip out of her garage past the front yard and onto the street, her day wasn’t just ruined, but pulverized.

      Gaping at the house, she opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out.

      How could someone have done that?

      “Mom, what—”

      “Look away,” she said, covering Cal’s eyes, glad for once to be in the back of the government-owned SUV. Why hadn’t she left Cal inside, where he’d be oblivious to the malicious vandalism that’d gone on right under their noses?

      On the flip side, what if he’d still be in danger inside their house, across the front porch of which someone had scrawled in blood red, Die Commie Bitch!

      On the front steps lay the bloodied carcass of what, she didn’t want to know.

      “I—I thought there was round-the-clock protection?” she said to the driver. “How did those guys get so close?”

      The man sighed. Rubbed his forehead. “There was a diversion, ma’am. They were in and out in a matter of seconds. Trust me, this will never happen again.”

      Allie