Marrying the Marshal. Laura Altom Marie

here last night? ’Cause unless I’m mistaken, not a damned one of you was doing your job.”

      Adam said, “Peterson, Juarez and Franko got sick. Food poisoning. We’re guessing from that crappy convenience store on fifty-first. Old hot dogs and chili.” He shuddered. “Lethal combo. Anyway, we had to call in local guys till help gets here from New Jersey.”

      “New freakin’ Jersey?” Caleb said, eyebrows raised. “You trying to tell me the closest marshal we could get was all the way from out east?”

      “Sorry, man.”

      “Sorry? That’s not gonna cut it. Adam, bro, I trusted you.” Lowering his voice, he said, “Allie is more than just a case to me. I mean, I’d protect any ordinary assignment with my life, but for her—”for my son, I’d give my soul.

      “I get it,” Adam said. “It won’t happen again.”

      “It better not.”

      JUST WHEN ALLIE thought her current case couldn’t get worse, it did. Mr. Foster, the sweet old man who lived across from the post office, was dead. The initial coroner’s report said heart attack. But there were a lot of unnatural ways a so-called natural death could be caused.

      “Ordinarily,” she said from her bench, the courtroom again bursting with reporters and victims’ families, “I’d want to recess in light of last night’s events. But in this case, I think it’d be best for all concerned if we forge ahead.”

      The defense attorney launched into a showboat cross-examination leading to a series of sustained objections, during which, Francis’s expression grew steadily darker.

      “Damn commie bitch,” the defendant eventually mumbled.

      “Mr. Ashford,” she said, slamming her gavel against the bench. “Congratulations. You’ve just earned a oneway ticket back to your cell. Bailiff.”

      From the gallery came a smattering of applause.

      “Order,” Allie said with another slam of her gavel while the defendant was escorted out of the room. When the gallery finally settled, she turned to the defense, starting to feel like the proverbial broken record. “One more stunt like that, Mr. Bennett, and you’ll be fined.”

      The defense attorney sputtered, “But all I was doing was pointing out to the jury that my client loves to receive mail, so therefore, he couldn’t have even conceived of performing a stunt so heinous, as to destroy that sainted facility from whence his beloved mail flows.”

      “Mr. Bennett, congratulations. You’ve just donated five hundred dollars to the victims’ memorial fund.”

      The gallery erupted in still more applause—with the frequency of fines and/or courtroom removals a now regular occurrence.

      By the time she’d called it quits for the afternoon session, Allie was beyond tired. With any luck, they’d be adjourned for good within a week—two at the latest.

      “MOM, YOU SHOULDA’ SEEN Caleb at your office today! While you were in court, he was crazy. We turned your desk around backwards and made it into a soccer goal. He got more goals than anyone ever in the whole world!”

      “That’s awesome, baby.” Allie gave the Italian sausage and onions she was frying for spaghetti a stir.

      “And then at lunch he taught me how to make a cookie Frisbee.”

      “And that’s a good thing?” She opened a can of stewed tomatoes.

      “Yeah. It was awesome. All my friends are gonna love him. ’Specially Billy.”

      “Who is this Billy?” Allie asked. After shaking salt on the meat, she grabbed some canned mushrooms. She’d have rather used fresh, but in light of all the recent excitement, she hadn’t exactly had time for shopping. “I’ve never heard you talk about him.”

      “I dunno.” From his seat at the table where he was writing his weekly spelling words, Cal shrugged. “He’s just a kid in my class.”

      “He’s been bugging you?”

      “No.”

      Great. Now what? Violate the confidence Cal had placed in Caleb by telling her son his private conversation had been shared?

      “Dinner almost ready?” Cal asked. “I’m starved.”

      “Almost. Just have to drain the meat and—”

      “Caleb!” Cal tossed down his pencil, leaped from his chair and ran across the room, tossing his arms around his father’s waist. “I had fun with you today! Wanna stay for dinner? What’s in the bag?”

      “Slow down, man,” Caleb said, ruffling the boy’s hair. “First off, there’s a little something I picked up for you and your mom.”

      “Mom?” Cal asked. “Can I open it?”

      “Sure.” What was up with the curious flutter taking over her belly?

      Cal ripped into the bag to pull out another memory. “Cool!” he said. “What is it?”

      “A Chia Pet,” Allie said, gently taking the box containing the terra-cotta Chia Man that would hopefully soon sprout green hair. Years earlier, Caleb bought her a Mr. Chia, turtle and rabbit. All lived on the kitchen windowsill of her rented house. Allie and Caleb took turns watering them. When she’d left, she’d debated whether or not to even take them. They’d been in a sense like kids. In the end, knowing Caleb’s tendency to sometimes forget to water, she’d stowed them on the backseat floorboard of her Honda, where they’d gotten irrevocably mangled during a sudden stop at the intersection of Blueberry and Pine.

      “Does it talk or anything?” Cal asked, suspiciously eyeing the ceramic head.

      “It’s a plant,” she told him. “But we have to grow it ourselves.”

      “Oh.” Cal didn’t look impressed. “Thanks,” he said.

      Allie was already taking the head and seed packet from the box. “Thank you,” she said to Caleb. “I love these things.”

      “I know.” He stepped up behind her, creating an instant physical hum. “Whatever happened to ours?”

      Nibbling her lower lip, fighting the oddest sensation that nothing between them had changed, she said, “They kind of met with an unfortunate end.”

      “Sounds familiar,” Caleb said with a solid nod.

      The flutter in her stomach died.

      “Well? Can you stay for dinner?” Cal asked his father.

      “Shouldn’t you ask your mom first?” Caleb looked Allie’s way, stealing her breath with not only his rugged good looks, but also his resemblance to her son. Correction—their son. Guess she might as well get used to the fact that now that Caleb knew about his child, he wasn’t about to vanish from their lives, even after his team’s protective services were no longer needed.

      “Nah,” Cal said. “She won’t care. Right, Mom?” Her darling son flashed his most irresistible smile. Crap. The little booger knew full well she couldn’t be firm when he pulled that stunt!

      Even worse, Caleb flashed the same smile.

      Double trouble!

      “Well, Mom?” Cal asked. “Can he stay?”

      “Sure. Why don’t you clear your books from the table, then set three places.”

      “Wanna help, Caleb? We could race.”

      “Sounds good,” Caleb said. “You start.”

      “’Kay.”

      While his son tore around clearing and setting, Caleb headed for the boy’s clearly put out mother. “If it’s a problem for you—you know, me staying for dinner—I can go.”