Marrying the Marshal. Laura Altom Marie

son or daughter, he felt like he’d won the lottery. Hit the jackpot. His ship had finally come in. Tonight was going to be magic. The ring was in his front pocket. A single, flawless red rose occupied the seat beside him.

      In a perfect world, she’d be getting a huge bouquet. A diamond solitaire the size of a Hershey’s Kiss. As it was, her rock was more like a dust speck, but surely this was one case where it wasn’t the size of the stone that counted, but the depth of his love.

      That might sound corny, but what the hell? It wasn’t like anyone was around to read his mind.

      He loved her.

      Loved her so much it sometimes hurt to think what his life might be like without her.

      Lucky for him that after tonight, once she said yes to his proposal, they’d be together for a good, long while.

      In the driveway of her rented house, he turned off his crotchety Chevy pickup, then popped open the equally cranky door.

      Granted, when Allie first told him she was pregnant, he hadn’t taken the news all that well. He didn’t think she fully understood just how much the news had freaked him out, but tonight, he’d make up for his less than enthusiastic first response. Both juniors at the University of Oregon’s law school, they weren’t exactly in the best financial shape to start a family.

      He snatched the rose, patted his pocket to make sure her ring was still safe inside, then whistled all the way to Allie’s front door.

      He waved at the frat guys next door who’d moved their sofa outside to enjoy the unseasonably warm April weather. Gritty Pearl Jam played on a radio they’d set in the open front window. Their barbecue smelled great. Chicken. Just that morning, at a campus yard sale, he’d picked up a hibachi for Allie. Her rusted-out grill had seen better days.

      The frat guys nodded and waved back.

      Caleb reached Allie’s front porch. The balmy breeze flapped the screen on the window over the kitchen sink. He’d fix it for her this weekend.

      He tried walking in as usual, but the door was locked. He had a key, but it was back in the truck, so he just knocked again.

      When a few minutes passed with still no answer, he loped back to the truck for the key. He slipped it into the lock, hoping the worry settling in his gut was unfounded. Allie was always home from class by now. She worked as a waitress down at McGinty’s, but two nights earlier, he’d doubled-checked with her boss that she was off tonight.

      “Al?” he called out while pushing open the door. “You all righ—”

      He froze.

      One foot inside, one out.

      The once cheerfully cluttered home, filled with books and newspapers and rumpled old furniture and thriving plants, was empty. The place was no longer a home, but merely a house. Sun that usually slanted through windows, giving the wood floors a honeyed glow, now highlighted dingy walls crying for fresh paint and scuffed floors that could only be helped by hiding them with wall-to-wall carpet.

      “Allie?” His pulse began to race.

      What was going on?

      Where could she be?

      He searched everywhere. The bedroom where they made love. The kitchen where they cooked together, laughed together. The bathroom where they’d showered together. All empty.

      So what now? Wait? Sit around hoping she’d come back?

      At first he’d been scared, confused.

      Now, he was pissed.

      She hadn’t been robbed. Aliens hadn’t sucked up all of Allie’s stuff. She’d moved it. Deliberately and coldly and calculatingly moved it.

      To get away from him?

      Obviously. But why? She was carrying his baby. What had he ever done but loved her?

      He locked up, headed for his truck.

      “If you’re lookin’ for Al,” one of the frat guys shouted, “we helped her load the last of her stuff this morning.”

      Hand to his forehead, shading his eyes from the setting sun, Caleb asked, “She say where she was going?”

      “Nah.”

      Caleb muttered a quick thanks, and headed for his apartment—used more as a storage shed than shelter. Allie’s place had basically been his home, but her mom was old-fashioned, Allie had said. She wouldn’t have understood them living together before marriage.

      Caleb mechanically got through the weekend.

      Monday morning, he somehow made it to class.

      Caleb’s dad was a retired U.S. Marshal. Now, sheriff of their small, coastal Oregon hometown. Vince Logue had made a few inquiries on behalf of his son, but for all practical purposes, Allie had vanished. Caleb finally resorted to calling the mom who hadn’t approved of him. Her words of wisdom were to leave her daughter alone.

      Monday afternoon, Caleb snatched the mail from his box.

      Nestled amongst bills and credit card applications was a letter.

      Dear Caleb—

      Sorry for taking off like I did, but I didn’t know what else to do. I lost the baby, but before that, I could already tell I’d lost you. The look in your eyes after I’d told you my news, it told me the last thing you wanted to be was a father. I don’t blame you. My being pregnant was a shock to me, too.

      But what also came as a shock was your apparent lack of feeling for me. I always assumed we’d end up together, but guess I was wrong. And that’s okay. I mean, I’m hurt, but I understand, and willingly grant you your freedom. Maybe my losing the baby was somehow a blessing. Maybe if I hadn’t, you might’ve felt forced into “making it right,” like you said you would do. But what you have to understand is that I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with a man who makes my life “right,” but magical. I want the fairy tale, Caleb. I want love.

      Please don’t try to find me. I think it’s for the best that we both go our separate ways. Good luck in your future. I wish you well in all you do. Allie

      Caleb read the letter four times, then wadded it into a ball he deep-sixed into the trash.

      He went out for a couple beers.

      Came home.

      But the apartment had never been his home. He fell onto the sofa and cried. And when he’d finished, he snatched her letter from the trash, smoothed it against his chest and then sat back down on the sofa to wonder where the hell things had gone wrong.

      He laughed.

      His first mistake? Hooking up with a woman whose heart was made of ice.

      Chapter One

      “Sorry, sir, but no can do.” Portland-based Deputy U.S. Marshal Caleb Logue handed the fax with his next assignment back to his boss. Granted, Franks knew his job and was the presidentially appointed U.S. Marshal for all of Oregon, but surely even he’d understand that this—

      “’Scuse me?” Franks’s wooly-worm eyebrows raised and his thick neck turned red. Even at fifty, the guy still bench-pressed two-eighty.

      “Sir…” Caleb gulped, but held his ground. “I know this judge. We went out for a while in college. I really think it’d be best if someone else was assigned to—”

      “Ordinarily,” his boss said, “I’d agree. But with Mason and Wolcheck in Texas, Villetti in Michigan, and Smith in New Orleans, I got no one else to give this to. As is, you’re going to have to pull in a whole new team from other offices. Feel free to appoint someone else as our lady judge’s primary sidekick, but make no mistake, you will be a key player. Capiche?”

      Elbows on his cluttered desk, Caleb cradled his forehead in his