The Marshal's Ready-Made Family. Sherri Shackelford

with propriety than love.

      Jo clenched her hands on the table. “I can help out if he’s called away. Cora knows me.”

      “That’s only one of his problems.” Edith added flatware next to the plates with infuriating precision. “His job is dangerous. What if something happens? If he’s wounded or worse. Who will take care of Cora then?”

      Marshal Cain slapped his hat on his head. “I’m not giving up my girl.” He gestured dismissively toward Reverend Miller. “If some judge in Missouri....” He glanced pointedly around the room. “Or anyone else tries to take my child, they’ll have a fight on their hands.”

      His expression scornful, Marshal Cain strode toward the door.

      The room erupted into noisy chatter once more as everyone began talking and gesturing in overlapping conversations.

      “There’s a perfectly obvious solution—” Edith began.

      “Obvious to whom?” the reverend interrupted.

      “You talk to him.”

      Ely touched his chest. “Me?”

      Jo stomped her boot. “This is getting us nowhere.”

      Her pa’s head swung between the competing conversations. The reverend flailed his arms at Ely while Edith pointed a finger at her husband.

      Jo brushed past them and blocked the marshal’s exit. “Let’s get hitched.”

      “What?”

      “You heard me.” Jo declared. “Let’s get married.”

      Chapter Five

      Shocked by her own words, Jo froze. Immediate silence descended on the room. Marshal Cain’s jaw dropped. For several long moments nothing stirred the air except the steady tick, tick, tick of the clock on the mantel.

      Jo felt her face flame. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? He doesn’t have a wife. As Cora’s uncle, he’s a closer relative to her than a second cousin. What can the judge say if he’s married?”

      “Well, uh,” the reverend sputtered. “You make a compelling argument.”

      Marshal Cain hadn’t moved. He hadn’t even blinked an eyelash. The more time stretched out without a response, the more frustrated Jo became. Why didn’t he say something? Yes, no, maybe, I’ll think about it...

      If Mary Louise from the mercantile had asked, he probably would’ve jumped at the chance.

      “Never mind,” she declared.

      “No.” The marshal held up his hand. “Jo is right. If I have a wife, they’ve lost the balance of their case against me.”

      “JoBeth—” her ma placed a hand on her shoulder “—think about what you’re saying. This isn’t a decision to take lightly.”

      Ely clutched his head. “You’ve lost me, Edith. Why were you dropping all those hints if you didn’t want them to get married? Why put the idea in her head if you were just gonna talk her out of it?”

      “I wasn’t talking about Jo,” Mrs. McCoy hissed through clenched teeth, her emphatic gaze encompassing their rapt audience. “I was talking about one of the ladies on the fried-chicken tour.”

      Jo whipped out of her mother’s hold. “I might not have been featured on the tour, but I know what I’m doing.”

      She also knew she was acting like a child, but she didn’t care right then.

      “This is a disaster,” Edith snapped.

      Affronted, Jo challenged her ma. “How on earth does this qualify as a disaster?”

      “Everybody out!” her pa shouted with a clap, startling both women into silence.

      No one moved.

      “I said everyone outside.”

      Spurred by the force of his booming command, Jo and Marshal Cain automatically turned toward the door.

      “Not you two.” Ely rolled his eyes. “The rest of us will leave.”

      He waved his wife and the reverend toward the door. Reverend Miller scooted out of the tense room as if his heels were on fire. Edith scowled and stubbornly bustled around the stove. “Let me turn down the fire on the gravy.”

      Ely grasped her elbow and coaxed her toward the door. “Come along, dear.”

      “But the table,” her ma protested, dragging her feet. “The dinner...”

      “The potatoes will be here in ten minutes. Those two need time alone more than they need a pot roast right now.”

      Her ma sputtered and resisted his gentle, persistent guidance. Ely McCoy remained adamant. The door closed resolutely on her muttered protest.

      Jo gaped. It was a rare day indeed when her pa overrode her ma’s wishes.

      The scrape of boots as Garrett restlessly roamed about the cramped space yanked her attention back to the problem at hand. Alone with the marshal, Jo’s courage faltered. She’d acted impulsively, backing herself into a corner once again.

      He paced before the hearth, his expression intense. “This could work. Cora likes you.”

      What about you? The question balanced on the tip of her tongue.

      “And you’re not the romantic sort, are you?”

      Jo studied her hands, the nicks and scars, the half-moon of dirt beneath her blunt fingernails. “Of course not.”

      His pacing halted. “There’s no one else, is there? No one else you’ve set your cap for?”

      Jo shook her head.

      “You said it yourself. We’re friends.” The pacing resumed. “We get along okay, don’t we?”

      “Sure.”

      “And this wouldn’t be a real marriage. More of a partnership.”

      Her legs trembled and Jo locked her knees. “A partnership.”

      “For Cora.”

      “For Cora,” Jo repeated.

      She set her jaw. What had she expected? That he’d fall to his knees with joy? She’d offered a solution, and he was, at the very least, considering her offer. This was a good idea. She’d have Cora. She’d have a family. Not a normal family like everybody else, but then again, when had she ever done anything the normal way? She’d have a child without childbirth. Perfect. Fabulous. Just what she’d always wanted.

      And if no man ever looked at her the way her pa looked at her ma—as if she was the only candle in a world of darkness—then so be it.

      Jo straightened her spine. She didn’t need that sort of nonsense. She liked the marshal, and maybe someday he’d even come to like her, too. She might not be pretty like the other girls, but certainly he’d come to appreciate her other qualities.

      Thus far, he hadn’t laughed in her face or mocked her, and a friendship didn’t risk her heart. She’d devised the perfect solution for both of them.

      Marshal Cain rubbed the stubble on his chin, drawing Jo’s eyes to his lips. He’d have to kiss her when they got married, wouldn’t he? Tom had once bussed her with a slobbery peck on the cheek behind the livery and she hadn’t been keen on repeating the experience. Marshal Cain was different, though, and she wouldn’t mind trying again.

      Jo pressed a hand against her quaking stomach.

      Garrett stretched his arms nearer the dwindling fire and rubbed his hands together. “We’ve done great together this week, taking Cora back and forth. With the judge coming through town next week, we don’t even need a ceremony. We could just sign the