The Marshal's Ready-Made Family. Sherri Shackelford

      “Five o’clock.”

      “Five it is, then. Speaking of food, have you two had any lunch?”

      “Nope.”

      “Not yet.”

      “Why don’t we mosey over to the hotel and eat.”

      Jo rubbed her hands against her brown skirts. “You two don’t need me anymore—”

      “No!” Cora exclaimed.

      Her face pinched in fear, and Jo placed her hand comfortingly over the little girl’s. The simple purity of the gesture humbled Garrett.

      Pale blue eyes pleaded with him. “Can I stay with Jo until dinner?”

      His stomach dipped. Of course Cora was terrified. Her whole world had turned upside down. She’d lost her parents, her home—everything that was familiar. Then she’d been placed on a train with a stranger and shuttled across the country into the care of yet another stranger.

      Jo wrapped a blond curl around her index finger and smiled, her face radiant. “I suppose I could stay a tiny little while longer.”

      Garrett fought back the sting behind his eyes. Who wouldn’t be terrified by all that upheaval? The little girl had been adrift and alone until Jo had sheltered her. Now they were connected. He’d seen that sort of devotion before over the years. He’d even been the recipient once or twice of a victim’s misplaced allegiance. Those false attachments had quickly faded when people were reunited with their families.

      Except Cora didn’t have anyone familiar.

      “I need you, Jo,” Cora stated simply.

      Garrett’s gaze locked with Jo’s. He couldn’t mask his churning emotions, and he knew right then she saw him for what he was—exposed, terrified. Yet no censure entered her expression, only compassion and understanding. For a moment it seemed as if everything would be okay—as though she’d be strong enough for all of them.

      I need you, Jo.

      The truth hit Garrett like a mule kick. He needed guidance and Cora had taken a shine to Jo. He’d do everything in his power to foster the budding relationship—even if it risked his brittle emotions.

      If only his life had been different.

      He and Cora both needed Jo desperately. Yet only one of them was worthy of her.

      Chapter Two

      The weathered boardwalk planks beneath Jo’s feet rumbled. With Cora between them, Jo and the marshal paused beneath the hand-painted sign for the Palace Café. A group of young boys, blessedly minus any of her brothers, dashed around them, laughing and calling to each other. Visibly alarmed by the group’s roughhousing, Cora latched on to Jo’s leg.

      “Don’t worry.” Jo ruffled her curls. “They’re just full of energy. They have the week off while their schoolteacher is visiting her sister during her confinement.”

      Another baby, and the birth had been particularly difficult. Jo stifled a shudder. Her ma served as midwife around town, and Jo often assisted. Each birth she attended crystallized her fears and renewed her vow to stay single.

      While there was joy, too often there was pain. She’d swaddled the tiny bodies of stillborn infants. She’d led distraught husbands from the room and sat with them while they wept. She’d felt the hand of a laboring mother go limp as the woman’s exhausted body gave up the battle for life.

      After all she’d seen, she’d never experience the innocent hope and wonder most expectant mothers felt.

      Not that she had any prospects in the matter, but she didn’t like this strange push and pull tugging on her emotions lately. More and more often she found herself lingering over the newborns, inhaling their sweet scent and wondering what it would be like to have one of her own.

      Jo mentally shook off the disquieting thoughts. It was no use pining for things that could never be. She’d been rejected before and, while she knew she could survive heartbreak, she dreaded a repeat of the humiliating experience.

      Cora peeked out from beneath her pale eyelashes. “When will I go to school?”

      The marshal blanched. “I don’t know. I’m not sure. Should she be in school now? What should I do?”

      “There’s no need for panic.” Jo chucked him on the shoulder. “We’ll talk with the teacher when she comes back next week.”

      “You’re right.” He mopped his forehead with a blue-patterned bandanna. “Of course you’re right. There’s no need for alarm. I’m just new to all this.”

      The marshal’s dedication melted Jo’s insides. Seeing a tough, hardened lawman reduced to a bundle of nerves over a tiny little girl was the most precious sight she’d ever seen. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, hug him or chuck him on the shoulder once more. But she felt better about Cora’s new living arrangements than she had all week.

      She’d known the marshal was fair and levelheaded, but seeing him this vulnerable lit a warm glow in her chest. Anybody could be a tough lawman, but it took a real man to show his vulnerability.

      Cora tipped her rag doll side to side, sending its yellow-yarn braids flopping. “I know some of my letters. But I can’t read yet.”

      The marshal squinted thoughtfully. “I’ll talk with the schoolteacher when she returns. Are you ready for lunch?”

      “Nope.” Cora glanced around. “I dropped Miss Lily’s coat.”

      She dashed back a few paces, leaving Jo and Marshal Cain alone on the boardwalk beneath a cloudless, brilliant blue spring sky. Jo had been thinking about his rattled composure when she’d teased him earlier, and she wondered if he was embarrassed by female attention. She’d noticed the odd affliction with her brothers. They were as tough as buffalo jerky with their friends, but as fluffy as milkweed when it came to a pretty girl.

      Testing her theory, Jo smiled coyly, her lips stretching with muscles she rarely used. The marshal returned the smile, his face turning pink.

      To her shock, she felt her own cheeks warm.

      She’d done it—she’d almost flirted with a man and he’d sort of responded. It was no wonder Mary Louise held court to all those besotted suitors in the mercantile like the queen of England.

      “Hey, runt,” a familiar voice sneered.

      Jo’s smile faded. Bert Walby sauntered up the boardwalk, his fingers hitched into his striped vest pocket. Tom Walby’s brother never missed an opportunity to bait her. She stood up straighter, bracing for his verbal attack. Tom and Bert looked alike with their gangly frames and straw-colored hair.

      Gritting her teeth, Jo faced her tormentor. “You’re looking awfully fancy, Bert. You going before the judge?”

      He scowled. “That’s funny, runt, cuz you look the same as always. You get dressed in a barn this morning?”

      Chuckling, he snatched the hat from her head, then reared back and cocked his arm in order to toss it onto the dirt-packed street. The next instant, Bert staggered into the marshal. Unsure what had knocked him sideways, Jo leaped back. The two men slammed into the jailhouse wall. Bert yelped and collapsed onto his knees. Marshal Cain bent, hooking his right hand beneath the man’s shoulder, and hauled him upright. The marshal whispered something in Bert’s ear before shoving him forward.

      With a grumble, Bert circled his right shoulder and rubbed his biceps with his left hand.

      The marshal crossed his arms and cleared his throat.

      Leaning down, Bert plucked her hat from the boardwalk and dusted the brim against his thigh before returning it. “I was just checking on Tom. Heard you locked him up again.”

      The marshal braced his legs apart. “Tom’s responsible