The Marshal's Ready-Made Family Read Free Page A

shook his head. There was no use having a sensible conversation with someone who’d drunk away all his good sense. “You’re making bad choices, Tom, and it’s gonna catch up with you. One of these days you’ll make a bad choice you can’t sleep off or take back. What’s gonna happen to your wife and your son when you’re locked up for good?”
    “What do you know about it?” Tom said sulkily.
    “I know plenty.”
    Garrett stuffed his hands into his pockets and retrieved Cora’s lemon drop. Pinching the candy between his thumb and forefinger, he let sunlight from the jail’s narrow window bounce off the opaque coating.
    His whole body ached from grief, as if he’d been thrown from a wild mustang. Why had God given him such a precious gift, a beautiful little girl to love and care for? He’d let his sister, Deirdre, down and now it was too late. He hadn’t seen her once after she’d married, not even when Cora was born. Her husband was a good man, but visiting Deirdre brought back too many memories. Too many unsettling feelings from his youth.
    Not that he’d purposefully stayed away. He kept meaning to visit St. Louis, but something would always come up. One year had passed, then two, then six—all in the blink of an eye. And now his sister was gone.
    “Hey,” Tom Walby said, gripping the bars with both hands and sticking his whiskered chin between the narrow opening. “Give me that candy.”
    “Nope.” Garrett slipped Cora’s gift back into his pocket. “Tom, do you ever pay attention in church?”
    “Nah. I only go on Sunday when the missus forces me.”
    “Too bad. The reverend was preaching to you last week. He said, Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of Heaven .”
    “Ah, c’mon, Marshal,” Tom garbled, squeaking his sweaty hands down the bars. “You don’t believe in that Bible stuff, do you?”
    Garrett considered the question. Did he? Sometimes yes and sometimes no. At times like this, he wished he found comfort from God; instead, he felt only a deep and abiding sense of betrayal. “Why don’t you sleep it off.”
    “If only it were that easy,” Tom declared, stumbling toward the narrow cot lining the jailhouse wall.
    He collapsed onto his back and threw one arm over his eyes. Surprised by the man’s articulate response, Garrett paused for a moment. He leaned closer, but Tom was already sound asleep and snoring.
    “Yep,” Garrett muttered. “If only it were that easy.”
    Confident he had time before Tom awoke and recalled his earlier rage, Garrett walked the short distance to the boardinghouse where JoBeth McCoy stayed. He knew where she lived. Watching her take the shortcut to the telegraph office each morning while he fixed his coffee was the highlight of his day. Even from a distance her forest-green eyes flashed with mischief as she scaled the corral fence, a pair of trousers concealed beneath her modest skirts.
    He caught sight of Jo and Cora and his heart thumped uncomfortably against his ribs. They sat crouched over a red-and-black set of checkers, their heads together. Jo’s hair was dark and long and stick straight, while Cora’s hair was a short blond mass of wild curls. Jo’s eyes were vivid green, with dark lashes, and Cora’s eyes were crystal blue with pale lashes.
    They reminded him of an Oriental symbol he’d once seen in San Francisco—a black teardrop and a white teardrop nestled in a circle. They were opposite, yet somehow they complemented each other perfectly.
    JoBeth McCoy was different from other women, and her uniqueness fascinated him. Not that he was interested in courting—a man with his past definitely wasn’t husband material—but something in Jo sparked his interest. She didn’t simper or flutter her eyelashes, and he was drawn to her unabashed practicality. Too many people created unnecessary complications for themselves, like his drunken prisoner.
    Garrett paused on the boardwalk, grateful they hadn’t seen him