Read Online The Marshal's Ready-Made Family by Sherri Shackelford - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Sherri Shackelford
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arrett plucked a stuffed bunny from his favorite chair and collapsed onto the seat. In five short days, Cora had stamped herself indelibly on the few rooms he occupied above the jailhouse. Before the little girl’s arrival, he’d thought the space more than adequate. Now there simply wasn’t enough room for all the fripperies that accompanied a little girl.
As he dug a pink ribbon from beneath the cushions, a soft whimper caught his attention. Garrett cocked his head and realized the gentle noise was coming from Cora’s room. Worried, he heeled off his boots in a jack and crossed the distance in his stocking feet, then peered behind the partition. Cora rested on her side facing him, her rag doll clutched against her chest.
Tears streamed down her face.
A nauseating wave of sadness buckled Garrett’s knees. He knelt beside Cora’s bed and brushed the damp curls from her forehead. Her eyes remained closed, and Garrett realized she was crying in her sleep. Hesitant and uncertain, he murmured soothing nonsense words and gently rubbed her back until her sobs eased.
Surrounded again by silence, long-buried memories leaped into his head. He’d been strong for Deirdre after their parents had died, and he’d be strong for Cora, too. He gently tucked the blankets over Cora’s thin shoulders.
Doubt chipped away at his resolve. Cora was younger, more innocent and vulnerable than Deirdre had ever been. He and his only sister had been old before their time. Their lives had been torn asunder by their father’s frequent rages. A devastating back injury during the war had driven him into constant pain, and the alcohol he’d used to dull the agony turned him mean.
Garrett’s father had been a physician, and his inability to heal himself had driven him mad. Garrett used to believe the whiskey bottle held madness, because with each drink, the bottle drained and the rage in his father grew.
When the alcohol had ceased working, he’d turned to laudanum. That’s when the hallucinations had started. He’d see things. Hear things. He’d relive the war, shouting commands and calling for his dead comrades. His paranoia ruled the family. Then one day he’d mistaken his wife for an enemy soldier.
He’d shot her.
When he’d sobered and realized what he’d done, he couldn’t live with the pain.
Garrett and Deidre had set out on their own for a short time before staying with his uncle. There had been no love lost on the siblings when they’d been thrust upon his aunt and uncle all those years ago. In desperation Garrett had fled, joining the army scouts at seventeen. He’d hoped they’d treat Deirdre more kindly without him around as a constant reminder of their father.
His sacrifice had been unnecessary—Deirdre had soon married a fine man, an architect with good standing in the community.
No matter what happened, Garrett wouldn’t let Edward raise Cora. His cousin had a pinch-faced wife with a perpetual expression of sour disappointment. They also had four more children on whom they doted. Garrett might as well send Cora to an orphanage.
Fifteen years had passed and the wound still ached. And now Garrett had another soul to protect. Cora was innocent of all the tragedy in the past. She deserved better than a set of rooms above the jailhouse.
Jo’s solution tugged at his conscience.
His legs stiff from the awkward position, Garrett pushed himself upright. The town had been mercifully quiet, but what would happen if he was called out late at night? What happened if a prisoner had to stay downstairs in the jail overnight or longer? A jailhouse was no place for a little girl and he couldn’t count on Jo every time he needed someone to watch Cora. He was already too beholden to her already.
Not to mention his other problem. Truth be told, he liked spending time with Jo and he didn’t know what to make of his new affliction. Garrett absently rubbed his chest. She deserved someone without a past. She was too honorable
As he dug a pink ribbon from beneath the cushions, a soft whimper caught his attention. Garrett cocked his head and realized the gentle noise was coming from Cora’s room. Worried, he heeled off his boots in a jack and crossed the distance in his stocking feet, then peered behind the partition. Cora rested on her side facing him, her rag doll clutched against her chest.
Tears streamed down her face.
A nauseating wave of sadness buckled Garrett’s knees. He knelt beside Cora’s bed and brushed the damp curls from her forehead. Her eyes remained closed, and Garrett realized she was crying in her sleep. Hesitant and uncertain, he murmured soothing nonsense words and gently rubbed her back until her sobs eased.
Surrounded again by silence, long-buried memories leaped into his head. He’d been strong for Deirdre after their parents had died, and he’d be strong for Cora, too. He gently tucked the blankets over Cora’s thin shoulders.
Doubt chipped away at his resolve. Cora was younger, more innocent and vulnerable than Deirdre had ever been. He and his only sister had been old before their time. Their lives had been torn asunder by their father’s frequent rages. A devastating back injury during the war had driven him into constant pain, and the alcohol he’d used to dull the agony turned him mean.
Garrett’s father had been a physician, and his inability to heal himself had driven him mad. Garrett used to believe the whiskey bottle held madness, because with each drink, the bottle drained and the rage in his father grew.
When the alcohol had ceased working, he’d turned to laudanum. That’s when the hallucinations had started. He’d see things. Hear things. He’d relive the war, shouting commands and calling for his dead comrades. His paranoia ruled the family. Then one day he’d mistaken his wife for an enemy soldier.
He’d shot her.
When he’d sobered and realized what he’d done, he couldn’t live with the pain.
Garrett and Deidre had set out on their own for a short time before staying with his uncle. There had been no love lost on the siblings when they’d been thrust upon his aunt and uncle all those years ago. In desperation Garrett had fled, joining the army scouts at seventeen. He’d hoped they’d treat Deirdre more kindly without him around as a constant reminder of their father.
His sacrifice had been unnecessary—Deirdre had soon married a fine man, an architect with good standing in the community.
No matter what happened, Garrett wouldn’t let Edward raise Cora. His cousin had a pinch-faced wife with a perpetual expression of sour disappointment. They also had four more children on whom they doted. Garrett might as well send Cora to an orphanage.
Fifteen years had passed and the wound still ached. And now Garrett had another soul to protect. Cora was innocent of all the tragedy in the past. She deserved better than a set of rooms above the jailhouse.
Jo’s solution tugged at his conscience.
His legs stiff from the awkward position, Garrett pushed himself upright. The town had been mercifully quiet, but what would happen if he was called out late at night? What happened if a prisoner had to stay downstairs in the jail overnight or longer? A jailhouse was no place for a little girl and he couldn’t count on Jo every time he needed someone to watch Cora. He was already too beholden to her already.
Not to mention his other problem. Truth be told, he liked spending time with Jo and he didn’t know what to make of his new affliction. Garrett absently rubbed his chest. She deserved someone without a past. She was too honorable
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