Marshal's Law

MARSHAL'S LAW #7: TALK LESS. SAY MORE

Marshal’s Law #7: Talk Less, Say More

Marshal, you could never mean nothing to me. 

What the blazes was that supposed to mean?

Lightening stretched across the sky; the thunder chasing it.  Pulling the brim of his hat lower, he leaned into the wind that threatened to take his jacket. 

He’d ran.  He wasn’t too proud to admit it.  Monica’s sweet lips on his, her essence filling his nose, her body aligned with his, with every soft curve availing themselves to his hands . . . and then the tears.  They swam in her lavender eyes and clung to her eyelashes like jewels.

Marshal, you could never mean nothing to me.

The words made no sense.  But the voice?  He understood her voice.  He had given her a nod and left.

Women, he complained and slammed the stables door closed behind him.  One of the horses whinnied shrilly.  Another kicked the stable door.  Outside the lightening split the sky.  Its thunder shook the stables walls.

Even as she’d said she could not be touched, she had trusted his hands on her, following his lead . . . until he’d kissed her. 

Picking up a misplaced curry brush, Marshal paced, absently rubbing the metal spines over his hands.

He’d kissed her.  Warm and soft, she’d opened to him like something delicate.  He’d thought . . . he’d thought . . . damn what he’d thought!

He threw the curry brush into the tack room.

“Dad?  You alright?”

“Shoulda never kissed her,” he said, his hands braced on a stable door.  Grinding his teeth, he stared at his feet.

“You kissed Monica?”

Marshal closed his eyes at the incredulous sound in his son’s voice.  Even he recognized that it was a ridiculous thing to do.  What had he been thinking? 

“What did she say?” he pressed.  Rain drummed on the tin roof. 

“That I could never mean nothing to her,” Marshal said.  It rankled.  He didn’t even know what the words meant and still it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight on end.  Pushing away from the stable door, he took to pacing.

Kody stood stalk still, his expression crumpled with thought.  “Uhm, pop?  I’m not exactly sure, but I think the woman just told you she loved you.”

Marshal spun to stare at the boy.  Oh, he was plenty aware that he wasn’t a boy anymore.  He had the stature of a man.  He had the look of a man.  But he didn’t hold the experience of a man.  He was too young.  Certainly too young to know when a woman had just confessed love with words that convoluted.  And yet . . . “Run that by me again?”

“Haven’t you been listening to Roxie?  She said that the widow ought to be with a man she don’t care for,” he said and watched his father, as if looking for some signs of recollection or understanding.  Marshal didn’t move, except for the deepening furrows of confusion that lined his forehead, so Kody persisted.  “You know . . . so it won’t hurt when he leaves her.”

Marshal straightened, understanding dawning . . . just a little.  Life according to Roxie: the men always leave.  “But I wouldn’t . . .”

“Wouldn’t you?” Kody challenged.  “Aren’t you already?”  He pointed back, towards the house.  “The apartment’s packed, dad.  You’re leaving.  Not even waiting until the end of October.  You’re gone as of tomorrow.”