MARSHAL'S LAW #8: IF YOU GET TO THINKIN' YOU'RE A PERSON OF SOME INFLUENCE, TRY ORDERING SOMEBODY ELSE'S DOG AROUND.
It was a dream. Or a nightmare. Monica laughed silently at herself. Holding hands with Marshal, she knew she was acting like a love struck adolescent.
“Fair certain we shouldn’t be allowed in public,” Marshal rumbled over her ear. His smile tickled her hair.
She chuckled and bumped his arm with her shoulder. Worse than knowing it was true: she had no plans of changing it. Hopefully no one from her little town of Paris would be in Lexington today.
“Well, there was no way I was going to let you leave,” she said. Not yet, her heart panged. The contradiction of swollen happiness and stricken anticipation warred in her chest; but she wouldn’t let the latter take root. For over two years, she held the friendship of this man, this good man. Even that was a gross understatement. He was so . . . good . . . and she refused to regret having him in her life or anything they’d shared last night.
He smiled down on her, the blue of his eyes bright. Walking together, his gaze remained on her. It was miraculous that they didn’t run into someone . . . or something.
“Why didn’t you tell me that you’d called? Or had an interview? Or . . . or anything?”
Marshal hitched a shoulder. “Man don’t like to be told what to do.”
Monica laughed and gave him a light, “Whatever,” even as she snuggled under his arm.
His expression turned solemn. “I’m not gonna leave you to fight that witch on your own, if that’s what’s worryin’ ya.”
“And I don’t need you to fight my battles for me.”
They stopped in the middle of the terminal, trying to read the other’s expression. It was impossible to decipher the man’s intent. He wasn’t going to leave her to face his vindictive ex-wife, but even he had admitted that the job opportunity intrigued him . . . enough that he called, submitted his resume, and talked to the CEO of a national company.
So, what was he planning to do? Land the perfect job and then pass it up just because he thought he owed something to her? The sacrifice both infuriated and delighted her.
“She’s doing this to hurt me. It isn’t fair . . .”
“That we’re going to end up better off?” she asked, refusing the argument.
The phone in his jacket sang Love Without End, Amen. He ignored it. With a hand cupped around her face, he leaned in and caught her lips.
“Lo?” he rumbled into the phone.
“Dad? Where are you?”
“Airport.”
Marshal’s arms cinched her tighter against him. In the middle of the Bluegrass airport, he ignored the smattering of travelers. He ignored his son, waiting on the phone. He kissed her and she thrilled at it.
“Uhm, Dad?”
“What do you want, Kody?”
“Are you . . . kissing someone?”
Monica laughed softly and Marshal smiled. “What do you want son?”
“Thought you’d like a fresh set of clothes for your interview.” In tandem, they turned to the source of the live voice. Kody grinned at them, holding aloft a suit jacket and button up shirt. In his other hand, he snapped his phone closed. “And, I approve.”
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Marshal's Law
ChickLit“Has that ‘curl up with hot chocolate and read’ feel to it.” ~*~*~ Monica doesn't believe in life after death. Obligations, certainly. But, after her husband's death, there hasn’t been much ‘life’ to speak of. Just her kids, her farm, and the ma...
