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Marrying the Marshal
Laura Marie Altom
Double Trouble!U.S. Marshal Caleb Logue walks into Judge Allie Hayworth's office to find the woman who wouldn't marry him – and the son he didn't know he had. Protecting them is his latest assignment, but Allie soon discovers Caleb's main priority is getting to know his little boy – and making her agree to his proposal.After all these years, nothing has changed – she refuses to marry a man whose idea of fun is dodging bullets. Not after she lost her own cop father when she was just a girl. Allie would do anything to protect her son from that type of pain.Marrying the marshal is definitely out of the question…but how can Allie refuse, when two identical pairs of green eyes look up at her, wanting her to say yes?
The United States Marshals Service
Formed in 1789 by President George Washington, the United States Marshals Service is the oldest federal law enforcement agency—and in my mind, one of the most mysterious. They used to carry out death sentences, catch counterfeiters—even take the national census. According to their Web site, “At virtually every significant point over the years where Constitutional principles or the force of law have been challenged, the marshals were there—and they prevailed.” Now the agency primarily focuses on fugitive investigation, prisoner/alien transportation, prisoner management, court security and witness security.
No big mystery there, you say? When I started this series, I didn’t think so, either. Intending to nail the details, I marched down to my local marshals’ office for an afternoon that will stay with me forever.
After learning the agency’s history and being briefed on day-to-day operations, I was taken on a tour. I saw an impressive courtroom and a prisoner holding cell—not a good place to be! Then we went to the garage to see vehicles and bulletproof vests and guns! Sure, I’m an author, but I’m primarily a mom and wife. I bake cookies and find hubby’s always-lost belt. Remind my daughter’s cheerleading squad which bow to wear. Nothing made the U.S. Marshals Service spring to life for me more than seeing those weapons—and I’m talking serious weapons! And then I glanced at my tour guide and realized that this guy wasn’t fictional, but used those guns, put his very life on the line protecting me and my family and the rest of this city, county and state. I had chills.
Things really got interesting when I started digging for information on the Witness Security Program. Deputy Marshal Rick ever so politely sidestepped my every question. I found out nothing! Not where the base of operations is located, not which marshals are assigned to the program, where/who those marshals report to on a daily basis, what size crews are used, how their shifts are rotated—nothing! After a while it got to be a game. One it was obvious I’d lose!
Honestly, all this mystery probably makes for better fiction. I don’t want to know what really happens. It’s probably not half as romantic as the images of these great protectors I’ve conjured in my mind. Oh, and another bonus to my tour—Deputy Marshal Rick was Mills & Boon American Romance-hero hot!
Laura Altom
Dear Reader,
I grew up reading Mills & Boon romances, and after the birth of my twins, I decided to try writing them. So far—knock on wood—that seems to be working out. But even after immersing myself in all of those happy endings, only now have I truly understood the healing power of these constantly underrated books.
At the time of wrapping up this story, my husband and I have weathered what has been one of our toughest storms in over seventeen years of marriage. Coping with my husband’s grandmother’s advancing dementia, we’ve made the decision to welcome her into our home—only, our current home isn’t big enough, so we’re in the process of moving. With two preteens, our finances have always been tight, but now especially so. I’ve taken on a second job to help make ends meet.
Times have been tough. I used to be fortunate enough to spend my days leisurely writing. I now, like so many of you, hustle off to work. I squeeze in writing between cooking and laundry and chauffeuring kids to their many activities. At first I wasn’t sure how I was going to fit it all in, but gradually everything began to click.
I found myself enjoying my job and my new coworkers. Most of all, I enjoyed my newly concentrated writing time. No longer able to take all day to reach my goals, I had to write faster, leaner, with an intensity I’d never before known. Through that growth, I found myself utterly caught up in Caleb and Allie’s story. Might sound corny, but through their healing, I slowly healed. And instead of being afraid I won’t be able to meet my next writing deadline, I now view that looming date as an exciting mountain to be conquered. Am I still scared? You bet! But knowing I have the healing power of romance to help get me through long days somehow makes it all better.
Long live Mills & Boon Books!
Laura Marie Altom
P.S. You can reach me through my Web site at
www.lauramariealtom.com or write to me at P.O. Box 2074,
Tulsa, OK 74101.
Marrying the Marshal
Laura Marie Altom
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For United States Marshal Timothy D. Welch and Deputy U.S. Marshal Rick Holden. Thank you for the incredible tour of Tulsa’s marshal’s office, and for patiently answering my gazillion questions! Any technical errors are all mine!
And for my new friend and the sharpest dressed T.A. at Nimitz Middle School, Ms. Jana King! Thank you for making me feel at home since the first day we met, and for always being generous with your smiles. You are a treasure I hope to forever keep!
Books by Laura Marie Altom
MILLS & BOON AMERICAN ROMANCE
940—BLIND LUCK BRIDE
976—INHERITED: ONE BABY!
1028—BABIES AND BADGES
1043—SANTA BABY
1074—TEMPORARY DAD
1086—SAVING JOE* (#litres_trial_promo)
Contents
Prologue (#uba2cf17e-0386-5a8c-ac8c-589b641cc97c)
Chapter One (#ub48b249f-9939-5d9b-ac25-fe2853e15cf0)
Chapter Two (#u6992728e-0a3a-5725-ade3-39bfbe6ce2a2)
Chapter Three (#ufb0b2d96-9570-5d3a-89ed-5d17cce9897b)
Chapter Four (#ub178d550-47dd-5b9c-9710-0ed2a2d2cc26)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue
Nine years ago…
Caleb Logue hadn’t felt this good since…
Well, since maybe never.
With his girl—soon to be wife—Allie carrying his son or daughter, he felt like he’d won the lottery. Hit the jackpot. His ship had finally come in. Tonight was going to be magic. The ring was in his front pocket. A single, flawless red rose occupied the seat beside him.
In a perfect world, she’d be getting a huge bouquet. A diamond solitaire the size of a Hershey’s Kiss. As it was, her rock was more like a dust speck, but surely this was one case where it wasn’t the size of the stone that counted, but the depth of his love.
That might sound corny, but what the hell? It wasn’t like anyone was around to read his mind.
He loved her.
Loved her so much it sometimes hurt to think what his life might be like without her.
Lucky for him that after tonight, once she said yes to his proposal, they’d be together for a good, long while.
In the driveway of her rented house, he turned off his crotchety Chevy pickup, then popped open the equally cranky door.
Granted, when Allie first told him she was pregnant, he hadn’t taken the news all that well. He didn’t think she fully understood just how much the news had freaked him out, but tonight, he’d make up for his less than enthusiastic first response. Both juniors at the University of Oregon’s law school, they weren’t exactly in the best financial shape to start a family.
He snatched the rose, patted his pocket to make sure her ring was still safe inside, then whistled all the way to Allie’s front door.
He waved at the frat guys next door who’d moved their sofa outside to enjoy the unseasonably warm April weather. Gritty Pearl Jam played on a radio they’d set in the open front window. Their barbecue smelled great. Chicken. Just that morning, at a campus yard sale, he’d picked up a hibachi for Allie. Her rusted-out grill had seen better days.
The frat guys nodded and waved back.
Caleb reached Allie’s front porch. The balmy breeze flapped the screen on the window over the kitchen sink. He’d fix it for her this weekend.
He tried walking in as usual, but the door was locked. He had a key, but it was back in the truck, so he just knocked again.
When a few minutes passed with still no answer, he loped back to the truck for the key. He slipped it into the lock, hoping the worry settling in his gut was unfounded. Allie was always home from class by now. She worked as a waitress down at McGinty’s, but two nights earlier, he’d doubled-checked with her boss that she was off tonight.
“Al?” he called out while pushing open the door. “You all righ—”
He froze.
One foot inside, one out.
The once cheerfully cluttered home, filled with books and newspapers and rumpled old furniture and thriving plants, was empty. The place was no longer a home, but merely a house. Sun that usually slanted through windows, giving the wood floors a honeyed glow, now highlighted dingy walls crying for fresh paint and scuffed floors that could only be helped by hiding them with wall-to-wall carpet.
“Allie?” His pulse began to race.
What was going on?
Where could she be?
He searched everywhere. The bedroom where they made love. The kitchen where they cooked together, laughed together. The bathroom where they’d showered together. All empty.
So what now? Wait? Sit around hoping she’d come back?
At first he’d been scared, confused.
Now, he was pissed.
She hadn’t been robbed. Aliens hadn’t sucked up all of Allie’s stuff. She’d moved it. Deliberately and coldly and calculatingly moved it.
To get away from him?
Obviously. But why? She was carrying his baby. What had he ever done but loved her?
He locked up, headed for his truck.
“If you’re lookin’ for Al,” one of the frat guys shouted, “we helped her load the last of her stuff this morning.”
Hand to his forehead, shading his eyes from the setting sun, Caleb asked, “She say where she was going?”
“Nah.”
Caleb muttered a quick thanks, and headed for his apartment—used more as a storage shed than shelter. Allie’s place had basically been his home, but her mom was old-fashioned, Allie had said. She wouldn’t have understood them living together before marriage.
Caleb mechanically got through the weekend.
Monday morning, he somehow made it to class.
Caleb’s dad was a retired U.S. Marshal. Now, sheriff of their small, coastal Oregon hometown. Vince Logue had made a few inquiries on behalf of his son, but for all practical purposes, Allie had vanished. Caleb finally resorted to calling the mom who hadn’t approved of him. Her words of wisdom were to leave her daughter alone.
Monday afternoon, Caleb snatched the mail from his box.
Nestled amongst bills and credit card applications was a letter.
Dear Caleb—
Sorry for taking off like I did, but I didn’t know what else to do. I lost the baby, but before that, I could already tell I’d lost you. The look in your eyes after I’d told you my news, it told me the last thing you wanted to be was a father. I don’t blame you. My being pregnant was a shock to me, too.
But what also came as a shock was your apparent lack of feeling for me. I always assumed we’d end up together, but guess I was wrong. And that’s okay. I mean, I’m hurt, but I understand, and willingly grant you your freedom. Maybe my losing the baby was somehow a blessing. Maybe if I hadn’t, you might’ve felt forced into “making it right,” like you said you would do. But what you have to understand is that I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with a man who makes my life “right,” but magical. I want the fairy tale, Caleb. I want love.
Please don’t try to find me. I think it’s for the best that we both go our separate ways. Good luck in your future. I wish you well in all you do. Allie
Caleb read the letter four times, then wadded it into a ball he deep-sixed into the trash.
He went out for a couple beers.
Came home.
