Marshal's Law

MARSHAL'S LAW #6: DON'T INTEREFERE WITH SOMETHIN' THAT AIN'T BOTHERIN' YA NONE

Marshal’s Law #6: Don’t interfere with somethin’ that ain’t botherin’ ya none.

Marshal was so upset with Monica that he’d hardly spoken to her in over a week.  He was so cold, she didn’t even dare bring their usual crossword puzzle to the stables in the morning.  From her window, she watched as he exercised the horses, as he did his chores.  She waited for his whistle, for some sign that he was ready to forgive her.  The wait was driving her mad. 

But sitting on that kitchen stool, watching Marshal work with William, she knew she was doing the right thing.  He was only one of many kids Marshal gave lessons to; but William was special.  About the same age as her son, he thought that riding made him as cool as Tombstone.  The boy loved it because, on Marmaduke’s back, he didn’t have a disability.  The braces on his legs didn’t matter.  He was tall and strong and on top of the world.

That was what Marshal was supposed to be doing.  He just had to see it . . . and forgive her pushing.  Not that she didn’t understand his ire. 

He wanted to fight.  She’d said no.

He wanted his farm.  She took it away from him.

And then, just to add insult to injury, she’d accepted Blake’s invitation to dinner.

Of course she hadn’t been won that easily.  He’d insulted her virtue, her morals; but then he’d called and piteously begged her to reconsider.  He hadn’t meant it to sound as if her employment were contingent upon a date.  He’d only been having a bit of fun. 

Then he’d said that there was no one better qualified for the job.  No one with her education, her experience or her love of the city . . . meaning no one else with all aforementioned qualifications willing to stay with such a small burg.  Everyone knew Monica Ellison wasn’t going anywhere. 

Date or no, Blake promised he wanted her and no one else for the job.

She said yes.  And when he’d cavalierly asked if they could celebrate with dinner, she’d swallowed her misapprehensions and said yes to that, too.

So she had a date.

“I did my part,” she’d said to Marshal’s door. “Now you do yours.”

She knew he’d heard her because the television got loud.  Somehow it didn’t matter that Marshal was pretending not her hear her.  It didn’t matter that he’d never actually agreed with her interfering plans.  She knew he’d call.  Eventually. 

And then maybe Marshal could move on with his life.  Maybe all the hurt that witch of a woman had inflicted for all those horrible years, maybe it would be reduced to nothing.  It should be nothing.  Nothing but bad memories.  Because a man like Marshal deserved a happy life.

Monica bit her lip, her eyes too glazed with thought to see the rack of dresses in front of her.  She supposed that she should feel excited.  She was going on a date tomorrow night.  She and Blake had spoken more than a few times over the last week and, Law, but the man liked to text.  She knew she should have been excited.