Page 17 of Chloe's Christmas Escape
Jackson stepped behind her, wrapping his arms around and cuddling her close. “Do you think that my uncle and I do not correspond?”
She pulled her shoulders up to her ears and released them in an uncontrollable shrug. Staring down at the patterned carpet, she felt a profound sense of ignorance and confusion, like nothing made sense anymore.
“You’ll be able to send a letter with my letters to Mac. There is no reason for anyone to suspect that something is awry.”
“Truly?” She tried to tilt her head up to meet his gaze, but the sheer size of him restricted her movements. He bent towards her, and his deep chuckle rumbled from his chest into hers, sending a shiver through her body.
“Truly, little mouse. Now go fix your letter for your mama.” He turned her around and tapped her nose before she took the letter back from the marshal and rushed to the table.
Opening it, she took a second piece of paper and scribbled.
My husband stands well over six feet tall, and his broad shoulders fill the doorway. He has a stoic strength that came from his military service. There are memories there I have yet to uncover, but I hope to in time.
Tell my sisters that my husband resembles those rough-and-tumble cowboys they loves hearing about in those penny novels. I hope that when our journey is complete, you can come and stay with us in our new home.
They say I can write to you, but we must finish our travel first. Please pray for us.
After including those lines in her letter, she carefully folded it and proceeded across the room again. “Is there a reason you’re leaving early?” she asked the marshal as she handed him the letter. She watched him look at Jackson over her head.
“If I leave tonight, then I don’t have to be trapped in the coach. I can sit up with the driver. It will give everyone more room to move.”
“Ah huh.” Chloe knew that wasn’t it, but fear prevented her from pressing further. “Well, do I need to hug you goodbye now?”
“You’re going to hug him?”
“You’re going to hug me?”
Both men spoke simultaneously, their words erupting out of them in a cacophony of sounds. She couldn’t help but laugh at the unexpected outburst, a sound that quickly escalated into an almost unrecognizable snort.
“Why are you both so shocked by the idea? Do you not hug people?”
They both shook their heads while wearing matching expressions of unease. This was the first thing she planned to change. She spun around and fixed her gaze on her husband.
“I intend to hug you as often as possible.” She poked at his middle. “And you,” she whirled, looking at the older marshal. “I am so grateful to you. You held my hair when I was ill, consoled me when I cried, and would give your life to protect my family. And by marriage, you are my family now.” Chloe didn’t give him a chance to respond. She pounced, wrapping her arms around his middle, and holding tight, until his hands came down, patting her awkwardly. “You’d be my family even if I hadn’t married Jackson.”
Chloe smiled as she felt the marshal’s arms tighten around her.
Chapter Seven
Jackson had no clue where his wife was.
His wife.
He liked the way it rolled off his tongue.
Standing on the porch of the Higgins manor, he waved as the stage carrying Mac pulled out of town. Chloe had disappeared with Mrs. Higgins the moment they’d stepped into the dining room, so here he was, alone for the first time since her arrival that morning. Now, a thousand knots twisted his stomach. He was suddenly a new husband with a wife to protect. There was an important mission and who knows what else lay before him?
His leg had been aching more in the last few days. Massaging the torn flesh, he winced as he shifted his weight to the side. The doctor who examined him found no sign of infection.
“It’s probably just the weather,” the old doc said sympathetically.
Jackson let his gaze drift out over the skyline, where dark clouds loomed ominously in the distance. If it was indeed the temperature shifting that was causing this pain, it would be an endless winter.
He knew that his journey to Omaha would be a tedious one. He would have ridden a horse instead of being stuck inside an enclosed stagecoach, but the decision was not his to make. There was Chloe to think about.
He plotted out the seven-day journey to Omaha—two stops in Iowa City and Des Moines—on a crumpled piece of paper. It had been longer than three years since he had last visited. He forced himself to not think too deeply about it, instead focusing on what he needed to do once he arrived: meet with the attorney and complete the sale of the house.
The little boy inside him wanted to keep it as a place for him to rest when visiting, but the rational adult in him knew it didn’t make any sense financially.
