The Marshal's Ready-Made Family by Sherri Shackelford Page B

makers flocked together. Two of the boys held sticks and poked at something from a jumpy distance. They kicked up dust motes with their boots, obscuring Jo’s view of their target. Marshal Cain blew out a piercing whistle. The raucous horseplay ceased in a rolling wave as each boy in line caught sight of the marshal in turn and elbowed the next boy into attention.
    From the corner of her eye, Jo caught one of the boys slinking along the wall, his gaze darting between the marshal and freedom. Not fooled for a minute, the marshal cleared his throat, halting the sly escape. Effectively snared, the boy innocently shrugged his shoulders and attempted another step away. The marshal crooked his finger, his expression brooking no refusal. Resigned, the boy dragged his feet into line with the others.
    Adjusting his gun belt for emphasis, the marshal sauntered before the cowed group. “What’s all the excitement?”
    “We’re not doing anything bad, sir,” the youngest boy, a towheaded cherub with apple cheeks, replied.
    Jo recognized the stout troublemaker as Phillip Ryan. Twin dimples appeared on those rosy cheeks as Phillip conjured up his most persuasive smile.
    Jo grunted. That figured. His mother had practically gotten away with murder in school just by flashing her dimples and flipping her blond curls. Looked as if the apple cheeks hadn’t fallen far from the tree.
    Keeping hidden, Jo studied the marshal’s reaction, relieved at his unbending stance. It was nice to find at least one person who wasn’t fooled by a winsome smile and curly golden hair.
    When the boy realized his feigned innocence and appealing grin weren’t working on the marshal, his dimples retreated and an ugly scowl took their place. “It’s just a snake.”
    The marshal’s hands dropped to his sides, and he took a step back. “How big is it?”
    “It’s big, but we’re gonna kill it good.”
    Jo clenched her jaw. She loathed unnecessary cruelty of any kind. Sure, she’d killed plenty of snakes, but only when necessary, and always humanely. Torturing a creature didn’t sit well with her.
    “It’s huge,” Phillip declared, his eyes wide. “And dangerous. We’re doing the town a service by killin’ it.”
    Bristling with annoyance, Jo jostled through the crowd until she reached the center.
    Sure enough, a three-foot-long red, black and yellow snake lay coiled in the corner of the building. Jo glared at the boys. Hardly a giant at all. And certainly not dangerous. “There’s no call for cruelty. A snake is one of God’s creatures, too.”
    The Ryan boy scuffed the ground with his booted toe. “Not the good kind.”
    “I see.” Jo crouched until she was eye to eye with the boy. “You can tell if something is good or bad just by looking at it?”
    He shrugged.
    Jo huffed as she turned her attention on the snake’s brilliant red body, the color broken by bands of yellow flanked with narrow circles of black. She knelt before the terrified creature and murmured softly. Reaching out, she gently grasped the creature around the neck. The snake’s tail coiled around her arm.
    Jo stood and faced her stunned audience. “See. It’s just scared.”
    Marshal Cain gaped at her, then his face paled.
    Her heart thumped at his hard stare. “Did I do something wrong?”
    Maybe he didn’t like her interfering with his lawman’s work.
    “Put that down.” Marshal Cain held out his hands in a defensive gesture, his voice ominously low. “That’s a venomous coral snake.”
    Relief flooded through her veins. He wasn’t mad, he was just scared. “Nah. You can’t tell from where you’re standing. This here is just a milk snake. It’s not poisonous. Come closer and you’ll see.” She extended her arm.
    The marshal stumbled back another step.
    Jo thoughtfully angled her hand. “It kinda looks like a coral snake from a distance, but you gotta check the color bands. Like my pa taught us, red to black is a friend to Jack. Red to yellow will kill