Married by Christmas
Restless with indignation, she stalked to the nearest post and wrapped her arm about it, careful to avoid the glistening icicle suspended from the roof.
“There was a time in my life when I would’ve caved to such expectations. Not anymore. I will not marry him.”
“If you were my own daughter, I’d insist on it.” Compassion marked his voice. “This situation has gone way beyond propriety.”
“We’re innocent of any wrongdoing,” she forced out. “The man almost died, Louis.”
“I know you’re innocent. But it’s the appearance of wrongdoing that will spur the leaders to action. I just want you to be prepared.” Navigating the snow-encrusted steps, he made his way to his waiting team. “I’ll return as soon as I can.”
“You’ll bring Doc, too, right?” She couldn’t be confident Caleb was on the mend until the doctor evaluated him. Hopefully Doc would deem him well enough to be moved. Whether he went to his folks’ or to Doc’s didn’t matter to her just as long as he left.
Lifting a hand in acknowledgment of her question, his wool cap bobbed, a spot of charcoal-gray against the blinding white landscape.
The sound of bells jingling in her ears, she reluctantly went inside and removed her scarf and coat. The bowl on the bedside table sat empty. When she neared his bed, the pleasant scent of clean and soapy male tickled her nose. Don’t be awake, she silently ordered, but his thick, black lashes fluttered upward and dark brown eyes focused on her.
“Harper leave already?” he asked with a grunt, shifting upward on the mound of pillows.
“Just a minute ago.” She twisted the folds of her skirt. “I’m hoping he’ll return with Doc.”
That beautiful mouth flattened. “I asked him to bring Shane.”
“And I asked him to bring Doc.”
Unsettled by the clarity in his shrewd gaze, Rebecca started to turn away. Dealing with him while he was ill was quite a different reality than when he was in complete possession of his senses. The dangerous edge was front and center once more, calling to her even as it repelled.
His fingers closed over her wrist, stalling her. “What’s wrong?”
Turning back, she cocked a you-can’t-be-serious brow, ordering herself to shake free of his hold. But she didn’t. The strong, masculine touch felt amazing. For a millisecond, she reveled in the prickly tingles fanning up her arm, the tug of want and need overruling the voice screaming at her to remember it was her enemy touching her.
“I meant, what’s wrong besides the fact that you’re stuck with me,” he amended.
Stuck with him. As in forever. Images of him and her and a preacher and a church full of disapproving townspeople accosted her.
He must’ve recognized the unease in her expression, because he quickly tacked on, “Temporarily, of course.”
“You’re imagining things.”
“Am I?”
Caleb had always managed to read her moods. The low, coaxing tone, combined with the imprint of his rougher fingertips against the sensitive skin of her inner wrist, reminded her of the time he’d happened upon her following a particularly upsetting fight with Adam. At the first sight of her tears, he’d grimly pulled her into his arms, fingers ever-so-lightly skimming her back as she poured out her frustration.
One thing she’d forgotten about him—he was a fantastic listener. A trait Adam didn’t share. Her heart beat out a dull tattoo.
Was it possible that, in her brokenness following the accident, she’d elevated her and Adam’s relationship to near-perfect status, blinding herself to his faults while doing the exact opposite with Caleb? One man couldn’t be all good, the other all bad.
Jerking from his grasp, she rubbed the spot where he’d held her in an effort to banish the tingling sensation. Loneliness and the scarceness of human touch was no excuse for weakness around this man.
“I’ll be fine just as soon as you’re gone,” she snapped. “I’m going out to the barn. Amy’s in the bedroom reading if you need a drink. Anything else, she can come and get me.”
Silence choked the cabin as she stalked away, throwing her cape about her shoulders once again when what she really longed to do was lounge before the fire with a mug of rich-bodied coffee and her latest rug-hooking project. Once safely on the porch, the winter air swirled around her, stealing up her skirts and in between her scarf and collar, cold enough to freeze eyelashes. It wasn’t enough to drive her back inside, however.
For the hundredth time, she begged God to end this torment. Her greatest hope lay with Doc Owens’s visit. Please let him deem Caleb fit for travel, Lord. At this point, she wasn’t worried about faceless outlaws. She was worried about Caleb’s lingering presence in her home and what that might mean to her future.
Chapter Eight
Caleb tried to focus on the meaning behind Amy’s words as she read to him from Charles Dickens’s Great Expectations, but fatigue made his brain sluggish. He would’ve slept already were it not for his awareness of Becca’s every movement in the small kitchen area as she cleaned the lunch dishes and began preparations for supper. She’d hid out in the barn for more than an hour before finally coming inside to heat up a huge pot of bean soup for lunch. The effects of a full stomach and clean clothing were lulling him into a relaxed state that not even his aching thigh could disrupt.
Amy paused, finger pressed to the page to hold her spot. “What’s for supper?”
“Venison stew.”
Speculation flared in the pixie face. “Did our secret benefactor deliver the meat?”
Twisting at the waist, Becca shot Amy a quelling look. When her gaze speared him, he stopped scratching at the itchy stubble on his chin and lowered his hand to his lap. Surely she didn’t suspect him?
“What’s all this about?” he questioned Amy. It would look suspicious if he didn’t ask.
Slipping a slim, hand-decorated bookmark between the pages, she closed the book and held it against her chest. Her blue eyes twinkled. “For months now, someone has been mysteriously leaving us packages of meat.”
“Is that so?”
When he switched his gaze to Becca, she turned back to the work space littered with spoons, spices and pots, presenting him with her stick-straight spine and tense shoulders. He’d reached out and touched her without thinking earlier and, like a fool, hadn’t immediately released her. Clearly a rash mistake. She’d been prickly ever since, the accusation You ruined my life squarely back in her eyes.
“You have no idea who it is?”
“None.” Amy’s twin braids swished as she shook her head. “Rebecca questioned Mr. Harper, but he denied having any part of it.”
“It’s likely someone from church,” Becca said, dropping a handful of carrots into the bubbling pot on the stove. The savory smells that were beginning to fill the room chased away his sleepiness. Although he’d eaten just over an hour ago, he found he could eat again. After days of nothing but broth and water, his appetite was kicking in with a vengeance.
“I think it’s a man who’s sweet on my sister but is too shy to tell her, so he’s leaving her secret gifts.”
Caleb coughed. Sweet on Becca? More like meeting a need he knew for a fact she wouldn’t accept face-to-face. His thoughts turned pensive. Was she involved with someone? Adam had been gone a long time, over a year. The men of this town couldn’t be blind to her attributes.
“Amy, really.” She pursed her lips.
Amy shrugged. “She doesn’t believe that theory,” she informed him, leaning closer. “Rebecca’s not a romantic like me.”
Rubbing his hand along his scruffy jaw, he swallowed a retort. That’s not the Becca I knew. The Becca he’d known had walked around with stars in her eyes, quoting Elizabeth Barrett Browning, and been convinced Adam was her storybook hero. Until Caleb brought reality crashing down on all of them.
“Amy, have you finished your history report?” Becca stood with a hand on her hip, a towel clutched tightly in the other. “As soon as this snow melts, it’ll be back to school for you.”
The younger girl’s shoulders sagged. “I don’t understand why I have to study something that happened over a hundred years ago in a country I will never step foot in.”
“Mr. Crockett obviously thinks it’s important or else he wouldn’t have given you the assignment. Besides, there’s a whole world out there. Learning about other people and places expands your thinking. Life doesn’t begin and end in Gatlinburg, Tennessee, you know.”
“I can’t wait for Christmas break,” she moaned, trudging toward the bedroom. “Come on, Storm,” she beckoned to the dog, who immediately obeyed. “You can keep me company in my misery.”
Caleb hid a smile. He hadn’t liked school all that much, either. Why read about other people having adventures when you could experience one for yourself?
Thinking like that is what led me to this place, isn’t it? Disfigured. Alone. And responsible for burdening his closest friends with a world of hurt and disillusionment.
“You’re good with her. Your parents would be proud.”
Sorrow flickered and was quickly concealed. “I do the best I can,” she said tightly before turning to replace the spice jars on the shelf near the stove.
He’d been packing his bags for another hunting trip when his father had relayed the tragic news of their accident. Instantly, the need to go to her and offer what comfort he could had gripped him. Rebecca had enjoyed a close relationship with her parents, especially her pa. She’d adored Jim Thurston. Caleb had managed to master the impulse to see her that day, but he hadn’t been able to stay away from the funeral.
“It was a beautiful service,” he murmured, lost in memories and not fully aware he’d spoken aloud.
A large spoon slipped from her fingers and clattered onto the floorboards. “You were there?” Her brows crashed together in confused disbelief. “I didn’t see you.”
He was silent a moment. “Didn’t figure you’d want to.”
He’d kept to the edge of the crowd, careful not to show himself and cause her more upset. Aching for her profound loss, he’d longed to stride down the aisle to where she stood in between the twin caskets, shoulders quaking with emotion, and shelter her in his embrace.
“I thought...” Old hurts resurfaced.
Caleb blinked. Had she been disappointed by his supposed absence?
“I tried to stay away,” he said quietly, “but I couldn’t.”
Jerking a nod, she bent to retrieve the spoon and placed it in the dry sink, then continued clearing off the work space as the stew simmered on the stove top. Her stiff movements shouted her wish to drop the conversation.
Caleb closed his eyes, transported to those awful, frustrating weeks afterward. He’d postponed his trip, wanting to be nearby on the off chance she might decide she needed him. Of course, she hadn’t. What would she do if she found out he’d resorted to spying on her and Amy by way of his brother? Probably strangle him. Nathan had agreed to Caleb’s plea to visit them and report back. After the fourth visit, Nathan had informed him that he was finished. People were starting to get the wrong impression.
The air stirred nearby, alerting him to her presence. He opened his eyes to see her clutching a porcelain mug.
“I remember how you preferred to be clean-shaven. Do you feel up to shaving yourself?”
She motioned to the mirror propped up on the table behind her, the brush, straight razor and box of Colgate shaving soap laid out. Struck by her thoughtfulness, Caleb didn’t say anything for a long moment.
“I can help you to the table,” she added.
“That won’t be necessary,” he murmured, tired of being weak in front of her. “If you’ll just pull the chair out for me, I can make it on my own steam.”
“I’ll be right here in case you need me.”
“I believe I can make it a couple of feet,” he muttered drily, but by the time he finally sank into the hard-backed chair, he was winded and dizzy and his entire leg throbbed.
One look at his face and she huffed a sigh. Picking up the shaving brush, she moved in front of him and dipped up a dollop of shaving soap.
“What are you doing?”
The cool cream swiped along his jawline. “I’m saving you from further injury, that’s what.”
Her knees brushed against his. The accidental contact incited awareness he could ill afford. He clenched his fists. “You are not going to shave me.”
Becca straightened, brush held midair. As if reasoning with a child, she stated calmly, “Hold up your hand.”
When he just stared at her, she took hold of his right hand and lifted it. “Hold it out flat.”
With a scowl, he did as she instructed. There was no disguising the slight trembling. She arched an I-told-you-so brow. He curled his fingers into a tight fist and lowered it to his lap.
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