Married by Christmas

by Karen Kirst

  Rebecca could not rejoice in his suffering. Indeed, it weighed heavily upon her soul.

  Reaching out, she settled a light hand across his forehead. Troubling heat seared her. Placing a damp, cool cloth where her hand had been, she wondered how long he’d be out this time. Would the wound heal? Or would infection take over, driving his fever too high? The uncertainty—and yes, even fear for his well-being—stayed with her the rest of the day.

  * * *

  The burning sensation in his thigh, akin to a thousand yellow-jacket stings, sucked him up to the surface of the fiery lake of torment imprisoning him. He gasped for air. His insides, like dry sawdust, clamored for relief, his tongue thick and throat gritty.

  Water.

  He jerked when something hard and unexpected pressed against the seam of his mouth.

  “I have water right here, Caleb.” Becca’s soft words flowed over him as her arm slipped beneath his shoulders to lend him support as he drank greedily. The cool liquid did little to assuage the thirst raging inside him.

  “More.”

  She moved away, taking her comfort with her, and he forced his lids open. Darkness cloaked the room. A fire spit and crackled in the stone fireplace. Beside the bed, a golden circle of light shone from a single kerosene lamp. Night had fallen.

  “I tried to wake you several times.” She returned with another cupful, her brilliant green gaze watchful as he depleted the contents. “I was beginning to worry—” She bit her lip, apprehension written across her face.

  He must be in pretty bad shape for her to admit concern.

  “How’s the leg look?” he managed to say, focusing with effort on his brave, if reluctant, caretaker.

  “Angry.”

  “Infected?”

  Her brows collided. “Maybe. I’m not certain.” Self-consciously shoving a cloud of shiny hair behind one shoulder, she said, “I warned you I have little to no nursing experience.”

  Unable to keep his eyes open, he recalled her exact expression as she’d peered at his injury that morning. When he’d glimpsed the color leaching from her lips, the dread tightening her shoulders, he’d grasped for the only means available of distracting her. Reminding Becca that he was responsible for the current state of her life—unwed and alone save her sister, her dreams of home and family nothing but a bittersweet memory—had reignited her antipathy toward him while taking her mind off the ugly task awaiting her.

  “Doing a fine job.” He pushed the words out, fighting to stay awake so he could voice his gratitude. “The old Becca couldn’t have done what you did today. Brave.”

  “You’re wrong,” she whispered. “I’m not brave. I’m...scared.”

  He wanted to open his eyes, wanted to reassure her. A wave of inky darkness crashed over him, but he wasn’t ready to submit just yet.

  “If only I could get to the doctor. He’d have medicine to help you.”

  “Becca.”

  The mattress dipped near his hip. The odd but not unpleasant combination of fresh parchment and lilac wrapped around him, resurrecting memories of golden days of laughter and fun, a place in time that could never be revisited. Amazingly, he felt her slender hands curl about his, holding secure. Grounding him to her world, perhaps? While she despised him, her compassionate heart would not desire his demise.

  “I’m here, Caleb. I—I’ll be here for as long as you need me.”

  He tried to thank her. Words eluded him, however. His mute, black void refused to wait a second longer to reclaim him.

  Chapter Five

  Driven to comfort him, she’d uttered the hasty words without thinking. Suddenly the weight of his work-roughened hand was too much, the connection too personal. Pulling away, Rebecca sank against the chair and hugged her middle.

  The muted light flickered across his face, making his scar appear more grotesque than it truly was. The night of the accident, she’d overheard Doc Owens saying he was fortunate. If the plank had hit him one inch to the left, he’d have lost his eye. At the time, she hadn’t cared one whit about Caleb’s injury, not when her fiancé’s life hung in the balance.

  Oh, the fury that had swept through her when she’d learned what had happened! She’d known, hadn’t she? Known it deep in her bones that one day Caleb would go too far. If only Adam had heeded her warnings...but he and Caleb had been as close as brothers. Adam had looked up to his larger-than-life friend.

  They shouldn’t have been anywhere near that sawmill. They’d had run-ins with the owner, Guthrie Fleming, on two previous occasions—Adam had stubbornly refused to reveal the nature of those run-ins, much to her consternation—and he’d warned them to stay away. Always on the search for the next adventure, Caleb had drummed up the idea of sneaking in after closing hours and messing with Fleming’s office. Nothing serious, Adam had later informed her, just enough to aggravate the older man.

  They never made it to the office. Foolishly climbing on the plank stacks, leaping from one pile to the next, Caleb had reached the ground when the pile Adam was standing on gave way. He’d sustained a blow to his lower spine in the fall. A blow he couldn’t recover from, physically or mentally. Watching her best friend, the man she’d loved and admired and planned a life around, retreat inside himself had been excruciating. Nothing she said or did convinced him that a wheelchair couldn’t diminish her love for him. When rational speech hadn’t worked, she’d argued, pleaded, cajoled, even railed at him to stop feeling sorry for himself. In the end, he hadn’t been able to accept their altered future.

  Adam had ordered her to stop coming to the doctor’s office. When he’d been moved to his parents’ home, she attempted to see him more than once. Finally, his mother had tearfully informed her it was time for Rebecca to allow her son to move on with his life. Then she’d asked for the ring back. The humiliation and defeat were as fresh today as they had been all those months ago.

  Rebecca automatically reached for the locket hanging about her neck. Lifting it to eye level, she opened it as she’d done hundreds of times in the year since Adam moved away. His easy smile made her heart burn with disappointment.

  “Why, Adam?” Why were you so determined to walk away from everything we had? From me?

  The bedroom door opened. Rebecca shifted to watch Amy’s approach, Storm following in her wake. “How’s he doing?”

  “The fever doesn’t seem to be abating.”

  Amy frowned. “He looks bad, Rebecca. What if he—” Her throat worked.

  Ignoring the painful thump of her heart, she gave Amy’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Let’s try and stay positive, okay? Caleb is strong and healthy.”

  “But we have no idea how long he was in the snowstorm. Do you think he might have pneumonia?”

  “I don’t think so.” Breaking eye contact as a feeling of helplessness swamped her, she watched his chest rise and fall. His breathing seemed a bit labored to her. “Pray that the snow melts. Getting him to the doctor is our number-one priority.”

  “Do you want me to sit with him?”

  “No, I’ll do it. You need your rest.”

  “So do you,” she pointed out. “You’ve been tending to him nearly every minute since Storm found him.”

  The past twenty-four hours had passed in a blur. “I’m fine.”

  At Amy’s quirked brow, Rebecca said, “I’ll rest on the settee if I need to. That way I’ll hear him if he calls out.”

  “Fine.” Patting Storm’s head, Amy said, “Keep her company, okay, girl?”

  At that, the dog settled herself at Rebecca’s feet.

  Amy smiled. “’Night, then.”

  “Sweet dreams.”

  When Rebecca was left alone once more with her restless patient, the fire crackling and Storm’s mournful eyes fastened on her, she sank forward so that her forehead rested on the mattress.
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br />   Lord, You are well aware of the state of my sister’s poor battered heart, how she still grieves Ma’s and Pa’s passing. For her sake, and that of Caleb’s parents and brothers, I ask You to please spare his life.

  * * *

  “Becca?”

  They were in the sawmill, the three of them. It was summer. Full moon. The humid air hugged her body, close and uncomfortable. From her vantage point beneath the overhang of the low building, she could see Adam standing precariously close to the edge of the planks high above her head. With dawning horror, Rebecca tried frantically to get his attention, to warn him. He ignored her. Crept closer to danger.

  No. No, don’t. Adam, please stop...

  “Becca, wake up.”

  She gradually became aware of the quilt beneath her cheek, the dog’s warmth against her ankle and—surely she was imagining it—masculine fingers lightly skimming her hair?

  Caleb. Jolting upright, her gaze shot to a pair of glittering brown eyes. She self-consciously smoothed the mussed strands, assuring herself that the featherlight caress had been part of the disturbing dream.

  “H-how are you feeling?” She reached for his mug. “Do you want some water?”

  He waved her offer aside. His raven hair was damp at the temples, the longish strands clinging to his neck beneath his shirt collar. “Need paper. Pen.”

  “What for?”

  His gaze, which she now noticed was overly bright, slid away. What was he hiding? “I need for you to take down information.”

  “What sort of information?” Dismay churned in her middle. Deep down, she suspected what he wanted and why.

  “Descriptions,” he said, broad chest rising and falling as if he’d just completed a race.

  “Of the outlaws, you mean?”

  He met her gaze head-on. “Yes.”

  There was resolve in that gaze. Regret, too, so deep she thought she might drown in it. Jaw knotted with unease, she crossed to the opposite wall to the storage cabinet where she kept her watercolors, handmade paintbrushes and other supplies. Withdrawing a pencil and paper, she returned to her chair and took a bracing breath.

  “I’m ready when you are.”

  “There were five of them....”

  As Rebecca penned the details, the fact that he had witnessed a man’s death finally registered. And not just any man, a respected lawman. As Cades Cove was only a two-day ride from Gatlinburg, Eli Tate had made several visits to their town. She’d even met him once. Had been struck by his somber demeanor. Local folks said the young sheriff was dedicated to protecting his small community and respected by its inhabitants. Now he was dead.

  How helpless Caleb must’ve felt. He had never been one to remain on the fringe of the action. He certainly hadn’t ever stood by while injustice was meted out.

  Pencil hovering above the parchment, she jerked up her head. “You tried to intervene, didn’t you?”

  He didn’t blink, didn’t flinch in the face of her accusation.

  She gripped the pencil tighter. “You honestly thought you could take on a gang of outlaws all by yourself?”

  “Tate was unarmed. Surrounded.” His frown was fierce. “I had to try.”

  “What did you do exactly?”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Sighing, he pressed his head farther back into the pillow. “It didn’t work.”

  “You very well may pay for that with your life.” Jumbled emotions stabbing at her, Rebecca tossed the pencil aside and strode to the fireplace, seizing the poker and jamming it into the half-burned logs. Anger at his foolishness pounded at her temples.

  “If I don’t make it, will you take the information to Shane? He’ll need it if he’s gonna get justice for Tate.”

  She whirled about to gape at him. The resignation in his handsome features filled her mouth with the metallic taste of fear. Fear for the friend he used to be, not the nemesis he’d become.

  “You are not dying on my watch,” she said through gritted teeth. No way was she going to have his death on her conscience.

  Apology deepened the furrow between his brows. “I’d like for Nathan to have my horse. Josh can have my guns.”

  “Stop.” Hands clenched, she stalked over to the bed and glared down at him. “If I have to pack you in icicles, if I have to bury you in snow or submerge you in the stream to bring that fever down, I will. You will recover, Caleb O’Malley, and then you’re gonna walk out of my life and never return, got it?”

  * * *

  Something wet splashed onto his hand. Tears. Becca was crying over him? Didn’t she know he wasn’t worth it?

  “I never wanted this,” he said. Relaying the details of the murder had drained him. “I stayed away so you wouldn’t have to be reminded. Now here I am causing you pain again.”

  “I don’t need you to remind me of what happened.” She angrily swiped at the moisture on her cheeks. “I’m reminded every day that I wake up alone. I’m reminded every time I see his parents at the mercantile or in the church pew. This town is riddled with memories. There’s no getting away from them.”

  The magnitude of what he’d done, the price she’d been forced to pay, seized him. “I’d give anything if I could turn back the clock and return to that night—if I could switch places with Adam, I would.” Daring to reach out and splay his fingers over her hand, he whispered, “I’m sorry, Becca.”

  Grief twisted her features, and she bent her head, a thick fall of hair slipping forward and blocking her profile. To his shock, she didn’t snatch her hand away. Instead, she traced the veins crisscrossing the top of his with her fingertip. “I don’t wish to discuss this anymore tonight,” she said, her voice unsteady. “You need rest.”

  Caleb’s eyes slid shut. Despite the weariness weighing down his body and the throbbing ache in his leg, that single touch brought him more pleasure than he’d known in ages.

  “Caleb?” The caress ceased, and he had to bite his lip in order to refrain from begging her to continue. That’s what happens when you spend most of your time with nothing but squirrels and birds for company.

  “Yeah?” Afraid she might see how she affected him, he kept his eyes closed.

  “Promise me you’re not giving up. That you’re gonna fight this.”

  The tremor in her voice forced his gaze up to her lovely face wreathed in worry. Frustration fueled his heavenward petition. Why her, God? Why did she have to be the one to find me? Haven’t I caused her enough suffering? I deserve whatever comes my way, but Becca and Amy are innocent. My presence here is putting them at risk.

  He wondered if God would choose to hear his prayer, much less deem to answer. After all the pain his actions had brought to those around him, he harbored serious doubt his Creator looked kindly upon him. But this was important. Becca’s life very well could be on the line. If those murderers had seen his scar, if they tracked him here and he was too weak to protect her...

  Caleb gritted his teeth, pushed the disturbing images out of his mind. He couldn’t think about that. Had to focus on fighting the infection. And, if God decided to spare his life, he’d do as Becca asked and leave Gatlinburg for good. As much as saying goodbye to his family would kill him—spending weeks at a time in the mountains in self-imposed isolation, not knowing how they were faring was its own special brand of torture—he could no longer risk their well-being. Being lonely was a small price to pay if it meant they were happy and healthy and untouched by the irresponsibility inherent to his nature.

  “I’ll leave here as soon as I’m able,” he told her. “Once my business is concluded with Shane and I’m certain you and Amy are no longer in danger, I won’t bother you again. You have my word.”

  Looking as if she had more to say but thinking better of it, she merely nodded. “I’ll heat you up some broth.” Sweeping gracefully to the tiny kitchen, she s
et a large enamel pot on the stove top.

  Although he wasn’t the least bit hungry, Caleb didn’t call her back to his side. The effect of her innocent touch yet lingered, and he didn’t trust himself not to play on her sympathy and ask if she’d mind holding his hand until he slept.

  Chapter Six

  Rebecca was making her way to the barn the next morning, an empty milk pail dangling from her wrist, when the jangle of horse bells reached her. She froze. Had Tate’s murderers come to silence Caleb? Hardened criminals knew better than to announce their arrival, didn’t they?

  Feeling vulnerable without a means of defending herself, she peered along the narrow lane leading out of their cove. A familiar gold-trimmed black sleigh glided through the fresh dusting of snow that had fallen overnight. Her tension eased at the sight of her neighbors, Louis Harper and his daughter, Meredith. Of course they’d come to check on her.

  She and Meredith were the same age and had attended school together but hadn’t become close until the death of Rebecca’s parents. In the midst of Rebecca’s grief, the pretty brunette had reached out to her and Amy, stopping by regularly with fresh-baked desserts. Their friendship had been forged over coffee and pie.

  Setting the pail in the snow, she greeted the other woman with a longer-than-usual hug. Meredith pulled back, lively green eyes dancing with questions beneath her furry cap. “We came to see how you were faring in this weather. Didn’t figure you’d try to make it to church services on old Toby. Momma’s been feeling poorly this week, so we aren’t going, either. You look strange, Rebecca. Are you all right?”

  Cheeks and nose ruddy from the brisk air, Louis sloughed through the snow to his daughter’s side. “You got enough firewood? I can bring some logs inside if you need me to.”