Married by Christmas

by Karen Kirst

  “And what if they evade capture? What then?”

  “They won’t. I’ll personally see to that.” Even if that meant he had to scour the thirty-eight states.

  “Let me be the one to break the news to Amy.”

  “Fine. I’ll let the reverend know he has a wedding to perform.”

  Becca grimly nodded. In that moment, Caleb felt cheated somehow. While he hadn’t once imagined himself proposing to a woman, he was pretty sure his prospective bride shouldn’t be looking at him as if he’d ruined her life.

  * * *

  Weddings meant music and food and pretty dresses and gifts, a celebration to mark the beginning of a couple’s new life. She should know. She’d been planning one not so long ago.

  Here she was engaged again, only to the wrong groom. The very notion of standing up before her friends and Caleb’s family, along with those close-minded people who’d likely questioned their innocence, had made her break out in a cold sweat. She simply could not do it.

  So she’d asked Caleb if he’d mind a private ceremony, here in her cabin, with only Amy for a witness. To her immense relief, he’d agreed.

  Rebecca had had less than twenty-four hours to come to terms with the fact she was about to become Mrs. Caleb O’Malley.

  “Rebecca, are you sure you don’t want to wear Mama’s wedding dress?”

  Amy’s disappointed gaze swept her dress of aquamarine overlaid with black netting. She had come into the bedroom to tell her that Caleb and the reverend had arrived. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, Rebecca slid in the final hairpin and inhaled deeply, trying to calm her heartbeat.

  “We’ll save it for your special day, okay?” she murmured, striving to keep her voice free of emotion.

  The sting of discarded plans speared her heart. She’d tried her mama’s dress on once. The morning after Adam proposed, she’d watched as her mother had carefully lifted the lace-and-pearl dress from the carved pine chest at the foot of her bed and handed it to her, tenderness and pride marking her expression. How could she possibly wear the exquisite white dress—a reminder of her mother’s love for her father and the hope and commitment with which she’d approached her vows—as she pledged to honor, love and obey the one man responsible for tearing her heart apart?

  “But you looked beautiful in it. And don’t you want a cake? What’s a wedding without a cake?”

  “Amy, please.” She shot her a pleading look. This time, she couldn’t conceal the strain she was under. Of course she wanted a memorable wedding, one she could look back on with fondness. This wasn’t about getting what she wanted, though, was it? This was about unfortunate circumstances and appearances and repairing reputations.

  There was a knock on her door. Caleb stood on the other side, strikingly handsome in a black suit that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders and lean torso, inky hair shiny against his skin. Concern—and apprehension?—darkened his eyes.

  “Are you ready to do this?”

  The reverend appeared at his shoulder. “Good morning, Rebecca. Where would you like to exchange your vows?” He smiled encouragingly.

  * * *

  This was all wrong.

  This wasn’t how his wedding day was supposed to go.

  His bride should want to marry him. His family should be here. Becca’s friends, too.

  What was supposed to be a celebration felt more like a mourning of lost dreams.

  When he’d asked her yesterday when she wanted to get married, he’d been expecting her to stall. Throw up barricades. That she’d suggested a quick ceremony would be best was yet another reminder that she’d changed. That he no longer truly understood the woman who was about to become his wife unsettled him, as did the forbidden yearning to delve deeper, to explore her mysteries. He’d promised not to stick around. Just because he was suddenly intrigued with the idea of being married to Becca didn’t mean he could renege on that promise.

  The reverend was looking from her to him for an answer to his question.

  “In front of the fireplace will do,” he muttered when it became clear Becca wasn’t going to answer.

  Maneuvering on his crutches to the striped rug beside the hearth, he propped one against the stones, then turned to balance on the other. Storm didn’t seem to mind having her nap interrupted. Stretching her stubby legs, she sauntered over to the settee and hopped up on the muted floral cushion, big eyes curious as Monroe moved into place and blocked her view.

  Then Becca was in front of him, gaze glued to the fire, cheeks snowy-white and lips colorless. The complete lack of color in her face spurred Caleb to action. Using his free hand, he reached out and snagged hers. Small. Fragile. Skin so cold it hurt to touch, like the chunks of ice that formed in the mountaintop springs.

  Her eyes snapped to his, wide and questioning. Lips parted. When she didn’t reject his overture, Caleb applied gentle pressure, thumb skimming her knuckles to create friction. He wanted warmth back in her hand and color in those cheeks. Couldn’t very well get hitched if she was passed out cold on the floor, could they?

  “Amy.” The older man gestured to where she hovered by the chair. “Why don’t you come and stand near your sister? You’re our witness today.”

  While Becca’s fingers remained limp between his, her molten gaze did not leave his for a second. Not when Amy took up her position. Not when the reverend began extolling the virtues of marriage and commitment and faithfulness. Not when they recited the sacred vows that would tie them together for all eternity.

  Caleb got lost in the fathomless depths, found himself yearning to erase the loneliness and patch up the brokenness he glimpsed in her soul. It was a fool thing, really, because he was the last person who could help Rebecca. He couldn’t help himself. What made him think he could give her even a thimbleful of happiness?

  He was everything she despised—a selfish, rash ne’er-do-well.

  “You may kiss the bride.”

  Those words ripped her gaze away. Becca stared at the reverend, who merely smiled. “It’s part of the ceremony.”

  His new bride looked back at him, defiant, no trace of the sweet, naive girl he’d once known. In her place was a strong woman almost fierce in her independence. Beautiful, desirable in every way, yet unattainable.

  Don’t you dare, she silently reproached.

  It hit him then that this was one opportunity he couldn’t let pass. He was not noble. Nor was he a gentleman. Why not act as everyone expected him to? It wasn’t like she’d ever allow him close again.

  Tugging on her hand so that she stumbled forward, he ignored her outraged gasp and lowered his mouth to hers. The tremor that shook Becca’s graceful form threw him. Was it disgust? If so, why did her velvet-soft lips cling to his in unspoken wonder? Why did the hand splayed against his stomach not push him away? Her sweet breath mingling with his, Caleb battled the insane urge to haul her against him and kiss her properly.

  Her little sister was watching. That gave him pause.

  With great reluctance, he broke contact. Eyes still closed, mouth upturned as if begging for more, Becca swayed. Caleb watched with surprising regret as reason returned. Her lids popped open, and hot-pink color surged up the swanlike column of her neck and into her cheeks. Shock, quickly followed by humiliation and outrage, danced through her magnificent eyes. Jerking her hand from his, she scuttled back.

  Looking very pleased with himself, Monroe announced, “Congratulations! You are now husband and wife.”

  “I—” A trembling hand covered her mouth. “P-please excuse me.”

  Rushing from the room, the soft click of the bedroom door was as effective as if she’d slammed it. While Amy looked confused, Monroe cast him a concerned glance.

  In that moment, he thought she must surely hate him.

  * * *

 
Calling herself all sorts of a fool, Rebecca rested her forehead against the windowpane, welcoming the cold filtering through the thin glass as it cooled the heat fizzing along her nerve endings. Caleb’s heat. He’d known she hadn’t wanted him to kiss her, and yet he’d done it, anyway. To goad her? Or was he merely curious?

  Whatever the reason, she wished it undone. Her lips recalled the insistent press of his well-formed mouth, her body the deep well of dissatisfaction their brief connection had spawned. She’d wanted more, had longed to feel his strong arms around her, his hands in her hair.

  Recalling how she’d weaved toward him after he’d pulled away, Rebecca’s cheeks burned with fresh humiliation. She couldn’t for the life of her fathom why she hadn’t protested from the start. Shoved him away. He was her nemesis!

  Maybe it was the tender way he’d held her hand all through the ceremony. Maybe it was the way he’d looked at her, as if her happiness mattered—something no one else had seemed to care about since her parents’ deaths.

  It was shameful how she’d allowed herself to become weak and needy like that. She’d rather be numb than feel anything remotely similar to longing for Caleb O’Malley. Her husband.

  Knees threatening to give out, she sank onto the corner of the bed and buried her head in her hands. There was no going back now. For better or worse, she was an O’Malley. Caleb’s wife. The reality of what she’d done—consigned herself to a loveless, in-name-only marriage—weighed on her heart like a stone. She would never experience the love and affection of a man whose heart cherished her as a wife and best friend. The miracle of childbirth would be denied her, as would the rearing of a precious child.

  Maybe I could convince Caleb—

  She strangled that notion, instinctively aware that she wasn’t prepared to go down that road with him. Not now. Maybe not ever, not even for the sake of a baby.

  Above the desk hung a family portrait taken shortly before Rebecca’s sixteenth birthday. Amy had taken to wearing pigtails the year before. She was wide-eyed and curious, her precociousness already evident at that age. Her parents, dark-haired and serious, stared back at her. They would expect her to take care of her sister the same as if they’d lived.

  “I’m doing this for you, Amy,” she whispered. “Only for you.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “You’ve backed me into a corner.”

  Caleb studied the checkerboard, painted squares on a burlap scrap laid out on the smooth tabletop, and scraped his fingers along his jaw. “So I have.”

  The hours since the brief ceremony had stretched endlessly.

  When Becca had at last emerged from the bedroom, she’d worn a look of somber acceptance. She’d avoided him, as much as that was possible in the small cabin, busying herself with preparations for supper. And unable to think of a single topic of conversation, Caleb hadn’t approached her. Instead, he’d let Amy take charge of his time. She’d read another chapter of Great Expectations, then suggested checkers. They were on their fifth game.

  Fatigue rendered his limbs heavy, but his thoughts hummed with frantic persistence. I’m a married man. Becca is my wife. And now I have two females depending on me. The notion made him break out in a cold sweat. He and responsibility were not on friendly terms.

  Ensconced in a rocking chair pulled close to the fire and fully absorbed in whatever she was drawing, Becca acted oblivious to their presence. The copper streaks in her upswept mane shimmered in the flickering light, and her skin had the appearance of a luminescent pearl. His gaze fell on her mouth pursed in concentration, and instantly the memory of their kiss slammed into him, emptying his lungs of breath. He really shouldn’t have done it. Because now that he was privy to her sweetness, once wouldn’t be nearly enough.

  “I can’t move,” Amy cut into his thoughts. “You win.”

  Jumping her discs, he captured them for his pile. Then he winked at her. “Wanna play again tomorrow?”

  A bright smile replaced the frown. “I’d like that.”

  When she began to put the pieces away, he pushed himself up, steeling himself against his leg’s protest. The pain wasn’t as piercing as it had been at first, more of a dull throb pulsing through muscle and tissue and bone. Constant and no less troublesome. He wondered how soon he could withstand long hours in the saddle and if this hasty marriage would impact his decision to go after Tate’s murderers.

  Surely Becca won’t have any objections to me leaving. After all, my guaranteed absence is what got her to agree to this marriage in the first place.

  Wandering over to the fire, Caleb wasn’t surprised when Becca didn’t notice his presence. She’d always been like that when working on a project—oblivious to everything around her.

  Curious, he leaned forward. “What has you so captivated?”

  She jumped. Guilt darkened her eyes. “I don’t think—”

  Not about to be denied, he deftly lifted the paper from her limp hands. Turned it over and surveyed the sketch. Hot pain seized his chest, as if a knife had been plunged clean through his heart.

  “Adam,” he whispered, amazed at the near-perfect likeness of his friend. Hale and hearty, standing upright, the ever-present smile on his face. “This is obviously a before picture.”

  Becca surged upward, hand outstretched. She was pale, distressed. “Caleb, please—”

  “What?” he snapped, suddenly angry. “Afraid I’m gonna damage it? Take it. That’s what I get for being nosy.”

  Dropping the paper into her waiting fingers, he turned and swung past the living area to the door. Shoving his arms into his duster, he jammed his Stetson on his head and left them both staring after him.

  The frigid air did little to cool his ire. While a portion was directed at Becca—was it too much to ask that his new bride not daydream about her former fiancé on their wedding day?—most of his anger was focused inward. He’d actually felt betrayed. Hurt. It didn’t make any sense. While Becca had assumed his name, she hadn’t done so willingly. She didn’t belong to him, not really, and she never would.

  This is a marriage on paper only. We will live separate lives.

  A light wind filtered through the forest and across the cove, her remembered words pelting him like tiny, razor-edged stones. His right crutch sank into the damp earth and he nearly lost his balance. He stopped to let the resulting pain dissipate, taking a moment to study the level expanse between the cabin—lit up from within like a Christmas candle—and shadowy outbuildings framed by the rising mountain in the near distance. Due to the past two days of warming temperatures and steady sun, the yard was a patchwork of grassy patches and clumps of unmelted snow.

  Behind him, Becca’s dog descended the porch steps and, loping across the yard, came to a stop at his feet. In the lack of moon and starlight, Storm’s eyes were difficult to make out, but Caleb sensed her silent regard.

  “Needed some fresh air, too, huh?” he murmured.

  Somewhere behind the cabin, a sharp crack split the silence. Caleb ducked. Spun on his crutches. Eyes narrowed, heart throbbing, he scanned the inky-black forest. Was it her? The gang leader? One of her henchmen?

  Instinctively, he reached for his gun and called himself all sorts of a fool when his fingers encountered the soft material of his waistband. In his haste, he’d failed to grab his gun belt. A mistake that could get him killed.

  Pushing himself across the yard, he sidled up against the cabin wall, all the while straining for any sound that would clue him in to what was out there. The moonless night cast the dense forest in murky shadows. The perfect hiding place. He, on the other hand, was out in the open. Vulnerable.

  Another crack echoed through the trees, followed by a loud rushing sound. He flattened himself further against the cold logs at his back, anticipating the bite of a bullet into his flesh. None came. Seconds stretched into minutes. Caleb had convinced
himself there was no one out there, that what had spooked him was likely a branch breaking beneath the weight of snow, when boots clipped against the porch and Becca’s lyrical voice carried around the corner.

  “Caleb? Where are you?”

  He took one last glance at the forest and hurried to intercept her. “Go back inside,” he barked.

  Her eyes widened at his abrupt appearance. She raised the kerosene lamp, throwing a greater circle of light onto the ground and him. “You were gone a long time. I was worried....” She trailed off when he lobbed his crutches next to her feet. “What are you doing?”

  Planting his left leg on the porch, he gripped the edge of a corner log and hauled himself up, the pain of his injury not even registering in his drive to get her inside. He grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her toward the door. “Not safe. I heard something in the woods.”

  “What?” She searched his face with dawning horror. “You think they found you?”

  Hobbling on his good leg, he maneuvered them both inside. “Can’t be sure, but I’m not taking any chances.” Lowering the door latch, he lifted his gun from its holster and double-checked the chamber. Fully loaded. Perfect.

  “Where’s Amy?”

  “In bed.” Straight, white teeth sank into her lower lip. “Asleep, I think.”

  Becca had explained to Amy that, because of his injured leg, it would be best for Caleb to continue sleeping alone. He didn’t know what they’d do when his leg was fully healed.

  Moving to the window, Caleb ordered, “Go into the bedroom and turn out the lamp.”

  She ignored that directive. Instead, she sidled up to peek over his shoulder. Her warm breath slid along his neck. A distraction he didn’t need.

  “Why aren’t you doing as I said?” he asked through clenched teeth.

  “I’m not leaving you.” She sounded insulted that he’d ask. “You really shouldn’t have left those crutches out there. You could reopen the wound.”

  Huffing a sigh, he didn’t respond. What was the use? He tried pouring all his concentration into scanning the dark for nightmares. Next to impossible given her stance not even an inch away, derailing his train of thought. They stood there for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, he shrugged, turned all his weight on his good leg and found himself nearly nose to nose with his wife.