Married by Christmas

by Karen Kirst

  Her pearl-like skin glowed in the near darkness. Wisps had escaped her formal chignon, clinging to her cheeks. Caleb fisted his hands to keep from skimming them behind her ear. Touching Becca was a risk he couldn’t afford.

  “It must’ve been the snow.” His voice was hoarse, memories of their kiss taunting him. “Too heavy for the branches.”

  Becca cocked her head, shrewd gaze boring into his. “Is that what you really think, or are you just saying that to make me feel better?”

  He smiled grimly. “You married into the right family. With that stubborn streak, you’ll fit right in with the O’Malleys.”

  She appeared arrested by the smile curving his mouth, her gaze glued to it in fascination.

  “What?” he grunted.

  “I haven’t seen you smile in a really long time.” Her voice dropped to a husky whisper. “I-it’s nice.”

  “Maybe I didn’t have a reason to.”

  “About earlier,” she began, slowly lifting her gaze to his. “I wasn’t thinking about what I was drawing, not really. My fingers just kind of took over. I’m sorry I hurt you.”

  Suddenly his skin felt uncomfortably tight. Emotion pinched his chest. Becca was worried about his feelings. Him. The man who hadn’t given her feelings, her life, her future, a second thought two years ago when he’d dared Adam to break into the sawmill. This was proof of her generous spirit.

  She made him feel dangerous things, made him long for a life he didn’t deserve. A life with her. A real marriage. Caleb knew if he didn’t put space between them right this second, he was going to grab on to her and never let go.

  “That’s the thing.” He deliberately hardened his features. “You didn’t hurt me. I know your heart will always belong to Adam. That’s fine with me, because I don’t want it.” Plunging ahead despite the tears forming in her eyes, he ground out, “You see, I’m no good with hearts. Or love. Or anything meaningful. It’s just my nature. Sorry, you got the defective O’Malley. So don’t go spinning fairy tales about me, Becca. You’ll be the one to get hurt again.”

  Outlaws or no, he was heading outside. Because he couldn’t stay here with her and watch the effects of his little speech take hold. When all was said and done, Caleb O’Malley was a coward.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Weak sunlight coaxed Rebecca awake the following morning. While she was able to blink the grittiness from her eyes, there was nothing she could do to rid her head of the cotton-stuffed feeling. She’d lain awake long into the night, worried about Caleb out there in the cold, putting undue strain on his injury and possibly in the sights of his pursuers. Only after she’d heard him come inside well after midnight had she been able to relax enough to drift off into a troubled sleep.

  His cutting words had hurt more than she could’ve imagined. That bothered her. In order for him to possess the power to hurt her meant she first had to care, right? Surely tending his wounds hadn’t skewered her common sense or rendered her lonely heart susceptible. Caleb had given her ample reason not to care. Even warned her against it. The defective O’Malley, he’d called himself.

  Scowling, she inched from beneath the covers and, doing her best not to disturb a still-slumbering Amy, hurriedly pulled on her lace-up leather boots. Defective, huh? The derisive label struck her wrong. Left her with a sour taste in her mouth.

  Out of habit, she reached for the gold locket dangling from the bedpost, fingers closing around the thin chain. Rebecca hesitated. Was it wrong of her to wear a photo of her first love around her neck? Theirs may not be a normal union, but she owed Caleb a modicum of respect. That’s why she’d offered the apology in the first place. Certain she’d glimpsed pain in his eyes when he recognized Adam’s likeness, she’d been racked with guilt. Wasted emotion, she now knew, considering his distinct lack of interest in the state of her heart.

  That’s fine with me, because I don’t want it.

  Caleb didn’t want her. No surprise there. Still, did he have to punish her with the fact?

  Decision made, she clasped the necklace with an air of defiance and began to brush the tangles from her hair. Opting to tie it back with a sky-blue ribbon, she chose a matching blouse and serviceable nut-brown skirt. The icy water in the washstand shocked her fully awake. Pulling aside the checkered curtain, she surveyed the winter scene. Sunshine or no, winter days always impressed her as sad. Lonely. Bare branches, brittle grass, still and silent landscape. The deep green pine trees imparted a touch of color, thank goodness. Occasionally a cardinal’s cheerful red feathers streaked against chalk-white sky.

  Where would Caleb be come spring? How often did he plan on staying here between hunting trips? And how long would each stay last?

  The unknowns bothered her. She could envision how their marriage would go—she’d get used to his latest absence and achieve a measure of contentment only to have him pop in unexpectedly and ruin everything. She’d be constantly wondering when he’d show up. If he’d show up. And if he didn’t, she’d wonder if he was injured again. Or de—

  No. He’d come too close to dying this week for her to want to go there again.

  Yanking open the door, she halted at the sight of him sitting at the table nursing a mug of steaming coffee. His hair was damp, raven strands falling forward over his forehead, and his chiseled jaw was freshly shaven. He was wearing his buttermilk-colored shirt and black trousers.

  His unreadable gaze lifted to hers, and he jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “There’s fresh coffee on the stove. I set a mug out for you.”

  “I didn’t hear you get up.”

  The bed was neatly made, his crutches propped between the headboard and small bedside table.

  When he refocused on his drink, she walked past on stilted legs, uncomfortable in her own home. It’s kind of nice to have another adult around, though, isn’t it? Memories of her parents were embedded in every item in here, making their absence that much more difficult to bear. As reluctant as she was to admit it, Caleb being here meant she wasn’t focused on the solitude.

  “I noticed the barn door needs replaced,” he said quietly. “And the smokehouse is missing some boards. It would be helpful if you could make a list of all the things that need fixing. Some things can wait until spring, of course, but I’d like to focus on the most pressing issues before I leave for a hunting trip.”

  Placing a heavy skillet on the stove top, she dropped a spoonful of lard into it and pulled down a bowl for the flapjack batter. His masculine presence filled the space with oppressive awareness. That she was attracted to the handsome hunter struck her as unfair. “How are you supposed to do chores with your leg still healing? You’re not supposed to put weight on it.”

  Of course, Caleb didn’t ordinarily do what he was supposed to do. Who knew what damage he’d done last night.

  Turning around, she spoke to his broad back. “Speaking of that, it wouldn’t be a bad idea for me to check the wound. The bandage likely needs changing.”

  His shoulders went taut. “I can check it myself.”

  “Fine.” He was determined to be stubborn. So be it. “I’ll lay out the supplies after breakfast.”

  His head bent. “Thanks.”

  Returning her attention to the work space, she cracked two eggs into the bowl. She heard him getting awkwardly to his feet but didn’t expect him to approach her.

  “Can I help?”

  Jumping at the nearness of his gruff voice, she arched a brow at him. “You won’t accept my help, yet you want me to accept yours?”

  Color etched his cheekbones. “That’s different, and you know it.”

  Unable to maintain his perceptive gaze, she lowered hers. “You should be resting.”

  “I know what I can handle, Becca. I...need something to do.” He sighed, mussing the hair at his nape. “Not used to being idle.”

 
That much was true. He’d always been filled with restless energy. “What did you have in mind?”

  He indicated the heating skillet. “How about I cook the flapjacks?”

  She handed him the spoon and, stepping back, watched as he mixed the egg, flour and milk. “Did you teach yourself to cook during your time in the mountains?”

  “No. My mother taught us.” One shoulder kicked up. “Thought it would come in handy someday.”

  Retrieving a slab of smoked ham, she began cutting it into thin slices for frying. “How old were you?”

  “Fourteen.”

  A teenager, then. Despite their former connection, there were things she didn’t know about him. “Do you enjoy it?”

  One corner of his lush mouth kicked up, and he cast her a sideways glance that bordered on humorous. “I don’t mind it.”

  It wasn’t a smile, exactly, and yet her heart reacted as if he’d laughed outright, slipping and skidding across the slippery surface of fascination. Caleb thought his scar detracted from his appearance. He was wrong. Handsome even with his lip curled in a perpetual smirk, he was downright lethal when he allowed himself to smile, eyes lit from within with humor that transformed miniature gold flecks to sparkles.

  Her hand tightened on the knife handle. “Mama started me early. I think I was four or five.”

  Caleb dropped spoonfuls of batter into the sizzling lard. “I remember her pumpkin bread. She’d offer us a snack whenever we stopped by.”

  “Yes.” She blinked, fighting waves of grief. “Mama was very generous. Always seeing to others’ comfort.” How she missed her kind spirit. Her words of wisdom. “I miss her hugs most of all,” she murmured.

  A worried line appeared between his brows. Fork poised above the skillet, he gazed solemnly at her. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

  “I brought it up, not you.” Swallowing hard, she worked to regain control. Of herself and the conversation. “Tell me, between you and your older brothers, who’s the best cook?”

  One dark brow lifted, but he went with the change. “Not me.”

  Caleb didn’t used to harbor such negative views of himself. Could it be he despises himself for what he did even more than I or Adam do?

  “Who, then?” Continuing to slice the ham, she said, “My guess is Josh.”

  He concentrated on flipping the small, round cakes. “You’d be right. Josh excelled at everything he tried his hand at,” he said dispassionately. “He doesn’t have to work hard to achieve success.”

  For the first time, she found herself considering how being the youngest of three brothers had molded him, especially when Josh and Nathan were both high achievers, competent, hard-working and family-oriented. Was it possible he’d given up trying to measure up to such high standards? Was that why he’d embraced the role of ne’er-do-well?

  “What about Nathan?”

  “Nathan wasn’t all that interested in learning. He didn’t apply himself.” He shot her a sidelong look. “Ma’s words, not mine. Still, he managed to best me.”

  They fell into an easy silence, working side by side to ready breakfast. Acutely aware of his every move, Rebecca was careful to keep at least six inches between them. She could not allow physical attraction—unwelcome and disturbing as it was—to cloud good sense.

  When the food was done, she ordered him to sit and let her carry everything to the table. He didn’t take kindly to that.

  “I’m not helpless.”

  “True. You are, however, recovering from a near-fatal bullet wound.” She pointed at him. “You may not like to admit to weakness, but I can see the lines of strain bracketing your mouth. The grimaces when you think I’m not looking. The pain’s getting to you, yet you’re determined to prove yourself.”

  He rolled his eyes. “I told you, I can manage.”

  “And you accuse me of being stubborn,” she huffed. When he reached for the milk glasses, she said, “You do realize Doc left behind a vial of laudanum.”

  Eyes flaring, he eyed the milk with suspicion. “You wouldn’t.”

  “Wouldn’t I?” Grabbing the platter, she turned toward the table. Strong fingers curved around her upper arm, stalling her. Her breath caught in her throat as he brought his face near. Memories of his kiss bombarded her, and she quivered with trepidation. Or was it anticipation?

  “Tell me the truth.” His silken voice wrapped her in a cocoon of heat and confusion. “Did you spike my milk, Rebecca?”

  Rebecca. He rarely used her full name, which meant he must be extremely irked. Against her better judgment, she lifted her face, bringing their noses and mouths close together. His molten eyes fastened onto hers, at once beautiful and deadly.

  “I’m not afraid of you, you know,” she whispered.

  Black brows slashed upward. “You think I’m trying to frighten you?” He shook his head as if bewildered at such a notion. “All I want is an honest answer.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  His sharp gaze roamed her face, stopping on her mouth. Like her, he was probably remembering the ceremony and the kiss he stole. The blood raced through her veins, making her light-headed. The platter wobbled.

  Immediately he released her. The disappointment crashing through her made her angry. She absolutely must not want this man. It would only lead to heartbreak—hers.

  “I didn’t this time,” she snapped. “However, that doesn’t mean I won’t if you insist on pushing yourself too hard.”

  Anger sparked. He opened his mouth to retort but was interrupted by the appearance of her little sister.

  “I’m starving,” Amy announced from the doorway. “What’s for breakfast?”

  * * *

  “Your family is here,” Becca announced later that morning.

  Hearing the tremor of disquiet in her voice, Caleb looked up from the checkerboard. Nathan had dropped by after breakfast to ask if they’d mind if the family brought lunch over today. No surprise they wanted to officially welcome Becca to the family.

  “All of them?”

  Touching a slender hand to her hair, she stuck her face closer to the frosted glass. He was still furious with her, so why he found her pert profile distracting was beyond him.

  “Everyone except for Josh and Kate.”

  Twisting in her seat, Amy looked hopeful. “Is Will with them?”

  “Yes.”

  Her smile brightened as she turned back to Caleb. “He likes checkers, too.”

  Adopting an affronted air, he sank against the chair back. “Is that a hint you’d rather play with Sophie’s ten-year-old brother?”

  Looking flustered, she toyed with the ends of one chestnut braid. “No, of course not. It’s just that I haven’t played with him in a while—”

  “Relax, little sis. I’m teasing.” He winked just as Becca pivoted to observe them. Her eyes darkened with worry.

  Amy gasped. “I am your sister-in-law now, aren’t I? And Rebecca is an O’Malley, which means I’m part of your family, too, right?”

  “Absolutely.” He gestured to the half-finished game. “Okay if we stop now?”

  “Sure.”

  Gaining his feet, he used the crutches to carry him to the door. He didn’t need them, but apparently his new wife needed to see him using them. This whole considering another person’s point of view was new and not entirely convenient. Caleb still found it hard to believe Becca had threatened to secretly medicate him. On the one hand, it irritated him no end—he was not one to be bossed around—on the other, her spunk impressed him.

  When she shot him an irritated look, he drawled, “I am allowed to get up, aren’t I? If you recall, I let you and Amy clean the breakfast dishes and even took an hour nap afterward like a good little boy.”

  Pink danced along her
collarbone above her pastel blue blouse’s scoop neck. Her hair swept across her forehead and flirted with fine brows, tempting him to test its softness. If he were free to do as he pleased, and his family wasn’t about to descend on them, he’d trace her features with his fingertips and follow their progress with soft kisses.

  Becca must’ve read something of his thoughts, because she cleared her throat and edged sideways, closer to the door. Averting her face, she remarked, “Your father has what looks to be a cake in his hands.”

  “I’m certain Ma couldn’t resist making a wedding cake.”

  She touched her hair again. Tugged on her sleeves. Smoothed her skirt. “They can’t be thrilled with this situation.”

  Caleb battled not to pull her close to his side. “Take a look at their faces.” He forced his gaze to the front. “Do they look upset to you?”

  His mother looked as pleased as punch. Experience told him that as long as she was content, his father was, too. As for Nathan, Caleb was pretty sure he wasn’t thinking about their hasty marriage. Silver gaze glued to his best friend and new wife, Sophie, his expression bore evidence of a lovesick man. For her part, the blond-haired beauty looked happier than Caleb had ever seen her.

  Good for them, he thought. After watching firsthand their attempts to fight the pull between them—and his staid brother’s near unraveling in the process—he was glad they’d come to their senses.

  If he felt a pinprick of jealousy when Nathan brushed a tender kiss on Sophie’s cheek, he didn’t acknowledge it. Wedded bliss was out of the question for him and Becca. Might as well accept that fact and move on.

  His father had reached the steps when Caleb remembered something important. “Becca?”

  Reluctantly, her gaze swerved to his.

  “They’re your family now, too. When I’m gone, promise me you’ll go to them if you need anything. They’ll help you.”