Married by Christmas

by Karen Kirst

  “He’s right.” Caleb sighed before disengaging his hands and moving away. The cold crowded in again, and she was grateful that at least they’d been allowed to wear their coats.

  “Do you have a wife, John?” Caleb approached the smoldering fire.

  Wiping his hands on his pants, he shook his head. “Nah. There’s a girl I’m sweet on back home. My aunt needed my help, though, and I haven’t been back in nearly six months.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Hannah” His smile bordered on innocent. What was this boy—he looked all of eighteen—doing with roughened criminals?

  “Think she’s waiting for your return?”

  “She said she would.”

  Caleb studied the other man with narrowed eyes. “What do you think she’d say if she knew you stood by while your aunt gunned down an innocent man?”

  He put his palms up. “I wasn’t there the night Sheriff Tate was killed. I stayed back at camp.”

  “But you knew what she was going to do, didn’t you?”

  “No,” he protested. “All I knew was that she was planning to confront him.”

  “What did Tate ever do to deserve such a fate?”

  A stick snapped, announcing Wendell’s return. “What is this? A tea party?” Jabbing a finger in Caleb’s direction, he snapped, “You. Over there on the grass. And you, little lady, over here on my side of the fire. Bedtime.”

  Caleb’s cheeks flushed with anger. “She’s sleeping beside me, you filthy—”

  “Wendell, be reasonable,” John interrupted. “They’re married. What’s it gonna hurt?”

  “Stay out of this.” His hand went to his gun.

  “I’m getting kinda tired of you treating me like a child.” John squared his jaw. “Keep in mind that my aunt will be expecting a report.”

  His lip curled in obvious disdain. “I’m Samantha’s best man.”

  “But you’re not family, are you?” To Rebecca, John turned surprisingly sympathetic eyes. “Stay with your husband.”

  Thank you for this small kindness, God. Limp with relief, she hurried to Caleb’s side. His eyes burned with a fierceness she feared would get him into trouble. “Let’s just try and get some rest, okay,” she murmured, lowering to the stiff grass and lying on her side to face the fire.

  After a brief hesitation, he followed suit, scooting behind her so that his big body sheltered her from the occasional frost-scented breeze. They didn’t speak. Not until Wendell had bedded down and his snores rent the night. Having taken the first guard shift, John was sitting against a tree trunk doodling in a book and humming a tune she didn’t recognize. How could he act so nonchalant?

  An owl hooted in the distance. Far above, the forest canopy blocked the night sky. Would they live to see the stars? Or was this truly their final night on earth?

  The ground’s dampness seeped into her body, and she shivered.

  Caleb scooted close. Until that moment, she’d wondered if he slept. He’d been so still and silent. His breath stirred the hair at her ear a second before he pressed a light kiss to her throat. “I’d give anything to be able to put my arms around you right now.”

  Try as she might, she couldn’t stop the hushed sobs from escaping. In this moment, she desired more than anything a chance to be a true wife to him. She wanted a future with him, wanted to experience it all with him. The joy and laughter, the arguments, the highs and lows. Too late. I was too stubborn to admit I loved him until it was too late.

  “Please don’t cry, Becca,” he begged, voice raw. “It’s not over yet. We still have a chance.”

  Snuggling into his long length, she tried to take comfort in his strength, tried to block the looming terror. “I don’t see how...”

  “Hey.” He lightly rested his chin against her hair. “Where’s the brave woman I married?”

  “Gone.” Lifting her bound hands, she attempted to swipe the moisture from her cheeks.

  “I don’t believe that for a second, Rebecca O’Malley. You’re the strongest, spunkiest woman I’ve ever met.” He sucked in a deep breath. “I’m gonna need you to hold on to that strength in the coming hours.”

  “You have a plan?”

  “Not yet. I’m thinking John might be of use to us. The most important thing we can do right now is pray and ask God to give us a plan.”

  Startled, Rebecca pushed onto her back and gazed up at him. While he’d accompanied her to church and she’d seen him reading his Bible in recent days, she hadn’t expected him to suggest such a thing. “Do you mean that?”

  The flames cast his eyes in shadow, highlighting his jutting cheekbones and firm mouth. “Your frequent speeches about forgiveness spurred me to search out the evidence for myself. One particular verse in 1 John stuck with me. ‘If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins.’ What I take away from that is forgiveness doesn’t hinge on me, because clearly I don’t deserve it. He chooses to forgive because of His innate goodness.”

  For the first time since this ordeal began, Rebecca smiled. “I like this one from Psalms. ‘He does not treat us as our sins deserve or repay us according to our iniquities. As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear Him.’”

  “We need His compassion right now.”

  They grew quiet, each lost in their own thoughts. Or perhaps emotional exhaustion was kicking in. “Caleb?” she ventured, suddenly shy.

  His face suspended above hers, his gaze returned to hers. “Hmm?”

  “I wish I could hold you, too.”

  * * *

  Caleb was rudely awakened by a boot in his shin.

  “Get up,” Wendell ordered, waving his hat toward the dawn-streaked sky. “Time to get a move on.”

  The burly man had bags beneath his eyes, and he was sweating. John, on the other hand, appeared almost cheerful as he readied his saddlebags. Plainly the lack of sleep hadn’t bothered the younger man.

  Amazed he’d slept at all, Caleb gently shook Becca’s shoulder to rouse her. She bolted upright, blinking the sleep from her eyes, features wan with apprehension. Her mass of dark hair had long ago tumbled from the pins, bits of grass clinging to the ends. Dirt smudged her cheek where she’d rested her head on the ground. Yet she was more beautiful, more precious to him, than ever before.

  He wished he could reveal what was in his heart, but their predicament silenced him. He had to focus on keeping them alive. Besides, she’d made her feelings plain. She was determined to stick to their original agreement. A confession wouldn’t change anything, particularly one made when the threat of death hung over their heads.

  When Caleb had helped her to her feet, John walked over with a canteen and a small bundle. “Breakfast.” His breezy smile irked Caleb.

  “How are we supposed to eat?” he retorted, lifting his bound wrists.

  “Right.”

  He set the bundle on the ground and, whipping out his pocketknife, sawed through Becca’s ropes first. The inexperienced outlaw did it quickly, roughly, as if unaware of her pain. Caleb ground his teeth. John had finished cutting his ropes when Wendell burst out, “What are you doing, you fool? That was the last of our rope! What are we supposed to tie them up with now?”

  “Oops. Sorry, I didn’t think.”

  The guilty surprise on John’s face didn’t quite match up with the hard look in his eyes, which aroused Caleb’s suspicions. He’d be watching this one more closely.

  Handing them the water and bundle of food, he returned to his horse, seemingly unaffected by his cohort’s continued rant. Caleb offered Becca a piece of bread and ham.

  “I can’t eat.” Grimacing, she pressed a hand to her stomach.

  “You have to try,” he murmured. “You need to keep up your strength.”
>
  Nodding, she reluctantly nibbled on the ham while casting anxious glances at their captors. Unlike Becca, he was ravenous. His last meal had been at lunchtime the day before. Not knowing when they might have need of rations, however, he forced himself to eat only half a piece of bread and return the rest to his coat pocket. A couple of sips of water helped ease the hunger.

  “How’s your leg?” Worry tugged her brows together as she studied him closely.

  “A little sore,” he admitted, “but holding up better than expected.”

  Taking a drink from the canteen, she handed it to him. Pink splashed across her cheeks. “I have to take care of a private matter.”

  For a moment, he considered telling her to make a run for it. But they were miles from town, and the possibility of her getting lost was too high. Not to mention she had no weapon to defend herself against wild animals. “I’ll tell John.”

  When she’d slipped away, Caleb begged God for guidance. He needed assistance, needed to know when and how to act. Because if he screwed this up, it was their lives on the line.

  Lord, please don’t let me be the one to cause her pain again. Help me to be the man she can trust to take care of her, to keep her safe.

  Becca returned after five minutes. His request that she ride with him was laughed off. Watching Wendell pull her onto the horse and imprison her in his arms while not being able to do a thing about it was the hardest thing Caleb had ever had to endure. Hot and cold shifted through his body, the fiery heat of rage shadowed by icy dread.

  Vaulting into the saddle and nudging his mount into motion, he kept his gaze trained on the mountainous terrain instead of the horse in front. Familiarizing himself with the area helped keep the rage contained.

  By midmorning, the sun had burned off the fog and raised the temperature to what felt like the high forties. Wendell abruptly halted his mount, causing Caleb to jerk on the reins to avoid a collision.

  “What’s the matter?” John called.

  Sliding to the ground, the burly man dished something from his saddlebag and started for the forest, gait uneasy. “Wait here.”

  Becca twisted around to look at Caleb, her big eyes dark with anguish. Misery tugged at her generous mouth.

  He said over his shoulder, “Mind if we stretch our legs a bit?”

  “Why not?” John said, remaining in the saddle, one hand on his gun handle and manner watchful.

  Becca sagged against Caleb the instant he reached her, her arms locked around his waist. He buried his face in her hair, the slight scent of lilac still clinging to the silky strands. The words I love you hovered on the tip of his tongue, but he clamped his mouth closed.

  Wrong timing, O’Malley. Wrong place, wrong situation. Wrong man.

  She admired men like Adam—sensible, dependable. Safe. Not men who made stupid mistakes that hurt the ones he loved.

  “I can’t stand this,” she bit out, her breath heating his cold neck.

  Taking hold of her shoulders, he eased away so that he could look her in the eye. “I’ve never been more proud of you, Rebecca.”

  Tears shimmered in the luminous depths. “Don’t call me that. When you do, it means you’re worried. Or angry.”

  He was both of those things, of course. Letting her know that would only burden her further. Forcing a lopsided grin, he chucked her chin. “What would you rather I call you? Turtledove? Baby cakes?” His voice dipped. “My love?”

  Her grip tightened on his waist. “Caleb—”

  “He’s coming,” John warned in a quiet tone.

  Daring to drop a swift kiss on her cheek, he returned to his horse and climbed into the saddle, thankful for the younger man’s consideration but curious as to his motives. Was he merely trying to avoid conflict? He’d admitted to being unproven as a criminal. Maybe he was discovering he didn’t have a taste for violence, after all.

  Becca placed her boot in the stirrup, only to be halted by Wendell’s barked order. “Ride with John.”

  The relief washing her countenance mirrored what was rushing through his veins. Between the two, John was the better option. Not ideal, just better.

  “You don’t look so good,” John said to Wendell.

  It was true. Wendell’s complexion was washed-out, almost greenish, and he looked to be experiencing some discomfort.

  “I’ll manage.”

  When Becca walked past Caleb, the tiny smile she gifted him with was hopeful. And he got the distinct feeling that even in the midst of this ordeal, God was watching over them.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  He’d called her my love. The way he’d said it—with such gravity—made Rebecca’s heart flutter with impossible yearning. When he’d challenged her about the agreement, she hadn’t been able to see past the daring in his eyes. Just now, however, she’d glimpsed deep emotion, an earnestness that had shifted the ground beneath her feet.

  She studied the proud line of his shoulders and spine, the occasional view of his profile, as they ventured farther into a wide valley surrounded by blue-toned mountains. While she longed to be with her husband, riding with John wasn’t terrible. His impartial touch didn’t make her feel dirty as Wendell’s did.

  The despicable outlaw was physically sick. They’d stopped again an hour after the first time, and he’d returned from his jaunt in the woods sweaty and pale. Caleb watched him with narrowed eyes, and she could almost see him plotting a way of escape. God, help us. The sun was almost directly above them. By evening they will have reached the camp, and their chances of escaping would plummet.

  Behind her, John shifted. “How about we stop here?” he called up to his cohort, indicating a sliver of a stream winding through the trees. “We can let the horses drink while we eat lunch.”

  Wendell wordlessly directed the group to the spot. When he’d dismounted, he took a long swig from his canteen and went to the stream to refill it. Caleb assisted her down, then quickly moved a few steps away, gaze watchful and lean, powerful body riddled with tension. Was he going to act soon? Fear for his safety knocked thoughts of his endearment—and the meaning behind it—from her head.

  Rebecca stared at the trickling water, wishing she could soak her sore wrists but unwilling to go near Wendell. John presented her with an open tin of beans and a fork.

  “Nothing fancy, but it’s all we’ve got.” He flashed an apologetic smile, then went and plopped down at the base of an old oak and dug into his own can with gusto.

  Her stomach cramped with nerves. Sensing Caleb’s attention, she forced a couple of bites before handing it to him. He pressed a slice of slightly stale bread into her hand. “Eat this.”

  It was from breakfast, which he’d clearly denied himself. “Only if you promise to eat that entire tin of beans.”

  He made a show of sniffing the contents. “Do I have to?”

  The fact that he was attempting to lift her spirits made her love him that much more. Taking a bite of the bread, she firmly nodded.

  “I don’t really like beans, you know.”

  “I remember.”

  His startled glance gained him a small smile. Then Wendell sprang from his seated position on the bank and shattered the moment. The bread lodged in her throat. He was glaring at them.

  Hand rubbing his gut, he jabbed a finger toward the denser forest they’d recently vacated. “I’m going for a walk.” To John, he growled, “Make sure you keep an eye on these two. If they get away, your aunt will hang for her crimes.”

  Swallowing hard, the brown-headed man lowered his fork to his lap and watched with a troubled expression as Wendell stomped off.

  Caleb casually made his way to the oak tree, lowering his tall frame into a crouch, tin can in hand. Rebecca trailed behind him.

  “What happened between Samantha and Tate?” he prompted. “What did Tate
do to set her on a path of revenge?”

  John’s jaw hardened, and defeat settled in the lines bracketing his mouth. “She wasn’t always like this. She used to be sweet-natured. Generous.” His attention drifted to what Rebecca guessed were happier times.

  “What changed?” Caleb said.

  “She and Tate were sweethearts once upon a time. Planned to marry before...” He heaved a sigh. “My aunt was walking home one night when she was set upon by a pair of men. They abused her and left her for dead.”

  Caleb grimaced. Rebecca’s blood ran cold.

  “Tate couldn’t handle it. If he’d only been there for her, she could’ve healed. But he broke things off and, after that, she went a little bit crazy.”

  “How can she surround herself with men?” Rebecca blurted, thinking she would’ve wanted to keep her distance.

  “She controls them,” Caleb surmised. “My guess is it makes her feel powerful, something she wasn’t before.”

  “I want to help her. That’s why I came,” John admitted.

  Caleb set his tin on the ground. “Let us go, John. You know she’s not going to let us live. Not when we can testify to her crimes. You don’t want our deaths on your conscience, do you?”

  Rebecca could see his obvious struggle.

  “I can convince her to give herself up. You’ll be fine,” John said.

  “I’m afraid your reassurances aren’t good enough,” Caleb said as he leaped on top of the smaller man. Unprepared, Rebecca clapped her hand over her mouth. She mustn’t scream. While he scrambled to pry the gun from John’s holster, she frantically scanned the forest behind them. Where was Wendell? He wouldn’t hesitate to shoot.

  The horses! Dashing over, she seized the reins of Caleb’s mount. Slapped the others’ rumps to scare them into bolting.

  Angry grunts echoed behind her. Punches landed.

  The click of a gun hammer froze her in place. Oh, Lord, please let that be Caleb. Not John. Not Wendell.

  Afraid to look yet unable to refrain, she turned. Winded, one cheek bruised and his hair in his eyes, Caleb pointed the gun at John, who was sprawled in the grass. He looked stunned.