by Heidi Betts
"The same as being married so quickly, without inviting guests, I imagine."
Caleb chuckled. “Yes, I imagine. No sense in giving them more grist for the gossip mill, however. If you'd rather move your things into my room on your own, that's fine with me.” He returned the dresses to the brass hook on the back of the door. “Just be sure it's done by suppertime.” Checking his timepiece, he smiled. “Which happens to be in ten minutes. See you then, wife."
He quit the room before Rebecca had a chance to answer. But not before she decided the devil would be serving ice-cold lemonade in hell before she bent to Caleb's will.
"Dinner was delicious,” Rebecca said, which was the truth, though she'd managed to eat little with an upset stomach. She followed Nina and Megan into the kitchen, all of them carrying handfuls of dirty dinnerware.
"Wasn't it, though?” Megan set down her pile of dishes and patted the young cook on the back. “Would you like some help washing them?"
"No, thank you.” Nina reached for her apron, slipping it over her head and tying the strings behind her back. “Peter will not be here for an hour. I need something to keep me busy."
"How is Peter?” Megan asked.
A rosy blush stained Nina's cheeks, and she turned away. “He is fine."
Megan smiled and turned to Rebecca. “They've been courting for almost a year. I really think Peter is going to propose any day now. Will you accept, Nina?"
"Of course.” The woman turned, her face serious.
"Come on,” Megan said, taking Rebecca's arm and giving a sly wink. “Let's leave Nina alone to the dishes. I'm sure she doesn't want us around while she daydreams of marrying and having pretty little babies with her beloved Peter."
Rebecca cleared her throat and averted her eyes. She didn't know if Caleb had told his family the real reason for their rush to wed, but she knew Megan was observant enough to figure it out before long.
They walked through the dining room and foyer as Megan led the way to the parlor. “I don't know where Caleb and Papa have gone. They're probably in the study.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “I don't know why Papa insists on smoking those hideous cigars. And then he has the audacity to complain of a cough.” She shook her head. “I will never understand men. Never."
Rebecca tried to smile. Neither would she. Especially one particular man. A man who had made it plain he had married her only because she was carrying his child, yet who insisted on sharing a bedroom. Rebecca mentally shook her head. No, she would never understand Caleb Adams.
Megan lifted her skirts slightly and crossed one leg under the other before plopping down on the settee. She patted the cushion, motioning Rebecca to join her.
Rebecca sat, smoothing her skirts modestly, unlike carefree Megan. Not that Rebecca was a prude, but a nervous jitter gnawed at her belly. She'd been comfortable in the Adams home before, when she came for Megan's fittings, but this time felt very different. This time she wasn't a visitor. She was Caleb's wife. This time she couldn't leave when her business was complete. There was no escape.
Rebecca's stomach lurched, and her fingers dug into the carved wooden arms of the sofa. She turned her head away, breathing deeply, trying to convince herself that she wasn't about to be sick.
"Are you all right, Rebecca?"
She nodded, keeping her eyes tightly shut.
A gentle hand touched her cheek and hair. “You don't look very well. Perhaps you ought to rest.” Megan helped Rebecca to her feet and to the bottom of the steps. “Don't worry, it's probably just all the excitement of your wedding day. I'll tell Caleb where you are."
Rebecca forced a thank-you through drawn lips and clutched the bannister like a lifeline, dreading the trek upstairs.
Once she reached her room and lay down, the nausea seemed to pass. She sighed, counting in her head how much longer this morning sickness—which seemed to find perverse pleasure in striking throughout the day—would last. The doctor had told her it usually lasted through the first three months of pregnancy. That meant she would be miserable for at least another month. The thought did not cheer her.
She rolled over, moaning at the lurching discomfort it caused in her head. If only she could sleep for six weeks or so and wake up as healthy as she'd ever been.
Rebecca awoke to the sensation of floating. She opened her eyes and found herself hovering at least a foot off the bed. Her body stiffened, and she threw out her arms to catch herself. When she looked up, she found a set of brown eyes staring back at her.
Letting her head fall limply on Caleb's shoulder, she groaned in frustration. “Can't a person get some sleep around here without you coming in to disturb her?"
She felt rather than heard his laugh, bouncing her lightly against the wall of his chest. “Not when that person is my new wife. A wife who should be sleeping in my bed."
"Put me down,” Rebecca said, beginning to struggle. He ignored her. “Put me down, or I'll scream."
"And who will come to your rescue? My father? I doubt it. He tends to mind his own business. Or perhaps my sister, who thinks our one-day engagement and wedding is the most romantic thing since Romeo and Juliet."
"Nina—"
"Left hours ago."
"There has to be someone in this house who will come to my rescue.” Rebecca tried to pry Caleb's fingers away from her legs and waist, to no avail.
"No one would dare interfere. Not when I'm only moving my lovely wife where she can be closer to my side.” He opened the door without loosening his hold.
Rebecca twisted back and forth, pushing at his chest. “Your side of hell, maybe. I swear, you're the spawn of Satan,” she said through gritted teeth.
That seemed to amuse him. He laughed, then leaned forward to whisper in her ear as they entered the hallway. “Hush. You don't want to wake anybody, do you?"
She did want to wake someone. Not just Holbrook or Megan but the entire town of Leavenworth. She wanted to scream loud enough that every Ranger in Texas would hear and come running. But she kept her mouth shut while Caleb carried her two doors down and into his room.
The dark forest colors attested to the fact that this room definitely belonged to a man. A thick brown carpet that reminded Rebecca of tree bark covered the floor. The drapes and bedclothes were a deep pine-needle green. The effect was set off perfectly by the fine maple furniture. A heavy canopy covered the four-poster bed, its edges plain and straight with an air of masculinity.
Caleb walked toward the bed and deposited her in the middle of the wide mattress. Rebecca sat up, ready to bolt, when she noticed her silver-handled hairbrush, comb, and hand glass—a set that had once belonged to Octavia—resting on the hip-high bureau. She stilled, noticing how elegant they looked against the dark wood, their reflection shining in the mirror attached to the dresser. As if they belonged there amidst Caleb's personal items.
She turned her head and noticed the door of the wardrobe open a crack. Inside she saw a lacy cuff, the folds of a full skirt. And on the shelf below the dresses, her traveling bag. Rebecca looked at Caleb, who stood at the foot of the bed.
"I told you to be moved before dinner,” he answered before she had a chance to speak.
"Yes, you did. But I had no intention of doing so."
A grin curved his full lips. “I know."
She hopped down from the bed—unable to locate the stool needed to climb onto the enormous berth—and went to the closet to remove her valise. “If you'll excuse me, I'll be going now. And I would appreciate it if you stopped packing and repacking my things. I don't want to share your room, thank you very much. I'd much rather be left alone."
"You should have thought of that before you trapped me into this marriage."
His words stopped her cold. When she lifted her gaze to meet his, she found all traces of a smile gone, his eyes cold and uncompromising. The bag fell from her hand to the floor with a soft swoosh. “I did not trap you."
"Then what would you call it?"
"You are the
one who said we had to be married. If you'll recall, I was ready to leave town."
"Oh, yes. Quite a production you made of doing so. But you were still there when I returned. Did you deliberately give me the time to come back and propose?"
Her hands tightened into fists at her sides, crumpling the fine material of her gown. “If you are so opposed to this union, why did you insist upon it?"
"To give my child a name, of course. If indeed there is a child. For all I know, Doc Meade could be in on this little charade with you."
Rebecca clenched her teeth so hard, her jaw throbbed. “If you feel that way, I'll leave. There's no ring on this finger yet,” she reminded him, displaying the digit in front of him. “I'm sure you can come up with a believable story for your family.” She pushed past him, forgetting her clothes and other possessions in her desire to be free of this wretched beast and his razor-sharp tongue.
"You're not going anywhere, wife.” Caleb took hold of her arm and pulled her back.
She started to struggle but thought better of it. They had been through this before, and she knew she would lose. If she fought, he would only increase his strength. If she screamed, Holbrook and Megan would discover that she and Caleb were not as well-matched as Caleb had led them to believe.
Instead, Rebecca let Caleb pull her against his chest, one arm around her waist. He heaved her onto the bed like a sack of potatoes and followed her down to the mattress.
She lay staring up into Caleb's tan face, small lines creasing the stubbly skin. At that moment, Rebecca realized she was not truly afraid of him. His temper could flare to the boiling point without warning, and his words often cut more sharply than a butcher's cleaver, but she knew instinctively, deep in her soul, that Caleb would never do her any real harm.
Caleb propped his head on one bent arm, his eyes tracing the curve of her face, slowly caressing her neck and breast where he soon wanted his hands to be. “Is it always going to be like this between us?"
Rebecca blinked but didn't answer.
"Are we always going to be at one another's throats?"
"You started it,” she said softly like a petulant child.
Caleb laughed. He couldn't help it. He buried his face against Rebecca's collarbone, the bed shaking with the force of his mirth. When he finally lifted his head, Caleb saw Rebecca regarding him pensively. “Are we going to have a marriage in name only?” he asked.
No answer.
He cupped the lush swell of her breast, covered by the velvety texture of her wine-colored gown. His lips touched hers lightly, reverently. “Or are you going to let me make love to my beautiful new bride?"
When an arm came slowly around his neck, urging him closer, Caleb knew a swirling contradiction of emotions. He felt both happier and sadder than ever before in his life.
Chapter Twelve
Rebecca had never felt so uncomfortable in her life as when she walked into church that Sunday on Caleb's arm. Every member of the congregation from age three to one hundred stared at them openly. The ladies were polite enough to hide behind their hands to gossip, while the men discussed the shocking sight amongst themselves without concern for being socially correct.
Rebecca must have smoothed the front of her skirt at least two dozen times before Caleb took her hands and gave them a supportive squeeze. She raised her eyes to see him smiling at her as they walked down the aisle of the small house of worship to sit in the second pew from the front, next to Holbrook and Megan.
Her nervousness didn't stem from actually being in church. She and Octavia had attended services every Sunday, and Rebecca made a point of continuing the tradition even after the widow's passing. But being with Caleb, knowing Reverend Patterson would be introducing them as man and wife, made the butterflies in her stomach feel like a herd of stampeding buffalo.
The reverend's words seemed to rush around Rebecca, and she found herself unable to decipher their meaning or concentrate on her surroundings. She looked past her hymnal to where her hand still clasped Caleb's. Only when she saw the white tips of his fingers did she realize how hard her grip had become. She loosened her grasp slightly but kept her hand on his. She was rewarded with a wink as he flexed the stiff digits, restoring his circulation.
"And now,” she heard the reverend say when the song ended, “I have an announcement."
Reverend Patterson nodded in their direction. Every head turned. Rebecca tried to smile as Caleb helped her to stand, her body feeling like a lead weight.
"Just yesterday,” the reverend continued, “I had the distinct privilege of joining these two young people in holy matrimony.” A congregational gasp echoed through the room. “It is with my warmest wishes for eternal happiness that I introduce to you Mr. and Mrs. Caleb Zachariah Adams."
Rebecca felt light-headed with relief when the entire room filled with the staccato rhythm of clapping, whooping, and cheers of good will. As they exited the building, a flock of townspeople shuffled around them, offering congratulations along with several invitations to dinner. Rebecca smiled, too overwhelmed by the group's acceptance to speak. Caleb shook hands with, and was slapped on the back by, what seemed like three thousand men, all wishing him luck.
When the crowd finally began to disperse, Rebecca expected Caleb to take the family home, where Nina would have dinner on the table. Instead, he left Holbrook and Megan at the church and drove the surrey across town, stopping in front of the mercantile.
"What are we doing here?” Rebecca asked as Caleb helped her down. She looked at the sign in the front window, clearly stating that the store was closed, as were all the businesses in Leavenworth on Sunday.
"You'll see,” Caleb answered.
They stood on the sidewalk for a few minutes, shading their eyes from the sun and gazing across the street at other buildings, all dark and deserted. Rebecca waved a hand in front of her face, trying to alleviate some of the midday heat.
She was just about to question Caleb further when a latch rattled behind them. Rebecca spun around and saw the stoop-shouldered proprietor opening the double doors. When she looked at Caleb, she found him grinning like a boy with a brand-new Bowie knife. He placed a hand in the middle of her back and propelled her into the store.
"I really wish you'd tell me what's going on,” Rebecca whispered so that Elbert, who was shuffling along in front of them, wouldn't hear. Going behind the counter, the old man bent forward and disappeared from Rebecca's vision.
"Hush,” Caleb said, smiling. “You'll find out soon enough."
If Rebecca hated anything, it was surprises. Or rather the not knowing that preceded surprises.
Elbert straightened, a large, flat black case in his hands.
"I appreciate this, Elbert,” Caleb said, resting an elbow on the high wooden surface.
"No problem, sonny boy.” He set the box down on the counter and tinkered with the latch, which looked to be older than Elbert himself. “Zelda'll keep the potatoes hot,” he said, speaking of his wife.
Caleb nodded and leaned forward eagerly.
Elbert popped open the lid of the case and turned it around so they could see. The red velvet lining inside sparkled with four rows of silver and gold rings, each glittering in the sunlight. A small breath escaped Rebecca as she took in all the bands and beautiful stones encased in elegant settings.
"Gotta keep this here locked up and hid, ya know. If I have ‘em out on display, some thief is liable to come snatch ‘em. I ain't so young no more, so's I couldn't catch the culprit and beat the tarnation outta him."
"What do you think?” Caleb asked, nudging Rebecca out of her mesmerized state.
She lifted her head and looked at Caleb, wondering what he expected of her.
"Best selection fer miles. Won't find anything better, lessin’ you go to Kansas City er such."
"These will be fine, I think. Do you like them, Rebecca?"
"Hm?” She shook her head, trying to clear her mind, then turned back to the display of rings. “Oh, yes, th
ey're lovely."
Did Caleb expect her to pick one? she wondered. She couldn't possibly be so presumptuous as to ask him to buy her one of these beautiful rings. Each must be worth a king's ransom. Any plain band would do, something to simply verify her status as a married woman.
"Which one do you like best?” he asked.
"I don't know,” she answered truthfully. “They're all very ... nice."
He chuckled. “Sorry. As much as I'd like to, I really can't afford them all."
He put an arm around her waist and pulled her close. Rebecca didn't know if she should interpret the affectionate gesture as being sincere or if it was put on for Elbert's aged but observant eyes.
"Tell you what,” Caleb said, pressing his lips to her temple. “Pick one set now, and if I can, I'll buy you another for each of our anniversaries."
He can't be serious, she thought, weaving slightly in dismay. He didn't want to marry me in the first place, and now he must be putting on an act for the benefit of the town.
Rebecca pasted on her sweetest smile and studied the bands more closely. Some were absolutely stunning, and though she had often dreamed as a child of owning something that beautiful, she looked away and concentrated on the less impressive—and less expensive—rings.
"That one, I think.” She pointed to a plain, thin circle of silver.
"This?” Caleb questioned, lifting it from its pocket in the soft lining. He turned it in his hand, studying the band closely.
She nodded.
"Not quite what I had in mind.” He replaced the band and picked another. More costly by far than the one she'd chosen, for it was not only a wedding band of gold but came with a sparkling diamond ring to match. He held the set up to the window, where streams of sunlight brightened the room.
"These will do nicely."
Rebecca tried to argue with his decision. “No, I don't think—"
"I do,” he cut her off. “And I am the one paying for them, after all.” He lifted her left hand and slipped the rings onto her finger. “How do they feel?"