Wolf Creek Wedding

by Penny Richards

  Grabbing a shawl from the hook next to the back door and draping it around her shoulders, Abby followed him onto the porch. “And are you sure it was you who shot him?”

  “Positive!” he cried, racing down the steps and across the yard.

  In typical mother fashion, she was torn between pride and a hint of sorrow that her little boy had taken one more step toward manhood. “Where is he? I can’t be gone from inside but a minute.”

  “Out by the woodpile. Caleb said you should see him before he chops off his head.”

  Abby grimaced. William had never hunted, but with the help of neighbors they’d slaughtered pigs, goats and even a calf or two. He had always been careful to shield her from the grisly side of putting food on the table, just as she had been shielded from the financial ugliness that had hit her with such brutal force when he died. Deciding that she would rather know what to expect than not, she gamely followed her son out near the henhouse, where Caleb was building a fire beneath a huge cast-iron cauldron.

  He looked up when he heard them approach, an expression of satisfaction in his eyes.

  “Mom’s shelling pecans for your pie!” Ben announced, skittering to a halt in front of Caleb.

  “That’s good.”

  “He shot this all by himself?” Abby asked with a dubious lift of her eyebrows.

  Caleb nodded. “I called him up, and Ben blasted him.”

  “Caleb’s gonna teach me how to call them up, too,” Ben boasted.

  “What’s the fire for?” Abby asked.

  It was Caleb’s turn to look disbelieving. “You’ve never pulled feathers from a chicken?”

  “No. We always bought ours from a neighbor, already dressed.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No.”

  “All right. Here’s what happens, and you need to pay attention, since you’ll be killing and dressing chickens often in the future.”

  Abby’s stomach churned at the thought.

  “I’m going to chop off his head and gut him, and then we’re going to dip him in scalding water so the feathers will pull out easier.”

  “Can’t we just pull off the whole skin, like you do a rabbit or a squirrel?”

  “Nooo,” Caleb drawled in a measured tone, clearly holding some emotion in check. “If we skin him, he’ll dry out something fierce in the oven. With the skin on, he’ll get nice toasty brown and juicy.”

  “Oh,” she said with a reluctant nod. “I suppose gutting is a man’s work and plucking is a woman’s.”

  “In most cases, yes. Today, I’ll be glad to do it since you’re shelling pecans for my pie.” She thought she saw a twinkle of pleasure in his gray eyes. “Also, it’s pretty cold out here, and you have two sleeping babies that neither Ben nor I are in condition to watch since we’re not fit to be inside until we clean up. Besides, you look all nice and fresh.”

  A gentle rush of pleasure spread throughout her. Somehow the simple statement felt like a compliment, whether or not he meant it as one. “Should I stay and watch so I’ll know what to do next time?”

  “Your nose is already getting red. We’ve got it, don’t we, Ben?”

  “Yes, sir.” He looked at Abby, his eyes glowing with pleasure, something she hadn’t seen in a long time. “Hey, Mom, do you have any cocoa?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think Caleb and I could have a cup of hot chocolate when we finish here?”

  “I think for a couple of men who’ve provided Thanksgiving turkey, anything might be possible, including sugar cookies with raisins.” She was talking to Ben, but her eyes were on Caleb.

  “We’ll see you inside in a bit, then,” he said with a slow smile.

  Abby turned and crossed the yard, her heart filled with lightness. There was no mistaking the new camaraderie between Ben and Caleb. She smiled. Thank You, God.

  The changes since she’d altered her attitude and her prayers were just short of miraculous. She wondered how many other things she might have accomplished sooner if she’d just gotten out of the way and let God do what He did best.

  * * *

  An hour later, the big bird had been plucked and all its pinfeathers singed off. Since the weather was so cold, Caleb had hung it in the smokehouse overnight. Since Abby liked Thanksgiving dinner to be served at exactly noon, he would fetch it for her early in the morning.

  She was stirring together a slurry of cocoa powder, sugar and a bit of milk when Ben and Caleb came into the kitchen, leaving their coats and muddy boots inside the back door. Their faces were red with cold, and their eyes alight with anticipation.

  Ben headed straight to the table where a platter of fresh-baked sugar cookies sat waiting. The moment Laura saw Caleb she squealed “Dada” and held out her arms to be picked up. Caleb went straight to her, and then crossed to the cradle where Betsy was waving her arms around and staring at something mesmerizing on the ceiling. Balancing Laura on one hip, he reached down and put one big hand on Betsy’s tummy, asking her if she’d had a good nap, almost as if he expected her to supply an answer. She kicked harder, which drew an unexpected chuckle from Caleb. Laura, who wanted to be the center of his attention, grabbed his face and forced him to look at her.

  “That situation is going to get sticky in a few years,” Abby told him.

  “What’s that?” he asked, crossing to the stove and peering over her shoulder.

  Abby drew in a shaky breath at his nearness. He smelled of wood smoke and cold and the spicy masculine soap she associated with him. “Both of the girls vying for your attention.”

  “Why would they do that?”

  “Because that’s what girls do,” Abby said, looking up at him from over her shoulder. “Big or small, they all want to be Daddy’s girl.”

  “What does Daddy do in a case like that?”

  It sounded like a teasing question, but the alarm on his face and the anxiety in his voice told Abby he was concerned. And why not? The man had never been around children, which, even to her, were sometimes strange little beings. She couldn’t help the laughter that spilled from her lips. “If Daddy is as smart as I believe you are, he will be very careful to treat them the same and not show any favoritism.”

  He gave a purely masculine sound, something between a grunt and a growl. “Sounds impossible.”

  “It is. My dad always said he just muddled through as best he could.”

  “What’s that stuff?” Caleb asked.

  “Cocoa powder, sugar and a little milk,” she explained. “Cocoa won’t mix into milk if you just dump it in. You a have to make a syrup of sorts and then pour it in the hot milk. I like to add a dash of cinnamon and a teaspoon of vanilla if I have it.”

  “It smells delicious. I can’t wait to try it.”

  Abby stirred in the cocoa mixture and swirled the wooden spoon around in the pan of hot milk. “Surely you’ve had hot chocolate before.”

  “Back before my mother left, but I barely remember it.”

  Abby stared up at Caleb in disbelief, again struck by the unfairness of his upbringing and the sadness she felt every time she thought of all the things he’d never experienced and those he had because of his parents’ actions. Caleb had a long way to go, but like him, she had never shirked a challenge. She would take one day at a time, deal with one thing at a time, and put her trust in God, who could make anything happen.

  * * *

  Caleb went to bed filled with a satisfaction he could not remember ever experiencing. Furnishing the family with the main part of the holiday dinner was something he wouldn’t soon forget. It had been a satisfying day in many respects. Ben had listened to Caleb’s instructions from the moment they’d left the house until he came back the hero. The two of them had not only gotten along, the boy had actually seemed to have...fun. Caleb smiled into the
darkness. If easy companionship and pleasure at seeing someone else’s eyes light up with enjoyment was the definition of fun, then he’d had fun, too. When Ben took aim and shot the turkey, Caleb had felt his heart swell with something that superseded satisfaction and felt a lot like pride.

  Other than work, he couldn’t remember doing anything with his own dad. Lucas had never taught him or Gabe to fish; that had been left up to Frank. Caleb wondered if his life might have been different if his mother had stuck around, but knowing his father, the best she might have done was soften the most painful moments of his childhood.

  His childhood. That was a hoot. He’d never had a childhood. But Betsy would, and so would Ben and Laura and any other children he and Abby might have. He stopped breathing momentarily. The notion of having a baby with Abby brought a feeling of contentment that warred with a sudden panic reminiscent of that which he’d felt during Emily’s labor. He wasn’t sure he could survive a second round of the terror he’d suffered in the hours before Betsy’s birth. The thought of losing Abby in the same manner left him feeling empty inside. He couldn’t deny his growing feelings for her any longer. He could tell himself he was only being drawn into her circle of caring kindness, that he was becoming attached to Laura and forging a better relationship with Ben, and he could admit he was attracted to Abby physically. He could even let himself believe that it was okay for all these things to happen, that it would only make things better for all concerned. So why didn’t he embrace this new life and all its good things?

  Fear.

  He was afraid. Maybe the anxiety was a result of his mother’s abandonment, or maybe it was just an innate part of his personality, but he always liked controlling a situation, afraid to trust anyone, especially where his feelings were concerned. On the other side of that coin, in spite of his successes, he had never felt he measured up to Emily, who he knew wanted someone more polished and outgoing than a farmer from Wolf Creek, or to his father, who always found fault, always made Caleb feel as if he came up short. He’d often wondered if he’d worked harder or pushed himself more if he might have received a few simple words of praise for a job well done.

  Caleb prided himself on his honesty. He worried that if he had not been enough, done enough for his dad or Emily, those shortcomings might cause whatever tentative feelings Abby might have for him to wither and die. The bottom line was that he was afraid that if he allowed himself to care she would leave him as his mother had, and if that were to happen, he knew the pain would be more devastating than anything he’d ever experienced.

  Thanksgiving dawned cold, cloudy and damp, and when Caleb brought the turkey inside before daybreak, he declared it would snow before evening.

  “Snow! Isn’t it early for snow?” Abby asked, placing the bird into a blue granite roasting pan with white speckles.

  “It is, and we don’t usually see much if any, since the winters are comparatively mild to other parts of the country, but I’ve seen it snow in November a couple of times. What are you doing?” he asked as she smeared her hands with butter and began rubbing it over the carcass.

  “Putting butter on so it will get golden-brown.”

  Finished greasing the bird, she plopped on the lid, and then washed her hands in a pan of soapy water. She was reaching to open the oven when Caleb held out a restraining arm.

  “I’ll get that.”

  She watched as he lifted the bird, which must have weighed at least fourteen pounds, slid it onto the bottom rack and closed the oven door.

  “What next?”

  “Nothing for now. I’ll get the sweet potatoes ready in a bit and peel the others to mash. Then I’ll get the green beans simmering with some ham, open a jar of corn and make the fruit salad. By the way, thank you so much for getting the ingredients for me. I didn’t get any last year.”

  “You’re very welcome.”

  Much to her astonishment, he had come home from town two days before with ingredients for her fruit salad. There had been oranges, some canned pineapple and even some grapes that had been shipped from California along with some bananas, a dear item for folks in Wolf Creek. When Caleb had seen the joy on her face, the cost had been worth every penny.

  “So you don’t have anything to do for a little while. Sit.” He placed a hand on her shoulder and guided her toward a chair. “You’ve been going strong ever since your feet hit the floor. In fact, it makes me tired just watching you.”

  “But I have to fix breakfast.”

  “No buts. The kids won’t be up for at least a couple of hours. The coffee is ready. Sit down and have a cup with me.”

  The request was unexpected and thoughtful. The idea of sitting down and sharing a cup of coffee and a few moments without three children afoot was deliciously pleasing. And a bit scary. It was seldom they talked without children around as buffers, and when they did, they generally wound up arguing.

  Or kissing.

  The wayward thought sent a frisson of nervous awareness shivering through her. To hide it, Abby tucked a strand of hair up into the knot at the top of her head. She started to sit, then bolted upright, only to feel Caleb’s hand on her shoulder, forcing her back down.

  “What’s the matter now?”

  “I have to pour the coffee.”

  There was a considering look in his eyes. “Believe it or not, Mrs. Gentry, I can pour a cup of coffee for myself and for you, too.”

  “But—”

  “I said no buts. I doubt my manly ego will be more than slightly bruised.”

  Abby didn’t say anything, but she’d noticed that more and more often lately, his sarcastic comments could be construed as poking fun at himself or even teasing. Another change that had happened since her prayer.

  Abby watched Caleb pour himself a mug of coffee and then reach for the pretty floral cup that had belonged to her mother. Funny that he would remember that she liked drinking her coffee from the delicate china cup instead of a thick mug. It was one of her quirks, one she was surprised he’d noticed. Surprised, but pleased.

  She was also pleased with the unrelenting masculine portrait he exhibited. Work-hardened muscles rippling beneath the fabric of his shirt, strong, yet gentle hands doing the things she usually did, and doing them with care and efficiency. Abby thought his hands were one of the things she most loved about him.

  With a sigh, she accepted the cup he offered and helped herself to the thick cream he’d set before her.

  “I don’t suppose you’d let me have a slice of that pecan pie for breakfast.” It was a statement.

  “What pecan pie?” she asked, unable to stop herself from casting a flirtatious glance at him.

  Caleb’s eyes narrowed in mock ferocity. “The pie you hid in the pie safe,” he said, once again surprising her with his teasing comeback.

  She rested her elbows on the table and propped her chin in her hands. “The pie I hid? I thought that’s what a pie safe was for,” she countered. “To put pie in to keep it...safe.”

  “Until you came the only thing it kept safe was extra bullets.”

  “I’m glad I could make proper use of it, then,” she told him. She pushed away from the table with a smile. “Of course you can have pie for breakfast. You brought home a turkey and cleaned it for me. Pie for breakfast seems a pretty fair trade.”

  “Thank you, but sit down. I can get it. I’m not used to having a woman wait on me the way you do.”

  Abby sat. “And I’m not used to not waiting on a man.”

  Caleb took the pie from the cabinet and reached for a saucer on the shelf. “Want some?” he asked, taking a large butcher knife from a wooden container.

  “No, thank you. I can’t do the sweet thing this early.”

  “I can do the sweet thing any time,” he said, cutting a slice that was almost a quarter of the pie.

  “I’ve n
oticed,” she said, tongue-in-cheek.

  Abby was afraid to consider the easy tone of their conversation overmuch. She didn’t want to dwell on what had brought it about or if it might last. All she wanted to do was enjoy it while it did.

  “I want to thank you for taking Ben hunting,” she said, hoping to keep the mood alive.

  Caleb took a seat across from her and reached for his mug. “I thought you were against the idea.”

  “I was,” she told him with a nod, “but I’m not the kind of person who can’t admit to being wrong. I could tell from the look on his face and the way he interacted with you that he enjoyed himself, and he was really proud. I think it was a step in the right direction for the two of you.”

  Caleb nodded. “He did a good job. He listens and does what he’s told. He’ll make a good hunter eventually.”

  “I’m glad he’s learning to be more comfortable with outdoor pursuits. William wasn’t. He was better at figuring out how things worked and working with wood. He made Ben’s train that last Christmas.”

  “All I can do with wood is cut and split it,” Caleb said. He lifted a forkful of pie to his mouth.

  Abby didn’t miss the humorous glint in his eyes as he chewed and swallowed. “You are definitely becoming adept with the teasing...or the sarcasm, whichever you want to call it.”

  “I take it that’s good.”

  “I like it.” She took a swallow of coffee and decided to push a bit. The man was floundering in an uncharted sea of children and anchored down with an unwanted wife, yet he was staying afloat better than she’d expected. Maybe he needed a little assurance that he was doing okay. “You’re very good with Laura.”

  He looked embarrassed by the praise. “All I do is pick her up when she wants me to.” He flashed one of his rare, quicksilver grins. “Let me clarify that. When she demands it.”

  “She is a bit pushy, isn’t she?” Abby said, smiling back. “All in all, Caleb Gentry, for a man with little to no experience, you’re doing very well with your unwanted family.”

  Clearly surprised, he dropped his gaze to his uneaten pie. He didn’t speak for long seconds. Finally he looked up at her, an unexpected intensity in his eyes. “Thank you for saying that. As for you all being an unwanted family...that might have been true at the beginning, but we are a family. I know too well that I’m not William, but I am trying.”