by Jillian Hart
“Then I won’t say no, my dear.” Selma skirted the counter and plucked the cloth from Caroline’s hands. “You came in early and worked hard. It’s noon on Christmas Eve. We’re closing early. Go fetch Thomas from school and go home.”
“But there’s dishes to dry and the floor to sweep.”
“Those things will wait until after Christmas. I suppose your Mr. McGraw won’t be accompanying you tonight?”
“You know he won’t.” Thinking of him drilled like an arrow through the debris of her heart. “Now that the truth is out, I imagine he’s long gone by now. Or he should be.”
“Well, I’m not so sure.” Selma leaned against the worktable thoughtfully and crossed her arms. “Your Caleb was always gentle and polite. He seemed so strong and good.”
“He was a good pretender.” Her chest coiled up tight as grief cinched it. That was the truth about Caleb. He’d covered up the real man he was so well, everyone believed it.
“That may be.” Selma turned to move a half dozen decorated cupcakes into a small bakery box. “But you know everything you need to about a man by the way he treats others. That Marshal Douglass shorted me five cents on his breakfast when I brought it by the marshal’s office. No tip. My son Mac works there, as you know, and he didn’t think much of Douglass. He and Mac did think a lot of Caleb McGraw.”
“Why? I would have thought they would want a man like that far away from this town.”
“Because whatever the man’s past, he doesn’t look as if he could hurt a fly. The way he is with you and Thomas. And that ancient horse of his he treats like a prized racehorse. I’ve seen him ride by on the street. And all the work he did on your cabin. When Rush Travers, your landlord, was in this morning he went on about all the free labor. Caleb didn’t charge him a penny.”
“That doesn’t count. He was trying to get on our good sides. To make us believe he was a better man than he truly was.”
“What was the point? For what purpose?”
Caroline hung her head, refusing to say. He’d wanted to get close to his son, that was all. And the love he’d shown her, why, it didn’t matter. She could have nothing to do with the man now that she knew his true nature.
“My son sees firsthand the kind of men who commit those horrible crimes. They might seem charming on the outside at first, hiding who they are, but that’s all it is. A veneer. Something that peels away to reveal the truth beneath. You know Caleb best. What kind of man did you see?”
Kind. Gentle. Loving. For one brief unstoppable moment the memories washed over her. Caleb’s raw strength but not brutality as he tossed the horse thief to the ground, bound and conquered. Caleb full of wretched sorrow and agonized longing when he first set sight on his son. Caleb’s undisguised love on his face when he’d swooped Thomas into his brawny arms. His kindness to her horse, standing in the kitchen bathed in lamplight doing the dishes, talking about his love for his parents and for Thomas, and his kisses….
What are you doing, Caroline? She cringed inwardly, fighting hard not to let those beautiful images carry her away. Perhaps he’d tried so hard to be a different man from what he used to be, she reasoned. Maybe that was why he’d been so determined in his kindness. He wanted to make a new start. A good start.
But it didn’t make him a safe man, a man she should trust.
“For you and Thomas. A little treat for your Christmas day.” Selma closed the lid and held the box of cupcakes out to her. “Oh, my, is that the school bell ringing? You better hurry if you want to fetch Thomas.”
“Thank you, Selma.” She kissed the dear lady’s cheek, seized the bakery box and hurried to fetch her coat. She felt as if she were drowning, as if she could never again draw in air. She hadn’t hurt like this since Michael’s death. How had a drifter come to mean so much to her?
Regretting the day Caleb McGraw came into her life, she buttoned her coat. She burst outside into the cold, where snow fell like tears.
Packed to go, Caleb rode Ghost through the downfall. The thick veil of snow wrapped around him as he dismounted in front of the jail. The mustang jangled his bits, glancing right and left, not certain what was to come next. The old boy had been harshly treated somewhere along the way. Caleb patted the gelding’s neck in reassurance and tethered him by both reins.
“I won’t be long, buddy,” he promised.
A mean wind chased him to the door where he hesitated. Yesterday’s humiliation clung to him. A man couldn’t escape his past, but he could control how he lived each moment. He took a deep breath and opened the door.
“McGraw.” Mac glanced up from his desk. A few other marshals crowded in the room, one pouring coffee, one feeding the potbellied stove, another filing paperwork. “Good news.”
“The funds came in?”
“I’ve got them right here.” He sorted through folders on his desk. “I was afraid it might not come until after Christmas. Looks like you’re in luck.”
“I appreciate this, Marshal.” He strolled forward, spine straight, pushing aside his humiliation.
“Here you are.” Mac stood up to hold out a small envelope. “Five hundred dollars.”
“Thank you. This will come in handy.” He took the thick bundle and slipped it into his coat pocket. “Merry Christmas.”
“Same to you, McGraw.” Mac accompanied him to the door. “I suppose you’re headed out of town?”
“That’s my plan. You don’t have to worry about me staying around.” He knuckled back his hat, determined to do this right, meet the lawman’s gaze and say goodbye.
“That’s too bad.” Mac turned the doorknob. “The moment you brought in that felon trussed up like a pig, I’ve kept my eye on you. The way you have looked after the Widow Dreyer and Thomas says something. You’re related to the boy, aren’t you?”
He nodded, unable to deny it. “How did you know?”
“You look a lot like him. I told you I keep watch on things in this town. It’s my job to know what’s going on with the people I protect. I also know the look of a hardened man, one violent enough to do anything to get what he wants.” The marshal’s gaze sharpened. The room silenced.
Snow slapped against Caleb’s shoulder as he stood in the threshold, already knowing the lawman was about to condemn him.
“You aren’t that kind of man.” Mac’s stern face cracked, showing a hint of understanding. “I’ve seen innocent men go to prison and guilty men get off scot-free. Justice isn’t perfect. So I say it’s a shame you are just passing through. Seems Caroline would have an easier time trying to support that boy if she had someone to stick around and help.”
His throat closed up. Not a chance in heck could he get a word out edgewise. He’d never figured anyone would see the truth. It meant so much, he could only nod and stumble out the door. Snow battered his face like fists as he blindly felt his way to the hitching post.
Ghost nickered with concern and lipped the brim of his hat. Still too choked up to speak, he stroked the horse’s velvet nose. Good to know he was welcome in this town, in spite of his past. But what good did that do him?
Caroline was afraid of him. She, the woman who owned his heart, couldn’t see in him what the marshal, a perfect stranger, had.
No, he had no choice but to go. There was no way to resurrect his dreams, no way to hope for a life loving her and raising Thomas. There was nothing for him here.
He blinked hard, his vision came into focus and he unknotted the reins. He had one more errand left to do before he rode away forever and it wasn’t going to be easy.
Caroline Dreyer slipped the last packet of dinner rolls into the picnic basket and surveyed her kitchen. It looked as if she had everything—a pot of baked beans, a crock of butter and three dozen rolls to contribute to Selma’s Christmas Eve supper. One last glance at the clock told her she was right on time.
“Thomas? Are you almost ready to go?” She closed the basket’s lid tight.
“I guess.” His hands gripped the sill. His dark ha
ir was tousled. His cowlick stuck straight up. New sorrow radiated from the child, matching the sadness in her heart. They both missed Caleb with a grief that could not be put into words.
Memories from last night flashed unbidden into her mind, making her grief fresh—of Caleb standing mountain-strong in the lamplight belting out the chorus to “Jingle Bells” in his resonant baritone. Of Caleb at the stove popping corn in the soup kettle, his granite face gentle with happiness. Of Caleb leaning closer and closer to her until their lips met. Her soul sighed at the memory. Nothing on earth had been as tender as his kiss.
How could her gentle Caleb have been convicted of rape? She gripped the basket’s woven handle, confused, torn apart, not understanding.
“Come put on your coat. I’ve got the fire to bank, the lamp to put out and then we’re out of here.” She hefted the basket off the table and set it beside the front door.
“Aunt Caroline?” His deep blue gaze widened, so pure and sweet and true.
She was reminded of another man when she looked into those eyes.
“I see something.” Thomas clung to the sill, struggling to peer through the storm. “There’s a man with our horse.”
“What man?” She tapped closer to squint through the haze of snow. A shadow briefly appeared, wide shouldered and sure, leading Kringle by the reins. Kringle plodded along obediently, head bowed against the gusting wind, unconcerned.
It could only be one man. Just one.
“It’s Mr. McGraw!” Thomas launched from the window. His shoes knelled with fast, desperate beats as he dashed around her.
“Wait! Thomas!” She tried to stop him but he’d already flung open the door. Thomas stood on the threshold, eagerly searching through the shadows of the storm.
She laid both hands on his shoulders, intending to draw him into the house but Caleb stormed into sight. Swathed in snow, he towered above them like a Western legend come to life, like everything good and marvelous in the world.
She wanted more than anything to believe in that image, but she knew better. She had Thomas to think of. She stepped out onto the porch and into the biting cold, standing between the boy and his father. She hated doing it. She had to.
“Caroline, don’t be frightened.” The deep notes of Caleb’s voice rolled through her, infinitely honorable and wonderfully familiar. Like a sound she’d been longing to hear all her life, a sound she never wanted to forget.
Why couldn’t she stay in control of her heart? She steeled her spine, wondering why he was here, why he had come. “I’m not frightened. I just want you to go. It’s the right thing to do, Caleb.”
“I know.” He strode up the steps, slow and easy, brushing snow out of his face with one gloved hand. Power emanated from him, but not brutality. Raw masculinity defined him as he climbed the last step to stand on the porch that no longer squeaked. Under eaves that were no longer loose. “I couldn’t go without apologizing.”
“It’s not necessary.” She had to look away. She couldn’t bear to see the face of the man she still loved. “It’s best if you just get on your horse and keeping going.”
“No.” Thomas’s voice pitched upward in a high tone of pain. He slipped around her and barreled straight into Caleb’s arms. “No, no. Mr. McGraw, you hafta stay. You’ve just got to.”
“It’s all right, cowboy.” The man’s words soothed like a deep-noted lullaby as he lifted the boy off the porch, holding him against his broad chest. “Things are going to be just fine. I’ve got your Christmas present. Do you want it now?”
A solemn nod.
She wanted to charge over and pluck Thomas right out of Caleb’s arms, but she couldn’t move. Maybe it would be better for the boy to say his goodbyes and end things in a good way.
“It’s right here in my coat pocket. Why don’t you reach it for me, since I can’t?” Caleb’s gaze seemed to drink in the boy’s features, lingering on his chiseled chin, his eyes, his dark hair with a cowlick sticking up.
The boy leaned in and pulled out a wooden caving, a perfect replica of a mustang. She couldn’t imagine the time and the care it must have taken Caleb to get every detail just right—the flying mane, the arched neck, the prancing hooves.
“Oh, wow.” Thomas stared transfixed at the horse, unable to say more. Just stare.
“Now Bingo has a friend.”
“But Mr. McGraw? I don’t got a present for you.” Worry crinkled his adorable face.
“Knowing that you like the horse is present enough for me.” He swallowed hard. He would always have this moment to remember, holding his son in his arms. He shifted Thomas’s weight on one hip so he could pull the envelope out of his other pocket. “This is for you, Caroline.”
“No, I can’t accept it.” For a woman dead set against him, she didn’t sound harsh. She didn’t sound disgusted. Her dulcet alto held no venom. Just pain.
It struck him like a blow. He wished he could relive the last handful of days and do it differently, so they’d never met and he could have spared her. He drew in a ragged breath. If she’d been angry, it would be easier than facing her quiet pain.
“It’s not a gift. It’s the reward money on the horse thief.” He held out the envelope. “I want you to have it.”
“No, that wouldn’t be right.” She held out both hands.
Such soft hands. He recalled the magic of her touch, the comfort she’d given him, the hope. He wished he could give her those things in return. Heartbreak was killing him. That was his own fault. He’d known from the start not to fall for her. A fine lady like Caroline wouldn’t want a man with his record.
“Please, take it for Thomas.”
“Oh.” She hadn’t seemed to expect that. Maybe she figured because he had seven years of hard time under his belt that he didn’t have what it took to keep his commitments. To do the right thing.
“There will be more when I find work.” He set the envelope into her hand, watching her reluctance. Her top teeth dug into her bottom lip as her fingers closed around the packet. Probably debating the merits of accepting it. Probably hating to admit how much she could use that for Thomas’s sake. Maybe buy them a little house in town close to school and the bakery with enough left over to make things real comfortable.
That was all he wanted—well, all he could really have. He steeled his spine, resisted the urge to kiss Thomas’s cheek and gazed at the child who’d brought them together one long last time.
“Did you hitch up Kringle to the sled?” She looked at him as if she’d never seen him before, assessing him. “I was going to do that.”
“I knew you would be leaving and I wanted to save you a step.” He shrugged, feeling foolish now. It was the last thing he could do for her, the last gesture he could make. “It was no trouble.”
“Where will you go?”
“West.”
“I meant for tonight. It’s Christmas Eve.” She untucked the envelope’s flap and peered inside. So many greenbacks. What had Selma said? You know everything you need to about a man by the way he treats others.
“Don’t worry about me, Caroline. I’ve been through worse. I guess this is goodbye.” Boots braced, he towered above her, as mighty as ever. Humility rang in his words. Dignity emanated from him as he turned his attention to Thomas. His gaze was so full of wretched sorrow and agonized longing she could feel the force of it deep in her soul.
“Don’t say goodbye.” Thomas’s voice pitched higher, raw with pain. “I don’t like goodbyes. Not at all.”
“I feel the same way, cowboy.” Caleb brushed a kiss to the boy’s cheek. Such a sweet gesture.
Her heart crumpled. This was the side of Caleb she adored. Gentle. Loving. Strong. Had he really just been pretending all this time? Did she really believe that? She thought of everything she’d seen him do, every way he’d behaved and every word he’d uttered. Words, acts, deeds of a good man.
Integrity shone from him as he brushed a few flakes of snow from Thomas’s hair. Love burned from within hi
m, from the honest places of a man’s soul, and the look of it was hard to deny.
She curled her fingers around the thick envelope in her hand. An envelope full of money. He had no home, few possessions, and no security anywhere. Wouldn’t a ruthless and dangerous man keep it for himself?
“What happened?” The question rolled off her tongue. She had to know the truth. “Why were you arrested?”
“Because when the town sheriff followed a rapist’s tracks from the neighbor’s house through the wheat field, he spotted me in the distance cutting my crop.” Honesty shone from him, an unmistakable light. “Instead of checking to see if there was any evidence that someone had taken off down the river to hide his tracks, the sheriff crossed the river, broke a path through the uncut wheat and arrested me.”
“This was on your family’s land?”
“Yes, after my parents were gone. I was out there alone. I had no witness to confirm it. The sheriff ignored the fact that there were no tracks from the river to my land on the other side. I didn’t take his accusations too seriously, I mean, I was innocent, I was a farmer, not a rapist. I thought everyone could see how wrong the lawman was, but I was convicted.”
“You were innocent.” It was plain to see now.
“You don’t have to believe it. Trust me, no one else did.” A muscle snapped along his jaw, but it wasn’t anger that laced his voice. Not bitterness. Just acceptance. “Once I was in jail, I learned why. Everyone there was innocent, too. They would proclaim it all the day long even when they weren’t.”
He looked weary. He gazed at her with Thomas’s eyes, so honest they had nothing to hide. She could really see him.
All of him. Just as she had all along.
He brushed Thomas’s cheek with his free hand, devotion stark on his face. A father’s protective love that was both as unshakable as the earth and as kind as Christmas. “Maybe I’ll whittle up a few more toys now and then, if your Aunt Caroline doesn’t mind, send them along with the money. Would that be okay?”