Cinnamon and Roses (13 page)

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.

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, they'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?"

Rebecca flexed her hand, testing the size and fit of the jewelry.
“Fine."

"Good. Now why don't you go
outside.
I'll be there in a minute."

She didn't move.

Caleb began reaching into the inside pocket of his
suitcoat
,
then
paused to give her a little push. “Go,” he said. “I'll be right there."

She turned and walked out of the mercantile, her feet moving by habit alone. Her mind spun in a thousand directions at once, searching for a reason Caleb would insist upon such a set of rings. They had never been engaged, so she certainly shouldn't be wearing a diamond. And her marriage to Caleb was no more than a false union; she hardly felt worthy of even a wedding band. Perhaps he felt that his wife, however unloved, should wear jewelry befitting his family name.

When Caleb came up behind her, she jumped, startled. He didn't say a word as he helped her into the rig and turned the team back toward the churchyard.

Holbrook and Megan sat on the steps, waiting patiently. Megan immediately spotted the rings on Rebecca's curled fingers and began chattering up a storm that lasted the entire drive home.

Caleb pushed a pile of papers across the desk and leaned back in his chair. He rubbed his eyes and loosened the collar of his shirt, tossing the coffee-brown string tie in the direction of his earlier-discarded suit coat.

As his father had reminded him that morning, he had paperwork to get done. There were a hundred things to do—ticket sales to total, drivers to pay, schedules to chart—but Caleb couldn't seem to concentrate on even one.

It was this marriage thing that bothered him. Oh, he'd known it would be rough. He'd expected to be constantly fighting with Rebecca. He'd expected to fork out cartloads of money to keep her happy. He'd even expected to come home each day to find her in the parlor, doing nothing but drinking tea and eating sugar cookies. What grated on his nerves, though, was that none of them—these things he had braced himself to bear—ever happened.

Not only did Rebecca
not
argue with him, but she was warm and passionate in his bed. That was the one thing Caleb never would have counted on. Clawing and screaming he might have been able to handle. He wasn't so sure about the soft, willing woman he found in his room each night.

As for spending his money, Caleb practically had to beat Rebecca to get her to take even a small amount of cash for necessary items.

She did sit on the sofa most of the day, but Megan was more than eager to tell him why. She spent her time sewing. If she was not making something new for Megan, then she was mending her own dresses.

Yes, now that Caleb thought about it, Rebecca had seemed better outfitted lately. Even her oldest, most worn day dress looked prettier. She had patched loose lace around the cuffs or added a strip of new ribbon to hide the fraying hems. All in all, Rebecca was more beautiful than ever. She had time to take care of herself and her own clothes now rather than doting on customers.

Her frugality was almost enough to make Caleb rethink his low opinion of women.
Almost.

"You ready to go home?"

Caleb raised his head to see his father standing in the doorway of the small back office. Caleb
rose
, the legs of the chair scraping across the floor.

"Did you get that work done?"

"Not yet. I'll take it with me to finish after dinner."

"Sure you will.” Holbrook chuckled and turned away.

When they arrived home, Caleb sent his father in with the papers he was determined to work on that evening. He unhitched the horses, led them to their stalls, and rubbed down each thoroughly. After grabbing his jacket, which he had draped over a stack of hay bales, he walked around to the side of the house, where he intended to wash in the water trough before going inside.

Caleb rolled up his sleeves and scrubbed his hands and arms with the bar of lye soap left at the trough for just such a purpose. Then he gave his face a good splash, drying it with his now wrinkled and dirty coat. Slinging the garment over one shoulder, he headed for the rear entrance of the house.

Even before he rounded the corner, Caleb thought he heard the distinct sound of retching. Quickening his pace, he scanned the area.

He didn't see anyone, but the sound persisted as he looked all around the backyard, even circling the tiny
toolshed
located there. Just when he thought he must have imagined the noise, Caleb spotted Rebecca slumped over the stack of firewood piled against the house, her body trembling.

Caleb went to her, shaking out his coat and draping it over her shoulders. Her tremors seemed to stop as she leaned weakly against him. He hugged her close and brushed the hair back from her sweat-dampened face.

"Better?” He felt her head move affirmatively against his chest. Caleb knew the vomiting stemmed from her pregnancy; he'd helped her back to bed several mornings in a row after she'd frantically thrown off the covers and run for the chamber pot. What Caleb did not understand was why Rebecca was out back rather than inside.

He was still holding her close when Megan appeared, a damp cloth in her hand. “Is everything all right?” she asked, lightly wiping Rebecca's face.

Caleb nodded. Rebecca lifted her head and began to straighten. Her body shook a bit, and Caleb tucked the coat more securely around her shoulders. Her face was the color of chalk.

"Come on,” he said. “Let's get you inside."

"Not that way,” she said tiredly, clutching the front of his shirt.