Married by Christmas (13 page)

“Certainly.” She tugged the door open. “I’m Rebecca Thur—” She inwardly winced. “O’Malley.”

“Samantha Wentworth.” She paused as a bearded man stalked around the side of the cabin. “Oh, do you mind if my brother Wendell joins us? It’s been an age since we’ve had decent coffee.”

Anxiety knotted in her stomach. Inviting an unknown woman into her home was one thing, but the coldly assessing look in the bulky man’s gaze made Rebecca want to slam the door in their faces. Courtesy be hanged.

“I, uh, suppose it’d be no problem.” The words sounded stilted to her ears. “Come in.”

With no other choice but to turn her back on the pair, she crossed quickly to the cookstove and filled the kettle. Her neck prickled beneath the weight of their stares. The click of the cabin door as it closed felt like a jail cell clanging shut.

“Have a seat at the table,” she said over her shoulder, gathering mugs. “What brings you to these parts?”

She pivoted in time to see the pair exchange a long look. Samantha’s bland expression was at odds with the hard gleam in her eyes. The way she plopped down on the chair struck Rebecca as more mannish than ladylike. Dusty, scuffed boots peeked out from beneath the frayed hem. “Wendell and I are searching for someone. A man in his early twenties with black hair and an ugly scar near his eye. We have reason to believe he passed this way. Have you seen him?”

Caleb’s description of the gang leader resurged in her mind. Young. Blond hair worn in a braid. And she was searching for him.

Her throat closed up as stark fear spilled through her limbs. Her lungs clawed for air. She’d invited a murderer in for coffee.
Why didn’t I heed my instincts?
Fighting nausea, she struggled to maintain a facade of calm. Her very life—and possibly Caleb’s—depended on it.

“What’s he done?” Lifting the kettle, she managed to pour the steaming water into the mugs without spilling it.

“He stole from us. And I don’t take kindly to thieves. We want what’s ours.”

Praying for strength, Rebecca tried desperately to compose herself as she delivered their drinks. Wendell, if that truly was his name, ogled every inch of her. The absence of humanity in his gaze frightened her more than Samantha’s cold demeanor. The gang leader wanted Caleb, plain and simple. This man, on the other hand, was interested in far more than information.

And she was vulnerable, with no means of defending herself. No one was around to hear her if she screamed. Thank goodness Amy wasn’t home.
Keep her safe, God, please. Deliver me from these evil people.

Walking on legs that threatened to give out, Rebecca picked up her warm mug and cradled it against her chest. “I understand why you’d want to find him. Did he steal something very valuable?”

Samantha set down her mug, gaze sharpening. Had she picked up on the tremor in her voice? “You could say that. The question remains—have you seen him?”

Rebecca shook her head. Please let her be convinced. “Men with facial scars aren’t all that common around here. I’d remember if I had.”

The blonde studied her for what seemed like forever. When she finally shrugged, Rebecca released a pent-up breath.

“Too bad. I guess we’ll have to keep searching.” Pushing upward, she addressed the man still sprawled in the next chair. “You finished with your coffee?”

Black eyes riveted on Rebecca, he frowned. “This is good brew. No reason to rush.”

Her mouth tightened with displeasure. “We have a lot of ground yet to cover, Wendell.”

“I think I’ll keep this kind lady company if you wanna go on. I could catch up.”

That can’t happen. Please, God.
A scream clawed her throat, and she clamped her lips to contain it. She gripped the mug until she feared the handle would snap off. “My husband will be along shortly. He went to town on an errand.”

Wendell looked pointedly at her bare left hand and grinned knowingly. Her stomach fell to her toes. He thought she was lying.

“The marriage is a recent one,” she managed. “No time to get a ring.”

Samantha blanched. “Married, huh? Take my advice, Rebecca O’Malley. Don’t ever trust a man.”

Chapter Sixteen

B
y the time Rebel thundered into Becca’s yard, Caleb was past the point of rational thought. Fear overrode caution. Instead of taking the time to check for possible threats, he swung out of the saddle, his bad leg nearly giving way when his boots slammed to the earth.

He gritted his teeth against the pain. “Becca!”

Ominous silence cloaked the cove. Where was Amy? Storm should be barking by now. Or at the very least investigating.

The door latch wouldn’t budge. “Becca, are you in there?” He pounded on the door with his fist. “It’s me—”

There was a scrape of wood as the latch lifted. The door eased inward and there stood his wife looking fragile and dazed, her wide eyes darker than he’d ever seen them. A drop of blood clung to her lower lip.

His stomach turned over. A quick survey showed him the cabin was empty. He kicked the door closed behind him and grasped her shoulders. “What happened?” His voice sounded raw, as if he’d screamed for hours.

Something sharp poked his middle. Dipping his head, he swallowed hard at the sight of the polished blade about to plunge into his belly.

“Becca, the knife.”

She blinked, and it was as if a curtain lifted. Horror glistened in the jade depths.

“It’s all right.” Closing his hand about hers where she clutched the handle, he said softly, “I’m going to put this on the table.” When he’d discarded it, he turned back, desperate to touch her, to reassure himself she was unharmed.

“I’m sorry—” She broke off.

“Your lip is bleeding.” Very lightly, he brushed the spot away.

“Is it? I must’ve bitten it.”

He settled his hands on the cool, creamy skin at the base of her neck. Beneath his thumb, her pulse was erratic. Hectic. Her gaze clung to his as if he were a lighthouse, and she, a ship adrift in a stormy sea.

“She was here, Caleb,” she murmured mournfully. “And she wasn’t alone.”

His heart stopped. “Who was with her?”

“Wendell. She said it was her brother. I think that was a lie. H-he wanted—” She squeezed her eyes tight. “I was so frightened, Caleb.”

Rage built in his chest, choking him. “What did he do?”

“Nothing.” Reaching up to clasp his wrists, she looked scared. For
him.
Her reaction told him he needed to school his features. “I’ve no doubt he would have if Samantha had allowed him to stay.” Her brow furrowed. “He didn’t believe I was married because I wasn’t wearing a ring.”

He felt the blood drain from his head. Becca had been in the company of the very woman who’d gunned down Tate. And the man with her... Images of what could’ve befallen her bombarded him. That had been close. Too close.

Her fingertips dug into his inner wrists. “I’m okay. I’m safe now that you’re here.” The fragile air was dissipating, and in her eyes, the fierceness he admired was reemerging.

“Tell me everything from start to finish.”

She haltingly relayed the details. When she’d finished, gratitude washed over him. Becca could’ve easily been hurt. Or taken from him forever. A shudder racking his body, he tugged her against his long length and buried his face in her hair. She looped her arms tightly about his waist. When she snuggled against his chest, he let his fingers stroke the silken fall of her hair. Becca in his arms made him feel whole. After months of being lost, aimless, she grounded him.

Thank You, God, for protecting her.
It was a prayer he was comfortable offering. After all, he wasn’t asking Him for anything, merely expressing his thanks.

Caleb allowed himself five minutes to revel in this feeling of connection and harmony. Pulling away took every ounce of willpower and then some, especially when Becca looked as if he’d snatched away her favorite drawing pencils.

“I have to go after them.”

“Why did you come back? What happened to joining the search party?”

“Shane told me there was a man who’d been nosing around town asking questions. I had to check on you and Amy.”

“Amy!” She clapped her hand over her mouth. “She’s at Meredith’s. What if Wendell and Samantha...”

“I’m on my way.”

“I’m going with you.” She ran after him and reached for her coat and scarf.

He put a hand out to stay her movements. “It’s too dangerous.”

“I can’t stay here alone,” she protested. “Not today.”

Caleb soaked in her winsome beauty. Nothing had changed. The girl who’d refused to be driven from his mind despite his best efforts, despite the fact she’d belonged to his best friend, still had the power to affect him.

“If anything had happened to you—” He shuddered and, because he was weak, dipped his head and captured her full lips. It was an intense kiss, fueled by high emotions and lingering fear. Becca’s fingers tangled in his hair. When she sighed against his mouth and weaved closer, he gentled the pressure and the embrace morphed into something sweet and tender and devastating.

* * *

After the terror of the past hour, Caleb was her safe harbor, her resting place. He was no longer her enemy. He was her husband, at least on paper, and was currently taking advantage of that fact. And she was allowing him to.

His lips were soft, warm and sure, his fingers achingly gentle in her hair, the kiss sparking errant thoughts like what would it be like if their marriage was real? What if they liked and respected each other? What would happen if they were somehow able to overcome the past and opened their hearts?

But thoughts of that nature were dangerous. While she’d come to terms with the role he’d played in the accident, he was not a man who would safeguard her heart. He wasn’t safe and predictable like Adam. In her mind, he’d forever be that irresponsible, adventure-seeking boy who didn’t think through the consequences of his actions.

This embrace was nothing but an escape from the loneliness that plagued them both and would lead to disaster if they let it.

Rebecca tugged on a lock of hair at his collar, and he immediately lifted his head, glazed brown eyes bearing witness to his distraction. “Ouch.”

“We can’t do this.” She wished she didn’t have to be logical. But she had to be if she wanted to survive this marriage with her sanity intact.

“You’re right.” Slowly nodding, he stroked her hair again from the crown of her head to the ends. “I know you’re right, but I can’t promise it won’t ever happen again.”

She should’ve been irritated. Instead, the frank words thrilled her. “That wasn’t part of our agreement.”

“I’ll do my best to remember that.” He reluctantly released her and lifted the door latch. “Ready?”

The ride to Meredith’s was intense. Alert in the saddle, Caleb didn’t utter a word, his entire focus on tree-lined slopes rising above them on either side. They were at a distinct disadvantage. Now that the snow had completely melted, a person could hide behind massive tree trunks, dark clothing melting into the landscape’s varying shades of brown.

When they approached the Harper cabin, Louis, Meredith and Amy were in the yard tying a small tree to the black-and-gold sleigh. Amy fairly radiated excitement.

“Look, Rebecca.” She bounced on her toes. “Mr. Harper cut down a Christmas tree for us. Isn’t that great? We can string berries and popcorn and make paper ornaments.”

Holding on to Caleb’s proffered arm, Rebecca slid off Rebel’s broad back. Christmas was the last thing on her mind, but for Amy’s sake, she tried to muster some enthusiasm. “That sounds like fun.”

Green gaze glittering with questions, Meredith linked arms with Rebecca and tugged her onto the porch as Caleb dismounted and went to speak with Louis.

“You decided to marry him?”

“In the end, I didn’t have a choice.” She matched her voice to hers. “I had to protect Amy.”

“I’m sorry, Rebecca. I know this was the very last thing you wanted.” She patted her arm. “You were holding out hope for Adam to come to his senses, and now it’s too late.”

Rebecca clasped the locket, confusion and guilt waging battle. “Everything is all mixed up, Mer. To be honest, I haven’t had much time to think about Adam.”
That’s because ever since I discovered Caleb wounded in the snow, he’s the one who’s dominated my thoughts.
“Maybe I’d given up hope without even realizing it.”

“You did stop writing him.” Meredith glanced surreptitiously at Caleb deep in conversation with Louis. Amy appeared oblivious to the adults, laughing as she tossed sticks to Storm, who’d accompanied her here. “How are you coping with having him around?”

“He agreed to keep his distance. He prefers his solitude to the company of family, anyway.”

It was for the best. Obviously he was experiencing the same mysterious pull as she was, only he didn’t fight it quite as hard as he should. Allowing Caleb to hold her, to
kiss
her, was as dangerous and foolhardy as building a fire in the midst of dry forest. So why did the prospect of his extended absences weigh down her soul?

Cocking her head, Meredith looked thoughtful. “From what I can remember, he wasn’t like that before the accident. Whenever I saw Caleb, he was either with his brothers or cousins or Adam and you.”

“Are you suggesting he doesn’t truly want to stay away?”

“You’d know the answer to that better than I would.”

Their conversation was interrupted when Meredith’s mother, Teresa, appeared and ushered them inside for a hot drink. Seeing their Christmas tree draped in red and white and cloth-wrapped gifts beneath the branches reminded Rebecca that she’d allowed the recent upheaval in her life to distract her from the celebration of Christ’s birth. Christmas was only seven days away. Her parents would’ve wanted her to make this time special for her sister. Husband and outlaw problems notwithstanding.

* * *

The smells of nutmeg, cinnamon and molasses hung in the air as Rebecca placed another pan of gingerbread men on the table to cool. They wouldn’t have raisins to decorate with this year as they were too expensive, but she’d whipped up a simple icing for buttons and trim. Amy hadn’t commented on the lack. She’d been all smiles since they’d returned from the Harpers’ with the tree in Louis’s sleigh.

“What’s your favorite thing about Christmas, Caleb?” Seated at the table, Amy tied strips of gingham together to hang on the tree branches.

He turned from the window where he’d been standing for the past half hour, brooding gaze scanning and rescanning the scene. He hadn’t removed his gun belt or holster, testament to his concern Samantha or others in her gang might return. They hadn’t paid a visit to Louis and Teresa’s. And while folks in their mountain community weren’t entirely forthcoming to strangers, there was always the chance someone would let vital information slip. Or Samantha would grow impatient and turn to violence to get the information she sought.

Caleb’s scrutiny of Rebecca sharpened, and he frowned. He must’ve guessed the direction of her thoughts, because the look he gave her said,
Try not to worry.
Limping across the room—he’d given up using his crutches, much to her consternation—he snatched up a warm cookie.

“The sweets are my favorite.” He smiled for Amy’s benefit and popped it in his mouth. “Mmm, these are delicious.”

“Not the gifts?” Amy’s fingers stilled on the material.

“Most of the time I got practical stuff like socks and scarves. Although one Christmas my uncle sent me a harmonica. My brothers were green with envy. They begged to borrow it, but I refused. As the youngest kid, there wasn’t much that belonged solely to me.”

“Do you still play?” Rebecca couldn’t recall seeing him with a harmonica.

In answer, he went to the corner and, rustling through his saddlebag, withdrew the tiny instrument. He played a slow, melancholy tune. “I play when I’m in the mountains and the quiet gets to be too much.”

His words reminded her of Meredith’s assertion. “Don’t you get lonely? Don’t you miss your family?”

He dropped his gaze, but not before she glimpsed the anguish shining there. “Sometimes.” When Amy’s smooth brow furrowed, he eased into the chair beside her and fingered a piece of gingham. “Show me how to do this, and I’ll help.”

“You don’t have to,” she said.

“I want to.”

While Rebecca iced the cookies, Amy and Caleb worked on the decorations. Dusk fell, and lamps set about the room cast a cheerful glow. The hemlock tree emitted a fresh, sharp aroma that defined Christmas. This year’s celebrations would be different than all those preceding it. Caleb was an official part of their family now.

She licked a dab of icing off her thumb and let her gaze caress his bent head. Firelight glinted off the blue-black strands and outlined the harsh line of his proud cheekbones. The dark stubble that lent him a dangerous air graced his jaw and chin. He was intent on his work, blunt fingernails flashing as he carefully knotted the strips. That he would volunteer for such a task solely for her sister’s sake filled Rebecca with heady warmth and admiration.

He looked up from his work then and caught her staring. Her cheeks heated even as his eyes darkened with awareness. Why did he have to be so incredibly handsome? And why did he have but to look at her for her to be consumed with this toe-curling, heat-licking-her-insides yearning?

Adam didn’t have that effect on me. His kiss was comfortable. Nice. Staid?

She blanked her mind. Comparing the two men would gain nothing. Adam was no longer a part of her life. And Caleb was...well, she was still trying to figure out exactly how he fit.

He lowered the decoration and leaned back against the chair, gray-and-white-striped shirt molding to his thick shoulders and biceps. “What about you, Becca? What’s your favorite tradition?”

Replacing the spoon into the bowl of icing, she began to place the cookies on a platter. “I like the music. After Christmas Eve supper, we’d gather around the fireplace and sing carols. My pa had the most beautiful voice. I could listen to him and my mother sing for hours.”

“I remember.” Amy bowed her head. “Do you sing, Caleb?”

He was studying Rebecca with a sad expression. “Not really.”

She nudged the gingerbread men closer together. “I’ve heard you sing. You have a nice voice. Deep and strong.”