Married by Christmas (2 page)

Chapter Two

I
ce encased every particle of his body...except for his forehead. Her hand heated and soothed. The strokes of her fingers through his hair blazed trails of sparkling heat and sweet comfort he hadn’t known in many years. Comfort he had no right accepting.

His lids grew heavy. He forced them open, needing to see her again. Make certain he wasn’t hallucinating. “Becca?” he rasped.

“You should try to conserve your energy. You’ve lost a lot of blood.” She spoke matter-of-factly, her lyrical voice detached. Emotionless. The girl he used to know had been so full of light and laughter the air around her shimmered with joyous expectation. But that was before...

Her face swam into focus. Ah, yes. Becca...there could be no mistaking that winsome appeal, the jade-green eyes, the pert nose, apple cheeks and full lips that could quirk into a come-hither smile at a moment’s notice. Not that that particular smile had been directed at him. She’d reserved it for his best friend, Adam Tierney. To his shame, he’d sometimes wondered what it might’ve been like to be the object of her devotion.

He shifted on the soft mattress and liquid fire exploded in his leg, engulfing the right side of his body. Memories slammed into him. The sheriff. Figures huddled around. Being chased. Shot at.

“Caleb?” The hand stilled in his hair.

He couldn’t think straight. Darkness clawed at him.

Danger. She was in danger.

* * *

He’d blacked out.

Rebecca snatched her hand away. What had she been thinking, playing attentive nursemaid to this man? It was imperative she maintain an impersonal attitude.

She reluctantly rechecked the wound. Located on the outer thigh, it didn’t appear to have nicked any major blood vessels, for the bleeding was already slowing. But what about tissue damage? Were any bones involved? Rebecca’s medical knowledge was extremely limited. She could only offer him the basics of care.

Amy swept inside, bringing with her a swirl of wintry air. “I got Daisy—” she pushed her hood back, smiling triumphantly “—and the horse is all settled in.”

Rebecca belatedly realized she hadn’t removed her own cape. Or eaten. Or had her usual bracing coffee. Quickly covering him, she remarked, “You must be starving. How about a glass of warm milk and toast with cheese? I need to get broth started for our visitor.”

“You make it sound like he’s a stranger.” Her nose crumpled. She replaced the gun on its hooks above the mantel. “Don’t you remember how he used to come here with Adam? He’d play any game I asked, even dolls. Not even Adam would do that.”

Rebecca deflected the hurtful reminder of happier times, when the three of them—Caleb, Adam and her—were friends. “That was a long time ago.”

Removing the loaf of bread she’d made yesterday from the pie safe, she set it on the work surface and grabbed a knife, slicing off two thick pieces and placing them in a pan. Behind her, Amy wandered closer to the bed.

“How bad is he?”

Glancing over her shoulder, Rebecca caught the worry flashing in wide eyes. How to phrase it? Her younger sister was practical-minded and perceptive. The instinct to protect her—stirred to life the day their parents passed away and Rebecca assumed full responsibility—warred with the need to prepare her for the worst.

“I’m not a doctor, so it’s difficult to hazard a guess.” Pouring the heated milk into a mug, she sighed. “I’ll be honest, Amy, it could go either way.”

“He’s shivering.” Her frown deepened. “Can we say a prayer for him?”

She hauled in a startled breath. Pray? For
Caleb?
After he’d destroyed her chance at happiness? If not for his recklessness, she’d be married to her childhood sweetheart by now. Might’ve even had a child of her own. The sting of shattered dreams left her floundering for an appropriate response. She refused to allow her problems to taint Amy’s outlook on life.

“I, uh—” Sliding her wavy, dark hair behind her shoulders, she stepped haltingly toward the bed. “Would you mind praying? I don’t think I can gather my thoughts right now.”

While Amy softly uttered words of petition, Rebecca studied Caleb’s profile. When they were teens, his boyish good looks and fun-loving manner had drawn girls like ants to a picnic. There was no sign of that boy now. Aloof and cynical, the events of the past two years were etched into his severe features.

She closed her eyes.
Why, God? Why did You bring him here to me, of all people? How can You ask this of me?

“We won’t be able to fetch Doc Owens anytime soon, will we?”

Beyond the window glass, clouds yet dumped snow at a steady rate. Town was a good mile and a half away. “I’m afraid we can’t risk it.” Returning to the kitchen to finish readying breakfast, she said, “We’ll wait and see how things look tomorrow.”

But it soon became clear the storm had stalled over their quaint cove, and by lunchtime, the snow had surpassed the third fence rung. No way could Toby, her frail, aging horse, venture out into that. They were stuck.

The notion troubled her. Throughout the morning, Caleb had fretted off and on, mumbling unintelligible things, alternating between sweating and shivering. Once he’d even tried to sit up, only to cry out in agony.

With Amy in Rebecca’s bedroom writing in her diary, she tackled the task of feeding him. Placing a bowl of tepid vegetable broth on the bedside table, she scooted one of the heavy walnut dining chairs over and sat down, reluctant to stir him. He needed sustenance, however. And something for pain.

“Caleb?”

His head shifted in her direction, damp hair sliding over one black brow. How she despised the unexpected vulnerability cloaking him and the pull it had on her. She always had harbored soft spots for those in need, be it animal or human, deserving or no.

“I’ve brought you some broth.” She waited, hands clasped tightly in her lap, fingers itching to smooth his furrowed brow.

His eyes fluttered open, the severe discomfort in the brown depths—which had taken on the hue of the burnt-umber watercolor cake in her art chest—a kick in the gut. What had happened out there? An accident? Or was he in some kind of trouble?

“Drink,” he pushed past dry, cracked lips.

“First let me prop you up with another pillow.” Stretching across him, she snagged an extra and carefully wedged it beneath the first one. “There.”

As she fed him several spoons of the fragrant liquid, his dark gaze never wavered from her face, unnerving her. It took all her concentration to hold her hand steady.

“Enough.” He turned his face away.

He’d consumed less than half of the bowl’s contents. Not much considering his size. Concern slithered through her. Standing, she smoothed the layered quilts over his chest and shoulders. “Are you warm enough?”

He nodded without looking at her, his gaze glued to the log wall adorned with Amy’s bunches of dried flowers and a single canvas—a floral composition Rebecca had painted many years ago. Amy loved flowers, and Rebecca enjoyed capturing their likeness with her brush. Not as much as birds, though, as evidenced by the paintings cramming the remaining walls.

“I have laudanum to help with the pain. Let me get it for you.”

Cool fingers closed over her wrist. She yelped. Jerked away from his touch.

“How did I get here?” His voice was sandpaper rough.

Rebecca stepped out of reach. “My dog found you.”

“And Rebel?”

“Your horse is fine.”

After breakfast, she’d gone out to the barn and groomed him, the earlier recognition blossoming into full remembrance. Caleb had purchased the fine animal from a farmer on the outskirts of Gatlinburg. Thrilled at the acquisition, he and Adam had brought him over for her to see. Rebel. A fitting name for an owner who’d continually flouted common sense, flying in the face of danger without a thought to the repercussions.

Images of another man lying injured in a bed, his life forever changed because of Caleb’s actions, pushed into her mind.
Oh, Adam, why couldn’t you have stayed? Given us a chance?

“You weigh a ton, by the way,” she snapped, frustrated at the memories Caleb’s presence resurrected. “Amy and I were barely able to get you inside. What happened to you? And why were you on my property?”

He blanched. “I can’t stay here.” He shoved the covers off, attempted to sit up.

Surprised, Rebecca placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. “What are you doing? You’re gonna aggravate your wound.”

He weaved to the side, too weak to put up much of a fight. Perspiration glistened on his forehead. “You don’t understand. Need to leave. Now.”

“Believe me, there’s nothing I’d like better,” she muttered, “but you’re not fit to walk across this room, let alone venture out into the storm.” Urging him to lie back, she checked his wound’s wrapping. No sign of fresh blood. Good. Covering him once more, she propped her hands on her hips and assumed her no-nonsense voice. “No more trying to get out of bed, do you hear me, Caleb O’Malley?”

He peered up at her through heavy-lidded, pain-glazed eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”

Instinctively, she reached out a hand to comfort him, at the last minute curling her fingers into a fist and dropping it to her side. Hang her caramel-soft, too-sensitive heart! How was she supposed to remain impassive to this man’s suffering?

I used to imagine it, though. Caleb O’Malley getting his just deserts. Suffering the way he made me suffer.

She winced, shame flooding her. Not like this. There was no satisfaction in this.

That didn’t mean she didn’t want him out of here at the first opportunity.

She gestured to the kitchen. “The laudanum—”

“No.”

Why was he being stubborn? “It will help you rest.”

Striding to the pie safe, she retrieved the tiny bottle from the shelf and returned to his bedside, only to find that his eyes had drifted closed and his breathing evened out.

Sinking onto the chair, she watched him sleep. Warring emotions wrestled in her chest—the chief being resentment. After all she’d endured, after everything she’d lost, being forced to care for Caleb felt like pouring kerosene on a wound that had never healed.

She could only hope the storm moved on quickly, and that the doctor could fetch him on the morrow.

* * *

A thump wrenched Rebecca out of a nebulous but unsettling dream. For a moment, she lay still, trying to decipher exactly what had woken her. Shadows wreathed the long, narrow bedroom that had once belonged to their parents, and she was just able to make out the familiar shapes of the carved cherry wardrobe and corner writing desk, as well as the washstand by the window.

Amy’s soft breathing barely stirred the silence. The younger girl hadn’t been the slightest bit upset about giving up her bed. To her, this was fun. A departure from their routine. Rebecca couldn’t help but be proud of her. Like all siblings, they had their moments, but much of the time they got along quite well. They were a team, she and Amy, the loss of their parents having drawn them closer than they ever were before.

Rebecca closed her eyes and huddled deeper into the toasty warmth. Must’ve been a random sound from outside that woke her. Surely Storm would’ve alerted her if something were amiss.

There. Another dull thud.

Caleb.
Pulse thundering, she hauled her legs from beneath the covers and, hardly noticing the cold seeping through her wool stockings, rushed into the living room. Muted light from the fireplace revealed her dog perched on the hearth rug, head up and ears at attention, staring intently at the bed. The
empty
bed.

Sprawled on the floorboards, her patient was making a valiant effort to regain his footing.

“Caleb,” she half moaned, half admonished, “you shouldn’t be out of bed!”

Crouching beside him, she braced an arm about his broad back. “We have to get you up off this floor.”

“It’s not safe,” he told her as a shudder racked him. “You and Amy... Danger.”

Danger? What was he talking about? She framed his cheek, unmindful of the stubble’s prickle. It was as she suspected—burning up with fever.

Grim now, she assisted him up and onto the mattress, taking a moment to wrestle his black duster off before urging him to lie back. The sight of a red circle blooming on the white compress struck a chord of fear deep within her. The very real possibility of him succumbing to his injuries, of him
dying,
loomed like a menacing specter. For the first time since she’d discovered him unconscious in the snow, Rebecca was truly frightened.

She wasn’t a doctor. She possessed limited nursing skills. What if she inadvertently did something to hurt him or make his condition worse?

Again, she asked God why. Why couldn’t he have ended up in someone else’s yard? Someone more knowledgeable. More capable. Someone whose life hadn’t been sullied by his careless disdain for others.

The very last thing she wanted was to shoulder this particular burden.

He was still agitated, lips moving as his head thrashed from side to side. A couple of words she understood.
Danger. Sheriff. Leave.
He was delirious, of course, but were his warnings grounded in truth?

She paused in applying a fresh compress. “What kind of secrets are you carrying?” Afraid of the answer, she turned back to her task, thankful the bleeding had lessened. Working quickly, she tucked the quilts tight about his long length. Then she spooned up a small dose of laudanum and put it to his mouth.

“You need to take this.” Supporting his head, she held him steady as he sipped. Grimaced. Quaked.

When it was gone, she set the spoon aside and eased onto the mattress edge. Closing her mind to the past, if only temporarily, she administered the comfort he needed, gently threading his fine, glossy hair away from his face. Weak firelight glinted in the blue-black strands. He seemed to settle at her touch.

Lightly, gingerly, she traced the slashing black eyebrows with her fingertips. Then, more daringly, she traced the hard contours of his face—the jutting cheekbones, strong jawline and chin—all the while avoiding the scar. It was too terrible a reminder of the sawmill accident that had altered the course of their lives.