Married by Christmas (6 page)

For the hundredth time, she begged God to end this torment. Her greatest hope lay with Doc Owens’s visit.
Please let him deem Caleb fit for travel, Lord.
At this point, she wasn’t worried about faceless outlaws. She was worried about Caleb’s lingering presence in her home and what that might mean to her future.

Chapter Eight

C
aleb tried to focus on the meaning behind Amy’s words as she read to him from Charles Dickens’s
Great Expectations,
but fatigue made his brain sluggish. He would’ve slept already were it not for his awareness of Becca’s every movement in the small kitchen area as she cleaned the lunch dishes and began preparations for supper. She’d hid out in the barn for more than an hour before finally coming inside to heat up a huge pot of bean soup for lunch. The effects of a full stomach and clean clothing were lulling him into a relaxed state that not even his aching thigh could disrupt.

Amy paused, finger pressed to the page to hold her spot. “What’s for supper?”

“Venison stew.”

Speculation flared in the pixie face. “Did our secret benefactor deliver the meat?”

Twisting at the waist, Becca shot Amy a quelling look. When her gaze speared him, he stopped scratching at the itchy stubble on his chin and lowered his hand to his lap. Surely she didn’t suspect him?

“What’s all this about?” he questioned Amy. It would look suspicious if he didn’t ask.

Slipping a slim, hand-decorated bookmark between the pages, she closed the book and held it against her chest. Her blue eyes twinkled. “For months now, someone has been mysteriously leaving us packages of meat.”

“Is that so?”

When he switched his gaze to Becca, she turned back to the work space littered with spoons, spices and pots, presenting him with her stick-straight spine and tense shoulders. He’d reached out and touched her without thinking earlier and, like a fool, hadn’t immediately released her. Clearly a rash mistake. She’d been prickly ever since, the accusation
You ruined my life
squarely back in her eyes.

“You have no idea who it is?”

“None.” Amy’s twin braids swished as she shook her head. “Rebecca questioned Mr. Harper, but he denied having any part of it.”

“It’s likely someone from church,” Becca said, dropping a handful of carrots into the bubbling pot on the stove. The savory smells that were beginning to fill the room chased away his sleepiness. Although he’d eaten just over an hour ago, he found he could eat again. After days of nothing but broth and water, his appetite was kicking in with a vengeance.

“I think it’s a man who’s sweet on my sister but is too shy to tell her, so he’s leaving her secret gifts.”

Caleb coughed. Sweet on Becca? More like meeting a need he knew for a fact she wouldn’t accept face-to-face. His thoughts turned pensive.
Was
she involved with someone? Adam had been gone a long time, over a year. The men of this town couldn’t be blind to her attributes.

“Amy, really.” She pursed her lips.

Amy shrugged. “She doesn’t believe that theory,” she informed him, leaning closer. “Rebecca’s not a romantic like me.”

Rubbing his hand along his scruffy jaw, he swallowed a retort.
That’s not the Becca I knew.
The Becca he’d known had walked around with stars in her eyes, quoting Elizabeth Barrett Browning, and been convinced Adam was her storybook hero. Until Caleb brought reality crashing down on all of them.

“Amy, have you finished your history report?” Becca stood with a hand on her hip, a towel clutched tightly in the other. “As soon as this snow melts, it’ll be back to school for you.”

The younger girl’s shoulders sagged. “I don’t understand why I have to study something that happened over a hundred years ago in a country I will never step foot in.”

“Mr. Crockett obviously thinks it’s important or else he wouldn’t have given you the assignment. Besides, there’s a whole world out there. Learning about other people and places expands your thinking. Life doesn’t begin and end in Gatlinburg, Tennessee, you know.”

“I can’t wait for Christmas break,” she moaned, trudging toward the bedroom. “Come on, Storm,” she beckoned to the dog, who immediately obeyed. “You can keep me company in my misery.”

Caleb hid a smile. He hadn’t liked school all that much, either. Why read about other people having adventures when you could experience one for yourself?

Thinking like that is what led me to this place, isn’t it?
Disfigured. Alone. And responsible for burdening his closest friends with a world of hurt and disillusionment.

“You’re good with her. Your parents would be proud.”

Sorrow flickered and was quickly concealed. “I do the best I can,” she said tightly before turning to replace the spice jars on the shelf near the stove.

He’d been packing his bags for another hunting trip when his father had relayed the tragic news of their accident. Instantly, the need to go to her and offer what comfort he could had gripped him. Rebecca had enjoyed a close relationship with her parents, especially her pa. She’d adored Jim Thurston. Caleb had managed to master the impulse to see her that day, but he hadn’t been able to stay away from the funeral.

“It was a beautiful service,” he murmured, lost in memories and not fully aware he’d spoken aloud.

A large spoon slipped from her fingers and clattered onto the floorboards. “You were there?” Her brows crashed together in confused disbelief. “I didn’t see you.”

He was silent a moment. “Didn’t figure you’d want to.”

He’d kept to the edge of the crowd, careful not to show himself and cause her more upset. Aching for her profound loss, he’d longed to stride down the aisle to where she stood in between the twin caskets, shoulders quaking with emotion, and shelter her in his embrace.

“I thought...” Old hurts resurfaced.

Caleb blinked. Had she been disappointed by his supposed absence?

“I tried to stay away,” he said quietly, “but I couldn’t.”

Jerking a nod, she bent to retrieve the spoon and placed it in the dry sink, then continued clearing off the work space as the stew simmered on the stove top. Her stiff movements shouted her wish to drop the conversation.

Caleb closed his eyes, transported to those awful, frustrating weeks afterward. He’d postponed his trip, wanting to be nearby on the off chance she might decide she needed him. Of course, she hadn’t. What would she do if she found out he’d resorted to spying on her and Amy by way of his brother? Probably strangle him. Nathan had agreed to Caleb’s plea to visit them and report back. After the fourth visit, Nathan had informed him that he was finished. People were starting to get the wrong impression.

The air stirred nearby, alerting him to her presence. He opened his eyes to see her clutching a porcelain mug.

“I remember how you preferred to be clean-shaven. Do you feel up to shaving yourself?”

She motioned to the mirror propped up on the table behind her, the brush, straight razor and box of Colgate shaving soap laid out. Struck by her thoughtfulness, Caleb didn’t say anything for a long moment.

“I can help you to the table,” she added.

“That won’t be necessary,” he murmured, tired of being weak in front of her. “If you’ll just pull the chair out for me, I can make it on my own steam.”

“I’ll be right here in case you need me.”

“I believe I can make it a couple of feet,” he muttered drily, but by the time he finally sank into the hard-backed chair, he was winded and dizzy and his entire leg throbbed.

One look at his face and she huffed a sigh. Picking up the shaving brush, she moved in front of him and dipped up a dollop of shaving soap.

“What are you doing?”

The cool cream swiped along his jawline. “I’m saving you from further injury, that’s what.”

Her knees brushed against his. The accidental contact incited awareness he could ill afford. He clenched his fists. “You are not going to shave me.”

Becca straightened, brush held midair. As if reasoning with a child, she stated calmly, “Hold up your hand.”

When he just stared at her, she took hold of his right hand and lifted it. “Hold it out flat.”

With a scowl, he did as she instructed. There was no disguising the slight trembling. She arched an I-told-you-so brow. He curled his fingers into a tight fist and lowered it to his lap.

“I refuse to tend any more wounds, Caleb O’Malley, so cease being stubborn and let me do this.”

He cocked his head. “When did you get to be so bossy?”

“I grew up.”

Right. His actions had had something to do with that. As had Adam’s leaving town and her parents’ deaths. Life’s hard knocks had forged a strength of iron within her. The Becca he’d known had changed, and he was far too curious to discover the new facets of her personality for his own good.

The soft crackling of the fire permeated the silence that fell between them. He kept still as she applied the cream. The sight of the shining blade in her hand gave him pause.

“Have you done this before?”

Not meeting his eyes, she said, “After the accident, whenever Doc was busy and Mrs. Tierney wasn’t around, I would shave Adam.”

As she bent to scrape off the first layer of bristles, his thoughts turned to his best friend. Caleb had tried to see him on several occasions, but Adam’s parents had refused to allow him anywhere near their son. Couldn’t blame them. Still, not being able to see him, to apologize to his face, had stung. To this day, Caleb hadn’t delivered the apology his friend so rightly deserved.

Becca had stayed by Adam’s side day and night. Throughout the long recovery, not once had she abandoned him. Devotion like that was rare. And Adam had turned his back on it as if it meant nothing.

“Why did he leave?” he asked.

The blade lifted from his skin. Jade eyes penetrated his. There need be no explanation as to who
he
was. “He said he’d changed too much to be the husband I needed him to be.”

“You tried to convince him otherwise.”

Betrayal flared deep in her eyes. “He didn’t believe me.”

“Becca, I—”

“No more questions.” Her lips firmed. And seeing as how she wielded a sharp weapon in her hand and he was her least favorite person in the world, he complied.

She was just finishing up when boots sounded on the porch, followed by a sharp rap.

Caleb tensed.

“Relax.” She laid aside the razor. “It’s probably Louis and the others.”

But it wasn’t Louis or the sheriff or even Doc. It was Reverend Monroe. The sight of him troubled Caleb, though why it should he couldn’t quite pinpoint.

“Reverend,” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

* * *

Rebecca clamped her lips together. That sounded incredibly rude. And a touch guilty? “I—I didn’t expect to see you today.”

While she liked and respected him, he would surely share Louis’s opinion about their situation. A lot of folks in Gatlinburg knew her and Caleb well enough not to suspect them of wrongdoing, but there were those who made it their business to judge and condemn. Knowing that appearances were everything in their society, would he try to convince them it was in their best interest to marry?

Shrewd eyes set in a kind face slipped past her to where Caleb sat wiping the remaining bits of shaving cream from his lean cheeks. It didn’t take Reverend Monroe long to assess the cozy, domestic scene. Her stomach clenched. What unfortunate timing.

“I was at Doc’s office when Louis stopped by and explained what happened. I wanted to check on young Caleb here, as well as you and Amy.”

Through the open doorway, Rebecca saw the sheriff dismounting his horse and Doc descending the squat, black buggy, medical bag in hand.

“That was considerate of you,” she forced the words out. “Please, come in.” She pulled the door wider, masking her upset with what she hoped was a casual expression. “Can I take your hat?”

Handing it to her with a nod of thanks, he smoothed his short silver hair and proceeded to slip the buttons of his bulky coat free. This was to be a long visit, then.

“How are you holding up, Rebecca?” he asked quietly.

“Fine. Just fine.” She pressed clammy hands to her midsection. “Would you like coffee?”

“That would certainly chase the chill away.”

She ignored the questioning look Caleb shot her as she swept past. Going through the motions of heating water and setting out mugs, her hands shook.
There’s no reason to be nervous. I’ve done nothing wrong. Even if the subject of marriage comes up, no one can force me into it. Besides, Caleb would never agree.

Soon her tiny cabin was overrun with virile males. Doc Owens was extracting bottles and instruments from his battered leather bag. The reverend had taken up residence on the settee, petting a blissful-looking Storm while speaking with Amy, who’d come to investigate the commotion. The aloof and ruggedly handsome Sheriff Shane Timmons held himself apart, sharp gaze missing nothing. There was no sign of Louis.

The middle-aged physician took Caleb’s wrist in hand to check his pulse. “I’ll need to take a look at that wound, son.”

Color etched Caleb’s chiseled cheekbones. He was clearly unhappy being the center of attention. No doubt his current state of helplessness grated, too. He’d never been patient with his own limitations, pushing himself to the edge and beyond. She used to think he did it for the thrills. Now she wondered if there wasn’t some deeper, hidden reason.

Rebecca approached the wingback chair where her sister sat. “Amy, let’s wait in the bedroom while Doc examines Caleb.”

Once inside the bedroom, the minutes stretched into a long, torturous hour. Rebecca nodded and grunted in all the right places during Amy’s conversation, but her mind was out there with Caleb and the others. She hadn’t heard the front door open and close, which meant no one had left. She’d hoped against hope the reverend would say a prayer and take his leave. His continued presence bothered her.

I’m not that naive girl anymore, going along with others’ suggestions simply to please them. I’m a strong woman with my own opinions. No matter what’s happening out there, they can’t force me to wed Caleb.

* * *

Throughout Doc’s exam and Shane’s interrogation, Caleb’s attention kept drifting to the reverend, who sat quietly listening. The hint of discomfort in Monroe’s posture, the telltale weight of apprehension in his astute gaze, set Caleb’s nerves on edge. Something was up. He just didn’t know what.