Hasty Wedding

by Debbie Macomber

  The morning was glorious, and before she even realized her intent, Clare moved off the porch and down the pathway that led to Reed’s workshop. Continuing along the trail, she discovered a small lake. Sitting on a stump, she breathed in the beauty of the world surrounding her.

  Clouds, like giant kernels of popped corn, dotted the sky, while an eagle lazily soared above her, the sun on its wing. Clare wasn’t aware of how long she sat there; not long, she guessed. Time lost meaning as she closed her eyes and listened to the sounds of the forest. Squirrels chattered and scooted up the trees. Bluebirds chirped irritably and fluttered along the trail with gold finches and swallows.

  “Clare.” Reed’s voice had a desperate edge to it.

  “I’m here,” she shouted back, surprised by how weak her voice sounded.

  He came down the path, half trotting, and stopped when he saw her. His relief was evident and Clare realized she should have left him a note. She would have if she’d known where she was headed.

  “It’s so peaceful here,” she said, not wanting him to be angry with her.

  He moved behind her and cupped her shoulders. “I love it, too.”

  “I feel better for being here…I feel almost well.”

  She was improving each hour. Her body drank in the sunshine and fresh clean air the way a sponge does water. “Did you finish your business in town?” she asked, looking up at him.

  Reed nodded. “I let Erin and Gary know you were with me and why.”

  Clare wondered if their newly married friends had offered to care for her themselves and guessed they hadn’t. If anything, they seemed to encourage the romance between her and Reed.

  “Let’s get you back before you exhaust yourself.”

  Clare didn’t want to leave this enchanted spot on the edge of the thick evergreen forest, but she realized Reed was right. He wrapped his arm around her as though he suspected she wasn’t strong enough to make it all the way on her own. It amazed her how accurately he was able to judge her limited strength.

  By the time they reached the house, she was shaking and fatigued, although it was only a short distance.

  “I think I’ll rest,” she murmured, heading toward the bedroom.

  Reed gave her a few moments, then came into the room. Her head was nestled in the thick down pillow. He laid his hand on her hair. “Sleep.”

  Clare smiled, doubting that she’d be able to stay awake much longer. Her eyes drifted closed. “Tonight…I’ll sleep in the guest bed.”

  “You’ll stay exactly where you are,” Reed whispered. “It’s where you belong.” He stayed with her until she was asleep, at least Clare assumed he did. Her fingers were laced with his and his hand brushed the hair from her brow until she became accustomed to the feel of his callused palm against her smooth skin.

  When Clare woke, the house was quiet. She went into the kitchen and glanced at the clock, surprised she’d slept so long. Reed was nowhere in sight, but she guessed he was probably in his shop, working. Pouring them each a cup of coffee, she carried it to the outbuilding.

  “Hello,” she said, standing in the open doorway. She’d guessed correctly. Reed was working, his torso gleaming with sweat, his biceps bulging as he chiseled away at the thick cedar log. She found his progress remarkable. When he’d first shown her the project, she’d barely been able to make out the shape of the three figures. The thunderbird in particular caught her eye now. The beak and facial features of the creature were vivid with detail.

  “You’re awake.”

  “I feel like all I’ve done is sleep.” Clare resented every wasted moment, wanting to spend as much time as she could with Reed.

  “Your body needs the rest.” He set aside his tools and took the mug out of her hand.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked, sipping from the edge of the earthenware cup.

  She shook her head. “Not in the least.”

  Reed leaned against a pair of sawhorses and drank his coffee, grateful, it seemed, for the break. Not wanting to detain him from his job, Clare took his empty mug when he’d finished, and prepared to head back to the house.

  Reed stopped her, his gaze finding hers. Then he bent over and found her mouth with his. The kiss was as gentle as it was sweet, a brushing of lips, an appreciation.

  When they pulled apart, Clare blinked several times, feeling disoriented and lost. She must have swayed toward him, because Reed caught her by the shoulders and smiled down on her with affectionate amusement.

  It nettled her that she should be so unsettled by their kissing when Reed appeared so unaffected. Confused, she backed away from him. I’ll…I’ll go back now,” she said, and twisted around.

  Clare was still shaking when she returned to the house. Standing at the sink, she tried to put their kiss into perspective. It had been a spontaneous reaction, a way of thanking her for bringing him coffee. She dared not read anything more into it than he intended; the problem was knowing what that was. In clear, precise terms, he’d assured her he meant to follow through with the divorce. She had to accept that because she dared not allow herself to believe he wanted them to stay married.

  Clare was on the sofa, reading, when Reed came inside the house a couple of hours later. She glanced up and smiled, now used to seeing him shirtless and wearing braids. It was as though he had stepped off the pages of a Western novel. She recalled the morning following their wedding, how taken aback she’d been by the reminders of his heritage. No longer. To her mind he was proud and noble. She’d give anything to go back to that first morning in Vegas.

  “Gary’s on his way,” Reed announced.

  Clare frowned. “H-how do you know?”

  “I can hear his car. My guess is that Erin’s with him.”

  It was on the tip of Clare’s tongue to suggest she ride back into town with her friends. She was much improved. The worst of the flu had passed, and other than being incredibly weak, she was well. But she didn’t offer, and Reed didn’t suggest it.

  Within a couple of minutes of Reed’s announcement, Clare heard the approaching vehicle herself, although she wouldn’t have been able to identify it as Gary’s car.

  Reed had washed his hands and donned a shirt, although he’d left it unbuttoned. By the time the sound of the car doors closing reached her, Reed had opened the front door and stepped onto the porch.

  Erin came into the cabin like a woman scorned. “I told you you were sick,” she fumed, hands on her hips. “But would you listen to me? Oh, no, not the mighty Clare Gilroy. Reed told me what Dr. Brown said…I should have your hide for this, Clare. You could have died.”

  Erin had always possessed a flair for the dramatic, Clare reminded herself. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “You nearly ended up in the hospital.”

  “I know…I was foolish not to have made an appointment earlier. I certainly hope you didn’t drive all this way just to chastise me.”

  “I wouldn’t bet on it.” Gary appeared in the doorway, grinning. “She’s been fuming ever since Reed stopped by this morning.”

  “I’m much better,” Clare assured her friend. “So stop worrying.”

  As though Erin wasn’t sure she should believe Clare, she looked to Reed.

  “She’s slept a good portion of the day. Her fever is down and she ate a good breakfast.”

  Erin sighed expressively, walked farther into the living room and sat on the end of the sofa. “Your face has a little color,” she said, examining her closely.

  Clare didn’t know if that was due to her improved health or the result of Reed’s kiss. “I’ll be good as new in a few days,” Clare assured her friend.

  Gary and Reed were talking in the background. Reed walked over to the refrigerator, took out two cans of cold soda and handed one to Gary.

  “So?” Erin whispered, glancing over her shoulder. “How’s it going with Reed?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know,” Erin whispered forcefully. “Have you two…made any decisions
about the divorce?”

  Clare’s gaze moved from Erin to the two men chatting in the kitchen. “No…it’s up to Reed.”

  “He isn’t going to follow through with it,” Erin said confidently. “Not now.”

  “What makes you think that?” Clare dared not put any credence into Erin’s assessment, but she couldn’t help being curious.

  “From the way he looks at you. He loves you, Clare, can’t you see it?”

  Frankly she couldn’t. “Then why does he…”

  “Think about it,” Erin said impatiently. “Why else would he have hauled you to Doc Brown’s house, then carted you home with him? It’s obvious he cares.”

  “He feels morally responsible for me.”

  “Hogwash.”

  Erin and Gary stayed for a little more than an hour and then left. Clare walked out to the porch with Reed to see off the newlyweds. When Reed slipped his arm across her shoulders, she drank in his warmth and his strength and smiled up at him.

  Reed’s gaze narrowed as he studied her, and then without either of them saying a word, Reed took her in his arms. They kissed long and hard, drinking their fill, standing there on the front porch.

  “I’ve wanted to do that all day,” Reed admitted, burying his face and his hands in her hair.

  “I’ve wanted you to kiss me, too.”

  His arm circled her waist, and as he lifted her from the porch, he brought her mouth back to his. Clare didn’t need further encouragement. She looped her arms around his neck and sighed with pleasure.

  “I need you, Reed,” she whispered, running her tongue around the shell of his ear.

  Reed shuddered. “Clare, no.”

  “I’m your wife.”

  He shook his head adamantly. “You’ve been sick.”

  “Make me well.” Her hands framed his face as he brought his mouth back to hers. “I need you so much.”

  “Clare,” he groaned her name.

  She kissed him again and he moaned once more. “You don’t play fair.”

  “Does that mean you’re going to make love to me?”

  “Yes,” he whispered, his voice low and husky. He carried her into the bedroom, and Clare swore he didn’t take any more than a few steps.

  Their lovemaking was completely different than it had been at any other time in their relationship. When they’d finished, Reed held her close. Clare buried her face in his shoulder as she sobbed uncontrollably.

  Chapter Twelve

  Reed comforted Clare as best he knew how. He was at a loss to understand her tears, and not knowing what to say, he gently held her against him until the sobs had abated.

  “Can you tell me now?” he asked, his voice a shallow whisper.

  She shook her head. “Just hold me.”

  He rubbed his hand across her back, caressing her smooth, velvet skin, and waited. After several moments it dawned on him from the even rise and fall of her shoulders that Clare was asleep.

  Asleep!

  One moment she was whimpering and confused and the next she was snoozing. A smile came to him as he tucked her more securely in his arms and closed his eyes. Twenty years from now he doubted that he’d understand Clare. He’d thought he knew her, assumed…

  Twenty years from now…The words echoed in the silent chamber of his mind. At some time over the past few weeks, he didn’t know when, he’d accepted that their lives were irrevocably linked.

  Only a fool would try to turn back now. Only a fool would believe it was possible to walk away from Clare.

  Clare was his wife. At some point she’d ceased being Clare Gilroy, and he accepted that she was his future. The woman who filled the emptiness of his soul. The one who would heal his bitterness and erase his skepticism.

  He didn’t know how it would happen, but he trusted that his love for her and hers for him would make a way where his humanness found none.

  The time had come for him to wipe out the past and start anew. To forgive those who had wronged him. The time had come for him to get on with his life. He couldn’t love Clare and remain embittered and hostile.

  Lying there with his wife in his arms, Reed felt as if the shackles were removed from his heart. He was free. Emotion tightened his chest as he recalled the time as a youth when he’d been passed over by the tribal leaders, his talent ignored by the elders. He recalled the incident as if it were only a few days past, and once again anger gripped him.

  It was their rejection that had set the course of his life, that had cast his fate as an artist. From the tender age of fourteen onward he’d decided to resurrect the art of carving totem poles. He’d made a good living because of this one slight. His name was becoming well-known across the country, and all because Able Lonetree had received the award Reed had deserved.

  Good had come from this unfairness, and for years Reed had been blind to that. He’d held himself apart from his tribe, the same way he’d held himself apart from his mother’s people.

  The local paper had wanted to write an article about him after the piece had appeared on him in the regional magazine. Reed had declined, preferring to maintain his anonymity with the good people of Tullue.

  His reputation as a rebel was the result of an incident that happened when he was nineteen. A fight. He’d stumbled upon two of the high school’s athletes bullying a thin, pale-faced youth. Reed had stepped in on the boy’s behalf. A fight had broken out, two against one. Eventually they were pulled apart, but when questioned, the youth Reed had been defending changed his story and Reed was arrested for assault.

  No doubt the rumors about him would be fed by his recent confrontation with Jack Kingston. So be it. In time, he’d make his peace with Tullue, Reed decided. He wasn’t sure how, but he imagined Clare would aid him in this area, too.

  A sigh lifted his chest. He felt as though a great burden had been taken from him. He recalled his grandfather and the wisdom handed down to him as a boy. He didn’t appreciate what his grandfather had told him about hunting until he’d fallen in love with Clare.

  The man who’d raised him had taught Reed to trap and hunt. It was the way of the Skyutes, but each spring and summer they fished instead. Reed could hear his grandfather as if he were standing at the foot of the bed. There was no way in the world a man could mate and fight at the same time. Other than the obvious meaning, Reed had assumed his grandfather was also referring to trapping. Animals couldn’t raise their young if they were being hunted. The logic of this was irrefutable, but Reed understood a greater wisdom.

  He couldn’t love Clare and maintain his war with the world. He couldn’t love Clare and live in isolation. He could no longer maintain his island.

  As quietly as he could, Reed slipped from the bed, not wanting to disturb Clare. He dressed and wandered barefoot into the kitchen. His first inclination was to wake her and tell her of his decision. There were a large number of items they would need to discuss. First and foremost was her family.

  The burden that had so recently left him came to weigh upon his shoulders once again. Clare had told him she’d spoken to her parents about him. At one point, she’d confessed to dating him. But Reed knew dating was one thing, marriage was something else again.

  With a sick kind of dread he recalled the reaction his mother’s family had had to his parents’ marriage. Even in her greatest hour of need, her family had turned their backs on the two of them.

  Reed sensed they might have experienced a change of heart following her death, but he wanted nothing to do with them. As a teenager he’d received a letter from the grandmother he’d never known, which he’d read and promptly destroyed. For the life of him he couldn’t remember the contents of the letter. He hadn’t answered, and she’d never written again.

  The thought of Clare being forced to give up her family because of him troubled Reed. If bridges were to be built, he’d have to be the one to construct them. For Clare’s sake he’d do it; for the sake of their children, he’d find a way to make their love acceptable to the Gilro
ys.

  Their children. The two words had a profound effect upon Reed. He scooted a chair away from the table, sat down and pressed his elbows against the wood surface. He’d barely become accustomed to the idea of marriage, and already he was looking into the future.

  Children.

  He wanted a son, yearned for this child Clare would give him. Frowning, he realized his attitude was chauvinistic in the extreme. When the time came for than to have a family, there was every likelihood that their love would produce a daughter.

  The instant surge of delight that filled him with the prospect of a girl child came as something of a surprise. His mind envisioned a little girl, a smaller version of Clare, and Reed experienced the same intense longing as he had imagining a son.

  The future had never seemed more right.

  A sound from the bedroom told him Clare was awake. The water on top of the stove was hot and he brewed her a cup of tea, taking it into the bedroom with him.

  Clare was sitting up, the blanket tucked around her front.

  “Hello, Sleeping Beauty,” he said, sitting on the edge of the mattress. He set the tea on the nightstand and leaned forward to kiss her.

  He tasted her resistance, which took him by surprise. Clare had always been so open, welcoming his touch.

  “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?” he asked.

  With her eyes lowered, she shook her head.

  Needing to touch her, he brushed the hair from her face. “I shouldn’t have allowed us to make love,” he said, blaming himself for any unnecessary discomfort he might have caused her. She was barely over her bout with the flu and he was dragging her into his bed, making physical demands on her. He couldn’t be around Clare and not desire her.

  Thirty years from now it would be the same. Reed wasn’t sure how he knew this, but he did. He’d be chasing her down the hall of a retirement center.