Married by Christmas

by Karen Kirst

  Unreasonably, moisture filled her eyes. Louis Harper had been good friends with her father. Ever since the accident, he’d taken it upon himself to try and ease her burden around the farm.

  “Something terrible has happened,” she said. “Caleb O’Malley has been shot. H-he’s inside.”

  Eyes going wide, Meredith’s crimson mitten flew up to cover her mouth. Louis’s bushy, ginger-colored brows pulled together. “When did this happen?”

  “I found him Friday morning. Actually, Storm led me to him. If she hadn’t, he surely would’ve frozen to death.” Or bled to death, whichever came first.

  “You’ve been caring for him all this time?”

  “Yes, I...dug the bullet out.”

  Her friend stared at her in disbelief. “You’re the most squeamish person I know. You hate the sight of blood. How?”

  An icy wind barreled down the mountainside and through the cove, flattening their skirts against their legs. Chafing her arms through the cape, she said, “I don’t know. It wasn’t as if I had a choice. I just did what needed to be done, praying all the while.”

  Louis eyed the cabin. “Did he tell you who shot him?”

  It was a reasonable question. However, she didn’t want them drawn into the crisis. Bad enough that she and Amy were involved. “I—I’m not at liberty to say, sir.”

  “I see.” He stared at her thoughtfully. “How’s he doing?”

  “I suspect his wound is infected. His fever is getting worse by the hour.” She twisted her hands. “There are times when he is completely lucid and others when he seems confused. I’m afraid of what might happen if he doesn’t get medical attention. With all the snow...” She waved a hand at the wintry scene. “Would you mind taking a look at him?”

  “Not at all.” The burly figure was already crunching his way to the front steps.

  She picked up the discarded pail. “Amy’s in the barn feeding the horses. We’ll wait out there.”

  He waved a hand in dismissal. “I’ll join you in a moment.”

  Linking arms, they trekked toward the barn. “I’m in shock right now. I can’t begin to imagine how you feel.” Meredith brushed aside dark strands that had snagged on her lips. “Caleb O’Malley. Here. And you as his caretaker. How are you holding up?”

  While everyone in Gatlinburg knew Adam had broken their engagement, only Meredith was aware of her private struggles. Rebecca strove for a brave face in front of the townsfolk. It wasn’t in her nature to play the pitied jilted bride. But she’d been honest with her friend about the lingering bitterness she wrestled with, the feeling of helplessness and hurt Adam’s decision had wrought.

  “There are so many different emotions inside me right now that I can’t distinguish one from the other. I can’t understand why God did this. He knows how I feel about Caleb. Why couldn’t he have ridden a different direction? Why here? Why me? Haven’t I had enough trouble for one lifetime?”

  She sounded like a petulant child, she knew, but didn’t she have a right to complain? In eighteen months’ time, she’d not only lost the love of her life but her dear, beloved parents. As scary as it was to admit, she was angry at God.

  “I wish I had answers for you.” Meredith pressed in close to her side. “If we could transport him to our house, you wouldn’t have to deal with him.”

  Rebecca shook her head. “You haven’t seen him, Mer.” She sighed. “He’s bad off.”

  When they reached the barn, Meredith held back, brown hair swirling about the shoulders of her cape. “I hate to burden you further, but have you considered what might happen when folks learn of his presence here?”

  Confused by her friend’s grave expression, she frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re an unmarried woman. Caleb’s an unmarried man. The two of you have occupied the same cabin for two whole days and two very long nights without the benefit of a chaperone.”

  “He’s hardly in any position to damage my reputation! He’s gravely ill,” she stated with a growing sense of alarm. Withdrawing her arm, she pressed her gloves against her cheeks stiff with cold. “Besides, we haven’t been alone.”

  “I’m not certain Amy counts as a suitable chaperone. Logic doesn’t always play into these situations. Remember what happened to Cole and Rachel Prescott? They were locked in the storage room overnight and forced to marry, no matter that it was a cruel prank and not even remotely their fault.”

  Appalled at the mere idea of being linked to Caleb in that way, she set her jaw. “Nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing, could induce me to marry that man.”

  Despite her conviction, a frisson of unease worked its way down her spine. Meredith wasn’t exaggerating. Folks were funny about maintaining appearances at all costs. If there was even the suspicion that something improper had occurred—whether it had or no—marriage was the only way to restore the couple’s reputation.

  Understanding warred with caution in Meredith’s heavily fringed green eyes. “I hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  “It won’t. I’ve given the man shelter and done my best to keep him alive, that’s all. End of story.”

  “You don’t have to convince me.” She held up her hands, the vivid red wool reminding Rebecca of Caleb’s blood pooled in the snow. She bit down hard on her lip as worry swirled afresh in her chest.

  “Have you heard from Adam?”

  Last night’s conversation—and the terrible vulnerability in Caleb’s eyes—replaying in her mind, it took her a moment to register the question. Meredith was referring, of course, to the numerous letters she’d sent her former fiancé and the fact he hadn’t answered even one.

  Shaking her head, she allowed her gaze to roam the white-washed forest beyond the barn, where mighty pines wore skirts of shimmering powder and blue jays’ wings flashed brilliantly against the white backdrop. Along with cardinals, blue jays were one of her favorite birds. Tough to get that exact shade of blue on canvas, however. For the painting hanging above her parents’ bed, she’d had to experiment to get the right shade. Her mother had adored that painting.

  A renewed wave of grief gripping her, she sighed. “I haven’t written him in four months. It’s obvious he doesn’t want to hear from me. Don’t know why it took me so long to accept that.”

  “What you two had was special. Makes sense you wouldn’t want to give that up.”

  “Adam clearly didn’t have a problem,” she muttered, shivering as another gust of wind slammed into them.

  “Well, I for one think it’s time you turned your attention to someone else. I’ve noticed Douglas casting moon eyes at you during church. He’d ask to call on you in a heartbeat if you’d encourage him a little.”

  “We’ve had this conversation before. I’m not ready.” Tired of dwelling on her sorry state of affairs, she turned the tables on her best friend. “How about we discuss your love life, hmm? Are you ready to tell me who it is you’re sweet on?”

  Color bloomed in the brunette’s cheeks, yet she shrugged as if it was no big deal. While Meredith was more than willing to discuss Rebecca’s private affairs, she wasn’t as forthcoming with her own.

  “There’s no chance he’ll ever notice me, so why put a name to him?” Her petite nose wrinkled. “Besides, isn’t it more interesting to try and guess his identity?”

  “No, it isn’t. It’s frustrating. And hardly fair given everything I’ve revealed to you.”

  Meredith was on the verge of relenting when Mr. Harper appeared on the porch and lifted a hand to get their attention.

  At the sight of the deep grooves bracketing his mouth, all thoughts of Meredith’s crush fled. Did he have bad news? Perhaps he’d seen something she’d missed, some sign of impending death she was unaware of. By the time he reached them, she’d become numb to the cold, oblivious to the thin, cottonlike clouds stretched
across the sky.

  “Poor lad is suffering from an infection.” He scratched beneath his heavy wool cap and sighed. “Wish I could take him off your hands, but I doubt he’d survive the trip. And Teresa’s ill. I wouldn’t want to expose him to whatever she has. We have medicine that can help bring the fever down, as well as some herbs and such for a poultice to put on the wound.” He hesitated, which was unusual. “Would you like for Meredith to come and stay with you? Even at this late date, her presence might ward off some of the gossip that’s sure to erupt once your situation becomes known.”

  “There’s no place for her to sleep. And besides, I know she’s doing the cooking and cleaning while Teresa is sick.” She met Meredith’s worried gaze. “I can’t ask you to stop caring for your ma simply to babysit us.”

  “I could do my chores during the day and spend the nights here. We could make a pallet on the floor.”

  “Absolutely not.” She took her friend’s hands in hers and braved a smile. “I appreciate the offer, really, I do. But I can handle whatever the gossips dish out. You know how these things blow over in a week or two.”

  “Let’s hope you’re right.” Louis sighed. “Meredith, stay and visit with your friends while I get the supplies. I should return within the hour.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The door scraped open then, and Amy’s lips parted. “Mr. Harper. Meredith.” Her gaze bounced between the cabin and Rebecca. “Is everything okay?”

  “Mr. Harper is going to fetch medicine for Caleb.”

  “Is he gonna make it?” She directed her question at their father’s friend.

  “That’s in the good Lord’s hands, Amy. We’ll be praying for him.” His frown didn’t budge. “I’d best be off.”

  No one spoke as he made his way to the sleigh. Rebecca belatedly noticed the pail in her sister’s hands. “You milked Flossy for me?”

  “She was getting antsy.” She blew out a breath. “I also fed and watered the horses and mucked out the stables.”

  “I think that deserves a special thank-you.”

  Wispy brows winged up. “Hot cocoa?”

  Rebecca smiled and nodded. There was enough in the tin for one more cup, two if she thinned it. An extra spoonful of sugar would make up for the lack. Hopefully, the hens she’d delivered to Clawson’s three days ago had sold and she’d have enough store credit left over from buying necessities to replenish their supply. And perhaps purchase pearl buttons for the new dress she was working on for Amy for Christmas. The special holiday was fast approaching, and Rebecca was determined to provide her sister with some semblance of holiday spirit.

  Taking the heavy pail from her, she motioned over her shoulder. “Let’s go inside and get warm while we wait. Mer, there’s cocoa or coffee for you. Your choice.”

  “Ma sent along apple butter and two loaves of bread,” she said as they ascended the stairs, pointing to the basket her father had left tucked against the door frame. “We can have a slice now, if you’d like.”

  Once on the threshold, the toasty warmth surrounding her and the anticipation of Teresa’s delicious apple butter were promptly forgotten. Caleb was in trouble.

  * * *

  Caleb thrashed about on the bed, a string of incomprehensible words slipping from his lips. Setting the pail on the dining table without care for the contents, she rushed to restrain him. If he aggravated his injury...

  “Stop.” His voice was hoarse. “Don’t do this.”

  Were these the words he’d uttered when he tried to save Tate’s life?

  She was having trouble restraining him. Even ill, his strength was no match for hers.

  “Can you give me a hand, Mer?”

  The brunette approached, more solemn than Rebecca had ever seen her. “What do you need me to do?”

  “Hold his ankles.”

  When Meredith had stationed herself at the foot of the bed, Rebecca scooted up on the mattress and, pressing on his shoulders, leaned in close. The scents of pine and earth yet clung to him, intermingled with the familiar one of burning logs in the fireplace and a trace of floral in Amy’s quilt. Beneath all that was the smell of the massive amount of blood he’d spilled. Trying to save the sheriff.

  On the flip side of his recklessness was a courage few could match. He was quick to protect the weak and vulnerable.

  “Caleb, can you hear me?”

  His fight with an unseen enemy continued, his large hands clutching at the quilt covering him. “Danger.”

  She laid a hand against his fevered, bristle-edged jaw. A memory, long-suppressed, resurfaced of her and Caleb and a nearly drowned calico kitten they’d fished out of the river. Certain he wouldn’t survive, Adam had advised her to leave it to its fate. He’d accused her of being too softhearted. Caleb had had other ideas. Tucking the mewling creature against his chest, he’d carried it here, to her barn, and together they’d worked to keep it alive.

  His compassion had known no bounds. The sight of him hand-feeding the tiny animal, lean fingers constantly stroking its fur, had affected her in a profound way. Several days later, when it became clear the kitten would survive, she’d thrown herself against him and hugged him tight. He’d hesitated at first. Then his strong arms had wrapped around her, his heart beating fast beneath her cheek, and it had hit her like a locomotive—Caleb posed a danger to what she had with Adam.

  Recognizing her heart’s susceptibility, she’d created distance between them, both mentally and physically. She wasn’t about to risk the security and comfort Adam Tierney offered for anyone, especially not live-as-close-to-the-edge-as-possible Caleb. Though it had taken some subtle maneuvering, Rebecca had been careful not to sit beside him in church or dance with him at the many barn dances the three of them had attended together. He hadn’t remarked on the change, but she’d caught him staring at her sometimes with a look of hurt and confusion. Recalling those looks now, she wondered why he’d never confronted her.

  “You don’t wanna do this,” he ground out, urgency underscoring the words. In his fevered mind, he was back there in the mountains, challenging outlaws and trying to save a man’s life. Trying and failing.

  When his whole body stiffened suddenly and air hissed through dry lips, she imagined the precise moment he was reliving. The overwhelming need to assuage his pain lodged in her chest and, the other occupants of the room forgotten, Rebecca leaned down and gently rested her head on his shoulder, kneading the rigid biceps through the soft cotton shirt.

  “It’s okay,” she said in an urgent, hushed voice. “You’re gonna be okay.”

  He continued to resist his unseen enemies. Rebecca repeated the words until he quieted. She wasn’t aware of how many moments passed before Meredith came around the bed and touched a hand to her lower back.

  “He’s resting now.”

  Sitting up, she avoided her friend’s curious gaze, studying the quilt pattern through increasingly watery eyes.

  “Are you gonna be okay, Rebecca?”

  A world of bewilderment accompanied the other woman’s obvious concern.

  Lifting her head, she said simply, “He was my friend.”

  And then she burst into tears. Tears for all that they’d lost, her and Adam and Caleb.

  Meredith pulled her upright into a hug. Soon Amy joined their circle. When Meredith began to pray aloud, asking God to heal Caleb and to restore Rebecca’s peace, Becca silently thanked Him for such a dear friend. And then her prayers centered on her patient, her friend turned adversary—that he would heal and return to the high country as quickly as possible.

  Chapter Seven

  Caleb woke hours—or was it days?—later, at once noticing the absence of searing heat. His chest no longer felt as if an elk sat on it, and his head was blessedly clear. Gratitude swelled. Now he could remove himself to town. Rebecca and Amy would b
e safe.

  The rustle of skirts alerted him to the presence of his bedside sentry.

  Setting her rug-in-progress and hook on the chair, Becca leaned down to check his temperature. Immediately he was surrounded by familiar scents of paint, paper and the ever-present lilac. His gaze caught on the gold locket dangling from her neck. He didn’t recognize it. Had it been a gift from her parents? Or Adam?

  “How are you feeling?” Apparently satisfied the fever was gone, she straightened and hid her hands behind her back, all emotion smoothed from her countenance. She couldn’t mask the strain caring for him these past days had taken, however. Shadows bruised her eyes.

  “In need of a bath, a shave and a huge plate of biscuits and gravy. Not necessarily in that order.”

  A ghost of a smile lifted her lips. “I see you’re feeling more yourself. You’re gonna have to wait on the biscuits.”

  Gliding to the cast-iron stove in the corner, she dipped what looked to be broth into a plain white bowl. Becca made even the most mundane actions appear graceful, her movements like a coordinated dance, and he thought that he could watch her for a lifetime and never cease to be fascinated. Maybe it was her artist’s spirit shining through. For as long as he’d known her, she’d been driven to create things.

  When they were young, her endeavors had been simple. Dandelion necklaces. Animals crafted from leaves, pinecones and acorns. He’d lost count how many times the teacher had reprimanded her for drawing on her chalkboard instead of listening to his lecture. Caleb had winced with every strike of the ruler across her delicate knuckles. One particular time he hadn’t been able to contain himself and, bolting to his feet, railed at Mr. Jones for punishing her for something that was as natural to her as breathing. Caleb had received a lashing for that outburst, but it had been worth the look of hero worship in Becca’s wide eyes, fleeting though it had been.

  As a teenager, she’d experimented with pottery making, basket weaving and rug hooking. And while she was good at those, sketching and painting were her true passions. The evidence of her talent adorned the walls. Light streaming through the windows on either side of the cabin door set the paintings alight with color. There were more than he remembered. Birds and flowers dominated, with a couple of mountain landscapes thrown in.