by Karen Kirst
“That’s what has you so upset?” His brows lifted.
Clasping her shoulders, he maneuvered them into a sitting position. The cold ground was an unwelcome shock after his comforting heat. His hip grazing hers, he sat facing her, long legs stretching out in the grass.
“It’s too dangerous,” she insisted. “Look at what happened to you. And now Mr. Galloway. Wait until you’re ready.”
“I can’t. They won’t stick around now that they know Shane is on their trail. Besides, I know what I’m up against this time. I’ll be more careful. Better prepared.”
“That won’t stop me from worrying.”
He stared at her. “Don’t waste your energy. I don’t deserve your concern.”
Bleak conviction lined his face. This was no ploy to gain her sympathy. He wasn’t fishing for reassurances. He meant what he said, and the knowledge that she’d had a role in bringing him to this place of low self-worth pierced her conscience.
Memories of those initial days following the accident bombarded her. She’d lost count how many times Caleb had come to Doc’s asking to see Adam, his face still bandaged, bruised and scratched, only to be turned away by Adam’s parents and herself. Between the three of them, they’d made certain he felt the weight of their censure and wrath. Looking back, she realized they’d treated him as if he was a criminal instead of a grieving friend.
It had been an accident, after all, hadn’t it? Not an intentional act to hurt Adam. An accident. Caleb had loved him like a brother. She’d allowed her own disappointment and hurt to cloud her judgment and, in doing so, had wounded not only herself but Caleb, too.
Squeezing her eyes tight, she pressed her hand against her heart. Guilt felt like an ax wedged deep into the sluggishly beating muscle. Sorrow and regret radiated through her chest.
“Rebecca, what’s wrong?” His hands were suddenly cupping her face, his breath fanning across her chin. “Are you ill?”
“No, I’m not ill, I—” Opening her eyes, she met his anxious gaze squarely. “Caleb, I’m so sorry.”
He blinked, confusion pulling his brows together over his nose. “For what?”
“The way I treated you after Adam’s accident. When you came to Doc Owens’s those times wanting to see him.” She swallowed, recalling his exact expression the last time he’d come—the self-recrimination, the resignation—and the sight of his slumped shoulders as he’d walked out the door one final time. “I know what Adam meant to you. If I’d been thinking clearly, I would’ve seen how you were hurting as much as the rest of us. I was wrong to behave the way I did. Please forgive me.”
Stunned, Caleb dropped his hands as if burned and jerked back. He shook his head so hard his hair slid onto his forehead. “You don’t owe me an apology. I deserved what I got and more.”
“No—”
“Adam’s in a wheelchair because of me,” he said fiercely, “and you lost the man you loved.” He scrubbed his face with a shaky hand. “We should rejoin my family. They’re probably wondering what’s taking so long.”
Shoulder muscles rippling, he grabbed the crutches and hauled himself up with a grimace. His forbidding expression froze the words on her tongue, forestalled the desperate urge to press her case. She’d been foolish to assume a single apology would undo years of reproach, hurled insults and anger. Lots and lots of anger.
I’m so sorry, God. It was as if her eyes had finally been opened to the ugliness inside her soul, the stains of bitterness marring her heart. Please forgive me.
She only hoped one day Caleb would be able to forgive her, too.
* * *
Brim of his hat pulled low over his eyes, Caleb guided Rebel along Main Street, bypassing wagons parked in front of Clawson’s Mercantile. People gathered outside the post office, sharing news bits. Through the plate-glass window to his right, the tables in Plum’s Café were mostly empty at this hour of day, the lunch crowd having already dissipated.
Weak sunlight painted the buildings in pastel, washed-out hues and the gently rounded mountain peaks encircling the town a monotone blue. Festive greenery twined with crimson ribbon adorned the storefronts. At the end of the lane, the stained-glass windows in the white clapboard church glistened like polished jewels. The crisp air sliding over his exposed skin carried scents of horseflesh, wet earth and, strangely, roasted chestnuts.
He pointedly did not turn his head to look through the window of Josh and Kate’s combined furniture store and photography studio. He wasn’t in the mood for another lecture. For one thing, his thigh quivered in agony. Worse than that were the lingering effects of Becca’s apology, which had left him emotionally numb and in a state of shock.
He hadn’t even been able to muster the wherewithal to give her a proper goodbye. Her dismay as he’d stood at the cabin door and strapped on his gun belt and shoulder holster hit him again, and Caleb thought perhaps he should pen a brief note to her and leave it in his pocket for someone to find in case things went south with the outlaws.
He was about to nudge Rebel toward the sheriff’s office when he caught sight of a familiar figure emerging from the mercantile. Changing direction, he came alongside the boardwalk and called out a soft greeting.
“Where you headed, Nicki?”
The statuesque figure dressed all in purple stiffened. Head whipping around, inky-black curls bobbing about her shoulders, his cousin’s violet eyes went wide at the sight of him. “Caleb.” She gathered up her voluminous skirts and hurried to his side. “Uncle Sam told us what happened. Knowing you as I do, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised to see you up and around so soon. Are you okay?”
“Managing.” He shrugged.
Nicole’s uplifted gaze narrowed. “What’s so important you disregarded doctor’s orders?”
While fashion pretty much dominated his eighteen-year-old cousin’s head, she was not slow-witted. Far from it. “Business that doesn’t concern you, little Nicki.”
Her lips tightened at the nickname she hated. He grinned. Having grown up together on neighboring farms, Nicole and her four sisters were more like sisters than cousins, which meant he got to tease them as any good big brother would.
Black gloves gripping a lacy reticule, her eyes sparkled with mischief. “And what about your new wife? Does she concern me? After all, Rebecca is part of the family now.” Nicole glanced up and down the street. “Did she accompany you, by chance? I’d like to congratulate her on her good fortune.”
“She’s not here.” And just like that he was reminded Nicole could give as good as she got, just like any little sister worth her salt. While he was out stalking deer and setting traps for months on end, his cousins were growing up. Maturing into young ladies who would soon leave home and start families of their own. Juliana and Megan had already found their mates. Nicole, Jessica and Jane wouldn’t be far behind. “You and the twins should stop by, though. I think Rebecca and her sister would enjoy the company.”
One thin raven brow arched in challenge. “I’d be delighted.”
A niggle of uncertainty settled at the base of his skull. “Don’t be divulging embarrassing tales to Becca about me. Stick to talk of bonnets and slippers.”
“Just for that, Caleb O’Malley, I’m going to tell her about the time you lost at horseshoes and as a forfeit had to dress up as a girl.”
“One of these days, a man will come along who you want to impress, and I will return the favor.”
“You’ll be waiting a long time,” she quipped. “Men don’t interest me in the slightest.”
“I forgot. Your aspiration is to be a businesswoman, not a wife.” Then he realized what was different about this encounter. She’d come out of the mercantile empty-handed. “Where are your packages? Did you have so many you had to ship them home?”
Instead of the expected retort, Nicole’s gaze dropped to her bo
ots. “Actually, Mr. Moore has agreed to hire me as a shop assistant. I start tomorrow.”
Caleb worked to sort through his astonishment. “I thought you’d earned all the funds you needed for your boutique. Weren’t you planning to go to Knoxville in March to scout out possible sites?”
Her fingers dug into the reticule. “It’ll have to be postponed.” Averting her face as she looked toward the barbershop, she said, “Listen, Caleb, I have to get home. I promised Ma I’d finish mending her skirt today.”
“Wait, Nicole.”
She met his gaze for a split second, mixed emotions flitting across the usually cool features. “I really am glad you’re okay. See you later.”
Nonplussed, he watched her hurry in the opposite direction. As soon as he returned, he was going to have to do a little snooping around. He would find out what was going on with her.
Troubled, Caleb rode across the street to the sheriff’s office, relieved it appeared to be deserted. Dismounting took a toll on him. Putting weight on his right leg shot arcs of lightning up to his hip and down to his heel. He gritted his teeth and, mopping his face with a handkerchief, hobbled through the dirt and onto the boardwalk. Inside the sparely furnished office, Shane looked up from his desk and scowled.
“O’Malley.”
“Shane.” Nodding a greeting, he said without preamble, “I want to ride out with you and the others.”
“You shouldn’t be here.” He tossed his pencil on the scuffed desk, glaring when Caleb sank into the chair opposite.
“My leg will hold up,” he said stubbornly, despite the voice of reason insisting Becca had been right.
“This isn’t about your leg.” Leaning back, the other man folded his arms across his chest. “I was getting ready to send a man out to your place with a warning to steer clear of town. There was a stranger hanging around last night at the livery asking after a man with a scar.”
Alarm set his teeth on edge. “Who did he approach? Where is he now?”
“It was one of Lee’s helpers, young Tommy Payne. Tommy told Lee about the conversation as soon as the man left. By the time Lee tried to follow him, it was too late.”
Tommy was what? Eighteen or nineteen? “What did he tell him about me?” His pulse grew erratic. How many people knew he and Becca had married?
“Nothing.” The look in Shane’s hard blue eyes didn’t reassure Caleb, however. “That doesn’t mean this scum didn’t approach someone else and get the answers he sought.”
“I have to get home.” Surging out of the chair, he ignored the pain and hurried to the door.
“Caleb.”
“Yeah?”
His eyes glinted a warning. “I observed the ring leader for twenty-four hours before we made our move. She’s not a woman I’d fancy tangling with. I suggest you stay out of sight until she and her lackeys are caught.”
Lips tightening, he limped out the door, his thoughts racing ahead of him to the quaint cove where his new home and family awaited. Becca had no idea what kind of danger she was in. He had to reach her before someone else did.
* * *
Ensconced before the roaring fire with her half-finished rug, hook and wool in hand, Rebecca studied the emerging picture with a critical eye. The pines behind the cabin looked lopsided, but she wasn’t all that motivated to fix them. Her gaze strayed for the umpteenth time to the narrow bed against the wall, where the patchwork quilt had been neatly tucked about the straw mattress and the pillow fluffed.
Caleb was gone. And Rebecca wasn’t sure when or even if he would return.
She kept picturing his utter shock at her apology, the denial in his stark gaze. What bothered her most was that he’d left still convinced he was the only one who’d done wrong.
Oh, Lord, I’ve been so blind.
The unexpected knock startled her, and the rug hook clattered to the floor. Her heart leaped into her throat. Could it be that he had changed his mind? Maybe his leg had pained him too much and he’d decided to come home.
Draping the rug and wool across the basket at her feet, she smoothed her hair. With Amy visiting at the Harpers’ homestead, perhaps she and Caleb would have a chance to finish their conversation. If he’d stop being stubborn long enough to listen.
But when she swung open the door, it wasn’t her husband standing on her porch. It was a stranger. A woman in a shabby, nondescript dress who appeared to be in her early to mid-thirties. While beautiful, with thick blond hair and eyes the color of blue hydrangeas, there was a hardness to her that set Rebecca on edge.
“Good morning,” she greeted cautiously. “Can I help you?”
“I hope so,” the blonde said with a shiver, chafing her arms against the wind that swept down the mountain and whistled through the cove. “Would you be able to spare a cup of coffee for a poor stranger?”
Rebecca hesitated. While her instincts rebelled, her mother’s training demanded she extend hospitality to those in need.
“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
By 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.
