by Ford, Linda
* * *
The bitter wind buried its icy fingers beneath the collar of his duster, and he shivered. In his haste, he’d forgotten his neckerchief, and his skin prickled from the exposure. His ma’s place was on the opposite side of town, about five miles from Rachel’s. With nothing to distract him from his thoughts, the ride seemed interminably long.
What did you expect? A welcome-home party? You’re lucky she didn’t shoot you on sight.
He had to make her see that he meant business. He wasn’t going anywhere, not when his daughter needed him. Rachel was reacting out of hurt, refusing to see the truth of the situation. Time was his ally. Luckily, he had plenty of that.
Moonlight illuminated the trail. High above the valley, it glistened on the snow-covered peaks of Mt. LeConte. The shadowed forest on either side of him stood silent, frozen.
On alert, his searching gaze swept his surroundings, unable to penetrate the gloom. He kept one hand on the reins and one on his hip, in close proximity to his weapon, the remainder of the way home. He breathed a sigh of relief when the old cabin’s dark outline loomed before him.
Dismounting, he jerked at the clicking sound of a gun hammer.
“Turn around,” a man barked the command, “and keep your hands in the air.”
Cole did as he was told, his mind scrambling to formulate a plan. Whatever this man wanted, it couldn’t be good.
Make that two men. On horseback. Both masked, hats pulled low to hide their eyes, guns trained on his chest. If they wanted money, they were out of luck. He kept the bulk of it in the bank.
“What can I do for you, gentlemen?” He drew out that last word, letting them know his true opinion of them.
“Cut the sarcasm,” the larger man snarled, “and toss your weapons over here. Nice and slow.”
Cole had a good ear for voices and this man’s sounded vaguely familiar. Were they passing through? Or worse, locals?
Jaw locked in anger, he carefully removed his pistols and tossed them to the ground. I could use some help here, Father.
“What do you want? Money?” he snapped, his blood beginning to boil.
The larger man laughed, but it wasn’t a pleasant sound. “We don’t want your filthy money,” he spat. “What we want, Prescott, is for you to hightail it outta here. You’re not fit for the fine folks of Gatlinburg. You made a big mistake showing your face around here again.”
This was not good. He’d expected resistance in the form of dirty looks, threats and maybe even a fistfight if someone forced him to it. But this...what were their intentions? To scare him? Or something more sinister?
“And if I don’t want to leave?”
The man doing all the talking hesitated. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way. It’s up to you. Either way, you will leave.” He looked to his silent companion and jerked his head in Cole’s direction. The other man got down off his horse and advanced on him, gun outstretched.
Cole’s heart thudded wildly. What now? Rachel’s lovely face swam before his eyes. He would never get a chance to prove he’d changed....
“Turn around.”
“You don’t wanna do this,” he forced out, panic climbing up his throat and closing off his airway.
In response, the man seized his shoulder and spun him around. The next instant, blinding pain exploded in his skull and he fell facedown in the dirt.
* * *
He wasn’t coming.
The piano music was starting, and Reverend Monroe was approaching the podium, motioning for everyone to stand and join in the singing of hymns. Rachel glanced over her shoulder once again at the doors. No sign of him.
Beside her, her mother intercepted the look and arched a disapproving eyebrow. Rachel faced forward again and sang the familiar words, her heart not in it. Why couldn’t he have stayed away? Her life was so much simpler without him in it.
What bothered her was that ever since he’d announced his intentions of attending the service, she’d half hoped he wouldn’t show. She felt guilty about that. He had the right to worship the same as everybody else. Yet now that he wasn’t here, she experienced a sliver of worry. An irrational one, considering he wasn’t someone she should count on to keep his word.
He might’ve slept late. Or maybe he decided he wasn’t up to facing everyone just yet.
Even now, as everyone stood singing, she witnessed half a dozen curious glances. No doubt they were wondering if the rumors were true. Anticipating the convergence of concerned folks following the sermon, she considered slipping out during the closing prayer. Why couldn’t everyone mind their own business?
The sermon passed in a blur. She didn’t hear a word of it, her untamed thoughts swirling round and round in her head like snowflakes tossed by the wind. Every time she looked at her precious daughter, asleep in Lydia’s lap, her conversation with Cole rose up to accuse her.
You’re wrong. Abigail needs a father.
His determination hadn’t affected her so much as the hint of pleading in his dark eyes, the desperation he fought to mask. He clearly adored Abby and longed to be a part of her life, longed to be a father to his child as his own father had not been. But was it wise?
What if she agreed to give him a second chance and then six months or a year or three years down the road he decided he wanted out? What then? Abby would be crushed. And so would you, an unwanted voice pointed out. Just like last time, only worse. There was no way she could spend that amount of time with him and not lose her heart. She wasn’t willing to take that risk.
Oh, Father God, I’m so confused. I don’t know what to do. Please give me wisdom. Guide me in the decisions I’m facing.
When everyone stood for the closing prayer, Rachel couldn’t help herself. She escaped outside and went to wait at her parents’ wagon. Shivering in the cold, she extracted her black leather gloves from her reticule and put them on, eyeing the canopy of white clouds hovering above.
“Rachel Prescott,” her mother admonished as she drew near ten minutes later, Abby still asleep and tucked against her shoulder, “what on earth were you thinking? Sneaking off like that? People will assume you have something to hide.”
Behind Lydia strode her father and younger brother, Stephen. While Lawrence looked disapproving, Stephen’s expression was one of compassion. A thoughtful, mature twenty-year-old, he hadn’t once spoken against Cole.
The church doors swung open and people began to trickle out.
“Can we please leave? I don’t feel up to answering questions today.”
Lawrence’s lips curled. “If Prescott had stayed away, you wouldn’t have to deal with any of this.”
Taken aback by the venom in his voice, Rachel could only stare. This wasn’t mere outrage over his son-in-law’s treatment of his daughter, this was outright hatred. Unease slithered through her veins, and she wished she hadn’t accepted their dinner invitation. No doubt the conversation would be unpleasant.
“Not here, Lawrence,” Lydia admonished as Stephen tied Rachel’s horse to the back of the wagon. As they rolled past the church, Rachel was acutely aware of the stares and whispers aimed her way. She lowered her gaze to her lap and wished her father would urge the team to go faster.
Dinner was indeed a disaster.
Her father’s twenty-minute tirade chased away her appetite. She picked at her food, silent while he and her mother lamented the injustice of her life and argued what her next move should be. From under the table, Stephen nudged her foot. She glanced across the table and caught his sympathetic smile. His attempts to redirect the conversation had failed miserably.
Tuning them out, she exhausted all the possible reasons for Cole’s absence.
She felt a finger on her sleeve. “Divorce him.”
“Mother!” Rachel gaped at her, stunned at the suggestion. “I ca
n’t do that! What would everyone say?”
Besides the fact that divorce was frowned upon, it was so very...final. A divorce would sever forever all her ties to Cole. And yet, that’s exactly why he came back to Gatlinburg. To rid himself of her.
Her father swiped a napkin across his mouth and smirked. “It won’t come to that.”
All eyes turned to him. Despite the gray hair and creases in his face, Lawrence Gooding was a vigorous, healthy man. Large-boned and well muscled, he could still do the work of two. Rachel loved and respected him, but she couldn’t claim to know him all that well. He wasn’t one to talk about his feelings or invite others to do so. He tended to keep people at arm’s length.
Much like her husband.
She stifled a sigh. She’d desired so much more for her own marriage.
“Why do you say that, Lawrence?”
Tossing his napkin on his scraped-clean plate, he leaned back with a huff of satisfaction. “I’m certain that once Prescott figures out how unwelcome he is around here, he’ll leave on his own. Rachel will be rid of him for good.”
She shook her head. “I’m not so sure he cares what people think. He’s adamant about being a part of Abby’s life.”
His pale gaze hardened. “You’re that girl’s ma. Refuse him the right to see her.”
“That’s not exactly fair—”
His meaty fist struck the table with such force, the dishes rattled. Rachel jumped. Seated in her high chair, Abby’s lower lip folded down in a whimper.
“You’ve always been too softhearted!” His voice rose. “That blackguard walked away from you and never once looked back. Tell me, was that fair?”
Her patience stretched thin, Rachel realized the conversation was futile. In his current mood, her father would not be reasoned with.
Rising, she began to clear off the table. “It’s time for me to nurse Abby.”
Lydia rose to help. Disgusted, Lawrence scraped back his chair and stomped outside, slamming the door behind him. Stephen scooped up the baby and handed her to Rachel.
“Go. Take care of her. I’ll help Ma clean up.”
She managed a tight smile. “Thank you.”
By the time she’d finished nursing Abby, Rachel had made up her mind to go and see Cole. Just to make sure he was all right. She wouldn’t know a moment’s peace until then.
Not wanting her parents to know her destination, she rode over to Megan O’Malley’s farm, where she lived with her widowed mother, Alice, and her sisters, Nicole, Jessica and Jane.
“I know it’s short notice,” she said when Megan came to the door, “but would you mind watching Abby for an hour? I have an errand to tend to.”
Smiling, the blonde reached out to take the baby. “Of course not. I can show little Miss Abby the new kittens in the barn.” Settling Abby on her hip, her smile turned impish. “Would this errand have anything to do with Cole?”
Rachel blushed. “He was supposed to be at church this morning. I’m just going to see if everything is all right.”
Her friend turned thoughtful. “I see. Well, don’t rush.” She addressed Abby. “We’re gonna have fun together, aren’t we, princess?”
Grinning in response, Abby jammed her fist in her mouth. Rachel reached out and caressed her downy soft cheek. “I’ll be back soon, sweetheart.”
Thanking Megan again, she mounted her horse and headed in the direction of the Prescott homestead, conflicting emotions coursing through her. This was a fool’s errand. Cole would probably enjoy a good laugh at her expense. But she pressed on until she approached the run-down cabin on the outskirts of town.
Tucked deep in the forest, the Prescott place felt isolated and abandoned, dead vines engulfing much of the dilapidated structure. Expectant silence hung in the motionless air as Rachel swung her leg free and dropped to the ground. A parade of towering tree trunks spread out in all directions, the hard forest floor scattered with decaying leaves and moss. She shivered beneath her green wool cloak.
Rachel was not fond of winter, of the deadness and desolation. Nevertheless, without it there’d be no spring, no glorious rebirth.
Tucking loose strands beneath her bonnet, she rapped sharply on the door, her pulse jumping when she heard a soft, “Just a minute.” The curtain at the window flickered.
Cole pulled the door open and, leaning his weight against it, stared blankly at her.
“Rachel?”
His normally golden skin had a pasty tinge. Sweat darkened the hair at his temples. And his clothes, the same from yesterday, looked as if he’d slept in them.
“I was worried when you didn’t show up to services.” Annoyance made her tone sharper than normal. Had he been drinking? He hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol in the time they were together, but who knew what bad habits he’d picked up in the time he’d been away?
Foolish, foolish, foolish. Worrying about this man was a waste of energy.
“Forget it.” She turned to go. “I can see you simply changed your mind.”
“Rachel, wait,” he called out, “I’m sorry.”
The instant he let go of his knuckle-tight grip on the door, he swayed forward, his mouth twisting in pain. She rushed forward to catch him. Only he was a good six inches taller than she, and made of solid muscle. “Cole, what’s wrong?” She panted, gripping his shoulders and struggling to keep him upright.
He sagged sideways against the door frame, his right hand going to the back of his head. He winced. When he pulled his hand away, Rachel gasped in horror. Blood stained his fingers.
“What happened to you?” she cried, fingers twisting his shirt.
But he didn’t answer. His lids drifted closed and his head lolled back.
Rachel screamed as he slipped from her grasp and collapsed, unconscious, on the floor.
Chapter Five
Pain ricocheted through his skull. Cole struggled to force his lids open as frantic hands clutched his chest. Rachel was moaning. Or wait. Was that him? Another low moan rumbled through his chest. Definitely him.
“Cole, talk to me.”
He felt her cool hand on his cheek, her sweet cinnamon breath fanning across his mouth. He opened his eyes. Rachel hovered over him, her bonnet askew and dark tendrils skimming her pale cheeks. Her eyes were huge in her face, turbulent waves of blue. Fright marked her features.
Gratitude seeped into his soul. In that awful moment before his attacker struck, he’d feared he’d never see her again. He’d been drifting in and out of consciousness ever since. Sometime during the night, the cold had forced him up and inside the cabin.
“I’m all right,” he tried to reassure her as he attempted to sit up, “just light-headed.”
“You’re not all right, you’re bleeding!” Gripping his shoulders, her hands possessed both strength and gentleness as she assisted him into a sitting position.
The movement sparked a fresh wave of nauseating pain radiating outward from the gash in his head. He stiffened, clamping his eyes closed as breath hissed between clenched teeth.
“I know you’re hurting,” she said on a ragged whisper. “But I need to take a look at that injury. You might require stitches.”
He didn’t want anyone anywhere near his head, but she was right. It must be tended to.
“Fine. Where do you want me?”
When she hesitated, he risked a glance at her. Even, pearly white teeth worried her full lower lip. “Do you think you’d be okay sitting in that chair? Or do you need to lie down on your stomach?”
“The chair.”
“You won’t pass out again?”
“I can’t promise anything,” he drawled softly, “but I’ll do my best.”
Curling her arm behind his back, she anchored her hand on his waist. “We’ll take this nice and slow.”
With her help, he managed to stand without toppling over. A few steps later, he sank with a grunt into the lone wooden chair in the room, the only one he’d been able to salvage. The rest he’d broken up to use as firewood. The worn square table before the fireplace was nicked and scratched, but it was sturdy and that was all that mattered.
When Rachel made to move behind him, he snagged her wrist. “Are you squeamish? I doubt I’d be able to move fast enough to catch you if you were to pass out again.”
“Blood doesn’t bother me.”
Satisfied she wasn’t bluffing, he let go.
Rachel was being honest. Blood didn’t bother her. What did bother her—made her sick, really—was seeing Cole suffer. Weak and pale, his body was rigid as he attempted to remain conscious.
The wound was a jagged, two-inch gash. Beneath the dried blood matting his hair, she could see a plum-size knot. A small amount of fresh blood still leaked from it.
Removing her bonnet and cloak, she went to stand in front of him in order to gauge his expression. “Who did this?”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. Behind the haze of pain in his hazel eyes, anger bloomed. “I don’t know.”
“You didn’t see your attacker?”
“There were two of them. And no, I didn’t. Their faces were covered.”
Cole had been ambushed. He could’ve been killed! Rachel swallowed back the threatening tears. Now wasn’t the time to break down. She’d deal with her emotions later. Alone. He couldn’t find out how this was affecting her.
Her fingers curled into fists. “Why?”
“To welcome me to town,” he snorted.
“Cole,” she warned.
“They want me gone.” He stared at her without blinking. “Just like everybody else.”
He meant her. She’d made her feelings clear, hadn’t she?
Unable to meet his gaze, she moved into the kitchen and rifled through the practically bare cabinets for a pot in which to boil water. When she found one, she dipped water from the barrel into it and placed it on the cook stove. But the stove was cold. As was the room, she belatedly realized.
