by Ford, Linda
“You need stitches, but first I need to clean the wound.” Gathering kindling from the stack near the fireplace, she tossed it in the stove and lit it. “Do you want to lie down while this heats?”
“No. I’ll wait.” He tracked her movements with his gaze. “Where’s Abigail?”
“At the O’Malleys’. Megan watches her sometimes. She’s good with her.”
He nodded, then winced.
While waiting for the water to boil, she gathered what cloths she could find, noticing as she did the sorry state of the one-room cabin. What had it been like when he was growing up? They had never discussed his family or his past, but she’d often wondered about both. It couldn’t have been easy being judged unworthy when he was innocent of all wrongdoing, condemned to a solitary life because of his unfortunate resemblance to a man everyone despised. The condescension she’d experienced because of their abrupt wedding and his subsequent departure was nothing compared to what he must’ve endured.
Cole, who’d sat resting with his eyes closed while she’d been moving about, now regarded her with his dark gaze. His color hadn’t improved. And a fine sheen of sweat clung to his forehead. He should be lying down, but it was futile to argue with him. One thing she remembered about her husband—he had a stubborn streak the size of this valley.
“What are you thinking?” he murmured.
She stacked the cloths on the table. “I was wondering about your father.”
His eyebrows jacked upward seconds before he cleared his face of all expression. “Oh?”
“Do you believe he’s guilty of everything they accused him of?”
“I don’t know. Probably.” He sounded resigned. “If he did skim money for years, we didn’t see any signs of it. Ma and I were constantly struggling to make ends meet. Maybe he stashed it somewhere for when he decided to make a run for it.”
“Do you think he’s still alive?”
His mouth flattened. “I don’t know, and I don’t care.”
“It’s not fair,” she exclaimed, her chest burning with injustice, “the way this town treated you. You were innocent.”
“I suppose they figured like father, like son. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree...isn’t that what they say?”
“No!” She shook her head. “You’re not like that. I know for a fact you wouldn’t deceive anyone or...or take advantage of people who placed their trust in you.”
He studied her, no doubt surprised by her outburst. “Not everyone treated me like dirt. The O’Malleys and the Timmons families. Reverend and Mrs. Monroe.” He swallowed hard. “You.”
“Me?”
“You didn’t think I’d forget, did you? The times at school when you’d try to draw me into your circle of friends, inviting me to join in the games. Back then, you didn’t care what anyone else thought. You saw a lonely, hurting boy and extended the hand of friendship.”
Her eyes smarted. “It didn’t make a difference, though, did it?” she whispered, shamed by his words. Since when had others’ opinions become so all-fired important?
He took hold of her hand, squeezing gently, his thumb grazing back and forth across her knuckles. His hazel eyes glowed with tenderness. “It did to me. More than you know.”
Rachel felt herself drowning in those eyes. Only inches separated them. How easy it would be to lean forward and match her mouth with his, to get lost in his embrace...
Sucking in a breath, she slipped her hand free and took a step back. “The, um, water is boiling. I’d better get that wound taken care of.”
Schooling his features, he carefully re-erected his protective shield. A small part of her experienced a stab of disappointment, wished that he’d caught her back to him. And just what would that solve? Getting close to him had proven disastrous in the past. Nothing had changed. If anything, the stakes were higher. She had Abby to think of now.
Cole sat silent and unmoving as she cleaned and prepared the gash for stitching. She would’ve liked to disinfect it with alcohol, give him a drink to dull the pain, but he didn’t have any. So she worked as quickly and efficiently as possible. Only afterward did her hands tremble. She’d seen him grimace, heard that first harsh breath and his subsequent efforts to control his breathing.
“All done,” she murmured, laying aside the needle and scissors. “Come, I’ll help you to the bed.”
“I can manage,” he retorted, shoving to his feet and moving stiffly to the narrow bed. The effort cost him. His lids drifted closed as soon as he was settled on his side, his back to the wall. She noticed he hadn’t removed his boots or gun belt. Was that because he lacked the energy or because he thought his attackers might pay him another visit?
Cold fear knotted in her belly. God, please keep him safe, she pleaded silently.
“I’ll clean up here and go pick up Abby. But I’ll bring a plate of food by later.”
“No,” he said without opening his eyes. “Too dangerous for you to be out after dark.”
“Dangerous?” Her brows drew together. “I don’t have enemies.”
“Rachel.” He did look at her then, his gaze penetrating, his voice weak yet commanding. “What happens if those men decide to come back? If you were to see them...you don’t wanna give them any reason to want to silence you. I won’t put you in harm’s way.
“Besides,” he went on before she could protest, “I’m not the least bit hungry. There’s jerky and tinned fruit if I get desperate. I’ll stop in at the café for a hearty breakfast first thing tomorrow.”
She hated leaving him like this, but what other choice did she have? Besides, he wasn’t her responsibility anymore.
When the bloodied cloths had been rinsed and hung to dry, the dirty water dumped out back, she pulled on her bonnet and cloak. Cole was asleep, so she kept her step light against the floorboards. One creaked.
“Rachel?”
She turned back. “Yes?”
“Thanks. For everything.”
She nodded, determined to reinstate the formal distance between them. “I would’ve done the same for anyone. Good night.”
“Right. Of course.” Was that dejection in his voice? “Good night. Give Abigail a kiss for me.”
Her foolhardy heart begging to stay, she closed the door firmly behind her and rode out before she did something she’d regret.
* * *
Cole woke the next morning with a killer headache and ferocious growling in his belly. He hadn’t eaten in at least twenty-four hours. He’d slept deep and hard, a fact that bothered him. Anyone could’ve entered the cabin, and he wouldn’t have known a thing.
Thank You, Father, for Your protection.
He managed to change his clothes and make it into town. It was early enough that the café wasn’t crowded, and the patrons who were there were people he didn’t recognize, possibly just passing through. As he attacked his breakfast with gusto, cathead biscuits drowning in sausage gravy, fried potatoes and light-as-air eggs, he pondered his predicament. Who were those men? And how far were they willing to go to run him out of town?
Other unknowns troubled him. Were they working alone or were there more? It was certainly possible. The nature of his father’s crimes had created deep-seated hatred. For years, Gerald Prescott had deceived everyone with his oh-so-holy, virtuous demeanor. That he’d stolen from the church, and in essence, God, made his deeds that much more reprehensible. Dirty. Evil. A wolf in sheep’s clothing.
And what of Rachel and Abigail? Were they in danger because of their connection to him? His gut clenched, his fingers flexing on the delicate cup in his hands. Sipping the stout coffee, he stared unseeing out the plate-glass window overlooking Main Street. Surely no one would want to harm them. Still, he’d warn her to be on her guard. His wife had already suffered enough because of him. He wouldn’t be able to live wi
th himself if he caused her any more pain, even inadvertently.
He settled his bill with the waitress, then guided his horse down the street toward the opposite side of town where the lumberyard was situated. This time he did encounter folks he recognized. Mr. Moore, the owner of Clawson’s Mercantile, out sweeping the boardwalk. Claude Jenkins, bank proprietor. Lucille Gentry, an old schoolmate. Instead of avoiding eye contact, he boldly met their gazes and nodded friendly greetings. He was done with skulking in the shadows. He was innocent. And now, he understood, a beloved child of God.
Their stunned expressions were almost comical.
Billy Johnson, owner of the lumberyard, was clearly not happy to see him. The same age as Cole’s father, he’d been one of Gerald’s closest pals. Once the scandal broke, he must’ve been incredibly embarrassed for not having guessed Gerald’s true nature.
“I heard you’d slunk back into town.” He stalked around the counter and spat a stream of tobacco juice that nearly landed on Cole’s boot. “I’d hoped it was just a rumor.”
“No rumor.” Cole stood his ground. “I need some lumber.”
His eyes narrowed to slits. “I don’t do business with slugs like you.”
“I see.” He held his temper in check, reminding himself this man’s quarrel was with his father, not him. “Well,” he shrugged casually, “I suppose I’ll have to tell Rachel and Miss Megan there won’t be a manger or stable or any other props for the Christmas pageant. The children will be mighty disappointed.”
He turned to go.
“Wait,” Billy growled.
Careful to keep his expression blank, he pivoted back.
“I’ll sell you the lumber, but only because it’s for the pageant.” Displeasure radiating from his stout body, he stomped back behind the counter and snatched up a pen and piece of paper. “And don’t think I’ll do business with you for any other reason. This is a one-time-only deal.”
Cole gave him the list of supplies, not surprised when Billy quoted him an amount twice the going rate. But he didn’t complain. This was for Rachel. He wouldn’t disappoint her.
Because of the sound of saws and machinery, he didn’t hear the approach of the man behind him. Cole jerked around when he heard the man’s greeting, his hand going for the gun at his waist. Then he recognized the face and the familiar, steady blue gaze of Josh O’Malley, the closest thing to a friend Cole ever had.
He hesitated, unsure of his reception. After all, he had done the unthinkable and deserted his family. Josh was a family man now. He wouldn’t understand Cole’s desperate drive for self-preservation.
“Cole Prescott.” His mouth curved in a wide grin. He extended his hand in welcome.
They shook hands, Cole swallowing back surprise. “O’Malley. How ya been?”
“Good. It’s been a busy year. My cousin Juliana was married back in August. And I got hitched last month.” His expression brightened, practically glowing with happiness.
“Congratulations,” Cole said, meaning it. If anyone deserved happiness, it was this man. Still, he couldn’t stop the wave of jealousy splashing over him. If only he and Rachel could find some way...
“Her name’s Kate. She’s a photographer.” He gestured outside. “We have a combined furniture store and studio at the end of Main. Stop in sometime when you get a chance. She’s not working today, but you’ll get to meet her at the church decorating party this weekend. You are coming, right?”
He shrugged. It was the first he’d heard of it. He wondered if Rachel would want him to go or not. Probably not.
Billy interrupted with a baleful glare. “I’ll be right back to take your order, O’Malley.”
When he’d disappeared through the door leading to the machine room, Josh’s demeanor turned serious. “He’s charging you double, you know.”
“I figured. But I have to have the supplies.”
“I can speak to him—”
“No. That would only make things worse.” He had to fight his own battles. Or, in this instance, admit defeat.
Josh’s gaze turned speculative. “How’s the head?”
Cole stared at him. “How did you know?”
“I was at Megan’s last night when Rachel came to pick up Abby. She’s worried about you.”
“I’m fine.”
“Any idea who did it?”
“No. Although, the larger man’s voice did seem familiar. I think it’s someone I know.”
Josh settled a hand on his shoulder. “Whatever you need, I’m here for you. My family, too.”
Cole nodded past the lump in his throat. This show of support was as rare as snow in summer. It meant a lot coming from someone he admired. And suddenly he felt the urge to confess.
“I shouldn’t have left her,” he pushed out. “I didn’t know...about Abigail. I hate that I wasn’t here for her.” Bitter regret swirled in his chest. He’d failed her. “I was a fool. She got too close, and that scared the daylights outta me. I had to escape. It’s not an excuse, just an explanation.”
Josh nodded in understanding. “We all make decisions we later regret. The important thing is you’re here now.”
Billy reappeared then, wanting Cole’s money and Josh’s order.
When he’d paid the man, he tipped his head in silent farewell.
“See you Saturday night.” Josh gave him a parting wave.
Yeah. Saturday night. He didn’t share Josh’s confidence. The last thing Rachel wanted was to be seen with him. If she didn’t mention it, neither would he.
Chapter Six
Standing on Rachel’s front porch later that morning, Cole tugged his collar up as a stiff wind whistled past. She hadn’t answered his repeated knocks. His impatient gaze swept the yard and the empty woods, snagging on a flash of color just inside the barn door.
Rachel, her deep green cloak swirling around her, emerged from the shadows leading her horse, Cocoa. Her cloak gaped open at the neck, and he caught the barest glimpse of Abigail’s white cap. Where were they headed? Descending the steps, his long strides closed the distance between them.
Her eyes flared wide the moment she spotted him. She jerked to a stop, her penetrating gaze engaging in a full-on, head-to-toe inspection of his body. His stomach flip-flopped.
The wind whipped her loose tresses about her face. As he drew closer, he noticed the creamy whiteness of her skin, her enormous blue eyes and cherry-red lips the only spots of color. She looked like a Christmas package. All that was missing was a red ribbon.
When he reached her, it took all his willpower and then some not to pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless. She must’ve sensed the danger, for she retreated a step.
“Where are you headed?” His voice came out gritty, like sandpaper.
“I was going to check on you.”
He hadn’t expected that. Pleasure coursed through him. “Really?”
Nodding, her eyes tightened with worry. “How are you feeling?”
“Almost normal.” In truth, his head throbbed in time with his heartbeat, but it was something he could live with. At least the dizziness was gone.
“It hurts, doesn’t it?” It was more of a statement of fact than a query.
Lifting his hand, he fingered loose strands away from her cheek and, tucking them behind her ear, lingered against her slender neck. She watched him warily, her unfathomable eyes neither inviting him closer nor urging him away. If only he could whisk her to a far-off place, a place where the past no longer existed, the power it held over them erased. A place of love and acceptance, joy and laughter.
That knock on his head must’ve done more damage than he’d previously thought.
Rachel reached up and encircled his wrist, again not moving his hand but not encouraging further touch.
“I�
�m fine,” he exhaled. But he wasn’t fine. Not really.
Loneliness and need battled with caution. This was his wife. His child. His family. A lifetime of solitude had created a ferocious yearning in his soul for connection, for belonging, for affection. And Cole wasn’t sure if he had the energy to subdue it anymore.
Look what happened the last time you unleashed it. You hurt Rachel. Left her pregnant and alone.
Wrenching his hand away, he spun around, his chest heaving as if he’d run a mile through the woods.
“Cole?”
He felt her feather-light touch on his arm, there and then gone again.
“I’m fine,” he said again. Maybe if he said it enough, he’d believe it.
The wind pushed against him, nearly knocking his hat off his head. The cold cooled his fevered mind.
Turning back, he took Cocoa’s reins from her. “I came to ask a favor.”
She waited for him to explain, her features wreathed in concern.
“I need a place to work.” He gestured to the supplies in the back of his newly purchased wagon. “Ma’s barn, or what’s left of it, is almost completely caved in. Would you mind if I used yours? I went inside the other day and noticed my tools are still there.”
Her brow puckered, then smoothed. “Sure.”
“I won’t bother you, Rachel. You won’t even know I’m here.” He led Cocoa in a wide circle. “Go inside and get warm. I’ll get this girl settled back in her stall.”
“Cole—”
He glanced back, eyebrows raised.
“Let me know if you need anything.”
He nearly choked. He needed a lot. Too much. That was the danger.
Unable to speak, he nodded and headed for the barn and the safety space from her allowed. Space and solitude. Always solitude.
* * *
Leaning over the crib, Rachel tucked the pink and white blanket around Abigail’s small body, careful not to disturb her. The baby had nursed fitfully, in stops and starts, unusually dissatisfied. Perhaps she’d eaten too many mashed-up carrots beforehand. But she’d nodded off quickly enough. Rachel hoped she’d have a good, long nap and wake in a better mood.
