Читать книгу Married by Christmas - Karen Kirst - Страница 15

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 be 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.

She pivoted, and he noticed the traces of paint smudging her faded blue skirt. Her play clothes, she’d jokingly called them.

“What day is it?”

“Tuesday.”

“What?” He immediately sat up, the bed coverings pooling about his waist. His leg screamed in protest. “How many days have I been here?”

“I found you Friday morning.”

Five days. Becca looked troubled and well she should. That was five days the gang had had to search for him. He had no idea what direction they’d gone, no clue if they’d noticed the trail of blood he’d left or if they’d glimpsed his scar. Certainly they’d be on the lookout for a horse with Rebel’s markings.

“I’m leaving. Now.”

Shoving off the heavy quilt, he glanced down and saw that his pant leg had been cut away. Not normally a man prone to blushing, embarrassing heat climbed his neck and stung his ears. Quickly covering himself, Caleb couldn’t meet her eyes.

“I have an extra pair of trousers in my saddlebags. Would you mind bringing them to me?”

“As a matter of fact, I do mind.”

That brought his head up. The set of her jaw brooked no argument. Still, he speared her with a dark gaze. “You’re aware of the danger I’ve put you and your sister in by winding up here. I need to speak with Shane Timmons.”

The sooner he left, the sooner the distress would disappear from her beautiful eyes. She could rebury the past. Once again pretend he didn’t exist.

The thought of leaving her, of never seeing her again, made him inexplicably sad, something he refused to dwell on. He had no rights where she was concerned, no claim to her company. He hadn’t even allowed himself to think of her these past couple of years. Every time he got a flash of Becca laughing or dancing or sitting alone in a field of wildflowers with her paints and easel, he’d redirected his thoughts to the sight of Adam falling, of his twisted body buried beneath the planks. He didn’t deserve her attention. Didn’t deserve a crumb of her kindness.

Sliding the bowl and spoon onto the bedside table, she jammed her fists on her waist. “You’re not ready to travel, Caleb.”

“How’s it look outside?” He gestured to the windows.

“It hasn’t snowed since Sunday, but the days have been overcast and the temperature hasn’t risen above freezing. The snow hasn’t had a chance to melt.”

“Rebel could make it to town.”

“Yes, I’m certain he could. You, however, haven’t eaten solid food in days, and I have a feeling you’re not taking into account what riding astride would cost you.”

The logic rankled. “Tell me, Becca, just how long are you planning on holding my pants—and effectively me—hostage?” he drawled.

Her eyes flared. Spinning about on her heel, she stormed to the corner where she’d stowed the bags and, digging through his things without a care for his privacy, retrieved said trousers and dumped them on the bed.

“There—” she jerked a hand toward the door “—you’re free to go. Happy now?” Her chest heaved with indignation.

He sighed. “Look—”

Amy chose that moment to barrel inside, stomping on the rug to rid her boots of wet clumps of snow. “Mr. Harper is here....” She trailed off as her gaze landed on him. “You’re awake.” She stared wide-eyed at her sister. “He’s awake.”

“Yes, so he is.”

Head bent, seeming to take an inordinate amount of interest in the floorboards, Becca refused to look at him. No doubt his determination to reach town in spite of his injuries struck her as reckless and foolish. Her fear was not unfounded—it wasn’t without risk. What she failed to realize was that their well-being took precedence over his own.

“Hello, Amy.” He nodded, inwardly wincing as fatigue washed over him. “Thanks for letting me borrow your bed.”

She paused in the unbuttoning of her purple coat, a shy smile appearing. “It was nothing.”

Becca’s little sister had experienced a growth spurt since he’d seen her last. Her hair was longer and darker, her elfin face had thinned out and, while taller than before, she hadn’t developed the grace and confidence that came with young adulthood. He supposed she’d put away her dolls for more worthwhile pursuits. Adam had teased him mercilessly for indulging the girl.

Hooking the coat collar on the one-inch prong, she approached with her hands clasped behind her. “I’m glad you’re feeling better. We prayed for you.”

We? Did that we include Becca? He found that difficult to believe.

“Mr. Harper.” Becca went to greet their neighbor coming through the doorway. “Good news. Your medicine worked. His fever broke this morning.”

“Praise God.” Louis Harper’s astute gaze raked Caleb from head to toe. “Your folks will be relieved.”

His eyes squeezed shut. His folks. He hadn’t thought of them since the night he was shot, uncertain whether or not he would make it. Here he was again, about to cause them more grief.

“I’ll be happy to take them a message for you.” Harper’s no-nonsense voice held a note of sympathy. “I’m sure they’ll be happy to know you’re all right.”

All right? That was up for debate.

* * *

“Let’s go outside for a minute.”

A serious-bordering-on-stern man, the disquiet stamped in Louis’s round, fleshy face made Rebecca uneasy. What was bothering him? What couldn’t he say in front of Caleb and Amy?

Emerging from her room, where she and Amy had waited while Louis helped Caleb get cleaned up, her gaze immediately sought out the bed on the far side of the room. Her patient lay with his head turned to the log-and-chinking wall. She could see the damp sheen in his gorgeous black locks, the clean shirt the color of rich buttermilk encasing his lean torso and impossibly broad shoulders. The hands folded atop his chest struck her as strangely vulnerable and, as it had since the moment she’d turned him over in the snow, compassion warred mightily with long-nursed resentment.

On the porch, Rebecca wound the striped wool scarf that had once belonged to her father about her neck. For a moment, Louis’s gaze snagged on it, and he heaved a heavy sigh. She imagined his thoughts ran along the same line as hers—what would her father say about the predicament she found herself in?

“Caleb told me what happened,” Louis said. “He’s worried about you. I reminded him not to underestimate your strength. You’ve got a level head on your shoulders, just like your ma.”

Rebecca blinked fast. The kind words were a rare gift. Her parents had doled out praise for both their daughters on a regular basis. Guess she’d taken it for granted. Only now that she’d lived without it for so long did she realize how much their support and approval had meant to her.

“He’s bound and determined to leave, despite the fact he’d be risking a relapse.”

“He calmed a bit when I offered to fetch Timmons myself. Since he’s not fit to travel, I’ll bring the sheriff to him.”

Their words were loud in the hushed stillness cloaking the cove, the thick blanket of snow sponging up sounds.

“Thank you for your help today.”

His expression altered into a reluctance to voice unpleasant things. Uh-oh.

“Rebecca...you realize what your tending to Caleb means for your future, don’t you? When the town leaders discover how much time you’ve spent together without a chaperone, they will no doubt expect you to marry.”

Restless with indignation, she stalked to the nearest post and wrapped her arm about it, careful to avoid the glistening icicle suspended from the roof.

“There was a time in my life when I would’ve caved to such expectations. Not anymore. I will not marry him.”

“If you were my own daughter, I’d insist on it.” Compassion marked his voice. “This situation has gone way beyond propriety.”

“We’re innocent of any wrongdoing,” she forced out. “The man almost died, Louis.”

“I know you’re innocent. But it’s the appearance of wrongdoing that will spur the leaders to action. I just want you to be prepared.” Navigating the snow-encrusted steps, he made his way to his waiting team. “I’ll return as soon as I can.”

“You’ll bring Doc, too, right?” She couldn’t be confident Caleb was on the mend until the doctor evaluated him. Hopefully Doc would deem him well enough to be moved. Whether he went to his folks’ or to Doc’s didn’t matter to her just as long as he left.

Lifting a hand in acknowledgment of her question, his wool cap bobbed, a spot of charcoal-gray against the blinding white landscape.

The sound of bells jingling in her ears, she reluctantly went inside and removed her scarf and coat. The bowl on the bedside table sat empty. When she neared his bed, the pleasant scent of clean and soapy male tickled her nose. Don’t be awake, she silently ordered, but his thick, black lashes fluttered upward and dark brown eyes focused on her.

“Harper leave already?” he asked with a grunt, shifting upward on the mound of pillows.

“Just a minute ago.” She twisted the folds of her skirt. “I’m hoping he’ll return with Doc.”

That beautiful mouth flattened. “I asked him to bring Shane.”

“And I asked him to bring Doc.”

Unsettled by the clarity in his shrewd gaze, Rebecca started to turn away. Dealing with him while he was ill was quite a different reality than when he was in complete possession of his senses. The dangerous edge was front and center once more, calling to her even as it repelled.

His fingers closed over her wrist, stalling her. “What’s wrong?”

Turning back, she cocked a you-can’t-be-serious brow, ordering herself to shake free of his hold. But she didn’t. The strong, masculine touch felt amazing. For a millisecond, she reveled in the prickly tingles fanning up her arm, the tug of want and need overruling the voice screaming at her to remember it was her enemy touching her.

“I meant, what’s wrong besides the fact that you’re stuck with me,” he amended.

Stuck with him. As in forever. Images of him and her and a preacher and a church full of disapproving townspeople accosted her.

He must’ve recognized the unease in her expression, because he quickly tacked on, “Temporarily, of course.”

“You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?”

Caleb had always managed to read her moods. The low, coaxing tone, combined with the imprint of his rougher fingertips against the sensitive skin of her inner wrist, reminded her of the time he’d happened upon her following a particularly upsetting fight with Adam. At the first sight of her tears, he’d grimly pulled her into his arms, fingers ever-so-lightly skimming her back as she poured out her frustration.

One thing she’d forgotten about him—he was a fantastic listener. A trait Adam didn’t share. Her heart beat out a dull tattoo.

Was it possible that, in her brokenness following the accident, she’d elevated her and Adam’s relationship to near-perfect status, blinding herself to his faults while doing the exact opposite with Caleb? One man couldn’t be all good, the other all bad.

Jerking from his grasp, she rubbed the spot where he’d held her in an effort to banish the tingling sensation. Loneliness and the scarceness of human touch was no excuse for weakness around this man.

“I’ll be fine just as soon as you’re gone,” she snapped. “I’m going out to the barn. Amy’s in the bedroom reading if you need a drink. Anything else, she can come and get me.”

Silence choked the cabin as she stalked away, throwing her cape about her shoulders once again when what she really longed to do was lounge before the fire with a mug of rich-bodied coffee and her latest rug-hooking project. Once safely on the porch, the winter air swirled around her, stealing up her skirts and in between her scarf and collar, cold enough to freeze eyelashes. It wasn’t enough to drive her back inside, however.

For the hundredth time, she begged God to end this torment. Her greatest hope lay with Doc Owens’s visit. Please let him deem Caleb fit for travel, Lord. At this point, she wasn’t worried about faceless outlaws. She was worried about Caleb’s lingering presence in her home and what that might mean to her future.