Married by Christmas. Karen Kirst
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important or else he wouldn’t have given you the assignment. Besides, there’s a whole world out there. Learning about other people and places expands your thinking. Life doesn’t begin and end in Gatlinburg, Tennessee, you know.”
“I can’t wait for Christmas break,” she moaned, trudging toward the bedroom. “Come on, Storm,” she beckoned to the dog, who immediately obeyed. “You can keep me company in my misery.”
Caleb hid a smile. He hadn’t liked school all that much, either. Why read about other people having adventures when you could experience one for yourself?
Thinking like that is what led me to this place, isn’t it? Disfigured. Alone. And responsible for burdening his closest friends with a world of hurt and disillusionment.
“You’re good with her. Your parents would be proud.”
Sorrow flickered and was quickly concealed. “I do the best I can,” she said tightly before turning to replace the spice jars on the shelf near the stove.
He’d been packing his bags for another hunting trip when his father had relayed the tragic news of their accident. Instantly, the need to go to her and offer what comfort he could had gripped him. Rebecca had enjoyed a close relationship with her parents, especially her pa. She’d adored Jim Thurston. Caleb had managed to master the impulse to see her that day, but he hadn’t been able to stay away from the funeral.
“It was a beautiful service,” he murmured, lost in memories and not fully aware he’d spoken aloud.
A large spoon slipped from her fingers and clattered onto the floorboards. “You were there?” Her brows crashed together in confused disbelief. “I didn’t see you.”
He was silent a moment. “Didn’t figure you’d want to.”
He’d kept to the edge of the crowd, careful not to show himself and cause her more upset. Aching for her profound loss, he’d longed to stride down the aisle to where she stood in between the twin caskets, shoulders quaking with emotion, and shelter her in his embrace.
“I thought...” Old hurts resurfaced.
Caleb blinked. Had she been disappointed by his supposed absence?
“I tried to stay away,” he said quietly, “but I couldn’t.”
Jerking a nod, she bent to retrieve the spoon and placed it in the dry sink, then continued clearing off the work space as the stew simmered on the stove top. Her stiff movements shouted her wish to drop the conversation.
Caleb closed his eyes, transported to those awful, frustrating weeks afterward. He’d postponed his trip, wanting to be nearby on the off chance she might decide she needed him. Of course, she hadn’t. What would she do if she found out he’d resorted to spying on her and Amy by way of his brother? Probably strangle him. Nathan had agreed to Caleb’s plea to visit them and report back. After the fourth visit, Nathan had informed him that he was finished. People were starting to get the wrong impression.
The air stirred nearby, alerting him to her presence. He opened his eyes to see her clutching a porcelain mug.
“I remember how you preferred to be clean-shaven. Do you feel up to shaving yourself?”
She motioned to the mirror propped up on the table behind her, the brush, straight razor and box of Colgate shaving soap laid out. Struck by her thoughtfulness, Caleb didn’t say anything for a long moment.
“I can help you to the table,” she added.
“That won’t be necessary,” he murmured, tired of being weak in front of her. “If you’ll just pull the chair out for me, I can make it on my own steam.”
“I’ll be right here in case you need me.”
“I believe I can make it a couple of feet,” he muttered drily, but by the time he finally sank into the hard-backed chair, he was winded and dizzy and his entire leg throbbed.
One look at his face and she huffed a sigh. Picking up the shaving brush, she moved in front of him and dipped up a dollop of shaving soap.
“What are you doing?”
The cool cream swiped along his jawline. “I’m saving you from further injury, that’s what.”
Her knees brushed against his. The accidental contact incited awareness he could ill afford. He clenched his fists. “You are not going to shave me.”
Becca straightened, brush held midair. As if reasoning with a child, she stated calmly, “Hold up your hand.”
When he just stared at her, she took hold of his right hand and lifted it. “Hold it out flat.”
With a scowl, he did as she instructed. There was no disguising the slight trembling. She arched an I-told-you-so brow. He curled his fingers into a tight fist and lowered it to his lap.
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