Married by Christmas. Karen Kirst
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the next adventure, Caleb had drummed up the idea of sneaking in after closing hours and messing with Fleming’s office. Nothing serious, Adam had later informed her, just enough to aggravate the older man.
They never made it to the office. Foolishly climbing on the plank stacks, leaping from one pile to the next, Caleb had reached the ground when the pile Adam was standing on gave way. He’d sustained a blow to his lower spine in the fall. A blow he couldn’t recover from, physically or mentally. Watching her best friend, the man she’d loved and admired and planned a life around, retreat inside himself had been excruciating. Nothing she said or did convinced him that a wheelchair couldn’t diminish her love for him. When rational speech hadn’t worked, she’d argued, pleaded, cajoled, even railed at him to stop feeling sorry for himself. In the end, he hadn’t been able to accept their altered future.
Adam had ordered her to stop coming to the doctor’s office. When he’d been moved to his parents’ home, she attempted to see him more than once. Finally, his mother had tearfully informed her it was time for Rebecca to allow her son to move on with his life. Then she’d asked for the ring back. The humiliation and defeat were as fresh today as they had been all those months ago.
Rebecca automatically reached for the locket hanging about her neck. Lifting it to eye level, she opened it as she’d done hundreds of times in the year since Adam moved away. His easy smile made her heart burn with disappointment.
“Why, Adam?” Why were you so determined to walk away from everything we had? From me?
The bedroom door opened. Rebecca shifted to watch Amy’s approach, Storm following in her wake. “How’s he doing?”
“The fever doesn’t seem to be abating.”
Amy frowned. “He looks bad, Rebecca. What if he—” Her throat worked.
Ignoring the painful thump of her heart, she gave Amy’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Let’s try and stay positive, okay? Caleb is strong and healthy.”
“But we have no idea how long he was in the snowstorm. Do you think he might have pneumonia?”
“I don’t think so.” Breaking eye contact as a feeling of helplessness swamped her, she watched his chest rise and fall. His breathing seemed a bit labored to her. “Pray that the snow melts. Getting him to the doctor is our number-one priority.”
“Do you want me to sit with him?”
“No, I’ll do it. You need your rest.”
“So do you,” she pointed out. “You’ve been tending to him nearly every minute since Storm found him.”
The past twenty-four hours had passed in a blur. “I’m fine.”
At Amy’s quirked brow, Rebecca said, “I’ll rest on the settee if I need to. That way I’ll hear him if he calls out.”
“Fine.” Patting Storm’s head, Amy said, “Keep her company, okay, girl?”
At that, the dog settled herself at Rebecca’s feet.
Amy smiled. “’Night, then.”
“Sweet dreams.”
When Rebecca was left alone once more with her restless patient, the fire crackling and Storm’s mournful eyes fastened on her, she sank forward so that her forehead rested on the mattress.
Lord, You are well aware of the state of my sister’s poor battered heart, how she still grieves Ma’s and Pa’s passing. For her sake, and that of Caleb’s parents and brothers, I ask You to please spare his life.
* * *
“Becca?”
They were in the sawmill, the three of them. It was summer. Full moon. The humid air hugged her body, close and uncomfortable. From her vantage point beneath the overhang of the low building, she could see Adam standing precariously close to the edge of the planks high above her head. With dawning horror, Rebecca tried frantically to get his attention, to warn him. He ignored her. Crept closer to danger.
No. No, don’t. Adam, please stop...
“Becca, wake up.”
She gradually became aware of the quilt beneath her cheek, the dog’s warmth against her ankle and—surely she was imagining it—masculine fingers lightly skimming her hair?
Caleb. Jolting upright, her gaze shot to a pair of glittering brown eyes. She self-consciously smoothed the mussed strands, assuring herself that the featherlight caress had been part of the disturbing dream.
“H-how are you feeling?” She reached for his mug. “Do you want some water?”
He waved her offer aside. His raven hair was damp at the temples, the longish strands clinging to his neck beneath his shirt collar. “Need paper. Pen.”
“What for?”
His gaze, which she now noticed was overly bright, slid away. What was he hiding? “I need for you to take down information.”
“What sort of information?” Dismay churned in her middle. Deep down, she suspected what he wanted and why.
“Descriptions,” he said, broad chest rising and falling as if he’d just completed a race.
“Of the outlaws, you mean?”
He met her gaze head-on. “Yes.”
There was resolve in that gaze. Regret, too, so deep she thought she might drown in it. Jaw knotted with unease, she crossed to the opposite wall to the storage cabinet where she kept her watercolors, handmade paintbrushes and other supplies. Withdrawing a pencil and paper, she returned to her chair and took a bracing breath.
“I’m ready when you are.”
“There were five of them....”
As Rebecca penned the details, the fact that he had witnessed a man’s death finally registered. And not just any man, a respected lawman. As Cades Cove was only a two-day ride from Gatlinburg, Eli Tate had made several visits to their town. She’d even met him once. Had been struck by his somber demeanor. Local folks said the young sheriff was dedicated to protecting his small community and respected by its inhabitants. Now he was dead.
How helpless Caleb must’ve felt. He had never been one to remain on the fringe of the action. He certainly hadn’t ever stood by while injustice was meted out.
Pencil hovering above the parchment, she jerked up her head. “You tried to intervene, didn’t you?”
He didn’t blink, didn’t flinch in the face of her accusation.
She gripped the pencil tighter. “You honestly thought you could take on a gang of outlaws all by yourself?”
“Tate was unarmed. Surrounded.” His frown was fierce. “I had to try.”
“What did you do exactly?”
“Doesn’t matter.” Sighing, he pressed his head farther back into the pillow. “It didn’t work.”
“You very well may pay for that with your life.” Jumbled emotions stabbing at her, Rebecca tossed the pencil aside and strode to the fireplace, seizing the poker and jamming it into the half-burned logs. Anger at his foolishness pounded at her temples.
“If I don’t make it, will you take the information to Shane? He’ll need it if he’s gonna get justice for Tate.”
She whirled about to gape at him. The resignation in his handsome features filled her mouth with the metallic taste of fear. Fear for the friend he used to be, not the nemesis he’d become.
“You are not dying on my watch,” she said through gritted teeth. No way was she going to have his death on her conscience.
Apology deepened the furrow between his brows. “I’d like for Nathan to have my horse. Josh can have my guns.”
“Stop.”