Married by Christmas. Karen Kirst
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who’d changed. The old Caleb, rarely serious, had been armed with ready, lighthearted quips to combat each and every call to reason.
“My presence here is putting you at risk.” Why are you placing my safety above your own? his expression prompted.
Why indeed? He was right to be worried. The murder of a sheriff was a heinous crime, one that wouldn’t be taken lightly. Knowing this, the criminals responsible wouldn’t stop until they’d located the witness. If they’d seen his scar...
Shivering, she rubbed her upper arms. The fire needed to be lighted, Flossy milked and the eggs collected. Breakfast cooked. Bread made.
But first, this matter had to be settled. Because no matter what he’s done, I can’t in good conscience send him out there in his current condition.
“Even if I brought Rebel to the front door and helped you mount him, you wouldn’t make it past the property fence. Your fever is indicative of an infection.”
“The bullet could still be lodged in my leg. Did you check for an exit wound?”
Her cheeks heated with embarrassment. “I didn’t think to.”
“Is this your first gunshot wound?”
“Is it your first?”
“My first and only, I hope.” His lips compressed into a tight line, as if he was perturbed she’d ask such a thing. But how was she supposed to know what kind of life he’d led? He was rarely home anymore, preferring to spend most of his time hunting and trapping in the high country. A blessing, in her opinion.
“I suppose I’ll need to check it,” she reluctantly acknowledged.
Tending his wound while he was unconscious was one thing. Having him awake and watching her every move would strain her nerves to the limit.
A lump in her throat, she approached the bed and, folding the quilts back, checked the compress. “I—I’ll try not to cause you further pain.”
Eyes closed and face averted, he muttered, “Just do what you gotta do.”
Gingerly slipping her hand beneath his knee, she lifted his leg, wincing at the breath hissing between his teeth.
“No exit wound.” She carefully covered him, heart knocking against her rib cage. She knew what his next words would be before he uttered them.
“The bullet needs to come out.”
Dread settled like a pile of rocks in her stomach. “I don’t know what I’m doing here, Caleb. I have very little knowledge when it comes to these things. Ma always tended Pa’s nicks and scrapes.”
Adam’s injuries had been tended by a doctor. Her responsibilities had been limited to giving him water and mopping his forehead with a wet towel. And holding his hand, offering her support, her unending devotion—which he ultimately rejected.
“I wouldn’t ask you to do this if there was any other alternative.” Regret was carved into his austere features.
“Give me a minute.” Although she didn’t really have a choice, she craved a moment to wrap her mind around the ghastly task facing her.
Crossing to the hearth on wobbly legs, she extracted logs from the firebox and placed them in the fireplace. Lit the fire.
“Time to go outside, Storm.” Stumpy tail quivering, Storm followed Rebecca to the door, diving into the snow that was in some places taller than her. The blast of arctic air stole Rebecca’s breath. While the snow had stopped, it was clearly too deep to attempt a ride into town on Toby. She’d hoped...
With a heavy sigh, she tied back the cheery yellow curtains on the windows on either side of the door. Tugging the lapels of her housecoat together at the throat, she returned to his side. Stiffened her spine.
“All right, I’ll do it.”
“I don’t think I can do this.” The cold metal tweezers sat awkward and heavy in her damp palm.
Grim-faced, Caleb gripped the mattress edge. His eyes were dark and flat.
“We don’t have a choice, do we? Besides, the sooner you get this thing outta me, the sooner I can be on my way.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” she griped. “You’re not the one assuming the role of surgeon.” Rebecca glanced down, the sight of the jagged wound causing nausea to swirl up.
“I can’t do this.” She swallowed hard, feverishly sending up petitions for God to rescue her.
“Becca, look at me.”
Doing as he ordered, she met a gaze that was now as sharp as a rapier’s edge.
“Take a good, long look at this scar on my face. Think back to the night I convinced your intended to sneak into the sawmill, to the night I condemned him to a wheelchair for the rest of his life.”
“No.” The blunt words sent a shock of icy water through her veins. This topic was not up for discussion. Why bring it up now? After all this time of avoiding the obvious?
His eyes narrowed. “If it weren’t for me, you’d be happily ensconced in married life. You and Adam would’ve already had children by now. He told me how eager you were to build a family with him. How many did he say you wanted? Four?” His ragged voice seemed to taunt her. “Or was it five?”
How dare he toss her shattered hopes, her bleak and broken future, in her face as if they meant nothing? Of course, they didn’t mean anything to him. Caleb had been self-centered, refusing to consider how his words and actions affected those around him.
Anger surged, the fiery heat of it flushing the surface of her skin. “You’re right. The sooner you leave, the sooner I can forget you exist.” Wielding the blunt-tip tweezers, she was prepared to do whatever necessary to rid her home of this odious man.
Something akin to remorse passed over his taut face a second before his lids slid closed, shutting her out. Burrowing his head deeper into the pillow, he braced himself.
Glad she’d decided to send Amy to the barn, Rebecca set her jaw and proceeded to retrieve the lead ball. Caleb flinched, fingers digging into the ticking. His anguished groans bounced off the walls and straight into her heart.
I refuse to feel sorry for him, she silently vowed. He only has himself to blame for this mess. The swift reminder that he’d been an innocent bystander was snuffed out by the flames of outrage.
Locating the foreign object, which thankfully hadn’t gone deep, she carefully extracted and dropped the hateful thing in a bowl.
“It’s out.” Heart hammering as the reality of what she’d done slammed into her, she dropped the tweezers onto the bedside table and vowed to dispose of them. She never wanted to set eyes on the tool again.
He didn’t immediately respond. “Caleb?”
He lay there, hands still twisted in the ticking, oblivious to his surroundings. The agony of the procedure must’ve been too much for him.
Emotions knotting beneath her sternum, Rebecca brushed angrily at rogue tears. She absolutely would not cry over Caleb O’Malley.
“By the way, I wanted four,” she muttered. “Three boys and a girl.”
* * *
Head reeling, Rebecca emerged from the cabin just as Amy popped up from the rocking chair positioned beneath the window and nearly made her upend the bloodied water atop her boots.
“Amy! What are you doing out here? You were supposed to stay in the barn.” Her breath puffing out in a cloud, the crystal-frosted air seeped beneath her collar and stole up her skirts. She shivered. Then, Caleb’s distress still reverberating in