Married by Christmas. Karen Kirst
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out here a minute.”
Moving to the railing, Rebecca did a slow sweep of the level clearing that contained their barn and outbuildings, then the forested mountainsides rising up on three sides of their quiet cove. For the first time, her beloved forests took on a menacing quality. Even though the fullness of summer had retreated, the parade of spindly branches coated with white powder that sparkled like diamonds in sunlight and the trees she admired for their towering beauty and strength could be hiding outlaws intent on locating the one witness who could identify them.
Setting the bowl on the floorboards, she crouched beside the rocking chair. Leveling with Amy might not be Rebecca’s preferred choice, but it would keep her sister safe. “Caleb got hurt because he saw something he shouldn’t have. Men are searching for him. Lawless men. Until he leaves, I need for you to stay close to the cabin. Don’t wander into the woods alone. If you see someone coming that you don’t recognize, holler for me. Go inside and lock yourself in, no matter where I am.”
Her brow furrowed. “What did he see?”
Something no one should have to witness. The shadows chasing his eyes, the barely concealed horror, were proof enough of that. “That’s Caleb’s tale to tell, not mine.”
The light smattering of freckles across Amy’s nose became more pronounced. “What will these men do if they find him?”
Rebecca hesitated a fraction of a second too long.
“They’ll finish off the job, won’t they? They’ll kill him.” Shooting to her feet, Amy set her jaw, a gesture that meant she was convinced her way was right. “We have to keep him safe.”
Pushing to her feet, Rebecca said, “He won’t be here much longer. We’re taking him into town, to Doc Owens, as soon as he’s able to withstand the trip.”
“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Amy gestured to their surroundings. “There must be at least two feet of snow on the ground, three or more in some places. Toby would never make it out of the cove. Even if we tried to reach town with Rebel, can you honestly say Caleb would survive this cold in his condition?”
She stared at her thirteen-year-old sister, who sounded far more reasonable than Rebecca felt. That’s because, unlike me, she’s not desperate to be rid of him.
“Obviously, he can’t be moved today. We’ll have to wait and see what tomorrow brings.”
I’m begging You, God, please take this burden from me. Make it possible for Caleb to reach the doctor. Or his family’s homestead.
Sam and Mary O’Malley believed their son was hunting in the high country, off on another of his prolonged absences. They had no idea he lay gravely injured on the opposite side of town, a stone’s throw from home. Rebecca frowned. They should be notified, but at the moment that was impossible. And the least of her worries.
“Is he awake?” Hefting the brimming milk pail, Amy paused before the door.
“No.”
“I’ll try not to disturb him, then.”
Rebecca didn’t immediately follow her inside. Instead, she forged her way through the snow in order to dispose of the dirty water behind the cabin, all the while straining for any unusual sights or sounds. Disquiet skittered through her mind. Thanks to Caleb’s arrival on her doorstep, she no longer felt safe in her own home.
Hurrying back inside, she found Amy in the kitchen putting the kettle on to heat. Rebecca intercepted her skating glances toward the bed dominated by Caleb’s unmoving form. Worry tugged her sister’s mouth into a frown.
His presence here was troubling her sister. That wasn’t acceptable, particularly considering the long months it had taken Amy to recover from their parents’ sudden deaths. One more reason he needed to be moved as quickly as possible.
Forcing her feet to his bedside, Rebecca attempted to remain detached as she took in his skin’s chalky whiteness, the shadows beneath his eyes, the pained furrow between his brows signaling his silent anguish. Attempted and failed miserably. This was a man with whom her past was irrevocably intertwined—they’d attended the same one-room schoolhouse since they were children, the same church, the same celebrations, weddings, funerals. Caleb O’Malley was as familiar to her as her own family. They’d been linked, Caleb and her, and Adam had been the glue holding them together.
Rebecca could not rejoice in his suffering. Indeed, it weighed heavily upon her soul.
Reaching out, she settled a light hand across his forehead. Troubling heat seared her. Placing a damp, cool cloth where her hand had been, she wondered how long he’d be out this time. Would the wound heal? Or would infection take over, driving his fever too high? The uncertainty—and yes, even fear for his well-being—stayed with her the rest of the day.
* * *
The burning sensation in his thigh, akin to a thousand yellow-jacket stings, sucked him up to the surface of the fiery lake of torment imprisoning him. He gasped for air. His insides, like dry sawdust, clamored for relief, his tongue thick and throat gritty.
Water.
He jerked when something hard and unexpected pressed against the seam of his mouth.
“I have water right here, Caleb.” Becca’s soft words flowed over him as her arm slipped beneath his shoulders to lend him support as he drank greedily. The cool liquid did little to assuage the thirst raging inside him.
“More.”
She moved away, taking her comfort with her, and he forced his lids open. Darkness cloaked the room. A fire spit and crackled in the stone fireplace. Beside the bed, a golden circle of light shone from a single kerosene lamp. Night had fallen.
“I tried to wake you several times.” She returned with another cupful, her brilliant green gaze watchful as he depleted the contents. “I was beginning to worry—” She bit her lip, apprehension written across her face.
He must be in pretty bad shape for her to admit concern.
“How’s the leg look?” he managed to say, focusing with effort on his brave, if reluctant, caretaker.
“Angry.”
“Infected?”
Her brows collided. “Maybe. I’m not certain.” Self-consciously shoving a cloud of shiny hair behind one shoulder, she said, “I warned you I have little to no nursing experience.”
Unable to keep his eyes open, he recalled her exact expression as she’d peered at his injury that morning. When he’d glimpsed the color leaching from her lips, the dread tightening her shoulders, he’d grasped for the only means available of distracting her. Reminding Becca that he was responsible for the current state of her life—unwed and alone save her sister, her dreams of home and family nothing but a bittersweet memory—had reignited her antipathy toward him while taking her mind off the ugly task awaiting her.
“Doing a fine job.” He pushed the words out, fighting to stay awake so he could voice his gratitude. “The old Becca couldn’t have done what you did today. Brave.”
“You’re wrong,” she whispered. “I’m not brave. I’m...scared.”
He wanted to open his eyes, wanted to reassure her. A wave of inky darkness crashed over him, but he wasn’t ready to submit just yet.
“If only I could get to the doctor. He’d have medicine to help you.”
“Becca.”
The mattress dipped near his hip. The odd but not unpleasant combination of fresh parchment and lilac wrapped around him, resurrecting memories of golden days of laughter and fun, a place in time that could never be revisited. Amazingly, he felt her slender hands curl about his, holding secure. Grounding him to her world, perhaps? While she despised him, her compassionate heart would not desire his demise.
“I’m here, Caleb. I—I’ll be here