An inconvenient wedding

Wherever Caleb O’Malley goes, trouble follows, and trouble is the last thing Rebecca Thurston needs. But when Caleb appears—gravely wounded—at Rebecca’s Smoky Mountain cabin, she can’t turn him away. His life depends on her kindness, but she never anticipated it would lead to an unwanted proposal.

Caleb never forgave himself for the accident that ended Rebecca’s engagement and destroyed her life. He doesn’t want to hurt her again. But after a week recuperating at her cabin, there is only one way for Caleb to protect both their reputations from scandal. Neither of them wants to tie the knot, but as Rebecca and Caleb spend time together, will they find there’s more to their marriage than convenience?

Smoky Mountain Matches: Dreams of home and family come true in the Smoky Mountains

“What you’re suggesting is…

Well, it’s…” Crazy. Deranged. “Impossible,” Rebecca whispered.

A muscle ticked in Caleb’s jaw. “Is there someone else you’re set on marrying?”

“No, of course not.” Unable to sustain his demanding gaze, she stared into the fire.

He dipped his head, bringing their cheeks side by side. “Then why not marry me?” The movement of his lips near her ear snagged strands of hair. Rebecca pulled back, mortified by what his nearness was doing to her equilibrium.

“Why would you do this?” She stared deep into his eyes.

“It’s my fault we’re in this mess, and I want to make it right. Fix it for you the only way I know how. ”

“You’d be miserable.”

“So would you,” he shot back. “But your sister wouldn’t, would she?”

Caleb reached out and skimmed Rebecca’s sleeve. “Take some time to think about it. I’m in no rush.”

“Yeah, well, he is.” She nodded toward the table as the reverend cast them another furtive look. “Along with everyone else in town.”

KAREN KIRST

was born and raised in East Tennessee near the Great Smoky Mountains. A lifelong lover of books, it wasn’t until after college that she had the grand idea to write one herself. Now she divides her time between being a wife, homeschooling mom and romance writer. Her favorite pastimes are reading, visiting tearooms and watching romantic comedies.

Married by Christmas

Karen Kirst

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail.

They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.

—Lamentations 3:22–23

To my closest friend, Lorie Hedrick. Thanks for the homeschooling powwows at Starbucks and for providing a godly example of what a wife and mother should be. I cherish your friendship.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Gatlinburg, Tennessee

December 1881

If the bullet hole in his leg didn’t kill him, the snowstorm would.

Caleb swayed in the saddle, stiff fingers clinging to the horn as Rebel stumbled in a drift. “Easy,” he breathed, the slight sound swallowed up by fat, white tufts dropping in a thick curtain all around him. Ears flicking, Rebel righted himself. Caleb clamped his jaw tight to smother a moan.

He didn’t know which was worse—the incessant pain slowly stealing his consciousness, the bone-numbing cold or the knowledge that he was being hunted.

Hopefully the heavy snowfall would cover his tracks and the trail of blood.

Fighting off a wave of dizziness, he tried to get his bearings. The weakness claiming his body wouldn’t be put off much longer. Concentrate, O’Malley. Find shelter.

By this point, he’d lost all sense of direction, the towering trees and sloping landscape a white blur as the clouds overhead continued their silent assault. Frustration pounded at his temples. He knew these mountains like the back of his hand. No way could he be lost.

The forest tilted crazily, and he slumped onto Rebel’s neck, gulping in frigid air that seared his lungs. “Sorry, boy,” he choked out, “doesn’t look like we’re gonna make it outta this one.”

Images of his family flashed against closed lids. His parents. Brothers. Cousins. All the people he loved but wouldn’t let close. Josh and Kate were about to make him an uncle for the first time. And from the way Nathan and Sophie acted around each other, they couldn’t be far behind. Unlike him, his older brothers were solid. Responsible. They’d be amazing fathers.

And he’d miss all of it.

Would they ever discover what happened to him? Or would they be forced to forever wonder?

Regret flickered in his chest, igniting a tiny flame of resolve. He couldn’t give up. He’d brought them enough pain to last a lifetime. If he was going to kick the bucket, the least he could do was give them closure. Caleb eased upright. Urged the big black into motion with a nudge of his boot heel.

The impulse to pray caught him unawares. While he was a believer, he hadn’t uttered a single word asking for God’s direction for over two years. Not since the sawmill accident. Asking for assistance now just didn’t seem right.

The minutes crawled past as they painstakingly descended into the valley, Caleb on alert for sights or sounds that might mean he’d been located. Eventually, though, the burning need to reach home wasn’t enough to sustain him, his body unable to withstand the cold or the dangerous lethargy weighing down his limbs.

When the ground dipped and his weight was thrown sharply to the right, he didn’t react fast enough. He landed on hard-packed snow. Swirling gloom blocked the gleaming, too-bright world, sucking him into a black void.

* * *

Careful not to slosh milk over the pail’s rim, Rebecca Thurston shouldered the rickety barn door shut. The thing was more holes and air than solid wood. One more item to add to an already impossibly long list of things that needed attention around here. A foglike sigh puffed around her mouth. While thankful for the homemaking skills she’d learned from her mother, she wished she’d shown more interest in her father’s responsibilities. Knowing how to shoe horses, mend fences and repair barn doors would come in handy now that the running of the farm fell squarely upon her shoulders.

At her feet, Storm’s ears pricked.

“What is it, girl?” Rebecca reached out to pet the salt-and-pepper head, but before her fingers contacted fur, the dog bounded toward the woods behind their cabin, paws flinging snow in all directions. “Storm, come back!”

From beneath her cape’s fur-lined hood, she peered up at the leaden sky, blinking away flakes that caught on her eyelashes. Already the snow topped the second fence rung and made walking difficult, the icy powder seeping through her pantaloons and stockings and chilling her calves. White blanketed the rooftops of the barn and outbuildings, as well as the cabin. Icicles glimmered beneath the porch overhang. They didn’t normally get snow until after Christmas. Sometimes it wasn’t until late January. This storm must’ve caught a lot of folks off guard.

Bunching her skirt in one hand, she forged ahead, anticipating a steaming cup of coffee and molasses-drizzled flapjacks. Storm’s frantic barking shredded the morning’s hushed stillness. Rebecca halted. Goose bumps riddled her legs. This was no “I’ve stumbled upon a skunk and come see how cute it is” bark. What had her so upset? Coyote? Mountain lion? Two-legged intruder?

Swirling snow hindered her vision, wreathing the forest climbing up the mountain in an impenetrable veil. Holding the pail aloft, she hurried to the cabin and lifted the latch. “Amy?”

Her thirteen-year-old sister appeared in the doorway and held her hands out for the milk. Instead, Rebecca set it on the floor. “Bring me Daisy. Hurry.”

“What? Why?” Curiosity sparked in her big blue eyes.

“Something’s upset Storm. I need to investigate.” She extended an impatient hand, palm up. “The rifle, please?”

A frown tugged Amy’s sparse brows together. “Hope it’s not a wild animal.”

Bypassing the table and settee with its faded floral upholstery, Amy went to the stacked-stone fireplace and, going up on her tiptoes, snagged Pa’s favorite rifle. One he’d long ago christened Daisy on a silly whim.

Chestnut braids bouncing against slender shoulders, Amy brought it to her. “Be careful.”

Her gloved fingers closed over the stock, the heavy weight in her hand reassuring. “It’s difficult to see out here. If I’m not back in ten minutes, bang some pots together on the porch. The sound will lead me home.”

“What if you don’t return?” The smattering of light freckles across her nose and cheekbones stood in stark relief against her pale skin. Ever since the tragic wagon accident that had claimed their parents’ lives last year, Amy had become prone to worry.

“I will.”

Pulling the lapels of her indigo cape tighter, she left the shelter of the porch. Storm hadn’t stopped her alarm, which meant this was serious. She braced the Winchester in both hands. As she neared, a huge black shape took form, startling her. A horse.

“Storm, hush.”

The riderless horse shifted his weight and swung his face her direction. The white star between his intelligent black eyes strummed a memory. Her gaze shot to the snow-crusted saddle. Made of dark brown leather, it lacked ornamentation and tooling. Plain and serviceable. She didn’t recognize it.

Her dog’s barking shifted to a whine. Cautiously she moved around the big black, giving him plenty of space so as not to spook him, and her gaze fell on the object of Storm’s distress. Her heart leaped into her throat.

A man. Sprawled on his stomach and half-buried in snow. Dead? Unconscious? Sleeping off too much liquor?

Storm finally quieted and cocked her head, silently imploring Rebecca to do something.

Gun wavering in her suddenly nerveless fingers, she crept forward and extended a boot, lightly nudging the stranger’s ankle. No response. She tried again, harder this time. Nothing.

A Stetson lay a few feet from his head. Shaggy hair the color of India ink curled over the collar of his black duster. His boots, though worn-in, were in good condition, as were his fawn canvas trousers. He didn’t appear to be a drifter.

“Mister?” Creeping forward, she prodded his shoulder. “Hello?”

Please don’t be dead. Setting her rifle within grabbing distance, she crouched down and, yanking off a glove with her teeth, gingerly slipped her fingers beneath his blue-and-white-dotted neckerchief. Relief skittered through her at the faint pulse she detected there. Not dead.

But if she didn’t get him up and out of the elements, he would be soon.

Taking hold of his shoulder, she tugged, easing him onto his back. One glance at his face, and she landed on her rear.

“No.” The strangled denial brought Storm over, her sturdy, furry body leaning into Rebecca’s side.

This was no stranger. The jagged, inch-long pink lines fanning from his right eye marked him as the enemy. Caleb O’Malley. The man who’d single-handedly ruined her life.

Bitterness, as familiar as an old friend, wrapped its tentacles around her heart and squeezed, stifling all reason. She wanted him gone.

“Caleb.” Loath to touch him, she poked his shoulder. “Wake up. You need to go home.”

Dark stubble skimmed his lean jaw and pouty lips stiff with cold. Stiff and blue-tinged.

The first twinge of alarm pierced her hostility. Skimming his well-built body, she gasped at the sight of vivid red blood spatters on the sparkling white powder. He was bleeding. Hurt.

Scrambling to open his duster, her stomach lurched. His tattered pant leg was sodden with blood leaking from a gaping wound in his thigh. The gravity of the situation slammed into her. If she didn’t help him, he would die. And despite the heartache his actions had caused her, she wasn’t that callous.

Standing, she eyed his long, muscular length. There was no way she was getting him up on that horse. She’d have to drag him.

Hating to leave her weapon behind but seeing no other choice, Rebecca hooked her hands beneath his arms and began to pull. Adrenaline fueled her for the daunting task. By the time the cabin’s outline came into focus, her chest heaved from the exertion and her legs trembled with strain.

“Amy!” she hollered over her shoulder.

The door banged open, and her sister appeared on the porch. “It’s been exactly nine minutes since you left.” Her relief was short-lived. “Who’s that?”

“Hurry and put your coat on. I need your help getting him inside.”

Amy did as she was told, eggplant-colored coat scraping the ground and brown lace-up boots crunching. Her jaw dropped. “Is that Caleb O’Malley? What happened to him?”

“I don’t know.” Rebecca suspected a gunshot wound. “You think you can pick his feet up and help me carry him in?”

With a nod, she went and stood between his legs and took hold of his calves. “He looks different with a beard.”

“Let’s go.”

Though it was awkward, they managed to maneuver him inside and onto Amy’s bed, situated against the right wall, opposite the cast-iron stove, dry sink and pie safe.

Rebecca straightened and paused to catch her breath and weigh her options. She didn’t like the idea of sending her sister out into the storm, but Caleb’s wound needed attention now. His pallor and unresponsiveness bothered her. He hadn’t made a single sound during the jarring trek here. “Take Storm and retrieve Daisy. Settle Caleb’s horse in the barn. I’ll unsaddle him later.” Probably best Amy didn’t see the gruesome injury up close, anyway.

A hint of misgiving flitting across her round face, Amy glanced at Caleb’s inert form dwarfing her mattress and squared her shoulders. “I won’t be long.”

“Be careful.” As Rebecca retrieved a box containing herbs, medicines and supplies from their catch-all cabinet, she checked the mantel clock and made note of the time. “If you’re not back in fifteen, I’ll come looking for you.”

When the door clicked, blocking out the frosty, pristine world and shutting her in with her wounded nemesis, the cozy cabin transformed into a hostile space. Spying blood seeping onto the colorful quilt beneath him, she forced herself to focus on the present. To forget the past. The loss and grief.

He’s just a man in need of assistance. He can’t do anything more to hurt me.

His boots had to be wrestled off. Chucking them onto the floorboards, she gingerly removed the Colt pistols from his gun belt and used scissors to slit open his pant leg. The coppery scent of blood filled her nostrils, as did those of horse and earth and pine needles, typical for a man who spent most of his days roaming the mountains.

Dashing to the counter, she filled a bowl with cool water—there wasn’t time to heat it—and gathered rags. Folding one into a thick square, she returned to the bed and, covering the wound, pressed down hard to stem the flow. Caleb jerked. An anguished moan started way down in his gut and ripped through his lips. Rebecca’s gaze flew to his face, which was whiter than the pillow cradling his head, and compassion trickled into her bloodstream. Not enough to forgive him. Never that. But enough to want to lessen his pain.

Winding a long strip of cotton around his thigh to hold the cloth firmly in place, she tied it off and set to work cleaning his leg as best she could. She cut away the ruined material and tossed it onto the floor to dispose of later. Unable to remove his damp clothing without assistance, she settled for piling every available quilt on top of him.

After adding wood to the fireplace and kindling to the stove’s firebox, she set water on to boil. She’d fix him something hot to drink, and later, some thin broth.

“No!” The unexpected plea in his distinctive voice made her jump. “Don’t do it. Sheriff...”

Clearly distressed, he tossed his head from side to side. Without thinking, she placed a gentle hand against his forehead and leaned close. “You’re safe, Caleb. Rest now.”

Long lashes fluttered. Lifted. And she found herself staring down into twin pools of deepest brown, the color of the mysterious broad-winged hawk’s wings. His brow knitted with confusion. “Becca?”

Chapter Two

Ice encased every particle of his body...except for his forehead. Her hand heated and soothed. The strokes of her fingers through his hair blazed trails of sparkling heat and sweet comfort he hadn’t known in many years. Comfort he had no right accepting.

His lids grew heavy. He forced them open, needing to see her again. Make certain he wasn’t hallucinating. “Becca?” he rasped.

“You should try to conserve your energy. You’ve lost a lot of blood.” She spoke matter-of-factly, her lyrical voice detached. Emotionless. The girl he used to know had been so full of light and laughter the air around her shimmered with joyous expectation. But that was before...

Her face swam into focus. Ah, yes. Becca...there could be no mistaking that winsome appeal, the jade-green eyes, the pert nose, apple cheeks and full lips that could quirk into a come-hither smile at a moment’s notice. Not that that particular smile had been directed at him. She’d reserved it for his best friend, Adam Tierney. To his shame, he’d sometimes wondered what it might’ve been like to be the object of her devotion.

He shifted on the soft mattress and liquid fire exploded in his leg, engulfing the right side of his body. Memories slammed into him. The sheriff. Figures huddled around. Being chased. Shot at.

“Caleb?” The hand stilled in his hair.

He couldn’t think straight. Darkness clawed at him.

Danger. She was in danger.

* * *

He’d blacked out.

Rebecca snatched her hand away. What had she been thinking, playing attentive nursemaid to this man? It was imperative she maintain an impersonal attitude.

She reluctantly rechecked the wound. Located on the outer thigh, it didn’t appear to have nicked any major blood vessels, for the bleeding was already slowing. But what about tissue damage? Were any bones involved? Rebecca’s medical knowledge was extremely limited. She could only offer him the basics of care.

Amy swept inside, bringing with her a swirl of wintry air. “I got Daisy—” she pushed her hood back, smiling triumphantly “—and the horse is all settled in.”

Rebecca belatedly realized she hadn’t removed her own cape. Or eaten. Or had her usual bracing coffee. Quickly covering him, she remarked, “You must be starving. How about a glass of warm milk and toast with cheese? I need to get broth started for our visitor.”

“You make it sound like he’s a stranger.” Her nose crumpled. She replaced the gun on its hooks above the mantel. “Don’t you remember how he used to come here with Adam? He’d play any game I asked, even dolls. Not even Adam would do that.”

Rebecca deflected the hurtful reminder of happier times, when the three of them—Caleb, Adam and her—were friends. “That was a long time ago.”

Removing the loaf of bread she’d made yesterday from the pie safe, she set it on the work surface and grabbed a knife, slicing off two thick pieces and placing them in a pan. Behind her, Amy wandered closer to the bed.

“How bad is he?”

Glancing over her shoulder, Rebecca caught the worry flashing in wide eyes. How to phrase it? Her younger sister was practical-minded and perceptive. The instinct to protect her—stirred to life the day their parents passed away and Rebecca assumed full responsibility—warred with the need to prepare her for the worst.

“I’m not a doctor, so it’s difficult to hazard a guess.” Pouring the heated milk into a mug, she sighed. “I’ll be honest, Amy, it could go either way.”

“He’s shivering.” Her frown deepened. “Can we say a prayer for him?”

She hauled in a startled breath. Pray? For Caleb? After he’d destroyed her chance at happiness? If not for his recklessness, she’d be married to her childhood sweetheart by now. Might’ve even had a child of her own. The sting of shattered dreams left her floundering for an appropriate response. She refused to allow her problems to taint Amy’s outlook on life.

“I, uh—” Sliding her wavy, dark hair behind her shoulders, she stepped haltingly toward the bed. “Would you mind praying? I don’t think I can gather my thoughts right now.”

While Amy softly uttered words of petition, Rebecca studied Caleb’s profile. When they were teens, his boyish good looks and fun-loving manner had drawn girls like ants to a picnic. There was no sign of that boy now. Aloof and cynical, the events of the past two years were etched into his severe features.

She closed her eyes. Why, God? Why did You bring him here to me, of all people? How can You ask this of me?

“We won’t be able to fetch Doc Owens anytime soon, will we?”

Beyond the window glass, clouds yet dumped snow at a steady rate. Town was a good mile and a half away. “I’m afraid we can’t risk it.” Returning to the kitchen to finish readying breakfast, she said, “We’ll wait and see how things look tomorrow.”

But it soon became clear the storm had stalled over their quaint cove, and by lunchtime, the snow had surpassed the third fence rung. No way could Toby, her frail, aging horse, venture out into that. They were stuck.

The notion troubled her. Throughout the morning, Caleb had fretted off and on, mumbling unintelligible things, alternating between sweating and shivering. Once he’d even tried to sit up, only to cry out in agony.

With Amy in Rebecca’s bedroom writing in her diary, she tackled the task of feeding him. Placing a bowl of tepid vegetable broth on the bedside table, she scooted one of the heavy walnut dining chairs over and sat down, reluctant to stir him. He needed sustenance, however. And something for pain.

“Caleb?”

His head shifted in her direction, damp hair sliding over one black brow. How she despised the unexpected vulnerability cloaking him and the pull it had on her. She always had harbored soft spots for those in need, be it animal or human, deserving or no.

“I’ve brought you some broth.” She waited, hands clasped tightly in her lap, fingers itching to smooth his furrowed brow.

His eyes fluttered open, the severe discomfort in the brown depths—which had taken on the hue of the burnt-umber watercolor cake in her art chest—a kick in the gut. What had happened out there? An accident? Or was he in some kind of trouble?

“Drink,” he pushed past dry, cracked lips.

“First let me prop you up with another pillow.” Stretching across him, she snagged an extra and carefully wedged it beneath the first one. “There.”

As she fed him several spoons of the fragrant liquid, his dark gaze never wavered from her face, unnerving her. It took all her concentration to hold her hand steady.

“Enough.” He turned his face away.

He’d consumed less than half of the bowl’s contents. Not much considering his size. Concern slithered through her. Standing, she smoothed the layered quilts over his chest and shoulders. “Are you warm enough?”

He nodded without looking at her, his gaze glued to the log wall adorned with Amy’s bunches of dried flowers and a single canvas—a floral composition Rebecca had painted many years ago. Amy loved flowers, and Rebecca enjoyed capturing their likeness with her brush. Not as much as birds, though, as evidenced by the paintings cramming the remaining walls.

“I have laudanum to help with the pain. Let me get it for you.”

Cool fingers closed over her wrist. She yelped. Jerked away from his touch.

“How did I get here?” His voice was sandpaper rough.

Rebecca stepped out of reach. “My dog found you.”

“And Rebel?”

“Your horse is fine.”

After breakfast, she’d gone out to the barn and groomed him, the earlier recognition blossoming into full remembrance. Caleb had purchased the fine animal from a farmer on the outskirts of Gatlinburg. Thrilled at the acquisition, he and Adam had brought him over for her to see. Rebel. A fitting name for an owner who’d continually flouted common sense, flying in the face of danger without a thought to the repercussions.

Images of another man lying injured in a bed, his life forever changed because of Caleb’s actions, pushed into her mind. Oh, Adam, why couldn’t you have stayed? Given us a chance?

“You weigh a ton, by the way,” she snapped, frustrated at the memories Caleb’s presence resurrected. “Amy and I were barely able to get you inside. What happened to you? And why were you on my property?”

He blanched. “I can’t stay here.” He shoved the covers off, attempted to sit up.

Surprised, Rebecca placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. “What are you doing? You’re gonna aggravate your wound.”

He weaved to the side, too weak to put up much of a fight. Perspiration glistened on his forehead. “You don’t understand. Need to leave. Now.”

“Believe me, there’s nothing I’d like better,” she muttered, “but you’re not fit to walk across this room, let alone venture out into the storm.” Urging him to lie back, she checked his wound’s wrapping. No sign of fresh blood. Good. Covering him once more, she propped her hands on her hips and assumed her no-nonsense voice. “No more trying to get out of bed, do you hear me, Caleb O’Malley?”

He peered up at her through heavy-lidded, pain-glazed eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”

Instinctively, she reached out a hand to comfort him, at the last minute curling her fingers into a fist and dropping it to her side. Hang her caramel-soft, too-sensitive heart! How was she supposed to remain impassive to this man’s suffering?

I used to imagine it, though. Caleb O’Malley getting his just deserts. Suffering the way he made me suffer.

She winced, shame flooding her. Not like this. There was no satisfaction in this.

That didn’t mean she didn’t want him out of here at the first opportunity.

She gestured to the kitchen. “The laudanum—”

“No.”

Why was he being stubborn? “It will help you rest.”

Striding to the pie safe, she retrieved the tiny bottle from the shelf and returned to his bedside, only to find that his eyes had drifted closed and his breathing evened out.

Sinking onto the chair, she watched him sleep. Warring emotions wrestled in her chest—the chief being resentment. After all she’d endured, after everything she’d lost, being forced to care for Caleb felt like pouring kerosene on a wound that had never healed.

She could only hope the storm moved on quickly, and that the doctor could fetch him on the morrow.

* * *

A thump wrenched Rebecca out of a nebulous but unsettling dream. For a moment, she lay still, trying to decipher exactly what had woken her. Shadows wreathed the long, narrow bedroom that had once belonged to their parents, and she was just able to make out the familiar shapes of the carved cherry wardrobe and corner writing desk, as well as the washstand by the window.

Amy’s soft breathing barely stirred the silence. The younger girl hadn’t been the slightest bit upset about giving up her bed. To her, this was fun. A departure from their routine. Rebecca couldn’t help but be proud of her. Like all siblings, they had their moments, but much of the time they got along quite well. They were a team, she and Amy, the loss of their parents having drawn them closer than they ever were before.

Rebecca closed her eyes and huddled deeper into the toasty warmth. Must’ve been a random sound from outside that woke her. Surely Storm would’ve alerted her if something were amiss.

There. Another dull thud.

Caleb. Pulse thundering, she hauled her legs from beneath the covers and, hardly noticing the cold seeping through her wool stockings, rushed into the living room. Muted light from the fireplace revealed her dog perched on the hearth rug, head up and ears at attention, staring intently at the bed. The empty bed.

Sprawled on the floorboards, her patient was making a valiant effort to regain his footing.

“Caleb,” she half moaned, half admonished, “you shouldn’t be out of bed!”

Crouching beside him, she braced an arm about his broad back. “We have to get you up off this floor.”

“It’s not safe,” he told her as a shudder racked him. “You and Amy... Danger.”

Danger? What was he talking about? She framed his cheek, unmindful of the stubble’s prickle. It was as she suspected—burning up with fever.

Grim now, she assisted him up and onto the mattress, taking a moment to wrestle his black duster off before urging him to lie back. The sight of a red circle blooming on the white compress struck a chord of fear deep within her. The very real possibility of him succumbing to his injuries, of him dying, loomed like a menacing specter. For the first time since she’d discovered him unconscious in the snow, Rebecca was truly frightened.

She wasn’t a doctor. She possessed limited nursing skills. What if she inadvertently did something to hurt him or make his condition worse?

Again, she asked God why. Why couldn’t he have ended up in someone else’s yard? Someone more knowledgeable. More capable. Someone whose life hadn’t been sullied by his careless disdain for others.

The very last thing she wanted was to shoulder this particular burden.

He was still agitated, lips moving as his head thrashed from side to side. A couple of words she understood. Danger. Sheriff. Leave. He was delirious, of course, but were his warnings grounded in truth?

She paused in applying a fresh compress. “What kind of secrets are you carrying?” Afraid of the answer, she turned back to her task, thankful the bleeding had lessened. Working quickly, she tucked the quilts tight about his long length. Then she spooned up a small dose of laudanum and put it to his mouth.

“You need to take this.” Supporting his head, she held him steady as he sipped. Grimaced. Quaked.

When it was gone, she set the spoon aside and eased onto the mattress edge. Closing her mind to the past, if only temporarily, she administered the comfort he needed, gently threading his fine, glossy hair away from his face. Weak firelight glinted in the blue-black strands. He seemed to settle at her touch.

Lightly, gingerly, she traced the slashing black eyebrows with her fingertips. Then, more daringly, she traced the hard contours of his face—the jutting cheekbones, strong jawline and chin—all the while avoiding the scar. It was too terrible a reminder of the sawmill accident that had altered the course of their lives.

“Why did you have to involve Adam in your mischief?” she quietly demanded, knowing he couldn’t hear her. Knowing, too, that even if her ex-fiancé hadn’t accompanied Caleb that fateful night, something terrible would’ve happened eventually.

Feeling cramped suddenly by her proximity to him, she rose to her feet and interlocked her fingers behind her back. Touching Caleb wasn’t supposed to feel good. Perish the thought!

He turned his head as if in search of her. “Not safe,” he whispered.

Though sleeping, he wasn’t at complete rest. Something was clearly bothering him. Something so big it penetrated his mind’s cloak of unconscious. A frisson of unease tightened her shoulder blades. Could they truly be in danger?

There was no disputing the fact that, wherever Caleb O’Malley went, trouble followed.

Chapter Three

Caleb thought he just might burst into flames. Heat licked his insides, a strange heat that had him battling the heavy covers one minute and his teeth clacking together the next. The pain was constant, as if a red-hot branding iron had been plunged deep into his flesh.

If only he could clear the fog shrouding his brain.

The sense that it was no longer night tugged his eyes open. Searching the chilly room, his gaze encountered a woman asleep in a rocking chair situated before the now-cold fireplace, wavy brown hair shot with copper streaks skimming her shoulders and features softened in slumber.

Becca.

For a split second, he was startled to see her. Confused. Why? How? Then the fog dispersed, and he remembered every disturbing detail. Sheriff Tate. Caleb had witnessed the cold-blooded murder of Cades Cove’s sheriff. And he’d been spotted, which meant his presence put Becca and Amy in grave danger.

“Becca.” Spurred by their predicament, he managed to prop himself up on his elbows. “Wake up.”

A medium-size, shaggy black-and-white dog of uncertain origins lifted its head to study him with curious eyes. Caleb didn’t recognize the pet, which meant he or she had joined the family within the past two years. While not much to look at, the dog must certainly be well loved. Becca was famous for her weakness for strays.

He called her name again, and she jerked upright, jade irises nearly eclipsed by wide, black pupils. She blinked. Focused on him. Sympathy and concern flashed across her face, tucked away the moment she became aware of his regard. All business once again.

Rising with the grace of a dancer, her movements lithe and fluid despite having slept in an awkward position, she seemed to float across the floor. He used to tease her that gravity didn’t have as tight a hold on her as the rest of earth’s population. Maybe it was her artistic spirit, her ability to see beauty in ordinary things.

Going to the kitchen, she dipped out water for him. Helped him drink the cool liquid, which heated as it slid down his parched throat.

“I need for you to bring Rebel to me so I can get outta here.”

Her fingers tightened on the glass. Plunking it onto the bedside table, her brows descended. “I will do no such thing.”

Stunned by the conviction in her voice, he slumped onto the pillow. He couldn’t recall her ever standing up to Adam this way. No sirree, she’d gone along with pretty much whatever his best friend suggested. Not that Adam would’ve asked her to do anything questionable. Or risky. That had been Caleb’s department.

“I have to get home.” He could send his brothers to fetch Sheriff Timmons. “Why won’t you help me?”

“You have a life-threatening injury, that’s why,” she retorted, exasperation twisting her mouth. “For once in your life, accept that you have limitations. You’re not invincible, Caleb O’Malley. Thought you would’ve learned that by now.”

The words hung in the air, the implication quite plain. She meant he should’ve learned his lesson two years ago, the night he’d dared Adam to break into the sawmill yard.

Closing his eyes, he recalled the last time he saw her. Back in August, he and his brother Nathan had been delivering milk and cheese to Clawson’s Mercantile when they’d crossed paths. Her derision and anger, entirely justified, had practically reached out and strangled the life out of him.

“I know how difficult this must be for you,” he scraped out. “No one would’ve blamed you if you’d left me to freeze out there. I appreciate everything you’ve done, but my family can take it from here. No need to impose on your hospitality any longer.”

Shock crystalized in the jade orbs. “You think I’m that coldhearted? You think I’d leave you t-to...” She flung out an arm. Emotion rippled through her lithe form. “Just because I despise everything you stand for doesn’t mean I’d wish death upon you.” Pushing hair away from her face, she turned her back on him. Stalked away from the bed.

“I didn’t mean to imply...” He sighed, frustrated at the weakness invading his body again. Waves of it, jumbling his thoughts. “I’m sorry, Becca.” For all of it.

Slowly spinning on her heel, ivory cotton housecoat flaring around slim ankles encased in thick, gray wool stockings, she shot him a probing look. “What happened to you?”

It appeared as if he was going to have to level with her. If she knew the danger he was putting her and her sister in, she’d no doubt pack him off so fast his head would spin.

“I saw something I shouldn’t have.” He debated how many details to divulge. Decided she was strong enough to handle the truth. “Sheriff Tate was murdered two nights ago.”

Trembling fingers lifted to cover parted lips. Eyes huge in her face, she came closer and sank down on the wooden chair facing the bed. “You saw this?”

Every last gory detail. The helplessness resurfaced in his chest. He’d never be able to oust Tate’s horrified expression from his memory. Never. “I was out riding later than usual, had delayed setting up camp because I’d decided to swing by my folks’ for a quick visit.” No use mentioning he’d planned to stop here first and leave parcels of fresh deer meat, something he’d been doing off and on since that encounter in August. Anonymously, of course. “I stumbled upon a nightmare. At first, they didn’t see me. Preoccupied with their prey, I suppose.” His lip curled with disgust. “They had him surrounded. On his knees, hands tied behind his back. The leader, she—”

“She?” Becca blurted, dumbfounded. “Surely you don’t mean...”

“Knocked me back, too.” He shifted, sucked in a harsh breath at the resulting ache. His leg throbbed in time with his heartbeat.

“Do you need more pain relief?” She scooted closer, her too-perceptive eyes grave.

Beneath the covers, he fisted his hands. “No.” His brain was fuzzy enough without adding medicine to the mix. He had to focus on convincing her to help him get home.

“What was a female doing with a gang of criminals?”

“I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but to me she looked like...” His jaw tensed, picturing the bitter reproach marring the blonde’s features. “She looked like a woman who’d been rebuffed.”

“You think she and Tate were involved romantically?”

“Could be. Or she was interested and he wasn’t.” Only, why kill him if it was a simple rejection? This woman had seemed deeply distressed.

“There has to be more to it than that,” she echoed his unspoken sentiments. Tapping her chin, she mused, “Under what circumstances would a woman on the wrong side of the law associate with a lawman?”

“I don’t know.” Though the lack of answers bothered him, the main issue here was justice. “I do know how to identify them, however, and I aim to do whatever it takes to make certain they pay for what they did. That’s why I need to see Shane Timmons.”

Concern flowed over her features, and this time she didn’t attempt to hide it. “Did they get a good look at you?”

“Hard to say. I was positioned on the edge of a clearing, and there was a full moon. The storm was still south of us. I know for certain they saw Rebel.”

She nodded. “With his distinctive markings, he won’t be hard to identify.”

And if they did glimpse Caleb’s face, his scar would make it easy for them to locate him.

“Now do you understand why I have to leave?”

Popping up, she began to pace. “I can’t let you go.”

His heart suffered a series of palpitations. Oh, he knew she meant it literally, not figuratively. Still, the words hurled him backward in time to when they were teenagers, to when he’d envied Adam’s good fortune, had wondered what it would be like to have a girl like Becca—beautiful, sweet-natured, affectionate—head over heels in love with him.

He’d cared about his best friend’s girl a little more than he should have.

“You have to.”

She whirled on him, hot color splashing across her cheekbones. “I don’t have to do anything. You are not leaving until you’ve improved or the doctor comes to take you away.”

“Why, Rebecca Thurston, I do believe you’ve developed a backbone,” he drawled, fascinated by this unusual display of temper. Her eyes blazed with an internal strength not present when they’d been friends. What had happened in her life to forge such a change?

* * *

He’d noticed, had he? In his mind, she was still the naive, eager-to-please, hopelessly-in-love-with-love young girl with big dreams and an even bigger future. Well, things changed. People changed.

That love-struck teenager was long gone. Did he realize he was the one responsible for her disappearance?

“Yes, well, I’m all grown up now.” Sarcasm dripped from her words. “And I’m obviously the only one thinking rationally at the moment.”

Caleb didn’t immediately respond. The flicker of humor in his eyes sputtered out, and he studied her with his hooded, enigmatic gaze. Seemed she wasn’t the only one 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.”

Chapter Four

“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 her ears, she studied her sister’s face for signs of anxiety. “How long have you been here? Did you hear—”

“Nothing. I didn’t hear a peep.” She held up her hands. “I’ve only been 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 for as long as you need me.”

He tried to thank her. Words eluded him, however. His mute, black void refused to wait a second longer to reclaim him.

Chapter Five

Driven to comfort him, she’d uttered the hasty words without thinking. Suddenly the weight of his work-roughened hand was too much, the connection too personal. Pulling away, Rebecca sank against the chair and hugged her middle.

The muted light flickered across his face, making his scar appear more grotesque than it truly was. The night of the accident, she’d overheard Doc Owens saying he was fortunate. If the plank had hit him one inch to the left, he’d have lost his eye. At the time, she hadn’t cared one whit about Caleb’s injury, not when her fiancé’s life hung in the balance.

Oh, the fury that had swept through her when she’d learned what had happened! She’d known, hadn’t she? Known it deep in her bones that one day Caleb would go too far. If only Adam had heeded her warnings...but he and Caleb had been as close as brothers. Adam had looked up to his larger-than-life friend.

They shouldn’t have been anywhere near that sawmill. They’d had run-ins with the owner, Guthrie Fleming, on two previous occasions—Adam had stubbornly refused to reveal the nature of those run-ins, much to her consternation—and he’d warned them to stay away. Always on the search for 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.” Hands clenched, she stalked over to the bed and glared down at him. “If I have to pack you in icicles, if I have to bury you in snow or submerge you in the stream to bring that fever down, I will. You will recover, Caleb O’Malley, and then you’re gonna walk out of my life and never return, got it?”

* * *

Something wet splashed onto his hand. Tears. Becca was crying over him? Didn’t she know he wasn’t worth it?

“I never wanted this,” he said. Relaying the details of the murder had drained him. “I stayed away so you wouldn’t have to be reminded. Now here I am causing you pain again.”

“I don’t need you to remind me of what happened.” She angrily swiped at the moisture on her cheeks. “I’m reminded every day that I wake up alone. I’m reminded every time I see his parents at the mercantile or in the church pew. This town is riddled with memories. There’s no getting away from them.”

The magnitude of what he’d done, the price she’d been forced to pay, seized him. “I’d give anything if I could turn back the clock and return to that night—if I could switch places with Adam, I would.” Daring to reach out and splay his fingers over her hand, he whispered, “I’m sorry, Becca.”

Grief twisted her features, and she bent her head, a thick fall of hair slipping forward and blocking her profile. To his shock, she didn’t snatch her hand away. Instead, she traced the veins crisscrossing the top of his with her fingertip. “I don’t wish to discuss this anymore tonight,” she said, her voice unsteady. “You need rest.”

Caleb’s eyes slid shut. Despite the weariness weighing down his body and the throbbing ache in his leg, that single touch brought him more pleasure than he’d known in ages.

“Caleb?” The caress ceased, and he had to bite his lip in order to refrain from begging her to continue. That’s what happens when you spend most of your time with nothing but squirrels and birds for company.

“Yeah?” Afraid she might see how she affected him, he kept his eyes closed.

“Promise me you’re not giving up. That you’re gonna fight this.”

The tremor in her voice forced his gaze up to her lovely face wreathed in worry. Frustration fueled his heavenward petition. Why her, God? Why did she have to be the one to find me? Haven’t I caused her enough suffering? I deserve whatever comes my way, but Becca and Amy are innocent. My presence here is putting them at risk.

He wondered if God would choose to hear his prayer, much less deem to answer. After all the pain his actions had brought to those around him, he harbored serious doubt his Creator looked kindly upon him. But this was important. Becca’s life very well could be on the line. If those murderers had seen his scar, if they tracked him here and he was too weak to protect her...

Caleb gritted his teeth, pushed the disturbing images out of his mind. He couldn’t think about that. Had to focus on fighting the infection. And, if God decided to spare his life, he’d do as Becca asked and leave Gatlinburg for good. As much as saying goodbye to his family would kill him—spending weeks at a time in the mountains in self-imposed isolation, not knowing how they were faring was its own special brand of torture—he could no longer risk their well-being. Being lonely was a small price to pay if it meant they were happy and healthy and untouched by the irresponsibility inherent to his nature.

“I’ll leave here as soon as I’m able,” he told her. “Once my business is concluded with Shane and I’m certain you and Amy are no longer in danger, I won’t bother you again. You have my word.”

Looking as if she had more to say but thinking better of it, she merely nodded. “I’ll heat you up some broth.” Sweeping gracefully to the tiny kitchen, she set a large enamel pot on the stove top.

Although he wasn’t the least bit hungry, Caleb didn’t call her back to his side. The effect of her innocent touch yet lingered, and he didn’t trust himself not to play on her sympathy and ask if she’d mind holding his hand until he slept.

Chapter Six

Rebecca was making her way to the barn the next morning, an empty milk pail dangling from her wrist, when the jangle of horse bells reached her. She froze. Had Tate’s murderers come to silence Caleb? Hardened criminals knew better than to announce their arrival, didn’t they?

Feeling vulnerable without a means of defending herself, she peered along the narrow lane leading out of their cove. A familiar gold-trimmed black sleigh glided through the fresh dusting of snow that had fallen overnight. Her tension eased at the sight of her neighbors, Louis Harper and his daughter, Meredith. Of course they’d come to check on her.

She and Meredith were the same age and had attended school together but hadn’t become close until the death of Rebecca’s parents. In the midst of Rebecca’s grief, the pretty brunette had reached out to her and Amy, stopping by regularly with fresh-baked desserts. Their friendship had been forged over coffee and pie.

Setting the pail in the snow, she greeted the other woman with a longer-than-usual hug. Meredith pulled back, lively green eyes dancing with questions beneath her furry cap. “We came to see how you were faring in this weather. Didn’t figure you’d try to make it to church services on old Toby. Momma’s been feeling poorly this week, so we aren’t going, either. You look strange, Rebecca. Are you all right?”

Cheeks and nose ruddy from the brisk air, Louis sloughed through the snow to his daughter’s side. “You got enough firewood? I can bring some logs inside if you need me to.”

Unreasonably, moisture filled her eyes. Louis Harper had been good friends with her father. Ever since the accident, he’d taken it upon himself to try and ease her burden around the farm.

“Something terrible has happened,” she said. “Caleb O’Malley has been shot. H-he’s inside.”

Eyes going wide, Meredith’s crimson mitten flew up to cover her mouth. Louis’s bushy, ginger-colored brows pulled together. “When did this happen?”

“I found him Friday morning. Actually, Storm led me to him. If she hadn’t, he surely would’ve frozen to death.” Or bled to death, whichever came first.

“You’ve been caring for him all this time?”

“Yes, I...dug the bullet out.”

Her friend stared at her in disbelief. “You’re the most squeamish person I know. You hate the sight of blood. How?”

An icy wind barreled down the mountainside and through the cove, flattening their skirts against their legs. Chafing her arms through the cape, she said, “I don’t know. It wasn’t as if I had a choice. I just did what needed to be done, praying all the while.”

Louis eyed the cabin. “Did he tell you who shot him?”

It was a reasonable question. However, she didn’t want them drawn into the crisis. Bad enough that she and Amy were involved. “I—I’m not at liberty to say, sir.”

“I see.” He stared at her thoughtfully. “How’s he doing?”

“I suspect his wound is infected. His fever is getting worse by the hour.” She twisted her hands. “There are times when he is completely lucid and others when he seems confused. I’m afraid of what might happen if he doesn’t get medical attention. With all the snow...” She waved a hand at the wintry scene. “Would you mind taking a look at him?”

“Not at all.” The burly figure was already crunching his way to the front steps.

She picked up the discarded pail. “Amy’s in the barn feeding the horses. We’ll wait out there.”

He waved a hand in dismissal. “I’ll join you in a moment.”

Linking arms, they trekked toward the barn. “I’m in shock right now. I can’t begin to imagine how you feel.” Meredith brushed aside dark strands that had snagged on her lips. “Caleb O’Malley. Here. And you as his caretaker. How are you holding up?”

While everyone in Gatlinburg knew Adam had broken their engagement, only Meredith was aware of her private struggles. Rebecca strove for a brave face in front of the townsfolk. It wasn’t in her nature to play the pitied jilted bride. But she’d been honest with her friend about the lingering bitterness she wrestled with, the feeling of helplessness and hurt Adam’s decision had wrought.

“There are so many different emotions inside me right now that I can’t distinguish one from the other. I can’t understand why God did this. He knows how I feel about Caleb. Why couldn’t he have ridden a different direction? Why here? Why me? Haven’t I had enough trouble for one lifetime?”

She sounded like a petulant child, she knew, but didn’t she have a right to complain? In eighteen months’ time, she’d not only lost the love of her life but her dear, beloved parents. As scary as it was to admit, she was angry at God.

“I wish I had answers for you.” Meredith pressed in close to her side. “If we could transport him to our house, you wouldn’t have to deal with him.”

Rebecca shook her head. “You haven’t seen him, Mer.” She sighed. “He’s bad off.”

When they reached the barn, Meredith held back, brown hair swirling about the shoulders of her cape. “I hate to burden you further, but have you considered what might happen when folks learn of his presence here?”

Confused by her friend’s grave expression, she frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You’re an unmarried woman. Caleb’s an unmarried man. The two of you have occupied the same cabin for two whole days and two very long nights without the benefit of a chaperone.”

“He’s hardly in any position to damage my reputation! He’s gravely ill,” she stated with a growing sense of alarm. Withdrawing her arm, she pressed her gloves against her cheeks stiff with cold. “Besides, we haven’t been alone.”

“I’m not certain Amy counts as a suitable chaperone. Logic doesn’t always play into these situations. Remember what happened to Cole and Rachel Prescott? They were locked in the storage room overnight and forced to marry, no matter that it was a cruel prank and not even remotely their fault.”

Appalled at the mere idea of being linked to Caleb in that way, she set her jaw. “Nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing, could induce me to marry that man.”

Despite her conviction, a frisson of unease worked its way down her spine. Meredith wasn’t exaggerating. Folks were funny about maintaining appearances at all costs. If there was even the suspicion that something improper had occurred—whether it had or no—marriage was the only way to restore the couple’s reputation.

Understanding warred with caution in Meredith’s heavily fringed green eyes. “I hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“It won’t. I’ve given the man shelter and done my best to keep him alive, that’s all. End of story.”

“You don’t have to convince me.” She held up her hands, the vivid red wool reminding Rebecca of Caleb’s blood pooled in the snow. She bit down hard on her lip as worry swirled afresh in her chest.

“Have you heard from Adam?”

Last night’s conversation—and the terrible vulnerability in Caleb’s eyes—replaying in her mind, it took her a moment to register the question. Meredith was referring, of course, to the numerous letters she’d sent her former fiancé and the fact he hadn’t answered even one.

Shaking her head, she allowed her gaze to roam the white-washed forest beyond the barn, where mighty pines wore skirts of shimmering powder and blue jays’ wings flashed brilliantly against the white backdrop. Along with cardinals, blue jays were one of her favorite birds. Tough to get that exact shade of blue on canvas, however. For the painting hanging above her parents’ bed, she’d had to experiment to get the right shade. Her mother had adored that painting.

A renewed wave of grief gripping her, she sighed. “I haven’t written him in four months. It’s obvious he doesn’t want to hear from me. Don’t know why it took me so long to accept that.”

“What you two had was special. Makes sense you wouldn’t want to give that up.”

“Adam clearly didn’t have a problem,” she muttered, shivering as another gust of wind slammed into them.

“Well, I for one think it’s time you turned your attention to someone else. I’ve noticed Douglas casting moon eyes at you during church. He’d ask to call on you in a heartbeat if you’d encourage him a little.”

“We’ve had this conversation before. I’m not ready.” Tired of dwelling on her sorry state of affairs, she turned the tables on her best friend. “How about we discuss your love life, hmm? Are you ready to tell me who it is you’re sweet on?”

Color bloomed in the brunette’s cheeks, yet she shrugged as if it was no big deal. While Meredith was more than willing to discuss Rebecca’s private affairs, she wasn’t as forthcoming with her own.

“There’s no chance he’ll ever notice me, so why put a name to him?” Her petite nose wrinkled. “Besides, isn’t it more interesting to try and guess his identity?”

“No, it isn’t. It’s frustrating. And hardly fair given everything I’ve revealed to you.”

Meredith was on the verge of relenting when Mr. Harper appeared on the porch and lifted a hand to get their attention.

At the sight of the deep grooves bracketing his mouth, all thoughts of Meredith’s crush fled. Did he have bad news? Perhaps he’d seen something she’d missed, some sign of impending death she was unaware of. By the time he reached them, she’d become numb to the cold, oblivious to the thin, cottonlike clouds stretched across the sky.

“Poor lad is suffering from an infection.” He scratched beneath his heavy wool cap and sighed. “Wish I could take him off your hands, but I doubt he’d survive the trip. And Teresa’s ill. I wouldn’t want to expose him to whatever she has. We have medicine that can help bring the fever down, as well as some herbs and such for a poultice to put on the wound.” He hesitated, which was unusual. “Would you like for Meredith to come and stay with you? Even at this late date, her presence might ward off some of the gossip that’s sure to erupt once your situation becomes known.”

“There’s no place for her to sleep. And besides, I know she’s doing the cooking and cleaning while Teresa is sick.” She met Meredith’s worried gaze. “I can’t ask you to stop caring for your ma simply to babysit us.”

“I could do my chores during the day and spend the nights here. We could make a pallet on the floor.”

“Absolutely not.” She took her friend’s hands in hers and braved a smile. “I appreciate the offer, really, I do. But I can handle whatever the gossips dish out. You know how these things blow over in a week or two.”

“Let’s hope you’re right.” Louis sighed. “Meredith, stay and visit with your friends while I get the supplies. I should return within the hour.”

“Yes, sir.”

The door scraped open then, and Amy’s lips parted. “Mr. Harper. Meredith.” Her gaze bounced between the cabin and Rebecca. “Is everything okay?”

“Mr. Harper is going to fetch medicine for Caleb.”

“Is he gonna make it?” She directed her question at their father’s friend.

“That’s in the good Lord’s hands, Amy. We’ll be praying for him.” His frown didn’t budge. “I’d best be off.”

No one spoke as he made his way to the sleigh. Rebecca belatedly noticed the pail in her sister’s hands. “You milked Flossy for me?”

“She was getting antsy.” She blew out a breath. “I also fed and watered the horses and mucked out the stables.”

“I think that deserves a special thank-you.”

Wispy brows winged up. “Hot cocoa?”

Rebecca smiled and nodded. There was enough in the tin for one more cup, two if she thinned it. An extra spoonful of sugar would make up for the lack. Hopefully, the hens she’d delivered to Clawson’s three days ago had sold and she’d have enough store credit left over from buying necessities to replenish their supply. And perhaps purchase pearl buttons for the new dress she was working on for Amy for Christmas. The special holiday was fast approaching, and Rebecca was determined to provide her sister with some semblance of holiday spirit.

Taking the heavy pail from her, she motioned over her shoulder. “Let’s go inside and get warm while we wait. Mer, there’s cocoa or coffee for you. Your choice.”

“Ma sent along apple butter and two loaves of bread,” she said as they ascended the stairs, pointing to the basket her father had left tucked against the door frame. “We can have a slice now, if you’d like.”

Once on the threshold, the toasty warmth surrounding her and the anticipation of Teresa’s delicious apple butter were promptly forgotten. Caleb was in trouble.

* * *

Caleb thrashed about on the bed, a string of incomprehensible words slipping from his lips. Setting the pail on the dining table without care for the contents, she rushed to restrain him. If he aggravated his injury...

“Stop.” His voice was hoarse. “Don’t do this.”

Were these the words he’d uttered when he tried to save Tate’s life?

She was having trouble restraining him. Even ill, his strength was no match for hers.

“Can you give me a hand, Mer?”

The brunette approached, more solemn than Rebecca had ever seen her. “What do you need me to do?”

“Hold his ankles.”

When Meredith had stationed herself at the foot of the bed, Rebecca scooted up on the mattress and, pressing on his shoulders, leaned in close. The scents of pine and earth yet clung to him, intermingled with the familiar one of burning logs in the fireplace and a trace of floral in Amy’s quilt. Beneath all that was the smell of the massive amount of blood he’d spilled. Trying to save the sheriff.

On the flip side of his recklessness was a courage few could match. He was quick to protect the weak and vulnerable.

“Caleb, can you hear me?”

His fight with an unseen enemy continued, his large hands clutching at the quilt covering him. “Danger.”

She laid a hand against his fevered, bristle-edged jaw. A memory, long-suppressed, resurfaced of her and Caleb and a nearly drowned calico kitten they’d fished out of the river. Certain he wouldn’t survive, Adam had advised her to leave it to its fate. He’d accused her of being too softhearted. Caleb had had other ideas. Tucking the mewling creature against his chest, he’d carried it here, to her barn, and together they’d worked to keep it alive.

His compassion had known no bounds. The sight of him hand-feeding the tiny animal, lean fingers constantly stroking its fur, had affected her in a profound way. Several days later, when it became clear the kitten would survive, she’d thrown herself against him and hugged him tight. He’d hesitated at first. Then his strong arms had wrapped around her, his heart beating fast beneath her cheek, and it had hit her like a locomotive—Caleb posed a danger to what she had with Adam.

Recognizing her heart’s susceptibility, she’d created distance between them, both mentally and physically. She wasn’t about to risk the security and comfort Adam Tierney offered for anyone, especially not live-as-close-to-the-edge-as-possible Caleb. Though it had taken some subtle maneuvering, Rebecca had been careful not to sit beside him in church or dance with him at the many barn dances the three of them had attended together. He hadn’t remarked on the change, but she’d caught him staring at her sometimes with a look of hurt and confusion. Recalling those looks now, she wondered why he’d never confronted her.

“You don’t wanna do this,” he ground out, urgency underscoring the words. In his fevered mind, he was back there in the mountains, challenging outlaws and trying to save a man’s life. Trying and failing.

When his whole body stiffened suddenly and air hissed through dry lips, she imagined the precise moment he was reliving. The overwhelming need to assuage his pain lodged in her chest and, the other occupants of the room forgotten, Rebecca leaned down and gently rested her head on his shoulder, kneading the rigid biceps through the soft cotton shirt.

“It’s okay,” she said in an urgent, hushed voice. “You’re gonna be okay.”

He continued to resist his unseen enemies. Rebecca repeated the words until he quieted. She wasn’t aware of how many moments passed before Meredith came around the bed and touched a hand to her lower back.

“He’s resting now.”

Sitting up, she avoided her friend’s curious gaze, studying the quilt pattern through increasingly watery eyes.

“Are you gonna be okay, Rebecca?”

A world of bewilderment accompanied the other woman’s obvious concern.

Lifting her head, she said simply, “He was my friend.”

And then she burst into tears. Tears for all that they’d lost, her and Adam and Caleb.

Meredith pulled her upright into a hug. Soon Amy joined their circle. When Meredith began to pray aloud, asking God to heal Caleb and to restore Rebecca’s peace, Becca silently thanked Him for such a dear friend. And then her prayers centered on her patient, her friend turned adversary—that he would heal and return to the high country as quickly as possible.

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.

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