Married by Christmas (9 page)

They left the businesses behind and walked along the dirt road leading to their respective homes. “Caleb spends most of his time in the high country,” she said. “
If
we were to marry, he wouldn’t be around that much.”

Meredith twirled the tan-colored reticule dangling from her wrist. “Good point. And when he is around, he could fix things around your farm.”

She studied the winter-dead forest to their right and longed for spring’s vibrant beauty. Marrying Caleb wouldn’t be
entirely
disadvantageous, she supposed.

They stopped at the entrance to her cove. Meredith’s pretty green eyes were troubled. “What if you married him and then Adam came back?”

Her breath caught. “Adam has made his feelings clear. He’s not going to change his mind.”

Battling a frown, Meredith gave Rebecca a quick hug. “I’ll be praying, sweetie.”

Throat thick with gratitude, Rebecca watched as Meredith continued on her way before entering the cove. She found Amy on the porch rocker, head in her hands.

Jogging across the yard, she knelt at her feet. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

Amy slowly lifted her head, and Rebecca gasped at the angry scratches lining her left cheek. “What happened?”

Fresh tears joined already dried tracks. “They said horrible things about you.” She sniffled. “I couldn’t stand by and do nothing.”

She fought to keep her anger hidden. “Laney and Clarice weren’t involved, were they?”

“No. They defended me.” Amy looked a little defiant. “Are you mad at me?”

“No, I’m not.” She was mad at this entire, nightmarish situation. “However, you’re aware that violence isn’t the answer.”

“The teacher wants you to come and see him Monday morning to talk about my punishment.”

“And what about the other girls involved? Are they to be reprimanded, as well?”

Amy nodded, eyes darkening. “Why do they think you should marry Caleb?”

How to explain this? “It’s complicated.”

The sound of an approaching team had her pivoting in her crouched position. Two men occupied the wagon—one guiding the team, the other sitting in the wagon bed.

“Who’s that?”

Rebecca reluctantly pushed to her feet, her stomach a jumble of nervous anticipation. “Caleb.”

Chapter Eleven

H
e was probably the last person Rebecca wanted to see, but he hadn’t been able to stay away. Not after news of last night’s fiasco and today’s school altercation reached him.

Nathan held his crutches out to him, waiting by the wagon as Caleb hobbled closer to the cabin. Draped in her lush, fur-lined cape, black-and-blue-striped skirts peeking out from beneath the hem, Rebecca stood like a soldier at attention, ready for anything he might throw at her. Her copper-streaked hair was arranged in a neat chignon, putting those lovely cheekbones on display as well as the slender column of her throat, the pink curve of her ears.

He’d missed her. Thought about her every minute. Not that he’d ever admit it to her or anyone else.

“I heard about what happened.”

Her eyes, such a striking shade of green, hit his, and he faltered at the hint of desperation there. “How?”

“Megan stopped by this morning.” He gripped the handles tighter, recalling his outrage as she related the story. “As for what happened at school.” He paused, wincing at the sight of the marks on Amy’s skin. “Will told Sophie, who told Nathan, who told me.”

Will, Sophie’s ten-year-old brother and Nathan’s brother-in-law, had been upset about what happened. He and Amy were friends.

“Are you okay, Amy?” he said softly.

Tears welled in her eyes. Gaze sliding away, she nodded. To Rebecca, she said, “Do you mind if I go inside?”

Rebecca pressed the wrapped cinnamon buns into Amy’s hands. “Mrs. Greene sent you a treat.”

“Thanks,” Amy mumbled.

When the door clicked behind her, Nathan moved closer. “I’m going for a walk.”

“You don’t have to go.” Rebecca gripped the nearest post.

Was she being polite or simply didn’t want to be alone with him?

His brother flashed an enigmatic smile. “I don’t mind. Could use the exercise.”

When Nathan was some distance away, she returned her attention to Caleb. “Why did you come?”

“Because I knew you’d never come to me, in spite of your promise.”

Her lips pursed, but she didn’t deny it. “How’s your leg?”

“Manageable.” He swung closer to the steps. “Look, can I come up there? I’m getting a crick in my neck.”

“Would you like to come inside?”

“I think Amy could use some space right about now.”

Lifting her skirts, she descended the steps, boots sinking slightly into the ground moist with snow-melt. “You didn’t have to check up on us, you know.”

“My offer still stands, Becca.”

The color leached from her face. While her features were a composed mask, her luminous eyes were a deep, green, swirling tornado of despondency. “If we marry, it will be as if we’re admitting to wrongdoing.”

“Folks have already made up their minds about that. Marrying will make things right in the eyes of the community. The gossip will fade. The situation at school will settle.”

She stalked away from him, glaring into the distance.

Caleb waited, throat as dry as sandpaper and pulse all over the place.

His future hinged on her answer. If she said no, he’d leave this cove, never to return. No more anonymous gifts. He’d have to find another way to help her out that didn’t involve coming here. Once the outlaws were captured, he’d go back to sleeping beneath the stars, his worldly possessions stowed in his saddlebags and nothing but his horse to keep him company. Not the life he’d dreamed of, exactly, but it was what he deserved.

If she said no, he wouldn’t be asking a third time.

She hung her head. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

Becca pivoted to face him. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

For a second, his world seemed to dip and twirl, and he gripped the crutch handles until the wood bit into his palms.

“You have to promise to stick to the deal,” she continued without emotion. “This is a marriage on paper only. We will live separate lives.”

Caleb had to call on all his powers of concentration in order to process her words. He was getting married. To Becca. And all he could feel was fear and guilt. She was his best friend’s sweetheart.

Her tumultuous gaze stabbed him. “Promise me, Caleb.”

“I promise I’ll return to the high country just as soon as Tate’s killers are behind bars.”

“And what if they evade capture? What then?”

“They won’t. I’ll personally see to that.” Even if that meant he had to scour the thirty-eight states.

“Let me be the one to break the news to Amy.”

“Fine. I’ll let the reverend know he has a wedding to perform.”

Becca grimly nodded. In that moment, Caleb felt cheated somehow. While he hadn’t once imagined himself proposing to a woman, he was pretty sure his prospective bride shouldn’t be looking at him as if he’d ruined her life.

* * *

Weddings meant music and food and pretty dresses and gifts, a celebration to mark the beginning of a couple’s new life. She should know. She’d been planning one not so long ago.

Here she was engaged again, only to the wrong groom. The very notion of standing up before her friends and Caleb’s family, along with those close-minded people who’d likely questioned their innocence, had made her break out in a cold sweat. She simply could not do it.

So she’d asked Caleb if he’d mind a private ceremony, here in her cabin, with only Amy for a witness. To her immense relief, he’d agreed.

Rebecca had had less than twenty-four hours to come to terms with the fact she was about to become Mrs. Caleb O’Malley.

“Rebecca, are you sure you don’t want to wear Mama’s wedding dress?”

Amy’s disappointed gaze swept her dress of aquamarine overlaid with black netting. She had come into the bedroom to tell her that Caleb and the reverend had arrived. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, Rebecca slid in the final hairpin and inhaled deeply, trying to calm her heartbeat.

“We’ll save it for your special day, okay?” she murmured, striving to keep her voice free of emotion.

The sting of discarded plans speared her heart. She’d tried her mama’s dress on once. The morning after Adam proposed, she’d watched as her mother had carefully lifted the lace-and-pearl dress from the carved pine chest at the foot of her bed and handed it to her, tenderness and pride marking her expression. How could she possibly wear the exquisite white dress—a reminder of her mother’s love for her father and the hope and commitment with which she’d approached her vows—as she pledged to honor, love and obey the one man responsible for tearing her heart apart?

“But you looked beautiful in it. And don’t you want a cake? What’s a wedding without a cake?”

“Amy, please.” She shot her a pleading look. This time, she couldn’t conceal the strain she was under.
Of course
she wanted a memorable wedding, one she could look back on with fondness. This wasn’t about getting what she wanted, though, was it? This was about unfortunate circumstances and appearances and repairing reputations.

There was a knock on her door. Caleb stood on the other side, strikingly handsome in a black suit that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders and lean torso, inky hair shiny against his skin. Concern—and apprehension?—darkened his eyes.

“Are you ready to do this?”

The reverend appeared at his shoulder. “Good morning, Rebecca. Where would you like to exchange your vows?” He smiled encouragingly.

* * *

This was all wrong.

This wasn’t how his wedding day was supposed to go.

His bride should
want
to marry him. His family should be here. Becca’s friends, too.

What was supposed to be a celebration felt more like a mourning of lost dreams.

When he’d asked her yesterday when she wanted to get married, he’d been expecting her to stall. Throw up barricades. That she’d suggested a quick ceremony would be best was yet another reminder that she’d changed. That he no longer truly understood the woman who was about to become his wife unsettled him, as did the forbidden yearning to delve deeper, to explore her mysteries. He’d promised not to stick around. Just because he was suddenly intrigued with the idea of being married to Becca didn’t mean he could renege on that promise.

The reverend was looking from her to him for an answer to his question.

“In front of the fireplace will do,” he muttered when it became clear Becca wasn’t going to answer.

Maneuvering on his crutches to the striped rug beside the hearth, he propped one against the stones, then turned to balance on the other. Storm didn’t seem to mind having her nap interrupted. Stretching her stubby legs, she sauntered over to the settee and hopped up on the muted floral cushion, big eyes curious as Monroe moved into place and blocked her view.

Then Becca was in front of him, gaze glued to the fire, cheeks snowy-white and lips colorless. The complete lack of color in her face spurred Caleb to action. Using his free hand, he reached out and snagged hers. Small. Fragile. Skin so cold it hurt to touch, like the chunks of ice that formed in the mountaintop springs.

Her eyes snapped to his, wide and questioning. Lips parted. When she didn’t reject his overture, Caleb applied gentle pressure, thumb skimming her knuckles to create friction. He wanted warmth back in her hand and color in those cheeks. Couldn’t very well get hitched if she was passed out cold on the floor, could they?

“Amy.” The older man gestured to where she hovered by the chair. “Why don’t you come and stand near your sister? You’re our witness today.”

While Becca’s fingers remained limp between his, her molten gaze did not leave his for a second. Not when Amy took up her position. Not when the reverend began extolling the virtues of marriage and commitment and faithfulness. Not when they recited the sacred vows that would tie them together for all eternity.

Caleb got lost in the fathomless depths, found himself yearning to erase the loneliness and patch up the brokenness he glimpsed in her soul. It was a fool thing, really, because he was the last person who could help Rebecca. He couldn’t help himself. What made him think he could give her even a thimbleful of happiness?

He was everything she despised—a selfish, rash ne’er-do-well.

“You may kiss the bride.”

Those words ripped her gaze away. Becca stared at the reverend, who merely smiled. “It’s part of the ceremony.”

His new bride looked back at him, defiant, no trace of the sweet, naive girl he’d once known. In her place was a strong woman almost fierce in her independence. Beautiful, desirable in every way, yet unattainable.

Don’t you dare,
she silently reproached.

It hit him then that this was one opportunity he couldn’t let pass. He was not noble. Nor was he a gentleman. Why not act as everyone expected him to? It wasn’t like she’d ever allow him close again.

Tugging on her hand so that she stumbled forward, he ignored her outraged gasp and lowered his mouth to hers. The tremor that shook Becca’s graceful form threw him. Was it disgust? If so, why did her velvet-soft lips cling to his in unspoken wonder? Why did the hand splayed against his stomach not push him away? Her sweet breath mingling with his, Caleb battled the insane urge to haul her against him and kiss her properly.

Her little sister was watching. That gave him pause.

With great reluctance, he broke contact. Eyes still closed, mouth upturned as if begging for more, Becca swayed. Caleb watched with surprising regret as reason returned. Her lids popped open, and hot-pink color surged up the swanlike column of her neck and into her cheeks. Shock, quickly followed by humiliation and outrage, danced through her magnificent eyes. Jerking her hand from his, she scuttled back.

Looking very pleased with himself, Monroe announced, “Congratulations! You are now husband and wife.”

“I—” A trembling hand covered her mouth. “P-please excuse me.”

Rushing from the room, the soft click of the bedroom door was as effective as if she’d slammed it. While Amy looked confused, Monroe cast him a concerned glance.

In that moment, he thought she must surely hate him.

* * *

Calling herself all sorts of a fool, Rebecca rested her forehead against the windowpane, welcoming the cold filtering through the thin glass as it cooled the heat fizzing along her nerve endings. Caleb’s heat. He’d
known
she hadn’t wanted him to kiss her, and yet he’d done it, anyway. To goad her? Or was he merely curious?

Whatever the reason, she wished it undone. Her lips recalled the insistent press of his well-formed mouth, her body the deep well of dissatisfaction their brief connection had spawned.
She’d wanted more, had longed to feel his strong arms around her, his hands in her hair.

Recalling how she’d weaved toward him after he’d pulled away, Rebecca’s cheeks burned with fresh humiliation. She couldn’t for the life of her fathom why she hadn’t protested from the start. Shoved him away. He was her nemesis!

Maybe it was the tender way he’d held her hand all through the ceremony. Maybe it was the way he’d looked at her, as if her happiness mattered—something no one else had seemed to care about since her parents’ deaths.

It was shameful how she’d allowed herself to become weak and needy like that. She’d rather be numb than feel anything remotely similar to longing for Caleb O’Malley. Her
husband.

Knees threatening to give out, she sank onto the corner of the bed and buried her head in her hands. There was no going back now. For better or worse, she was an O’Malley. Caleb’s wife. The reality of what she’d done—consigned herself to a loveless, in-name-only marriage—weighed on her heart like a stone. She would never experience the love and affection of a man whose heart cherished her as a wife and best friend. The miracle of childbirth would be denied her, as would the rearing of a precious child.

Maybe I could convince Caleb—

She strangled that notion, instinctively aware that she wasn’t prepared to go down that road with him. Not now. Maybe not ever, not even for the sake of a baby.

Above the desk hung a family portrait taken shortly before Rebecca’s sixteenth birthday. Amy had taken to wearing pigtails the year before. She was wide-eyed and curious, her precociousness already evident at that age. Her parents, dark-haired and serious, stared back at her. They would expect her to take care of her sister the same as if they’d lived.