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.
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
