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.
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
