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Impatient with her unruly thoughts, she slammed her Bible shut and began to slice the bacon, placing the strips into the cold cast-iron skillet. Gathering the ingredients for buttermilk biscuits, she measured and mixed flour, salt and leavening and started working the lard into the flour with her fingertips, finding comfort in the simplicity of the everyday task.
Seeing that the stove was hot, she set the skillet of bacon over the heat. After adding just the right amount of buttermilk, she pinched off a biscuit-size piece of dough and deftly rolled the edges under to make it reasonably smooth and round. Placing it into the greased pan, she made a dimple in the center with her knuckle.
Danny, his dark hair standing on end and covering a yawn, came into the kitchen as she was filling the slight indentations with a small dollop of extra lard, just the way her mama had done.
“Good morning,” she said, sliding the pan into the oven.
“Morning.”
She wiped her hands on a wet cloth and sighed as she watched him pour a splash of coffee into a tin cup and fill it to the brim with milk and two spoons full of sugar. He’d started having morning “coffee milk,” as he called it, when Edward had started sharing his own sweetened brew. When she’d questioned the wisdom of the action, Edward had assured her that it was more milk than anything else and maintained it was fine; it hadn’t hurt her, had it?
Grandparents! she thought, lifting the crispy strips of bacon onto a platter. If she didn’t remain vigilant, no telling how Edward would spoil Danny. But how could she deny him his little indulgences when he had taken on a very special role in Danny’s life? Not only was he the child’s grandfather, he’d been the closest thing to a father as he was ever likely to know.
Until now.
With her father’s words ringing through her mind, Rachel searched her son’s face for anything that might give away his paternity. He definitely had Gabe’s long, lush eyelashes, as well as the slant of his eyebrows. The dimple in Danny’s chin would be a dead giveaway as he grew closer to manhood and his jawline firmed the way his father’s had.
His father. Rachel stifled a groan. How could she not think of him when he lay just down the hall? Resolutely, she opened a jar of red plum jam one of her patients had given her in lieu of payment for stitching up a nasty cut.
“Are you excited about going to the Gentrys’ tomorrow?” she asked Danny as she smoothed down the recalcitrant “rooster tail” sticking up from the crown of his dark head.
He nodded, his eyes bright. “I made a present for baby Eli.”
“Really? What did you make?”
“Roland gave me some old cedar shingles and helped me drill some holes on one edge so I could put some leather laces through them. I painted Ben’s, Betsy’s and Laura’s names on them with different colors. I made one for Eli yesterday. I thought Miss Abby could hang it on the end of his cradle.”
“That was very sweet of you, Danny.”
“I made some for the Carruthers kids, too,” he said. “I thought they could hang them on the wall above their beds.”
“I’m sure everyone will love them,” she said, marveling as she often did at what a thoughtful child he was.
Feeling blessed to have him, she peeked at the biscuits. “Almost done,” she announced. “How many eggs do you want?”
“Two,” he said promptly. “Soft.”
“I’ll have two, myself,” Edward said from the doorway.
“Coming right up,” Rachel said, reaching for the brown crockery bowl that held the eggs she bought from a lady in town.
“I’ve been thinking about tomorrow,” she said, cracking the first egg into the sizzling bacon grease.
As they had the previous year, the Stones had planned to have their Christmas meal with the Gentrys and Caleb’s former in-laws, the Emersons. “Why don’t I stay here with Gabe and you and Danny go to Abby and Caleb’s?”
“Absolutely not!” Edward told her. “You and Danny go, and I’ll stay here with Gabe. You can bring me back a plate.”
“It will be stone cold in this weather,” she argued.
“Then we’ll warm it up in the oven. Really, Rachel, you go. It’s a special day for Danny, and it’s seldom you get much uninterrupted time with him. Besides, it will give you the opportunity to check on Abby and the baby.”
He had a point. Rachel put the first two eggs onto a plate and set it in front of him. The hot biscuits and a bowl of fresh-churned butter were placed on the table next to a platter of bacon. She looked from the determination in her father’s eyes to the hopeful expression in Danny’s. “If you’re sure...” she said. “We’ll be gone most of the day.”
“I’m sure. Gabe is stable, and I think I can handle anything that comes up during that short time. Besides—” he shot a smile toward Danny “—I can read that new book on Italy you’re giving me for Christmas.”
“Edward Stone!” Rachel cried, her eyes widening in disbelief. “How do you know you got a book about Italy?”
Edward’s eyes twinkled. “Never tell an eight-year-old anything you don’t want repeated.”
Rachel pinned her son with a familiar, narrow-eyed look. “You little rascal!” she said. “Christmas presents are supposed to be a secret.”
“I didn’t exactly tell him,” Danny hedged, slathering a biscuit with butter. “He just asked me a buncha questions and sorta guessed.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Rachel said, trying to fix her father with that same stern look and failing as her mouth began to twitch with the beginnings of a smile. It was no secret that when it came to Christmas and secrecy, Edward Stone was a total failure.
“You’re as bad as he is,” she charged. “Worse. At least he’s just a child.”
Stifling a smile, Edward said, “It’s settled, then. You and Danny are going. Now don’t you need to see to those eggs?”
* * *
With the cookies all baked, Rachel spent the day stirring up pumpkin pies and an apple cake liberally laced with raisins and the black walnuts she and Edward had cracked and painstakingly picked out.
Finished with the baking, she and Danny loaded up their goodies and made deliveries to the Carruthers family and a widow or two who had a hard time making ends meet.
By the time their visits were over and they’d finished the evening meal, she was pleasantly weary. The day had been so busy that at times she was able to forget the man lying in the bedroom down the way. Danny helped with the dishes, and they were getting ready to begin their yearly Christmas Eve ritual when an agonized cry came from Gabe’s room.
Tossing her dish towel onto the table, Rachel ran toward the sound, throwing the door open against the wall in her haste.
Gabe lay on his back, just as he had been, but as she neared the bed she realized that he was fully awake. His eyes were shadowed with pain that became stunned disbelief as he struggled to raise himself up to his uninjured elbow.
“Rachel?” His voice was deep and husky, as if he were getting over a bad sore throat. Looking to blame him for everything, she’d often thought that his voice was the first weapon he’d used in his insidious assault on her senses. Now, even in her concern, she imagined she heard a hint of wonder in his voice.
“Lie still,” she commanded, placing a restraining hand against his shoulder. Offering him no time to formulate a reply, she continued, “What on earth were you thinking trying to get up? You might have injured yourself worse than you already are.”
Ever professional even in her irritation, she placed gentle, questing fingers against his bound ribs. “Does it hurt?” she asked, unaware that the question was somewhat silly under the circumstances. She just wanted to get him easy again and steer clear of the feelings churning inside her now that they were face-to-face.
Despite the pain and grogginess reflected in his eyes, he attempted a smile that more resembled a grimace. “Only when I breathe.”
Nothing had changed, she thought. Still quick with a smile and a glib reply.
“Do you remember what happened?”
A spasm of pain crossed his features. “A couple of guys jumped me between here and Antoine. How did I get here?”
All business, she leaned over him to check the bandage on his head. “Simon Teasdale found you and brought you to me.”
She stepped back and allowed her gaze to roam his face. As she had, he’d aged and looked older than the twenty-nine she knew him to be. But, as it seemed with most men, he’d done it better. Maturity had firmed the boyish softness of his jaw and chin as she knew it would Danny’s, making it more sharply defined and making his resemblance to Caleb more pronounced, though Gabe would always be the handsomer of the two.
He, too, had a tanned face with crinkly lines at the corners of his eyes, but she knew from past experience that these lines would not have come from worry or the elements but laughter as he pursued countless pleasures. He was still disturbingly handsome and she suspected the inevitable scar he would carry would only add to his aura of mystery and danger. That thought awakened her slumbering anger.
“Did you know them?”
He gave a slight shake of his head. “They had bandannas. I won a lotta...money from a couple guys in a poker game...Little Rock.” He made another pitiful attempt to smile. “Guess they wanted it back.”
She dabbed at the still-seeping gash on his head with a piece of cotton wool saturated with peroxide. His hiss of pain gave her far more satisfaction than it should have.
“Simon did find your wallet nearby, and it was empty, but if it was someone from Little Rock, why would they wait so long to attack you?”
His eyes looked troubled. “Guess I’m not...thinking straight. Feel like...death warmed over.”
“As well you should. You have broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder, which will be pretty painful while it heals. You have a possible concussion. There’s a cut on your scalp and another on your cheek that will probably leave a nasty scar.”
He attempted a shrug that elicited another grunt of pain.
“You need to go back to sleep,” she told him, feeling a sudden, unexpected and annoying rush of sympathy.
“How long have I been here?” he asked, once more speaking through clenched teeth.
“Since yesterday morning.”
She could almost see his fuzzy mind trying to calculate what day it was. “So it’s...”
“Christmas Eve.”
“I’d hoped to be home for Christmas.”
The confession surprised her. Home? He’d meant to come back to Wolf Creek?
Of course he was coming home. Why else would he have been between Wolf Creek and Antoine?
“Why? Why now, after all this time?”
Without thinking, she blurted out the question that leaped into her mind, even though she knew that he was in no condition for the battle she felt brewing.
“To try to...fix things...with Caleb.”
No wish to try to make amends with her. “Caleb knows you’re here, and frankly, he wasn’t exactly overjoyed about it.” She started to turn away, and his good hand reached out and grabbed hers.
“And you, Rachel?” he asked, as she stared down at the fingers that manacled her wrist. “I know how I left was...wrong. I’m sorry.”
So he did want to make things right with her. The knowledge gave her no satisfaction; it only stoked her anger. “Why should I believe your contrition is genuine, Gabe? You once told me a lot of things, all of them lies. Why should I believe this sudden change of heart is any different? And your behavior wasn’t just wrong. It was contemptible!”
She knew that her tirade was inappropriate and unprofessional, and that the fury consuming her was no doubt reflected in her face and in her voice, which shook as badly as her hands. He was in pain from numerous injuries. It was neither the time nor the place to confront him, but the dam that had held back her pain for so many years had burst, and she could not seem to stop the words that spewed from her like lava from a volcano.
“Did you really think you could just waltz into town and expect everyone to welcome you with open arms? Did you think that maybe Caleb would be so overjoyed by the prodigal’s return that he would trot out the fatted calf? Guess what, Gabe, this is real life, not a Bible story, and I don’t see any happy endings in sight!”
He looked stricken by her outburst. She didn’t care. She wanted him to know he had behaved despicably. Wanted him to know the pain she’d suffered. She even hoped the knowledge of what he’d done added to his own pain.
His grip relaxed and he allowed her to pull free. She stared at him, but his eyes gave away nothing of what he was feeling.
“Mama?” Danny spoke from the doorway.
Trembling as if she had the ague, she turned. “What is it, Danny?” she asked in a far harsher tone than she’d intended and he was accustomed to.
The child looked from her to the man in the bed, his eyes wide with uncertainty. “Pops wanted me to see if everything is all right.”
“Tell him everything’s fine,” she said in a softer voice.
She kept her gaze studiously on her son, who looked shocked by the side of his mother he’d never seen. She wished she could call back her heated words. No. Gabe Gentry deserved her anger. She only wished Danny hadn’t heard. “Mr. Gentry is just in a lot of pain at the moment.”
“But you were mad at him,” Danny said, sensing there was more than she was saying. Like his grandfather, he was prone to probe until his curiosity was satisfied.
“Only because he tried to get out of bed,” she fibbed, casting a quick glance at Gabe, whose eyes were now shut. “He might have hurt himself worse.”
“Oh.”
Once more, Danny looked from one adult to the other before backing out the door, leaving Rachel alone with her patient, who stared at her with no visible expression. Why didn’t that surprise her? The celebrated Gabriel Gentry would never see his actions as despicable.
“I’ll get you some medication,” she told him, wanting nothing more than to escape him.
“I don’t want it,” he said, his jaw set in a stubborn line. “I want...to get up...awhile.”
“There’s no way you can–”
“It’s Christmas Eve,” he interrupted, his voice rough with his own anger and something she couldn’t put a name to. “Help me to...a chair. I’ll be...okay for a while.”
“Fine,” she snapped. “I’ll let you sit up, but only if you let me give you a little something.”
He looked as if he would like to argue further, but nodded. She turned toward the door. “Where are you going?”
“To get Pops’s wheelchair.”
“Rachel,” he said, the sound of his voice stopping her. She turned.
“I had no idea you had a son.”
She stiffened but managed a twisted smile. “What did you expect, Gabe? That I would carry a torch for you forever?”
For once in his life, Gabe had no witty comeback.
* * *
After a lot of moaning and groaning, Rachel got Gabe into one of her father’s robes and settled into the wheelchair with a quilt over his legs. Then she rolled him to the kitchen, where he picked at a bowl of beef stew he didn’t want while trying—without much success and despite the small dose of laudanum she’d forced on him—to ignore the various excruciating pains throbbing throughout his body. It irritated him that she’d been right. He should have stayed in bed.
When the simple meal was finished, he was rolled into the parlor, where he sat watching as the Stones went through their Christmas Eve celebration. His muddled thoughts bounced around from one topic to the next.
When he’d awakened, he remembered how he’d come to be in so much agony but had no idea where he was. He’d chosen not to call for help, instead enduring long pain-filled moments as he struggled to sit up with a shoulder that felt on fire and a rib cage that felt as if someone had taken a club to it. No. Not a club. Boots.
