Rekindled (45 page)

Larson released the brake and the horses pulled forward without command. He reined in to keep control, but the horses only whinnied more and strained at the bit.

The breeze shifted, revealing the faintest hint of smoke.

He scanned the plains stretching west to the mountains. Not a cloud in the sky, no haze on the horizon. The ranch hands he’d run into moments ago had already crested the western bluff and were out of sight, gone to check on the stock. The lower stables blocked his view of the big house and the upper buildings, so he urged the mares forward. When the wagon rounded the corner, he went numb. Panic rushed to fill the void.

Wisps of smoke seeped from the sides of the stable near Kathryn’s cottage, spiraling upward. Flames licked the rooftop. Larson could feel them on his skin. Dread poured through him, and for a moment, he was back in that shack, when the world turned to fire.

At his command, the horses surged forward. The wagon jarred and bumped over the rutted road. The cottage was a fair distance from the stable and the wind was minimal.
Plenty of time to get Kathryn
.

He reined in by the cottage and jumped down. The door was open.

“Kat!” he yelled. A lamp lay shattered, and dark stains splattered the hardwood floor. When he didn’t find her in the bedroom, he ran back outside and looked toward the stable.
She couldn’t be. If she was in the main house, she was fine. If she was in the stable . . .
He ran, ignoring the pain in his leg.

He pulled his bandanna from his back pocket and tied it over his nose and mouth, then shoved his glasses into his coat pocket. As he reached the door, it swung open.

Smoke poured out as a man backed out of the stable. Coughing, the man slammed the door and turned. The right side of his face was covered in blood, but Larson recognized him—a ranch hand he’d seen a couple of times, but only at a distance.

The man’s expression registered surprise, then hardened. “Well, what are you waitin’ for, man! Help me get some water!”

Larson didn’t move. Neither did the other man.

“I said get some water!”

That voice. Something about it—

A cry came from inside the stable. Larson glanced at the door, then back to the man, and panic inside him exploded. He threw the first punch.

The fellow staggered back, looking stunned. Then he cursed and flicked his tongue along the edge of his mouth, meeting blood. His lips twisted in a sneer. “Let’s get on with it, mister. You can die slow or long, don’t matter to me.”

Like an invisible blow, recognition hit him. It wasn’t the man’s face, but his voice. Larson looked him in the eye, then tugged his bandanna down. “I think you already tried to kill me once. Or don’t you remember?”

Confusion clouded the man’s smirk. He stared at Larson’s face for a second; then his eyes narrowed to slits. Larson braced himself for the charge.

He hit Larson hard, putting his full weight into the assault. Larson staggered back, his right leg buckling until only sky filled his view. He turned to avoid a right-handed punch, but the man’s boot connected with his ribcage and expelled the air from his lungs. Larson rolled to his side, struggling to fill them again.

Expecting another blow, he looked around and glimpsed the guy striding back to the stable. The man jerked open the door and smoke poured out.
Oh, God, don’t let him hurt her
.

Larson struggled to his feet and followed, pausing inside the door. No sign of the man. Fire engulfed the loft, greedily licking the walls of the stable. Larson’s feet felt bolted to where he stood. He remembered the feel of it on his skin, scathing his flesh, and he couldn’t move. The acrid scent of its fury filled his nostrils.

Then came another memory, stronger and clearer than the others— the memory of invisible arms rescuing him from a similar fate last December. He pulled the kerchief back up and raced inside.

“Kathryn!” He checked each stall, watching behind him as he went.

Thick smoke hovered in heavy folds, and the farther back Larson went, the less he could distinguish.
God, you are my strength, my shield, my deliverer. Give me eyes to see
. He felt his way along the stable wall to the back, the smoke choking him. He called her name again, but the hungry blaze devoured the sound.

Then he heard it. She was calling out a name, but it wasn’t his. Still, it was the sweetest sound Larson had ever heard. Like a candle in the darkness, it led him to her. He found her lying on her back.

As he bent to lift her, a slice of wordless warning shot through him.

He turned and caught the man hard in the gut with his shoulder. The guy staggered back, dropping the ax that had been in his hands. But he didn’t go down. Instead, he charged again. Using his opponent’s momentum, Larson undercut him and vaulted him onto his back. He landed with a thud. Larson hoped he would stay down—silently willed it—but the man struggled to his feet.

Larson came at him full force, and the ranch hand fell back, groaning. The heavy beams supporting the loft above them groaned in protest, and Larson watched the flames devouring the thick beams like parched kindling.

He crawled back to Kathryn and lifted her. Her body was limp in his arms and his hope followed suit. He carried her outside and gently laid her beside the well. She stirred and coughed, drawing rapid, shallow breaths. He sank down beside her, the muscles in his arms and shoulders aching with fatigue. Larson yanked the bandanna from his face and dragged air into his lungs.

After untying her wrists and ankles, he felt her arms and legs, checking her body for burns. He hesitated, then slowly moved his hands over her unborn child,
his
child.
Lord, please let him be all right
. Faint movement rippled beneath his hands, and he almost laughed for joy.

A deafening crack exploded behind him, and Larson spun.

The walls of the stable surrendered to the fiery onslaught and caved in, taking the loft with it. Flames engulfed the building, sending sparks shooting high into the air. He thought of the man inside but felt no remorse. Kathryn was his only concern.

Larson drew water from the well and drenched his kerchief. “Kathryn,” he whispered, smoothing her face with the moist cloth.

Her eyes fluttered open, then clamped shut again. A deep cough rattled her chest. He knew what she must be feeling, like the inside of her lungs were charred. He encouraged slow breaths and checked her face and neck again for burns. Even streaked with a combination of dirt and soot with tears, his wife was still the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

She tried again to open her eyes. “My eyes . . . I can’t open my eyes.” Her voice came out raw.

“It’s the smoke. Don’t try to open them yet. Give it a few minutes.” Larson cradled her face with his hand. “But you’re not burned—you’re all right.” He started to rise. “I’ll go soak this cloth again and—”

“No, don’t leave me.” She clung to him, fisting his shirt in her hands. “That man. Where is that man?”

“He can’t hurt you anymore, Kathryn. He’s dead. He didn’t make it out.”

Her face twisted. “He said he . . .” She wept, her words growing indistinguishable.

Not understanding, Larson gently cradled her against his chest, feeling her body shudder against him. Unexpectedly, she reached up to touch his face, and Larson couldn’t believe the name she was whispering. It wasn’t Matthew Taylor’s. It wasn’t even Jacob’s. It was
his
.

Suddenly Kathryn arched her back and groaned, then wrapped her arms around her middle. “The baby—”

She cried out when Larson lifted her. Her body stiffened in protest as he carried her into the cottage. With one hand, she cradled her abdomen. With the other, she dug her fingers into his shoulder until Larson was certain her nails were drawing blood. He laid her on the bed, and she immediately rolled onto her side, moaning.

He got a cup of water from the pump in the kitchen, freshened the handkerchief, and returned to the bedroom. As he draped the cool cloth over her closed eyes, he realized his own were exposed and quickly slipped his glasses back on.

“Don’t leave me again,” she whispered, reaching for him.

Larson caught the unexpected command in her tone and couldn’t help but smile. He leaned close and cupped the back of her neck, then lifted the cup to her lips. “I’m not leaving you, Kathryn.”
Not ever again
. “But I do need to get ready to deliver this baby.”

“Stay with me for a minute first.”

Larson sat down on the bed and took her hand. Her grip turned viselike.

After several minutes, the contraction apparently subsided, because Kathryn relaxed, her breathing evened. Larson knew enough about the process to know that there was no telling how long this reprieve might last. It could be minutes, could be hours.

She turned her face in his direction, her eyes still draped with the damp cloth. “Have you ever been married . . . Jacob?”

Larson stared at her for a moment, wondering if he’d imagined the slight inflection she’d given his name. “Yes, I have.”

She nodded, her lips absent of the least smile. “May I ask you a question?”

“Anything,” he answered, his pulse kicking up a notch. The longer it took her to ask, the more nervous he became. He heard the crack of timbers and looked out the window. The stable still burned, but the fire was contained—the cottage wasn’t in danger. Surely someone had seen the smoke by now. Others would soon come.

“Will you tell me about your wife? What she was like? I’ve talked—” Her voice caught. Larson lifted the cup of water back to her lips, thinking she was thirsty, but she refused. Kathryn drew in a quick breath and briefly pressed her lips together. “I’ve talked enough in the past months about my husband to you; I’d really like to hear something about your wife.”

He decided to take the safe road. “I’ve enjoyed listening to you talk, Kathryn. I’ve learned a lot from the things you’ve told me.” He covered their clasped hands with his other one, but Kathryn suddenly drew hers away. The reaction took him by surprise.

“You’ve learned a lot about me or about my late husband?”

There it was again, that strange trace of . . . hardness in her voice.

“Both,” he whispered, while something inside him told him to tread carefully here. It suddenly felt like the tables had been turned and that Kathryn knew something he didn’t. It wasn’t a comfortable feeling. She frowned, and he shifted uncomfortably, glad he couldn’t yet see her eyes. He feared he might crumble beneath their scrutiny.

A distant thought provoked his memory. In reading the Old Testament, he’d learned that God likened himself to a lover, and the people of Israel to His lost love.
Lord, I love this woman with all my heart, and I’m willing to do anything to have her back. But I want to follow your lead. You know all about pursuing something that’s lost, don’t you, Lord? Would you help me win my wife’s heart again?

He started softly. “My wife was the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen. She was everything I’d always wanted to be, in so many ways. The moment I saw her, I loved her.” His throat suddenly felt parched. He took a drink from her cup. “But I didn’t love her fully, not in all the ways I should have. I wish I’d taken the time to know who she really was, to know what she wanted before I lost her.”

When Kathryn didn’t say anything, doubt flooded him. Doubt about his actions since he’d returned to Willow Springs, doubt at how he should proceed now.

“Go on.” It wasn’t a request as much as a demand.

“I always knew that my wife wanted more from me, but I was afraid. Afraid she wouldn’t want me once she saw who I really was. I know it’s hard to believe, but I think the first thing she liked about me was the way I looked.” He smiled to himself at the irony. “It didn’t bother me at the time because I wanted her so badly I would’ve done anything to make her mine.”

With that admission, Larson felt a barrier inside him coming down. To the extent he’d disguised himself from Kathryn before, he now prayed for the strength to lower his mask and let her see him again, let her see the man he’d become.

“Then after we were married, as we got to know each other better, I realized what a special woman she was. She deserved more than I could give her. She deserved a better man, better than I could ever hope to be.”

Kathryn removed the cloth from her eyes, blinked a few times, then closed them again and rubbed them gently. “You said you’d lost your wife. Did she leave you in some way, Jacob? Or . . . did
you
leave her?”

Awareness hit him like a blast of frigid wind.
Oh, God, she knows!
He was sure of it. Heart hammering, Larson kept his head down. His thoughts reeled.

Answering her question unleashed a dam of regret. “I . . . lost my wife many years ago. To my pride, my own selfishness. . . . Trust is something I learned later in life—and something I never learned with her, until it was too late. Something happened to me, and I became a different man. At first I thought I wasn’t even a man anymore, but since then I’ve learned that . . . what a man is on the outside doesn’t necessarily reflect who he really is.”
God, let her still want me
. “I want to be the man God intended for me to be, and whatever He needs to do to make that happen, I ask Him to do it. He’s the Potter; I’m the clay.” He studied the palms of his hands, scarred as they were and refashioned by the flame. “I’ve also learned that God uses fire to refine a man’s faith, and sometimes to refine the man.”

Kathryn began to cry. Tears slipped down her sooty cheeks. Larson reached over and tentatively touched her hand.
Oh, Kat . . .

She took his hand and held it against her chest, drawing him closer. Larson could feel the solid beat of her heart, and it gave him strength to let his mask slip ever lower.

“In time, I got a glimpse of who I was becoming on the inside, and I knew God was finally making me into the man He wanted me to be, and the husband my wife always wanted me to be. Only problem was . . . I was certain she wouldn’t be able to see past what I had become.”

She let out a sob. “But why?”

He didn’t understand and leaned closer. “Why what?”