Rekindled

by Tamera Alexander

  “Personally, I’ve always enjoyed a good walk,” he said, then gave the reins a flick.

  Kathryn couldn’t help but chuckle at his implication. How was it possible? The closer she looked at the man beside her, the more she got to know him, the less she saw his scars.

  The relief Larson felt at discovering that Kathryn’s baby was all right, that Kathryn was all right, still coursed through him. But when she’d laid a hand to his arm a moment before, a reckless seed of hope had taken root inside him—entirely without consent. A hope that perhaps Kathryn might someday learn to see past his ugliness to the man he’d become, to the husband who still loved her and who would love her child, if given the chance.

  In a way, he felt a kinship with the tiny life growing inside her womb. From reading the Bible, he’d come to know that God didn’t love her baby any less because of the way it was conceived. He sighed to himself, wishing he’d learned that sooner in relation to his own life.

  “Jacob, would you mind if we made a brief stop before leaving town?” Kathryn’s voice sounded hesitant. “If you can spare the time.”

  “Sure, where to?” Anything to prolong being with her.

  She slipped something from the pages of the Bible she’d left on the buckboard. “I’d like to stop by the post office and mercantile, and then . . . visit my husband’s grave.”

  It took him a minute to process her question, and Larson noted again the hesitance in her tone. “Sure. . . . I’d like to visit his grave with you, if that’s okay.” Her smile was answer enough.

  He waited in the wagon while she went inside the post office and then the mercantile. Visiting his own grave with his widow wasn’t something he’d thought he’d ever do, and frankly he was surprised that he’d even suggested it.

  Kathryn walked from the mercantile minutes later with a bouquet of fresh flowers wrapped in paper. Larson climbed down to help her.

  “Kathryn!”

  They both turned. Seeing the man walking toward them, a mixture of jealousy and dread curdled Larson’s stomach.

  Kathryn’s face lit when Matthew Taylor hugged her. “Matthew, it’s so good to see you. How’ve you been?”

  Taylor’s hands rested a mite too long on her shoulders before releasing her.

  “How have you been is more like it.” Taylor’s gaze swept over her. He shook his head. “You look beautiful, Kathryn.”

  A blush colored her cheeks. “Thank you.” Then she glanced back at Larson. “Matthew, I’d like you to meet a good friend of mine.”

  As she made the introductions, Larson measured the man beside him. Things he’d not noticed about Taylor before, and would rather not have noticed now, caught his attention. The man’s broad-shouldered stance conveyed undeniable strength and command. His hair was thick, cropped close at the base of his neck, and his jaw was freshly shaven and smooth. Larson imagined women might consider Taylor handsome and wondered if Kathryn did.

  “Jacob and I work together at Casaroja. We both started working there about the same time and . . .” Larson thought he detected a slight frown in Taylor’s eyes. Did Taylor disapprove of Kathryn’s working there? “Jacob manages the stables at Casaroja,” she continued, drawing Larson into the conversation with a look. “Matthew Taylor used to work on my husband’s ranch.” She looked down briefly. “Things were hard after Larson died, and Matthew helped me get through a very difficult time.”

  Yeah, he helped you, all right, and himself. Larson forced himself to meet Taylor’s eyes, waiting to see disgust there—waiting for the reaction that would give him reason to hate Matthew Taylor all the more.

  Taylor extended his hand. “It’s good to meet you, Jacob.” His grip was firm, his eyes taking in the obvious scarring but returning only warmth. No condemnation. “So, Kathryn, you work at MacGregor’s ranch now?” he asked, turning his attention back. “Exactly how did that come about?”

  “Actually, I believe it’s by God’s design that I’m there.” Her smile looked coerced. “It’s been a very good situation for me, and the pay is excellent.”

  Taylor’s look held doubt but he finally nodded. “Well, that explains why I haven’t seen you around town. And I’ve been looking,” he added softly.

  The man’s obvious affection wore on Larson. First because it was his wife Taylor was looking at, and second because the look in the man’s eyes appeared to be genuine. And the glow in Kathryn’s face didn’t help. If not mistaking the signs, Larson guessed that Matthew Taylor truly loved Kathryn. But even if he did love her, it didn’t make right the wrong that he and Kathryn had done together. If he was the father.

  “I’m sorry, Matthew. It all happened so fast. I got the job and then moved out there soon after. I’ve been busy with work since then, and being so far out of town, I . . .” She stopped abruptly. “Honestly, Matthew, I think I just needed some time away from . . . everything.”

  “. . . from you,” is what Larson heard her saying. Seeing Taylor’s expression, Larson knew he’d caught her meaning as well. Larson recognized the look in Taylor’s eyes—that of a man clearly trying to gauge a woman’s feelings and wondering how much to reveal, how much to risk.

  Apparently not sure of his wager, Taylor only nodded. “So the two of you are in town for the day?”

  This was the chance Larson had been waiting for. “Actually, Kathryn and I were about to leave.”

  Kathryn glanced at him as though surprised to hear him speak. “Yes, we were just heading back. Jacob was kind enough to bring me into town to see the doctor this morning.”

  Taylor frowned. “There’s nothing wrong, is there? With you or the—”

  “No, everything’s fine,” she assured him, and laid a hand to his arm.

  Larson saw the gesture, and suddenly it didn’t mean quite what he thought it had before. Kathryn looked at him and as though reading his thoughts, gently withdrew her hand from Taylor’s arm.

  “The doctor said I’m fine, and that the baby is too. I was being overprotective.”

  Taylor glanced at Larson, a shy look in his eyes. “Would you mind if I spoke to Kathryn for a minute? Alone?”

  You bet I mind. “No, not at all.” Larson walked to the other side of the wagon and climbed to the bench.

  As Taylor spoke, his voice grew more urgent, and Larson heard bits and pieces of the conversation between them.

  “. . . maybe things moved too quickly between us, but it was unfair for you to . . . I don’t care what people are . . . You know I still feel the same way. . . .” Finally, Taylor sighed. “At least tell me you understand what I’m saying to you.”

  “Yes, I do, Matthew. Thank you,” Kathryn answered. “But this way is best, at least for now.”

  Larson stole a glance behind him. From the look on Taylor’s face, he clearly didn’t agree.

  Taylor briefly leaned close and whispered something to Kathryn and then stepped back. “If it’s all right, I’d like to pay my respects to your husband too.”

  Larson couldn’t believe it. Here Taylor wanted to pay his respects, and the man hadn’t even waited until Larson was dead and buried before staking claim to his wife. Larson silently willed Kathryn to say no.

  “Of course, Matthew. You’re welcome to join us.”

  His grip tightened on the reins. Taylor helped Kathryn into the wagon and then climbed into the back himself. Whatever else Taylor said had apparently moved Kathryn, because Larson saw the sheen in her eyes.

  He waited in the wagon while the two of them visited his grave. He’d visited it already, and he certainly didn’t care to do it again with Taylor standing over him. Larson’s eyes narrowed as he watched them. How many men got the chance to die and then come back to life and see the choices their wife had made? It sure had a way of putting things into perspective. Larson huffed a laugh, not feeling the least bit of humor.

  Kathryn knelt by the makeshift headstone and laid the flowers down. Taylor stood wordless by her side. Why was Kathryn visiting his grave anyway? And with the ver
y man she’d so quickly abandoned him for? Taylor was obviously willing to take Kathryn as his own and to take responsibility for his mistake, yet Kathryn refused. Somehow that didn’t make Larson feel any better.

  He shook his head. None of it made any sense. No matter how he worked it in his mind, this didn’t fit the picture of the woman Larson thought he’d known all these years. A stirring started deep inside him. More importantly, it didn’t fit the portrait of the woman he’d been given the chance to know and love again, for the second time in his life.

  Kathryn snuck a glance at Jacob seated on the pew beside her. He wasn’t singing with the rest of the congregation, but somehow she felt him following along. He’d dressed up more today than she’d ever seen him before, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he’d done it for her. The possibility coaxed a smile.

  “Please be seated,” Patrick Carlson said when the song ended. “Turn in your Bibles with me to Matthew chapter five. We’ll be reading from the Sermon on the Mount. . . .”

  Kathryn opened her Bible. Balancing it with one hand, she shifted on the hard pew to ease the dull ache in her back. The Bible slipped and landed with a soft thud on the wooden floor. Jacob retrieved it along with the papers that had fallen out. It was a bit foolish, but she still couldn’t part with the documents found in Larson’s coat pocket, despite the papers being crinkled and the writing indistinguishable.

  Jacob gathered them but then paused as though staring at one in particular. After a moment, he handed them back.

  Kathryn leaned close. “Thank you,” she whispered, catching a faint scent of musk. Jacob’s thin beard was neatly trimmed. Looking at the knit cap covering his head, an idea came to mind and she wondered why she hadn’t thought of it before. Making a mental note, she started to slip the papers back into her Bible, but she stopped when she read the faded letterhead.

  Her stomach dropped.

  Printed across the top—in barely legible faded type—was the name Berklyn Stockholders.

  “How about another piece of cake, Jacob? I’ll throw in a fresh cup of coffee.” Hannah Carlson rose from the porch swing.

  “No, ma’am, I can’t eat another bite.” He stood and walked to the edge of the front porch. “But it was delicious. Thank you for such a fine meal.”

  Hannah’s look turned conspiratorial. “Then I’ll just wrap it up and you can take it with you for later. I’ll put one in for Kathryn too.” She glanced at Kathryn’s tummy. “You’ll be hungry later tonight.”

  “Oh please, Hannah, don’t. I don’t need it.” Kathryn laughed along with everyone else, but only on the surface. She loved the child inside her more than anything else on earth, and nothing would ever change that. So how could she explain feeling bigger than a barn and not the least bit attractive? As though her attractiveness should matter. But it did matter for some reason. Especially today.

  Kathryn looked across the porch at Jacob. He didn’t smile or nod, so she had no idea whether he was watching her or not. Her thoughts turned back to church this morning, and she wondered again why Larson had been carrying a letter from Berklyn Stockholders with him that day. What kind of company was it? She guessed it involved cattle markets somehow, since Donlyn MacGregor had also corresponded with them. But MacGregor’s letter from them had mentioned something about water rights. If only she’d had more time while in MacGregor’s office that day. She would check with the bank about Berklyn Stockholders. Certainly someone there would know. But she wouldn’t ask Kohlman. The less she had to do with that man, the better.

  “Kathryn?”

  She looked up to see Jacob standing beside her chair.

  “It’s time for us to head back. Are you ready?”

  For a moment she wished Jacob would offer his hand and help her up. But his hands were stuffed into his pockets, away from sight—like his eyes and his emotions. Hidden. Like so much of him was to her.

  “Yes, I’m ready,” she answered, seeing her faint reflection in Jacob’s glasses when she would have much preferred to see him.

  Halfway to Casaroja, a warm breeze swept down from the north across the plains, bringing with it the sweet smell of rain. Gray clouds gathered in the northwest, piled high one atop the other over the steep rocky range. The farmers and ranchers would welcome the rain, but Kathryn hoped she and Jacob would make it back to Casaroja before the thunderhead unleashed its fury. While the rain didn’t bother her, being caught in a thunderstorm on the prairie was another thing altogether.

  Closing her eyes, the distant memory of another summer thunderstorm made her skin tingle. She could still hear the claps of thunder crashing overhead. Without warning, gusting winds had swept down late that afternoon as she and Larson traveled back from Denver, and Larson had sought refuge in a ravine he’d stayed in before. He’d made sure she was safe in the cleft of an overhang before going back for the horses. When he disappeared into the driving wind and rain, she feared he wouldn’t find his way back to her. How could he? She could barely see two feet in front of herself. Once he returned, she’d asked him about it. Larson had shrugged as though it was something he’d never considered before. “I just know the way . . . in here,” he’d added, lightly touching his chest. Half wanting to smack him for treating her fear so casually, she had sought the reassurance of his arms instead. And through the night, even as the storm subsided, Larson had chased away her fear and any chill that might have come.

  Kathryn’s eyes filled with tears, and her chest tightened painfully. Her skin tingled again, but this time with the longing for Larson’s touch. For the chance to again look into his eyes and see the fire that burned there for her.

  “Are you all right?” Jacob asked, quiet beside her.

  She turned to find him watching her. Whether he noticed her tears or not, when she nodded he just looked back to watch the road, and Kathryn felt strangely bereft. She remembered the many times in the past when she’d wished Larson would have held or touched her at a moment like this. She could’ve asked him to and he would have, no doubt. It was silly, she knew, but somehow it wasn’t the same if she had to ask. And she wasn’t about to ask Jacob to do such a thing. It wouldn’t have been proper, nor would—

  Jacob’s hand covered hers on the bench between them.

  Kathryn closed her eyes, and tears slipped down her cheek. A part of her heart long cordoned off slowly opened, and she gasped softly at the loneliness hoarded inside. The warmth from Jacob’s hand seeped into hers. She shivered and gripped the buckboard tighter, hoping he wouldn’t move it away. He didn’t.

  Neither of them looked at the other, yet it felt as though they were joined somehow. Connected in a way Kathryn had never been with another person before.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  WALKING BACK TO THE STABLE, Larson saw the wagonload of women pull up behind the row of bunkhouses. It was hardly dusk, and the party was already starting. Several of the men had made a point of telling him about tonight’s remuneration.

  “It’s MacGregor’s way of thankin’ us for a job well done,” one of the hands had said, jabbing his buddy in the side. “They stay till everybody’s had a turn. That means even you, Jacob.”

  Larson turned away from the women strutting into the bunkhouse amid hoops and hollers and instead looked to Kathryn’s cottage. A faint yellow glow came from the bedroom window, and he wondered if she would be up for a walk tonight. They’d been on several in the past few days, and he’d begun to look forward to them, probably more than he should. But the more time he spent with her, the more he wanted to spend. He was getting to know his wife in a way he’d not known her before. Larson recalled finding his papers in her Bible that Sunday—that had made him feel special in a way he couldn’t put into words.

  Kathryn answered on the second knock. “I was hoping you would come by tonight.” The look in her eyes reflected her words. “Wait here for just a second. I’ll be right back.” She left the door open and walked back to the bedroom.

  When she returned, Larson saw
her stuffing something into her pocket. It looked like a pair of knit gloves. “I doubt you’ll need gloves tonight,” he said teasingly.

  Her smile only deepened. “Better safe than sorry.”

  He purposefully took a path in the direction of the stables, well away from the bunkhouses. The silhouette of a thumbnail moon lit the twilight sky as the sun took refuge behind the mountain peaks, and conversation came easily as Kathryn talked about her day.

  As they rounded the corner to the back of the stable, Larson gently interrupted her. “I was hoping you’d feel up to taking a short walk tonight, and maybe . . . a hayride.” He motioned with his hand.

  Kathryn’s eyes went wide and she chuckled.

  Gabe stood beside the hay-filled wagon bed dressed in his work shirt and dungarees but with a ridiculous-looking hat on his head— something a fancy carriage driver might have worn. He bowed low and swung an arm wide, apparently intent on playing the part.

  Larson laughed. “I asked you to drive the wagon, Gabe, not steal the show.”

  He motioned for Kathryn to precede him and helped her onto a blanket in the back of the wagon. He climbed up beside her, her expression warming him. Larson settled down a fair distance away, not wanting to give the wrong impression. He recalled covering her hand the other day on their way home from the Carlsons’—the fragile strength of hers lying beneath his—and the feeling was still with him.

  Seated on the buckboard, Gabe gave the signal and the horses responded.

  Kathryn tipped her head back and closed her eyes. Neither of them spoke, and that suited Larson fine. He enjoyed the chance just to be near her. Staring at her now, drinking in her unflawed beauty, he had a hard time imagining her living back in that brothel or having fathered another man’s child. And though he was certain he could love Kathryn again, that indeed he did love her still, he couldn’t deny the wish inside him that she’d remained faithful, that she’d kept herself pure.

  Like you were when you came to her, beloved?