by Merry Farmer
“But I thought…”
Her shoulders dropped and her eyes lost their focus for a minute. Then she started to laugh. It was encouraging and unsettling at the same time. Franklin took a faltering step toward her as she gripped her sides and continued laughing. She glance up to him.
“And you don’t think I’m too unladylike to be a good wife because of what happened at the baseball game yesterday either.” It wasn’t a question, but her eyes shone as if she needed an answer.
Franklin’s lips twitched to a grin. “Corva, I’ve never been more proud of anyone in my life as I was at the way you stepped up and helped us to win that game. I never would have consented to play if it wasn’t for you.” He stepped closer to her still, almost close enough to reach for her. “And as for being unladylike?” A rush of desire flooded through him. “I’ve never wanted to hold or kiss or…do other things with a woman—a womanly woman—as I did the moment you slid into home.”
Corva clasped her hands to her mouth, her blush deepening, her eyes flashing. Then she lowered her arms and stepped into him, wrapping her arms around him as he closed her against him in a tight embrace.
“He was right,” she said before he could kiss her.
Franklin’s grin dropped. “Who?”
“Mr. Gunn.” She laughed again. “He warned me to talk to you before jumping to conclusions about what you thought or how you see things.”
Yes, Theophilus Gunn was definitely due for a gigantic thank you, possibly in the form of a check. “He’s a brilliant man, isn’t he?”
Corva nodded, but that was all she could manage before Franklin kissed her with a passion that practically lifted them off their feet. She felt so right in his arms, so complete pressed against him. Maybe it had been someone else’s idea to bring Corva here, to Haskell, to marry him, but it was his idea and his alone to love her with his whole heart, for the rest of his days.
They stood their kissing for far longer than they should have. An urgency that was new to Franklin, but as old as time struck him, and he leaned back to whisper, “We should go straight to bed.”
Corva gasped, her eyes sparkling. “I’ve got supper on the stove, just about ready to—”
A shattering crash broke through both his amorous mood and her domestic one. A brick clunked to a stop only a yard away from their feet. Corva gasped and crushed against him. Franklin held her tighter, following the line of the brick to the now broken window it had smashed through.
“What the—”
A second crash came from the bedroom, no doubt another brick.
“Stay here.” Franklin let go of Corva, limping across the shattered glass to look out the window.
Twilight was falling, but he could still see the area around the house. A pair of horses stood many yards back from his barn. A flicker of movement and a flash of light came from the side. He twisted to see a man he vaguely recognized as one of Rex Bonneville’s ranch hands…with something flaming in his hand.
“Think you can humiliate us?” the man bellowed. “Think you can spread rumors and show us up on the diamond?”
Before Franklin could respond, the man hurled the flaming thing in his hand. Franklin jerked out of the way as it shot through the broken window and shattered on the floor. A fountain of flame spewed up in its wake along with the stink of burning oil. Corva screamed with a terror that turned Franklin’s blood to ice.
“Run!” He lurched toward the wall of flame that now separated them, but pulled back. Whatever the flammable substance in the bomb was, it had caught on the old carpet. The flames were growing instead of shrinking. “Run, Corva!”
She continued to scream, backing against the table, eyes so wide he could see the reflection not only of these flames, but of the flames that burned Atlanta in them. Another crash sounded from her bedroom. The sick glow of fire rose in both of the bedrooms now.
He had to act. Braces or no braces, he needed to use what strength was left in his legs. That was all that mattered. Steeling himself against the danger, he charged at the flames that separated him from his wife, his heart, his soul. A sharp lick of heat flared around him as he burst through and continued on to throw his arms around her.
“We have to get out of here,” he told her, scooping his arm around her waist. “I can’t carry you, so you’re going to have to run.”
She nodded, though her breath came in sharp, frantic pants. Franklin gripped her hand, searching for the safest way around the flames. They stretched almost all the way across the main room, but not quite. He set his path, then charged ahead, pulling her with him.
A thump sounded against the door just as they reached it. When Franklin tugged it open, he was met by a wall of flame. Corva screamed, and the two of them wheeled back. Panic began to inch its way up Franklin’s back as he looked for another way out, but by some twist of luck or blessing, the flames around the door died down. The bomb Bonneville’s man had thrown against the door didn’t catch.
“This way.” Franklin tightened his grip on Corva’s hand and dashed forward. Glass crunched under their feet as they shot through the door and out into the cooling twilight. Far ahead of them, two men jumped on the horses that had been left to watch and rode off. There wasn’t time to worry about them.
Franklin tugged Corva as far away from the house as he could before the coughing started. Then he stopped and doubled, racked with coughing. His iron braces were warm to the touch when his hands bumped them. Corva sank to the ground by his side, breathing heavily. They both turned to watch the house. Orange-red fire lit half of the windows, but the structure wasn’t alight yet. There might still be time to save it.
As the thought struck him, Corva gasped, “My paintings!” Tears and terror streaked her face.
Franklin whipped back to the house. The fire was spreading, but it wasn’t too late. He still had a chance to do something, to save something. Without a second thought, he lunged forward, rushing back into the house.
Corva’s mind clouded with every nightmare she’d experienced in the last ten years. All at once, she was that tiny, injured, and frightened little girl, running through a world on fire. The only thing that kept her from spinning out of control was Franklin’s steady presence by her side. As they stumbled out into the cool grass, turning to watch the flames grow inside their home, the only thing she could think of were her blasted paintings.
And then Franklin ran back into the house.
“Franklin, no!”
In an instant, she snapped out of the fevered nightmares. The present and the reality of the situation—that her husband, a man she owed so much, a man she adored—had run back inside of a burning building for her.
“No!”
She jumped to her feet, stumbling toward the house. Franklin was injured. He couldn’t move fast enough in a house full of flame to rescue a few pieces of canvas and paint. He was in danger.
She hesitated for only a heartbeat at the beginning of the ramp leading up to the front door. Heat spilled out of the house in waves. Inside, she could see flames licking up the walls, consuming the sofa. She thought she saw the dark shape of Franklin dash through the main room. A moment later, one of the intact windows opened and two of her paintings sailed out into the safety of the lawn.
“Franklin!” Corva shouted, and pushed inside of the house.
Fear closed in on her from every side. The infernal light all around her teased at the corners of her memory, conjuring the flames of Atlanta as well as the ones in Franklin’s house. Across the room, Franklin yanked one of her larger paintings off the wall. He stumbled around the table—the corner of which was now in flame—and limped to the open window. Pain lined his face, but he pushed on.
“Franklin!”
He spun to her just as he tossed the large canvas out the window. “Corva? Get out of here, get out!”
“Leave them,” she shouted. “Leave them and come with me.”
“I won’t let them burn,” he called back over the roar of fire. �
�You love these paintings, and I love you.”
Corva’s chest squeezed with his declaration, with panic, and with the heat from the growing inferno. He loved her? He loved her!
“They’re not worth it,” she shouted. She jumped away from a flare of fire as one of the lamps shattered on the table. Sparks threatened to ignite the hem of her dress, but she danced away, putting out the flames before they could catch. The movement knocked her against the wall.
She gasped when her foot smacked against her paint box and easel. She’d left them there after bringing them in the other afternoon. As quickly as she could, she grabbed them and hurled them through the window that the brick had shattered. At least some part of her art would survive. That was the least of her worries, though.
She spun back to the room. Franklin was nowhere to be seen. “Franklin? Franklin!” He couldn’t have rushed out of the house that fast, could he?
A thump at the far end of the room and a muffled cry was her answer. She dashed around the flames, searching for him. Sure enough, Franklin had fallen on the far side of the table. His face was contorted with a sharper pain than before. He thrashed his legs, and when he reached for one, his hands snapped back as if burned.
As if burned.
His braces must have been red hot.
Corva didn’t call out to him. She didn’t even think. With steely determination—far beyond the kind that had come over her when she ran the bases the day before—she sprinted through the wall of flames and around the table to him. He writhed in agony, jaw clenched over a scream. Smoke rose faintly from his trousers.
Without thinking, Corva grabbed him under his arms and tugged. She wasn’t particularly strong, had never counted that as one of her talents, but in that moment, it was as if she had the strength of Hercules. She hoisted Franklin halfway to his feet, then turned and searched for the door. Flames blocked her from it, but they weren’t severe. She would have to be fast.
There was no time to consider anything but getting Franklin out. Corva grunted and swayed into motion. Franklin growled, his body tensing with struggle as he did everything he could to move on his own and to shelter her. Time stood still as Corva half-dragged, half-helped him toward the door. They passed through a barrier of fire, and with another few, labored steps, they were outside. Franklin lurched to tug her away from the flames and down the ramp. Immediately, the air around them cooled, but the heat seemed to continue inside of her. The two of them plummeted to the dirt beside the ramp.
“Over here, over here,” someone shouted.
Seconds later, Corva lost her hold on Franklin as something lifted her. She had the short, swift sensation of movement, then a thump and the cool of grass. Then water splashed all around her. A second later, she heard another splash and a sizzle, and Franklin crying out in agony.
“Someone get those off of him. They’re burning up.”
Corva turned to the familiar, urgent voice. Bit by bit, her mind focused on the world around her. Travis and Cody Montrose knelt on either side of Franklin, frantically working to remove his braces, jerking back and shaking their hands as the hot metal burned them. Franklin was soaking wet, his clothes singed in several spots. It was only when Corva rolled in an attempt to reach him that she saw her own dress was nothing but cinders below the knee. Water had been thrown on her to extinguish the fire.
“Franklin!” She fell into a fit of coughing as soon as his name was out.
“Corva,” he answered through his own coughs.
He reached around Travis’s back, hand extended to her. Corva dragged herself across the grass, only resting when her hand was firmly in his. He squeezed it, and then she blacked out.
Chapter Eleven
For the second time in his life, Franklin Haskell awoke in his childhood bed, wrapped in bandages and wracked with pain, after a disaster that nearly killed him. Only this time, his wife lay tucked against his side. He winced as he raised a hand to stroke her hair. Bits of it had been singed off, but that didn’t make her any less beautiful to him.
She stirred, drawing in a breath as she awoke, then coughing hard enough to shake the bed. That set him off into a fit of his own coughing.
“This is the worst part,” she gasped, voice wispy. “Dr. Meyers said it will go away eventually, but that we both inhaled a lot of smoke.”
Franklin nodded, fighting to steady his lungs. They both managed to stop coughing, but it was an effort. Franklin settled for shifting to the side so that Corva could lay fully next to him and holding her hand.
At long last, he said, “You saved me,” his voice cracking.
She shook her head. “They’d already seen the fire from your father’s house by the time I ran in after you. The Montrose brothers and Luke Chance rode like the wind to get here. Luke dragged us both out to safety, and the others put out as much of the fire as they could.” She coughed for a few seconds before adding, “The house is ruined, though.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Franklin wheezed. He slid his arm gently around Corva’s shoulders, pulling her into an embrace. Her knee bumped his thigh, and even though it was nothing more than a gentle nudge, he winced in pain.
“Oh. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She lifted to one arm, settling beside him without touching him.
That was the last thing he wanted. “It’s nothing, just a little pain. I’m used to it. I’d rather hold you.”
Corva glanced down at him, a doubtful twist to her lips. “Your legs were badly burned when your braces heated up in the fire.”
“Even through my trousers?”
Corva nodded. “Do you want to see?”
He didn’t. His legs had given him enough trouble to last a lifetime. But it was what Corva wanted. “All right.”
Corva inched off the bed, then peeled back the sheet and quilt that covered him. Aside from a pair of drawers that had been cut short to leave his thighs free, he was naked from the waist down. The sight that met him was twisted and ugly…and he couldn’t help but laugh.
“It’s not that bad,” Corva assured him even as his laughter turned to coughing that wracked him. “Dr. Meyers says there will probably be scars, but Aiden Murphy said he knows of a Cheyenne remedy for burns, and that if you rub it on your— What’s so funny?”
Franklin reached for her hand, gesturing for her to sit on the bed again. As soon as his lungs cleared, he said, “Along with the old scars, my legs look like checkerboards now.”
Corva blinked, then looked at his legs again. Her brows rose, as if she saw what he saw. The old scars that he’d been left with after his first accident mostly ran up and down along his thighs and shins. The burn marks from his braces ran around his legs. His flesh was now a cheery plaid. A burn ointment had been applied to his flesh, giving it a sheen as though it was wet. She shook her head, then met his eyes.
“You do beat all, Franklin Haskell,” she said. “Laughing over grievous bodily harm.”
He hummed, fighting off another cough, and reached for her. She snuggled against him, careful not to touch his legs. It would have to be good enough for now.
“What about you? Are you injured at all?” His heart shuddered at the thought.
“No,” she said, as if surprised. “My skirt burned nearly to ash, but Cody doused me before it could burn through my stockings. I’ve got a few small burns, but I’m actually fine.” She finished with a long coughing fit. “Except for my lungs.”
“Then kiss me.” Franklin tightened his hold on her. “Kiss me before we start coughing again.”
Corva grinned, then leaned over to brush her lips gently against his. It wasn’t the kind of kiss he wanted. His body told him that it could be a while before he could kiss her the way he wanted. But for now, it would do. She was here, she was safe, and she was his.
“You saved me,” he repeated, feeling the truth of it from the bottom of his heart.
She shook her head. “I told you, that was Luke.”
He pressed his fingers to her lips before sh
e could go on. “You asked me before the fire why I married you when marriage was the last thing I wanted. I don’t know if I’ll ever have the right answer to that question, but I can tell you this—whatever the reason, marrying you is the best decision I ever made. You saved me, Corva. You saved me from the sad, guilty person that I had become. You saved me from myself.”
“I wouldn’t say that I did all that.” Her lips twitched into a grin, and her eyes filled with affection.
“I would.” He rested a hand against the side of her face. “I still don’t think I deserve you, but you make me want to try.”
She curled her hand around his, pressing her cheek into his palm. “Even though I’m not a great beauty or a wealthy heiress? Even though I do unladylike things, like playing baseball or dragging my husband out of a burning building?”
He chuckled, heart blossoming to joy within him. “Because of those things, my darling. Because of all those things and more, I love you.”
Her eyes grew suddenly glassy, and she whispered. “And I love you, Franklin Haskell. You’re the bravest and strongest man I’ve ever known, and I’m proud to be your wife.”
Her words took his breath away. He surged up to kiss her. She met him halfway, leaning into him as the temperature between them rose. Her ardor pushed him back into his pillow, and the rakish thought struck him that he might just enjoy staying on his back and letting her take the lead, once his strength returned.
They were still kissing when the bedroom door slapped open.
“I heard coughing in here. Is everything all—oh my!” His mother stood in the doorway, a hand slapped to her chest.
Corva jumped back with a gasp—which led to more coughing—and Franklin reached for the quilt to cover his legs…and other things.
A moment later, his father marched up behind his mother and looked into the room. “Feeling better?” he barked, and seeing the position Corva was in, said, “Ah. Yes, indeed!”
His mother hesitated for only a moment before throwing her hands up and coming all the way into the room. “At least it shows you’re not permanently damaged.”
