LARSON URGED THE TEAM to a faster trot as he turned on the road toward Casaroja. Snowy peaks to the west gleamed deep amethyst against a sunset of crimson, and golden rays shot straight up into the sky. He removed his glasses to better appreciate the colors. August’s last sunset was a beauty.
He could easily imagine the clouds above rolling back to reveal a mighty warrior on a white horse, like he’d read about in Revelation the night before. Sometimes the heart of heaven beat so strongly inside of him that this life seemed more like a shadow now than his home. He sighed, knowing this perspective was influenced by his deepening relationship with God, but also by his having to give up Kathryn.
Larson tugged on the reins and brought the wagon loaded with supplies to a halt in front of the stable. He glanced toward the main house. He’d already missed dinner but wondered if Miss Maudie might’ve saved him a plate. He spotted a distinct silhouette pass by the kitchen window, and a smile tipped his mouth. Over the past two weeks, he’d seen Kathryn on occasion. They’d even shared a few evening walks together, but he welcomed another opportunity to be with her. Larson put his glasses back on, set the brake, and climbed down.
Knocking on the back door, he hoped Kathryn would answer. The door opened.
“Well, Jacob, it’s good to see you.” Miss Maudie pulled the door open wide. “I’ve kept your plate warming on the stove. Why don’t you come in and keep an old woman company for a spell?”
Larson stepped inside and looked around. “Thank you for keeping dinner for me. I’d appreciate a chance to visit.” A twinge of guilt chided him at that not being his first priority.
“Here. The plate’s hot.” Using a towel, she set it on the table before him. “Be careful not to burn your hands—” She stilled, and Larson watched discomfort slip into her smile.
Before she could apologize, he covered her hand resting on his shoulder. “Roast beef, my favorite. And an extra portion at that. You’re always generous with me, Miss Maudie, and I appreciate it.”
Gratitude quickly replaced her remorse as she took a seat beside him. “Kathryn made another pie today. Peach,” she said, pulling a covered tin toward her. “I’ll slice us each a piece.”
“Thank you, ma’am. Is Kathryn around tonight? So I can thank her?” He watched to see if Miss Maudie reacted to the question.
“Yes, she’s here.” She cut the pie and scooped out two pieces. “She’s meeting with Mr. MacGregor in his office right now. People often meet with him for advice. He’s quite business savvy, but surely you know that by now.”
Larson concentrated on chewing. Savvy wasn’t exactly a word he’d attribute to MacGregor, but he nodded. The pride in Miss Maudie’s voice was unmistakable, and puzzling. “Have you been with Mr. MacGregor long, ma’am?”
“Oh my, yes, I’ve known him since he was a boy.” Her voice took on a doting quality. “My youngest sister, God rest her soul, died when her son was only five, shortly following her husband in death. So I took Donlyn in . . . Mr. MacGregor,” she amended, “and raised him myself. My sister would be quite proud of the man her son grew to be. He’s had his share of hardships though. Lost his wife and only child in childbirth years ago. He’s not been the same since.”
Suddenly, the older woman became clearer to him. While Larson didn’t share her opinion about his employer, it gave him valuable insight into her perspective. He wondered what advice Kathryn could possibly be seeking from MacGregor. Their land was scheduled to go to auction soon; he’d seen the notice in the paper himself a while back. There was no practical way she could pay off the loan, and no doubt, MacGregor would be first in line to bid for the land.
Losing the land stung, but Larson had come to grips with it. It didn’t consume him like it once had. Land could be bought and sold . . . and lost. Isaiah had taught him that. Larson was concerned over losing something far more precious—something that could never be replaced.
Miss Maudie picked up the empty plates and took them to the sideboard. She moved to lift the wash bucket.
“Here, let me get that.” Larson grabbed the pail and primed the pump until the water gushed and his shoulder burned.
“You’re wincing, Jacob. Is your shoulder paining you?”
He waved off her concern. “On occasion it does. I overdid it today, that’s all.”
“I have a liniment for soreness and discomfort. I could rub some into your shoulders tonight and see if it makes a difference. I’m sure it would help.”
Miss Maudie’s concern touched him. “Kathryn told me you were good at mixing liniments. And yes, ma’am, I’d like to try it, but I can rub it in myself.” Other than Isaiah and Abby, no one had seen the scarring on his chest, back, and arms. He hadn’t even seen his back since the fire. Looking in a mirror wasn’t something he’d been eager to do.
“Nonsense. How are you going to reach those muscles? Now you go on in the back room there and take off your shirt. I’ll rub it in for you.”
“Really, Miss Maudie, I—”
“Jacob.” She spoke his name like an austere schoolmarm. “I’ve seen many horrible things in my sixty years, but the man standing before me now could never be one of them.” She smiled and waved her arm at the door behind him. “Go on now. I’ll get the liniment.”
Miss Maudie’s touch was every bit as firm as Abby’s, if not more so, and Larson winced as she worked the salve into his shoulders and back. By the time she was done, his muscles ached, but in a good way. Reaching for his shirt, he started to stand, but Maudie pressed him back down.
“Sit here for a minute and let the salve work itself in. I’m going to wash this off my hands. I’ll be back shortly.”
Larson straddled the wooden chair again and propped his arms across the back. The woman hadn’t said anything about his scars. Even when he could see her expression, she’d shown no shock, no pity. She was a good woman, however misguided on MacGregor’s character. Love often had a way of blinding a person to someone’s true side.
He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, then slipped the glasses back on. The door opened and his head shot up.
Kathryn’s eyes went wide. “Oh, Jacob, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were in here.” She glanced down at his body, then quickly looked away.
Larson stood and grabbed his shirt from the table beside him. He tried to pull it on, watching to see if she was looking, but the cotton material stuck to the moist liniment still covering his skin. Embarrassment scorched him and he swore softly.
She kept her gaze down. “You finally came to see Miss Maudie about the liniment.”
“That’s rather obvious, isn’t it,” he said too harshly. Despite having known Kathryn intimately before, he’d never felt so naked in front of her. Managing to tug his shirt on, Larson held the front of it closed.
“Well . . . I . . . hope it helps you.” Head still bent, she turned to leave.
“Kathryn, I’m sorry,” he offered, but his voice came out calloused and hard. “I didn’t mean to speak to you that way.”
Her back was to him, her hand on the open door.
Struck by a reckless impulse, Larson suddenly wanted to cross the room, take his wife’s face in his hands, and let her see who he was. The man he was now. But the possible outcome of that decision made him go weak inside. Even if he could somehow find a way to give Kathryn all that her heart desired, all that she deserved, would her eyes ever hold the love they once had?
In bed at night, she used to trail a finger along his jaw and study him in the shadows, as though trying to set his features to memory. Would she trace the jagged curves of his disfigured face and set them to memory now? Larson looked down and squeezed his eyes tight. The ache in his chest wove its way up to his throat.
“Kathryn,” he whispered hoarsely. “Look at me.”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Jacob. I shouldn’t have come in.”
“Please, just turn around.”
She turned in his direction, her focus still pinned to the floor.
Oh, God, she is so beautiful. And she is my wife. My wife, Lord!Why did you take her from me? His memory allowed him clearer vision than did his eyes, and he saw her body—every curve and arch, beautifully fashioned, glowing with life, once having fit his perfectly. He remembered what it was like to be with her as her husband, and he clenched his eyes tight to quell the power of the memory.
A silent directive from within demanded that he look at her again.
Larson slowly opened his eyes. The first thing he noticed was her hands, small and feminine, clasped protectively over her child. They trembled, and she gripped them tighter. The tremble seemed to travel up her arms until her whole body shuddered. She seemed frightened. But of what? Of him? Why would she be afraid of him? He looked closer. Or was it something else? He saw the quick rise and fall of her chest. Her eyes flitted to his, then away again.
Did he dare hope . . .
Larson crossed the room, and though Kathryn didn’t look up, he sensed her tension build with each step he took. Standing before her, his hands were shaking as badly as hers. Is there a chance she could care for a man who looks the way I do? Who can offer her so little? There was only one way to find out. And again, that same fervent plea inhabited everything he was.
God, let her still want me.
Standing inches from her, their faces so close, watching her tremble, he reached up to take off his glasses.
“No, Jacob.” She turned away, shielding her lips with her hand.
Larson felt the air being sucked from his lungs. She’d thought he was going to kiss her? He took a step back, stunned.
“I’m sorry, Jacob. I . . . I thought I could, but I just can’t,” she whispered, finally lifting her gaze.
Larson saw the certainty of her desire—or lack of it—confirmed in her eyes. She found his touch loathsome. At least his glasses hid the raw pain of her rejection. The truth of it had been there all along. He’d only hoped for more. While he could be Kathryn’s friend, he would never again be her husband, her lover.
The latch tumbled into place as Kathryn closed the door behind her.
Minutes later Larson walked back to the stable, to the farthest corner, fell to his knees in the dark, and wept.
The next morning, Kathryn stood in front of the Willow Springs Bank. A brisk wind whipped around the corner, and as she took in the breadth and width of the building, she couldn’t help but feel as though she were reliving a moment from the past. Last March seemed like a lifetime ago.
“I’ll pull on down the street, Miss Kathryn,” Gabe called from the wagon. “You just wait here for me when you come out. I’ll watch for you.”
Kathryn looked back and nodded her thanks. But as Gabe maneuvered the wagon through the traffic, she found she wasn’t ready to face Harold Kohlman yet. She sat on a nearby bench and watched the crowds of people passing her without notice.
She hadn’t dared ask Jacob to bring her into town this morning, not after what had happened between them last night. She’d seen him outside the stable earlier that morning. He’d acknowledged her but hadn’t spoken. Clearly she’d hurt him, and that had never been her intention. It’s just that when he’d come so close to her, when he’d started to kiss her, she’d felt traitorous to Larson’s memory. Kathryn brushed her fingertips over her lips. Still . . . she couldn’t help but wonder what it would’ve been like to taste Jacob’s kiss.
She closed her eyes as heartrending images of his scarred flesh rose in her mind. White-furrowed slashes that ran deep across his chest and abdomen as though the fire had clawed him raw. Compassion welled inside her, and her eyes burned. She couldn’t imagine what pain he must have suffered. No wonder Jacob feared the flame. Any man would.
Lord, continue to heal Jacob, inside and out. I find myself attracted to him in a way that doesn’t even make sense to me. It frightened her because, in some ways, what she felt for Jacob surpassed what she had ever felt for Larson. But it was different. With Larson, she had first longed for his touch, then desired his heart. With Jacob, she’d delighted in discovering who he was before wanting more from him. And she did want more, that was clear to her.
Kathryn stood, forcing her thoughts to the task at hand. She entered the bank building and crossed the crowded lobby to where Mr. Kohlman’s personal secretary was seated behind her desk. Kathryn knew her visit was probably unwarranted, but since meeting with MacGregor last night, she couldn’t seem to shake the persistent doubt in the back of her mind.
Desperately hoping the answer to her question would be no, she interrupted the woman’s work. “Good morning, Miss Stacey. Is Mr. Kohlman in? I need to speak with him about my loan.”
The attractive brunette shook her head. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Jennings, but he’s in Denver on business today. He’ll be back in the office first thing in the morning.” Her gaze lowered. “Do you have long before the baby’s set to arrive?”
She smoothed a hand over the full swell beneath her dress, certain her excitement showed in her face. “The doctor says I probably have at least two more weeks. He told me to continue with my normal activities as much as I can, but the sooner this baby arrives, the better, as far as I’m concerned.”
“Two more weeks? You certainly don’t look that far along. I understand the last weeks can be very uncomfortable.” Miss Stacey’s smile turned sympathetic. “Perhaps there’s something I can help you with in Mr. Kohlman’s absence?”
Relieved at not having to deal with the banker, Kathryn forged ahead. “This is simply a formality, but I need to confirm that the funds I was loaned for my property have been appropriately credited to my account. When I last came in about a month ago, the transfer had been approved, but the actual payoff of the loan was still pending.” That particular meeting with Mr. Kohlman had left Kathryn with a sense of disquiet. She much preferred having the information confirmed with someone other than him.
“Oh, well, I’m certain they’ve come through by now.” Mr. Kohlman’s secretary rose from behind her desk. “Just give me a minute to pull your file and I’ll check the balance for you.” She walked to a side door and into another office.
After several minutes, she reappeared with a puzzled look. “Mrs. Jennings, I’m sorry, but I can’t seem to locate your file. If you have a moment to wait, I’ll check Mr. Kohlman’s office.” She returned seconds later, file in hand and triumph written in her expression. “It was on Mr. Kohlman’s desk. He must be handling your transaction personally.”
Her raised brow told Kathryn that she considered Kohlman’s personal attention something to be coveted. Unfortunately, Kathryn didn’t hold that same view, but sharing her opinion would gain nothing. “I appreciate your help finding it. Like I said, I’m sure everything’s been taken care of by now, but I want to be certain.”
“That’s understandable. It’s always wise to double-check these things.” Miss Stacey opened the file and flipped through the papers from front to back, then shuffled through them again. Her frown didn’t bolster Kathryn’s confidence.
“Is there a problem?”
“Mrs. Jennings, are you certain you arranged for your loan to be paid off?”
Kathryn stepped closer. “Yes, I’m completely certain. Mr. Kohlman assured me the funds would be transferred a month ago. Are you telling me they haven’t been?” She leaned forward in an effort to read the papers on top.
The young woman snapped the file shut. “If you’ll come back tomorrow, I’m confident Mr. Kohlman can clear everything up for you. Perhaps he simply hasn’t added the appropriate paper work to your file.”
Kathryn sensed she knew more. “Miss Stacey, I need to know whether my loan has been paid off or not.”
The woman laid a hand on the file atop her desk. “I’m sorry, but I can’t say for sure.”
Frustration sliced through Kathryn’s patience. “But you can at least tell me what the file says.”
As though weighing that thought, Miss Stacey leaned to the side and glanced past Kathryn toward the main lobby. “Mrs. Jennings,” she said, her voice lowering. “Technically the files are the property of the bank and are considered private, not to be shared with clients.” She hesitated. “This could have been left in your file from before, but . . . the file states that your land is scheduled for auction day after tomorrow at noon on the steps of the Denver courthouse.”