Rekindled (34 page)

Kathryn thought she detected a smile fighting the edges of his mouth. The church building came into view, and she wondered how much to share in the brief time they had left. She quickly decided that Jacob had been honest with her and the Carlsons about parts of his life, and she owed him no less.

“I buried my husband earlier this year. That’s when I first met Patrick Carlson, in fact. He spoke at my husband’s funeral. And he did a fine job remembering him too, especially never having—” Her voice caught, and Kathryn realized how long it had been since she’d spoken her husband’s name aloud. “Especially since he’d never known Larson.” She looked across the valley toward the cemetery. The warm breeze suddenly felt cool on her cheeks, and Kathryn dabbed the tears on her face. She felt Jacob watching but didn’t turn.

“So your husband wasn’t a church-going man?”

“No, he wasn’t. But he was still a good man. He just had a . . . a difficult upbringing that made it hard for him to be around people. I remember the day he agreed to come to church with me, just that once. It was years ago, before the Carlsons moved to town.” She sighed, remembering the hymns they’d sung. “The songs we sang filled my heart to overflowing, but with every note we sang, I sensed his discomfort. He didn’t want to be there—I felt it. So I finally told him I’d had enough and that we could leave.”

Jacob kept his focus on the road and Kathryn did the same. The prairie grass growing tall by the road’s edge quivered as they passed.

“But you hadn’t had enough, had you?”

A rush of tears rose without warning. Kathryn swallowed hard and shook her head. “No. That hunger has always been inside me.” She turned to him. “Same as dwells inside you, I think.”

Jacob started to speak, then stopped. His hands tightened on the reins. “Did he know? Your husband, I mean. About how you felt?”

Kathryn wondered how they’d drifted down this delicate path, a path she hadn’t had the courage to walk yet, but part of her welcomed the reflection. Perhaps it would help provide some clues to the answers she still sought about her marriage to Larson and how they’d grown apart, especially toward the end. “I did tell him once that I wanted . . . more. More of him, more of us. But then time goes by and things between a husband and wife settle. Even if life isn’t what you thought it would be, nevertheless, you’re there. And you get used to things the way they are. Time passes, and you almost forget what it was that you wanted at the outset. Then all of a sudden, out of the blue, things happen that make you remember. Then it almost feels selfish to ask for something more when you’re not even certain there’s something more to be had. And yet, sometimes I . . .” She looked down at her hands clasped in her lap. “I still felt so empty inside.”

Kathryn bowed her head, suddenly self-conscious at having rambled on and afraid she might appear selfish in Jacob’s eyes. She looked across the fields to the nearly finished schoolhouse. Uncomfortable as it might be, it did feel good to talk about Larson to someone else, to finally give voice to misgivings that still haunted her solitude.

“In answer to your question, Jacob, I think he knew. It was always a kind of . . . unspoken boundary that separated us.”

Jacob guided the team of horses down the lane leading to church. “Why didn’t you ever just tell him outright?”

Though she doubted he intended it, Kathryn sensed accusation in Jacob’s question. And she acknowledged the guilt laid at her feet. “I should have been more honest with him, I know that now. I shouldn’t have expected him just to know what I needed or wanted.” She closed her eyes as the truth surfaced. “I guess I was always afraid it would hurt Larson in some way if he knew I wasn’t completely happy, and I didn’t want to do that. I loved my husband very much, even though there were times when—”

Kathryn suddenly caught herself. She blinked to clear the memories and forced a smile. “I’m certain that’s more than you wanted to hear, Jacob. Maybe that’ll keep you from asking me such a straightforward question next time.” She tried for a lighthearted laugh as she smoothed her skirt.

A few wagons dotted the yard, and she spotted Patrick Carlson standing in the doorway greeting people. Jacob brought the team to a halt in the churchyard and set the brake. They sat in silence for a moment, neither moving. The breeze whistled through the cottonwoods overhead.

“How did your husband die?”

Surprised again by Jacob’s directness, Kathryn slowly let out a breath. “We really don’t know for certain. Most people seem to think he got lost in the storm on Christmas Day, but I find that hard to believe. In all the years I knew him, Larson never lost his way in this land. Not once. He loved it.” She decided not to mention that he had been shot—it somehow seemed unimportant now—plus she didn’t want to risk planting doubt in Jacob’s mind about the kind of man Larson had been. Tears stung her eyes. “He loved this land more than anything else.”
Even more than me
. She suddenly wished they would change the subject.

Jacob climbed down and came around to help her. Kathryn offered him her hand and was surprised when he slipped his arms around her to help her down. The strength in his arms was unexpected. He steadied her, his hands lingering on her shoulders. She felt his stare but didn’t look up. Why did her pulse skip to such an unnatural rhythm?

But she knew the reason. It was the reminiscing about Larson, followed by the unquestionable certainty that though their marriage had been far from perfect, he had taken a part of her with him when he died. A part she needed in order to feel complete.

“I’m sorry you lost your husband.”

Moved by the emotion in his roughened whisper, Kathryn lifted her eyes. “Thank you, Jacob. But I think I lost my husband years ago.”

“We want you both to join us for lunch today, and I’m not taking no for an answer,” Hannah Carlson said following the service. “Lilly’s even made another pie.”

Larson noted the look that passed between the two women and wondered at Kathryn’s frown.

“Hannah, I hope you didn’t . . .” Kathryn whispered. Larson recognized the undercurrent of displeasure in her tone.

Hannah squeezed Kathryn’s arm tight and leaned close. “I didn’t, Kathryn, honestly. But there is another guest coming, someone Patrick invited just a moment ago. He’s new in town and is a widower himself, for five years now.” Her look grew soft. “Despite my kidding, I know it’s too soon for you to be thinking of courting. Everyone realizes you’re still in mourning, and I’ve made certain he knows this is only lunch, nothing more. Please come, Kathryn. I’d love to spend some time with you, and Lilly and Bobby will be so disappointed if you don’t.” She glanced back behind her. “Listen, I’ve got to go stand with Patrick for a minute. You two can go on to the house. I’ve already given Jacob directions on how to get there.” She touched Larson’s arm before turning. “I’m so glad you’re joining us today too. Lilly can’t wait to show you her new pony.”

Larson helped Kathryn back into the wagon, watching as she searched the crowd. No doubt she was looking for the gentleman Patrick had invited. He climbed up beside her and waited for the wagons to clear out before flicking the reins. Kathryn was quiet next to him, which suited him just fine. Taking the long way through town to the Carlsons’ house, he welcomed the time to think.

He’d tried listening to Patrick’s sermon, but the things Kathryn had said to him kept churning in his mind. And no matter how he looked at it, he kept coming back to the same conclusion he’d reached the other night. Kathryn deserved better than what he could give her. He’d had his chance and failed. The question he struggled with now was . . . did he love her enough to stay in the grave?

He maneuvered the wagon down a side street and saw the brothel looming ahead. Sensing Kathryn’s awareness of it, he stole a look at her. Her eyes were narrowed, and a slight frown creased her brow.

Through all this, Larson couldn’t help but think of Matthew Taylor and wonder how he fit into Kathryn’s life. He hadn’t seen Taylor since Kathryn had moved to Casaroja. Did that mean Taylor wasn’t the father of Kathryn’s child after all? Or that they’d reached some sort of understanding?

As they passed the brothel, Larson studied the row of curtained windows on the second floor of the clapboard building. Maybe the child wasn’t Taylor’s. . . . Maybe Kathryn didn’t know who the child’s father was.

Though it still wounded him to think that the baby Kathryn nurtured wasn’t his own, somehow it hurt him even more to know that her child would share his name after all—a name he’d heard repeatedly as a young boy when he walked through town, the name he’d been running from his entire life.

Hannah Carlson was as gifted at cooking as she was at making coffee. The meal was delicious, and Larson felt especially grateful for Lilly’s insistence that he sit by her. It had helped him feel less out of place. Despite Hannah’s assertion that their male guest wasn’t interested in Kathryn, from his vantage point, interest was written all over the man’s face.

Larson looked across the table to Kathryn and the man seated beside her. He guessed Michael Barton to be about Kathryn’s age, maybe a little older. Tall with dark blond hair and a mustache, Barton seemed to be a nice enough fellow. Regrettably so. He’d been attentive to Kathryn throughout the meal, asking questions about her upbringing and how long she’d been in town. Kathryn’s answers had been truthful but hadn’t invited further discussion.

When the conversation turned to her deceased husband, Kathryn deftly turned the topic of conversation back to Barton. To the man’s credit, he seemed sensitive to her move and didn’t push. Regardless, Larson kept looking for something to dislike in him.

Hannah stood and started clearing the dishes. Kathryn did likewise.

Lilly tugged on Larson’s sleeve. “Mr. Jacob, do you want to come see my pony out back? I named her Honey because she’s so sweet.” Lilly giggled.

“Sure, I’d love to see her.”

Michael Barton rose. “Mrs. Jennings,” he said a bit too quickly. He looked down at the table, then back to Kathryn. “Would you like to take a walk with me? I could show you my law offices just around the corner. It’s not too far.”

An awkward silence followed. Larson read the expressions around the table. Sincere surprise lit the Carlsons’ faces, and Kathryn’s as well. Except he saw a hint of empathy in hers.

Barton’s face reddened as the pause lengthened. “Perhaps another time would be better.”

Kathryn gave him a genuine smile. “Actually, Mr. Barton, let me help Hannah with these dishes and then a walk would be nice. Perhaps Bobby could join us too?”

Barton noticeably relaxed. “Yes, ma’am. That’d be fine.”

Half an hour later, Larson leaned on the top rail of the fence outside the corral and watched the two of them walk side-by-side down the street, Bobby running on ahead. Admittedly, Kathryn and Michael Barton made a striking couple. He turned his attention to Lilly, who sat astride her new pony.

Lilly had a natural rhythm as she rode, especially for one so young, except she tended to lean forward too much. “Keep your feet down,” he tried to call to her, but his voice wouldn’t sustain the effort. He’d made do without Abby’s tea over the last few weeks, but wished he’d asked her for the ingredients so he could make more.

“I take it you haven’t told Kathryn your secret?”

Larson’s heart misfired at the question. Patrick took a place at the fence beside him, but Larson didn’t dare look at the man.

“As intuitive as they think they are”—Patrick waved at Lilly as she rode past—“sometimes women just don’t see what’s right in front of them.”

Larson finally turned and stared at his friend, wondering how Patrick could approach this so casually. How had Patrick learned about him? Could Larson convince him to keep his secret? “Listen, Patrick, I don’t know how you found out, but I guarantee you I have my reasons for handling things like this. I beg you not to say anything to Kathryn. She’s better off this way. We both are.”

Patrick shook his head, smiling. “You don’t give yourself enough credit, my friend. Have you ever noticed the way Kathryn looks at you? I don’t know if she’s even aware of it herself. I thought I saw something at the picnic but wasn’t sure, but I definitely saw her stealing glances at you during dinner today. I dare say Kathryn Jennings is far more interested in you than that successful young lawyer.”

Realizing he’d misunderstood Patrick’s question, Larson’s pulse slowed. “So what you’re saying is that you think I’m interested in Kathryn and that
she’s
interested in . . . me.” Relief trickled through him. He coerced a laugh and leaned against the fence, thankful for the support. “Kathryn is just staring at the scars, that’s all.”

Patrick huffed and shook his head. “And I thought you were a man of wisdom.” A smile softened the mild rebuke. “Only a fool denies the truth when it’s clearly set before him, Jacob.” He nodded toward the street. “I’m afraid Michael Barton is a man destined for disappointment.” He clapped Larson on the back. “And you, my friend, need to decide whether Mrs. Kathryn Jennings is worth the risk.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE