Rekindled (47 page)

Her fragile tone told him that the scars on his back must be hideous. He swallowed hard. “I’ve . . . I’ve never looked at my back since the fire. The scars must be horrible. I’m sorry, Kat.”

Keenly aware of her pressing close against him from behind, Larson closed his eyes against the mixture of rekindled desire and regret.

Her arms encircled him tighter. “No, beloved. It’s not the scars from the fire that I’m looking at.” He turned to face her. “It’s your scars from before.” Her brow lifted with a soft smile. “They’re gone.”

The next morning, after they’d exchanged gifts around the warmth of the hearth, Kathryn set about making breakfast while Larson rocked little William by the fire. Larson noticed his Bible where he’d left it the night before and the music box sitting on top of it. Who would have ever thought that such a simple gift could represent so costly a treasure?

He took down the music box and lifted the lid. Reading the inscription inside, he rewrote it in his heart.
May
you
be our heart’s desire, Lord
.

His thoughts drifted back to the explosion in the shack. The life he’d known had ended that night, and a new one—a better one— had begun. He had no way of knowing whether his life would’ve taken such a turn without the fire, and even now it was hard to say that he would go back and relive it all again.

But he did know that what he had now—with his wife and son, and with his Lord—he would never trade, for anything.

Harold Kohlman and Donlyn MacGregor had been charged with land fraud and would stand trial in two months. Miss Maudie’s face came to Larson’s mind, and a wave of compassion swept through him.
God, give that precious woman comfort and peace
. The punishment of Conahan—the ranch hand who’d been hired to kill him—had been swifter than Larson would have preferred, but he left that in God’s hands.

With little money and their loan in default, he and Kathryn had filed a late bid for their land but had lost. However, the buyer, desiring to remain nameless, sold Larson a portion of the land back, including the homestead with water rights to Fountain Creek. It was a modest beginning, again, but it was enough.

With little William asleep in his arms, Larson rose and went to stand at the window. A light snow had begun falling during the night, and a shimmer of diamonds sprinkled tree limbs and covered the ground. Kathryn came up behind him and kissed William, then him.

He slipped an arm around her and pulled her close. “Merry Christmas, Kat.”

He looked out the window to the spot near the towering blue spruce where he could barely see the tip of the stone marker Kathryn had ordered for his grave months ago. When it finally arrived in late October, Larson had insisted on keeping it and brought it with him when he returned to their homestead, to serve as a constant reminder of his wife’s undeserved love, and of life’s brevity.

He knew the words carved on the snow-mounded marble stone by heart and vowed, with God’s strength and mercy, to live each day of the rest of his life keeping them true.

Just below the dates 1828–1868 was the inscription:

L
ARSON
R
OBERT
J
ENNINGS
B
ELOVED
H
USBAND
AND
F
ATHER
And desire of my heart

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

No book is ever written alone, and
Rekindled
is no exception. To the One who rescued me and gives me new life—Jesus, I adore you. To my husband, Joe, for his continual support and encouragement, and for daring me to take a leap of faith that I wouldn’t have taken on my own, I love you. To Kelsey and Kurt, our children, for teaching me invaluable lessons about life and love, and for giving me room (and time) to explore “what I want to be when I grow up.” I delight in being your mom.

God has blessed me with people who act as encouragers, motivators, and accountability partners. For their support during the writing of
Rekindled,
my heartfelt thanks goes to: Robin Lee Hatcher, for praying God’s will for my life and then for encouraging me to follow Him, wherever that may lead. Deborah Raney, for sharing your gift with words while sharpening mine in the process. Deidre Knight, my agent, for sitting on the bench with me at Mount Hermon and showing me that dreams really can come true. Karen Schurrer, for fulfilling this author’s idea of the perfect editor. So glad we’re partnered together, and here’s wishing you endless Biaggi’s Potato Croquettes. The wonderful folks at Bethany House—so much goes into seeing a manuscript to final publication, and every step is crucial to its success. Thank you for working so hard on
Rekindled
. Paul Higdon, thanks for the gorgeous final cover! Mr. W. D. Farr, Sr., the pre-eminent expert on Colorado water rights, for the delightful lunch we shared at Potato Brumbaugh’s while discussing historical water rights in the Colorado Territory. Special thanks for your offhanded comment, “Some of those gate riders suddenly forgot how to swim.” Melinda Shaw, for reading the first 138 pages of the rough draft and then knocking on my door for more! Suzi Buggeln, for showing me what a real hero looks like. Susanne Bjork, for your encouragement, and for bugging me to finish the second book in the series! Kris Hungenberg, for teaching me point of view all those years ago. My fellow writers who read
Rekindled
in varying stages: Kathy Fuller, Beth Goddard, Lisa Harris, Jeanne Leach, Maureen Schmidgall, Jill Smith, and Debbie Vogt. Keep speaking “the truth in love” to me, gals. You make me write deeper and better than I ever could on my own. And to Todd Agnew, for your song entitled
Still Here Waiting
. I listened to it countless times as I wrote, and rewrote,
Rekindled
. Truly, God’s love never fails.

TAMERA ALEXANDER is a bestselling novelist whose deeply drawn characters, thought-provoking plots, and poignant prose resonate with readers. Having lived in Colorado for seventeen years, she and her husband now make their home in Tennessee, where they enjoy life with their two college-age children and a Silky named Jack.

Tamera invites you visit her Web site at
www.tameraalexander.com
or write her at the following postal address:

Tamera Alexander
P.O. Box 362
Thompson’s Station, TN 37179