Rekindled (7 page)

Despair crept up over him, robbing his hope. Bits and pieces of his life—choices he’d made, goals he’d wanted to achieve but paid far too high a price for—flickered like lit matches against the walls of his heart.

But he hadn’t been the only one to pay the price. Kathryn had sacrificed so much for his dreams. She’d given up a life of affluence and certain success. She’d forsaken Boston’s wealth, her parents’ home, and a privileged upbringing. Not to mention the scores of high-society suitors who, if given the chance, would have lavished upon her every desire of her heart. The way he wanted to.

She’d left it all behind. For him. And what had he offered her in exchange? A roughhewn cabin and an empty womb.

The creak of a floorboard sent his thoughts careening.

Larson lifted his head, wincing at the spasms already starting in his neck. Darkness enveloped him except for a yellow slash of light that appeared to be coming from beneath a door a few feet from where he lay. A footfall landed beyond the entryway; he was certain of it.

He laid his head back down and managed to coax a moan through his cracked lips, hoping someone would hear.

At the click of the door latch, Larson felt his tears return.

Kathryn’s gloved hand rested on the door latch. She hesitated, knowing she wasn’t ready for what lay beyond. Her gaze traveled upward, over the breadth and width of the Willow Springs Bank building. Weakness spread through her, and her knees trembled. But she stiffened in resolve. She could do this. She would do this.

For Larson’s dream. For their dream.

A chilling March wind ushered in the month and gusted around her as tiny crystals of snow and ice pelted her cheeks. The journey to Willow Springs normally filled her with excitement, but when she’d left the cabin in darkness early this morning, the loneliness inhabiting every corner of her bedroom followed her, strangling her confidence with every passing mile.

Without warning, a sense of Larson’s presence stole through her. It robbed her lungs of air, and with fading hope, she turned to search the sea of faces passing on the boardwalk behind her. Nothing. Her grip tightened on the handle. An overwhelming urgency to pray for him hit her. She blew out a ragged breath, white fog clouding the air.

Father, be with my husband in this very moment, wherever he is
. The memory of what Matthew Taylor had said about the severity of the storm on Christmas Day hung close.
No matter what Matthew or the other men think, I know Larson is alive. I feel his heart beating inside me. Lead my husband safely home. Bring him back to me
.

She stared at the handle in her grip, summoning courage to complete this task.

Close behind her, a man cleared his throat. “Well, are you going in today or not, lass?”

Kathryn turned on the steps with a readied apology. The apology froze in her throat, however, when met with piercing gray eyes the same menacing shade as the storm clouds shrouding the Rockies in the distance. A shudder ran through her and she drew back, careful to keep her balance on the top step.

A broad-chested man stood on the step below, his eyes level with hers. His voice bore a thick Irish brogue but lacked the accent’s customary warmth. At his temples, damp copper curls kinked with swirls of gray. His facial features were striking, but while Kathryn supposed some might label them ruddily handsome, nothing within her responded with attraction.

As his gaze penetrated hers, his look of irritation lessened but still bore proof of a foul mood. The hard line of his mouth slowly split into a tight curve. “Perhaps I could offer my assistance. I conduct my business here and know a few of the people inside.” He nodded at the door, then back at her. “Maybe I could help you, if you’d let me.”

Kathryn caught a whiff of musk and hair tonic. Although he maintained a physical distance that satisfied decorum, and his suit and outer cloak designated wealth, something about the man reeked of dishonesty. Yet, remembering why she’d made the trip all the way to Willow Springs today, she wondered if this man might somehow be part of the answer to her prayer.

She decided to risk it. “I’m here to meet with the bank manager, Mr. Kohl—”

“I know Harold Kohlman. What business do you have with him?”

His curt reply took Kathryn by surprise.
“Watch a man’s posture,”
she’d once overheard her father counsel younger partners as she sat listening outside the double doors of his office at home— any chance to be closer to her father.
“You can tell a great deal about a man from the way he folds his arms or strokes his chin. You must listen to what a person says, most certainly. But listen even closer to what they don’t.”

Kathryn assessed the man before her. His focus briefly moved from her eyes to wander over her face, and what he wasn’t saying spoke volumes. Clearly his interests lay elsewhere where she was concerned. Dismissing him with a glance, she reached again for the door handle. His hand beat her to it.

With a smile that provoked warning inside her, he motioned for her to precede him inside. She stepped into the bank lobby, thankful to at least be out of the cold and wind, if not finished with him.

“Do you have an appointment with Mr. Kohlman, Miss . . . ?”

She turned back to find him staring. “No, I don’t. I’ll address that with Mr. Kohlman’s secretary, thank you.”

He gave a soft laugh. “Well, my offer to you still stands.”

Kathryn raised a brow. Had she not made her lack of interest clear enough the first time?

“My offer to introduce you . . . to Harold Kohlman.” He smiled again, and this time it looked almost genuine.

But her instincts told her otherwise. Her youthful days in Boston were not so far removed that she’d forgotten men like this— who routinely sought to play this game in quest of her attention, and something else she’d never given them.

Shaking flakes of snow from her wool coat, she realized again how crucial this meeting was to her keeping the ranch. Swallowing her pride, she nodded. “I would appreciate it if you would arrange a meeting with Mr. Kohlman.”

A gleam lit his eyes, telling her his offer would extend much further. She chose not to acknowledge it.

She followed him, her heeled boots clicking on the polished granite of the lobby floor. She paused to survey the surroundings. Though the intimidating exterior of the Willow Springs Bank building lacked grandeur of any significance, no expense had been spared on the interior furnishings. She grew reflective, thinking of Boston and the office buildings her father owned.

Apparently aware of her reaction, the man stopped beside her. “Beautiful, isn’t it? The original building burned to the ground two years ago, almost to the day, as a matter of fact. Two people lost their lives; many others were badly burned. But the community banded together and, with the aid of a wealthy benefactor . . .”

He paused, and Kathryn got the distinct feeling he was referring to himself.

“We rebuilt in grandeur, and”—he flourished a wave of his hand—“you see the results.”

She sensed he was waiting for a reaction. Not wanting to encourage him further yet realizing he had offered to help arrange a meeting with Mr. Kohlman, she managed a smile she hoped would suffice. “Yes, it’s quite impressive. And so generous of . . . the benefactor.”

His own smile broadened, and he held her eyes for a moment too long before continuing through the maze of desks. Kathryn followed his path toward the large—and only—separate office located on the west side of the building. The architect’s forethought, no doubt, to offer the best view of the mountain range.

The buzz of nearly a dozen bank employees and twice that many customers filled the spacious lobby and spilled over to the private waiting area outside the manager’s office. The low hum of blended conversation suddenly registered as foreign to Kathryn as she realized how long it had been since she’d been around a group of people. For so long it had been only her and Larson. Staring ahead at the massive double oak doors, she wished this meeting were already concluded.

The man indicated a chair where she was apparently supposed to wait. Then he nodded to an attractive blond woman walking past.

Her face lit. “Good afternoon, Mr. MacGregor.”

Kathryn doubted that the woman’s voice was customarily imbued with such a lilt, nor her smile so bright. It would seem Kathyrn was right about judging this man—this Mr. MacGregor— to be attractive to some.

The nameplate on the closed double doors read
Harold H.Kohlman,
and Mr. MacGregor entered without benefit of announcement. Kathryn watched after him, unimpressed but curious at his apparently close affiliation with the bank manager. Benefactor, indeed.

A wave of nausea spasmed her stomach. She gripped the cushioned arm of the chair and took deep breaths, praying not to be sick again. After a few moments, the queasiness subsided. She put a hand to her forehead and felt the cool perspiration.

Kathryn noticed the lobby area had grown quiet. She turned to discover why and found several employees looking in her direction. Then she heard the voices. They came from behind the manager’s door. Growing louder and more intense. She couldn’t make out the source of the argument, only that one of the voices, the most pronounced, bore an unmistakable brogue.

Should she leave and come back later this afternoon? That would mean staying the night in Willow Springs. She hadn’t the funds for a hotel. Should she wait in hopes of seeing Mr. Kohlman soon? She wished she’d never accepted Mr. MacGregor’s help—now it would appear to people that they were friends. Or, at the very least, acquaintances. And she doubted whether that perceived affiliation would play in her favor at the moment.

Kathryn was halfway to the entry leading from the private sitting area when she heard a door open behind her.

“Mr. Kohlman is available to see you now.”

She spun around at the voice. MacGregor’s brogue was noticeably thicker, and if the annoyance on his face was any indication, his mood was definitely more foul. This didn’t bode well for an advance on her loan. “I appreciate your help, Mr. MacGregor, but perhaps it would be best if I came back later.”

His scowl darkened. “Nonsense, Kohlman already knows you’re waiting. And he’s a very busy man.”

A man appeared at MacGregor’s side, a portly gentleman a good foot shorter, and thicker around his middle. His thick reddish sideburns matched his full mustache and lent him an air of approachability that abruptly ended at the firm set of his jaw. This was not going as she’d planned.

Breathing a prayer, Kathryn crossed the distance. “I appreciate your seeing me today, Mr. Kohlman.”

He turned and walked back into his office.

Not knowing what else to do, she followed. “You know my husband. His name is—”

“What is the nature of your business with me today, ma’am?” Kohlman eased his generous frame into the leather chair, then glanced past her.

Kathryn turned to see Mr. MacGregor pushing the door closed, but from the inside. He was staying? Trying to hide her surprise, she focused again on Mr. Kohlman and approached his desk. She handed him a letter she’d carefully worded the night before. “I’m here to request an advance on our loan with your bank. My husband and I own a ranch outside of—”

He raised a hand, his eyes still scanning the letter. “Let me stop you right there. I’m sorry, ma’am, but do you have any idea the number of ranches that are going under right now?” He let the letter fall to his desk and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I wish I could help you, but I can’t loan any more money without solid collateral.”

Kathryn stepped closer and pulled the document from her purse. “But I have the deed for our homestead here. I state that in the letter.” She intentionally kept her voice level as her determination rose. “I’m offering that as collateral. Certainly it will more than cover the amount I’m requesting.”

Kohlman’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear.”

Whatever thread of benevolence Kohlman had previously, Kathryn watched it evaporate as his face deepened to crimson. She sensed MacGregor’s presence behind her. Was he enjoying seeing her put in her place? Especially since she’d refused his earlier invitation?

“I told you, miss, that I cannot—”

“It’s
Mrs
. Jennings, Mr. Kohlman, and I’m not asking for something for nothing. I understand the nature of business and your need to make a profit, but—”

“What did you say your name was?” Kohlman’s face lightened a shade as the room grew quiet.

The tick of a clock somewhere behind her counted off the seconds. “Mrs. Larson Jennings.”

He shot a look over her shoulder, and Kathryn had the uncanny feeling that a silent exchange had occurred. Hearing movement behind her, she turned. MacGregor didn’t look back as he exited the office.

“Well, Mrs. Jennings.” Kohlman’s tone turned surprisingly ingratiating. “I’m certain we can come to some sort of agreement.”

CHAPTER FIVE

T
HE DOOR CREAKED OPEN. Lamplight spilled over the darkness. “I’ll sit with him awhile till you get those griddle cakes of yours goin’, Abby.”