“The families died, all but one of the women. I know because as soon as I was able I gathered supplies from the clinic and went to their houses by night. When I got there, I found the woman barely alive.” Isaiah shook his head, the early dawn giving his dark complexion a bronzed glow. “Nobody was with her. Not a soul. She was sick with the cholera. It swept through the town, took a lot of people with it.”
Larson looked from Isaiah back to Abby, who stood in the doorway, silent tears coursing down her cheeks.
Isaiah sighed. “I didn’t know if I could help her, but I knew I couldn’t leave her to die. I also knew that if those men found me again, they’d hang me for sure. So I took her and went to an old cabin near a mining town that Doc and I had come across on one of our trips. Thanks to God’s mercy, she got better. And I eventually took her back to her home.”
“But I wouldn’t stay,” Abby whispered, opening the door fully. Going to Isaiah, she went and laid a hand on his shoulder. He reached up and covered it with his own. “I’d already found my home.”
Larson stared at the two of them. Abby’s small white hand covered by Isaiah’s large black one. Such an unlikely pair, and with so much against them to start with. His throat tightened as he watched the love pass between them. Had they not known him so intimately already, he might have felt uncomfortable intruding upon the tender moment.
As it was, all he could think about was Kathryn and whether she could ever come to care for him with that same intensity. But even more, could he ever be the kind of man who would inspire such love?
CHAPTER SEVEN
KATHRYN GATHERED HER ROBE about her and peered through the cabin window at the imposing-looking man standing on the other side of the door. The top of his head reached at least a hand’s length above the threshold and his powerful build was daunting.
He pounded again and she jumped. What could he want? And so early in the morning. The sun was scarcely up. Almost without thinking, she placed a hand over her still-flat belly in protection of the child inside her. Lord, keep us both safe.
She unbolted the door and opened it a crack. “Yes, may I help you?”
“Good morning, Mrs. Jennings.” The man removed his hat to reveal a more youthful and decidedly friendlier looking face than Kathryn expected. “I’m here to talk to you about the job.” He spoke as though his words were measured, carefully thought out beforehand.
Her fears eased considerably. Despite his size, there was something in the man’s deep blue eyes that persuaded her to trust him. Still trying to decide what it was exactly, she nodded. “You’ll need to see Mr. Taylor about that. He’s responsible for all the hiring, but I’m certain we’ll have work for you.”
The rest of the ranch hands had quit a week ago. Apparently they shared Harley Dunham’s opinion about working for a woman. Matthew had put word out that they were hiring, but so far they’d had only scant inquiries. She felt sure that Matthew would not turn this man away.
He dipped his head in deference. “What would you like me to do first? I can start right now.” He accentuated each syllable, and his eyes twinkled.
Seeing his eager expression, Kathryn realized what it was that inspired her trust. This man possessed an innocence that belied his formidable stature. She couldn’t help but smile. It was like watching a little boy at Christmas. “If you’re that eager to get started, there are chores to do in the barn. The animals need to be fed and—”
“Oh, I know what to do in a barn, ma’am.” He grinned as he slipped his hat back on. “I’ve been in one of those before.”
Kathryn stared across the desk at Harold Kohlman, fighting to hold her temper in check. “But my understanding was that I owed you the amount I borrowed when I was last here. I’m bringing that amount in full today, the second of April, like we agreed. Here, I have the contract we signed together.”
Kohlman glanced at the papers in her hand but didn’t reach to take them. “I know very well what I signed that day, Mrs. Jennings. The bank has its own copy. But you are obviously unaware that your husband also secured a loan on your homestead prior to that time.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “That payment was due two weeks ago—on the sixteenth of March. The loan is now in default.”
Silent until now, Matthew Taylor leaned forward in his chair. “Mr. Kohlman, I’m here on Mrs. Jennings’ behalf. Larson Jennings has not been seen or heard from in over three months. We don’t know his whereabouts . . . or if he’ll be returning.”
Matthew looked down, and Kathryn saw him wince. She knew he hated to speak so plainly in her presence but was thankful for his offer to accompany her.
“We have reason to think he might have been caught in the storm that hit Christmas Day,” he continued. “Fact is, he may not be comin’ home. We just don’t know.”
Kohlman looked at her dispassionately. “Regardless of whether your husband is alive or not, Mrs. Jennings, the loan is now due. The bank has, in good faith, loaned that money to you and your husband. If you cannot repay the loan, we’ll be forced to take action.”
“What do you mean by ‘take action,’ Mr. Kohlman?” Mr. Taylor asked.
“Well, foreclose, of course.”
Kathryn nearly came to her feet. “You have no right to—” “I have every right, Mrs. Jennings.” Crimson crept up the pudgy folds of Kohlman’s neck. “Your husband signed an agreement with me, whether you were aware of it or not.”
“But you should have told me about that loan on the day we met. You shouldn’t have withheld that information from me.”
“Mrs. Jennings, I do not consider it my responsibility to relay business details between a husband and wife. It is a husband’s business what he decides to share with his wife.” His eyes cooled. “I am not the one who withheld that information from you, ma’am.”
At his withering glance, Kathryn felt the fight drain from her. She sank back in her seat. The dream of keeping the ranch was slipping through her fingers. Why had Larson kept this from her? It hurt that he hadn’t told her, that he hadn’t trusted her enough to help bear this burden. She took a deep breath, struggling to maintain her composure.
“Given Mrs. Jennings’ situation, how long does she have to repay the loan before you foreclose?”
Kathryn glanced from Mr. Taylor back to Kohlman.
Kohlman’s left eye twitched. “I’ll give her until September, and I’m being generous in that offer. Then all loans will be due in full.”
“All loans!” Kathryn prayed she’d misheard him.
The banker laced his fingers over his protruding stomach. The leather chair creaked under his weight. “That’s right. The agreement your husband signed last spring clearly stated that if he defaulted on any portion of this loan, then the balance of all loans would be due. That includes the land, the cattle, the homestead. Everything.”
Though she was no expert in banking, Kathryn had gleaned some knowledge through overhearing her father’s business dealings. “May I see the agreement my husband signed?”
Kohlman opened a file already on his desk and shoved the papers across to her, then eyed his pocket watch.
Ignoring him, she carefully read through the agreement. Though she didn’t understand all the legal jargon of the lengthy document, a sickening feeling weighted her chest when she recognized Larson’s signature at the bottom. “Is this standard practice, Mr. Kohlman? To call in all loans if one payment is late?”
His look told her he didn’t like being questioned. “Only for those patrons who are considered to be high risk.”
She blinked. “High risk?”
His brief smile twisted her stomach. “Your husband fell behind in payments last year. We worked with him, of course, as we do with all our patrons.” He shook his head and sighed. “If I bear any fault in this it would be that I was too generous in my estimation of your husband’s business acumen. And for that, I am indeed sorry. That, however, doesn’t change your situation.”
The blow of the insult struck Kathryn with more
impact than if Kohlman had directed it straight at her. But why had Larson not shared this with her? She thought back, remembering how the previous winter’s brutal cold had cost them several hundred head of cattle. Apparently the loss had been more devastating than she’d imagined. What anxiety Larson must have been shouldering alone. . . .
“Mr. Kohlman.” Matthew Taylor leaned forward in his chair, his face determined. “I’ve worked for Mr. Jennings for over six years. He’s a good man and has a natural savvy about him when it comes to overseeing his ranch. He wouldn’t take any unnecessary risks with it, I can guarantee you that.”
When Mr. Taylor rose, Kathryn rose with him. He looked her way and, with a slight nod, she thanked him for his kind words.
“Nevertheless, here we are.” Kohlman spread his arms wide as though a banquet had been set before him.
Kathryn got the impression he was almost pleased with himself. Something inside her rebelled. She would fight to keep this ranch if it cost her everything else she possessed. If for no other reason than to give the child secreted inside her womb—Larson’s child—a tangible legacy of the father he might never know.
Kathryn waited outside the bank building while Mr. Taylor retrieved the wagon from the livery. The sun played hide-and-seek behind a cloud-dotted sky, and the unseasonably warm temperatures in recent days promised rain instead of the customary snow.
Her chest tightened when she thought of Mr. Kohlman’s deception. And that’s clearly what it had been. He should have told her about the preexisting lien on the homestead the day she secured her loan. Regardless, as he’d declared so glibly, that didn’t change the situation.
Seeing Mr. Taylor bringing the wagon at a distance, Kathryn stepped off the boardwalk and into the street. As she walked toward him she froze, unable to move forward. She stared at the back of a man on the boardwalk on the opposite side of the street. The sight of his broad shoulders and thick mane of unruly dark brown hair made her heart leap.
Larson.
Dodging wagons, puddles, and deposits of sludge and muck, Kathryn tracked his path through the crowd. She could barely contain her joy as she climbed the stairs to the crowded boardwalk. Still several paces away, she felt a flutter in her stomach and knew God had heard her prayers. Then the man turned and her breath left her in a rush.
She stopped short when she saw his ruddy, pocked complexion and heavily lidded eyes. Though clean-shaven like Larson, the man lacked any hint of her husband’s rugged charm and handsome features. She slowly bowed her head and turned away.
Jostled by the crowd, she felt a hand to her arm. Expecting to see Mr. Taylor, Kathryn turned and came uncomfortably close to another man. She took a step back and raised her eyes. As he had been the day she’d met him outside the bank, Mr. MacGregor’s suited attire was immaculate and his eyes chilling.
“Mr. MacGregor.” She forced a polite nod.
He raised a brow and his eyes shone with obvious pleasure. “You remembered, lass. Now that does give me fresh hope.”
The weight of the day’s events bore down, and Kathryn’s patience evaporated. “If you’ll excuse me, please.” She brushed past him, ignoring his flirtatious smile. She searched the street for Mr. Taylor.
“Looking for someone, are you?” He followed closely, shadowing her steps.
The remark roused fresh pain from the disillusionment of moments before. She stilled. She’d been so sure the man was Larson. As Matthew had stated inside Mr. Kohlman’s office, over three months had passed. He should have returned by now. Kathryn bowed her head to hide her emotion. At the same time, she knew this trick her heart was playing. In past years, she’d caught glimpses of her mother in the way another woman would brush back a strand of hair from her temple or check the brooch at her neckline. It was simply the heart’s way of trying to hold onto something that was lost forever.
MacGregor tipped her chin with his forefinger. “Is something wrong, Mrs. Jennings?”
She turned her head slightly to evade his touch. Surprisingly, his compassion appeared to be genuine, but Kathryn’s instinct told her otherwise. She wasn’t about to share her most private thoughts in the middle of a crowded boardwalk, and certainly not with this man.
“I assure you, I’m fine.”
“Well, that’s good to hear, because I’d hate to think you were distressed in any way.” His gaze dropped from her eyes, lowering briefly before lifting again.
Kathryn felt a blush start in her neck and move upward.
“Would you allow me the honor of your company for lunch today, Mrs. Jennings? And that of your husband, of course. I’d like to discuss a business proposition with you both.” He looked up and down the street. “Your husband is with you, is he not? I assume that’s who you’re waiting for.”
For an instant, Kathryn almost believed that he’d spoken the words with intentional cruelty. But when he turned back, she searched his face and knew that her own sense of loss was coloring her judgment.
She spotted Mr. Taylor on the opposite side of the street. “I’m sorry, Mr. MacGregor, but I must decline. Good day.”
She crossed the street quickly. Taylor assisted her into the wagon, then climbed up beside her. The horses responded to his command. “Why were you talkin’ with him?”
Kathryn wondered at the coolness in his tone. “I wasn’t really. He approached me about—”
“Do you know who he is?”
Knowing little more about the man other than his name, she shook her head.
“That’s Donlyn MacGregor. He owns the largest ranch in the Colorado Territory, and he’s been buyin’ up all the land around here for the past few years.” He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “I only know what I’ve been told, but I’d advise you to steer clear of him. He’s a powerful man, and word has it he’s not above bending the law in order to get what he wants. Plus they say he has friends in high places, and I don’t mean that to his credit.” With a flick of his wrist, Matthew Taylor urged the team of horses to a trot.
Kathryn turned around to look behind her and spotted Donlyn MacGregor walking through the doors of the Willow Springs Bank. Facing forward again she stole a sideways glance. The stiff set of Matthew’s broad shoulders told her he didn’t invite conversation on the matter. Her own instincts partially confirmed Matthew’s warning, yet another part of her couldn’t help but wonder. . . . A powerful man with friends in high places might be just what she needed to help keep Larson’s ranch.
CHAPTER EIGHT
HIS BREATH CAME HEAVY, but at Isaiah’s insistence and against his own will, Larson tried again. The muscles in his legs screamed from the effort just as the makeshift weights slipped again from his ankles. The padded bricks landed on the wooden planks with a thud.
Exhausted, Larson clutched the chair he was sitting in and let his feet fall back to the floor, barely reining his temper. “Like I told you before, it’s too soon for this, Isaiah. My legs aren’t strong enough.”
Isaiah said nothing for a moment, then moved to pick up the bricks. “That’s what you said two weeks ago when you tried the walker.”
“Yeah, and I couldn’t do that either.”
“You took a few steps with it. That’s a good start.”
“I took two steps and fell flat on my face!”
Isaiah sighed heavily, but it didn’t hint at exasperation. Larson had yet to see the man lose his temper, though they’d been following Isaiah’s regimen of exercise for nearly a month now with little to show for it.
Isaiah cradled the two bricks in one massive hand. “Your lack of strength doesn’t lie in your body, Larson.” With his free hand, he slowly traced the place over his heart. “It lies here.”
Larson threw him a scathing look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you don’t want it badly enough yet.” The patience in Isaiah’s eyes matched the quiet of his voice, and kindled Larson’s anger.
He gripped the sides of the chair and bit back a curse. They’d been d
oing this for the last hour, and he’d barely managed to lift his feet more than four inches off the floor before his muscles would begin to tremble and the bricks would fall. Despite Isaiah’s encouragement, he doubted he’d ever regain use of his legs. Between the gunshot wound, the fire, and the weeks he’d spent in bed, his muscles had weakened to the point where Larson hardly recognized his own body.
“Let’s try it once more before supper.” Isaiah reached out to reposition Larson’s legs.
Larson suddenly wished he had the strength to kick him. “No.”
Isaiah’s hands stilled. He looked up. “What?”
Larson kept his head down and licked his parched lips. “I said no. I’ve had enough for today.”
A moment passed. Isaiah gently laid the bricks aside and stood.
Larson sensed Isaiah’s eyes on him but didn’t lift his head. His chest tightened as he prepared himself for another of Isaiah’s miracle stories meant to bolster his spirits. The tales always stemmed from either the mining camps or the Bible, but whichever the source, Larson knew they contained only false hope. The truth of his situation was undeniable.
Larson cringed as he looked at his legs. He’d never walk again, much less be able to run his ranch. And Kathryn. Why would she ever want such a broken shell of a man?
“You hungry?” Isaiah asked, pulling Larson’s thoughts back. “I bet Abby’s got some of her warm corn bread and stew ready by now.”
Larson nodded, thankful for the unexpected reprieve. “Sure, that sounds good. I’m starved.” Humbled both by Isaiah’s understanding and his own need for assistance, Larson held out his arms.
Isaiah placed the walker in front of him. “Come on in when you’re ready, then. We’ll wait for you.”
Larson’s head shot up just as Isaiah disappeared through the doorway. He looked from the walker to the door and back, disbelieving. He knew Isaiah well enough to know what he was doing, and it galled him to the core.
He squeezed his eyes shut against a sudden burning sensation and swore aloud. Did Isaiah see this as some sort of game? Or challenge perhaps? Larson gripped the sides of the chair again and shifted his body till his spine was flush with the back of the chair. Part of him wanted to call out an apology and get it over with. Another part of him knew that no matter what he said, Isaiah wasn’t coming back. And neither would Abby. Not with Isaiah standing in the gap.
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