by Merry Farmer
Confidence renewed, Corva nodded. “You’re right. I need to ask questions first and panic later.”
“Or hopefully not at all,” the white-haired man added with a smile. “Now go.”
Corva turned and hurried to the edge of the steps. At the last minute, she looked over her shoulder, half convinced that the man, whoever he was, would vanish, like some guardian angel sent to point her down the right path only to disappear. But he was still there, as real and solid as any other citizen of Haskell. His words stuck with her. She was part of something bigger than herself now, and if she needed it, help would be there for her.
Chapter 10
As Franklin rode up to his house in the lengthening shadows of late afternoon, riding the horse he’d borrowed from his father’s stable, a thousand thoughts cycled through his mind. No calves had gone missing that day, but one had been stillborn. Nothing out of the ordinary, all things considered. They hadn’t heard anything from Bonneville all day, which was unexpected, but a good sign. Maybe the man knew when he was beat. His father had been in a grand mood all day, congratulation him, along with the rest of the team. He wanted Corva to come over for supper as soon as possible.
Corva.
Franklin sighed as he dismounted at his ramp and walked Kingsman into the barn to rest for the night. With all the business concerns pressing down on him, he’d still thought of his beautiful, clever, confusing wife all day. It had been nearly impossible not to replay the memory of their intimacies in bed any time he had a free moment, but those thoughts were superseded each time by worry about why she had looked so…so unhappy when he’d left. What had he done wrong now?
Well, whatever it was, he would make up for it. That thought renewed his smile several times over.
“Corva?” he called as he opened the front door.
She was waiting for him, sitting at the dining table in almost the same position she’d been in when he’d left that morning. A jolt of panic sizzled down his spine at the thought that she’d done nothing but sit there all day because of some shameful mistake he must have made. But no, there were subtle changes in the house. The scent of stew cooking wafted from the kitchen. The area of the fireplace had been tidied further. The lamps had been refilled and their wicks trimmed, and they were lit to ward off the growing darkness. Some of her paintings were missing too, including the beautiful, sad picture of a woman in the rain.
Franklin paused inside the front door, removing his hat and hanging it and his cane on their pegs. “How was your day?”
She looked up at him, and right away there were questions in her eyes. Questions and something that burned with the intensity of a blaze. She hesitated for only a moment before hopping up from the table and coming over to him to take his coat.
“I went into town” she said, hanging it, then facing him. Her gaze fluttered down for a moment. “I ran into Vivian and Bebe Bonneville in Kline’s store. They were their usual charming selves.”
“I’m sorry.” He raised a hand to squeeze her arm. That quickly turned into an embrace. He slipped his arms around her and held her close. One by one, the tight muscles of his back released. It felt so good to hold her, to have her to come home to.
Corva was stiff at first, but melted into him with an exhale. For a comforting moment, the two of them stood there together.
Then Corva leaned back, her brow knit in puzzlement. “Who is the white-haired gentleman at the Cattleman Hotel?”
Franklin’s brow flew up. “Mr. Gunn? He’s the hotel manager. He runs the entire place like a tight ship.”
A smile spread across Corva’s lips. “So he is real?”
In spite of himself, Franklin laughed. “Sometimes I wonder. He’s so stiff and formal all the time.”
“He’s wonderful and kind and…and insightful.”
Franklin blinked at her. Behind her smile, he could see flashes of deep emotion. “What happened?”
Corva peeled away from him and walked deeper into the room. “I was upset after my encounter with the Bonneville sisters. I ran out of the mercantile and found myself at the hotel. Mr. Gunn was there to…well, to talk me through things, to help me to see, to put things in perspective.”
Franklin made a mental note to thank Theophilus Gunn the next time he saw the man. But at that moment, all of his attention was on Corva. She paused in the center of the room, then turned to face him. Her brow was knit again, and her lips pursed as if she had something to say.
“Franklin, why did you marry me if you didn’t want to?”
He met her question with a surprised intake of breath. That quickly dipped to shame. He walked to the table, gripping the back of a chair for support. “Because Aunt Ginny wanted me to. Because I knew it was the right thing to do.”
“Those are two different answers. Two very different answers.” She wrung her hands in front of her.
If he could have done anything to take away the uncertainty and the pain in her eyes, he would have done it. “I’ll admit, I was hesitant,” he said, “but you have to understand. A long time ago, I proved that I’m…I’m not a very good person. I behaved selfishly. A lot of people could have been hurt. Mercifully, I was the only one who did get hurt. I was the one who deserved it.”
“But Franklin, that was more than ten years ago.” She stepped toward him, stopping again when she was only a few feet away. “Everyone changes in ten years, everyone. You’re not that selfish, foolish boy anymore.”
“No,” he agreed, nodding. “But I am a man with severe limitations.” He paused, rubbing a hand over his face and glancing down at his braces. “Look at me, Corva. Inside and outside, I’m a man in a cage.” He tapped the top of one of his braces where it reached his thigh. “I do everything I can to keep myself in good shape, but I’m only going to get older, weaker. I never wanted to marry because I never wanted a woman to have to give up her life to take care of me.”
A flash of frustration pinched her face. “But you’re asking me to give up my life for you anyhow.”
“I know, I—what?” He blinked up at her, sensing that the frustration pouring off of her now had nothing to do with his legs.
Corva huffed and took a step back. “We…we shared something special last night, and this morning you left without saying a word about it.”
Franklin opened his mouth and raised a hand to defend himself, but nothing came out. He shifted his hand to rub the back of his neck. “I suppose I wasn’t sure if you would want to talk about it. I never know what to say about anything that affects me so deeply.”
Her expression shifted to hope. “It did?”
He lowered his arm and smiled sheepishly. “Of course it did. I’m not the kind of man who shares something that special with just anyone. After that, I wanted to share everything else with you. The mundane things too.”
Of all things, she looked surprised. “But the girls out on the porch at Bonnie’s in town…”
He chuckled, understanding dawning. “Bonnie’s girls are sweet on any man who treats them with dignity and respect.”
“They called you by your first name.”
“It’s a small town. Almost everyone calls everyone by their first name.”
A rose-red flush came to Corva’s cheeks. For a moment, she looked down, biting her lip. It was a surprisingly alluring gesture that heated Franklin’s blood. But when she snapped up to look at him again, the frustration was back.
“Why are you in such a hurry to get rid of my paintings?”
He blinked rapidly, trying to catch up. “Get rid of them?”
Her hands formed fists at her sides, and her frustration turned to pure misery. “I know you don’t like them, but every one of those paintings is a part of who I am, a part of my soul. I can’t help it. If you hate them, that means you hate a part of me as well. If you hate a part of me, I don’t see how this marriage could ever work.”
“Corva.” He stopped her before she could go on. “I love your paintings. I think they’re wonderful.”<
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“What?” She was so surprised that she backed up a step. “But that first day, when I was painting outside, when I’d forgotten your lunch. A look came over your face as if you hated my work.” She peeked to the side where the half-finished painting in question stood.
Franklin rubbed his face, looking sheepish. “I couldn’t tell you then, but somehow you managed to start painting the exact spot where my accident happened all those years ago. I was thinking of that—of my stupidity, not of your skill. I’m sorry.”
“But you told me to take them into Mr. Kline’s store.”
“I thought that you might want to sell them, or maybe display them somewhere so that people other than you and I could look at them. They’re too good to hide away here.”
“But I thought…”
Her shoulders dropped and her eyes lost their focus for a minute. Then she started to laugh. It was encouraging and unsettling at the same time. Franklin took a faltering step toward her as she gripped her sides and continued laughing. She glance up to him.
“And you don’t think I’m too unladylike to be a good wife because of what happened at the baseball game yesterday either.” It wasn’t a question, but her eyes shone as if she needed an answer.
Franklin’s lips twitched to a grin. “Corva, I’ve never been more proud of anyone in my life as I was at the way you stepped up and helped us to win that game. I never would have consented to play if it wasn’t for you.” He stepped closer to her still, almost close enough to reach for her. “And as for being unladylike?” A rush of desire flooded through him. “I’ve never wanted to hold or kiss or…do other things with a woman—a womanly woman—as I did the moment you slid into home.”
Corva clasped her hands to her mouth, her blush deepening, her eyes flashing. Then she lowered her arms and stepped into him, wrapping her arms around him as he closed her against him in a tight embrace.
“He was right,” she said before he could kiss her.
Franklin’s grin dropped. “Who?”
“Mr. Gunn.” She laughed again. “He warned me to talk to you before jumping to conclusions about what you thought or how you see things.”
Yes, Theophilus Gunn was definitely due for a gigantic thank you, possibly in the form of a check. “He’s a brilliant man, isn’t he?”
Corva nodded, but that was all she could manage before Franklin kissed her with a passion that practically lifted them off their feet. She felt so right in his arms, so complete pressed against him. Maybe it had been someone else’s idea to bring Corva here, to Haskell, to marry him, but it was his idea and his alone to love her with his whole heart, for the rest of his days.
They stood their kissing for far longer than they should have. Corva giggled the longer it went on, her eyes sparkling. “We should stop. I’ve got supper on the stove, just about ready to—”
A shattering crash broke through both his amorous mood and her domestic one. A brick clunked to a stop only a yard away from their feet. Corva gasped and crushed against him. Franklin held her tighter, following the line of the brick to the now broken window it had smashed through.
“What the—”
A second crash came from the bedroom, no doubt another brick.
“Stay here.” Franklin let go of Corva, limping across the shattered glass to look out the window.
Twilight was falling, but he could still see the area around the house. A pair of horses stood many yards back from his barn. A flicker of movement and a flash of light came from the side. He twisted to see a man he vaguely recognized as one of Rex Bonneville’s ranch hands…with something flaming in his hand.
“Think you can humiliate us?” the man bellowed. “Think you can spread rumors and show us up on the diamond?”
Before Franklin could respond, the man hurled the flaming thing in his hand. Franklin jerked out of the way as it shot through the broken window and shattered on the floor. A fountain of flame spewed up in its wake along with the stink of burning oil. Corva screamed with a terror that turned Franklin’s blood to ice.
“Run!” He lurched toward the wall of flame that now separated them, but pulled back. Whatever the flammable substance in the bomb was, it had caught on the old carpet. The flames were growing instead of shrinking. “Run, Corva!”
She continued to scream, backing against the table, eyes so wide he could see the reflection not only of these flames, but of the flames that burned Atlanta in them. Another crash sounded from her bedroom. The sick glow of fire rose in both of the bedrooms now.
He had to act. Braces or no braces, he needed to use what strength was left in his legs. That was all that mattered. Steeling himself against the danger, he charged at the flames that separated him from his wife, his heart, his soul. A sharp lick of heat flared around him as he burst through and continued on to throw his arms around her.
“We have to get out of here,” he told her, scooping his arm around her waist. “I can’t carry you, so you’re going to have to run.”
She nodded, though her breath came in sharp, frantic pants. Franklin gripped her hand, searching for the safest way around the flames. They stretched almost all the way across the main room, but not quite. He set his path, then charged ahead, pulling her with him.
A thump sounded against the door just as they reached it. When Franklin tugged it open, he was met by a wall of flame. Corva screamed, and the two of them wheeled back. Panic began to inch its way up Franklin’s back as he looked for another way out, but by some twist of luck or blessing, the flames around the door died down. The bomb Bonneville’s man had thrown against the door didn’t catch.
“This way.” Franklin tightened his grip on Corva’s hand and dashed forward. Glass crunched under their feet as they shot through the door and out into the cooling twilight. Far ahead of them, two men jumped on the horses that had been left to watch and rode off. There wasn’t time to worry about them.
Franklin tugged Corva as far away from the house as he could before the coughing started. Then he stopped and doubled, racked with coughing. His iron braces were warm to the touch when his hands bumped them. Corva sank to the ground by his side, breathing heavily. They both turned to watch the house. Orange-red fire lit half of the windows, but the structure wasn’t alight yet. There might still be time to save it.
As the thought struck him, Corva gasped, “My paintings!” Tears and terror streaked her face.
Franklin whipped back to the house. The fire was spreading, but it wasn’t too late. He still had a chance to do something, to save something. Without a second thought, he lunged forward, rushing back into the house.
Corva’s mind clouded with every nightmare she’d experienced in the last ten years. All at once, she was that tiny, injured, and frightened little girl, running through a world on fire. The only thing that kept her from spinning out of control was Franklin’s steady presence by her side. As they stumbled out into the cool grass, turning to watch the flames grow inside their home, the only thing she could think of were her blasted paintings.
And then Franklin ran back into the house.
“Franklin, no!”
In an instant, she snapped out of the fevered nightmares. The present and the reality of the situation—that her husband, a man she owed so much, a man she adored—had run back inside of a burning building for her.
“No!”
She jumped to her feet, stumbling toward the house. Franklin was injured. He couldn’t move fast enough in a house full of flame to rescue a few pieces of canvas and paint. He was in danger.
She hesitated for only a heartbeat at the beginning of the ramp leading up to the front door. Heat spilled out of the house in waves. Inside, she could see flames licking up the walls, consuming the sofa. She thought she saw the dark shape of Franklin dash through the main room. A moment later, one of the intact windows opened and two of her paintings sailed out into the safety of the lawn.
“Franklin!” Corva shouted, and pushed inside of the house.
Fear
closed in on her from every side. The infernal light all around her teased at the corners of her memory, conjuring the flames of Atlanta as well as the ones in Franklin’s house. Across the room, Franklin yanked one of her larger paintings off the wall. He stumbled around the table—the corner of which was now in flame—and limped to the open window. Pain lined his face, but he pushed on.
“Franklin!”
He spun to her just as he tossed the large canvas out the window. “Corva? Get out of here, get out!”
“Leave them,” she shouted. “Leave them and come with me.”
“I won’t let them burn,” he called back over the roar of fire. “You love these paintings, and I love you.”
Corva’s chest squeezed with his declaration, with panic, and with the heat from the growing inferno. He loved her? He loved her!
“They’re not worth it,” she shouted. She jumped away from a flare of fire as one of the lamps shattered on the table. Sparks threatened to ignite the hem of her dress, but she danced away, putting out the flames before they could catch. The movement knocked her against the wall.
She gasped when her foot smacked against her paint box and easel. She’d left them there after bringing them in the other afternoon. As quickly as she could, she grabbed them and hurled them through the window that the brick had shattered. At least some part of her art would survive. That was the least of her worries, though.
She spun back to the room. Franklin was nowhere to be seen. “Franklin? Franklin!” He couldn’t have rushed out of the house that fast, could he?
A thump at the far end of the room and a muffled cry was her answer. She dashed around the flames, searching for him. Sure enough, Franklin had fallen on the far side of the table. His face was contorted with a sharper pain than before. He thrashed his legs, and when he reached for one, his hands snapped back as if burned.
As if burned.
His braces must have been red hot.
Corva didn’t call out to him. She didn’t even think. With steely determination—far beyond the kind that had come over her when she ran the bases the day before—she sprinted through the wall of flames and around the table to him. He writhed in agony, jaw clenched over a scream. Smoke rose faintly from his trousers.