His Perfect Bride (The Brides of Paradise Ranch - Spicy Version Book 1) (15 page)

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.

Without thinking, Corva grabbed him under his arms and tugged. She wasn’t particularly strong, had never counted that as one of her talents, but in that moment, it was as if she had the strength of Hercules. She hoisted Franklin halfway to his feet, then turned and searched for the door. Flames blocked her from it, but they weren’t severe. She would have to be fast.

There was no time to consider anything but getting Franklin out. Corva grunted and swayed into motion. Franklin growled, his body tensing with struggle as he did everything he could to move on his own and to shelter her. Time stood still as Corva half-dragged, half-helped him toward the door. They passed through a barrier of fire, and with another few, labored steps, they were outside. Franklin lurched to tug her away from the flames and down the ramp. Immediately, the air around them cooled, but the heat seemed to continue inside of her. The two of them plummeted to the dirt beside the ramp.

“Over here, over here,” someone shouted.

Seconds later, Corva lost her hold on Franklin as something lifted her. She had the short, swift sensation of movement, then a thump and the cool of grass. Then water splashed all around her. A second later, she heard another splash and a sizzle, and Franklin crying out in agony.

“Someone get those off of him. They’re burning up.”

Corva turned to the familiar, urgent voice. Bit by bit, her mind focused on the world around her. Travis and Cody Montrose knelt on either side of Franklin, frantically working to remove his braces, jerking back and shaking their hands as the hot metal burned them. Franklin was soaking wet, his clothes singed in several spots. It was only when Corva rolled in an attempt to reach him that she saw her own dress was nothing but cinders below the knee. Water had been thrown on her to extinguish the fire.

“Franklin!” She fell into a fit of coughing as soon as his name was out.

“Corva,” he answered through his own coughs.

He reached around Travis’s back, hand extended to her. Corva dragged herself across the grass, only resting when her hand was firmly in his. He squeezed it, and then she blacked out.

For the second time in his life, Franklin Haskell awoke in his childhood bed, wrapped in bandages and wracked with pain, after a disaster that nearly killed him. Only this time, his wife lay tucked against his side. He winced as he raised a hand to stroke her hair. Bits of it had been singed off, but that didn’t make her any less beautiful to him.

She stirred, drawing in a breath as she awoke, then coughing hard enough to shake the bed. That set him off into a fit of his own coughing.

“This is the worst part,” she gasped, voice wispy. “Dr. Meyers said it will go away eventually, but that we both inhaled a lot of smoke.”

Franklin nodded, fighting to steady his lungs. They both managed to stop coughing, but it was an effort. Franklin settled for shifting to the side so that Corva could lay fully next to him and holding her hand.

At long last, he said, “You saved me,” his voice cracking.

She shook her head. “They’d already seen the fire from your father’s house by the time I ran in after you. The Montrose brothers and Luke Chance rode like the wind to get here. Luke dragged us both out to safety, and the others put out as much of the fire as they could.” She coughed for a few seconds before adding, “The house is ruined, though.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Franklin wheezed. He slid his arm gently around Corva’s shoulders, pulling her into an embrace. Her knee bumped his thigh, and even though it was nothing more than a gentle nudge, he winced in pain.

“Oh. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She lifted to one arm, settling beside him without touching him.

That was the last thing he wanted. “It’s nothing, just a little pain. I’m used to it. I’d rather hold you.”

Corva glanced down at him, a doubtful twist to her lips. “Your legs were badly burned when your braces heated up in the fire.”

“Even through my trousers?”

Corva nodded. “Do you want to see?”

He didn’t. His legs had given him enough trouble to last a lifetime. But it was what Corva wanted. “All right.”

Corva inched off the bed, then peeled back the sheet and quilt that covered him. Aside from a pair of drawers that had been cut short to leave his thighs free, he was naked from the waist down. The sight that met him was twisted and ugly…and he couldn’t help but laugh.

“It’s not that bad,” Corva assured him even as his laughter turned to coughing that wracked him. “Dr. Meyers says there will probably be scars, but Aiden Murphy said he knows of a Cheyenne remedy for burns, and that if you rub it on your— What’s so funny?”

Franklin reached for her hand, gesturing for her to sit on the bed again. As soon as his lungs cleared, he said, “Along with the old scars, my legs look like checkerboards now.”

Corva blinked, then looked at his legs again. Her brows rose, as if she saw what he saw. The old scars that he’d been left with after his first accident mostly ran up and down along his thighs and shins. The burn marks from his braces ran around his legs. His flesh was now a cheery plaid. A burn ointment had been applied to his flesh, giving it a sheen as though it was wet. She shook her head, then met his eyes.

“You do beat all, Franklin Haskell,” she said. “Laughing over grievous bodily harm.”

He hummed, fighting off another cough, and reached for her. She snuggled against him, careful not to touch his legs. It would have to be good enough for now.

“What about you? Are you injured at all?” His heart shuddered at the thought.

“No,” she said, as if surprised. “My skirt burned nearly to ash, but Cody doused me before it could burn through my stockings. I’ve got a few small burns, but I’m actually fine.” She finished with a long coughing fit. “Except for my lungs.”

“Then kiss me.” Franklin tightened his hold on her. “Kiss me before we start coughing again.”

Corva grinned, then leaned over to brush her lips gently against his. It wasn’t the kind of kiss he wanted. His body told him that it could be a while before he could kiss her the way he wanted. But for now, it would do. She was here, she was safe, and she was his.

“You saved me,” he repeated, feeling the truth of it from the bottom of his heart.

She shook her head. “I told you, that was Luke.”

He pressed his fingers to her lips before she could go on. “You asked me before the fire why I married you when marriage was the last thing I wanted. I don’t know if I’ll ever have the right answer to that question, but I can tell you this—whatever the reason, marrying you is the best decision I ever made. You saved me, Corva. You saved me from the sad, guilty person that I had become. You saved me from myself.”

“I wouldn’t say that I did all that.” Her lips twitched into a grin, and her eyes filled with affection.

“I would.” He rested a hand against the side of her face. “I still don’t think I deserve you, but you make me want to try.”

She curled her hand around his, pressing her cheek into his palm. “Even though I’m not a great beauty or a wealthy heiress? Even though I do unladylike things, like playing baseball or dragging my husband out of a burning building?”

He chuckled, heart blossoming to joy within him. “Because of those things, my darling. Because of all those things and more, I love you.”

Her eyes grew suddenly glassy, and she whispered. “And I love you, Franklin Haskell. You’re the bravest and strongest man I’ve ever known, and I’m proud to be your wife.”

Her words took his breath away. He surged up to kiss her. She met him halfway, leaning into him as the temperature between them rose. Her ardor pushed him back into his pillow, and the rakish thought struck him that he might just enjoy staying on his back and letting her take the lead, once his strength returned.

They were still kissing when the bedroom door slapped open.

“I heard coughing in here. Is everything all—oh my!” His mother stood in the doorway, a hand slapped to her chest.

Corva jumped back with a gasp—which led to more coughing—and Franklin reached for the quilt to cover his legs…and other things.

A moment later, his father marched up behind his mother and looked into the room. “Feeling better?” he barked, and seeing the position Corva was in, said, “Ah. Yes, indeed!”

His mother hesitated for only a moment before throwing her hands up and coming all the way into the room. “At least it shows you’re not permanently damaged.”

“Of course, he’s not.” His father strode in and came to lean over the bed. “Broken bones couldn’t take my boy down, and neither could a little fire. Next time we have a bad lightning storm, I should send him out to harness electricity.”

“Please don’t,” his mother wailed, clutching her chest again.

“Dr. Meyers says you’ll both be right as rain in a few days,” Howard went on, more serious. “Your house is a ruin, though, so you’ll be staying here for a while.”

Franklin nodded. He wasn’t terribly surprised. “As long as we can rebuild, I’ll be happy.”

“We can always rebuild,” Corva said, and judging by the spark in her eyes, she meant far more than just a house. Between the two of them, they could rebuild their lives and make them a thousand times happier.

“All we need to do—” Howard started, but was cut off by a slamming door and a shout from downstairs.

“Haskell!” The voice belonged to Rex Bonneville.

Every bit of good feeling in the room evaporated. Howard marched back to the hall as Franklin pushed himself to sit, in spite of the stabbing pain it caused.

“How dare you invade my house, sir,” Howard bellowed.

It did no good. Footfalls sounded on the stairs, and a moment later, Rex Bonneville was standing toe-to-toe in the hall outside of Franklin’s open door. Only, instead of looking furious, Bonneville looked anxious, almost contrite. He spared one glance for Howard before turning and rushing into Franklin’s room.

“How are you, my dear boy?”

Franklin was so startled by the man’s question that he answered, “Well enough,” before he could think better of it.

With a dramatic gesture, Bonneville sighed. “Thank the Lord in heaven above. We were all so worried about you. My girls have been beside themselves with concern.”

Everyone else in the room fell silent, staring at the big, seemingly relieved, man. Corva backed all the way to the corner of the room, studying Bonneville through narrowed eyes.

Franklin was the first to recover his presence of mind. “What do you want?”

Bonneville gaped at him, as if hurt that his motives could be questioned. “Only to know that you are well. Can I get you anything? Anything at all?”

Franklin glanced to Corva. Her face was a mask of distrust. It was the right reaction.

“It was your men who set fire to my house,” Franklin said, eyes narrowed.

“Yes, yes, I know, and you must forgive me.” Through the appearance of contrition, Bonneville managed to emphasize the word
must
. “It was the new boys, Carver and Brecker. They were upset over the baseball game, you see. And Brecker is sweet on Vivian. When he heard about the way your good wife insulted her in Kline’s store…”

Bonneville glanced up at Corva, a snake-like snap of hate in his eyes. Corva swallowed and pressed herself further against the wall.

“Get out,” Franklin ordered him without a second thought.

Bonneville flapped his jaws as if mortally offended. “I have only come to wish you a speedy recovery, and to let you know that the perpetrators have been fired and handed over to the authorities. I shall personally testify against them in court. And I assure you, nothing like this will ever happen again.” His glance darted to Corva once more, then back to Franklin, and on to Howard. “Nothing like this will ever happen again,
am I right
?”

Whether he was talking about the baseball game or whatever Corva had said to Vivian at the mercantile, or whether he was harking all the way back to the talk about rustling, it was hard to tell. The message was loud and clear, though. War had been declared.

Howard cleared his throat. “Bonneville, I’ll give you exactly ten seconds to get out of my house.”

Bonneville’s back straightened. “Is this the thanks I get for coming to wish an injured neighbor well?”

“One,” Howard barked.

“If this is how you treat someone who has come on a mission of mercy—”

“Two,” Franklin added, as loud as he could without coughing.

Bonneville scowled. “I see how it is. If I—”

“Three.” Elizabeth took a step forward, glaring at him.

“I should have expected nothing less from this sort of—”

“FOUR.” Corva launched out of her corner, adding, “Get out of our house, Mr. Bonneville,” for good measure.

Bonneville gaped at her, his eyes popping. He stood there, looking like a bloated fish, until Franklin said, “Five.”

“Fine!” Bonneville turned on his heel and marched past Howard and out into the hall. “But if you think this is the end of things, you are sadly mistaken.”

He stomped off down the stairs, and the door slammed before anyone could say, “Six.”

As soon as he was gone, everyone in the room let out a collective sigh of relief.

“He’ll be trouble,” Franklin spoke into the silence.

“Don’t you worry about it.” Howard stepped over to thump Franklin’s shoulder. “You worry about healing up. You’ve got a ranch to help manage, a house to rebuild, and a family to start.” He winked at Corva with his last statement.

“Howard!” Franklin’s mother gasped.

“What? Lucy’s already ahead of him by four children. He’s got a lot of catching up to do, and I’m sure, as a Haskell, he’s more than ready to give it a go.”

“Yes, but you don’t talk about it in public,” Elizabeth hissed.

“Fine then.” Howard laughed. “We’ll leave the two of them alone.”

Howard held out his hand to her, and Elizabeth muttered the whole way as she marched around Franklin’s bed to take it. She sent Franklin a final look of tenderness over her shoulder before she and Howard left the room.

As soon as they were gone, Franklin and Corva burst into laughter. They managed to continue laughing without coughing for ten whole seconds. Corva sank to lay on the bed beside Franklin once more.

“Don’t mind them,” Franklin told her, hugging her close. “Dad will always talk like a rascal. You get used to it.”

“As long as I have you, I could get used to anything.” Corva smiled, throwing her arms around him. “And you’d better do as they all say and heal as fast as possible.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yes.” She lifted herself up enough to grin down at him. “Because they’re right. We have a family to start. And I do believe we’re going to enjoy ourselves as we start it.”

“I believe you’re right,” Franklin said, quite certain that he’d never been so happy in his life.