Rekindled Read Online Free PDF

that could be a rabbit or a squirrel.
    His heart kicked up a notch when it happened again. He reached for his rifle propped on a rock beside him. He cocked the chamber slowly, deliberately, giving warning.
    “Hello, the camp!” a voice sounded to his right.
    Larson turned to see a man step from behind a boulder into the shadowed flicker of the campfire.
    The stranger extended his hands palm up, showing he wasn’t armed. “Can I share your fire, friend?”
    Eyeing him, Larson felt his pulse slow a mite. “Sure, come on in.” He kept his rifle within easy reach.
    At first glance, the man appeared to be about his age. He wore no gloves, and when he stretched his bare hands over the fire, Larson noticed a tiny tremor in them. He wondered if it was from the chill of the night or if the stranger had another need.
    “My horse went lame on me a couple miles back. I been walkin’ since dark.” The man’s pants were caked in snow and ice, and his boots were worn through on one side.
    Larson motioned to the coffeepot set on a rock among the glowing white embers. At the man’s nod, he tossed the remnants from his cup and poured a fresh one. He rose to hand it to the stranger and heard a horse whinny some distance behind him, on the other side of the ravine.
    Too late, Larson realized the man’s intent.
    The sight of the revolver pointing at his chest sent white-hot emotion pouring through Larson’s body. Instinctively, he tossed the hot coffee at the man’s face and dove for his rifle. He hit the ground as a thunderclap exploded in his ears. Searing heat tore through his upper right thigh. Sickening warmth and weakness pulsed in his right leg, then spread the length of his body.
    Everything swirled in a fog around him. He fought to remain conscious.
    When Larson opened his eyes he saw only a dark blanket of sky pierced with specks of light dancing in a nauseating rhythm. He blinked twice to clear his mind.
    The night air suddenly felt like an icy blanket hugging him from all sides, and he soon realized why. His coat, boots, and gloves were gone.
    He tried to sit up, but a solid kick to his ribcage brought him down. The freezing snow against his face helped keep him conscious. He gulped for air.
    Be still .
    Larson felt the urging more than heard it. But he didn’t want to be still. Everything within him wanted to fight.
    He heard movement in the camp and slowly opened one eye. The stranger now wore his coat and boots and was rummaging through his saddlebags. Larson raised himself slowly till he was sitting. He silently reached for the weapon beside him and took aim dead center on the man’s back. He cocked the rifle. “Hold it right—”
    The man turned, his gun holstered.
    The explosion was deafening. But it hadn’t come from Larson’s rifle.
    A look of utter surprise and disbelief contorted the man’s features before he fell headlong into the snow. Larson’s heart ricocheted off his ribs as he struggled to his knees. He searched the darkness around him. The night grew eerily quiet. Knowing he provided an excellent target in his current position, he gripped his rifle and limped to an outcropping of boulders.
    Sinking to the ground, he clamped a hand over the pulsing wound in his right thigh and pressed back against the icy stone. A rifle blast split the silence. A flash of light glinted off the boulder, inches from his head. He fell to his belly and started crawling through the snow and scrub brush, away from the light of the campfire.
    Another gunshot sounded, hitting only a few feet to the side of him.
    Larson took quick breaths through clenched teeth. His skin suddenly grew clammy even as the wound pulsed hot. Trying to ignore the pain, he prayed like he hadn’t done in years. Larson knew the Almighty had no reason to listen to him. Not after he’d ignored Him all these years. Even so, he prayed, with an urgency he didn’t know he had in him.
    Figuring he’d crawled about twenty yards, he stopped to catch his