The Haunting of Autumn Lake (7 page)

“Oh, I love to watch the press when Daddy’s makin’ cider,” she sighed. “So much apple juice a body could drink it ’til they died and not regret it! Mama and Aunt Myra bottle it up for folks. I help now too…but when I was younger, Daddy would just set me on a stool near the press and let me place the apples in to be pressed.” She sighed, closed her eyes, and conjured up a memory in her mind. “I love when Mama adds the mulling spices to a big pot of fresh-pressed cider. In the autumn, she just adds a tich of molasses and some sugar to a big pot of cider. Then she drops in a little cloth bag filled with cloves and cinnamon and nutmeg. Before long, the sweet scent of warm apple cider all sweet and spiced begins to fill the air.”

Autumn opened her eyes to see that Gentry James was watching her. He looked far more relaxed than he had a moment before, as if the pain of his wounds had somehow lessened.

She grinned and could feel the excitement leaping to her own eyes as she continued. “In the winter, just around Christmastime, my Uncle Denver and Aunt Yvonne ship us a crate of oranges. Oh, I love oranges! Have you ever had one, Mr. James?”

The cowboy grinned and mumbled, “Once.”

Autumn smiled and brushed a hair from his cheek. He could use a hair trim. And yet, she rather liked the way his hair tumbled over his eyebrows and eyes. At the feel of his cheek beneath her fingertips, her arms erupted into goose flesh the way they had the first moment she’d seen him. But Autumn didn’t let on. She simply continued to soothe the man with tales of the sweet apple cider her daddy was pressing over at the general store.

“Well, when Uncle Denver’s oranges arrive, my Mama makes mulled cider for us that very day. But this time, she slices up one of the oranges and drops it into the cider pot as well,” she explained. “You wouldn’t believe the difference it makes, Mr. James! It’s as if she drizzled a little warm ambrosia into the pot along with everything else.”

Autumn could see Gentry James’s eyelids were growing heavy. She didn’t want his eyes to close! She wanted to gaze into the blue of them all afternoon. But she knew he needed his rest.

“And then, when the cider is all mulled and Daddy is in from doin’ his evenin’ chores, we all sit near the fire in the parlor hearth and sip our cider…nibblin’ on frosted sugar cookies Mama and I baked earlier in the day,” she said. She lowered her voice a little, noting that the man’s breathing was becoming smooth and rhythmic as he drifted to sleep. “Then when I get sleepy, I wander off to bed…and Daddy and Mama stay up…sparkin’ in the parlor there before the fire…just like they were two young lovers all over again.”

Autumn sighed. “So, Mr. James,” she whispered, “I can’t let you go a day longer without the taste of apples. It might not be warm and spiced the way I like it most…but my Daddy’s apple cider will soothe your soul all the same.”

Gently placing her hand on top of the cowboy’s that lay at his stomach, Autumn tenderly caressed his fingers—let her palm feel the warmth of the back of his hand. She hoped he’d had enough water to drink in the short while he’d been conscious. She hoped she’d helped ease his mind somehow—distract him from his miserable pain. It was all she could offer, and she felt quite inadequate because of it.

Quietly Autumn returned to her chair. But instead of picking up her sewing, she chose her sketchbook instead.

Exhaling a sigh, she seated herself near the window once more, flipped through her sketchbook—past all the sketches she’s made of Jethro in preparation for painting his portrait for her mother—and, on an empty and waiting page, began to sketch the sleeping and so badly injured cowboy whose face had haunted her dreams since the moment she’d first gazed into the deep, dark blue of his oh-so-fascinating eyes.

❦

“How’re you feelin’, son?” the man asked as Gentry forced his eyes open.

The light coming through the window was warm and orange. Gentry glanced toward the chair where the girl named Autumn had been sitting before. He was disappointed to see the chair stood empty.

“You look a might better than the last time I saw ya, that’s for sure,” the man chuckled.

“Thank you,” Gentry said. Through tired, narrowed eyes, he stared up at the man standing at his side. “You’re that girl’s daddy, ain’t ya?” he asked. His voice was raspy and dry from lack of drink.

“You mean Autumn?” the man asked, smiling. “Yep. I’m her daddy all right.”

Gentry swallowed, but the dryness of his mouth did little to soothe the pain in his throat. “She looks like you some,” he mumbled.

Again the man chuckled. “That’s what folks say,” he said.

“How’re you feelin’, Mr. James?” another voice asked.

Gentry looked to the other side of his bed to see the old doctor standing there. Even turning his head just slightly caused it to throb.

“Better, I think,” he answered.

“Well, I don’t know what ol’ Doc here will say about it,” the man who looked like his daughter began, “but Autumn insisted that I drop this off for you before I headed home today.”

Gentry watched as Autumn’s father set a big jar full of caramel-colored liquid on the table next to the bed. He smiled, even though it hurt to do so.

“Apple cider, I’m guessin’?” he asked. He’d have chuckled if he’d thought his body could’ve mustered it.

“That’s right. Fresh pressed from Ransom Lake’s orchards,” the man answered.

“Ransom Lake, is it?” Gentry asked. “Well, I thank you, Mr. Lake…for the cider and for your help the other day in town…for gettin’ me in to the doc here and all.”

“You’re welcome, son,” Ransom Lake said. “Now, what’s say you have sip or two of this cider? It’s nice and sunshine warm. A little apple juice in you might be just the thing.”

Gentry nodded a little and tried to lift his head. Gratefully he found that, unlike earlier in the day when he’d needed assistance, he could lift it on his own—though Ransom Lake still had to hold the jar of cider to his lips.

At the very first sense of the flavorsome cider on his tongue, Gentry’s entire being was suddenly flooded with an odd sort of joy and renewed energy. In all his life he’d never tasted anything so ambrosial—so exquisitely sweet and refreshing. He found that a mere sip of the cider gave him the strength to sit up on his own—to grasp the jar with one trembling hand and savor another swallow of the cider that was every bit as delicious as the girl had claimed.

“She wasn’t exaggeratin’,” he mumbled. “I never tasted anything so good, Mr. Lake.” He looked up to the man at his bedside and nodded. “Thank you, sir. Truly.”

“Thank my daughter next time you see her, cowboy,” Ransom Lake said. “She dang near talked my ear off ’til I promised to run it on over to ya.”

Gentry nodded and smiled. He did feel better—as if the cider had some medicinal healing property.

“Thank you, sir,” he said. “I truly am grateful.”

“You’re welcome,” Ransom Lake said. Then firmly patting Gentry’s good shoulder, he added, “Now you heal up. Have yourself a good night, and Autumn will check in on you tomorrow. All right?”

“Yes, sir,” Gentry said. He took another swig, awed at how much better he felt with each swallow.

As the old doctor escorted Ransom Lake to the door, Gentry drank more of the sweet, refreshing cider. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he mumbled. The girl, Autumn Lake, had been right. The apple cider her daddy had pressed really did soothe the very soul.

Chapter Five

Autumn could hardly remember what she’d done to entertain herself before. It had been more than a week since the handsome cowboy, Gentry James, had ridden into town all shot up and literally dropped right at her feet, and Autumn had sat with him for most of the day every day since. Of course, Doctor Sullivan had requested that she do so—at least at first. But now she found herself hurrying into town every morning, blissful with the anticipation of laying eyes on Gentry James and keeping him company while he convalesced—even though Doctor Sullivan had assured her any danger of the cowboy dying had passed.

Autumn had discovered that Gentry James was too alluring to keep from! Not only was he entirely too good-looking for his own good (or anybody else’s, for that matter) but he was also charming in a humbled, man-who-had-been-knocked-down-too-many-times kind of way. There was nothing arrogant about him—at least that Autumn had discovered. Oh, he was strong enough and growing stronger by the day. He seemed to possess an iron will as well, and she sensed he could endure anything and come out breathing. All this she gathered not from the stories of his past he’d shared—for he’d shared none with her—but from his overall countenance and mannerisms.

Autumn knew some women might be scared of a man the likes of Gentry James—because of either his profoundly handsome face and form or his rather unforthcoming, standoffish nature. Of course, she couldn’t understand why either would keep a woman away from him. To her, he was the most attractive man that ever could be.

Unfortunately, the like of Tawny Johnson wasn’t timid around Gentry James. Tawny had volunteered several times to sit with Gentry as well. But her mother hadn’t allowed her to do so. Her mother
had
allowed Tawny’s older sister, Candy, to visit the injured stranger on occasion, however. Naturally, everyone knew that Belva Johnson was afraid her eldest daughter, Candy, would never marry and remain a schoolmarm forever. Thus, Belva Johnson found every opportunity she could to push Candy into being noticed by any single man under the age of fifty.

Candy was a nice enough young woman (Autumn’s mother swore Candy took after her father, Mr. Johnson, whereas Tawny was the spitting image of her mother, Belva Tibbits Johnson), but Autumn found she had some strangely, and entirely unfounded, possessive feelings stirring around in her bosom when it came to Gentry James. Therefore, instead of spending less time looking after him and keeping him company, Autumn had actually begun to arrive earlier and earlier each morning. She was bound and determined that Candy Johnson wouldn’t have a moment alone with Gentry.

Oh, it was all silly and schoolgirlish—Autumn knew it was—but she couldn’t seem to help herself. No doubt Gentry James would finish healing up, ride away to Denver to collect what wages he could, and never be seen nor heard from again. But she still couldn’t resist him. She couldn’t resist lingering in his company for every precious second that she could.

And so, when she knocked on the door to Doctor Sullivan’s patient room and heard Gentry James say, “Come on in,” Autumn smiled. Nothing in all the world caused her heart to swell inside her chest like the sound of the shot-up cowboy’s voice—and she’d determined, the very first moment she’d sat down in Doc Sullivan’s patient room to watch over him, that she would never miss the chance to hear it again.

Autumn gasped a little as she entered the room—surprised to see Gentry standing near the window. It wasn’t so much his standing near the window that had astounded her as it was the fact he wore not a thread of clothing other than a pair of long underdrawers with no top and a drooping drawstring at the waist.

Turning his gaze from the window to Autumn, Gentry smiled, greeting, “Good mornin’, Autumn.”

The sight of his handsome face, complemented so perfectly by the dimples in each of his unshaven cheeks, instantly caused a smile of full felicity to spread over Autumn’s face. “Good mornin’, Mr. James,” she greeted in return.

Dang, he was handsome. He was so handsome! She couldn’t believe how handsome he was! Quickly she studied him from head to toe for a moment. In truth, she’d never seen anything like him before. Well, naturally she’d never seen a man standing at the window in just his underdrawers before—any man other than her father, that was. But it was more than that. Gentry James was much, much taller than he’d appeared to be when’d he’d been lying in bed. Furthermore, even for the sling holding his left arm across his torso, Autumn could see the perfect definition of the muscles in his arms, shoulders, stomach, and broad chest. His hair was its usual shaggy brown and gold, hanging over his ears, neck, eyebrows, and eyes. All in all, Autumn Lake had never, ever, ever seen the likes of him, standing at the window in Doctor Sullivan’s patient room.

“You must be feelin’ quite a bit better today,” she said. She began to move toward the chair she usually sat in, but since Gentry was at the window and standing so close to it, she paused. Autumn wasn’t at all sure if she should sit down so close to a man when he was dressed in nothing but a pair of underdrawers.

“I do feel better,” he confirmed, smiling once more and returning his attention to the world outside the window. “I was thinkin’ I might need to go check on my horse today. He’s probably thinkin’ I’m dead and never comin’ back.”

“He’s fine,” Autumn explained. “Daddy and I have been seein’ to him every day.”

Gentry looked at her again and grinned. “Really? Well, that’s awful nice of you all.”

Autumn shrugged. Then, as anxiety began to creep into her thoughts, she couldn’t keep from asking, “So how much better are you really feelin’? Not good enough to ride, I hope.”

Gentry’s handsome brow puckered a bit. “That there was kind of a strange thing to say. It almost sounded like you don’t want me to be mended up.”

“Oh, no! No, no, no!” Autumn assured him. “I do! I-I just know how some men are—you know…thinkin’ they’re all better and well enough to ride hard and things…when really they need a little more rest than they’re willin’ to admit.”

He smiled again, and she felt relieved that she’d managed to cover her tracks a bit. “You sound like you’re speakin’ from experience.”

Autumn giggled and nodded. “You’ve met my daddy, so I’m sure you can imagine what I’ve seen.”

“Oh, yes, I can,” he admitted. “Ol’ Doc Sullivan has told me quite a bit about your daddy…your mama too. From what I hear, Mr. Ransom Lake and his lovely wife are quite the pair.”

Autumn nodded once more. “Yep,” she sighed happily. “They are.” Suddenly remembering the plate in her hand, Autumn exclaimed, “Oh! That reminds me…Mama sent one of her apple fruit rolls over for you for breakfast.” Lifting the cloth off the plate, Autumn offered it to Gentry. “I even remembered to bring along a fork for you,” she said, reaching into the pocket of her apron and withdrawing a fork.