The Haunting of Autumn Lake Page 6

“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.

  “Well, thank you kindly, ma’am,” Gentry said, accepting the plate with his right hand.

  “Here you go,” Autumn said,
carefully placing the fork on the plate with the fruit roll. “And let me help you.” She positioned the chair she usually sat in so that it was next to the small table at the side of his bed. “Mama found this new recipe awhile back, and she’s been bakin’ it every other day since! She claims she hasn’t gotten it just right yet, even though Daddy and I swear to her that she does.” She took the plate from Gentry and sat it on the small bedside table. “Can you sit down all right?” she asked him.

  “We’ll find out,” he mumbled. Gentry did sit down in the chair but winced a little when his wounded leg brushed the arm of it.

  “I’m so sorry,” Autumn said.

  “Nothin’ for you to be sorry about, honey,” he said, taking the fork in his right hand and cutting into the fruit roll.

  Autumn tried to ignore the way her heart somersaulted in her bosom at his having called her honey. Oh, she understood it was just a habit—something he probably just called women. But it thrilled her all the same.

  “Mmmm!” Gentry moaned as he chewed the first bite of Vaden Lake’s newest batch of apple fruit rolls. “Good heavens, girl! Your family is gonna spoil me rotten on apples. This is the best thing I’ve tasted…maybe ever.”

  Autumn giggled, delighted by his reaction and the sincerity of it. “Mama will bust her corset strings when I tell her! I’m sure she’s plannin’ on enterin’ this new recipe at the county fair next month. Oh, I hope she wins!”

  “Well, if I was judgin’ the contest she would,” Gentry said, taking another bite of the pretty pink apple biscuits. “I ain’t never tasted anything like this. What makes ’em pink?”

  “Cinnamon candies all melted up with sugar and water,” Autumn answered.

  “Them little red ones?” he asked.

  “Exactly!” she giggled, delighted that he was familiar with the candy.

  “Well, you be sure and tell your mama that I coulda ate a whole pan of these,” he said, devouring another piece of the dessert. “And anyhow, I love a woman who’s willin’ to feed a man somethin’ sweet for breakfast.”

  “Then you’ll love my mama,” Autumn said. “She makes sure my daddy starts every mornin’ with three things.” Counting on her fingers, she listed, “Either bacon, ham, or eggs, somethin’ sweet to go with ’em, and big lickery kiss before he heads out the door.”

  Gentry chuckled as he chewed. “She sounds like the perfect woman,” he mumbled.

  “Daddy says she is,” Autumn sighed, sitting down on the side of the bed.

  Gentry looked up to Autumn, his gaze settling on the sketchbook tucked under her arm.

  “What’re you always drawin’ in that book of yours?” he asked.

  Autumn blushed—for mostly she’d been drawing Gentry James! “Uh…um…” she stammered. “I’m working on a special Christmas present for my mama. I-I’ve been making sketches for weeks now…so I’ll be ready to paint Jethro’s portrait when the time comes.”

  “Jethro? Who’s he? Your brother?” Gentry asked.

  Autumn laughed. “Of course not, silly!”

  Gentry smiled. “Your beau then?”

  Again Autumn laughed. “Me? Have a beau?” She shook her head. “No, Jethro isn’t my beau.” Pausing to settle a giggle, she began to open her sketchbook, looking for the best sketch of Jethro. “Though, if you knew me well enough…you might believe he was my beau. Goodness knows I like him far more than most men I’ve met.”

  Instantly Autumn’s smile faded—for an image of Riley Wimber had popped into her mind. Autumn pushed the thought of him aside, however. She wouldn’t waste one moment of her time with Gentry James on her worries concerning Riley Wimber.

  “Here,” she said, having found her favorite sketch of Jethro. “This is Jethro.”

  Turning the sketchbook so that Gentry could see the sketch, she smiled as she watched a frown pucker his brow. “I don’t see anybody,” he said. “That just looks like a pumpkin layin’ in a field to me. Though I will say that you are one very good artist, Miss Autumn Lake.”

  “Thank you,” she said, adoring the compliment he’d given her. “And it is a pumpkin layin’ in a pumpkin field. Jethro is my mama’s favorite pumpkin this year…and the biggest pumpkin my daddy has ever grown.”

  Gentry smiled at the girl. Was she serious? The girl was planning on painting a portrait of a pumpkin for her mother for Christmas? The sketch was certainly the best rendering of a pumpkin he’d ever seen—not that he’d ever seen a sketch or painting of a pumpkin before—but it was obvious Autumn Lake was a very talented artist.

  Still, he couldn’t keep himself from asking, “You’re foolin’ with me, right?”

  “Nope,” she said, her smile broadening as she studied her own sketch. “Mama and I love pumpkins! Daddy does too, of course…but only because Mama does. It’s why he bought the pumpkin patch when Mr. Wimber passed on. He bought it for my mama…and every year he grows the most beautiful pumpkins anywhere.”

  Gentry grinned. Here she goes, he thought. In his ten days or so in the company of Autumn Lake, he’d learned one thing—that though she might be a beauty on the outside, the girl was even more beautiful on the inside. And one thing that made her so beautiful was the way she’d launch into a description of something or another that she loved. It may be her daddy or one of her brothers, but time and again Gentry had learned that it was mostly either something to do with nature (specifically harvest season or Christmastime) or some intriguing tale she’d heard somewhere along the way.

  The truth was Gentry adored the girl for it. She had a way of making life seem good—even filled with hope. Autumn Lake saw beauty in the world instead of ugliness, from the biggest oak tree adorned in crimson leaves to the tiniest little worm she’d found while shucking corn. He almost laughed out loud as he remembered the day she’d gone on and on and on about how she couldn’t wait for the harvest moon to appear. She told him all about how much she loved the harvest moon—about how, to her, it looked like a big orange and golden pumpkin sitting in the sky. She explained how sad she was that it only happened once a year—but then promptly turned tail and resolved that she guessed that’s what made it so very, very special. On and on she’d talked—her lovely songbird’s voice describing the feel in the air on the night of a harvest moon, how the breeze seemed happier and the grass felt cooler.

  Autumn’s nearly poetical description of the one night of the year when she loved the moon best had lulled Gentry to sleep that day. For a time, he’d forgotten his pain as he’d listened to her melodic voice and gently drifted off to unconsciousness. As he studied her a moment—as she continued to explain why she and her mother both favored pumpkins so—Gentry wondered for a moment if she truly loved the harvest moon as much as she’d professed to or if it were her way of soothing him that day. He wasn’t sure which it was because he’d been with her enough to know that it could’ve been either.

  “I’m hopin’ Daddy chooses Jethro to go to seed,” Autumn said, snapping Gentry’s attention away from a dreamy harvest moon to a large, ripening pumpkin sitting in a field. She shook her head. “Mama’s gonna be so sad to see him go. So…I thought I’d paint his portrait for her for Christmas. It’s the one thing I can do well sometimes…draw and paint.”

  With the sweet taste of apples and cinnamon candy lingering in his mouth, Gentry licked his fork and placed it on the now empty plate.

  “Those are the best kinds of gifts, if you ask me,” he said. He didn’t know why he’d said it. But he had.

  “Paintings?” Autumn asked.

  Gentry smiled. “Well…I meant the kind of gifts a person makes on his own…usin’ just his skills or talents or the feelin’s in his heart that he has for the person he’s makin’ it for.”

  “Me too,” Autumn agreed.

  Gentry looked up then—his gaze locking with the stormy gray-blue of the girl’s pretty eyes. What the hell was he talking about? He sounded like an idiot! She softened him too much, that was for dang sure. He wondered for a moment if it really wer
e Autumn Lake that was softening him up—or was it just his weakened state of body?

  He looked away from her and back to the empty plate before him. “Well, I’m sure your mama will like the paintin’,” he said, pushing the plate across the table and leaning back in the chair as a frown furrowed his brow.

  “I-I hope so,” she mumbled.

  The sound of her voice was strange, and he glanced up to see her staring out the window. He thought she looked as if the color had drained from her face a bit.

  Following her gaze, he saw that several young men were standing just outside the window. They looked to be about his own age.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Do you know them fellas?”

  “Um…yes…of course,” she stammered. Gentry looked back to her as she quickly closed her sketchbook and cast her gaze to the floor. “I-I grew up with them. They’re local boys,” she explained.

  “Well, why do you look like you’ve just seen a…” he began.

  “A ghost?” she finished for him.

  “Mm hmm,” he confirmed.

  “Because for a moment, I saw somethin’ pass by the window…and I thought it was the Specter at first,” she said. He noticed the way her eyes lit up with an extra sparkle as the color returned to her face a bit.

  “The Specter?” he asked, voluntarily taking her bait.

  Autumn sighed with relief at the fact Gentry had seemed to believe her fib. She hadn’t thought she’d seen the Specter at all—but she had seen Riley Wimber peeking through the window. He and three other young men from town were standing right outside Doctor Sullivan’s house—right outside the patient room window. A cold shiver had washed over Autumn when she’d seen Riley looking in at her, but she didn’t want Gentry James to know what a fraidy-cat she was—or what secret suspicions she’d been keeping from her parents. Therefore, when he’d asked her what was the matter, she’d lied and blamed it on the Specter.