With a nod of determination and something of guilt, he left quickly. Vaden stripped off her wrap and let it fall to a heap on the floor. Quickly she built a fire in the hearth. The room needed warming.
“Let’s get some water boiling.” She went to the stove in the next room and began stoking a fire there. “The steam will help you breathe better. I can’t believe you haven’t been into town for help. Actually, I can. Men. They think they’re impervious to disease and illness and…” She stopped talking when she heard his weakened body fall to the floor in a heap not far from where she had dropped her wrap.
“I think I’m sick, Natalie,” Ransom Lake moaned.
“Natalie?” Vaden whispered curiously as she tried to pull him to his feet. His heavy body was terribly weak and awkward. With great difficulty, she helped him toward a chair near the fireplace. She placed the blanket around his shoulders once more. Instead of sitting, however, he laid down on the floor.
“I’m hot,” he breathed, throwing the blanket aside. “It’s so hot in here.”
“You’re feverish,” Vaden explained, going to the pump and wetting a cloth beneath its cold running water. She returned to the ailing man and, folding the cloth, placed it on his forehead. “This will help cool your body,” she explained soothingly. She sat down near his head and was surprised when he raised himself long enough to scoot his body up, depositing his head in her lap.
“I guess I should’ve taken the time to grab a coat the other night,” he said, his speech more mumbly than usual. “At least you’re not taken ill.”
Realizing he was coherent enough to know who she was and that his calling her by another name must have been purely an accident, she asked, “Who’s Natalie?” She felt at that moment, serious as his illness was, that she must know about the woman in his past—the woman who perhaps sent him into seclusion—the woman who may once have worn the ring Ransom Lake now wore on his smallest finger.
“Natalie?” he repeated, startled.
“Natalie. You called me Natalie before.” Vaden watched him closely. He seemed unsettled by her question.
Suddenly, his body was wracked with the violence of his coughing. He inhaled deeply and continued to let his head rest on Vaden’s lap.
“So,” Vaden prodded, undaunted, yet feeling fairly guilty for pushing him to answer when he was clearly so ill.
“So, what?” Ransom Lake mumbled. “I don’t feel like talking right now, girl. Can’t ya see that?”
“Just tell me who Natalie is, and I’ll let you be.” Ransom Lake glared up at her, and she glared back. What was he hiding? What had he been hiding for so long? She had to know. She had to know about this Natalie.
After glaring at her for several more moments, he finally said, “Natalie was…was Natalie. And that’s all of it.”
“But that’s no—”Vaden began.
“That’s all of it, girl,” he growled at her. “Now close that curious mouth of yours and help me heal…or leave me in peace.”
“Is Natalie the reason you…” she began. But when his glare intensified, she knew she was wrong to push him. Ransom Lake held his secrets cached deeply in his soul. He would not share them, and she was a fool, an idiot, to suppose that if he did, he would choose an imbecilic young girl like her. So she was silent. She picked up the cloth from his forehead and turned it over, placing the other side to his skin. Then, as he closed his eyes and seemed to rest for a moment, she stared into the blaze in the hearth.
It seemed hours to Vaden, the minutes of sitting there waiting for help, sitting there with the ill, stricken, silent man. And in those moments of silence and intense worry, she stared into the flames and thought of the tragedy of not being able to win over the man she loved so desperately. It was sad, grievously lamentable, that she would love him so completely as she did and yet know he would never be hers. She thought again, however, that though he was unattainable, she had owned at least a part of him for a moment, for she still knew that during those intimate kisses they shared in the wagon bed, he had been hers. His manner, his soul, or something surreal had spoken to her mind in those moments, assuring her he knew it was Vaden Valmont he held in his arms—Vaden Valmont had caused him to lose his senses for a brief time. It was Vaden he meant to kiss, not some long-ago lost love he still pined for. Vaden knew it was she and she alone he meant to administer his affections to in those beloved, dreamlike moments. And if nothing else, if Ransom Lake should wake in the morning healed and decide he never again wanted to lay eyes on the bothersome being Vaden Valmont, still she would always have the memory of the moments he had been hers.
Half an hour passed, and still Mr. Wimber had not returned with Myra. Vaden tried to move her legs a bit as they still supported the weight of the man’s head and were beginning to tingle with discomfort. She removed the cloth from Ransom Lake’s forehead, knowing it would do no good to him now, being it was nearly as hot as his body.
As she gazed down at him, listening to his raspy breath, the breath he seemed to struggle for, she thought of Jerome Clayton. Was she doomed to belong to him? Everyone knew he cared for her. Everyone, including Vaden, knew he appeared the ideal young man—tall, handsome, charming, courteous, proper. Certainly Jerome Clayton would never remove his shirt in front of a young woman. And Vaden, though she had never spoken it aloud, thought and wondered how a woman could find attraction to a man when there was no excitement, no surprise, no delight, in one who did not enjoy to some extent teasing a girl.
Still, Ransom Lake could not be hers, and Jerome Clayton already was, according even to his own admission. With Jerome, there would be stability, a home, a husband, and, she guessed, a kind father to their children. At the thought of having Jerome Clayton father her children, Vaden actually grimaced. Just one mere kiss from Jerome had sent her body into repulsed shivers. She could not imagine having to endure more physical attention from him. Still, her own mother, though deeply in love with her father, had told Vaden it was not always perfect between a man and a woman, that often other aspects of relationships outweighed the lack of physical attraction. Was this to be her lot in life? No. Certainly the heavens intended a better companion for her, for no matter what his appearances, no matter how admired he was by everyone else, Vaden did not feel comfortable in Jerome’s presence. It wasn’t so much that she didn’t like him. After all, he was pushy and rather possessive but likable enough. It was something else, something she just couldn’t quite identify. She felt almost, well, unsafe when she was with him. Surely no one could expect her to settle for him when she felt so averse to him. She couldn’t expect herself to settle for him.
Looking down into the perpetual frown on Ransom Lake’s face, Vaden tried to smooth the wrinkles from his forehead with her fingertips. At just touching him thus, the flesh on Vaden’s arms rippled with goose bumps, and she doubted more fully that she could endure a relationship with a man who did not affect her so. She caressed one of Ransom Lake’s fevered cheeks with the back of her hand, letting the fingers of her other hand slip into the softness of his hair. She let her thumb trace the outline of his lips gently, and he stirred for a moment, turning himself on his side so that his face was nearly flush with her stomach. This position was not as comfortable for Vaden, for it occurred to her then this might not appear quite decent when her aunt walked into the room. So, placing one palm against his chest and the other on his forehead, she attempted to gently squirm from beneath him. But the fevered man groaned in protest, a scowl returning to his features, and one powerful hand pushed Vaden’s hand from his chest.
“Mr. Lake, I…I have to move. My legs have fallen asleep under your weight. I’ll…here,” she said, reaching for the blanket he had discarded earlier. “Here.” Lifting his head from her lap, she bunched up the blanket and tucked it beneath his head as she moved herself from under him and stood up. Almost immediately, however, the man began to shiver uncontrollably, his visible flesh prickling with tiny bumps. Going to the sofa nearby, Vaden retrieved anothe
r blanket and placed it over his feverish body just as the front door opened and her aunt, Mr. Wimber, and Yvonne stepped into the house.
“He’s very ill, Auntie,” Vaden blurted out, relieved she had removed herself from the man soon enough.
Myra dropped to her knees beside the man and placed a tender, maternal hand on his forehead. “He’s burnin’ up,” she mumbled. “Vaughn, run get that kettle on the stove and fetch a bucket of water from the pump. Hurry.” Vaughn Wimber wasted no time in doing as Myra instructed. “Help me get him onto his back, girls.”
Yvonne’s eyes widened when, as the three women worked together to turn the man, the blanket covering his body slipped away. Had the situation not been so dire, Vaden might have laughed at the expression on her sister’s face. Myra picked up the cloth Vaden had used to cool Ransom’s head. When Mr. Wimber returned with the water, Myra combined enough of the boiling water from the kettle with the cold water in the bucket to create just the right tepid temperature necessary.
“Vaughn, go on out and get some more firewood. We need to keep it warm in here.” As Mr. Wimber left, Myra continued, “Yvonne, soak this cloth in the water and bathe his head, arms, neck, and chest. It will help to soothe the fever.” Yvonne’s eyes widened in horror, but she did as her aunt instructed. “He’s pale, Vaden. Find somethin’ to put under his feet.”
Vaden looked about frantically and then saw that her aunt had removed the blanket from beneath Ransom Lake’s head. Quickly, she bunched it into a bundle and placed it under his feet. She looked to him when she heard him groan once more and begin coughing.
“That cough is deep in him,” Myra mumbled as she pressed a hand firmly on his chest to feel his heartbeat and lungs. “He’s worse off than I already feared we’d find him.”
Vaden felt the trepidation begin to increase in her bosom. What if, she began to think, but the sound of Ransom Lake’s voice interrupted her thoughts.
“What are ya doin’?” he nearly shouted. “I’m fine. Let me be!”
“You’re very ill, Ransom,” Myra told him firmly. “Lay still and—”
“There ya are,” he mumbled, his voice softening as he looked up at Yvonne. She was so startled she dropped the cloth she’d been using to bathe his fevered skin. “Help me up,” he ordered, reaching out to wrap one arm about Yvonne’s waist. Taking hold of her arm, he tried to pull himself up. Yvonne’s eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open in astonishment. “Help me up! How do ya ever expect to find yourself helpless in my arms if I can’t even get up there to kiss ya, precious?”
It was Vaden who gasped next as Ransom Lake managed to pull himself to his knees, his fevered gaze intent on her sister.
“He’s out of his head, Yvonne. Ignore what he’s sayin’ to you. Ransom’s a good man, and don’t ya go thinking badly of him,” Myra instructed her niece as she put her own arms around Ransom Lake’s chest and pulled him away from Yvonne. “Help me get him to the sofa, Vaden. He needs to be sittin’ up.” Vaden paused for only a moment, preoccupied by her sister’s all too pleased blush, delighted expression, and unfaltering stare at Ransom Lake. “Vaden!” Myra commanded. Vaden quickly took one of Ransom Lake’s heavy arms and placed it about her own shoulders, helping him to stand.
“Where’d she go?” Ransom Lake mumbled. “That girl sets my mouth to waterin’.” Even for the gravity of such a situation, Vaden knew the sharp sting of jealousy as it erupted in her stomach.
By the time Vaughn Wimber had returned, Ransom Lake was resting peacefully on the sofa in a sitting position. As Vaden helped the others endeavor to help the man heal, the thought struck her that perhaps Ransom Lake was no different than any other man on earth. Perhaps the only reason Vaden had captured any of his attention at all was because he felt Yvonne was too out of his reach.
“No. No,” she whispered to herself aloud. He was feverish. After all, hadn’t he called her by the wrong name only a short time before? Vaden tried to dispel her anxiety by comforting herself with this knowledge.
It was a long and fearful night for Vaden. Myra had sent Vaughn Wimber home hours before, and now Yvonne rested peacefully in a nearby chair. Myra rested on the sofa next to Ransom Lake. His fever had broken about an hour earlier, and Myra assured Vaden he would be fine. Still, she wanted to wait until morning after he awakened before leaving him alone. Vaden had learned a great deal during those long hours when her aunt had tended Ransom Lake. She knew the knowledge she had gained that night pertaining to helping someone overcome illness would serve her well in years to come.
Glancing at Yvonne, she thought to herself maybe the experience would help her in tending her own children one day—the children she would never have with Ransom Lake. Would they be the children she might share with Jerome Clayton? Her stomach churned at the very thought of Jerome Clayton, and a sort of anxious fear engulfed her fatigued mind. Again she wondered what it was that pushed her away from accepting Jerome as the nice, well-mannered, desirable man everyone else thought him to be.
“I feel like a pile of horse…manure, run over by every wagon wheel in the county.” The low, raspy mumble caused Vaden to turn in her seat at Ransom Lake’s feet, overjoyed to hear his low, mumbly voice again. He pulled himself into a sitting position on the sofa, leaning on his knees with his elbows as he buried his scowling face in his hands. He frowned, his eyes opening to only narrow slits as he looked inquisitively and rather grouchily at Vaden. “What did ya do to me this time, girl?” he asked.
“Nothing!” Vaden spat, irritated and turning away from him. How horrid that he would assume because he felt so bad, she had once again been the cause of it. His low chuckle stopped the tears from escaping her eyes not a moment too soon. When she felt the warmth of his capable hand slip beneath her hair and clutch the back of her neck, she turned to look at him again. “I’m gonna swallow my pride and thank ya for comin’ with Vaughn last night. I felt pretty bad.”
“Well, I’m relieved to see you feeling better, Ransom,” Myra chirped, stretching and standing up from the sofa.
“Much better. I thank ya, Myra,” the man responded, dropping his hand from Vaden’s neck and looking up to her aunt. “And you too, Miss Valmont,” he added, nodding a thank you at Yvonne, who could not meet his gaze for her blush was crimson.
“Well, there’s no doubt in my mind ya caught that nasty sickness the night ya brought Vaden home, Ransom. And I want to remind ya how grateful we are to ya for that,” Myra said, smiling.
“My pleasure, Myra. I’m indebted to ya for this.” He offered a hand and firmly shook the one Myra offered in return.
“We’ve left ya some muffins for breakfast. If ya get to feelin’ badly again, ya drive over to the house, ya hear me?” Myra instructed.
“Yes, ma’am,” he chuckled.
“Come along now, girls. We’ve done our nursin’ well, and we need to be getting’ on home. I don’t think you ever dropped off for a rest, Vaden child. Ya must be done in.”
“I’m fine, Auntie.” Vaden stood and reached for her wrap, which was hanging on a nearby coat rack. She didn’t think she could turn and look at Ransom Lake and still leave him. His pale coloring, weakened state, and still raspy breathing frightened her. Coupled with the fact she felt a need to run to him and prove she was as good and desirable a woman as Yvonne, she couldn’t look at him.
“Thank ya, ladies,” he mumbled as the women started toward the front door.
“Now you stay sittin’, boy,” Vaden heard Myra scolding. “There’s no need to see us out.” Still Vaden didn’t turn to look at Ransom Lake but only continued to follow Yvonne and Myra as they walked to the door. “Let us know if ya need anything, Ransom,” Myra added. “’Bye now. And you take care.”
“You’re welcome to take the wagon home, Myra. I don’t feel right lettin’ you three walk and—”Ransom began.
“The fresh air will do us good. Now, you put yourself to bed. Do ya hear?” With that, Myra left the house.
“You have a nice day, Mi
ss Valmont,” Ransom called after Yvonne, who turned, blushed, smiled, and nodded.
Vaden couldn’t wait to escape Ransom Lake’s house. She felt panic, sorrow, fear, and heartbreak all over again. But as she started out the door after Yvonne, she was stopped as she felt the back of her skirt catch on something. Turning to see what was stopping her so she might free herself, she saw at once that one fold of her skirt was indeed caught—caught tightly in Ransom Lake’s grasp. Knowing it was unavoidable now, she raised her eyes from her skirt to find him looking at her.
There was no smile to his features nor a frown as he said, “I guess we’re even now, huh? An eye for an eye, so to speak.”
“I think your deed was much more that of deliverer than ours, Mr. Lake,” she managed to say bluntly. Quickly he released his hold on her skirts and took her hand. Vaden glanced out the door to see her aunt and Yvonne were already to the road and had turned toward home.
“It depends on your point of view, I suppose,” Ransom Lake mumbled, and Vaden looked back at him. He smiled slightly and added, “Natalie is my older sister’s name, Vaden.”
“Oh,” Vaden said nonchalantly, though she sighed with relief. “Well, that’s interesting to know, Mr. Lake.” Ransom Lake’s smile broadened, and Vaden’s heart warmed, knowing that, whatever the reason, she was the cause of the smile across his divinely featured face.
“Thank you again,” he added with a friendly wink.
“Thank you again,” Vaden answered, pulling her hand from his nerve-stirring grasp. As Vaden hurried to catch up with her aunt and sister, Yvonne turned and flashed one of her dazzling smiles in her direction.
“You were right to send for Auntie, Vay. She knew just what to do.” Vaden was disturbed by her sister’s beauty at that particular moment. Never before had she been truly envious of it. Vaden had always, though perhaps feeling it a greater challenge to use her less obvious feminine wiles to attract attention, been confident in herself. Never before had she let Yvonne’s beauty intimidate her. Until now. With what had transpired between Yvonne and Ransom Lake while he had been feverish, Vaden was beginning to wonder more and more if perhaps Ransom Lake’s serious interest had always been directed toward her sister.
The Visions of Ransom Lake Page 17
