by Renee Roszel
She canvassed the emerald landscape, managing a weary smile. St. Catherine Island looked like prehistoric Ireland, but without a single tree. Though she’d never been to Ireland—prehistoric or otherwise—this is what she thought it might have looked like: green meadows splashed with colorful flowers, unspoiled by human hands. This place truly had the feel of a rainwashed paradise, albeit a chilly one.
She swiped at her hair. The dampness was starting to make it curl. In a few more minutes she’d look like an overgrown Shirley Temple, her shoulder-length hair corkscrewing around her face in mutinous abandon. “Oh, well,” she mused tiredly, “who am I trying to impress, anyway?”
The door to the house squeaked at her back, and she tensed. Stifling a shudder, she brushed a hand through her tangled mane. “I—I’ll be just a minute,” she mumbled, too embarrassed to turn around to see who was there.
She was jolted by a tug at her hair. Before she could snap her head around, she felt another tug. This time the yank was hard enough to hurt.
“Hey! I know I was a little hotheaded before, but I don’t deserve to be manhandled,” she protested, swinging her shoulders and head around to face her attacker.
With her mouth opened to object further, she met dark gold eyes, set above a thin, nut-brown muzzle. Whatever confronted her was practically all legs and stood at least four feet tall. Sara didn’t know what the creature was, but having been bitten by a dog once long ago, a sudden stark terror swept through her. Before she could move, the thing bared brilliant white teeth, less than two inches from her nose and gave off a menacing high-pitched cry. The threat so startled her that she toppled off the overnight case, landing on her back. Screaming she lifted her hands to ward off an attack, but instead of leaping on her, the lanky monster stumbled backward and disappeared into the house.
Sara stared, wide-eyed, still in a state of shock, and stuttered, “Wh-what was that?”
“That was Boo,” a deep voice answered from the door.
Sara shifted to see Ransom towering there, a wry smile tugging at his mouth. “Boo’s one of our pets.”
She swallowed. “Some pet,” she rasped weakly. “It was going to eat me. What was it?”
“An orphaned reindeer. I’m afraid you frightened him quite badly, Miss Eller.”
“I frightened him?” she echoed in disbelief. “He snarled at me, Mr. Shepard. And took a bite out of my hair. I was the attackee, not the attacker.”
“Are you all right?” he asked softly.
Sara shoved herself up onto her elbows. “I’ll live. How can you keep such a dangerous beast around?”
Ransom allowed himself a small chuckle. “He’s only two months old. I would no more turn him out than I would you.”
She glowered at him, unable to form an answer.
“The only difference is,” he added, his tone taunting. “I like reindeer.”
She made a disgusted face. “Why don’t you try for real subtlety and just kick me.”
“That would be ungentlemanly.”
“Are you intimating that being ungentlemanly would be a stretch for you?”
He eyed her with mild interest, her insult obviously rolling off his back. “Are you comfortable?” he asked at last.
“Why? Don’t I look comfortable?” She was sprawled on the porch floor shivering uncontrollably, disheveled and frightened out of ten years’ growth. He’d have to be a dolt to believe she was anything but miserable.
His eyes began to glimmer with an odd light, as though he was amused about something. “Would you care for a hand up?”
“Don’t go out of your way, Sir Galahad,” she mumbled, struggling to a sitting position.
He rubbed a fist across his lips. Sara wondered if he was hiding a smile. Oh, what difference did it make? She had to live with the man for a week. Let him laugh at her if he must. She’d survive; she’d survived worse. Why not try to make the best of a bad situation? With a groan, she admitted, “To be honest, I think I’ve had enough of... the great outdoors for one day.”
“It’s noon.”
“Don’t remind me. I’m starving.” Rubbing her bruised hip, she started to stand and found herself being assisted by a hand at her elbow.
“We have food.”
“But you also have a man-eating reindeer.”
“Two, actually.”
“Two reindeer live in your house?” Sara was so flabbergasted she almost laughed, murmuring under her breath, “Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.”
“They don’t actually live in, they only visit.”
“And play cards on rainy days, I suppose?” she asked.
His indolent grin was charming, though she hated to admit it.
“There, you see?” he remarked. “We’re not so different from Kansans. I bet you play cards on rainy days, too.”
“Oh, sure. Me, Lynn and a couple of cows.”
“Is that any way to talk about your girlfriends?”
She examined his rakish profile. “Very funny. But what about these bullying reindeer? How do I keep from becoming a plate of hors d’oeuvres?”
“Baby’s a female, Boo’s sister. You don’t need to be afraid—both of them are as gentle as kittens. Probably more so, considering that many of the cats on our islands are wild.”
“Oh, fine. Your cats are wild, but huge hulking reindeer live in houses? Interesting place.”
“Actually, neither are native to the islands. The cats were brought over in the twenties from Alaska as pets while the reindeer were imported from Siberia ten years later as livestock.”
“Livestock with an attitude,” she muttered. “Besides I never said I was afraid.”
“Oh? Then I presume that scream I heard was primal in nature. A cleansing of your psyche perhaps?”
She saw the amused gleam in his eyes and gave up. “Okay. You’ve made your point. But before we get within earshot of the kids, I want to make a point of my own.”
He inclined his head. “I’m listening.”
“First—” she cleared her throat nervously “—I’m sorry about the way I behaved earlier. I misunderstood some things. ... ”
He nodded. “It’s forgotten. And second?”
She chewed her lower lip for a time before she could go on. “Don’t mistake me, Mr. Shepard. I know Lynn lied and told you she was from Detroit. But I think if you’d really tried, you could have found out her identity. Through my credit card, for instance. You were derelict in your duty as a parent by not trying harder to notify authorities in Andover, Kansas, that she was alive and well. I’m going to have a hard time forgiving you for that.”
The amusement in his eyes died. A fleeting look of sorrow replaced it, confusing Sara. Quickly that emotion, too, was gone, and his expression mirrored his matter-of-fact tone. “This may come as a shock, Miss Eller, but I’m not looking for your forgiveness.”
Sara felt new irritation flood through her at his lack of concern. She couldn’t abide people who had no sense of responsibility. Apparently Ransom Shepard was an idle recluse who had plenty of money and nothing to do all day but follow his own self-absorbed whims. She, on the other hand, had been forced to fend for herself and her little sister since their parents had died. She’d worked at any menial job—sometimes two and three at a time—to keep them from starving. And this contemptible scoundrel didn’t care about anything—least of all her feelings.
She put ice into her tone as she retorted, “I would tell you I don’t think I’m going to like you, Mr. Shepard, but I gather you’d say you don’t care.”
“Congratulations, Miss Eller. You’re learning.” He smiled then. It was cold, though his eyes shone with a brooding emotion. Something told Sara he was infuriated by her reprimand, but chose to hide it. “By the way,” he suggested, his own voice flinty, “if you can find that credit card, I’ll eat it. My guess is Lynn threw it in the sea before she got here.”
“You’re saying you looked for it?” she demanded.
“Y
our little sister was very resourceful in making sure her tracks were covered. Happy now?”
She stared blankly, recalling that Lynn had stopped in midsentence before revealing something. Had she been about to admit she’d thrown the credit card in the ocean? Undoubtedly. A new apology wavered unsaid on her lips, but she couldn’t bring herself to speak.
“Apology accepted,” he chided, as though he’d read her mind.
Still, she could only watch his devilish flash of teeth, finding it difficult to ignore his appeal. Chastened, her face burning with mortification, she preceded him into the house. She knew she had no choice at this point—unless she wanted to remain outside and die of hypothermia.
After a couple of steps, she stumbled to a stop, repelled by what she saw. The stone entry hall was littered with the debris of day-to-day living. Magazines were tossed hither and yon amid a grimy haze of neglect.
The interior clearly had once been attractive. Wood-paneled walls were adorned with dust-covered Aleut and Russian artifacts. A fire blazed warmly on a massive stone hearth at the end of the living room, but the carved-wood-and-leather furniture was strewn with newspapers and dirty laundry. Most appalling of all, a gangling reindeer was curled up on one end of the sofa, making little grunting sounds in her sleep. On the end nearest Sara, two liquid eyes peered over the clothes that had been strewn along the couch’s arm; those eyes—Boo’s—studied her warily.
Sara squinted with disbelief. “Those. ..animals are on the couch!” she exclaimed. “You let livestock sleep on the furniture on these islands?”
“No, I think Tag and I are the only ones who do,” he answered with a wry grin.
Casting her gaze about, she couldn’t believe what she saw. “Why, you live like a pig,” she declared under her breath, not realizing until the words were out that she’d spoken.
“I’m sorry, Miss Eller, I didn’t quite catch that,” he remarked close to her ear.
Wheeling to face him, she felt her cheeks flush. She hadn’t meant to say such a rude thing. Thinking fast, she sputtered, “I, er, was wondering if I could have glass of, uh...”
“Pig?” he finished for her, letting her know he’d heard every word.
She flushed again. “I didn’t mean to offend you. But I’ve never seen anything like this place.” She spread her arms in a helpless gesture. “It looks as though you’ve been burglarized.” Then she asked almost hopefully, “Have you been burglarized?”
“We have no thieves on St. Catherine Island. What you see is what you get. Your sister, however, seems to enjoy the neo-burglarized ambiance of the place.”
With an unhappy shake of her head, Sara said, “I’m sure she does. And I’d enjoy being able to order in pizza three times a day. But a person can’t live like that.”
“Not here, anyway. No pizza parlors. No burger joints. No restaurants.”
“No brooms? No mops? No disinfectant?”
“I wouldn’t know.” His grin was disconcerting.
She gaped at him, shaking her head. “I-I know it isn’t my business, but this is a repulsive way to live.”
“You’re absolutely right,” he said quietly.
She peered back at him. “I’m glad you agree with me.”
“I do.” He nodded. “It isn’t any of your business.”
At a loss, she braced herself and did a slow complete circle to take in the devastation. A sound drew her attention, and she picked her way through the mine field of scattered books, newspapers, dishes and shoes to look into the living room. At the far right, the entrance to the kitchen could be seen. Lynn and Tag were busy doing something but it was definitely not cleaning up.
She plunged toward them her eyes darting restlessly about as if the place were alive with demons. There was a bookshelf on the wall opposite the fireplace. A pair of jeans dangled from the top shelf, as did several mismatched socks. A dirty plate and glass tottered atop a dictionary. Grimacing, Sara cautiously entered the kitchen, where the counter-tops were piled high with dishes and the debris of discarded meals.
“What in heaven’s name is going on here?” she asked, not wanting to believe her own eyes. “What are you two doing?”
Lynn looked at Sara with some caution. “We’re eating lunch.”
Sara stared, dumbfounded. Between them they held two opened tin cans. They were digging into them, eating directly from one another’s tin. Sara blanched. “What is it?” she asked, her voice high-pitched in anxiety.
“Salmon and peaches,” Tag offered. Then with a small grin, he said, “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Tag Shepard.”
Nodding uncertainly, Sara managed a weak, “Hello, Tag.” Moving her gaze to Lynn, she couldn’t help but plead, “What has gotten into you? This... this is a bizarre nightmare! Do you realize it’ll take me years to repay the bills you charged getting here? And to do what? Eat out of cans and live like a savage? What about nursing school? You can’t possibly go now, not unless you work a couple of years after high school first. What possessed you to do such a crazy thing?”
Lynn stopped chewing and banged her can down on the messy table. “You wanna know why I ran away?” she shouted, her expression mutinous. “Why I wanted to marry a rich man and live far, far away from you and Kansas?”
Sara nodded, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear this, not now, not with an audience. Still, she couldn’t voice an objection. She’d been waiting nine terrible days and nights to understand why Lynn had run away. She loved her younger sister more than anything in the world, and she’d worked hard so Lynn’s life could be better than her own. “Yes, I want to understand...” She allowed the sentence to drift away.
“I’ll tell you, then.” Lynn’s stare was hard. “Because I don’t want to end up like you. A nothing! Don’t kid yourself. We can barely make ends meet—do you really think that, even with us both working I can ever scrape enough together to pay for nursing school? I ran away ‘cause I don’t want to end up poor and worn-out! You’re twenty-five, and you look years older. You’re exhausted all the time. You don’t have a life—”
“Lynn!”
All eyes swung toward Ransom, who’d spoken that one sharp word and then said nothing more.
“What?” Lynn asked, her petulant tone fading only slightly.
A grin lifted his lips, but didn’t touch his eyes. Sara had the feeling it was a token effort. She also had the feeling he’d been about to reprimand her sister, but then thought better of it. When he spoke, his voice held none of its former rancor. “The rain’s stopped. Why don’t you kids wake Baby and take her and Boo outside?”
Sara watched him for another second. He seemed so calm and uncaring now. Maybe she’d imagined everything.
“Okay, Rance.” Lynn eyed her sister angrily for a moment, then turned to Tag. “Where’ll we go?”
“Let’s get my Cubs cap and go down to the beach. Maybe that dolphin, Potluck, will be there. He loves to steal my cap and take it around to Sea Lion Cove. That’ll give Boo and Baby a good run.”
Lynn smiled. “Okay. Great.”
Looking at his dad, Tag asked, “Where’s my cap?”
Ransom’s shrug was elegantly casual. “Wouldn’t know, pal.”
“I think I saw it sticking out of the cookie jar,” Lynn said.
They recovered it and were halfway out of the kitchen when Ransom asked, “By the way, kids, what would you like for dinner?”
They brightened noticeably.
“Fried chicken,” Tag shouted.
“Spaghetti,” Lynn cried, poking Tag in the ribs. “You like spaghetti,” she whispered loudly to the boy.
“Okay, spaghetti,” Tag agreed with a definite nod.
“Sounds good to me.” Indicating the kitchen with a broad gesture, Ransom added, “You’ll find all the ingredients in the cupboard.”
The light went out of their expectant eyes. “Ah, you always make us fix our own dinner,” Tag groused, settling the baseball cap low on his brow.
“That wa
y you eat exactly what you want,” Ransom said easily. “See you two later.”
“Later,” they mumbled as they exited the kitchen.
Sara barely noticed their departure. She was hurting too badly. Casting her gaze to the floor, she hoped Ransom couldn’t see the pain caused by Lynn’s cruel insult glistening in her eyes.
“She didn’t mean what she said,” he offered in an unexpectedly gentle tone. “Kids can be pretty self-centered.”
Sara hated the pity in his voice. “You ought to know,” she charged hoarsely, glaring at him. “You’re no better than they are—totally lacking any sense of responsibility. How could you allow them to live like this?’’
A shadow crossed his face, then was promptly gone. In its place blossomed a contrary grin. “There you go again, trying to make me give a damn about what you think.”
She frowned, but didn’t have time to object before he went on. “Miss Eller, we have very few rules around here. If you want to eat, feed yourself, and if you want clean clothes, wash them yourself. Understand?”
“I understand,” she said, her tone as detached as his had been.
“Fine. Now I’ve got an errand to run.”
As he ambled from the kitchen, her heart sank. What had Lynn gotten them into? This house of his was a living, breathing bad dream, and she didn’t think pinching herself was going to get her out of it. Distraught, she sighed. It would take a bulldozer to make this place livable. Pushing up her sleeves, she started to gather dishes.
“What do you think you’re doing?” came a deep demand from the living room.
“Washing dishes.”
“Don’t touch those.”
“I refuse to live like a bum.”
He reappeared at the door, his eyebrows pulled together in a fierce scowl. “I don’t make a habit of explaining myself to people I hardly know. Suffice it to say, I have good reasons for living like this.”
