Bride for Ransom

by Renee Roszel

  This stopped Sara. Of course. Whatever the problem was, there would be people in need of warmth when it was all over. “Then you two get blankets,” she commanded.

  They skidded to a halt several yards from the house, staring at each other. Without a word, they spun around and returned to the house. “Yeah, good idea,” Tag said in the same clipped, authoritative tone his father often used. “You get the blankets from the hall closet, Lynn. I’ll get towels.”

  By the time they’d bundled the bedding and towels in an old shower curtain, Sara had filled a thermos with coffee. Jogging along the hillside with them, she asked between breaths, “What do you suppose has happened?”

  “Fishing boat’s gone down, and they’re gonna look for survivors.”

  “Oh, no!” Sara glanced at the ocean. It heaved like a thrashing dragon, and the wind was beginning to gust enough to even buffet them about.

  “The village has a rescue boat, and it’ll be light for two, two and a half more hours,” Tag was explaining. “They’ve never lost anybody yet. We’ll get ’em in okay.”

  When the trio reached the small deep-water harbor, the dock was teeming with villagers. The rescue boat, a scarred old powerboat with an observation tower, was being readied by a crew of able-bodied men and teenage boys.

  Sara saw Ransom untying the bow. As the boat’s engine sputtered fitfully to life, several native youths scrambled aboard.

  Tag dropped his bundle on the wood planks of the dock and headed toward the craft, only to be stopped by Ransom.

  Sara wasn’t close enough to make out what they were saying, but she knew an argument was going on. As she neared, she could hear, “But Dad, other guys my age are going to help.”

  “You don’t live here,” Ransom said sternly. “These boys have grown up with the sea. I don’t have time to debate with you, Tag. You’re not going.”

  Ransom leapt over the gunwale and charged up the ladder to the fly bridge just as the rescue boat chugged away from the dock. Sara watched sadly as Tag’s shoulders sagged, his hands going to his face in shame at his father’s public rejection.

  Seconds later, a driving rain began to fall. Sara found out from several of the villagers that two of their open fishing boats had been swamped by an unexpected swell that swept three men overboard. One of the men had been rescued by a third fishing boat, but two others were still out there in the hostile sea. The cold rain turned the attempted rescue into an oppressive, nail-biting business for those who could only stand on shore and peer hopefully out over the surging water.

  Sara and Lilly huddled together holding a waterproof tarp about them. Lilly’s husband, Dan, was one of the fishermen still missing. Having been offered a couple of folding chairs, they sat in silence, not knowing what to say. Lilly’s toddler, Danny, squirmed unhappily in his mother’s lap, hampered by the warm confines of one of the blankets Tag and Lynn had brought.

  “More coffee, Lilly?” Sara asked, fumbling beneath the tarp for the thermos.

  Lilly shook her head, staring blankly.

  Wiping stinging rain from her eyes, Sara frowned, feeling helpless. She, too, watched the wild sea, praying the rescue would be successful and cursing the rain.

  She thought she saw something ghostly begin to emerge from the gray storm. “Is that the boat?” she cried weakly.

  Lilly, her hair plastered to her pretty, pinched face nodded. Apparently she’d already seen it, but said nothing. What was there to say, after all?

  Almost afraid to hope, they watched as it approached. After what seemed like a lifetime, it docked, and two men lumbered over the gunwale with a burden on a stretcher.

  “It’s not Dan,” Lilly whispered stoically.

  She was right. The man was a twenty-six-year-old bachelor named Gabriel. He was suffering from hypothermia and a gash on his head.

  As soon as the injured fisherman was safely on land, the boat headed out again. Lilly lowered her head and closed her eyes. With a lump welling in Sara’s throat, she hugged the woman and soothed, “They’ll find him. Don’t worry, they’ll find him.” But they both knew time was running out.

  A few minutes later Lynn ran up. She was the image of a soaked urchin from the streets, and her face was drawn with worry. “Where’s Tag?” she asked breathlessly. “I’ve looked everywhere.”

  Foreboding crept up Sara’s spine. “I thought he was with you.”

  Lynn shook her head, her stringy hair flapping in her eyes. “No. He told me he had to do something. Sara, I’m afraid....”

  “Afraid of what?” Grasping her little sister by the shoulders, she asked, “What do you know?”

  Lynn burst into tears, filling Sara with dread. “What?” she repeated, really frightened now.

  A dazed look of helplessness spread over Lynn’s face as she sobbed, “He... he... There was this rowboat, and Tag said he had to help, and now... now the boat’s...”

  “.. .gone,” Sara finished, as terror settled over her like a shroud.

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE GALE RAGED ON. Yet, no matter how destructive the weather, neither Sara nor Lilly could be budged from their vigil on the rose-hued roadway that bordered the harbor. Both Lilly’s husband and Ransom’s son were missing on the savage Bering Sea.

  A worried neighbor named Pat had finally convinced Lilly to let her put little Danny to bed in her house, not far away. Lynn had taken refuge on the porch of another family, though she continued to sob uncontrollably.

  Using the radio in the one fishing boat that was still in commission, villagers tried to contact the rescue craft to let the men know about Tag. But the batteries were too weak to penetrate the stormy atmosphere, and they got nothing for their frantic efforts except squawking static.

  The mood in the town was dismal as people milled helplessly about the dock and the roadside beyond, drenched and shivering. Sara’s thermos was long empty, but from time to time village women passed among the watchers with mugs of hot coffee and soup. Through the rain, the glow of lighted windows could be seen all over town, for none but the smallest of children were going to get any sleep tonight. Two of their island brothers were missing at sea and after all this time, many whispered, were surely lost.

  Sara hunched worriedly beside Lilly, her eyes trained on the darkening water. Still wrapped in the blanket and tarp, she tried to ward off another bout of shivers and a growing urge to burst into tears. Fearing the worst, Lilly had given up her stoic pose and now cried softly. Unsure how to help, Sara patted the young woman’s hand beneath the tarp they shared.

  They both knew there was little left to say. Dan had been in the ocean for more than an hour. The cold would have sapped his strength beyond his ability to stay afloat by now—unless he’d managed to climb onto something. And that possibility was unlikely.

  Nevertheless, Sara closed her eyes and mouthed a silent prayer that somehow Dan was surviving, maybe at this very minute being ferried back to safety on the rescue boat. She’d only met the man once, last night at the festival, but she vividly recalled his skillful guitar playing, his hearty laugh and his penchant for knock-knock jokes. He’d been so cute with his little boy. It was obvious the husky fisherman loved his family, his work and his Aleut heritage.

  Sara shook her head, amazed it had been only yesterday she’d met him. How ironic that now she waited to learn if he was to live or die before another day dawned. She shivered again, peering out at the stormy water. “Let him be all right,” she murmured, wiping rain and welling tears from her eyes.

  She couldn’t even allow herself to think of Tag as being anything other than safe aboard his little rowboat. It was true that much larger boats than his had been swamped and overturned tonight, but she had to believe Tag would survive and be found. He was just a child—a likable, troubled boy who wanted nothing more than his father’s love and acceptance. With a tremulous sigh, she added a prayer for the boy, hoping he would return on his own before Ransom even had to know he’d been missing.

  Lilly jum
ped to her feet, their shared tarpaulin half dragging Sara with her. “The boat!” Lilly exclaimed in a forlorn cry, then ran toward the dock.

  Sara could see it now, too. Dim lights flickered amid the tempest, pale and diaphanous proof the rescue boat was chugging into the harbor. She threw the tarp over the two folding chairs and charged after Lilly, her throat closing with fear and hope.

  Rain battered the crowd that surged onto the wharf as the craft maneuvered into position at the dock. Before it was tied up, several men and boys jumped from the gunwale to the wooden planks. One of the first off was Ransom. He spotted Lilly and grabbed her hands. Sara was close behind the young woman and was shocked to see how haggard Ransom looked. He was soaked to the skin, his hair plastered to his face. And there was a ragged cut on his cheek.

  Lilly said nothing and neither did Ransom for a long moment, then he took her gently into his arms. “We’ll keep trying. We won’t give up. I promise,” he said consolingly, but his tone held anger and frustration. “We’ve got to take on more fuel,” he explained. “And we’re going to switch crews. Some of the men are pretty cold.”

  Giving her a quick hug, he urged, “Go and get a little rest.”

  Lilly’s neighbor Pat came up and put an arm about her. “Come to my house and have a bite of food. You can see the dock from my kitchen window.” Her face vacant and dazed, Lilly allowed herself to be drawn away.

  Sara knew the time had arrived to tell Ransom about Tag. Filled with dread, she croaked, “Ransom...”

  His glance snapped from Lilly’s receding form to her anxious face. He saw the expression for what it was, and his frown grew more troubled. “What is it?” he asked.

  Her anguish almost overcame her control, but she fought the sobs that blocked her throat and said, “It’s Tag.” She swallowed, unable to go on.

  “What about Tag?” he asked. Even with the storm raging about them, his question had been almost too quiet.

  “He’s... he wanted to help,” she said, the knowledge of what her words would do to Ransom twisting her insides.

  His expression turned grim as he watched her. When she didn’t go on, he asked harshly, “What did he do?”

  “He took out a rowboat. Nearly an hour ago...”

  Ransom shuddered visibly and drew a sharp breath. “Lord, no,” he moaned, his breathing becoming harsh. Spinning away, he started to leap aboard the boat.

  Sara lunged forward, grabbing his hand. “Ransom, you can’t go now. You’re soaked to the skin and your cheek—it’s bleeding.”

  “Like hell I can’t,” he shouted. “I’ve got to go. He’s my...” His voice faltered, and he flinched as though someone had punched him in the gut. Staggering slightly, his shoulders sagged; he was clearly near exhaustion.

  She tangled her fingers with his, admonishing, “You’re not fit. You’re cold and you’re hurt. You must go up to the house and at least change into dry clothes. I’ll doctor that cut. By the time we’re done, I’m sure they’ll have found both Dan and Tag. If not...” She looked away from the pain glimmering in his eyes, not wanting to think about that possibility. Hurriedly she added, “Well, then you’ll be in better shape to go back out yourself.”

  They both knew the odds of finding either Tag or Dan in this weather were slim. It had gone unsaid, but even Sara understood that a rescue effort in this gale was not only fairly hopeless, but also foolhardy. There was a chance that some of the rescuers could be injured or killed going out on the ocean in a decrepit boat in this storm. But no man was willing to be the first to say the effort was useless or foolish. These man were seasoned fisherman, and they were not going to let a friend die without giving their all in an attempt to save him.

  Ransom shot a glance at the bobbing powerboat as a fresh crew boarded. His jaw working, he agreed, “I’ll change, but let’s not waste any time.”

  As he loped toward his home, Sara detoured to the house where Lynn had taken shelter. Her younger sister had fallen into a fitful sleep on the porch, and they’d covered her with a blanket. She looked too fragile to be awakened into this unhappy reality, so Sara thanked the family and told them she’d be back to fetch her later.

  When she got to Ransom’s, she was breathing hard and soaked through. Stripping off her sopping parka, she went inside to find he had changed into dry jeans and a bulky turtleneck.

  Sara grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her wet hair. “Give me a second to change, and I’ll get medicine for that cut,” she told Ransom. “You go sit on the couch.”

  A scant minute later, having thrown on dry clothes and grabbed up some medical supplies, she went into the living room and found it empty. She feared he’d gone back to the dock. As she was about to run to the hall closet to look for a dry coat, she heard a sound in the kitchen.

  With a sigh of relief, she followed the noise and dropped her first-aid things on the table. “Let me fix that cut, Ransom.”

  He was spooning fresh coffee grounds into the percolator. “Thought I’d take hot coffee to the dock,” he said, sounding tired.

  She sat down. “Good idea. But before you go, why don’t you have a cup to warm yourself?”

  He plugged in the pot and faced her. His features were drawn, his eyes haunted. “If Tag dies,” he muttered, “I don’t think I’ll ever be warm again.”

  She couldn’t meet those eyes, they were so full of agony. She lowered her gaze to her hands, which she twisted anxiously in her lap. Clearing her throat, she said, “Let me fix your face. They said they’d ring the bell if the rescue boat returned before you got there.”

  He moved toward her with a heavy tread. Though the kitchen was toasty warm, the chill of despair dwelt there with them, and she shuddered.

  A chair scraped. She looked his way as he sat down. Ransom said nothing, and she watched him in misery.

  “Just fix the damned cut,” he muttered, clearly not wanting her pity.

  Fumbling with the gauze, antiseptic and tape, she became distracted by his face, his sharp-edged masculinity, handsome even in its bleakness. “How did you cut yourself?” she asked, trying to get her mind on her task.

  “One of the boys went up in the observation tower. The water was too rough and he fell. When I dove for him, I caught the safety rail with my face.”

  “How’s the boy?”

  “Wiser.” Grimly he added, “I wish I could say the same for myself.”

  Soaking a piece of gauze with antiseptic, she grazed his chin with a finger to indicate a need to have him turn slightly. When he did, their eyes met. His glance was direct, almost challenging. She was hard put not to ask him what he was thinking.

  He didn’t flinch when the medicated gauze touched his torn flesh, but Sara knew it wasn’t a shallow desire to appear macho. More likely, he’d simply gone numb with worry over his son’s plight, and felt nothing as paltry as physical pain.

  After cleaning the wound, she applied a dressing. “There. That should be fine. I don’t think you’ll need stitches.”

  “You have a light touch, Sara,” he said, though his tone was flinty.

  “I—I’ve always wanted to be a nurse.”

  His nostrils flared. “Dammit. Be a nurse, then. Life’s too short.”

  Suddenly he slammed both his fists on the tabletop and vaulted to his feet. “Blast my hide! What have I done?” he bellowed, toppling his chair as he stormed from the room.

  Shocked, Sara hurried after him, assuming he was about to bolt headlong down to the dock. But when she ran into the living room, he was standing there, leaning heavily against the stone mantelpiece. On the hearth, the driftwood fire flickered weakly.

  Seeing this big strong man so inconsolable was heartrending, and tears slowly found their way down her cheeks. Not caring how it would look, or if it was right or wrong, she went to him and slid a comforting arm about his waist. “This wasn’t your fault, Ransom.”

  His muscles tensed beneath her fingers. “I wish it wasn’t.”

  Wanting to help him thro
ugh his torment, she said, “I know you and Tag had a fight before you left, and I know you’re thinking if only you hadn’t been short with him....”

  He grasped her roughly by the arms. “No, Sara, no!” he countered harshly. “That’s not at all what I’m thinking.” Though he never raised his voice, each word quivered with self-loathing. “I’m thinking about how I tried for five years to hate that boy, and now, when I have to face the fact that he might be—” to Sara’s dismay, his voice broke “—that he might be dead, I find I can’t do it. I love him, dammit. And it’s too late to tell him so.”

  “Hate?” she echoed disbelievingly;

  He released her. “It’s not a pretty word, is it?” he asked, his voice harsh with emotion.

  She shook her head.

  His lips twisted into a parody of a smile. “Sweet Sara. Sweet, responsible Sara who wants to be a nurse. She can’t understand why a man would try to hate his own son.”

  He crossed to the couch and dropped down onto it, running his hands distractedly through his hair. “Hell, why won’t this rain let up?” he groaned.

  “It.. .it’s only been a few minutes since we got here,” she reminded him. “The coffee will take at least five more minutes to perk. Just try to relax.” Feeling powerless, she trailed after him and sat down by him, urging, “I think you need to talk, Ransom, Something’s been eating at you for a long time.”

  He darted a mutinous look her way, and in it, Sara witnessed the shadow of his sadness and its vile complexity, raw and very close on the surface. Somehow she knew that, tonight, he was going to tell her things he’d kept bottled up for years. Needing to help him on his difficult journey, she took one of his large, restless hands in both of hers and implored, “Talk to me, Ransom.”

  The rain on the roof sounded like machine-gun fire as Sara waited. He needed to do this in his own time, so no matter how disturbed she was, no matter how knotted her stomach was, she’d wait.

  He leaned forward, propping his chin on his other hand. His eyes were closed, his lips drawn in a fierce line. After a nerve-racking moment, he faced her.