Bride for Ransom Page 16

  “I told you once I had no brother,” he said, his voice cold.

  She nodded, disconcerted by his savage scrutiny.

  “I had a brother once, but now he’s dead.”

  Sara forced herself not to ask questions. He had to tell the story in his own way.

  “His name was Morgan, and he was three years older than I. In college, he dated Jill for a while, but married another girl.”

  Ransom dropped his gaze and seemed to go inward, backwards, to some distant time. “I’d always liked Jill. One day we bumped into each other on campus, and things moved along pretty fast. Within a month we were married.” He paused for a moment before he said, “She had a difficult pregnancy. Tag was premature, and the doctor said she couldn’t have any more children. That didn’t matter to me. Taggart and Jill were enough.”

  Sara knew he’d been a happy husband and father. Why, then was there such a bitter edge to his words?

  “Five years ago,” he went on stonily, “I came home from work to find a note from Jill telling me she’d run off with Morgan. It went on to explain that she’d been furious about Morgan’s marriage to another woman. So, out of spite, she’d planned our chance meeting. Knowing I had a crush on her, she’d used that fact to her advantage.”

  Ransom’s hand tightened around Sara’s and she winced, but that was more from sympathy than from pain.

  “Jill was very good at her scheming,” he said gravely. “I never knew she wanted Morgan back until he finally left his wife, and he and Jill ran away together.”

  Ransom met Sara’s widened eyes and flashed a humorless grin. “You look almost as miserable as I felt. But that’s not the worst of it.” He shook his head, continuing in a subdued voice, “She also wrote that she’d send for Taggart in a week or two—after the honeymoon. My son.” He clenched his jaw, obviously fighting for control. “You’ve probably guessed the rest by now. Jill and Morgan were killed on an icy highway near Anchorage. But her coup de grace was written out for me to read and reread until I wanted to go blind rather than accept the truth.”

  Tugging his shaking hand from Sara’s, he rubbed it across his mouth. What he was about to say was being wrenched from the deepest, darkest part of his soul. Sara stirred uneasily, wanting to take him in her arms, but she held back. Let him say it! her mind warned. Let him get it out. The pain of doing that will cauterize the wound.

  When he twisted toward her, his features were grave. As though the words were covered with spines and being ripped out of his gut, he rasped, “Jill told me that the son I adored wasn’t even mine—he was Morgan’s.”

  A huge, gaping hole was blown through Sara’s heart with those words, and she had an urge to scream out her anger at the woman who’d hurt this man so horribly, but she held herself in check, allowing Ransom to finish.

  “Jill confessed that she’d found herself pregnant with my brother’s baby, but he’d refused to leave his wife for her. So, she planned revenge on him and married me.” He gave a bitter smile. “When Tag was born, I suppose she thought she was paying Morgan back by insisting we give his child my name—Tag’s full name is Ransom Taggart Shepard.”

  “I can’t imagine anyone doing something so malicious and cruel,” Sara breathed.

  “I couldn’t, either,” he said, his eyes dark with pain.

  “She might have been lying,” Sara offered hopefully.

  “That’s what I hoped at first. I refused to believe her, but DNA tests proved her right.” His glance shifted away and he seemed to be staring at nothing in particular. “I finally had to face it.” His voice hollow, he said, “Tag isn’t my son.”

  Sara’s heart bled for him, and she clutched her hands to her breast, horrified by the ugly revelation. She was doubly horrified that she’d ever accused this man of shirking his duties as a parent. Hearing that must have been like having hot coals thrust in his eyes.

  “So, you went a little crazy and sent him away, and tried to hate him for what his deceitful mother did to you,” Sara offered gently. “But you couldn’t hate an innocent child, could you?”

  Ransom turned his gaze to the ceiling. “I gave it one hell of a try, shipping him off to a private school in another state, never visiting him, drowning my anger in work.” He laughed shortly, but his eyes glimmered with sorrow. “Got damned rich working day and night. Damned rich and damned miserable.”

  “How did you come to be with him this summer?” Sara asked.

  Ransom shrugged powerful shoulders. “He was suffering. I knew it but tried not to care. He got into fights, did some petty vandalism. His grades were dismal. The academy told me if he didn’t shape up they’d expel him.” A look of weary sadness crossed his features. “Tag has no one else. So, I brought him here—not knowing he’d been planning to find me a wife. I imagine he thought if I married again, things would be like they were before.”

  “Poor kid,” Sara mused, trying to control the rage she had for Jill. The selfish woman had done two wonderful people so much damage. And Tag, Jill’s blameless son, might pay for her subterfuge with his life.

  Sara’s vision clouded with tears. Ashamed, she whispered, “Oh, Ransom, I called you names, when you were trying to do the decent thing, trying to help the boy, even though...” A sob broke from her throat and she pressed her lips together to steady their trembling. “I’m so sorry... ” she managed wretchedly.

  “You couldn’t have known,” he said.

  Their glances met. Somehow Sara found herself in Ransom’s arms, his lips touching hers like a whisper. The passion of the other evening was tempered mightily by tonight’s tragic events. But this time they shared an honesty that was, to Sara, much more desirable and memorable than yesterday’s heart-stopping kiss. The fondness, the caring in his caress now awakened in her new, pure love for him, and her heart hammered with reaction. When their lips parted, she gazed at him and sighed tremulously. “I’m glad you told me everything.”

  His countenance grim, Ransom drew away from her, though she sensed his reluctance. “The rain’s stopped,” he murmured, rising to his feet. “I’m going back.”

  She nodded in understanding, wishing she didn’t feel as limp as a dishrag, wishing she’d never seen this unguarded side of Ransom. For now she was even more hopelessly in love with him than before. At least she knew why he’d resisted love all these years—he didn’t trust himself to know honest affection when it stared him in the face. Since he’d been duped by Jill, he’d rejected possible relationships out of hand, to protect his heart from more such damage.

  She pushed herself up to stand beside him. This was a poor time to torture herself with the realization that she loved a man who was afraid to love, afraid to trust. Besides, the lives of two people were at risk, and the search was still on. Dragging the towel from her hair, she offered, “I’ll put the coffee in the thermos and—”

  There was a reverberating crash nearby, and they both spun to discover its cause. Sara’s first thought was that a gust of wind had blown the door open, but when she saw what had actually happened, her mouth fell open in astonishment.

  “Tag!” they exclaimed in unison.

  The boy was slumped against the doorjamb, drenched and quaking with cold. He was holding his hands in an odd, cramped way, and Sara could see blood on his palms.

  They hurried over to help him to the couch, but he struggled to be free, protesting hoarsely, “No. Gotta help—in the cove...”

  “Cove?” Ransom repeated.

  “D-Dan...”

  That one unsteady response sent a bolt of white-hot hope zinging through Sara, and she tried, “You’ve got Dan in a cove? In your rowboat?”

  Tag nodded.

  “What cove, Tag?” Ransom urged.

  “Sea...sea...”

  “Sea Lion Cove?”

  Tag nodded again, smiling faintly.

  Ransom was staring at Tag, his expression one of amazement, but his eyes were filled with love and pride. Sara knew her features mirrored his. It was astoun
ding, almost miraculous, but apparently this trembling, slight boy had actually rescued Dan from sure death.

  Ransom’s mouth worked wordlessly. There was so much to say, but now was not the time. Sara watched Ransom’s handsome face as he experienced a gamut of emotions, then after only the briefest hesitation he grabbed the boy in a bear hug. A telltale glisten in his expressive gray eyes spoke volumes. “Oh, thank God. Son...” He said the word tentatively at first, as though testing the idea. “Son,” he whispered through a ragged groan, “I thought you were...”

  Shakily the boy dragged his arms up to encircle his father’s broad body. “Sorry, Dad... but I had to.”

  Ransom stepped back, relief softening his haggard features. “Don’t talk now.” He smiled. “Rest and get warm. I’ll find Dan. Sara—”

  “I’m on my way,” she called, running to the porch and grabbing a dry coat from a hook. “I’ll tell Lilly and get Doc Stepetin.”

  As she buttoned up, she heard Tag insist, “I’ve got to go, Dad. I’ve got—”

  Ransom cut him off. “I can see you’ve inherited my stubbornness, Taggart. Come on.”

  They raced past her into the darkness—a father and his son. Sara had detected fierce pride in Ransom’s voice just now and realized the rift between them was healed at last.

  She gloried in the precious moment she’d been privileged to witness and knew she would treasure this memory long after both Ransom and Tag had forgotten her existence.

  Sara’s euphoric mood was crushed with that stinging reminder. It was true. Ransom and Tag would forget her, for the man she loved would not learn to trust a woman again, not without a long struggle. By that time, she would no longer be a part of his life. That was a hard reality, but one she had to face—and soon—for she’d be leaving St. Catherine Island in three days. Sobered by the thought, she ran out into the overcast, dying day.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  HALF THE TOWN returned to the house with Sara when the news spread of Dan’s amazing rescue by the fourteen-year-old boy. And Tag, though bathed in smiles, was a hesitant, tired hero. Dan was exhausted and cold but happy to be alive. After a tearful reunion with his wife and son, a hundred hands helped transport him back to Doc’s place for treatment.

  Forty minutes later, Lynn, her eyes still red-rimmed from crying, was in the kitchen making cocoa. She hummed off-key, but it was a welcome sound. Ransom stoked the fire with more driftwood, making the room cheery after the night’s near disaster.

  Tag, wrapped in a robe, sat on the couch while Sara bandaged his thin hands, torn and raw from rowing.

  When Lynn carried in a tray containing four steaming mugs, she said, “Why’s everybody so quiet? I want to know what happened.” Settling the tray on the coffee table, she gave Tag a cup.

  He took it awkwardly with one bandaged hand. “Like I told Doc,” he began, his throat raspy, “saving Dan was pretty much an accident. It was raining bad, and I wasn’t even rowing, just trying not to overturn, when I saw this white thing coming at me on a swell. When it got about five feet away, I saw it was Dan, hanging on to a plastic cooler, and I yelled. He saw me and grabbed for an oar.”

  Tag took a sip of cocoa. “Dan’s smart, knows boats better’n me, so he knew how to get in real careful. We almost tipped a couple of times, but he finally made it in. I’d brought along a blanket wrapped in that old shower curtain, so I put the blanket around him and laid the plastic on top to keep him warm. By then he didn’t have enough strength to do more than just lie there and shiver. He was pretty tired, too tired to even talk.”

  “So, you rowed until you saw land?” Sara asked, patting his hand to let him know she was finished bandaging it.

  He grinned sheepishly. “Nah. I couldn’t see anything in that storm. I was afraid to row ’cause I thought I’d take us out to sea. So I didn’t do anything for a long time but hold on. Then—” he paused and frowned “—I heard this noise—sounded kinda like mechanical laughter. Weird. After a minute I saw Potluck. He was alongside my boat stickin’ his snout out, waggin’ it, trying to get my attention.”

  “The dolphins?” Ransom asked, taking a seat next to his son on the couch.

  “Yeah. He acted like he wanted to play.”

  “You mean the hat game?” Lynn asked, eyes wide.

  Tag nodded. “I thought he was nuts. I was having all kinds of problems just trying to keep the boat steady. I was freezing and lost and that stupid fish wanted to play.”

  “It’s not a fish, dork, it’s a mammal.” Lynn obviously couldn’t resist teasing Tag. “I keep telling ya—”

  “Whatever,” Tag cut her off with a smirk. “Anyway, I yelled at the mammal to leave me alone, but he kept on squeaking at me. Finally I quit being so dumb, and I figured it out.”

  “What?”

  “How Potluck could help me find land.”

  “You threw him your ball cap,” Ransom guessed, smiling.

  Tag nodded again, returning the smile timidly. “It worked. I’d lose sight of him a lot, ’cause I couldn’t row very fast, but that crazy fish, er, mammal kept coming back to me with my cap in his snout.”

  “What a smart dolphin,” Sara mused aloud. “It’s almost as though he was trying to help.”

  “You think?” Tag asked, taking another sip of cocoa.

  “It doesn’t really matter,” Ransom answered. “But I, for one, am donating to Save the Dolphin from now on.”

  “Me, too,” gushed Lynn. “I wonder if Potluck knows he saved two human lives tonight?”

  Tag shrugged. “I don’t care if he knows or not. But that’s the way I’m telling it.” Then he yawned. “But it wasn’t today. It was yesterday. It’s dark outside, so it must be tomorrow.”

  “Tag’s right,” Sara said, gathering together the first-aid gear. “He needs to get to bed. We all should.”

  The boy stood up shakily, cradling his injured hands to his chest. As he began to move toward the hallway, Ransom got up, too. “I’ll bring your lantern in later, Tag.”

  “Okay, Dad.” Tag averted his eyes, mumbling. “Sorry about being a butt.”

  Ransom’s grin was rueful. “I think that’s my line.” Dropping an arm about his son’s shoulders, he said, “I’ve failed you in a lot of ways, Taggart. I hope I can make it up to you.”

  Tag looked up at his father, his face the picture of awe. The only sound that intruded on the precious moment was the crackling of the fire. Tag uncurled one of his injured hands and put it on his father’s shoulder. “You’re only human, Dad,” he replied, patting the big man. “We all make mistakes.”

  They disappeared into the hallway leaving Sara and Lynn sitting there holding cooling mugs of cocoa. When the sisters glanced at each other, both pairs of hazel eyes were shiny with tears.

  THE REMAINDER of Sara’s stay had passed all too quickly. The villagers had dropped by often with little gifts of thanks. Lilly brought a quart each of blackberry and mossberry jam. Other villagers brought breads, smoked meats, pies and cakes, so much, in fact, there’d hardly been any need to cook.

  Tag bore his heroism with remarkable poise. Sara believed he knew he’d done a stupid thing and had only lived because of good fortune. Nevertheless, all the attention showered on their house made the ensuing couple of days fly by.

  Tag and Ransom had become as close as a father and son could be, making up for lost time. Sara was gratified to hear that Tag would be going to school in Anchorage next fall and living with his father from now on.

  Ransom’s attitude toward Sara, however, had left much to be desired—at least as far as her heart was concerned. He was no longer angry with her, or glowering in her direction from between narrowed lashes. But when she caught his eye, his expression held a measure of regret and unease. She couldn’t tell if he regretted revealing his unhappy secret to her and was uneasy because he feared she pitied him, or if there was some small part of him that regretted knowing she would soon be gone.

  The second possibility was most likely her own
heart talking. That was what she wanted him to be thinking. She wanted him to hate the idea that she would soon be out of his life. And her leaving would certainly mean that. After all, what possible reason would a salmon tycoon have to visit a landlocked state like Kansas? No reason whatsoever that she could think of, and she’d spent countless sleepless hours trying to come up with one.

  Her fantasies, though, did have him needing to visit Kansas all the time—to see her. She would have laughed if it hadn’t been so painful. To see her, indeed! And she knew the reason he wouldn’t come wasn’t because he was still grieving over his lost wife. He was brooding over his loss of trust. Jill’s supposed devotion had been a complete lie—a lie he’d believed for nine years before she’d cruelly yanked his world from beneath him.

  It was apparent he couldn’t trust himself to love again. This knowledge had seemed to kill Sara’s spirit. She’d walked around pretending to be alive, but she was numb all the way to her core. She felt as if she’d been sealed up in a cold dank tomb, never allowed to savor life to its fullest because the man she loved had lost the power to say, “I trust you with my heart.” She couldn’t blame or fault Ransom for his inability to reach out to her, though he must have sensed her love for him. Her feelings were glaringly evident in her voice, her manner, her every glance.

  Looking down at her clenched hands, Sara rubbed the slight scar that remained from the time the dog had bitten her. Even after all these years she couldn’t bring herself to trust dogs—or adorable foxes. Her mind still refused to allow her to offer her hand to even the sweetest-looking puppy. She imagined it must be even more difficult for Ransom, scarred so badly by a woman, to give his heart to another.

  So she and Ransom had spent these last days sharing nothing but polite, meaningless conversation, his eyes warning that she follow his lead and make no comment about his revelation or her painfully exposed love for him.

  Sara glanced at her watch. It was eleven o’clock Wednesday morning. Krukoff would be flying in at any moment. There was no wind, and the sky was clear and sunny. It was as though the whole Northern Hemisphere was conspiring with Ransom to get her off St. Catherine Island. She wiped away a tear as she took the last batch of hearty whole-grain bread from the oven. Her mind wailed, Why couldn’t this conspiracy between man, wind and weather have taken place a week ago?