Circle Eight: Vaughn

Published by Beth Williamson

Copyright 2013 Beth Williamson

Cover design by Croco Designs

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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from the author at [email protected]

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

For more information on the author and her works, please see
www.bethwilliamson.com

ISBN:  978-0-9885666-2-0

This book is dedicated to my readers. Thank you all for your support, your kind words and your continued enjoyment of my books.

Without you, I wouldn’t be where I am today. You are the very best!

VAUGHN

Beth Williamson
writing as

EMMA LANG

June 1844

The last thing Elizabeth Graham expected to see when she opened the door during the worst storm of the summer was a naked man. Yet there he was, soaking wet, black hair plastered to his skull, and matching fur decorating his rather muscular chest and belly leading down to his, er, manly parts. He used both hands to cup those parts. It wasn’t as if she’d never seen a man’s parts. After all, she had four brothers, and growing up there had been many baths and jumping in the swimming hole in the summer. But given how the stranger cupped himself, she suspected his was larger than normal.

A gust of wind threw the rain against her face. She shook her head as though it was appropriate to stand there thinking about the size of a stranger’s genitals.

Lightning flashed and she saw what the darkness had hidden—blood running down the side of his face. She couldn’t leave him in such dire circumstances. At the same time, her brother Matt would yell until he was blue in the face if she let him in. The rest of the family was visiting her older sister, Olivia, and her husband, Brody, celebrating their son Stuart’s fourth birthday. Elizabeth had volunteered to stay home with Martha, her sister-in-law, Hannah’s, grandmother, who had been feeling poorly.

Now she faced a naked, bleeding stranger in the dark of the night. The loaded rifle was above her within easy reach. She wasn’t afraid but she was on edge.

“Who are you?”

“Help me.” His eyes rolled back in his head and he fell forward. She jumped out of the way as his body headed toward the floor. He landed hard, with a splat of water.

“Elizabeth, are you all right, girl?” Martha called from the back of the house. “I thought I heard a thump.”

Elizabeth frowned at the now unconscious, naked stranger. “Everything is fine, Martha,” she called out to the older woman. “Do you need anything?”

“Not unless you got twenty years in your pocket.” Martha cackled and Elizabeth shook her head. When Matt had married Hannah, Martha had moved into the Circle Eight with her. It was a rough adjustment period and now Elizabeth couldn’t remember not having them here. More than eight years had passed and Martha was like the grandmother the eight Graham siblings had never known.

She was also not one to mince her words or hold back when she had a thought in her head. There had been many times Martha had embarrassed one or more members of the family with her bald honesty. Lord only knew what she would say about the large, naked stranger at Elizabeth’s feet.

“I guess I’ll have to take care of you. Being a good person means helping those in need. That doesn’t mean I have to like it.” She frowned at the man, realizing he was just as tall as her brothers. Although not as broad as Matt or Caleb, the oldest brothers, he wasn’t a small man. First she had to close the door, which mean she had to move him out of the way.

Elizabeth was a smart woman. She managed all the business-related activities for the ranch, paying bills and taking care of the money. At twenty-one, she was a spinster, unmarried without prospects, which suited her just fine. She didn’t need or want a man, at least most days. Today was an exception because of her lack of body strength and her tall, thin frame. The contrast between hers and the stranger’s was marked. He outweighed her by at least seventy-five pounds. How was she going to lift him from the floor?

First things first. She pushed at his shoulder, surprised by how warm his bare flesh was. With a sinking dread, she put her palm on his forehead. He was burning up with fever. There was no other choice now. She had to get him into a bed. He needed nursing and she was the caregiver de facto. There was no one else. Martha could hardly get out of bed herself, although if she knew there was a naked, young man, she might stir herself.

He smelled of outdoors and the sour scent of sweat. She pushed again and he rolled onto his back, flopping like a rag doll. The wind sucked the door shut with a slam and Elizabeth jumped to her feet. His manly parts were now open for viewing and they were assuredly not small.

Her cheeks burned at the sight of the completely naked, wet stranger. She wasn’t normally flustered but this situation set her off balance. Control was meant to be held, not lost.

“All right, stranger, get ready for a rough ride.” She got to her feet and went in search of a blanket to move him.

The man was heavy, as though he were made of sand. Elizabeth spread the blanket on the floor and rolled him onto it. His flesh was so hot to the touch. She worried no matter what she did, he would need a doctor. There was no one to send for one. Javier and Lorenzo would be back in three days’ time. For now, it was only her and Martha.

Although she was strong, by the time she’d dragged him ten feet, sweat dripped down the side of her face. The sad fact was, she perspired in a most unladylike fashion. It was good no one was around to witness it. Not that she would have cared, however, she didn’t want to endure the teasing her brothers would heap on her.

Elizabeth stopped halfway across the living room and sat down to catch her breath. The man blissfully slept on, unaware what his ridiculous visit was costing her. She wanted to know who he was. More than that, she wanted to know why he was naked in the middle of a storm at night. Perhaps he’d been robbed and left for dead. There was the wound on his head. Something else she had to tend to, of course.

“Who are you, mister?” She swiped her forehead with her sleeve. “And what in the hell are you doing here?”

Cussing out loud made her feel better. Her big brother Matt wasn’t there to scowl at her, and his wife Hannah wasn’t there to tsk. Damn straight. Elizabeth was twenty-one years old and didn’t need her family telling her how to behave. She was smart and accomplished, no matter how many cuss words slid out of her mouth.

She got to her feet and started dragging again. Caleb’s old room was still empty. He and his wife Aurora had built a cabin a few miles away where they lived in blissful harmony with their daughters, Rose and Daisy. They were all at Olivia and Brody’s place too. The house and the entire ranch echoed with emptiness.

Except for the man who brought disharmony to the Circle Eight. She scowled at him, wanting to give him a lecture about hospitality.

“Elizabeth, what’s happening? I hear you grunting out there like a wild boar.” Martha wasn’t done poking her nose in what was going on. This was not a surprise.

“I’ll be in to tell you later.” Elizabeth wasn’t sure how much she would tell the older woman but she had to tell her something.

“Hmph. I don’t like the sound of that.” Martha could be stubborn, an understatement.

“It’ll have to do, Martha. I’ve got something I need to take care of. Unless the house catches fire, you’ll need to wait.” Each word was punctuated with a tug of the blanket. Her annoyance translated into quicker progress. By the time she made it down the hallway, her shoulders and arms were screaming for mercy.

With a few more selective cuss words, she got him to the bed. There were no sheets or blankets to speak of. Elizabeth sighed and left her burden on the floor and went to the trunk in the housekeeper, Eva’s, room for the linens. The scent of roses hung in the air and Elizabeth was reminded of Eva’s hugs. She was the mother Elizabeth needed after her mother was killed so long ago.

She pulled the sheets from the trunk and pressed her heated face into the cool cotton. The clean scent of soap clung to them. Laundry day took place twice a week and it was a family production. Unless a Graham was out riding the range, they helped with the laundry. With so many siblings, plus Eva and her sons, Javier and Lorenzo, there were more than a dozen people. Enough laundry to bring anyone to their knees.

Not Eva.

Elizabeth couldn’t explain why she drew strength from sniffing the sheets, but she did. Feeling a bit more centered, she returned to Caleb’s room and the nude stranger. Ignoring his state of undress, she made up the bed quickly.

“Now how do I get you up there?” She eyed the side of the bed, the two feet to the ground and the heavy weight of the man.

Although she wasn’t a scientist or mathematician, she could figure out how to solve problems. This one was a matter of leverage. If she stood on the bed and pulled the blanket she could get the heaviest part of him on the bed, then pull up his lower half more easily.

It was a plan that might work and right now she had to get moving. The man was feverish and bleeding. There was no time to waste.

She wrapped him up in the blanket like a babe. Satisfied he would stay put, Elizabeth squatted on the bed and reached down. She grabbed the opposite ends of the blanket and pulled. He moved a few inches. Elizabeth blew the hair out of her eyes and fisted her hands in the woven cloth, then yanked with all her might.

A wall-shaking scream exploded from her mouth as she managed to get him half on the bed. The dead weight had nearly wrenched her arms from their sockets.

“Elizabeth, what in heaven’s name are you doing? Having some private time?” Martha shouted from the other room.

“Not now, Martha!” Elizabeth eyed the man. “Don’t move.” She shifted toward the head of the bed and tugged again. His behind was now at the edge of the bed.

She jumped to the floor and quickly shoved the rest of his body onto the straw tick mattress. He landed on his face and at the moment, she didn’t care. Sweet victory raced through her for a moment or two. It was short-lived, however, when she determined the man might be suffocating.

After catching her breath, she used the rest of her strength to get the man on his back. He was still unconscious, not a good sign considering how she’d treated him like a side of beef. Lost in the fever that held him in its claws, he could die before she even retrieved a pitcher of water to wipe his brow.

She brushed his dark hair from his forehead and peered at the source of the blood. A four-inch-long gash marred his head; the wound oozed steadily. She had to get some bandages, hot water and something to stitch up the wound.

It was going to be a long night.

Vaughn Montgomery was hot. Really hot. No, he was on fire. Burning into cinders as he fought against the inferno that raged around him.

“If you keep fighting me, we are going to have a problem, mister.”

A woman’s impatient voice blew the flames closer. She must be one of devil’s handmaidens sent to bring him down into the bowels of hell. A cool sliver of goodness dripped across his lips. He reached for it, desperate for more. Another trickle of water entered his mouth.

“More.” His voice was rusty as an old farm plow.

“Not too much or you might puke. I don’t want to clean that up. It’s embarrassing enough I have to, well, take care of your personal business.” She sounded uptight and at the same time, worldly. It was an interesting, and intriguing, combination.

She was kind, however, and dribbled more water in his open mouth. The fire still raged inside him, around him, trying its best to turn him to ashes.

“Hot.”

“You’ve had a fever for two days, mister. I don’t guess you’re gonna feel cold.” She placed a cold cloth on his forehead. He sighed as the droplets ran down the side of his head.

“Too bad it wasn’t winter or I could pack you in snow.” She had a sense of humor.

“Lovely.” In fact, it sounded right about perfect to him. Better than hell for certain.

A moment of silence. “Lovely?” He detected a note of uncertainty in her tone.

“Snow.” Every time he spoke, shards of razors danced on his throat.

“Ah. I suspect snow would feel good if I had a fever.” She flipped the cloth over.

Vaughn tried to open his eyes but he couldn’t since his lids appeared to weigh twenty pounds. He wanted to see her, this woman of contradiction who nursed a stranger. At least he assumed he didn’t know her. However, after the number of years he’d spent traveling and working, he could have met her previously. He didn’t want to think her guilty of some nefarious plot to trap him.

Or seek revenge against him.

Perhaps ignorance was the best strategy. If he pretended he didn’t know her, and perhaps he did, she couldn’t fault him because of the fever. Although he was certain he didn’t know her. That voice was like good whiskey, smoky and rich. He would have remembered it.

Vaughn wondered where he was but didn’t have the energy to ask. If the Gibsons had caught up with him, he surely wouldn’t be lying in a bed being doctored. When he escaped from their camp, he fully expected to fall into a ravine and be dead by morning. He vaguely remembered being cold, which was ironic considering how hot he was now. Flashes of lightning and pounding rain also danced in his memory.

How he had come to be in this bed, being tended to by this woman, was a mystery. He was fairly sure he was still in Texas. Beyond that, he was at a total loss. Sleep tugged at him, however, the fever made him want to strip off his clothes and find the nearest pond or river. He didn’t want to sleep but he didn’t have a choice.

The last thing he remembered were her fingers brushing against his cheek and a soft exhale.

The next time he woke, he was able to open his eyes. A half a pound of lead had taken up residence on his eyeballs but he was able to glance around the small room. It was cast in shadows. The meager light revealed its Spartan décor. A chair beside the bed and a three-legged table were the only other furniture in the room.