by Sandra Brown
Rudy squatted down on his haunches and laid a solicitous hand on her shoulder. “He did what he had to do, Lauren. It was hopeless. Jared only shot her to save her pain.” His voice became gentler. “I think you know that.”
The crying stopped, but her head remained bowed. Rudy stood up. “I’ll get her home,” he said quietly. “You see to the horse.” He had never felt so impotent in his life. He wasn’t sure what had transpired between his brother and his new wife in the past few days. All he knew was that both were suffering, and he was powerless to do anything for either of them.
Jared raised his eyes, which had been riveted on the weeping figure at his feet, to his brother, and spoke resolutely. “No. She’s my wife, and no man except me is going to see to her. If she goes home, she goes with me.”
Rudy bit off an argument even as he watched Jared lean down and grasp Lauren under her arms, pulling her to her feet. She yanked her arms free and stared up at him defiantly. Then without a word, she walked toward Charger and pushed herself up into the saddle. She sat stiffly as Jared mounted behind her. Rudy watched them until they rode out of sight. He shook his head in puzzlement and despair for these two people whom he loved. Then he set about gathering brush for Flame’s funeral pyre.
Lauren held herself rigid on the saddle in front of Jared, who seemed as determined not to touch her as she him. What he was feeling after her attack remained a mystery. When they finally cantered into the compound and up to the front of the ranch house, Jared spoke the first words that had passed between them.
“The honeymoon is over,” he said sarcastically. “Congratulations, Lauren. No one has ever been able to come between my brother and me. Before you cause more friction, I want to leave here. In the morning. Be ready early.”
“Very well,” she replied as she slid to the ground and strode into the house without once glancing back at him.
* * *
After the misty-eyed goodbyes and warm farewell embraces from the Mendezes, it was hard for Lauren to return to Olivia’s house in Coronado where she knew only disquietude. Had it not been for the arrival of Elena’s baby girl, which a beaming Carlos had announced to her a few days ago, leaving Keypoint would have been unbearable.
Upon their unexpected arrival, Olivia pointedly didn’t ask about their visit. Lauren now knew why she held such a great deal of contempt for the family who lived at the ranch. Carson Wells politely inquired into Lauren’s well-being on their first night back. He was, it now seemed, a regular at dinner.
Jared was defensively sullen and drank steadily throughout the meal. Olivia heaped acclaim on the Vandivers for being successful in securing a trunk of the railroad to Coronado. The date for the groundbreaking was to be announced soon.
“With any kind of luck with the weather, labor, and so on, we should have a railroad by this time next year.”
“Swell,” Jared mumbled into his glass.
“I should think that would make you happy,” Olivia snapped at him.
He pushed his chair back and rose unsteadily to his feet. “I’ll tell you what makes me unhappy. Those damn Vandivers were snooping around Keypoint the other day. I wasn’t there or they wouldn’t have gotten anywhere near it. I want them restricted to the area designated for the power plant. Is that clear?” His face was flushed and his amber eyes glowed like animal eyes in the dark.
“Yes, Jared, I’ll mention that to them. I’m sure they’ll comply,” Olivia mollified him.
He only snorted as he refilled his glass, sloshing whiskey over his unsteady hand.
The only joy in the house for Lauren was Elena’s baby. Her introduction to Isabela had been made as the baby sucked greedily at her mother’s milk-laden breast. Lauren was shocked at Elena’s immodesty as she bared her breast, but the new mother wasn’t at all embarrassed. Rosa looked on with grandmotherly pride. Isabela’s hair was coal-black and her black eyes were lightly fringed with dark lashes.
The baby stayed in the small room off the kitchen that Rosa shared with Elena. When Elena was busy somewhere in the house, Rosa was nearby to answer the demanding cries of her granddaughter. As long as Olivia wasn’t disturbed, everything would be fine.
Lauren hated for Carlos to be separated from his family. She intended to talk to Jared about them living together at Keypoint. Surely with another Mendez baby coming, Gloria could use Elena’s help.
Lauren was amazed that Elena recovered from her child-birthing so quickly. The new mothers whom she had attended while living in the parsonage had taken weeks to get out of bed, but Elena resumed her duties in the house right away, pausing periodically and only long enough to feed Isabela.
So it was a matter of deep concern to Lauren when she found Elena leaning against the bannister one afternoon, unable to continue upstairs.
“Elena, what’s wrong?” she cried as she rushed toward the girl and lent her support.
“I’m just tired, I think.” Elena’s voice contained none of its usual animation.
“Why don’t you go lie down for a while? I’ll explain to Olivia.”
She took the girl’s elbow and steered her toward her room. Her alarm increased even more when Elena didn’t argue with her as she was wont to do. Without protest, she lay on her bed and Lauren covered her with a light blanket. The baby was sleeping quietly across the room in her crib. Lauren left them, hoping that Rosa would soon return from her marketing.
After dinner, Lauren surreptitiously slipped into the kitchen while Olivia and Jared discussed some banking business. Rosa was sitting at the work table, her fingers sifting through the beads of her rosary. When the door closed softly behind Lauren, Rosa opened her eyes. “Rosa? What’s wrong?” she asked quickly. “Is it Elena?”
The woman clasped large hands over her broad cheeks and bobbed her head up and down in affirmation. Tears pooled in her chocolate eyes.
“Está enferma. She has the fever bad.”
Lauren tiptoed into the darkened room and knelt down to feel Elena’s forehead. It was burning. Rosa had undressed her and the young woman lay under the blanket clad only in her thin chemise. Lauren turned up the gas light nearest the bed and immediately saw the rash. Red eruptions covered Elena’s throat and chest. Lauren unbuttoned her chemise, but knew before she looked that the rash extended down Elena’s torso. With an aching heart, she returned to the kitchen.
“Rosa,” Lauren said calmly, swallowing the bile that rose in her throat, “did Elena vomit last night or this morning? Did she complain of being chilled?”
“Sí, señora,” Rosa answered dismally. The woman’s ravaged face confirmed Lauren’s suspicions. Rosa knew the gravity of her daughter’s illness.
“Her throat is sore?” Rosa only nodded.
Lauren closed her eyes briefly and prayed for strength. The next several days would be a trial for them all. The task facing her was unpleasant, but she would do it. These people were her friends and they needed her. If she didn’t help them, no one would.
Her voice showed no trace of the panic she felt as she began issuing instructions. “Brew some tea and keep the kettle on at all times. Move the baby out of that room at once and don’t let anyone else near it. Scald all of the kitchen utensils and don’t go into the sickroom again. Where has Elena been today?”
“Nowhere, señora. She feels too bad to do much. She was in Pueblo a few days ago showing off Isabela.” Rosa’s voice wavered as she asked, “She has the scarlet fever, señora?”
“Yes, she does.” Lauren remained calm despite the turbulence inside her as she went again into the dim room.
Scarlet fever. Isabela. She hated to see. Please, God, no. The baby had been sleeping peacefully all day. Unusual. Lauren forced herself to go to the crib. She pulled up the tiny sacque and cried out in anguish as she saw the rapidly rising and falling chest covered with the telltale rash.
“Madre de Dios,” Rosa murmured behind her.
“Has the fever been going around in Pueblo?” Lauren asked.
“Si, se
ñora. Many have been sick. Elena didn’t think she would catch it. No one in the family had it when she visited.”
“Go do what I told you to, Rosa. I’ll stay here with her and the baby.”
When the woman had retreated to the kitchen to carry out her instructions, Lauren sat down on the edge of the bed and took Elena’s hand. The girl’s eyes fluttered open and she offered a weak smile. When she tried to speak, she could only croak.
“Don’t try to talk, Elena, I’m here to make you feel better.” Lauren pushed back a few strands of lank hair resting on fevered temples.
“Baby?” Elena asked.
“The baby is… sleeping. Everything will be all right. You go back to sleep. I’ll give you some tea when it’s made.” Elena closed her eyes apathetically and her breathing was soon even if somewhat shallow.
Lauren left the room, went through the kitchen, and walked in slow, measured steps into the parlor where Olivia and Carson were playing cards. Jared was slumped in a chair, a whiskey decanter near his hand.
Not quite believing her temerity, she asked for their attention, and when the three had turned startled eyes toward her, she told them about Elena and the baby.
“You can’t be serious!” Olivia exploded when Lauren made clear her intention to nurse them.
“I’m quite serious, Olivia,” she said levelly. “They need constant care and, since I have no other responsibilities, I’m the one to do it. I only came to tell you that you might want to have food catered in, as the kitchen is so close to the sickroom. And keep everyone out of the house. Go nowhere that isn’t absolutely necessary. We should quarantine ourselves for the sake of others.”
She spoke with such authority that the other three were momentarily stilled. But the respite was brief. Olivia unleashed her fury in full force.
“If you think I’m going to let a Mexican girl and her brat lie sick and possibly die in my house, contaminating the rest of us, you are very much mistaken. Get Pepe to remove them at once, Jared. Let them take care of their own.”
Lauren turned to Jared, who had sobered considerably and was watching her closely through clear eyes. “Jared, if they go, I do, too. Would you have it said that Jared Lockett banished his wife to Pueblo?” she challenged.
He glanced toward his mother and said uneasily, “Lauren, those people are accustomed to epidemics. They die by the hundreds in San Antonio every few years from yellow fever. Pueblo doesn’t have proper sanitation to protect them from these diseases, and once one gets started, it runs rampant.”
“Then someone who has a lot of money and power should improve their sanitation system, shouldn’t he?” Her voice was an accusation. She wondered why these Locketts had ever intimidated her. Right now, she felt very strong.
Jared tried another tack. “It’s highly contagious, Lauren. Did you think of that? What’s to prevent you from catching it?”
She looked at him steadily. “I had it. When I was ten years old. I was ignored by a father terrified of disease and by a housekeeper angry with me for causing her so much extra work. It’s a wonder that I lived. I have not forgotten the misery and fear. I won’t let Elena suffer that way. Now am I to nurse her here or somewhere else?”
Olivia opened her mouth to speak, but Jared ordered, “Shut up, Mother.” His eyes never left Lauren’s face. They stared at each other long and hard. Her hand found its way to his arm and rested there as she gazed up at him suppliantly.
“All right,” he said finally. “Is there anything I can do?”
“No. Stay away from the rooms in the back of the house. I’ll have Rosa scrub everything with disinfectant as soon as possible. Thank you.” It was only when she tried to pull away that either of them became aware of his strong fingers trapping hers against his arm. Slowly, regretfully, they were released.
She didn’t look at Olivia or Carson as she moved out of the parlor. At the portiere, she turned and looked back at her husband. “I don’t think the baby will live.” He saw tears shining in the luminous eyes.
* * *
The days and nights blended together in a montage of pain, suffering, exhaustion, and despair. Isabela died the afternoon of the second day. Lauren tried valiantly to spoon sweetened tea through the tiny lips, but the swollen, red tongue and obstructed throat strangled on it, and the baby couldn’t get the fluids essential for her life.
Lauren watched the tiny chest as it shuddered one final time and, without so much as a cry, Isabela ended her short sojourn on earth. Lauren wanted to grieve the loss, but she needed to focus her attention on saving Elena.
Lauren spooned gallons of tea into her patient despite Elena’s unwillingness to accept it. Her tongue was covered with painful red blisters that made it look like a strawberry. Her fever rose drastically each night. Rosa and Lauren would strip her and bathe her body with cool water. They didn’t tell her about Isabela, and she was too delirious to ask.
Pepe made a tiny coffin, and the infant’s grandmother laid her out for burial. Carlos was summoned, but he remained in the stables in compliance with Lauren’s orders. It was not only for his protection, but also for those she loved at Keypoint. Pepe ran messages back and forth to the anxious young man who mourned the death of his daughter and feared for the life of his wife.
Lauren never left the sickroom. She sent Rosa to her room for fresh clothing, but barely had time to change into it during her vigil over the sufferer. At night, after they managed to keep Elena’s fever from rising further, she would sleep fitfully in a chair near the bed. She prayed constantly for the life of her friend and for continued strength. She prayed, too, that Jared would not contract the disease. The words had formed on her lips, coming straight from her soul before she gave them conscious thought.
The fever literally burned the skin off of Elena’s palms and fingers and the soles of her feet. While the girl slept, Lauren gently peeled it away so Elena would not be frightened if she should see the dead tissue hanging like cobwebs from her hands.
Five days after Lauren had gone into the stifling room, she woke from a cramped position in the chair to hear regular breathing instead of the labored, shallow respiration she had listened to for long days and nights. She hurried to Elena’s bed and put her hand on a cool forehead. Forcing apart the relaxed lips, she saw that the tongue was less swollen and the blisters had all but disappeared. The rash was fading. She could have laughed aloud. Instead, she sank back into the chair and offered a prayer of thanksgiving.
The next morning, when she told Rosa the news, the old woman wept openly. For the rest of that day, they allowed Elena to sleep a healing sleep. They changed her linens and, at noon, spoonfed her some beef broth until she slipped once again into slumber. Lauren stayed with her to make sure the fever wasn’t going to return.
She was exhausted but happy and relieved when she stumbled into the kitchen late that evening. She was surprised to find Jared standing at the back door, staring out over the yard through the window. Rosa had informed him of Elena’s recovery earlier.
He turned when he heard her enter. “Lauren, this has gone on long enough,” he said without preamble. “I will not let you quarantine yourself in that room one more minute without some rest.”
“I’m fine, really I am,” Lauren sighed. “I don’t think Elena needs me anymore, though. Only plenty of liquids and sleep. I’ll let Carlos see her in the morning.”
“Si, señora.” Rosa came to Lauren and took both of her hands in hers, kissing them in turn. “Señor Jared, she is an angel.”
“Yeah, she’s an angel all right, but she looks like hell right now,” he said grimly.
Through her fatigue-muddled mind Lauren noted absently that he didn’t look all that wonderful himself. Stubble covered his chin and upper lip. His cheeks were gaunt and sunken under red-rimmed eyes.
Rosa could have told her that for days he had paced, cursed, threatened, and pleaded. He was like a wild man in his worry. His only source of nourishment was a shot of whiskey taken at regul
ar intervals.
Lauren tried to focus her eyes, but images began to blur, recede infinitesimally, then loom hugely. The kitchen was spinning crazily. “Jared—” she cried hoarsely before she collapsed into the strong arms reaching out for her.
“She’s unconscious,” he said. “And hungry, from the feel of her. I’ll bet she’s lost ten pounds. First thing in the morning, Rosa, fix her a big breakfast and serve it to her in her room. Stay with her until she eats every bite. I think she needs rest first.”
He swept the inert figure into his arms and carried her upstairs to her room, kicking the door shut behind him. He stood for a moment, allowing his eyes to grow accustomed to the darkness, then moved toward the bed. There was just enough light coming in through the windows for him to see without lighting the lamp.
Lauren murmured unintelligibly as he put her feet back on the floor, supporting her with his body. She leaned heavily against him and he muttered imprecations at her foolishness for totally exhausting herself like this. He tried to keep his mind off the body pressed close to his. How could she stay in a sickroom for a week and come out smelling like lavender? He didn’t know that Lauren had asked Rosa to fetch a bottle of cologne from her room which she added to the water she washed with each day.
Well, I can’t just dump her on the bed, Jared reasoned. With trembling fingers, he began unfastening the buttons on the back of her shirtwaist. Her head lolled against his chest. It took a long time for him to get to the last button because he used only one hand, supporting her with the other. His trembling fingers lacked their usual dexterity.
He pulled the blouse out of the waistband of her skirt and then began undoing the fastener. He untied the ribbons of several petticoats, cursing as they knotted in his fingers. Why do women wear so damned many clothes anyway? he thought. Finally he was able to push the skirt and petticoats down over her hips and they fell to the floor in a ruffled froth at her ankles.
He paused, drawing deep breaths in an effort to supply oxygen to his brain, which was whirling like a maelstrom. If she woke up now, he thought ruefully, she would probably scream the house down.