Free The Haunting of Autumn Lake by Marcia Lynn McClure

it was next to the small table at the side of his bed. “Mama found this new recipe awhile back, and she’s been bakin’ it every other day since! She claims she hasn’t gotten it just right yet, even though Daddy and I swear to her that she does.” She took the plate from Gentry and sat it on the small bedside table. “Can you sit down all right?” she asked him.
    “We’ll find out,” he mumbled. Gentry did sit down in the chair but winced a little when his wounded leg brushed the arm of it.
    “I’m so sorry,” Autumn said.
    “Nothin’ for you to be sorry about, honey,” he said, taking the fork in his right hand and cutting into the fruit roll.
    Autumn tried to ignore the way her heart somersaulted in her bosom at his having called her honey . Oh, she understood it was just a habit—something he probably just called women. But it thrilled her all the same.
    “Mmmm!” Gentry moaned as he chewed the first bite of Vaden Lake’s newest batch of apple fruit rolls. “Good heavens, girl! Your family is gonna spoil me rotten on apples. This is the best thing I’ve tasted…maybe ever.”
    Autumn giggled, delighted by his reaction and the sincerity of it. “Mama will bust her corset strings when I tell her! I’m sure she’s plannin’ on enterin’ this new recipe at the county fair next month. Oh, I hope she wins!”
    “Well, if I was judgin’ the contest she would,” Gentry said, taking another bite of the pretty pink apple biscuits. “I ain’t never tasted anything like this. What makes ’em pink?”
    “Cinnamon candies all melted up with sugar and water,” Autumn answered.
    “Them little red ones?” he asked.
    “Exactly!” she giggled, delighted that he was familiar with the candy.
    “Well, you be sure and tell your mama that I coulda ate a whole pan of these,” he said, devouring another piece of the dessert. “And anyhow, I love a woman who’s willin’ to feed a man somethin’ sweet for breakfast.”
    “Then you’ll love my mama,” Autumn said. “She makes sure my daddy starts every mornin’ with three things.” Counting on her fingers, she listed, “Either bacon, ham, or eggs, somethin’ sweet to go with ’em, and big lickery kiss before he heads out the door.”
    Gentry chuckled as he chewed. “She sounds like the perfect woman,” he mumbled.
    “Daddy says she is ,” Autumn sighed, sitting down on the side of the bed.
    Gentry looked up to Autumn, his gaze settling on the sketchbook tucked under her arm.
    “What’re you always drawin’ in that book of yours?” he asked.
    Autumn blushed—for mostly she’d been drawing Gentry James! “Uh…um…” she stammered. “I’m working on a special Christmas present for my mama. I-I’ve been making sketches for weeks now…so I’ll be ready to paint Jethro’s portrait when the time comes.”
    “Jethro? Who’s he? Your brother?” Gentry asked.
    Autumn laughed. “Of course not, silly!”
    Gentry smiled. “Your beau then?”
    Again Autumn laughed. “Me? Have a beau?” She shook her head. “No, Jethro isn’t my beau.” Pausing to settle a giggle, she began to open her sketchbook, looking for the best sketch of Jethro. “Though, if you knew me well enough…you might believe he was my beau. Goodness knows I like him far more than most men I’ve met.”
    Instantly Autumn’s smile faded—for an image of Riley Wimber had popped into her mind. Autumn pushed the thought of him aside, however. She wouldn’t waste one moment of her time with Gentry James on her worries concerning Riley Wimber.
    “Here,” she said, having found her favorite sketch of Jethro. “This is Jethro.”
    Turning the sketchbook so that Gentry could see the sketch, she smiled as she watched a frown pucker his brow. “I don’t see anybody,” he said. “That just looks like a pumpkin layin’ in a field to me. Though I will say that you are one very good artist, Miss Autumn Lake.”
    “Thank you,” she said, adoring the compliment he’d