Come Lie With Me (5 page)

She sighed and lifted her shoulders helplessly when her eyes met Angela's philosophic gaze. Angela smiled, but didn't say anything. Alberta wasn't talkative, and Angela was even less so. Dione imagined that when the two of them were together, the silence was deafening.

When she thought that Blake had had enough time to get over his tantrum, she went upstairs to begin again. It would probably be a waste of time to try his door, so she entered her room and went straight through to the gallery. She tapped on the sliding glass doors in his room, then opened them and stepped in.

He regarded her broodingly from his chair. Dione went to him and placed her hand on his shoulder. “I know it's difficult,” she said softly. “I can't promise you that any of this will be easy. Try to trust me; I really am good at my job, and at the very worst you'll still be in much better health than you are now.”

“If I can't walk, why should I care about my health?” he asked tightly. “Do you think I want to live like this? I would rather have died outright on that cliff than have gone through these past two years.”

“Have you always given up so easily?”

“Easily!” His head jerked. “You don't know anything about it! You don't know what it was like—”

“I can tell you what it wasn't like,” she interrupted. “I can tell you that you've never looked down at where your legs used to be and seen only flat sheet. You've never had to type by punching the keys with a pencil held in your teeth because you're paralyzed from the neck down. I've seen a lot of people who are a lot worse off than you. You're going to walk again, because I'm going to make you.”

“I don't want to hear about how bad other people have it! They're not
me!
My life is my own, and I know what I want out of it, and what I can't…what I
won't
accept.”

“Work? Effort? Pain?” she prodded. “Mr. Remington, Richard has told me a great deal about you. You lived life to the fullest. If there were even the slimmest chance that you could do all of that again, would you go for it?”

He sighed, his face unutterably weary. “I don't know. If I really thought there was a chance…but I don't. I can't walk, Miss Kelley. I can't move my legs at all.”

“I know. You can't expect to move them right now. I'll have to retrain your nerve impulses before you'll be able to move them. It'll take several months, and I can't promise that you won't limp, but you
will
walk again…if you cooperate with me. So, Mr. Remington, shall we get started again on those exercises?”

H
e submitted to the exercises with ill grace, but that didn't bother her as long as he cooperated at all. His muscles didn't know that he lay there scowling the entire time; the movement, the stimulation, were what counted. Dione worked tirelessly, alternating between exercising his legs and massaging his entire body. It was almost ten-thirty when she heard the noise that she'd been unconsciously listening for all morning: the tapping of Serena's heels. She lifted her head, and then Blake heard it, too. “No!” he said hoarsely. “Don't let her see me like this!”

“All right,” she said calmly, flipping the sheet up to cover him. Then she walked to the door and stepped into the hallway, blocking Serena's way as she started to enter Blake's room.

Serena gave her a startled look. “Is Blake awake? I was just going to peek in; he usually doesn't get up until about noon.”

No wonder he'd been so upset when I got him up at six! Dione thought, amused. To Serena she said blandly, “I'm giving him his exercises now.”

“So early?” Serena's brows arched in amazement. “Well, I'm certain you've done enough for the day. Since he's awake early he'll be ready for his breakfast. He eats so badly. I don't want him to miss any meals. I'll go in and see what he'd like—”

As Serena moved around Dione to enter Blake's bedroom, Dione deftly sidestepped until she once more blocked the door. “I'm sorry,” she said as gently as possible when Serena stared at her in disbelief. “He's already had his breakfast. I've put him on a schedule, and it's important that he stay on it. After another hour of exercise we'll come downstairs for lunch, if you'd like to wait until then.”

Serena was still staring at her as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing. “Are you saying…” she whispered, then stopped and began again, her voice stronger this time. “Are you saying that I can't see my brother?”

“At this time, no. We need to complete these exercises.”

“Does Blake know I'm here?” Serena demanded, her cheeks suddenly flushing.

“Yes, he does. He doesn't want you to see him right now. Please, try to understand how he feels.”

Serena's marvelous eyes widened. “Oh! Oh, I see!” Perhaps she did, but Dione rather doubted it. Hurt shimmered in Serena's eyes for a moment; then she shrugged lightly. “I'll…see him in an hour, then.” She turned away, and Dione watched her for a moment, reading wounded emotions in every line of her straight back. It wasn't unusual for the one closest to the patient to become jealous of the intimacy that was necessary between patient and therapist, but Dione never failed to feel uncomfortable when it happened. She knew that the intimacy was only fleeting, that as soon as her patient was recovered and no longer needed her services, she would go on to some other case and the patient would forget all about her. In Blake's case, there was nothing
to be jealous of anyway. The only emotion he felt for her was hostility.

When she reentered the bedroom he twisted his head around to stare at her. “Is she gone?” he questioned anxiously.

“She's going to wait downstairs to eat lunch with you,” Dione answered, and saw the relief that crossed his face.

“Good. She…nearly went to pieces when this happened to me. She'd be hysterical if she saw what I really look like.” Pain darkened his eyes. “She's special to me; I practically raised her. I'm all the family she has.”

“No, you're not,” Dione pointed out. “She has Richard.”

“He's so wrapped up in his work, he seldom remembers that she's alive,” he snorted. “Richard's a great vice-president, but he's not a great husband.”

That wasn't the impression Dione had gotten from Richard; he'd seemed to her to be a man very much in love with his wife. On the surface Richard and Serena were opposites; he was reserved, sophisticated, while she was as forceful as her brother, but perhaps they were each what the other needed. Perhaps her fire made him more spontaneous; perhaps his reserve tempered her rashness. But Dione didn't say anything to Blake. She began the repetitious exercises again, forcing his legs through the same motions.

It was tiring, boring work; tiring for her, boring for him. It made him irritable all over again, but this time when he snapped at her to stop, she obeyed him. She didn't want to browbeat him, to force her wishes on him in everything. He'd put in the most active morning he'd had since the accident, and she wasn't going to push him any further. “Whew!” she sighed, wiping her
forehead with the back of her hand and feeling the moisture there. “I need a shower before lunch! Breaking off a little early is a good idea.”

He looked at her, and his eyes widened in surprise. She knew that he didn't really see her all morning; he'd been preoccupied with his own condition, his own despair. She'd told him that he'd have to work hard, but now for the first time he realized that she'd be working hard, too. It wasn't going to be a picnic for her. She knew that she looked a mess, all sweaty and flushed.

“A bath wouldn't hurt you,” he agreed dryly, and she laughed.

“Don't be such a gentleman about it,” she teased. “You just wait. I won't be the only one working up a sweat before long, and I won't show you any mercy!”

“I haven't noticed you showing any, anyway,” he grumbled.

“Now, I've been very good to you. I've kept you entertained all morning; I made certain you had a good breakfast—”

“Don't push your luck,” he advised, giving her a black look, which she rewarded with a smile. It was important that he learn to joke and laugh with her, to ease the stress of the coming months. She had to become the best friend he had in the world, knowing as she did so that it was a friendship that was doomed from the outset, because it was based on dependence and need. When he no longer needed her, when his life had regained its normal pace, she would leave and be promptly forgotten. She knew that, and she had to keep a part of herself aloof, though the remainder of her emotions and mental effort would be concentrated entirely on him.

While she was helping him to dress, a process that
didn't anger him as it had that morning, he said thoughtfully, “You'll be spending most of your time dressing and undressing me, it seems. If this is the routine you're going to be following it'll save a lot of time if I just wear a pair of gym shorts; I can put on a robe before we eat, and Alberta can bring trays up here.”

Dione successfully hid her delight, merely saying, “That's your second good idea of the day.” Secretly she was elated. From a practical standpoint he was right: It would save a lot of time and effort; however, it would also exclude Serena from most of their meals. That would be a big help.

If wasn't that she disliked Serena; if she had met her under different circumstances, Dione felt that she would have liked Serena very much. But Blake was her concern now, and she didn't want anyone or anything interfering with her work. While she was working on a case she concentrated on her patient to the extent that everyone else faded into the background, became gray cardboard figures rather than three-dimensional human beings. It was one of the things that made her so successful in her field. Already, after only one morning, Blake so filled her thoughts, and she was so much in tune with him, that she felt she knew him inside and out. She could practically read his mind, know what he was going to say before he said it. She ached for him, sympathized with him, but most of all she was happy for him, because she could look at his helplessness now and know that in a few months he would be strong and fit again. Already he was looking better, she thought proudly. It was probably due more to his anger than her efforts, but his color was much improved. He could stay angry with her for the entire time if it would keep him active and involved.

She was feeling satisfied with the morning's work as she walked beside him into the dining room, but that feeling was shattered when Serena plunged toward Blake, her lovely face bathed in tears. “Blake,” she said brokenly.

Instantly he was alert, concerned, as he reached for her hand. “What is it?” he asked, a note of tenderness creeping into his voice, a particular tone that was absent when he talked to everyone else. Only Serena inspired that voice of love.

“The patio!” she wailed. “Mother's bench…it's ruined! They've turned the pool into a madhouse! It looks awful!”

“What?” he asked, his brows snapping together. “What're you talking about?”

Serena pointed a shaking finger at Dione. “
Her
gym! They've torn up the entire patio!”

“I don't think it's that bad,” Dione said reasonably. “It may be disorganized now, but nothing should be torn up. Richard's overseeing the installation of the equipment, and I'm sure he wouldn't let anything be damaged.”

“Come see for yourself!”

Dione checked her watch. “I think we should have lunch first. The patio isn't going anywhere, but the food will be cold.”

“Stalling?” Blake inquired coldly. “I told you, Miss Kelley, that I don't want this house changed.”

“I can neither deny nor confirm what changes have been made, because I haven't been outside. I've been with you all morning. However, I trust Richard's good sense, even if you don't,” she said pointedly, and Serena flushed furiously.

“It isn't that I don't trust my husband,” she began heatedly, but Blake cut her off with a lifted hand.

“Not now,” he said shortly. “I want to see the patio.”

Serena fell into immediate silence, though she looked sulky. Evidently Blake was still very much the big brother, despite his obvious ill health. His voice carried the unmistakable ring of command. Blake Remington was accustomed to giving orders and having them carried out immediately; his morning with Dione must have gone completely against the grain.

It was the first time Dione had been on the patio, and she found it beautifully landscaped, cool and fragrant, despite the brutal Arizona sun. Yucca plants and different varieties of cactus grew in perfect harmony with plants normally found in a much more congenial climate. Careful watering explained the unusual variety of plants, that and the well-planned use of shade. White flagstones had been laid out to form a path, while a central fountain spewed its musical water upward in a perfect spray. At the back of the patio, where a tall gate opened onto the pool area, was a beautifully carved bench in a delicate pearl-gray color. Dione had no idea what type of wood it was, though it was gorgeous.

The patio
was
disorganized; evidently the workers Richard had hired had used the patio to store the pool furniture that was in the way, and also the materials that they didn't need at the moment. However, she saw that they had been careful not to disturb any of the plants; everything was placed carefully on the flagstones. But Serena ran to the lovely bench and pointed out a long gouge on its side. “See!” she cried.

Blake's eyes flashed. “Yes, I see. Well, Miss Kelley, it looks as if your workers have damaged a bench that
I consider priceless. My father gave it to my mother when they moved into this house; she sat here every evening, and it's here that I see her in my mind. I want this whole thing called off before something else is ruined, and I want you out of my house.”

Dione was distressed that the bench had been damaged, and she opened her mouth to apologize; then she saw the flash of triumph in Serena's eyes and she paused. To give herself time to think, she walked to the bench and bent down to examine the scarred wood. Thoughtfully she ran a finger over the gouge; a quick glance at Serena caught a hint of apprehension in those amazingly expressive eyes. What was Serena worried about? Looking back at the bench, the answer became readily apparent: The bench was undoubtedly damaged, but the gouge was old enough to have weathered. It certainly hadn't been done that morning.

She could have accused Serena of deliberately trying to cause trouble, but she didn't. Serena was fighting for the brother she loved, and though her battle was useless, Dione couldn't condemn her for it. She would just have to separate Serena from Blake so her work could continue without a constant stream of interruptions. Richard would have to bring that laser brain of his into use and keep his wife occupied.

“I can understand why you're both upset,” she said mildly, “but this gouge wasn't done tonight. See?” she asked, pointing at the wood. “It isn't a fresh scar. I'd guess that this has been here for several weeks.”

Blake moved his wheelchair closer and leaned down to inspect the bench for himself. He straightened slowly. “You're right,” he sighed. “In fact, I'm afraid I'm the culprit.”

Serena gasped. “What do you mean?”

“A few weeks ago I was out here and I bumped the wheelchair into the bench. You'll notice that the gouge is the same height as the hub of my wheel.” He rubbed his eyes with a thin hand that trembled with strain. “God, I'm sorry, Serena.”

“Don't blame yourself!” she cried, rushing to his side and clutching his hand. “It doesn't matter; please don't be upset. Come inside and let's have lunch. I know you must be tired. It can't do any good for you to tire yourself out like this. You need to rest.”