Love's Miracles (31 page)

“Why
is it there’s not a man in your life?” he asked. “You’re lovely.”

How
could such a simple question send electric currents charging through her?

“I
explained before. You know,” she said with a shrug, breaking the probing stare
by lowering her head.

“No,
I don’t know much about you at all.” Strands of hair had fallen forward, hiding
her face. He tucked them behind her ear, and with one finger turned her chin
toward him so he could look into her eyes again. “Tell me about you. Why is a
beautiful woman like you alone? Are you hiding from relationships?”

“It
isn’t so much hiding. I want a relationship. But my job is important to me.
I’ve never found anyone who could accept that.”

“What
about this Fred Barlow? You’ve mentioned him several times. I had the feeling
you were close.”

His
tone gave him away. Zane was extremely interested in her reply. “Fred’s a
friend. A former colleague. But that’s all.”

It
was hardly a flicker, but relief showed in his eyes. He didn’t need to be
worried. No one had come close to affecting her like Zane had – not even Paul.

“I
was engaged once,” she went on to explain. “A couple of years after I’d started
my practice. But Paul didn’t like the time I spent at the center. He wanted me
available for all the major social events. He wanted me home.”

“Don’t
tell me you’re an active feminist against the traditional housewife role?” Zane
shifted, tucking his foot beneath him so he could face her.

“On
the contrary. I think the role is extremely important. Especially where
children are concerned. But you understand why I’m committed to my work.”

“Because
of your father?”

“Exactly.”

“But
don’t you want to be a wife someday? Have children?”

The
question tugged at familiar chords of discontent. Zane must have sensed its
strength because he reached out and covered her hand. The gentle squeeze of his
fingers chased away some of the lonely ache.

“Yes,
I want those things.” She let him see her longing. “I want them very much. But
I also want my work. I haven’t found a way yet to have both.”

Zane’s
expression turned thoughtful.

“What
about you, Zane? Do you want those things? A wife? Children?”

“I
used to.”

It
was his turn for the loneliness to run through him. She saw it chase across his
features. She squeezed his fingers in assurance, but he pulled his hand away
and distanced himself, physically and emotionally. A frown furrowed his brow.

“I
tried that route. The married bit anyway. It didn’t work out. Thank God we
didn’t have children.”

“Do
you want to tell me about it?”

“I
guess we both thought we were in love at first. But the problem with both of us
was, neither one of us had anything to give to the other.”

Zane
rested his elbows on his bent knees and braced his chin on top of his stacked
fists. He didn’t sound pained by the breakup of his marriage. Possibly he felt
regret.

“We
figured out early on how shallow our relationship was and dissolved it. No
messy divorce. Quick and clean.”

“Have
you ever been really in love?” Margo asked.

“Once.
Her name was Rita Santini. Beautiful. Intelligent and active.” His expression
turned bitter.

“What
happened?”

He
didn’t answer and she glanced over in time to catch pain crossing his features.
He saw her looking and shuttered his expression. “She married someone else.”

“Do
you still love her?”

“Yes.
But not in that way. I remember her with fondness. But she’s better off without
me.”

“You’re
such lousy husband material?” she teased, her mood lightening a little with his
confession.

“Definitely,”
he confirmed.

He
sounded so certain it made Margo wonder. “When were you together?”

“When
I was at Stanford. She was Al’s sister. I met her through him.”

A
strange quality entered his voice. Margo persisted. “How did you break up?”

“I
went to war.” His voice sounded distant now, as if he were trapped in memories.

“Did
she send a Dear John letter?”

It
was a common problem faced by many of her veteran patients. Oftentimes the
breakup was for the best. Soldiers clung to the idea of someone being at home
and that often made them believe they had stronger feelings for a person than
they normally would have. The girls at home often saw reality sooner and found
other relationships, but for a soldier, fighting for his life, the break from
home ties was often a severe blow.

“She
didn’t need to send a letter. I sent one to her.” His response surprised her.

“Why
did you send a letter?”

“I
thought you’d resigned from the shrink bit?”

Zane
fell silent and Margo’s mind went into overdrive. He was right. She’d slipped
into her psychologist mode. But pointing it out wasn’t a reminder – it was a
defense mechanism to change the subject. Somehow this relationship related to
his inner turmoil.

The
chatter of squirrels and the scurry of chipmunks brought her attention back to
the grove. A bright blue Steller’s jay squawked when another bird flew into his
territory. Again she was amazed at how tame the creatures were.

There
had to be love inside of Zane. The animals would not be there if there wasn’t.
Neither would she. She’d be home in Berkeley, curled up enjoying a book or
shopping with one of her friends. But she was in the redwoods with the
wildlife, with Zane.

Suddenly
a growl broke the shared intimacy. A raccoon climbed onto the platform and
snarled at the squirrels and chipmunks. They scattered, leaving the grove
silent and still. An occasional grunt from the raccoon was the only sound heard
in the shaded forest.

Margo
turned to Zane. A warm tenderness for this man welled within her. He’d been
through so much suffering. She wanted to reach out and smooth away all of his
hurt, all of his pain.

“Maybe
someday we’ll both have our desires,” she told him.

“I
know one desire I’d like now,” he whispered.

His
gaze heated her heart. Passion rose again and for a forbidden moment, she let
him see the fire in her eyes as she held out her hand to his.

He
lifted her hand and placed it on his cheek, then turned to kiss the palm. “We’d
better go,” he said.

Reluctantly
she let him pull her upright and then she followed him as he wound through the
ferns covering the forest floor. Most of her attention was not on the trail but
on Zane. She would never tire of watching him walk. He moved silently with
smooth control and power. She smiled to herself, remembering the exact nature
of that power in one simple touch.

Suddenly,
he stopped and raised his hand, cautioning her to silence. Motionless, he
stood, his head tilted as he listened to the sounds of the forest. She didn’t
hear anything, but she grew apprehensive when she saw the transformation in
Zane. The veneer of civilization disappeared as he became a man of the woods, a
hunter.

Stealthily
he moved toward a giant redwood, pulling her behind him by her hand. Without
making a sound, he tucked her against the rough bark and motioned for her not
to move.

No
sound could be heard, but Zane had tensed, every muscle alert and ready for
action. Something was out there. What could Zane hear that she couldn’t? Her
heart pounded as she watched him slowly bend down, grab a big stick, and hold
it like a club.

“What
is it?” she whispered.

“Shh,
shh” he warned.

Then
she heard it: underbrush snapping, dead branches crackling. Images of bears and
mountain lions came to mind, making it difficult to breathe, but it wasn’t a
wild animal. A man’s voice filtered through the trees.

“He’s
got to be around here somewhere.” A metal click echoed. It sounded like the
bolt of a gun sliding into place.

She
looked at Zane. The cold hardness in his eyes distressed her more than the
danger from the unknown man. Images of war and jungle survival focused as she
watched Zane prepare for attack. His body had suddenly become a lethal weapon.
Whoever came upon them now wouldn’t have much of a chance. The man neared, and
Margo stepped out from behind Zane and stood beside him.

The
other man spoke. “Put the gun away, Sheriff. Zane isn’t going to hurt anyone.”

The
voice was Vinnie’s. Margo stepped away from Zane to find herself staring down
the barrel of a rifle.

“Margo!”
Vinnie shouted. “It’s all right, Sheriff. She’s here. I told you we’d find
her.”

Margo
ignored Vinnie, her full attention focused on the uniformed man who was now
aiming the rifle at Zane, who in turn gripped his club with white-knuckled
fingers. No emotion showed on either man’s face, only an icy mask of primal
wariness. Quickly, she stepped in front of the gun. Zane growled. She swung
around to face him, willing him with her eyes to stay in control.

“Vinnie’s
right, Sheriff. There’s no need for that rifle.” She lowered her voice and
spoke to Zane. “Put the stick down, Zane.”

Behind
her the safety catch on the rifle clicked into place. Zane dropped the club,
but his body remained tense and alert. She could see the muscles in his arms
twitch with the struggle to remain still.

When
she was sure Zane wouldn’t blow, she turned to the sheriff and Vinnie. “What’s
this all about? Why the rifle and the Rambo tactics?”

The
sheriff lowered his gaze, and she suspected he felt slightly sheepish about his
theatrics.

Vinnie
came to his defense. “Some doctor in Palo Alto called.”

Fred.
She should’ve
known he would keep track of her.

“We
checked with Nan at the inn, and when she said you hadn’t returned, Zanelli
drove up here.”

Vinnie
rubbed his hands together, clearly upset with the situation. Zane didn’t say
anything to ease his brother’s tension.

The
sheriff spoke up. “Your brother said there might be some problems.”

“As
you can see, everything is fine.” Margo’s temper was slowly rising. A big part
of the problem her patients had was the public’s over-reaction to their past.
They assumed once a man had gone to war and become a killer, he’d always be
one. The sheriff and Vinnie had just presented a prime example. “There was no
need for this,” she gestured towards the gun.

“When
you’re this far out in the woods, you don’t take any chances with potential
danger.”

“Don’t
get upset,” Zane surprised her. “The sheriff’s right. He had no way of knowing
what was going on out here.”

She
swung her gaze to Zane. The anger was gone from his expression. Understanding,
along with a tired acceptance, replaced the dangerous look.

“Come
on back to the cabin.” Zane started along the trail, not waiting to see if the
rest would accept his command.

Margo
fell in step behind the sheriff. Before she did, she exchanged glances with
Vinnie. She was furious with him and certainly planned to let him know. But not
now. She didn’t want to involve the sheriff.

She
could see the back of Zane’s head as he led the procession through the trees.
With all things considered, Zane had shown remarkable control. The sheriff was
a relative stranger and had put Zane in a life-threatening position. That could
easily have triggered a P.T.S.D. reaction.
It hadn’t.

Confidence
began to boost her steps. While the episode didn’t fall under the norm for
counseling techniques, it had accomplished a miracle. Zane had just proven he
could face the world. She wondered if he realized that.

Back
at the cabin Margo went inside to get her belongings while the men remained on
the deck. She could hear the sheriff asking the standard questions necessary to
fill out his report. His bored tone made her think he was disappointed that
nothing exciting had occurred. She sighed. Wasn’t there enough action in the
county without him having to grab a gun and come looking for trouble?

Her
bag was stuffed since she’d just tossed the cut-offs and T-shirt in it. Thirsty
from the walk, she went to the kitchen to get a drink of water. Behind her, she
heard movement and, expecting it to be Zane, eagerly turned around. It was
Vinnie.

“What’s
going on around here? You sent me a letter that stated you weren’t treating my
brother.”

Margo’s
defenses rose at the accusing tone but she remained calm. “I came to tell him I
was off the case.”

“You
needed to do that in person?” Vinnie’s voice rose as he strode to the island
where Margo had tossed her bag. He batted at the pink T-shirt tail trailing out
of the unzipped opening. “What else did you come here for? To offer him other
services?”

Margo
worked to control the urge to slap Vinnie. Before she could think of a
reasonable response, Zane stepped beside Vinnie and spoke, his voice deadly
quiet. “Apologize for that remark, little brother.”