Love's Miracles (32 page)

No
emotion showed in Zane’s eyes, which made his temper all the more lethal. Margo
stepped forward, ready to protest the dissension, but Vinnie started to shout.

“Apologize
for what? Calling it like it is?”

“You’re
out of line.”

“Look,”
Margo tried again, remembering the last time the two had words. “There’s no
need to get…”

Vinnie
glared at Zane and interrupted. “You going to try and tell me she didn’t spend
the night?”

Zane’s
neck muscles corded as he clenched his jaw. Margo saw the sheriff step inside
and size up the situation. She wondered if he’d stop the men if they started to
fight. She had to do something and quick.

“I
spent the night because I had an accident and couldn’t make it home.”

“Convenient
of you.” Vinnie took a step away from Zane and squared off, ready to attack.

“Nothing
happened,” Margo tried again. “Look at the couch. Zane slept down here. You can
see the bedding.”

At
least the sheriff looked at the evidence. Vinnie never took his glare off of
Zane, but he spoke to her.

“I
can report you to the American Psychological Association and the state
licensing board. Wouldn’t they love to hear about a breach in Principle 6A,
regarding dual relationships?”

Margo
went cold. He’d done his homework. Principle 6A had recently passed into state
law.
No therapist shall have sexual relations with a patient for two years
or until married.

Vinnie
went on. “And if they don’t take action,
I’ll sue
.”

A
low sound from Zane warned Margo. Quickly she stepped between the two men and
faced Vinnie.

“While
we’re on the subject of legalities, Vincento Zanelli, we can discuss breach of
contract and misrepresentation.”

“What
are you talking about?” Vinnie yelled.

The
sheriff had closed in on the scene and stood ready.

Margo
focused on Vinnie. “I’m referring to the fact that you sent me here under false
pretenses. You told me Zane had agreed to treatment when, in fact, you’d never
mentioned that I – or any other psychologist, for that matter – was coming.”

“That’s
right, Vinnie.” Zane’s voice was still too low. Too controlled.

Margo
backed towards him, sensing his patience had reached its zenith. “It’s
pointless to argue. I don’t want any more problems. I’ll leave and that will be
the end of it.”

Vinnie
started to protest but Zane stepped forward. His glare cut into Vinnie, and
even Margo flinched from its intensity. The sheriff was ready as he stood
between them.

“I
think the little lady’s right,” the sheriff finally intervened. “We ought to
all settle down now.”

He
didn’t sound sincere and Margo wondered if perhaps he wanted to see a fight.
Disgusted, she tried again.

“I
think…”

Zane
interrupted, his voice like ice. “Get out, Vinnie. The sheriff has his report.
He can take you back to Fort Bragg.”

Vinnie
slammed his fist on the countertop tile. “Right. I’ll leave you two alone so
you can finish what you started. Excuse us for even being concerned.”

“I
know you came out here for me.” Margo relinquished her anger, realizing part of
Vinnie’s temper was caused by his worry.

Vinnie
didn’t respond but cast her a look filled with disgust before he edged past the
sheriff and Zane and left the room.

After
a tense pause, the sheriff finally spoke. “Do you want us to escort you back to
Fort Bragg, or are you staying here?”

Before
she could answer, Zane spoke for her. “She’ll go with you. Can you give us a
minute? We have to clear up a couple of things first.”

The
sheriff nodded but obviously wanted to stay. Margo could bet his curiosity had
the better of him. But some matters were private.

As
soon as he disappeared out the door, Zane grasped her shoulders and turned her towards
him. “Are you going to be all right?”

His
eyes had softened and his voice smoothed. The gentle hold captured her more
firmly than a manacle of steel. “I’m fine. What about you?”

He
nodded. Emotions chased across his features. Regret. Longing. Caring. She
wanted to explore the depths of them, but not as a therapist. As a friend.

“About
what Vinnie said… Can he hurt you?”

Again
the concern. Moments ago he’d been wound tight with tense anger. Now he was
melting her heart. She had to offer him more than added anxieties.

“The
American Psychological Association can’t file legal charges, so if he complains
they can’t do anything to me.”

“You
didn’t commit any breach of ethics.” A hint of humor surfaced. “I can testify
to that.”

She
smiled, but her heart wasn’t in it. The APA could in fact ban her from the
association. That action would lead to investigation by the state licensing
board. Over thirty percent of the nation’s legal cases tried last year
involving dual relationships between doctor and patient had occurred in
California. The state board was sensitive about the unusually high statistic
and was cracking down on the mere hint of abuse.

“I’ll
be all right,” she assured Zane and hoped it was true.

He
traced her collarbone with his thumbs. “Don’t worry about Vinnie. I’ll make
sure he doesn’t do anything to hurt you.”

His
touch created a torture she couldn’t bear, yet couldn’t step away from. She
openly stared, trying to assign all of him to memory – his features, his
expressions, the tenderness and the longing in his eyes.

“Will
you keep in touch?”

He
nodded.

“And
think about therapy.”

He
nodded again but this time rested his head on her forehead. Margo shut her eyes
and tried not to notice the male scent, the glistening skin, the intake of each
breath. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and hold him close within a
circle of protective love.

A
horn honked outside.

Zane
took a deep breath and stared as if he too were committing all of her to
memory. “I’ll write,” he promised.

Margo
tore herself away, grabbed her bag, and left him standing alone. The sight
haunted her as she drove the twisted track back to the coast. Would he be all
right? Would he leave the forest and seek the help he needed, or would he
retreat until he was so isolated in his world that she’d never see him again?

Fortunately
the road was taxing and demanded most of her attention, so the pain of
departure was kept at bay. When she finally arrived in Fort Brag, she managed
to get through the last bit of red tape with the sheriff and Vinnie. She
suffered the apologies from Nan, checked out of the inn, and phoned her
secretary, leaving instructions to contact Fred.

After
all the necessary matters were dispensed with, she turned and parked the rented
Jeep in a pull-out, leaned her head into her arms that were draped across the
steering wheel, and sobbed.

These
last forty-eight hours had been more stressful than the past few months
combined. The actual events should have been easy for her to handle, but they
weren’t; her heart was involved.

“Zane,”
she cried. “How can I leave you now?”

Images
paraded across her mind – miles of soldiers lining up for her help, each
looking exactly like Zane. Yet when a soldier would get to her and reach out
with his hand, his features would change to those of her father. She’d look and
see him holding a gun.

“No!
No,” she cried. She couldn’t leave Zane alone. Yet she couldn’t treat him
either. There were no solutions, no answers – but one. She had to drive on to
Berkeley and leave Zane behind.

After
swiping at the tear tracks down her face, Margo put the Jeep in gear, started
the engine, and turned onto the highway heading south. It was time for Zane to
heal. She had to let him go.

Margo
stood at her office window and watched the raindrops drizzle down the panes of
glass. She couldn’t see San Francisco or the Bay through the mist. It didn’t
matter. She knew what was out there. It seemed that lately she’d spent many
long moments standing in this spot staring into the distance – thinking of
Zane.

She
hadn’t heard from him since that last weekend at his place. She hadn’t heard
from Vinnie either, so she supposed Zane had kept his promise and convinced his
brother to forget legal action. That was a minor relief.

The
major worries still plagued her. Never in her life had she turned her back on a
case. Guilt was constantly at battle with her common sense. Vinnie’s threats
reinforced her reason to drop out, but her heart wasn’t satisfied. She worried
too much about what was happening to Zane.

She
didn’t know how many times she was tempted to call Zanelli, Incorporated, and
ask. The thought had even crossed her mind to go to lunch at Fisherman’s Wharf
where she could possibly encounter Gloria Zanelli. But Margo had too much
control for those tactics. It would be best to forget him altogether.

The
door opened, sending a slight breeze to ruffle the papers on her desk. Margo
turned to see Bettina eyeing her, a worried frown creasing her brow.

“Are
you brooding again?” Bettina whisked into the room, her maternal role replacing
the professional one.

“Just
resting a few moments before I go see Father Michael.”

Bettina
paused beside Margo, her perfume drifting along with her. Its scent brought
back childhood memories of burying her face against her mother’s warmth. She
was too mature for the comfort now…or was she?

“Are
you still having the nightmares?”

Even
though Bettina’s words were softly spoken, the impact of the question hit hard.
Margo moved from the window and began to pace.

“They’re
going away,” she lied. “My sessions with Father Michael are helping.”

She
had gone to her church for counseling, hoping that the priest, a higher
authority than her peers, would help. Whenever she had sessions, she did feel
better, but she still hadn’t resolved the bitter truth that she had been forced
to give up on the treatment of a patient because of personal interest.

In
her nightmares, Zane’s face interchanged with her father’s. Two failures were
too much to handle. She had to forgive herself for not being able to help the
two men, and forgive them for not letting her.

Bettina
stepped in front of Margo and forced her to stop her pacing. “Let it go, child.
You’ve got to do that before you can look at life head-on.”

“I’m
trying,
maman
.”

“I
know.” Bettina smiled. “Are we still on for the opera tonight?”

“You
bet. There’s nothing to keep me from a performance of
Madame Butterfly
.”

Zane’s
rich baritone carrying across a daisy-covered meadow came to mind. Margo
sighed. Would she ever forget?

Bettina
helped Margo on with her raincoat. Margo positioned the red cloche on her head
as they walked out the door.

“Drive
carefully. The streets are slick with all this rain.”

“Don’t
worry.” Margo shut the door behind her. “I’ll pick you up at six tonight.”

As
she headed past her receptionist and into the elevator she heard the phone
ring.

“Dr.
Margo Devaull has just left her office. Can I take a message…?”

The
elevator door slid shut, blocking out the receptionist’s voice. Margo forced
back the twinge of guilt. Normally she would have taken the call, but not
today. She wanted to get out of here – and drive up the forested coast to Zane.

***

Zane
chipped away at the statue. Light filtered from the skylight, but it was
waning. He’d have to give up for tonight or at least stop until he’d turned on
the generator. But working on the huge chunk of wood helped him forget Margo
Devaull. He thought about the phone call he’d made earlier in the day. It had
taken him the whole morning to convince himself it wouldn’t be a mistake to
call. When he finally had, she’d just left the office.

He
wanted to see her – not as a doctor but as a friend. That wasn’t true, he
chided himself; he wanted to see her as more than a friend.

He
rubbed his palms along his thighs, hoping his jeans would absorb the sweat. He
had no right getting involved with her, but he knew it was too late for that.
She’d come into his retreat and dug at his walls until he’d been forced to take
notice. Now he couldn’t get her out of his mind.

So
why don’t you accept what she has to offer?
The question tormented him. He
looked at the statue and the answer was obvious. He picked up his tools and
continued working.

He
loved her. He’d vowed never to love anyone again, and he’d been right to make
that vow. The concern and caring he’d seen in her eyes tore at his heart. He
could imagine what would be there if she knew the truth about him. Angrily, he
swung the mallet, sending a chip flying across the room.