Love's Miracles (6 page)

Margo
hung up the phone, wondering if there was more Vinnie hadn’t told her. Perhaps
it was just as well he would be on the scene. She might gain a whole new set of
insights into Zane by seeing the two men together.

Margo
picked up the receiver and dialed again. Her smile broadened as she heard her
mother’s voice.

“Yes,
maman
. My room is wonderful.” Margo glanced across the antique mahogany
bed to the chintz curtains fluttering at the bay window. “You’d love it, in
fact. It’s one of those bed and breakfast inns converted from an old Victorian
house.”

She
carried the phone across the room and sank onto the window seat. Outside, gulls
circled overhead. Waves crashed on the rugged coastline below.

After
a few more minutes of chitchat, Margo got down to the real reason for her call.
“There’s more to the case than Vinnie Zanelli told me.” She twisted her finger
around a curl of hair, still wet from her bath. “He lied to me about his
brother wanting help.”

Margo
straightened the ivory silk of her robe as she listened to her mother’s
questions.

“I
don’t think he’s dangerous, but he needs help. I can sense it.”

Margo
stood and began pacing the room as she explained. It often helped to look at a
case objectively when she discussed it with her mother. Bettina served as an
excellent sounding board for her troubled cases. Margo did the same for her.
They indulged in that breach of ethics because they knew their brainstorming
sessions about clients were confidential.

“The
townspeople report behavior that could be P.T.S.D., yet he appeared in control
when I saw him. Reserved and hidden.”

“He
didn’t get nasty with you?”

“Just
angry that I was stepping in on his privacy. But that’s normal. Apparently he
didn’t
ask
for help. Vinnie assumed he wanted it.”

“Could
be that he did ask,” Bettina reasoned. “Maybe he changed his mind when it came
right down to it.”

“I
don’t think so.” Margo absently brushed aside the curtain and watched a couple
stroll along the edge of the cliffs. “He seemed too adamant about not needing a
therapist.”

“Are
you coming home then?”

“Vinnie’s
flying into Fort Bragg tomorrow morning. I’m picking him up and we’re going
back out there.”

“You
think Zane will change his mind if his brother is along?”

“I
hope so.” Margo cast one last glance at the couple and then dropped the
curtain. “I want to work this case.”

“It’s
probably smart to give it another try,” Bettina agreed. “But you be careful.
Remember, you can’t help everyone.”

“I’ll
be careful,” she promised.

“I’ll
be home tomorrow night. Call me.”

Margo
hung up the phone. Concern about her new patient made her restless and
unsettled. She was confident she could help Zane, but would he let her? Not
wanting to admit to having a weakness made people hide inside themselves
instead of seeking help. Her father had done that. She slammed her fists on the
sill. Yes. She’d make Zane accept.

Her
father had needed help and refused to seek it. She and her mother had been
forced to watch him give up on life. Neither woman would allow it to happen
again.

The
phone rang and interrupted her troubled thoughts. It was Fred calling to see if
she’d made it to Fort Bragg. By the time she finished listening to him bemoan
the government red tape at the center, followed by a lively debate about the
latest political move of the Save the Whales Foundation, she felt better. Her
thoughts were back on a positive track.

She
put on a pair of slacks and tossed a multicolored poncho over her head. Outside
the sun was beginning to set. She could see the streaks of color across the
western sky. A walk on the cliffs overlooking the ocean would clear her
thoughts. She’d need to be sharp and alert when she went back to deal with
Zane.

***

Another
chip of wood flew across the small room as Zane pounded the mallet against the
chisel. Even though he’d worked since he woke up at three this morning, his
blows were steady and sure. The carving towered over his hunkered body as he
knelt on the floor.

It
was nearly finished, but that didn’t matter to Zane. He didn’t look once at the
life-size figures; it was enough to systematically chip at the unfinished base.

He
hadn’t worked on this carving in weeks. He hadn’t needed to. But again, last
night, he’d awakened from nightmares. Unable to sleep and not particularly
wanting to, he’d dressed and retreated to the small shed that he kept locked.
After brushing away cobwebs, he’d picked up the mallet and chisel and worked
through the dawn.

It
was the same dream he’d had for a year or so after the war. What he never could
understand was why the man with the rifle changed from a Vietcong soldier to
Al. Sweat beaded on his brow even now as he thought of it.
Why?
He
didn’t want to remember. The past was buried.

“Ghosts
never die,” he muttered as he pounded the mallet again.

Dr.
Margo Devaull came to mind, but he had to admit that he couldn’t blame her for
the dreams. The first one had happened before her arrival. Maybe he’d had a
premonition, a sixth sense. No. He shrugged the thought off.

But
he couldn’t shrug off the thoughts of her. And he knew why.

His
brother only mentioned a psychologist once in a passing conversation. Zane
hadn’t been paying much attention, but he did remember absently agreeing. He
should have known his brother would act fast.

But
why a woman? He wasn’t going to tell
her
anything. Didn’t Vinnie realize
it had been months since he’d been around the opposite sex? Sometimes Vinnie
didn’t have a brain in his head.

She
had been on the premises only a short time, but he remembered every detail
about her. Soothing voice. Sleek lines. Even the perfume she wore, light like
wildflowers. He clutched the chisel.

His
nostrils flared at the memory. How many months had it been since he’d been this
close to a woman? There’d been plenty of women in his life, but he couldn’t
remember them too clearly now. Even his ex-wife seemed a blur. Had they meant
that little to him?

He
tried again, but only one face formed. Rita.
Why her?
It had been years
since he’d been engaged to Rita, but he could picture her as clearly as if
they’d just been together. He could even remember her perfume. It was heavy,
sultry. Nothing but the best for Rita Santini. Wasn’t that why he couldn’t
marry her? She’d hate him if she knew what he’d done in the steaming jungles
of…

Forget
Rita.
He slammed the mallet against the chisel. The sharp sound cut through his
memories. In a rush of temper he threw the tools across the room and stood.
Sweat trickled down his back while he clenched his fists against the unwanted
trembling. No good. The shakes moved up his arms and across his shoulders as
memories tortured him.

“Why
did you join the Marines?” Rita wailed, her dark eyes flashing in frustrated
anger. “You’re going to Stanford. We’re going to be married.” She cast a
pleading glance to her brother. “Tell him, Al. Tell him he’s crazy.”

Al
shifted uneasily and glanced over at Zane. “I talked him into joining with me.
We’re going together.”

Rita
threw up her hands. “I don’t believe this. You’re both crazy.”

“Come
on, honey.” Zane grabbed her waist and swung her into his arms. “Our country
needs us. Besides, it’s where all the action is. A chance to fight for freedom
and democracy. We’ll be heroes – just for you.”

She
started to protest, but before she could Zane covered her lips with a kiss. He
could feel the tension in her body ease as she responded. He’d convince Rita.

“Hey,
you two,” Al interrupted. “You promised pizza.”

“Later,”
he whispered in her ear before he let her go.

Zane
swore as he left the confining shed. His angry strides carried him through the
tall grass of his yard. After he stomped up the steps of his back porch, he
reached for the ax leaning against the wall.

Below
the porch was a pile of cut logs. He headed for it. Straightening a large piece
one end, he began to swing the heavy blade. Six logs split before he could
unclench his fists from the handle of the ax.

He
straightened upright, flexed his fingers, and stared at the noonday sky.
“Control,” he muttered. “Get control.”

A
few deep breaths soothed his nerves. How long had he been up here anyway?
Months. Then why could he remember so clearly what it was like to have a woman?

He
didn’t want to be reminded. He liked his life just the way it was. No
pressures. No questions about his past and no reminders of it either. Quickly
he stacked the wood. Anything to stop his thoughts of the past. Or of this
female shrink. He didn’t want help. He didn’t want a woman. He didn’t want
anyone.

Just
as he finished the last log, he heard the distinct rumble of an engine. It
sounded like the Bronco.

Several
choice epithets filled the mountain stillness as he put the ax back against the
wall and strode out to the front. Determination showed in each measured step.
He’d get rid of her. During the early dawn hours, he had promised himself that
no psychologist was going to poke around in his head.

The
white Bronco weaved its way through the last few redwoods and cornered onto the
track in the meadow. Zane frowned when he spotted two heads framed in the
tinted windshield. Who was with her? Did she think she needed protection? The
way his temper was rising, she could be right.

The
Bronco pulled up in front of the cabin. However, the surprise Zane felt when
his brother stepped from behind the wheel didn’t compare to the physical jolt
when he saw her again.

With
her long legs, she stepped easily out of the high-clearance vehicle. He noticed
she liked bright colors. She had on white cotton pants and a baggy blouse
splashed with pink and turquoise. Did she think the oversize outfit would hide
her figure? No chance.

She
smiled and moved around the Bronco with ease. “I had no idea it could be so hot
in these mountains. I always picture the redwoods as cool and wet.”

He
watched her come closer and tried to ignore the heat in his blood. At least he
could ignore her intellectually if not physically. He switched his gaze to his
brother, taking note of the wary expression on his face. Vinnie took measured
steps toward the cabin. He was shorter and stockier than Zane, but his coloring
was the same – dark hair and blue eyes. He looked casual in jeans and a polo
shirt, but nothing about his walk was relaxed.

“What
happened in Portland?”

“One
of the boats ran into some engine problems. We had to decide whether to scrap
it or replace the motor.”

Zane
didn’t care about the boat. He guessed Vinnie knew that, but his brother
continued the idle discussion, probably to buy some time. Out of the corner of
his eye he watched the woman approach as she came up beside Vinnie. They
stopped at the foot of the steps. Zane schooled his features into a blank
expression.

“I
got the supplies. You didn’t have to come.” His voice was gruff, annoyed. And
at some level he realized it was more because Vinnie was here than because of
Margo. Did he subconsciously want to talk to her?
Forget it.

“Since
you have fresh supplies, then you have enough food to invite us for lunch.”
Vinnie patted his stomach. “I’m starving.”

“I
don’t need her.”

His
staccato tone halted Vinnie’s progress up the steps. He cast Zane an assessing
glance. “She’s the best there is.”

“Really
good are you?” he asked sarcastically, insolently quirking his brow.

Vinnie
cut in. “You said…”

Zane
interrupted. “I said maybe, and I said it to shut you up.” What was it with
Vinnie? Did he honestly think he’d gone off the deep end? Maybe he had. But he
wasn’t going to discuss it with Vinnie or this woman. His business was just
that.
His business.

Margo
mounted the steps ahead of Vinnie. “Don’t make any hasty decisions. Neither one
of you.” Her voice commanded their attention.

Zane
refused to look at her, although he had to admire her control. She probably
dealt with difficult people every day. A twinge of conscience surfaced, but he
tamped it down. She was tough. He had a feeling his comments didn’t faze her.

“Let’s
just have lunch. Afterward Zane and I will have a talk. Just the two of us. And
then we’ll leave.”

Vinnie
started to protest, but she spoke before he could. “No sessions. No probing
questions. We’ll just have a
pleasant
conversation. No strings
attached.”

Zane
didn’t look at her now. Did she think he was dense? She didn’t drive all this
way for idle talk, nor had Vinnie. Abruptly he stepped in front of her. He was
going to call the shots. “I’m not sick. Not psycho. Not angry – yet. So you
stay and eat and then you’re history. Agreed?”