Raphaela's Gift (19 page)

Faith had done this for him--opened his eyes, and not only did he feel gratitude and respect for her, but something much, much more.

He turned the truck onto the driveway, looking forward to his next session with Raphaela. He couldn't wait to get started.

After parking the car, he slid from the driver's seat and opened the door for Faith. Then, he retrieved her supplies and set them down at his feet. He reached for her, wanting to hold her, to feel her body pressed against his for only a moment, but she smiled shyly and shook her head.

"Thank you for the lunch. It was very nice," she said, standing before him and looking as uncomfortable as he felt.

A smile tugged at his cheeks as fondness tugged at his heart. She was such an odd combination of soft femininity, creative genius, empathetic therapist, helpmeet, and friend. Her body stirred such powerful yearnings even the most innocent touch of her fingertips or brush of an arm elicited a wave of heat.

He chuckled. Was he an adolescent, experiencing his first love? Adolescent, no. First love, no way, even if he'd never felt this way before. "Thank you. For everything," he said, burying himself in the pale blue of her eyes and the golden tone of her skin.

She licked her lips, and his gaze fixed on the flash of sunlight in the clinging wetness. He could kiss it away, he reasoned. But no. Not now. There would be time for that, later. Only two more days left at Mountain Rise, and then their formal relationship would end. And another type of relationship could take its place.

She smiled, the shimmer on her lips drying in the heat. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow then?"

"I wouldn't miss it. Maybe I'll even tackle that circle thing. I think I've been inspired."

A slight tint of pink crept up her neck and settled on her cheeks. She bit her full bottom lip, the one that had enticed him earlier, and thrust an arm at him, shoving him playfully. The air between them heated, charged by the electric current running along their locked gazes. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but closed it and shrugged, then stooped to pick up her bag of supplies. As she turned to walk to her studio, she glanced over her shoulder at him. A ray of sunlight spilled through the branches overhead and flashed golden in her hair.

He luxuriated in the sight and then turned toward the lodge. Play therapy session would be a welcome event today, unlike the past week and a half. Certainly, he'd looked forward to spending time with Raphaela, but now it was different. He was armed with a new attitude and new expectations. Things would be much different now--better. He hoped.

He didn't want to think about the consequences if the situation with Raphaela didn't improve. Old doubts and fears crept to mind, but he shoved them deep, refusing to succumb to their strangling clutches again.

Entering the welcome coolness of the lodge, he brushed past Marian as he made his way to the playroom. She eyed him with curiosity hedged with something else, something unsettling. In all the years he'd known her, he'd never truly learned to read her. After thirteen years, the woman remained a mystery to him.

"Did you have a good afternoon?" she asked, an edge to her voice.

Had she seen him with Faith in the parking lot? His gaze crept over her features, and he decided he was jumping to conclusions. "Yeah, I did. Thanks. I went to town for some lunch. How about you?"

"I came looking for you a while ago. Why didn't you tell me you had plans today?"

"It was a spur of the minute kind of thing," he answered with a shrug. Why was she making such a big deal out of nothing? Then again, when hadn't she made a big deal out of nothing? He sensed "the talk" he'd avoided coming on. There was no way he'd be able to avoid it much longer.

But, he wasn't ready yet. "How's Ella doing today?"

"She's had a wonderful afternoon. This is working. You do see it, don't you?"

"Yes, I do. And I'm going to build a playroom when we get home."

Her eyes widened, and a generous smile spread over her face. The sweet Marian, the one he hadn't seen in years, crept from under her rock-hard façade. "Oh, Garret. I knew you'd come around." She inched closer, like she wanted to touch him, wanted to reach to him. He could see the hesitation, the unspoken question in her eyes, but he didn't encourage her. To do so would only be cruel.

As though she'd read his thoughts, she wrapped her arms around herself, gripping her sinewy upper arms with red-taloned fingers.

"Well, I'd better get in there. Raphaela's probably tired of Frankie, eh?" He tried to keep his tone light.

"Okay." She paused, and he expected her to say more. When she didn't, he released a sigh of relief and hurried down the hall.

When he entered the therapy room outside the isolated playroom, he paused to watch Raphaela interact with Frankie, through the wide one-way window.

Inhaling slowly, he reached for the door. Time to play with his baby, try out his new attitude. It had to work.

What other choice did he have?

* * *

Faith paused at Steven's door, her hand raised, ready to knock. Could she do this?
Oh God, oh God, oh God.

Why hadn't he returned her phone messages? Answered his phone? She'd wanted to arrange a meeting somewhere public. She'd been trying to reach him for days.

A tidal wave of excuses, reasons for turning around and going back to her office, surged, leaving her treading within the murky waters of indecision, until the door opened of its own accord and drained the flood away.

Steven's anger-filled face appeared before her, in the narrow gap between the door and the frame. He hadn't bothered to open it all the way, nor had he bothered to dress or shower. His hair lay upon his head at odd angles and his sweats and t-shirt were rumpled and sweat stained. The odor of unwashed body assaulted her nose, making her stagger backward.

"What do you want?" he grumbled.

"I think we need to talk." She didn't sound as confident as she wished she did.

"I'm not in the mood right now. Besides, I need to get showered and finish my write up this afternoon. A few more shots--photographs--and I'll be outta here."

"I'm sorry if this is a bad time, but it's the only time I have--"

"Fine." He stepped aside and motioned her to follow him into the dark room. Not waiting for her to accept his invitation, he returned to the bed, flopping upon it with no regard for whether or not she followed him. Sweeping the TV remote from the nightstand, he punched a button and the screen glowed.

She hesitated, standing outside the doorway. This was stupid, going into his room after what had happened! But she couldn't ask him to go anywhere in public looking like that, either. Should she come back later?

"Are you coming in or not?" he asked, still punching the buttons of the remote with his thumb, his arm held straight out in front of him as though its length would ensure the remote's signal was received. Images splashed over the TV screen, punctuated by milliseconds of blackness in between as the channel changed.

Maybe it would be okay if she stood right by the door. She stepped in, leaving the door wide open.

"I want to talk about what happened the other day," she said, looking down at the diamond on her ring finger. It sparkled, catching a dim beam of light. She slid the ring from her finger and palmed it.

"You came to apologize?" he asked, still staring at the television. "That's mighty big of you."

"No, I didn't. Why would I apologize?"

His brows furrowed and mouth puckered. "Well, if you're not here to apologize, then what the hell do you want? Look at me!" He turned his face to her, the dim light casting deep shadows over the right side of his face. She didn't see any bruises or swelling.

Considering his meticulous grooming, she could imagine him overreacting to some miniscule mark on his face. "I don't see anything wrong with you--at least not on your face. You hurt me. Plus, you attacked a client. You were out of line."

"You have a short memory. He interfered, not me. He had no business coming between us."

She struggled to keep calm, think clearly. "He didn't come between us. He was simply trying to help me."

"Why? What the hell does he care? Hmmm?"

No emotion. No emotion.
She repeated in her head.
Simply break this engagement, get him to promise to leave you alone and get the hell out of here.
" I’m not interested in getting into an argument with you--"

"Good," he interrupted.

It was amazing how cocky even his profile could look. She hated the man he'd become. "I'm not finished."

"No, I suppose you're not. You still owe me that apology for sickin' that asshole on me like a frickin' Doberman. Jeesh, why did you do that? I wasn't doing anything wrong." He looked at her, and bewilderment shone clearly on his features.

"I don't want to see you again." She reached forward with the hand holding the ring, and waited for him to reach out a hand toward hers.

He didn't. He simply stared at her fisted hand then raised his eyes to hers. "What are you talking about?"

" I’m not going to marry you, and I want you to leave."

"Really? Are you sure? I mean, if you're bluffing just to get an apology, you're being a fool."

His reasoning was more than twisted. It was frightening. "I'm not bluffing."

"It's that asshole. You have a thing for him. What the hell do you see in him? He's a pussy, a girl."

"No, I'm just through with you." Opening her shaking fist, she revealed the ring to him.

"I saw you two together in town."

"Yeah, so?" She tried to look nonchalant.

"Got a few great shots." He held up his camera, which sat next to him in his bed, to illustrate.

Before she broke down she had to get out of there. Would he keep those pictures to himself? She refused to plead for them, which she knew he wanted. Her heart thumped in her throat as she motioned toward the hand holding the ring again. When he didn't take it, she let it drop to the floor. "Don't call, don't write, and don't come back. I never want to see you again. If you try to contact me, I'll call the police." Her heart pounded in her ears and her hands quaked.

But, she'd done it. Finally. Despite her fear, liberation swelled. Free, at last.

"Oh, no you don't," he growled behind her. The bedsprings squeaked, and she lunged for the doorway.

A shriek shot from her mouth as a sharp tug at her hair snapped her head back. Steven's hard body pressed against the back of hers, the smell of sweat and alcohol made her gag. What was he going to do?

A trail of sodden kisses slid down her neck, and she shivered. One steely arm viced across her chest and the other over her stomach, making it impossible to catch her breath.

"Let me go," she whispered.

"You don't want me to. I know you don't. Come on, my love. Stop with the melodrama." His kisses wound down her arm.

She tried to pull away from him, slide from his grasp, but he held her tighter. "I'm not being melodramatic. I want you to let me go." When he didn't stop kissing her, anger surged through her in excess. "Enough, damn it! Let me go, or I'll scream for help and file attempted rape charges."

His grip on her tightened for a brief minute, but then he released her and shoved her toward the door. The brilliant light in the hall blinded her for a moment. Her eyes squinted against the brightness as she turned around to look into his room.

He stood inside the doorway, his expression frighteningly calm and confident. "You can't get rid of me that easily." He held up the tiny ring in his thick fingers, letting the light splash over its facets. "You will be my wife." He smiled.

Was there nothing she could say? Nothing she could do to convince him? " I’ll never marry you. Never."

"You'll change your mind."

"No, I won't. Like I said, if you get near me again, I'll call the police. There's a law against stalking."

"You'd never call the police on me." His grin was smug, a contemptible smirk she wished she could smack away. "And I wouldn't have you anyway. You're trash. Not worth my time."

She feigned indifference, shrugged, and turned her back to him, praying for the strength to make it back to her office before breaking down in hysterical tears.
Why me, Lord?

As soon as she hit the door leading outside, she broke into a sprint. When she rounded the corner, she spied Marian sitting at a picnic table under the shade of a maple. The deep purple leaves ruffled in a minute breeze that broke the heavy heat for a moment before stilling again.

Marian's head was tipped down into her hands and her shoulders sagged.

Faith neared the table. "Marian?"

Marian's hands fell away, revealing two red-rimmed eyes and an odd smile.

"Marian, what's wrong?"

"What's wrong? What a funny question. What's wrong…" Marian motioned for her to sit across from her, on the wormhole-pocked bench. "It's ironic. I came here to win back my family-- my baby girl and my husband. Instead, I think I've lost them both for good."

Faith resisted the temptation to shoot back a clichéd response. "I'm sorry."