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Down from the Mountain
Barbara Gale


BEAUTY AND THE RANGERThe surprise of his life awaited David Hartwell at the top of the Montana mountain: besides a sprawling mansion, he'd also inherited his late father's ward. Beautiful, enticing Ellen Candler didn't flee at the sight of his scarred face. Because she couldn't see it.Although she was blind, Ellen had never given up hope of one day recovering her sight. But she didn't need her eyes to tell her this overpoweringly masculine forest ranger was running away from something. While he was coaxing her down from her sheltered mountain existence, Ellen was secretly waging her own campaign of seduction to turn her reluctant guardian into a loving mate…for life.









“Are you going to try to seduce me?” Ellen whispered, her throat tight with uncertainty.


“Do you want me to?” David asked, his own voice a husky rasp.

“Yes, I do believe I do.”

It was a struggle to keep his composure. “Then I guess I will.”

“You guess? If you want me, really want me, you’ve got to tell me, David. I need to hear you say so.”

Her face was strained and white beneath the pier light, and he knew it cost the earth for her to say these things.

Lifting her onto the hood of the car, he let her feel the heat of his arousal. Towering above her, aching with passion, he was incredulous at her doubt, and put it off to her blindness. But even if he’d never told her, hadn’t she noticed how he could hardly keep his hands to himself?


Dear Reader,

It’s that time of year again—when every woman’s thoughts turn to love—and we have all kinds of romantic gifts for you! We begin with the latest from reader favorite Allison Leigh, Secretly Married, in which she concludes her popular TURNABOUT miniseries. A woman who was sure she was divorced finds out there’s the little matter of her not-so-ex-husband’s signing the papers, so off she goes to Turnabout—the island that can turn your life around—to get her divorce. Or does she?

Our gripping MERLYN COUNTY MIDWIVES miniseries continues with Gina Wilkins’s Countdown to Baby. A woman interested only in baby-making—or so she thinks—may be finding happily-ever-after and her little bundle of joy, with the town’s most eligible bachelor. LOGAN’S LEGACY, our new Silhouette continuity, is introduced in The Virgin’s Makeover by Judy Duarte, in which a plain-Jane adoptee is transformed in time to find her inner beauty…and, just possibly, her biological family. Look for the next installment in this series coming next month. Shirley Hailstock’s Love on Call tells the story of two secretive emergency-room doctors who find temptation—not to mention danger—in each other. In Down from the Mountain by Barbara Gale, two disabled people—a woman without sight, and a scarred man—nonetheless find each other a perfect match. And Arlene James continues THE RICHEST GALS IN TEXAS with Fortune Finds Florist. A sudden windfall turns complicated when a wealthy small-town florist forms a business relationship—for starters—with a younger man who has more than finance on his mind.

So Happy Valentine’s Day, and don’t forget to join us next month, for six special romances, all from Silhouette Special Edition.

Sincerely,

Gail Chasan

Senior Editor




Down from the Mountain

Barbara Gale







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


For Jonah, who sat beside me

during so much of the writing of this book.




BARBARA GALE


is a native New Yorker. Married for over thirty years, she, her husband and their three children divide their time between Brooklyn and Hobart, New York. Ms. Gale has always been fascinated by the implications of outside factors, including race, on relationships. She knows that love is as powerful as romance readers believe it is.

She loves to hear from readers. Write to her at P.O. Box 150792, Brooklyn, New York 11215-0792 or visit her Web site at www.barbaragale.com.


Dear Reader,

It is an honor to introduce two very special people blindsided by life.

Having lost her vision early on in childhood, Ellen Candler has lived most of her life sequestered on a Montana mountainside. Facially scarred in an auto accident, David Hartwell is a forest ranger who patrols the New York State Adirondack Park in solitary isolation. Feeling their differences keenly, they have each, in their own separate ways, withdrawn from the world. When circumstance obliges them to spend three months together, they are confronted with hard choices. They can remain sequestered in their comfortable but lonely worlds, or they can challenge themselves, confront their demons and struggle toward a greater happiness.

Perhaps Ellen and David will offer you the comfort of their own story, as you carve out your own destiny.

Much good fortune,









Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen




Chapter One


David softened his death grip on the steering wheel, wincing as he rubbed his pounding temple. He hoped the rental agency didn’t inspect its cars too closely because countless deep ruts had kept him bouncing as he careened up the rough Montana mountainside. Forced to reduce his speed to five miles an hour, it was all he could do to take it slow and not bottom out on the isolated dirt road, dusty with July heat. Peering through the windshield, he tried to recall where the potholes were, but he’d been gone too long, and the light was fading, getting on to twilight.

Still, the evergreens were as tall as he remembered, casting the same deep canopy of shade that had made him so uneasy as a child. Even now, twenty years later, and he a grown man, they seemed ominous and forbidding. Interesting how the lush evergreen forests of upstate New York, where he now lived, didn’t make him feel this way at all. Another mile up the mountain, a darting jackrabbit or two, and a house—a veritable mansion—finally came into view.

His childhood home.

David shivered, surprised that after all these years it could still affect him so, this dark pile of brick that belonged on some lonely moor in England, not sculpted into the side of an obscure mountain in the Midwest. Well, he thought as he sighed, no one ever denied that the law was a lucrative profession, and his father had certainly been a most successful lawyer. All this was history; now John Hartwell was dead. Hard to believe, that. John had thought he would go on forever, had warned everybody he would, joked about it all the time, although it had never seemed funny to David.

And leave it to dear old dad to have the last laugh, David thought wryly, the way he’d up and died during the first vacation David had allowed himself in years. A vacation that forestry headquarters had practically forced upon him, insisting that it wasn’t healthy for a lone man to take on so much. Finding himself scuba diving in Antigua, sipping margaritas, dozing on a hot, sandy beach—things he’d never done before—David had thought maybe they’d been right. So it was frustrating to get a telegram insisting he fly home, until he realized that it was for his father’s funeral. To settle John’s estate, as it turned out, because it had taken so long for headquarters to track him down that he’d missed the actual burial.

But he was home, now, staring up at the towering, grand house that John had built, homage to a beloved wife who hadn’t lived long enough to enjoy it. Mullioned windows, elaborate turrets, opulent gardens… David shrugged away memories that haunted him still. It was all so long ago, but now…

Now he was stalling, he realized ruefully. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to climb from the Jeep and, sailor-like, hoist his duffel bag over his shoulder. He was about to mount the wide slate steps when the great oak doors of the house swung wide and a reed-thin, red-haired woman appeared on the threshold.

Wine-red hair and long legs. A good combination, David decided. Young, but not so very. Twenty-five, maybe thirty. Grief-stricken, if the deep lines around her mouth were any indication. But when she raised her head in welcome, it seemed to him that, through the haze of the late-day sun, a burnished halo surrounded her face, and he felt an odd stirring. She had touched something so long buried that he couldn’t put a name to it, but he must have sighed because although her glance fell on him, she took a quick step back.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he apologized as he reached the top stair, his dark eyes searching as they scanned her pale face. Black, sooty lashes made a natural frame for the young woman’s troubled eyes. Green eyes, very nearly luminescent. Uncanny how they almost looked right through you.

It was his face, of course, or rather, the road map it had become, compliments of a drunk driver twenty long years ago, that scared her. It always happened, and in just this way. One look at his scars, the little girls clammed up, and whoever this woman was, she was certainly no different, the way she looked every which way but. He watched her fidget, her flushed face an easy read as she searched for words. Embarrassment was a common response from strangers, though David had never understood it. Shock, yes, even horror and repulsion, he could fathom, but what the hell did people have to be embarrassed about? They were his scars, after all.

Her voice, when she found it, was almost convincing as she denied his accusation. “I’m not frightened,” she protested. “That is, unless you’re not who I think you are. But you are David Hartwell, aren’t you?”

He bowed his head in mock salute although he was careful to keep his voice polite. “Yes, ma’am. The prodigal son returned home.”

“I’m so glad. We’ve been expecting you every day since— Well, ever since your father passed away. Welcome home, Mr. Hartwell, though I am very sorry to greet you under the circumstance.”

David said nothing as she stood aside to let him pass, his face unreadable as he stepped past the threshold of his childhood home for the first time in more than a decade. Probably as big as his entire cabin back in New York, was his first thought as he surveyed the vestibule. But how John loved the finer things in life. Certainly it was reflected in the design of his home. Quiet colors, subtle lines, but everything realized in a way that could only be called palatial—the long refectory table, the gilt mirror above it, the fresh flowers gracing it. Why, the table was probably three hundred years old, the mirror was definitely Louis XIV, and the flowers were…orchids! What in heaven’s name had John meant, coming to live in Montana and building such a house?

“Not much changed that I can see,” David observed ruefully as he maneuvered his duffel bag past the young woman’s slight figure.

She was curious, but her mouth quirked with humor. “You don’t think so? John liked to shop but he hated change, so everything he bought stayed where it landed. Oh, now and then the odd piece was moved, but overall, I’d say you’re probably right,” she agreed brightly. “Of course, he had a very keen eye.”

“No disastrous purchases?” David asked, openly amused. “Not once? Never?”

The young woman laughed and he admired the sparkle in her eyes, even if it was fleeting. “If you only knew how he researched every purchase!”

“Like this was his private museum?”

“John Hartwell was downright obsessed! I teased him about it all the time and everyone told him that he should have been a curator, but he always said that if he’d have been a curator, he wouldn’t have been able to afford his expensive taste! He was an authority on Flemish art, you know. Museums from all over the world called him every day and they always deferred to his opinion! All yours, now,” she said with a vague sweep of her hand.

Amused but unmoved, David shook his head. “This stuff would be very out of place where I live. Best contact the local museum.”

“Oh! I thought— Well, that’s your decision, of course,” she said, the light leaving her eyes. “I’ll be glad to help you, whatever you decide.”

“Now, ma’am, please don’t let’s get all sentimental,” David frowned. “They’re just antiques. There’s no real buried treasure here.”

Although David spoke courteously, beneath his polite manners the young woman was sorry to hear an underlying tone of impatience. She had hoped… It would have been nice for John’s son to have shown an interest in preserving his father’s collection. No matter how small, it was a museum quality assemblage. But what she hoped didn’t matter. She couldn’t blame him for his lack of interest, even if it weighed heavily on her heart.

“You’re right,” she agreed softly, trying to hide her disappointment. “It’s just a bunch of antiques. But still, John would have wanted you to claim something for yourself. He has some beautiful figurines in the library that might interest you.”

“Look, ma’am, how about you pick something out for me? You seem to be pretty well-acquainted with his collection.”

“Me? Oh, no, I couldn’t do that!”

“Yes, you could.”

“No, I couldn’t, really,” she insisted firmly. “It’s too personal a decision.”

“You think I’m behaving boorishly.” David sighed, sensing that her strong conviction was a part of her character. “I had hoped my dad had made arrangements for his collection. He knew I wasn’t interested in antiques.”

“Maybe he had some idea that you’d think differently, once you returned to Montana. He loved Montana and he thought you did, too. He always believed you would return, on a permanent basis. Maybe that’s why he made no plans. Maybe he was waiting for you.”

David countered coldly, angry at the wave of guilt that flooded him. “He shouldn’t have been waiting, and well he knew it.”

Her face clouded with confusion. “But John said you had unfinished business here.”

“I did once, but that was a long time ago and things have changed since then. Once I left—once I made the break—I couldn’t bring myself to return. My dad knew that.”

“But you’re here now.”

“A little late, don’t you think, for whatever he intended?”

“Late for the funeral, perhaps,” she agreed softly. “But not too late to return home. Like I said, John always believed you would, one day.”

“As I said, I’m too late,” David reminded her, weary of their argument. But noting the shadow of sorrow in her eyes, he was sorry to have been so abrupt. Although they had no history to claim, it was nothing short of rude to behave so badly. It wasn’t her fault if she had no idea of the extent of his grief. And his regrets were legion.

“Look here, ma’am,” David said, his voice carefully neutral. “I don’t mean to come off coldhearted, but I’m not too good with words. I guess I’m still a little shell-shocked at how fast everything is happening, but I did love my father and I’d be grateful if you’d cut me some slack.”

The young woman turned away. It was clear that John’s son would not be consoled. “Of course, Mr. Hartwell, I can do that,” she said quietly.

“And please call me David, my friends call me David and— Oh, hey, don’t do that!” David begged, horrified to see a tear roll down her cheek. “I didn’t intend to hurt your feelings!”

“He was good to me, you know,” she explained as she brushed away her tears.

“No, I don’t know, though I guessed as much. I don’t know who you are, remember?”

“We were friends, John and I.”

We were friends. Was that her idea of an introduction? Once again David was struck by the unreal quality of the situation, how changed everything seemed but was not, the presence of this stranger, how she refused to meet his eyes. Unless…

He stepped to one side. She didn’t stir.

He thrust his body the other way. No response.

Holding his breath, he placed his face in hers, but she didn’t flinch. Another inch and it would have been an interesting moment. Well, at least now he knew why his ravaged face didn’t offend her.

“How long have you been blind?”

“You noticed. I wondered. Or were you trying to be polite and not say anything?”

“Polite is not a word commonly associated with me,” David laughed matter-of-factly. “But were you seriously trying to hide your blindness?”

Her smile was lopsided but she said nothing.

“Oh, come on, did you honestly think I’d miss it?” he asked with heavy irony, trying to ignore the faint scent of gardenia that teased his nostrils now that they stood so close.

“Of course not!” the thin girl laughed lightly. “It’s just that I prefer my blindness to be observed as late as possible. When people realize I’m blind, it sort of complicates things.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” David said, disbelieving.

But she took him seriously, and David watched, fascinated by the way her mobile face registered the smile in his voice. She might be blind but her eyes were a myriad of emotions. He didn’t even know her name, but the weirdest feeling came over him, that he would never tire of watching the play of emotions on the face of this lovely, sad woman.



Generally she was resentful of this situation, of having to explain herself, but something told her that it was very important that this man understand her, from the first. So she steeled herself, took a deep breath and tried to speak patiently. “Look, people tend to build whole cloth out of the fact that I’m sightless. I hate when that happens. I’m just someone who had a run of bad luck, who, for a very short time, was very sick, as a child. My blindness was the result.”

“And how did you end up here on an isolated mountain in the middle of Montana, in a museum of a mansion, with a seventy-five-year-old man?”

“Oh, that was my good luck!”

David clasped her chin gently, the better to look into her eyes to measure the truth of her words.

“But it’s true!” she insisted proudly, and he believed her.

“Then what does that make me?”

“The prodigal son, didn’t you say?”

David dropped his hand at that dash of cold water. “Well, hell, just look what happened to him, wasting his inheritance, crawling home with his tail between his legs.”

“True,” she laughed softly as she shut the door behind them, “but then, it was never only about money, was it?”

David turned slowly on his heel as she fiddled with the locks, his eyes half slits as he circled the huge foyer and tried to absorb all the old feelings that came surging back. Half a lifetime’s worth, he thought absently as he remembered how many times he’d been scolded as a child for sliding down the banister’s irresistible, gleaming curve.

“You’ll be wanting your old room back, I expect,” he heard the young woman say. “I’ve had it aired—not that it needed doing, of course. Our housekeeper is a tyrant, you know.”

“No, ma’am, I have no idea how demanding your housekeeper is,” he said, surprised back to earth by a vague surge of territoriality. But, after all, it was his home.

With the acute hearing of the blind, she blushed to hear his irritation. Awkwardly she cleared her throat. “I guess you’re wondering who I am, since we’ve never met.”

She was brave, he gave her that. “Actually, I thought you were the housekeeper, but I have a hunch you’re going to tell me otherwise.”

“Yes, I guess I should explain. It’s like, well, your father sort of adopted me. Not legally,” she hurried to explain, “but he took me in, oh, it’s been quite a while, now. You could say that John was sort of my guardian. My name is Ellen Candler,” she announced, her hand thrust forward.

Staring down at her small hand, David hesitated, then clasped it in his own with casual politeness.

“Oh, you work outdoors!” Ellen cried, surprised by his calluses.

“Very good, Miss Candler,” David said with a faint smile. “I’m a forest ranger, back east.”

“Yes, I remember now. You live in New York and work up in the Adirondacks. John told me.”

Abruptly, David dropped her hand. “I daresay he did.” Her apparent intimacy with his father struck an uncomfortable chord. Honed to a cordial detachment with the rest of the world, David had long since learned to keep his own counsel. But that didn’t stop him from wondering about the exact definition of guardian.

Oblivious to David’s turmoil, Ellen chugged along. “You must be very tired after that drive, Mr. Hartwell, um, David, not to mention your long plane ride. Would you like to rest or would you prefer your dinner first?”

“If you don’t mind, ma’am, I’d just like to take my bag upstairs and maybe think about food a little later.”

“Of course, whatever you wish,” Ellen agreed softly, hearing his shoes tap the marble tile as he mounted the steps. “Oh, and Mr. Hartwell—David—”

Ellen heard him pause. “I really am so sorry for…that John…your father…I really am sorry for your loss.”

Half turning, David stared down at Ellen, her upturned face a delicate shadow in the early evening light. “Thank you, Miss Candler. I’m sorry for your loss, also.” He watched as her green eyes misted over with his quiet words.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “John was very good to me.”

“Yes, well…” David left off, unsure what to say. He was grateful when she walked away, disappearing through a side door. Taking the steps slowly, he studied the winding staircase, trailing a light hand along its polished banister. Reaching the upstairs landing, he fought an impulse to throw his leg over the handrail and hurtle back down to the ground floor. Older and wiser, his long stride guided him down the familiar hall to his bedroom. His hand on the doorknob, he entered cautiously, but Ellen Candler was right. It felt as though he’d been gone hours, instead of ten years, thanks to the vigilance of that efficient housekeeper. No doubt his father had given strict orders to have his room kept in readiness. Still, it was creepy to think that a stranger had been rooting among his possessions, lifting things, peeking into drawers, glancing through his books. But it was what he himself did now, feeling like an outsider as he discovered the treasures of his childhood. A battered copy of The Catcher in the Rye, his bottle top collection, pristine baseball cards still encased in their slender plastic cases.

Noticing his frowning reflection in a nearby mirror, David leaned in for a closer look. Silky, raven hair drooped across his forehead, skirting the long-lashed blue eyes his unruly hair tried to hide, balanced against a fine straight nose. The Black Irish lineage of his ancestors stared back beneath a thick and unforgiving brow, eclipsed by a violent network of lines that mapped the entire right side of his face.

He might have grown to be amazingly handsome, but he never thought about that anymore. Nearly fifteen years ago a cruel automobile accident had sent him flying through the windshield of a car and ended that possibility. The finest plastic surgeons in the country had done everything they could for the young teenager. The slim hope that modern medicine now offered with its newly developed techniques wasn’t remotely tempting to the man that child had become. David simply refused to endure any more skin grafting—and the excruciating pain that went with it—to effect only the slightest chance of change. Even now his right eye ached—nerve damage that no amount of surgery would ever repair. His raging headache he attributed to jet lag.

He hardly noticed his scars anymore, they had become such an integral part of him. On the other hand, rubbing his stubbly, hard jaw, he realized that he desperately needed a shave, and a shower wouldn’t hurt any, either. Stripping down to the buff, David soon had the bathroom steaming, his calloused hands lathering a hard, lean body toughened by eight years in forestry service. But he was tired, and the hot shower too soothing because, when he finished shaving, he collapsed on his bed, jet lag winning out.

Four hours later he woke to darkness outside his bedroom window. Switching on the low bedside light, he saw that someone had left a tall glass of orange juice, some hard cheese and a plate of biscuits. The redoubtable Miss Ellen, he guessed wryly as he gratefully devoured the cookies. Many thanks, ma’am, he silently saluted with the icy glass. And I do hope you enjoyed the view, he grinned as he glanced down at his naked body.

Oh, but she would not have, he reminded himself with a twinge of guilt for his foolish thoughts.

Half an hour later, dressed in chinos and a light summer sweater, David sauntered into the library. He frowned as he paused by the bar. Fortification? But before he could pour himself a drink, a faint rustle distracted him. He glanced in the direction of the fireplace, where a fire had been lit against the evening chill.

Nestled on the sofa, a book resting in her lap, Ellen Candler faced the fire. “David?”

“Yes, ma’am, it’s me,” he answered promptly.

She really was lovely, he thought, her pale skin glowing in the firelight, her red hair a golden waterfall burnished by the fire. How on earth had she managed to live here these past ten years, and he never heard a word of her existence? How careful the old man had been, to never mention her. How strange.

“Up kind of late, aren’t you? I was thinking of a drink. Care to join me?”

“I…um…” Ellen flushed, feeling foolish at her inexplicable attack of shyness. But David’s deep voice was so devoid of emotion, she wasn’t sure how to respond.

“Don’t feel obliged. I don’t mind drinking alone,” David said briskly as he splashed some bourbon into a glass and settled on the sofa. “By the way, thanks for that midnight snack I found beside my bed. I fell asleep, just as you predicted.”

“You had a very long day. When you didn’t show for dinner, I understood, but I thought you might want something when you woke.”

“You were right absolutely right. Those biscuits didn’t last a minute.” Tossing off half the bourbon, David rested an arm along the back of the sofa and stretched his feet toward the fire. Looking around the library, he could see that nothing much had changed here, either, aside from the presence of the young woman. Sitting beside her, David enjoyed the unexpected pleasure of perfume suddenly wafting to his nostrils. A flowery concoction, delicate and faint. Gardenias again. He hadn’t smelled perfume in years and discovered that he missed it. Wrapped in its elusive magic, he turned his head her way, wanting more.

“Is it hard to master Braille?” he asked, glancing at the spine of her book.

“Not if you want to read,” Ellen smiled, unaware of the captivating picture she made.

“What’s it called?” David teased, running his fingers over the dots and dashes. “I don’t know Braille.”

“The Return of the Native.”

“Never read it.”

“I love Thomas Hardy and— Oh, I never thought!”

David laughed even though it was something only half his face could do. Somehow, though, because Ellen could not see his distortions, he felt freer to emote. “Please, don’t apologize! There is an irony here that is irresistible! After all, I am a native returning home, too, in my own way.”

“Yes, well,” she said uncertainly, “as long as you understand that I meant nothing by it. I’m plowing my way through all Hardy’s books.”

“Jude the Obscure, too?”

“Jude the Obscure, too!” she admitted. “Hey, I thought you just said you’d never read Thomas Hardy.”

“I never said I hadn’t read old Thom Hardy, I just said I’d never read The Return of the Native.”

“Oh. Well, it’s my favorite.”

“Then I’ll put it on my list of books to read. Brilliant and beautiful! Seeing you now, I understand why my father kept you under wraps.” He was glad he could openly admire her, she certainly was a pretty little thing. More than pretty, quite beautiful, actually, even if she did look drawn and tired. John had shown good taste, but how on earth had he had the nerve to rob such a cradle? He watched as she played with her book, her face an easy read as she searched to uphold her end of conversation. Failing miserably, she gulped her silence like a fish and he supposed she was grieving, which would make conversation even more difficult. Theirs even more so. He wondered, too, how she felt about his father.

“Did you love my father?” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. Even David was shocked to hear the tactless question floating on the air. But he couldn’t bring himself to retract it. Something wicked in him wanted to know. No one who knew him would believe the way he was acting, behaving like a fool, barely in control of a conversation he’d never meant to begin.

“Sorry, Miss Candler. That was unkind, even for me. Maybe I’m more upset than I want to admit. I guess I’m not quite sure how to treat you, although I sure don’t wish to quarrel with you. As my father’s mistress, I know how much respect is due you.”

“His mistress?” Ellen gasped. “Oh, how could you think that? John Hartwell was the kindest, most generous man who ever lived, and he would have never…never— Oh, you dreadful man! How could you think such an awful thing?”

David’s face grew hot in the face of his mistake. “Hey, I just assumed…your living here all these years. You’re so beautiful, I just figured… Hell, why else would anyone who looked like you want to hide away on the top of a mountain?”

Ellen scrambled to her feet, fumbling for her cane. “I’ll tell you how it is, Mr. David Hartwell,” she exclaimed. “I was born here in Montana. My parents were attorneys down in Floweree and very good friends with your father. They were going about county business when they were killed in a plane crash, six years ago. I was seventeen—an only child of only children—about to be fostered when John heard and intervened.” How to explain the kindness of an old man to a young girl? Taking her in at an age when most men were planning their retirement, asking nothing in return except some decent dinner conversation. Surely he had given more than he received, but how to explain that to David? Her words sounded inadequate, even to her own ears.

“Took you in, you mean?” he asked uncertainly, amazed at his father’s generosity.

“Took me in,” she repeated proudly. “A grief-stricken teenager who also happened to be blind. Quite a handful for a man about to settle into his senior years, don’t you think? Young as I was, I knew that. I knew the generosity of his act. The day I walked through his front door, I vowed never to make him regret his decision, and he never did!”

David stared into her grass-green eyes, shiny with tears—or was it anger? It didn’t matter. The look she harbored was unforgiving. “Look here, Ellen, I didn’t know.”

Ellen’s body language was her answer to the apology in his voice. She was rigid, her breathing shallow, her voice arctic and impersonal, when finally she spoke. “My cane, please. I thought I left it near the fireplace.”

He found it at once, a beautifully carved mahogany staff inlaid with mother-of-pearl. He’d bet anything it was an antique, and a gift from his father, but he didn’t dare ask.

“Thank you,” she said coldly. “Now, if you’ll point me toward the door, I seem to have lost my bearings.”

Turning her in the direction she requested, David’s fingers clasped Ellen’s shoulders, his touch light. But her stiff resistance made him want to shake her. “Listen, Miss Candler, I’m only trying to understand how things were. There was a lot of distance between my father and me, and now I’m here, I’m beginning to see it was greater than I thought. I mean, look how it is for me! He never even mentioned you, for Pete’s sake! Don’t you think there’s something odd in that?”

He must have touched a chord because he felt her ease up, ever so slightly. “I suppose,” she admitted slowly.

“Yes, you had best!” David agreed with mock severity. “I don’t suppose you have any idea why he kept your presence a secret from me?”

“None whatsoever!” A thin chill clung to Ellen’s words. “I didn’t even know he had. I always assumed you knew about me. After all, he talked about you!”

“And you never thought it strange that we never met?”

Ellen frowned. “Of course I did, but after a while I just figured you were busy and couldn’t be bothered with an old man and a blind, adolescent girl.”

“I would never be so unkind!”

“How could I know that?”

“Why would you not? Did John portray me as some sort of monster?”

“A monster?” she repeated, vaguely amused.

And in that instant, in the innocence of her smile, David knew that Ellen knew nothing about his scars, that his father had been kinder than expected, and he was grateful. Although he had long learned to live with his disfigurement, regret was an old wound that never fully healed. Ordinarily he was philosophical about those things beyond his reach, but something about Ellen had touched him, and for all she confused him, she seemed a gentle, straightforward soul. And then, certainly she was a great beauty, and he was a great respecter of beauty, he himself so badly maimed.

She sighed so charmingly he wished they could call a truce and begin again. But then, he wished many things that were never going to happen, and wishing had made him a bitter man. So he shrugged away his curiosity and bartered her ignorance for a rare moment of peace, when he could pretend for an hour that he was normal and uncut. He cupped her cheek, watched as she blushed, and was grateful that, for once, it had nothing to do with revulsion. “I give you my word, Ellen Candler, that for as long as I know you, I will never willfully cause you pain.”

Since she couldn’t see the sincerity in his eyes, her only gauge was the sound of David’s voice. She stepped back, hoping she was out of range of his touch. She wasn’t sure she wanted his protection, wasn’t sure if this knight’s armor was all that shiny, even if he was John’s son.

“Harry Gold, your father’s attorney, will be here tomorrow. He said he had important things to say about John’s will.”

Perceiving that Ellen was trying to create a physical distance, David was careful not to trail her. “I know Harry quite well. He helped my father to raise me, after my mother died.”

“That’s good. Then you have someone you can trust. And now, Mr. Hartwell,” Ellen sighed, unable to fight the heaviness in her heart, “if you don’t mind, I’m very tired and I’d like to go to bed.”

Not daring to argue with the sadness in her eyes, David watched as Ellen left, her path unerring as she headed for the door. The tables turned so swiftly, he was helpless to do anything but stare as she closed the door behind her. He stood lost in thought until the night chill finally roused him. Throwing a fresh log on the fire, he found the decanter of bourbon and retrieved his glass. It would be a long night and he had no other friends.




Chapter Two


Harry Gold, attorney for the late John Hartwell, arrived promptly at ten o’clock the next morning. The witching hour for lawyers, Ellen mused as she made her way to the library. As far away as the hall, her sensitive nose picked up the aromatic scent of an expensive cigar that always seemed to be in the air when Harry was around. Harry would probably die with a Havana clenched between his teeth. Turning the doorknob, she tensed involuntarily. Cigar smoke may have disguised any scent of David Hartwell she might recognize, but when he cleared his throat, she knew he was in the room. Her red curls severely anchored by tortoiseshell combs, her stiff spine sent an unmistakable message as she entered the library.

To David, looking up as he pored over some papers, Ellen looked every inch a queen as she glided across the room. Damned if she wasn’t intent on behaving like one, too, he grinned as he watched her raise her elegant chin and purse her dainty pink lips against any threat of conversation. From him! Harry Gold was another matter altogether. He watched as Harry hurried to her side, whispering his condolences, positioning a chair for her, assuring her comfort. Feeling slighted, David pulled his chair alongside Ellen’s and sat so heavily the chair squeaked in protest. By the way she frowned, he guessed that Ellen would have liked to protest, too, and it gave him bad-tempered satisfaction. But if he were honest, his temper had more to do with the hangover he had given himself than anything Ellen had done. Still, he felt as though he’d just won a small skirmish in a larger battle. What that battle was about, he had no idea, only that he and Ellen were its main combatants—its only combatants—and that she was fully engaged, too. Well, let the hostilities begin, he thought bitterly as he gave the go-ahead to Harry Gold.

“For the record, David, my condolences. Unfortunate business, eh? So sudden—John’s passing, I mean. You should have been told that he was ill but he refused to tell you. Kept saying he’d bounce back. He didn’t want you to think that you must come home, not if you didn’t want to.”

“Harry, we all knew it was for the best I left Montana. Better for me, better for my father.”

Harry shook his head, his mouth a melancholy twist. “We knew you believed that, David, but we never could figure out how to persuade you otherwise.”

“Too many memories,” David explained with shrug. “You know that better than most. There were some things I had to do alone. Make my own way, on my own terms.”

“Ah, well, what’s done is done. Shall I start with the pensions and endowments? There are quite a few.”

“Perhaps we might skip over them,” David suggested. “After all, we’re among friends, aren’t we, and I’m sure my dad wouldn’t have wanted us to drag this out. The endowments are probably everything they should be, especially since you drew them up. Don’t you agree, Ellen?”

If she didn’t understand his words, she surely understood his meaning when David covered her hand with his own. “Of course,” she agreed quickly, startled by the unexpected contact.

“Good,” he said softly, his hand hovering over hers. “Please, continue, then, Harry. We won’t say another word.”

“Well, then. In aid of cutting to the chase…” Throwing down the papers he was holding, Harry leaned back in his chair, his fingers a temple over his vast belly as he fastened his eyes on the ceiling. “John Hartwell has left the bulk of his estate to you both—equally.”

“Everything left is to be split down the middle. My guess is about two million each. With certain stipulations,” he warned as he lowered his eyes to face his audience of two. “Certain ironclad stipulations,” he added ominously.

This time it was Ellen who reached for the hand that had late imprisoned hers, her sightless eyes wide with surprise. David stared at the long, delicate fingers that curled around his hard knuckles, his mouth a tight slash that pulled at his scars. He watched her green eyes fill with tears, her lips quivering as she spoke.

“David, I had no idea, you must believe that! I mean, I knew he was leaving me something, he’d told me so. But two million dollars! I’ll sign it back over to you immediately. I only need a very little to tide me over. You’re his son, after all. I don’t deserve this.”

Harry reshuffled his papers and peered over his glasses. “I think, young miss, that perhaps I ought to finish before either of you makes any decisions. These ironclad stipulations, you see…” he explained, almost apologetic. “The situation is such that—I’m sorry, David, but this is the case—that you, ‘said David Hartwell, is required, in order to meet the terms of the will, to attend to the well-being of one Miss Ellen Candler, for the next four months…’”

“Excuse me?”

“‘…twenty-four hours a day,’” Harry continued, his voice becoming sharper and sterner, “‘seven days a week, until such time—deemed by her doctors, in writing—as no longer essential to her well-being.’ John has left behind for you, David, a sealed letter explaining his reasons. But in essence, if you refuse—or in the unlikely event that Ellen declines your help—” Harry concluded solemnly “—the entire estate is to be signed over to charity—pensions and endowments included.”

“Why, that’s blackmail!” David swore, jumping to his feet.

“Oh, John, what have you done?” Ellen whispered, her shoulders drooping.

David rose to his full height and glared down at Harry. “You can’t be serious!” he hissed. “Are we talking living together? Co-habitating? As in man and wife?”

Harry looked up, amused for the first time that morning. “Really, David, I think John intended something a little bit more…brotherly.”

“Dammit, Harry, you’d better talk quickly or some cat hospital is going to be very happy tomorrow!”

“Very well, David. Ellen is scheduled for eye surgery in early October. She needs someone to care for her till then. John needed someone he could trust absolutely, and you’re it! And just in case you’re thinking to hell with it, Ellen needs the money desperately, even if you don’t. Surgery is a very expensive proposition, exceedingly so, in her case, and Ellen has never been able to buy insurance. Preexisting condition, or some such nonsense. Anyway, no insurance company would take her on. So, as I said, my boy, you’re it!”

The room was silent as everyone digested Harry’s words. David felt murderous, although he knew he couldn’t blame Harry. His father was the sole author of this misdeed, and David knew that no one, not even Harry, had ever been able to sway John Hartwell once his mind was made up.

“Damn!” The sound of David’s fist resounded through the room as it came crashing down on the desk.

“Mr. Gold,” Ellen begged, her hands twisting in her lap, “surely you can see for yourself that this won’t do. There must be some way around it. John couldn’t have meant…he must have known that David wouldn’t…” Words failed her, but David knew what she meant.

“Ellen’s right,” David agreed coldly. “I’m not fit to live with. You know that better most, Harry.” Unconsciously he rubbed his scarred cheek, a gesture not lost on Harry Gold. But the gesture was futile. Harry’s hands were tied.

“I really am sorry,” he clucked sympathetically as he shuffled to his feet, “but there’s nothing I can do, absolutely nothing. It’s an airtight will. Unfortunately you both have only until tomorrow noon to decide what to do. That’s another stipulation of the will. John didn’t want things dragged out. I’ll return at twelve for your decision.”

Walking toward the door, he paused by David’s side, placing a sympathetic hand on the young man’s shoulder. “I’m terribly sorry, son. Believe me when I say I tried my best to talk your father out of this. But you know John. He refused to reconsider—said something about cats and canaries. His letter is on the desk, there. Maybe it will explain things better. I certainly do hope so.”

Stunned, neither Ellen nor David spoke for some time after Harry left. Ellen was a million miles away, while David perched on the edge of the desk, staring hard at the woman who had him trapped. It was Ellen who spoke first.

“I’m sorry, David, I really am. I had no idea. It’s kind of spooky the way John is trying to control your life almost from his grave.”

“What about yours?”

“I know, it’s crazy.”

“Do you at least know what’s in his letter?”

“No, I do not, but he was very thorough.”

“That he was.”

“And I might as well tell you now that he knew he was dying, for well over a year.”

“You’re joking! Harry said Dad knew he was ill, but not dying! And certainly not for a year!”

“I wish I were joking,” Ellen said sadly. “Maybe that will go a little way toward explaining his behavior. I begged him to tell you how sick he was. We had quite an argument over it, more than one, but he refused—the only thing he ever refused me. I even tried to call you myself, one morning, but he walked in while I was dialing and became absolutely livid. He insisted I hang up, and swore me to secrecy right then and there. He certainly knew how to tie up loose ends, though, and I guess I was one of them. I just wish he’d asked me what I wanted. He could be a little autocratic at times.”

“A little?” David snorted as he rose to his feet. “Now there’s an understatement!”

Ellen took a deep breath, courage fighting with her instinct to run. Courage won out, but the cost was high. John Hartwell’s high-handedness, coupled with David’s resentment, was upsetting. The way Harry Gold had kept apologizing to David had really begun to grate! Hey, what about her? she’d wanted to shout. Didn’t she rate the same consideration? What on earth was so special about David Hartwell, that everyone should feel sorry for him? After all, she was the one who was going to undergo surgery! If anyone should complain…

She stopped short, shocked by her display of self-pity. If she didn’t watch out, she was going to begin to sound like an off-key singer in a honky-tonk bar. Still, David Hartwell was so bitter, Ellen had to wonder, and not for the first time, exactly what had happened to him. It was awful, that much she knew, but only because of certain allusions John Hartwell had made about David, not because of anything specific John had told her. When pressed, John had always blown her off, and now, here David was, raising the same red flag to any and all trespassers who dared to cross the same line his own father had so carefully drawn. It was enormously irritating.

“You know, John hasn’t asked you to do all that much, just help me out for a couple of months. Does my blindness make you uncomfortable? People sometimes do have that reaction. Being handicapped is not a popular venue.”

David’s silence was awful.

“Yes, well, perhaps we need a break,” she decided, fiddling nervously with her cane. “I know we have an important decision to make, but this whole thing has been a big surprise to both of us. I know I certainly need time to sort things out. John was very good to me, but this… I need to try and figure out what he meant.”

“The answer may be in this envelope,” David said, forcing himself to speak as Ellen rose to her feet.

“I’m sure it is,” she agreed with a tight smile, “but you must read it first, alone. It’s what John wanted, or it would have had both our names on the envelope.”

A curious brooding filled David’s heart as he watched her escape to the safety of her rooms. How much had she known? How hard had Harry Gold really fought this will? How much had John laughed? He hardly knew what he was doing as he opened his father’s letter.

Greetings, my son, from your dying father,

Now, I ask you, how’s that for an opening? I trust it got your attention, something I wasn’t very good at doing in real life. My truest regret is that we won’t have time to make our peace—we would have, you know. I believe that with all my heart—because if you’re reading this, then the worst has happened—but you’ve come home.

The car accident you suffered as a boy left a void you never allowed me to fill. Well, I am going to fill it now. However you have rewritten history is the quarrel of a young child, but suffice it to say—to the wounded man that poor, scarred boy has become—I leave my most valued possession. You’re the only one to whom I can entrust the well-being of Ellen Candler. She needs you, although she would never admit to it and I know you will protect her with your life. In return, she will give you back yours. I only wish I could be there to enjoy the fireworks.

Your loving father,

John

David stared down at the letter crumpled in his fist. Got me! Just as he knew he would. He closed his eyes and massaged his brow, fighting the onslaught of a headache. This was no time for a headache, not when he needed his wits about him—for Ellen’s sake, if nothing else. Even if it was she who had unwittingly opened the old wounds of that poor, scarred schoolboy! Wounded man! Let’s not forget that part! But hey, he could be forgiven a lot of sins for what happened one night, twenty long years ago! And the personal cost to him—well, hell, only his damned face—and all semblance of normal life! And if anybody doubted that, they just had to watch people gawk when he walked down the street, or went to a museum, or entered a restaurant, or…or looked in a goddamned mirror and saw what he saw every goddamned day of his tormented life!

Two million dollars and a blind girl!

Fireworks? David shook his head sadly. More like murder in the first degree—and who’d be holding the smoking gun was anybody’s guess.



Ellen kept to her room that afternoon, perhaps unable to summon the energy to go another round with him. Relieved by her disappearance, David decided to hike the three miles to the summit of the mountain. If he stayed in that mausoleum one minute longer, he thought he would go crazy. It made his skin crawl. Too many memories haunted the place. Every turn he made, he expected to see his father and every room he entered, he looked for his mother, his beautiful mother, always ready to laugh, always ready to stop what she was doing and gather him up in her soft, perfumed arms. Almost as if she had known their time together would be short. Sometimes he thought that when she’d died, she’d taken his laughter with her. His father’s, too. Laughter, perfume, hugs and kisses—all the soft, sweet things in life that her two grieving menfolk never managed to make up for.

It was dark, nine-thirty, when he finally returned to the house. The housekeeper met him at the door.

“Miss Ellen asked me to tell you that she had a headache and would see you in the morning. She took a dinner tray in her room. I thought you would like the same.”

David’s windblown hair almost hid his scars, but they couldn’t disguise the tired lines that pulled his mouth taut. Still, he managed a faint smile. “Dinner and a headache? Sounds fine to me.”

Hurrying upstairs, he paused by Ellen’s door and almost knocked, but a glance down at his stained jeans and muddy work boots changed his mind. When he finished showering, his dinner tray was waiting in his room, the aroma of beef stew and freshly baked rolls reminding him how hungry he was. He was so famished, he ate in his bath towel, downed the entire jug of iced tea and practically licked the dessert plate clean. Feeling more human, he threw on a pair of cutoffs and made his way down the hall to Ellen’s bedroom. He knocked lightly, but when there was no answer, he turned the knob.

The room was dark but a sliver of moonlight let him see exactly where everything was, including Ellen. Huddled beneath a silvery sheet, she was sound asleep. Her red hair curling around her delicate face, a hand tucked beneath her cheek, she was a vision he thought existed only in fairy tales. Annoyed with himself for being so fanciful, he nudged her awake more roughly than he meant. And when she woke with a start, he cursed himself for a fool, for not realizing how sensitive she must be to touch.

“Whoa, Nellie! It’s only me, David.” He caught her just before she toppled off the bed in panic.

Ellen relaxed as David’s voice began to register in her clouded mind. Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she remembered she wasn’t dressed and covered herself, but not before David got an eyeful. One beautiful lady, he thought, and sighed wearily as he released her.

Scurrying back against the headboard, Ellen pulled the bedding around her. No one invaded her privacy, it was a cardinal rule. If she didn’t answer a knock at her door, it was understood by the household that she didn’t wish to be disturbed. David’s invasion—although she dimly understood he was unaware of his trespass—made her want to rage and cry at the same time. It reminded her of her vulnerability on about a thousand different levels. Still, she didn’t want to start an argument with him in the middle of the night, and her in a flimsy nightgown, to boot. Maybe he’d seen hundreds of half-naked women and would find her modesty laughable, but it wasn’t anything she was used to. So she struggled to remain calm, trying to find him with her sightless eyes.

David understood immediately. “I’m here, to your right. We have to talk.”

“Now? In the middle of the night?”

“Sorry, but I wasn’t watching the clock. Unfortunately, Harry Gold is. And I wanted to know why you disappeared today.”

“Why I disappeared? What about you? You made yourself pretty scarce, too!” Ellen sniffed.

“True.” He couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at his mouth. Her indignation was charming, but in giving him the cold shoulder, Ellen had unintentionally given him another wonderful eyeful. Scanning the smooth sweep of her elegant shoulder, the delicate curve of her spine, the satin sheen of her skin in the moonlight, he thought it was ironic that he’d been asked to protect the one woman in the world who might need protecting from him. Having not seriously looked at a woman in years, he was susceptible to a pretty face. A few years back, when he’d still harbored hopes of a normal life, he’d fallen hard for a little blonde from Lake George. It had been a complete disaster. Although the girl had been willing to see him, her parents had come down on him as if he were a freak. It was his last attempt at a normal relationship. The enchantment of romance would never be his. If it happened sometimes that the grief that lingered challenged the thin veneer of his pride, like now… Well, he thanked God that Ellen couldn’t see his fists clenched at his side, see how dry his lips had become, see how hard he strove to speak.

“Look, lady,” he finally rasped, trying to sound as normal as possible, “let’s not equivocate. Harry needs our decision by noon. What’s it going to be?”

“That’s up to you, isn’t it?” Ellen reminded him, impatience coloring her voice.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That I’m at your mercy, for goodness’ sake! Either you agree to help me, or you don’t, but I certainly can’t win an argument over this. I can’t force you, can I?” she exclaimed.

In the face of such odds, David admired her spunk. “True enough. Okay, then. This operation of yours. What’s it all about?”

Ellen didn’t know how to answer. How did she explain the chance of a lifetime—or at least, the hope of one? How could she describe what successful surgery would mean to her? How could she describe its failure? It served no purpose. Since David had no idea what it meant to be handicapped, she wasn’t sure she could find the right words to explain it. In the end, she decided not to try, to just stick to the facts. He wasn’t stupid, just ornery. He’d figure the rest out for himself.

“There’s a doctor in Baltimore named Charles Gleason. Have you ever heard of him? He’s been doing a great deal of research on my type of eye condition, using laser beams. He’s had success—in varying degrees—returning sight to the blind. It gets him a lot of press coverage. And guess what?” she laughed, though there was no humor in the sound. “It seems his father was a friend of your father’s from their college days. When John read about this research, and found out who was doing it, he begged—well, maybe ordered is a better word—the famous Dr. Gleason to examine me, to see whether I was a viable candidate for his research. I had nothing to lose, you see.”

She shivered, but David knew she wasn’t cold because he heard the resignation in her voice. Disturbed, he paced the room. For the first time he noticed how carefully the furniture skirted the walls. In deference to her blindness, he supposed. Come to think of it, most of the house was set up like that, even if it was a fancy mansion. Was this what his father intended for him to do the next two months? Keep Ellen out of harm’s way; wrap her in cotton wool until the big day?

Baby-sit, for chrissake?

“Go on,” he prompted her while he tried to get comfortable on a delicate lady’s chair never meant for his bulk. “The operation?”

Ellen jumped, startled by the sudden force of David’s deep resonant voice, so how unlike his father’s light lilt. In her world, so heavily invested in sound, David’s husky voice was mesmerizing. She could have listened to him speak for hours, he cut right through to her senses. Too bad the rest of him came with that great voice. Even now she could detect the irritation he tried so unsuccessfully to hide.

“Right,” she sighed. “Dr. Gleason. Well, there’s not much else to tell. No one could refuse John Hartwell once he’d made up his mind, and he convinced Charles to take me on.”

“Charles?” David frowned.

“Dr. Gleason insists that I call him Charles,” Ellen said lightly. “He says it’s more friendly-like.”

I’ll just bet, David swore to himself as he stared at the rise and fall of Ellen’s breasts in the watery moonlight.

“Be that as it may, there was quite a waiting list and I couldn’t be scheduled for surgery until this fall, October fourth, to be exact. It’s been a long wait, well over a year, and something tells me John knew he wouldn’t be there. Now that I think about it, that would explain his curious will, wouldn’t it?” she said thoughtfully.

David didn’t answer. He was still mulling over Charles.

“Anyway,” Ellen continued, reining in her sorrow, “I need to be in Baltimore a day or two prior to the operation, for a battery of tests. I can stay in a hotel, but I obviously can’t negotiate Baltimore alone. I need an escort and I guess John thought you were the best candidate.” She shrugged helplessly. “I’m sorry.”

David was incredulous at her casual apology. “Sorry? What do you have to be sorry about? You’ve just inherited two million dollars. That’s a helluva lot of seeing-eye dogs!”

Ellen’s mouth twisted wryly. “You don’t mince words, do you, Mr. Hartwell? I’m simply trying to say that I’m sorry you’ve been assigned this distasteful job, I’m sorry that you’re being blackmailed for your share of your rightful inheritance, and I’m sure sorry that I can’t do something about it. But like I said, you don’t have to help me.”

“Oh, sure, right, like I have a choice. I just walk away and live with my conscience for the rest of my life, knowing that I blew your opportunity to live a normal life!”

“I know,” Ellen agreed sadly. “It’s blackmail, any way you look at it. I just hope you believe that I had no hand in the matter.” She waited for his assurance, but wasn’t surprised when it wasn’t forthcoming. A hex on the strong, silent type, she swore silently, and tried another tack.

“Would it help if I said I wouldn’t be too much trouble?”

His skeptical laugh ruffled her feathers.

“I’m perfectly able to care for myself,” she continued. “I can even cook, once I know where everything is…sort of.”

David’s silence was unnerving until it occurred to Ellen that she was looking at the situation solely from her point of view. “Oh, you’re afraid I’m going to invade your privacy! Oh, don’t be,” she begged. “I’ll be the original invisible woman. Women!” she gasped. “Oh! You’re afraid I’ll be in the way of you and your…er…women friends.” She blushed hotly.

“Dammit all!”

“Oh, I won’t be,” Ellen hurried on, ignoring David’s groans now that she understood the situation. “Do you have a girlfriend? I know you’re not married, but a girlfriend, yes, I can see how that might concern you. Well, don’t you worry. I’ll explain everything to her. And when you want to be alone, I’ll stay here in my room. You won’t hear a peep out of me.”

“For heaven’s sake, Ellen, stop babbling! Just stop!” David sprang from his chair. Frantic, he made a decision.

“Get dressed. We’re leaving in an hour.”

“What?” she gasped, jerking upright.

“I didn’t hear anything in my father’s will that indicated that we had to stay in Montana.”

“I just assumed…I thought…I can’t! This is my home!”

“So what? It’s mine, too. And I hate it! So, like I said, Miss Candler, we’re leaving in an hour. I just ate, and I slept away half the afternoon on top of this bloody mountain. I’m set to drive.”

“But I have to pack. It will take me time.”

“You have plenty of time. I’ve got to make some phone calls. Sixty minutes should do it.”

“An hour?” Ellen protested. “I can hardly dress in that time, much less pack!”

“Look, sweetheart, you’re a millionaire now. If you forget anything, you can buy it by the gross.”

“I won’t go! I can’t! That’s all there is to it!” Her arms folded on her chest, Ellen was a study in rebellion, but David Hartwell was unimpressed.

“Listen, lady, my father wasn’t the only bastard in the family,” he swore, giving a sharp tug to her blanket. With a screech, Ellen scrambled to conceal herself, but David’s breath was the only thing to warm her as his massive hands grasped her waist.

“I’ll be back in an hour, princess, so you might want to put on some clothes. Personally, I have no objection to your traveling as you are, but the airline might.”

“O-oh, you…you…monster! I won’t go!”

David’s hands tightened at her use of the word monster, even though he knew her choice of words was merely unfortunate. “Oh, you’ll go, sweetheart, make no mistake, because I’ll carry you stark-naked and screaming out of this mausoleum, if need be!”

“You snake! You wouldn’t dare!”

David shrugged, his voice unsympathetic. “It’s time to come down from the mountain, Ellen.”

Time for both of us, if only you knew.




Chapter Three


The storm broke about thirty minutes after they left. Ellen could hear the rain pounding on the car’s roof, falling harder and growing louder as the miles flew by, while an ominous rumble of thunder trailed them. She wished David would pull over and let the storm ride itself out, but he did not, and after the embarrassing scene of their departure, she didn’t dare ask him anything.

She hadn’t been ready. She’d had just enough time to shower and dress before he’d returned. But he did give her the extra time she needed, even helped her to gather her belongings. Then he had scooped her up and bounded down the stairs, stationing her on the bottom step and ordering her not to move. A sudden cold draft had told her that he had gone outside, the distant slam of a car door said that he was loading up their gear. Then he was back, bringing the cool night air with him.

“It’s chilly outside. I’d forgotten how cool the nights were here in Montana, even in the summer.” Draping a heavy sweater over her shoulders, David thrust her cane in her hand. “I’ve put your purse in the car,” he said, his voice fading as he strode to the door.

Glowering, Ellen shrugged and let the sweater fall to the floor. “I told you I didn’t want to go.”

David came back and stood silently, looking down at the little woman trying to face off with him. A part of him admired her bravura, but only a part of him. Hands in his pockets, a frown across his face, he tried to decide what to do.

The mountain air on his clothing was sweet and moist, and Ellen thought she could almost smell the night. She could feel him towering over her, his breath ruffling her hair. Was he trying to intimidate her with his size? “Didn’t you hear me?” she snapped, with a stomp of her foot. “For the millionth time, I don’t want to go!”

“Yes, I heard you! Every time!” David told her crisply. Retrieving her sweater, he tied it tightly in place.

“But I didn’t pack enough,” she wailed. “I haven’t even got a pair of socks in my bag!”

“This country’s full of malls, and you have enough plastic in your wallet to buy out most of them!”

“You’ve been spying on me!”

“Just wanted to be sure you had your driver’s license,” he mocked.

“I don’t want to go with you!”

“Pretend.”

Ellen’s eyes filled. “I’m afraid.”

David reached out to her in a gesture meant to comfort, that surprised him no less than she. Their foreheads touching, his black waves tangled with her red curls, his voice was soothing, but insistent. “I know, Ellen. I know that you’re afraid. That’s why you must leave. But I’m the gun hired to protect you, remember?”

“You won’t. You don’t really care what happens to me. You’re just doing it for the money!”

His wide thumbs scraping away her tears, David cupped her ashen face with his large, calloused hands. His mouth didn’t quite brush hers as he searched her stricken, blind eyes and tried to promise with words what she could not read in his eyes. “Ellen Candler, nothing, but nothing, is going to happen to you! This is going to be the most boring trip of your life. I’ll be with you every moment of the day. Every move you make. You think you’re sick of me now?” he teased. “See how you feel in a week. Maybe you’re right. In a way, I’m being paid to do a job, but I’ll be good at it, don’t you worry.”

She didn’t believe him. He could tell by the way she was breathing, by the way her hands fluttered, that she was starting to panic. Cursing beneath his breath, David hurried her out into the night. Sweet Jesus, she felt so good in his arms, her delicate frame quivering while he fumbled with the handle. He practically threw her into the car and gunned the engine, to hell with the potholes that had thrown him on his way up.

He felt possessed. The minute he’d laid eyes on Ellen, he’d known she spelled trouble. Only two days and she was taking over his mind, seeping under his skin—her silly tears, her flashing temper, her shy smile. Even her damned perfume was starting to cling to his clothes. He rubbed his pitted cheek to remind himself why he couldn’t have her. Rage was the only safe thing to feel and if he tried, it wouldn’t be so hard to accomplish. All he had to do was look in the mirror.

Ellen wasn’t sure if that was a snarl she heard, but whatever it was made her burrow deeper into her seat. She knew David was deeply upset, but so much of what she said and did angered him. If only he knew how desperate she was. Desperate not to be buried by walls she herself had built and was terrified to tear down.

They drove in silence until Ellen fell asleep and David was finally able to relax. He never realized a body could curl so comfortably across a bench seat—in her sleep, she had made a pillow of his thigh—but she was such a tiny thing, come to think of it. Heading south, he drove another hour, a protective hand on her shoulder. Toward five or so, Ellen stirred and stretched.

“Hey, watch it, princess, that’s my driving arm you’re poking. Unless you want to take over the wheel,” he joked.

Blushing, Ellen rose and tried to finger-comb her hair.

“So, exactly what are the politics of teasing a blind person? Is it a no-no, or what?”

“Jokes would be a novelty.” She smiled in a sleepy haze.

“I just wanted to be sure. Wouldn’t want you to report me to the American Institute of the Blind, or worse, the Civil Liberties Union. And stop playing with your hair. You look fine, and besides—no pun intended—there’s no one here to see, except me. And I don’t count, right?”

“I suppose not,” she agreed vaguely, not wishing to quarrel. Unable to see the pain in David’s eyes. “Where are we?”

“A mile or so out of Floweree, your old hometown, didn’t you say? I’m looking for a gas station. We need to fill up and I’d guess you could use the stretch.”

“Where are we going?”

“To Great Falls, to the airport. We’re not that far.”

Waiting for Ellen to protest, David was surprised when she didn’t. He couldn’t know that Ellen had never flown before and was trying to quell a sudden rise of hysteria. But she wasn’t about to say so. She didn’t want to give him any more ammunition for the faultfinding campaign he seemed to be waging. They finished the drive to the airport in silence, but she couldn’t know how many times he glanced her way.

“Two one-way tickets to Albany, New York,” she heard him say when, having returned the rental car, they had made their way to the airport lobby. Then, with an hour to kill before boarding, David guided Ellen to a nearby restaurant that had just opened its doors. In the rosy morning light of dawn, the strain of traveling was having a pronounced effect on Ellen, and he suspected that the bombardment of strange noises on her ears was also taking its toll. Her lips were white and a web of worry lines had appeared near her eyes. Putting his arm around her shoulders, he pulled her into the safety net of his arms. When a noisy lunch trolley rattled by and she buried her face in his jacket, he knew she was near the end of her rope.

“Take it easy, kid. I’m right here,” he whispered.

“I know,” she said, raising her head even while her shoulders sagged beneath his hand.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked, alarmed at her pallor. “You’re not going to faint on me, are you?”

“A cup of tea is definitely in order.” She smiled wanly.

David was glad Ellen couldn’t see the waitress stare as she led them to a booth. The woman didn’t know who to stare at first, the beautiful blind girl clutching a fancy wooden cane, or her heavily cloaked companion. If she’d seen his scars, she would have positively gawked, but David’s face, when he ordered breakfast, was carefully hidden by his public persona, sunglasses and a huge felt hat. Though he had lots of hats and tons of sunglasses, his biggest regret was his inability to grow a beard. It would have been such a help, but unfortunately his scars hindered an even growth of facial hair along the right side of his face.

The couple made small talk, desultory and polite, while they waited for their order. David figured Ellen needed time to calm down, catch her breath and get her bearings. He had a hunch she didn’t get out much. And then, they both recognized a mutual cease-fire when they saw one. Besides, he could hardly believe his good fortune, sharing a table with a woman and not having to worry about his appearance.

And Ellen wasn’t just any woman, she was a goddess. The sun rising across the tarmac painted a golden spray across her porcelain face and turned her hair to a Titian halo. David felt like a kid with a box of Cracker Jack, and he’d steeled himself against the revulsion of strangers too many times not to indulge himself now. And Ellen, having no idea what he looked like, was the bonus prize. No, she didn’t know. She would never have been able to hide her knowledge from him, she was such a transparent little thing. Thank God, his father had not revealed his disfigurement. Omitting to tell Ellen about David’s horrendous scars was a gift John would never know he gave his son.

David watched though, with no small amusement, as she shredded her paper napkin all over the table. “Nervous?” he asked, covered her fluttering hands with his own.

“How can you tell?” She smiled weakly. “I keep telling myself to trust you to not leave me stranded mid-journey, but—”

“A good idea, trusting me.”

“Yes, well…” She made no effort to move her hands, savoring instead the soothing warmth they shared. She hardly needed to move her fingers to detect his rough, swollen knuckles. “You know, David,” she said as she turned his hands in hers and lightly explored his palms, “most people let me see them, through touch. Will you let me touch you sometime? Your face, I mean.”

“Hell, no!”

His vehemence surprised her. “Why not? I won’t hurt you. I just flick my fingers over your face, like I’m doing to your hands now. It helps me to form an impression of you, gives me something to work with.”

“Isn’t my lousy temper enough for you to work with?”

“You have something there,” Ellen chuckled. “But I’m serious. It’s what blind people do.”

“I’ll think about it,” David stalled, unable to come up with a reason for refusing.

“Will you? Do you promise? But you must be very handsome to be so vain,” she teased. She was on her second cup of sugary hot tea and feeling calmer.

He paused in the middle of stirring his coffee. “Handsome? Vain?”

“Are you?” she persisted.

“Am I what?”

“Handsome.”

“Lady,” he laughed harshly, “I’m as ugly as sin. Ask anyone.”

Thankfully the huge breakfast they had ordered finally arrived to distract them. The amused waitress looked askance at Ellen’s slight build, but said nothing as she placed plate after plate on their table. David didn’t say anything, either, as he watched Ellen devour two eggs, a small stack of pancakes and a glass of cold milk. He liked that her appetite was uninhibited and couldn’t help wondering if her other appetites were just as hearty.

“It must have cost my father a fortune to feed you,” he joked as he pushed his own plate aside. His clumsy attempt to make peace fell flat. Red-faced, Ellen quietly put down her fork and folded her hands. “Hey, sweetheart, I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I enjoyed watching you eat. Lots of women pick at their food as if it were a trial.”

“For lots of women, it may be. I didn’t think I had to worry about my weight. At least, John always used to say I didn’t. Do I?” she asked uneasily. “Was he humoring me?”

“Are you fishing for compliments?”

Ellen flushed. “You were the one who made that nasty remark.”

“It was a stupid thing to say. I really am sorry.”

“Okay, fine, you’re forgiven. But why is it that whenever the conversation turns the slightest bit personal, you get hostile? I only asked that question about my weight because it suddenly occurred to me that maybe your father was just being polite. I have some sense of my body, but now that we’re talking about it, I realize that the only person who ever gave me any feedback about my shape, or even my looks, was John Hartwell.” She touched her cheeks as if she were feeling them for the first time, but when she ran her fingers over her lips, David’s mouth went dry. “He told me I was beautiful, but then he would, wouldn’t he?”

“Except that he was right,” David managed to rasp.

“Beautiful is a powerful word,” Ellen retorted doubtfully.

“You forget that I have no stake in the matter.”

“Neither did John.”

“Well, you are beautiful!” he assured her, but she heard his annoyance and suddenly it was all too much.

“Never mind, David. I don’t really care what I look like, I just want to go home. Please take me home,” she begged as a tear fell.

David was beside her in a flash, sliding an arm around her waist. “Here, darling, let me guide you.” He spoke loudly for the benefit of the waitress bearing down on them with the check and shrugged sheepishly as she placed it on the table. “Newlyweds,” he explained lamely as he tossed some bills on the table.

With his firm hand plastered to Ellen’s back, he hustled them out to the gate, where their plane was beginning to board. “I have to stow our bags,” he told her.

“You mean your bags! I only had time to pack the one.”

“Whatever,” he sighed as he showed her to their seats. “Just give me your word you won’t try to escape while I try to find an empty overhead compartment.”

“Where would I go?” Ellen asked sadly.

Skeptical, David had no choice but to follow the stewardess up the aisle with his duffel bag.

Ellen slumped down in her seat in despair. This whole situation simply wasn’t going to work! David was far too mercurial, kindly one minute, autocratic the next. There must be other options. If she could just make her way home, Harry Gold would figure something out. She’d beg him, bribe him, threaten him somehow, before she spent another day like this. Her mind made up, she grabbed her cane and purse, giving silent thanks to the god of credit cards. Feeling her way along the aisle, she prayed David didn’t return too soon. People were so happy to guide her, that she was able to find her way to the exit in moments.

Where David stood, blocking her way. She recognized his distinct male smell seconds before his hands clasped her forearms.

“So much for your word,” he hissed, his lips against her ear.

Left no other choice, Ellen took a deep breath and screamed. Well, it’s what she would have done, if David hadn’t kissed her.

Kissed the breath from her body, erased every sensible thought she had, boldly kissed her smack in the doorway of a 747! And she, all she could think to do was…kiss him back! Lean into him, her body on its own wavelength, desire overwhelming, an active participant to her own seduction.

Everyone laughed and applauded, and Ellen could only imagine how charming David made them seem when finally he released her. His arm ranged around her neck, he nuzzled her hair for their audience as he led her back to their seats. But the grip in which he held her was inviolate.

“I hate you!” she swore as he fastened her seat belt.

“You hate me?” he scoffed. “Well, I can’t imagine what it would be like to kiss you, then, if you liked me even a little bit!”

“That’s something you’ll never know!”

“Won’t I?” David laughed as he tightened her belt. “Oh, my dear, never say never!” His long hands tunneling through her hair, David slowly dragged her face to his. Skimming her teeth as he ran his tongue around her lips, he knew he was taking advantage of the situation, but the taste of her was an aphrodisiac he couldn’t seem to steer clear of. When he raised his head and saw how dazed she was, he couldn’t help his satisfied smile. She wanted this, too.

Again he ducked his head, smothering her protest as he took possession of her mouth. But no sweet missive this. His hand locked around her neck, he made her a prisoner of his desire, his tongue thrusting past her teeth. When he felt her mouth soften, he knew he was not mistaken. When he lifted his head, the hot ache he felt was reflected in her wide, green eyes.

“Oh! You…you…”

“Give it a rest, Ellen!” David sternly ordered as he leaned back in his seat and gave a hard, angry tug to his own seat belt.

Crude to the end, Ellen thought in disgust. Her hands opened and closed, itching to strangle him, the edge of violence he brought her to, extraordinary. But she was still reeling from his savage kiss. She had succumbed, yes, but that was because he’d… Overwhelmed her, yes, that was it. She refused to admit to the heady sensation that his lips had aroused, although she thought about nothing else the next hour.

He didn’t seem to mind that she refused to speak to him the entire flight, not the way he buried himself in the movie after she declined his offer of headphones. He had been too angry during takeoff to notice her terror, and would have missed it now except that Ellen was chalk-white and her eyes were wide and glassy. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” she said quietly. “I’ve just never flown before.”

“Dammit, Ellen, why didn’t you tell me?”

“After the way you behaved?”

“Oh, hell! Well, how did you and Dad get to Baltimore to see Gleason?”

“We took a train. Look, don’t bother yourself now! I’ll be fine, just give me a minute.”

David could see by the way Ellen was trembling that she was going to be anything but fine, but he didn’t know what to do. They were already in the process of landing and would be down any minute. He supposed if she got very sick, a stewardess would have the wherewithal to help, with oxygen maybe, but he hoped that wouldn’t be necessary.

“For chrissake, Ellen, do you think that in the future, when you have a problem, you could let me know?” he grumbled as he unbuckled her. Her shaking hands couldn’t even manage that.

“Why?” she hissed. “So you can practice a little kindness?” Shoving him away, she tried to stand, but her legs wouldn’t support her. Luckily he caught her in time, and she made no protest until he slipped his arms beneath her knees and started to lift her.

“David, stop! I’m blind, not crippled!”

“You’re too weak to walk!”

“Please, David, put me down,” she pleaded quietly, “don’t embarrass me this way. Give me a minute and I’ll be okay.”

He hesitated, then gently set her down. “All right, then, how about if we just sit here and wait for the other passengers to disembark? Give you a little time to find your land legs.”

“Thank you,” she sighed, her relief almost palpable as his warm hand covered her cold fingers.

Thirty minutes later they were heading out of Albany in David’s dusty blue pickup truck, which he’d left in long-term parking. He could almost feel himself beginning to relax. He had hated to leave the forest preserve. He was always glad when the strange cities that cramped him were only a memory, when he drove back into the mountains, breathed in the pine-scented air and remembered why he chose to live there. But not quite yet. He had one more errand to run, an hour north of Albany, in a tiny hamlet called Queensbury, located at the foot of the Adirondack Park. He headed the truck in that direction.

“Be careful when you get out,” David advised Ellen as they pulled up to a small clapboard house. “Might be that Rafe Tellerman is my friend, but he’s also the damned laziest guy I know. He hasn’t cut the grass in years.” With a firm hold on her thin arm, David helped Ellen from the truck and guided her past a rickety screen door desperately in need of oil.

“Rafe, you home?” David bellowed.

“That you, Hartwell?” a male voice called from another room.

Ellen heard a chair scrape, but it was the sudden barking of a dog that captured her attention. Then suddenly there it was, barking ecstatically, and David was laughing—laughing!—apparently the focus of the dog’s affection. The man’s, too, judging from the way he laughed as he followed the dog into the room.

“Davey, me lad! When did you get back?”

She could almost see the smile on the man’s face, he seemed so happy to greet his friend.

“Just this morning,” she heard David answer above the dissonance of paws scraping the floor. “Down, Pansy, sit! There’s a good girl. Stay!”

“Well, it’s good to see you, ranger. And just so you know the worst right away, my mother’s madder at you than a hornet!” But the way the stranger was laughing, she guessed it wasn’t much of a threat.

“What exactly did I do to make Miss Callie angry? I haven’t been around the last few weeks.”

“That’s just it, friend. You were supposed to show up for dinner, the Friday before you left. Not only didn’t you show—oh, don’t go slapping your head for my sake!—you also neglected to let her know that your father had passed away. Glen Makker told her when she was searching for your whereabouts.”

“You’re right, I forgot. Will you tell her that I’m real sorry, that events conspired, etcetera, etcetera?”

“No thanks! That’s one you’ll have to do yourself.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“But seriously, David, we’re real sorry about your dad.”

“Thank you, Rafe.”

“How was the funeral?”

As she stood quietly in the doorway, Ellen listened to their small talk, amazed that anyone held sway over David Hartwell. She hadn’t thought about the fact that he had a life beyond the Hartwell manor, that he might have friends who loved him. Lovable was not a word she would have applied to him, not even close. Apparently he kept his rancor reserved just for her.

Lulled by the undertone of their deep male voices, Ellen was startled when Rafe discovered her. Or Pansy, rather, because the dog had ambled over to where she stood and thrust her cold nose on Ellen’s knees, causing her to lose her balance and fall.

“Pansy, no!” David shouted. Pushing Pansy aside, David kneeled down beside Ellen, awkwardly sprawled on the floor. “Are you okay?” His voice was rough with anxiety while his hands explored her, checking for bruises.

“Holy cow, David! What’s this?” Rafe’s voice was tinged with wonder as he took in Ellen’s long legs and luscious curves.

“Don’t you recognize a girl when you see one?” David asked irritably, his eyes fastened on Ellen. “I’m really, really sorry about this, Ellen. Pansy is as gentle as they come, but I should have warned you—and her. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

A blush pinked up Ellen’s cheeks as she lightly dismissed the accident. “It’s all right, David. She just startled me. I haven’t been near many dogs.”

“Seriously? I would have thought—”

“Well, you thought wrong. Not all blind people have seeing-eye dogs, silly. Or else I’ve misplaced mine, hmm?”

“Very funny. I’m laughing all over the place,” he muttered, rising to his feet with Ellen in tow.

“So am I,” chuckled Rafe, nursing his surprise. “You didn’t mention you’d brought company.”

“Ellen’s not company, she was my father’s ward. And now she’s mine, for a couple of months. I’m taking her up to my place to stay awhile. And she’s blind,” David added bluntly, “so be careful what you say and do.”

“Ah, David Hartwell, tactful as ever,” Rafe rebuked him as he pushed his friend aside. “Don’t mind him, miss. He has the manners of a goat! My name is Rafael Tellerman and I’m David’s best friend. At your service, ma’am.”

Ellen held out her hand. “Hello, Mr. Tellerman,” she said softly. “I’m Ellen Candler.”

“Ah, but you must call me Rafe. Only my students call me Mr. Tellerman—and God knows what else!”

Ellen laughed and her glow caught the men unawares. Rafe looked as though he’d gone straight to heaven, and David knew he had never seen Ellen smile quite that way before. But then, he’d never given her any reason to smile, had he?

“I take it this is your home, Rafe?”

Clasping Ellen’s hand, Rafe pressed it to his chest. “Mi casa es su casa!”

Disgusted by the nauseating display in front of him, David was quick to intervene. “We’re in Queensbury,” he explained to Ellen in a clipped voice. “Rafe’s been watching Pansy for me. Pansy is my dog. My home is in the park.”

“In the park?” Ellen asked, a little puzzled.

“I’m a forest ranger for the DEC—that’s the Department of Environmental Conservation. I thought you said my father told you.”

“He did. He told me you were a forest ranger, but he didn’t go into details.”

“So I noticed. Almost like I didn’t exist,” David muttered.

“But that’s the way you wanted it, wasn’t it?” Ellen countered cooly but David refused to be baited.

“Well, that’s what I am, lady, a forest ranger, and the territory I patrol is the Adirondack Forest Preserve just west of Indian Lake. It’s not quite as far as it sounds, and we could conceivably make it home by nightfall, if lover-boy ever lets go of your hand.”

Rafe dropped Ellen’s hand abruptly. “Sorry.” He grinned, but the tone of his voice told Ellen he wasn’t, not in the least. “Ellen, I’m a single, thirty-six-year-old college professor, and tenured, too, so I make a decent living.” He laughed, and she could hear the imp in his voice. “I didn’t want to leave the transmitting of such important information to my buddy, here. You are unattached, aren’t you?” he demanded with a sidelong glance at David.

“Of course I am.” Ellen smiled.

“Why do you say ‘of course?’”

Ellen floundered, unused to such blunt questions. “Well, for one thing I haven’t dated much.”

Rafe looked shocked. “Well, that’s one thing that’s going to change real soon, you have my word!”

“Mr. Tellerman, are you flirting with me?” Ellen asked curiously.

Gently, Rafe flicked the tip of Ellen’s nose. “Why, Miss Candler, yes, I do believe I am. Does it bother you? Do you want me to stop?”

Ellen shrugged. “I don’t know. No one ever has before.”

“I’ll stop if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“No, no. I just don’t know what to do. Am I supposed to flirt back? I haven’t a clue how to do so, if I should.”

Rafe laughed. A deep, throaty laugh that was jovial and kind and made Ellen smile when she thought she was bankrupt of laughter. “Miss Candler, you just keep doing what you do naturally and you’ll manage just fine!”

Busy adjusting Pansy’s collar, David observed all and said nothing, and when he rose to his feet, his anger was carefully masked. So that when Rafe offered to make them sandwiches for the ride home, he was able to decline with civility. If Rafe didn’t mind, they had eaten on the plane and he was in a hurry to get on the road.

“But you will be around for my mother’s Labor Day barbecue, won’t you?” Rafe insisted as he watched David leash his dog.

David shot him a layered look as he guided Ellen to the door. “I suppose if I don’t, you’ll send Miss Callie out hunting for me?”

“You can be sure of it.”

“Well, just so you don’t say I didn’t warn you, I don’t even know that I’ll be getting Labor Day off. It’s prime vacation time, you know that. The mountains are crawling with tourists already, and I don’t think Glen Makker would appreciate giving me any more time off, all things considered.”

“Yes, yes, but surely you can fit in a few hours off that day. If not, then allow me to escort Ellen. You’ll love my mother,” Rafe promised. “Everybody does, even David. He just pretends not to love anything except snakes and dogs. Miss Callie—that’s what everyone calls her, including me!—in the way of explaining things, is one of the oldest and most respected matriarchal souls in these parts, and she just also happens to put together the best barbecue in the park. Her sauce is a state secret and she shows it off at her annual Labor Day shindig. Everyone goes! Come on, David, get your act together, old buddy, and show. You’ll make him listen, Ellen, won’t you?”

“Me?” Ellen laughed incredulously. “I couldn’t make David Hartwell do a thing he didn’t want. I have absolutely no influence over him whatsoever, I assure you!”

“Oh, come on,” Rafe coaxed as he reclaimed her hand and brought it to his lips. “You could make anyone do anything. Try me!”

Ellen smiled, and before she knew it, her palm was lightly kissed. Arm-in-arm, they strolled to David’s truck, while David loaded Pansy’s supplies onto the pickup bed, right next to their luggage. Rafe laughed even more heartily at the dark look David sent him when he bundled Ellen into the passenger seat.

“Another conquest? You keeping score, I hope?” David growled as he climbed behind the wheel, having settled Pansy in the rear of the cab.

“Oh, and who was the first?” Ellen asked impudently as she fastened her seat belt.

Feeling his temperature rise, David wisely said nothing. But as he drove away he heard Rafe laugh loudly.




Chapter Four


The final hour they drove in deadly silence gave David plenty of time to simmer. Ellen kept quiet, refusing to be goaded into the fight she could feel David itching to start.

“Am I getting the silent treatment?” he demanded into the hush that filled the car as they headed toward the outskirts of Longacre. “If I am, I hate to disappoint you, lady, but the silence suits me fine. It’s what I’m used to.”

The bitterness in David’s voice came as a surprise to Ellen. It was disturbing, and she found herself wanting to make peace, but David quickly sensed the change of atmosphere. “Thanks, but no thanks. I don’t want your pity!”

“My pity?” Ellen repeated, astonished at the accusation. “What on earth are you talking about? Why should I pity you? Honestly, David, I just don’t understand you!”

David cursed himself for a fool but refused to explain. “You don’t have to,” he snapped. “It’s not part of the deal.”

What a jerk she must think him, he sighed as he took the last stretch of road. Well, he certainly did his best to behave like one. It wasn’t too difficult, though. The minute he’d laid eyes on her, he knew his life was going to become complicated. Her blindness notwithstanding, even Rafe had fallen under her spell. Well, not him! He’d been around the block, knew a whole lot about handicaps, even if she didn’t think he did. All those years spent in hospitals, trying to have his face reconstructed, hadn’t left him an easy touch! It took a lot to get his sympathy. Not that she tried, he had to admit as he glanced at the figure huddled against the door, chewing on her lip, probably trying not to cry.

And kissing her on the plane! Damn, but that was the worst. Giving in—oh, come on, let’s be honest—losing control, was more like it! He simply couldn’t stop himself! Falling all over her the moment he got the chance, as if he was drugged or something, now that was the truth, if he really wanted to be honest.

An hour later, after being jarred at every turn along a dirt road that should have been illegal, Ellen was still wondering what it was with these Hartwell men, hiding away on mountains that were better left to bears. David hadn’t spoken nearly the entire ride, and even Pansy had been quiet, padding back and forth on the truck’s tiny back seat. Her nose out the window to growl at the wind was the only sign of life in the truck. Now she thought about it, not much had changed since Montana. They could have stayed there, for all the difference it made. Even though David had argued otherwise, he made it clear at every opportunity that she was a job he didn’t want—and she on her best behavior, for goodness’ sake! Every chance he’d got, he cut her down, made her feel small and unwanted, succeeding hugely. If she thought she was lonely in Montana, she had a feeling she was about to ascend new heights! Or was it descend new depths? Things wouldn’t be half so bad if…

Things were pretty bad, she sighed as she brushed away an unruly tear. Was this how it was going to be, the next few months—a vacuum of sight and sound? She would have liked to explain to her companion that noise was an essential component of her world, that she needed to hear voices, for instance, to feel grounded, that it made her jittery to not hear anything for long lengths of time. Very often she played the radio just to make sure there were four walls surrounding her. She watched television, which she despised, for the same reason—the need to hear the human voice.




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