She stared at the sand under her own bare feet. "I suppose I did, in a way. My mother died in an accident a few months ago, you see. She'd been drinking, and I let her drive...." Her shoulders lifted and fell. "I got a few scars and I had a concussion, but everyone seems to feel that I killed her."
"Do they?" he asked thoughtfully, "or is it guilt that's punishing you?"
Her eyes flashed. "Guilt?"
"Your eyes are tortured, Miss Steele," he said softly, studying them. "You're Very young to try to live with that much guilt. I'm a fatalist myself. I believe that the hour of death is preordained."
She swallowed. "Is it?"
"Such things are best left to theologians and philosophers. But it seems to me a horrible waste to let guilt destroy your life along with your mother's. Was she a happy person?"
She shook her head. "My parents had divorced, my father had remarried and Mandy found it rough trying to live by herself." She stuck her hands in her pockets. "She couldn't cope. She wanted me to come back home, to take care of her." She laughed bitterly. "I couldn't even take care of myself...."
He caught her gently by the shoulders and turned her to face him. "Try living in the present. You can't change what was."
She felt her lower lip tremble. "The guilt is eating me alive."
"Then stop feeding it," he advised. "Stop hiding."
She searched his kind eyes. "Have you ever thought of becoming a psychiatrist?" she asked, forcing lightness into her tone.
One corner of his mouth curled up. "I studied psychology for three years before I decided I liked electronics better and transferred to a technical college," he confessed.
She burst out laughing. "I should have realized," she said. "You could probably do your brother more good than I have, you know."
"He won't listen to me or talk to me," he said, shaking his head. "But he'll listen to you."
"Only when I yell."
"It's a start. You really want to take him to Savannah? Okay. But you tell him, I'm not going back in there to save my life," he chuckled.
"I find that blatant cowardice," she murmured.
"No doubt. I call it self-preservation." He strode back down the beach beside her. "Have you told him— about the scars?"
"No," she said simply. She swallowed. "You... won't tell him?"
He glanced at her. "You're making too much of them, you know," he said softly. "You're a lovely woman. But if you don't want him to know..."
"It's not for any special reason," she said quickly. "It's just that, well, he doesn't need to know, does he?"
He turned away before she could see the tiny smile on his face. "No, of course he doesn't."
They walked quietly back to the house, and Dana gathered all her nerve before she knocked at the door of Gannon's study.
"Come in" was the harsh reply.
She opened the door, to find him sitting in his big armchair with tumbled furniture all around him, a black scowl on his face and a smoking cigarette in his hand.
"Who is it?" he asked shortly.
"It's me," Dana said.
The scowl blackened. "Back from your daily constitutional?" he asked sarcastically. "Did my brother go with you?"
"Yes, he did," she said coolly. "It was quite a nice change, to walk and talk without yelling."
He snorted, taking another draw from the cigarette. "Can you find me an ashtray?"
"Why?" she asked innocently, noting the pile of ashes beside the chair on the carpet "Are you tired of dumping them on the floor already?"
"Don't get cute. Just find me an ashtray and bring it here."
She didn't like the silky note in his voice, but she got the ashtray and approached him warily.
"Where are you?" he asked, cocking his head and listening intently.
She set the ashtray softly on the arm of the chair and moved back. "Back here," she replied then. "Your ashtray is next to you."
He muttered something. "Afraid to come too close? Wise woman."
She shifted from one foot to the other. "It's my time off," she reminded him, "but I wanted to ask you something."
"I know it's your time off," he said curtly. "You remind me every day exactly how much you have and when you want it, so why the poor little slave girl act over the supper table? Playing on Dirk's sympathies? I might warn you that my brother is something of a playboy: He likes skirts."
"He's a nice, kind man, and you ought to be half as blessed with his good humor," she threw back.
"Shrew!" he accused, sitting up straight. His face hardened; his eyes darkened. "If I could see you, you'd be in considerable trouble right now."
"What would you do, take me over your knee?" she asked.
His nostrils flared. "No, I wouldn't risk breaking my hand."
"How discerning of you," she murmured.
His eyes searched in her direction, and something wicked flared in them. "I think I'd rather kiss you speechless than hit you."
She couldn't help it. She flushed like a budding rose, gaping at him. Her knees felt strangely weak as the words brought back vivid memories.
"No comment?" he murmured. "Have I shocked you? Or would you rather forget that last night in my arms you responded like a woman instead of a shrew?"
"I'm your nurse, Mr. van der Vere, not...!" she began.
"You're a woman," he interrupted, "and somehow I think that fact has escaped you for a long time. You have the feel of fine porcelain, as if you've never been touched by human hands. Is it part of the shield you wear to keep the world at bay? Are you afraid of feeling too much?"
"I'm afraid of being accused of unethical conduct," she returned. "You aren't the first man who's made a pass at me, Mr. van der Vere, and, sadly, you probably won't be the last. Sick men do sometimes make a grab for their nurses if the nurses are young and not too unattractive."
"The unattractive bit wouldn't matter to a blind man, would it?" he asked shortly.
"The blindness is temporary," she said firmly. "The doctors have told you that. Your sight will return; there's no tissue damage—"
He cursed roundly. "There is!" he shot back. He got to his feet and almost fell in his haste.
She rushed forward without thinking and helped him regain his balance, only to find herself trapped in his arms before she could move away.
"Mr. van der Vere," she said with controlled firmness, "please let me go."
But his fingers tightened, and a look of sudden pain washed over his features as her small hands pressed helplessly against his warm, broad chest. "Dana, don't push me away," he said softly.
The quiet plea took the fight out of her. She stared up at him, hating what he made her feel, hating her own reaction to it. But how could she fight him like this?
His big hands ran up and down her arms. "I wish I could see you," he said harshly.
"There's nothing uncommon about me. I'm just an ordinary woman," she said quietly. "I'm not a beauty; I'm plain."
"Let me find that out for myself," he said, letting his hands move to the sides of her face. "Let me feel you."
"No!" She tried to move away, but his hands were too strong.
"What is there about my touch that frightens you?" he asked harshly. "I won't hurt you, I promise."
"It isn't that...!"
"Then, what?" His face contorted. "For God's sake, am I such a leper? Does my blindness repel you...?"
Her eyes closed; her lower lip trembled. There was nothing for it now: She was going to have to tell him the truth or let him feel it, and she didn't think she could bear that. She didn't want him to know that she was disfigured.
"I'm...there's a scar," she whispered shakily, her eyes closed so that she missed the expression on his face. "Down my left cheek. A very long one."
His hands shifted, and he found the scar with its puckered surface and traced it from her temple down past her ear, traced it with fingers that suddenly trembled.
Her eyes closed even more tightly. "I didn't want you to know," sh
e whispered.
"Dana." He searched her delicate features with warm, slow fingers, tracing her eyebrows, her eyes, her nose, her cheeks and, finally, her trembling mouth.
"It's like a bow, isn't it?" he whispered, drawing his forefinger over the line of her mouth. "Do you wear lipstick?"
"No," she admitted. "I...I don't like it."
"Firm little chin, high cheekbones, wide-spaced eyes...and a scar that I can barely feel, which must hardly show at all." He bent and brushed his mouth over the scar with such tenderness that her eyes clouded and tears escaped from them.
"Don't cry," he whispered.
She swallowed. "You make it seem so...so small a thing."
"It is. Beauty is more than skin deep—isn't that what they say? You have a lovely young soul...and a stubborn spirit that makes me gnash my teeth, even though I respect it." He lifted his head. "Dana, I'd give a lot to taste your mouth again. But that wouldn't be ethical, I suppose, and we must above all be ethical."
She smiled at his cynicism. "Yes, me must," she murmured. She disentangled herself gently from his hands and he let her go with a sigh. "Now, about going to Savannah..."
His face darkened and he scowled. "I do not want you to go...."
"Oh, Dirk and I aren't going alone," she assured him. "We're taking you with us."
He blinked. "What?"
"We thought the ride would do you good," she murmured. "Help your disposition, as it were. Blow the cobwebs away."
He chuckled softly, then loudly, and she loved the masculine beauty of his face when it relaxed. "I can think of something that would do my disposition a lot more good than a drive," he murmured, tongue in cheek.
She cleared her throat and moved toward the door. "You just sit here and mink about that. I'm going."
"Coward," he said silkily.
"Strategic retreat," she corrected. She paused at the doorway. "Thank you for what you said about the scar, Mr. van der Vere."
"My name is Gannon," he reminded her. "I'd...like to hear you say it"
"Gannon," she whispered, making a caress of it She turned away from his set features. "Good night."
She barely heard his own "Good night" as the door closed behind her.
Chapter Six
Dana had never seen a city like Savannah, having spent most of her life around Ashton. She was overwhelmed by the history of the sprawling city, and when she and Dirk and Gannon had lunch at an eighteenth-century pirate inn, she almost swooned.
"Pirates really stopped here?" she asked in a whisper, staring around at the homey interior, which was crowded with lunch guests.
"According to legend, they did," Gannon murmured. "If I remember correctly, you can see the ocean from the window, can you not?"
She glanced out toward the horizon. "Oh, yes, you certainly can. What kinds of boats are those way out there?"
"Take your pick—shrimp boats, fishing boats, trawlers, tugboats.... It's a busy harbor," Dirk commented. "The seafood here is super."
"Something else we need to show her," Gannon said between sips of his hot, creamy coffee, "is one of the hidden gardens."
A flower-lover, her ears perked up. "Hidden gardens?"
"Little courtyards. Most of them are in private homes, but we have cousins here who love visitors. We'll drive by before we leave the city," Gannon told her. "I think you'll be impressed."
"I'm glad we didn't bring Lorraine." Dirk chuckled. "Every time she visits Maude and Katy, she wants to renovate the beach house."
"Maude and Katy are spinsters," Gannon continued. "Maude married, but her husband is dead, so she lives with Katy, who never married. They're sisters."
"You'll like the furniture especially, I think," Dirk added. "Most of it is mahogany. It came from the West Indies, where one of our ancestors made a fortune in shipping."
"Indeed he did," Gannon chuckled. "Raiding British ships. He was a pirate."
"Now I know why Gannon's so hard to get along with," Dana told Dirk with a wicked grin. "It's in his blood. I wonder how many people that pirate ancestor tossed overboard to feed hungry sharks?"
"Only one, as legends go," Gannon said, his eyes twinkling as they stared straight ahead. "His wife," he added on a low chuckle. "Well, the old blackguard!" Dana exclaimed. "He found her in his cabin with his first mate," he whispered, "and tied them together and pushed them from the starboard deck into the ocean." She shivered. "What happened to him?" "Nobody's sure," Gannon continued. "But at least one legend says that he went on to become a provincial governor in the West Indies." "Injustice," Dana grumbled.
"That depends on your definition," Gannon reminded her. "Those were different times; there were different codes of honor. In those days it was suicide for a woman to be adulterous."
"And these days it's more the 'in' thing than not," Dirk nodded. "How times change."
"Not always for the better," Dana added. Her eyes widened as she saw the platters of seafood being brought by their waitress. "Food!" she exclaimed.
"I hope your appetite is up to it," Dirk teased.
"If it isn't, I'll go home with my pockets full," she returned, and was pleased to hear Gannon's laughter mingling with his brother's.
The happy mood lasted and seemed to increase when they reached the Victorian home of the sisters Van Bloom. Maude was tall and thin and Katy was short and dumpy, but they shared a love of people that went beyond their physical attributes.
Dana was amazed at the garden she saw when she walked through the black wrought-iron gate. The courtyard was floored with brick, and its size was about that of a medium-size living room. It was filled with flowers and potted shrubs and trees, and there was black wrought-iron furniture set near a small fountain positioned in front of a vine-covered wall. Dana could understand why Lorraine felt like redoing the beach house every time she came to the Van Blooms'. It made the most infrequent gardener's fingers itch to recreate it.
"Lovely, isn't it?" Gannon said from behind her. "I remember it very well."
"You may have appreciated it, my dear," Maude said shortly, "but that woman you brought with you last time most certainly did not. Did you hear her, muttering about putting in a bar and a hot tub...!"
Dana turned, frowning, and Gannon looked distinctly uncomfortable.
"Layn likes modern surroundings, Aunt," Gannon said curtly. "What kinds of flowers do you have in here?"
Maude hesitated before she let the subject of Gannon's former girlfriend drop. "Azaleas, my dear," she. said. "Roses and sultanas and geraniums in shades of pink and red. I particularly like the red. How about you, Miss Steele?"
Dana sighed. "Oh, I just love them all," she said with quiet enthusiasm. "I don't think I've ever seen anything so lovely."
"You might try one of your own; it isn't so difficult," Maude encouraged.
"The nurse's home isn't the best place, I'm afraid," Dana said wryly.
"You're a nurse?" Maude burst out. "Why, so am 1.1 practiced as an R.N. for over fifteen years before I retired. Come, my dear, let's sit and discuss the changes over a pot of hot tea."
It was a long time before the two women finished, and then suddenly the others had joined them and it was time to leave. Dana climbed into the front seat with Dirk, while Gannon sat alone and quiet in the backseat and turned his head in the direction of the charming old home with a feeling of loss.
"Isn't it grand?" Dana sighed. "Are there many of those courtyards in Savannah?"
"More than you'd imagine," Dirk replied. "There's an active historical foundation here, with conscientious members who have a love of history and a sense of continuity. They've accomplished a lot, as you'll notice when we go through the downtown area. General Oglethorpe planned for gardens when he laid out the grid pattern of the first streets in the city, you see. He even established a sort of public nursery. Savannah is famous for its public squares as well."
"It's a beautiful city. I wish we had more time to see it," Dana said.
"We'll come back again," Dirk p
romised with a grin. "You're the kind of girl I like to take sightseeing, Dana: You have such a natural enthusiasm for new things."
"I love beauty, that's all," she replied. "Thank you for today, Dirk."
"Today will be the first of many," the younger man promised. "We'll do this again."
In the backseat, Gannon's face grew darker and harder, and neither of the occupants of the front seat noticed that he wasn't taking part in the conversation. Dana was lost in the memory of what she'd seen, and Dirk was capitalizing on her interest to freeze his brother out of the running. He liked what he saw in this soft-voiced wildflower, and he wasn't planning to lose her to his freebooter of a brother. He was going to stake a claim while there was still time.
Dana, blissfully unaware of her companion's dark thoughts, was chattering away about the garden without a care in the world. The gaiety lasted until they were back at the beach house and inside, until Gannon called sharply for her to join him in the study. And when the door closed, the beauty of the day went into a total eclipse with his harsh outburst.
"Your job," he said without preamble, standing rigidly in the middle of the floor, "is to look after me, not to flirt with my brother."
She froze at the door, staggered by the attack. "I beg your pardon?"
"You heard me," he growled. "From now on there'll be no more of that. While you work for me, you do it exclusively. I will not have my routine interrupted by these charming little outings with Dirk."
"You came too," she burst out. "And I'll remind you that you only pay for my services, not my soul!"
"That," he said, "is debatable. Keep away from Dirk."
She drew herself up to her full height. "I will not," she said shortly. "As long as he's here I will show him the same politeness and courtesy that I show your mother. And if you don't like that, fire me."
"With pleasure. Pack your things and get out."
She hadn't been prepared for that. Wild thoughts whirled through her mind, the foremost among them being that she'd have to leave him, just when she was getting...used to him. But his face was as dark as thunder, and he had a look of a man who wouldn't back down half an inch to save his life.
Books By Diana Palmer Page 220