"If that's what you want, Mr. van der Vere, I'll be pleased to leave you alone with your bad temper." She watched his rigid face twitch, as if her ready reply had come as a surprise. She could hardly resist a faint smile as she opened the door and went out. She'd had the last word, at least But what would become of him now?
She started up the staircase when Lorraine appeared at the top of it.
"There you are," the older woman said with a smile. "What would you like for dinner? I've had the cook thaw some steaks—"
"I don't think I'll have time," Dana said quietly. "I'm going up to pack."
Lorraine paled. "But, my dear, you're doing so well with him. Won't you reconsider?"
"It's not me," Dana replied with a quiet smile. "I'd have stuck it out, but he just fired me."
The other woman blinked. "Fired you? Why?"
"I was flirting outrageously with his brother," was the amused reply. "Or so he said. I didn't know I had it in me."
Lorraine laughed softly. "Oh, my. It's not funny in the least, and I'm not laughing at you. But considering the length of time you've known my other stepson... Poor Gannon."
"Poor me," Dirk said from behind Dana. "I gather that something's afoot. Dana's been fired, and I'm the culprit?"
"I was flirting with you," Dana told him.
His eyebrows arched. "Were you? You might have told me about it; I didn't even notice."
"Dirk, do something," Lorraine pleaded. "Gannon simply can't fire Dana just when I've gotten used to her!"
"I'll see what I can do," Dirk sighed, giving the study door a long, hesitant glance. "But don't expect miracles."
"I, for one, will not. I'm packing." Dana started up the stairs. "Don't worry, Mrs. van der Vere, I'll find you someone tough to replace me—perhaps Mrs. Pibbs...?"
"I was thinking more along the lines of that big man on that adventure show I like on television"—Lorraine scowled—"The one who hires himself out as a bouncer in his spare time...."
Dana laughed softly. "Good luck." She went on up the stairs and into her room, closing the door gently behind her. It was just beginning to sink in that she didn't have a job or a place to go. Her job at the hospital had been filled out of necessity, and without it she couldn't move back in with her roommate. She'd just joined the unemployed of the world, and all because her employer had some strange idea that she'd been making a play for his brother.
The more she thought about it, the madder she got. How dare he accuse her of chasing Dirk? It was just as well that she was leaving. Let him sit here and stew all alone; it seemed to be all he wanted from life. Let him wallow in self-pity and convince himself that he was blind forever, and see if she cared.
The problem was that she did care—very much. The thought of the big man sitting alone in that room without trying to help himself made her want to cry. Nobody else would last with him. And most nurses would just throw up their hands and walk out: They wouldn't take the kind of abuse he handed out. She didn't like to think of strangers doing the things for him that she did; even handing him his medicine and leading him around obstacles had become a part of her life that she didn't want to surrender.
And she would keep remembering the way he'd kissed her.... It had been unethical, but so sweet. She'd felt necessary for the first time in her life—secure and protected and needed. All the color would go out of the world when she left this lonely house by the sea.
She started packing her few things with a heart that felt like lead. The sudden tap on her door interrupted her, and she went to answer it with a thudding pulse.
Dirk was standing just outside, his hands in his pockets and a disgusted look on his face.
"I'm afraid I made it worse," he said apologetically, with a faint smile. "Not only wouldn't he relent, he went right through the ceiling and ordered me out of the house."
She sighed. She'd hoped...but what did it matter now? She returned the smile halfheartedly. "I'm sorry about that. He's in a nasty mood. I only wish I knew what was wrong with him."
"Are you quite sure you don't?" he asked with quiet suspicion. "He's very possessive about you. I haven't seen him this way since his early days with Layn, before he found out what a barracuda she really was."
Dana felt the blush work its way up into her hairline, and the fact that Dirk grinned wickedly didn't help it to fade.
"So it's like that," he murmured. "No wonder he was so angry when you decided to go to Savannah with me."
"It's not like that," she argued. "I'm his nurse. There is such a thing as ethics—"
"And such a thing as love," he interrupted. "What does ethics have to do with that? He cares for you— surely you've noticed it?"
Her eyes closed briefly. "I've notice that he's... attached to me," she corrected. "But you must remember that he's blind—temporarily or not. It makes him feel vulnerable, and he doesn't like it. What he thinks he feels for me may be nothing more than affection. I'm his anchor right now. If he regains his sight—and I'm convinced that he will—I will no more fit into his world than he will fit into mine."
"That might have been true once,'' Dirk agreed, "but he's changing."
That was true, he was, even if just faintly. But Dana was too wary to hope, and she said so.
"I still think that if you went downstairs and talked to him yourself, you might change his mind," he added.
She laughed softly. "I don't agree. And pride is my greatest fault; I'm not easily bent, you see." She shrugged her slender shoulders. "It's better this way. Mrs. van der Vere won't find it very difficult to replace me...."
"And you won't have risked an involvement, right?" he asked softly. "All right, it's your life. But I think you're making a big mistake."
"As you said," she reminded him quietly, "it is my life."
He nodded. "Well, take care of yourself. Although it's been brief, it's been nice knowing you. We may meet again someday."
She smiled. "It isn't likely. But thank you anyway. Good-bye."
"Good-bye."
She closed the door gently behind her and hated the quick tears that rushed into her eyes. She hadn't wanted to face what she was beginning to feel for Gannon van der Vere, but Dirk had forced her to. Yes, it was a good thing that it would end there. Because when Gannon did regain his sight, the last thing he'd want or need in his life would be a quiet, scared little nurse with inhibitions. And she was wise enough to realize it.
All the same, she paced the floor for what seemed like hours after she'd bathed and dressed for bed and finished gathering all her belongings into her suitcase. Her eyes felt bloodshot; her heart felt sore, as if wounded. She knew it was pointless to go to bed; she couldn't have slept.
The soft knock at the door seemed like a figment of her imagination, and she walked toward it like a daydreamer. Surely Dirk hadn't come back to say good-bye again?
She caught the doorknob, turned it and found a taciturn, weary-eyed Gannon standing quietly in the hall. He was wearing wine-colored pajamas with a long matching robe, and his blond hair was badly rumpled, as if he'd tried desperately to sleep and couldn't.
"Dana?" he asked softly.
Her heart jumped wildly at the sound of her name. "Yes?" she said in a taut tone.
He jammed his big hands into his pockets and leaned wearily against the wall, his eyes staring straight ahead. "Do you want to go?"
"Throwing the ball back into my court?" she mused. "Will it salve your pride if you can make me admit that I don't?"
He shook his head. "But it might make it easier for me to sleep. I...don't want to have to break in a new nurse now. I've gotten used to you. Warts and all," he added coolly.
It was insane, she told herself, to let herself be talked into staying. It would be better for both of them if she folded her tent and stole quietly away into his memory. But she looked at him and loved him; it was as simple as that. And the thought of leaving him became a nightmare.
"I'll only stay," she said firmly, "if you'll stop accusing me o
f things I haven't done with men I barely know."
His jaw tautened; his eyes flashed. But he sighed and nodded. "Very well. As long as you don't contemplate doing them," he agreed.
"If you could see me," she murmured, "just the thought of my flirting with a man would amuse you. I'm not even pretty."
"You have a lovely voice," he said, catching her by surprise. His fingers reached out and instinctively found her face, brushing lightly across her cheek and into her soft hair. His eyes closed in a scowl. "Don't go, Dana. You'd take the color with you."
"You'd very soon find someone to put it back," she told him, moving away from the disturbing feel of his fingers. "But if you like, I'll stay...a little longer."
He grinned then, and all the lines seemed to fall out of his hard face. "Until I fire you again?"
She smiled. "Until you fire me again."
"Get up early," he said, moving away from the wall. "I find myself looking forward to those walks along the beach with you."
"Yes...Gannon," she whispered, watching his face change, soften, mellow.
He nodded. "Yes. That's a start, at least. Good night, Dana."
"Goodnight"
He touched the wall until he reached his own room, and disappeared into the darkness. Dana stared after him quietly, surprised at the burst of joy she felt over what had happened. She didn't have to leave him. She stepped back into her own room with a silent prayer of thanks. At least she had his company for a little longer. She'd live on it all her life.
He was scowling when she appeared downstairs for breakfast the next morning, and Lorraine looked just as uncomfortable.
"Good morning, dear," she told Dana absently, chewing on her lower lip as she aimed back to Gannon.
"Are they sure? They could be mistaken again, since..."
"He said they aren't," he growled. He muttered a rough word under his breath and gripped his cup tightly in both hands. "I told you," he said shortly. "I knew from the beginning that hysteria wouldn't cause so much pain. They'll find it now, too, since they've discovered what I knew all along."
"What is it?" Dana asked quickly, sensing disaster.
Lorraine sighed. "The X rays—there was a mixup: One of the new people at the hospital mistook Gannon's for another patient and mislabeled them. It wasn't really her fault; she was certain that someone else had made the mistake and was trying to correct it."
Dana felt her face whiten. Gannon was sitting very straight, quietly sipping his coffee.
"There was something on the X rays they'd wrongly linked to another patient," Lorraine finished wearily. "When they did a brain scan, it came back clear, so they repeated the X rays. That was when they discovered it. It's been weeks, you see, and they'd told the other patient that nothing could be done." She shrugged. "Oddly enough, his sight came back... It was only in one eye and was apparently truly hysterical in nature."
"Which mine isn't, apparently," Gannon growled. He set the coffee cup down so roughly that it sloshed everywhere, burning him.
Dana jumped up to dab at it and he pushed at her roughly.
She fell against the table with a gasp, and at the tiny sound he seemed to calm all at once.
"Dana?" He reached out "Dana, did I hurt you? Dana!"
She rubbed her side. "I'm all right," she said quickly, shaking her head at Lorraine, who was rushing toward her. "I'm all right."
He moved closer, his whole look one of abject apology, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."
"You didn't. I collided with you, that's all." She let him find her hand and clasp it warmly. Surges of pure pleasure shot up her arm at his touch. "I'm really fine."
He drew in a steadying breath. "Come down to the hospital with us, will you?" he asked. "I need you."
No three words had ever sounded quite so sweet to her. "Of course I will," she said. "I'll be here as long as you need me."
Lorraine went to get her car keys, looking oddly relieved.
The next few hours seemed to drag on forever, and Dana felt cold fear eating away at her as Gannon went through test after test Lorraine paced and muttered and looked increasingly more concerned.
Finally they were called into Dr. Shane's office, where the rotund little physician stated the evidence of the tests bluntly and without pulling his punches.
"It's shrapnel," he said quietly, watching Gannon start. "Apparently from the accident—a tiny sliver that lodged itself in the brain, affecting the optic nerve."
"Can you operate?" Gannon asked curtly.
"No."
Dana's eyes closed, hurting for him, because now it was permanent and now he knew it She was already going over it in her mind before Dr. Shane continued, having seen that type of injury in war patients.
"The only chance you have to regain your sight," the doctor told Gannon, "is if the shrapnel should shift again. And it isn't completely impossible, you know. A sneeze is violent enough to dislodge it, although it isn't likely to. I'm afraid that's all the hope I can give you. If we were to try to operate, we could do irreparable damage to your brain. It's far too delicate and too great a risk. I'm very sorry about the mixup in the X rays, Gannon, but it would have made no difference if it hadn't happened. The condition is inoperable,"
Gannon stood up quietly and held out his hand, shaking the doctor's. "Thank you for being honest with me. As you see," he added ironically, "I was right all along."
"Fortunately you have a nurse to help you cope," Dr. Shane reminded him, "and a computer company to provide you with excellent assistance in those new techniques that help the blind communicate with the outside world. You'll do well."
"Yes," Gannon said. "I'll do well."
He was putting on a great front. He looked like a man without a care in the world, but Dana didn't believe it, and neither did Lorraine.
"Stay with him," she pleaded, drawing Dana aside when they got back to the beach house. "I'm afraid for him. He's taking it far too calmly to suit me, and you're the only person he's going to allow very close to him,"
"I'll take care of him," Dana promised. She touched Lorraine's arm. "Please don't worry. I'll take care of him."
"Yes, dear, I know you will." She smiled sadly. "It's in your eyes whenever you look at him. But don't let him hurt you, Dana."
"I haven't that choice anymore," she admitted softly, smiling before she turned and went into the study with him and closed the door.
"Would you like something to eat?" she asked when he stood out on the balcony, listening to the waves crash against the shore.
He shook his head. Behind him his hands were clasped so tightly that they looked white in spite of their tan.
"Can I do anything for you?" she persisted.
He drew in a deep, slow breath. "Yes. Come here and let me hold you."
Denying him was the last thought in her mind. She went to him as if she had no other function in life but to do and be anything he wanted of her.
He found her shoulders and pulled her close, wrapping her against his big, taut body. His body suddenly convulsed, and he buried his face in the long strands of loosened hair at her throat.
"Oh, God, I'm blind," he ground out harshly, and his body shuddered once heavily as the emotions poured out of him. "Blind! I knew it, I knew...Dana, what will I do? How will I live? I'd rather be dead...!"
"No!" She pressed closer, holding him, her hands soothing, her cheek nuzzling against him, her voice firm and quiet "No, you mustn't talk that way. You learned to cope before; you can again. You can get used to it. I'll help you cope, I will. I'll never leave you, Gannon, never, never!" she whispered.
He rocked her against him, and she felt something suspiciously wet against her throat where his hot face was pressed. "Promise me," he ground out. "Swear to me that you won't leave me unless I send you away. Promise!"
It sounded very much like an ultimatum, and she was afraid of what he might do if she refused or argued with him. "Yes, I promise," she agreed softly. Her eyes closed and she savored the f
eel of him against her, the warmth of his body comforting, like the crush of his big arms. "I promise."
He seemed to slump in relief, and his fingers against her back soothed, idly caressing. "It was a blow," he confessed softly. "I had expected... I had expected them to find something operable, you see. I wanted a miracle."
"Miracles happen every day when people still believe in them," she reminded him. "You're still alive; isn't that a miracle in itself? You're big and healthy and you have everything in the world to live for."
"Everything except my sight," he said shortly.
"I'll remind you that there are many people in the world without sight who have accomplished quite a lot despite it," she said. "Singers, artists, musicians, scientists... nothing is a handicap unless you force it to be. You can accomplish anything you want to."
"Even marriage?" he scoffed, lifting his head. "A family?"
"That as well."
"And who would marry the blind man. Nurse? You?" he laughed, and his smile was cruel; his hands on her arms bit in painfully. "Would you marry a blind man?"
"Yes," she said with her whole heart, loving every line of his face, oblivious to what was happening, even to the words themselves as she drowned in the joy of being near him.
He blinked, and the hardness drained out of his face. "You would...marry me, Dana?" he whispered.
"Any woman..."
"You," he corrected curtly. He shook her gently. "Would you many me, blind?"
"Gannon, if it's a rhetorical question..." she began unsteadily.
"Will you marry me, Dana?" he persisted, making each word clear and strong. His face hardened. "No more red herrings; just answer me, will you?"
"But do be sensible; we don't love each other," she pleaded.
"You love me," he corrected, smiling when she stiffened. "Oh, yes, it stands out a mile, even to an inexperienced man, and I'm not that. I know how you feel. You sound and smell and feel like a woman in love, and when I touch you this way, you melt against me. Professional compassion? No, Dana, it isn't that. Now is it?"
She swallowed, her lips parting. "It's...infatuation," she whispered. "You're so alien from any man I've ever known, and I know nothing of men. Is it surprising?"
Books By Diana Palmer Page 221