“I’m sure Emily won’t mind,” Martin said. “She’s been stewing about the hospital bill. Yesterday, she asked me how much I made an hour.”
“I hope you didn’t tell her,” Sonny said. “I’m taking care of the bill. I don’t want her to even see it.”
Martin’s dark eyebrows lifted. “Oh yeah? Think again. You don’t know her very well if you think Emily’s the type to take a dime from anybody.”
Martin was right. But it irritated Sonny to discover that Martin knew Emily so well.
Martin rubbed his hands together, then slapped his legs, a sure sign he was ready to wrap up the conversation. “So what do you think? Master plan, right?” “How do we get her out of the hospital without being seen?”
“At night. By helicopter.”
“Helicopter?”
Had Emily ever been in a helicopter? Sonny wondered. She might not go for it. He wouldn’t want to force her into something she didn’t want to do. After all, it was his fault the hospital was overrun with groupies, not hers.
“I don’t know about the helicopter,” Sonny said.
“With a helicopter there’d be no chance of your being tailed.”
“I’ll talk to Emily and let you know what we decide.”
“There’s no need.” Martin smiled. “I’m heading that way right now.”
* * *
Emily sat on the edge of the hospital bed. She was wearing the white sweatshirt and sweatpants Tilly had stuffed into her suitcase—bless her heart. Folded over one arm was the wool coat Doreen had loaned her when she’d dropped in for a visit. The rest of her things were packed. Dr. Berlin had been to see her, leaving medicine and a list of instructions.
Emily felt as if she’d encroached upon Sonny’s goodwill far too long already. But Dr. Berlin had explained that her presence in the hospital was creating chaos. She had suggested returning home, but the doctor refused to release her unless she remained nearby, under his care.
He’d told her that Sonny owned a secluded cabin, a hideaway. It would be an ideal place for her since it was near his own property.
She’d phoned her father and he’d said it seemed the only solution so she’d agreed to go. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t scared. She was. She was scared of going someplace strange, scared of going to that someplace with Sonny Maxwell, and scared of flying in a helicopter. Why, she’d never even been in an airplane.
At five minutes past midnight, Sonny stuck his head inside the door. “Your coach awaits.”
The only concession he’d made to a disguise was a pair of sunglasses and an L.A. Laker’s cap. He was dressed nondescript. If anything Sonny wore could be called nondescript. He was wearing a navy blue sweatshirt, stretched at the collar and hem, faded jeans and sneakers.
While she’d never been one to ogle a man, Emily had to admit that Sonny made even the most everyday clothes special, almost as if by lying next to his skin they took on some of his persona. It was no wonder every company wanted him to model their clothes. At that very moment, without even trying, he was cover material.
They moved quietly down the hallway, past the nurses’ station to the elevators. After stepping inside, Sonny punched an unlabeled button, and the elevator took them to the roof of the six-floor building. Before stepping out, Sonny pushed Hold and helped Emily into her coat, making sure it was zipped up all the way. Then they stepped onto a lighted walkway that led to the landing pad and the waiting helicopter.
She and Sonny took the seat behind the pilot.
“Ever flown before?” Sonny asked.
She shook her head.
“Piece of cake. This helicopter is one of the best made,” he said, helping her into her seatbelt. “It works on the same lift principle as one of your kites.”
She smiled, endeared by the fact that he was trying to calm her fears.
The pilot flicked a switch on the instrument panel and the blades began to rotate, picking up speed until Emily could no longer see them.
The craft seemed to bounce a little, then they were lifting away from the landing pad. The floor beneath Emily’s feet shuddered. She squeezed her eyes shut and gripped Sonny’s arm.
Of course it was ridiculous. If they crashed, he could do nothing, but she felt safer touching him, just knowing he was beside her.
When she finally got brave enough to open her eyes, the lights of the city were swirling away beneath them.
It was beautiful. Unreal.
Emily forgot her fear and leaned closer to the window.
As they went, Sonny pointed out various buildings until the lights became more scattered and they finally left the city behind.
A half hour later they were landing in the middle of an open area surrounded by trees. Sonny helped Emily from the helicopter, then grabbed her suitcase and guided her to the edge of the clearing.
“Close your eyes!” he shouted above the noise, pulling her head against his chest.
The helicopter lifted away, the giant blades whipping grass and leaves through the air.
Then they were enveloped in quiet and darkness. But Sonny’s arm was around her and she felt safe.
He released his hold and flicked on a flashlight, directing the beam so it cut a path through the trees.
His warm fingers sought hers. “Come on.”
She held on tightly as he led her through the dark woods.
In just a couple minutes they came to another cleared area. Nestled in the middle was a tiny A-frame house with gingerbread molding and shuttered windows. It looked like something from Hansel and Gretel.
“It’s beautiful. I’d expected a cabin.”
As if to explain why a man would have such a quaint house, Sonny shrugged and said, “It came with the property.”
The inside turned out to be bigger than it appeared from the porch. But it was still small by most standards. The ground floor held a living room, a tiny kitchen, and bathroom. One wall was covered with photographs.
Emily draped her coat over the couch and moved closer.
Most were black-and-whites, matted, but unframed. There were pictures of gnarled trees and vast skies. Pictures of old churches, old houses, broken-down fences.
“Did Doreen take these?” she asked, continuing to study the pictures before her. They were wonderful.
Sonny didn’t answer.
She turned.
He’d tossed his cap and glasses on a nearby table. He was standing with his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, his expression a little uncomfortable, a little self-conscious maybe. She instantly understood. The pictures—they were his.
Her gaze was drawn back to the cluttered wall. Yes, she could see it now. She could see Sonny Maxwell there. The pictures had a remote, lonely quality.
“You took them, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
The tone of his voice was strange… a little defensive. She could almost think he was a child being accused of some misdeed…or one who feared rejection.
“They’re wonderful.” What was she saying? They were better than wonderful. They were moving, touching. Painful. Beautiful.
He relaxed. He moved nearer, his arm brushing her shoulder. “I took that one—” he pointed “—in Massachusetts. Near Old Salem.”
It was a picture of a stone church. It had been shot from ground level, looking skyward, the steeple piercing a cloudless sky.
“Beautiful. So… moody…” So sad.
She wondered if he’d ever had a showing. Thinking of a showing turned her thoughts to Doreen. “Doreen must love your pictures.”
“She’s never seen them.”
Why was he hiding these beautiful, haunting pictures? Pictures were to share, for other people to see.
“I can’t believe you’ve never shown them to Doreen. She’d love them. They shouldn’t be kept hidden here. Has anyone else seen them? Your family?”
A strange expression flitted across his features, and then was gone. “No.”
She suddenly reali
zed that in the few times she’d been around him, he’d never spoken a word about his family. Or very much about himself, for that matter.
But tonight she’d discovered something. Sonny took beautiful, sad, haunting photographs that the world should see.
She studied the wall again, now realizing that in all the pictures, there wasn’t a single photo of a person.
“No people?” she asked, hoping to sound offhand.
At first she thought he wasn’t going to answer. Then he said, “I don’t take pictures of people.”
The strained remoteness was back in his voice.
Who are you, Sonny Maxwell? And what are you hiding behind those sad, secret eyes?
“This is one of my favorites,” he said, obviously changing the subject.
The picture to which he pointed was a lighthouse.
“I love lighthouses,” she told him.
This particular lighthouse had the caretaker’s home attached—unlike the lighthouse on St. Genevieve where the light was separate from the house.
“My grandfather used to be the lighthouse keeper on St. Genevieve,” she said. “I loved to climb the winding steps and watch him light the lamps.”
“Is it still in operation?”
“No. About ten years ago they replaced it with an electronic buoy. It broke Grandpa’s heart. He didn’t live very long after that. Keeping the light had been everything to him.”
She watched him as he thought over her words. “That would be tough,” he said, “to have such an important job replaced by a machine.”
“He used to tell me the most wonderful stories about ships and men who had been saved by the light. Grandpa never took any credit himself. It was always the light.”
“Who owns the lighthouse now?”
“The coast guard, but they’re trying to sell it. I’m afraid if someone doesn’t buy it soon it might be torn down.” She sighed, thinking about the plans she’d had. “I have to confess. It was my dream to be able to own the lighthouse myself someday.”
“I hope you do.”
She smiled a wistful smile. “Me, too.”
But she knew better. Because of her hospital stay, because of the bills she would have, her dream would never be more than that—a dream.
She reached up and straightened the picture. Before she could draw her hand away, his fingers wrapped around her wrist and gently brought it toward him. With a forefinger, he touched the purple-yellow bruise left by the IV needle.
“They had trouble finding my veins,” she said, thinking how ugly her skin must look to someone as flawlessly perfect as Sonny.
Slowly, carefully, tenderly, he lifted her hand and pressed his lips to the bruise. With her hand still near his mouth, close enough so she could feel the stir of his breath, he looked into her eyes and said, “That’s because mermaids don’t have veins.”
She laughed a little, but inside her heart was hammering madly. Here she was in the middle of nowhere, with a man she hardly knew. A man who was kissing her hand and staring at her with soft, heavy-lidded eyes. A man who had been labeled the sexiest man in the world, a man all women craved.
Almost as if he read her mind, he said, “I’d never hurt you, Emily.”
Her alarm subsided. Or had it been alarm at all? Maybe it was excitement that made her heart race and her breath catch.
“I’d never hurt you,” he repeated. “You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
He let go of her hand. “You better get to bed. Dr. Berlin’s orders.”
She’d been tired earlier, but now, now she was wide-awake. Emily, who had never told as much as a white lie in her life, said, “I am a little tired.”
“The bedroom’s upstairs.” He lifted her suitcase. She thought about all the women he must know, all the women who had shared his bed. But not her. She hadn’t been brought up that way.
“Where will you sleep?” she asked.
His eyes went to the couch.
“I didn’t know I’d be taking your bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“It’s okay. I can sleep anyplace.” He smiled, his eyes asking her to let it be okay.
What could she do but smile back?
Two days later Martin stopped by to check on his patient.
Emily was sitting on the edge of the bed, Martin beside her while Sonny hovered anxiously in the bedroom doorway. He didn’t like the idea of Martin unbuttoning Emily’s shirt, touching Emily’s soft skin.
Martin looked over his shoulder. “Would you give us some privacy?” he asked, his hand poised at the buttons of Emily’s shirt.
When Emily had been discharged from the hospital, Martin had taken Sonny aside and told him that there were no restrictions, that she could do whatever she wanted as long as it didn’t entail strenuous, heavy breathing. With that, he’d winked and Sonny had ground his teeth.
Now, thinking about that episode and Martin’s lecherous wink, Sonny was loath to leave the room. He should have taken Emily to somebody else, he thought, but knew he didn’t mean it. Martin was the best. And Martin would never do anything unethical. It was just that… damn, Sonny didn’t like him being so familiar with Emily. It scared her. Sonny could tell.
“Do you mind?” Martin repeated.
Emily and Martin were both watching him, Martin with a little bit of a smirk. Sonny could see that Martin knew he didn’t like him touching Emily. It was clear he found it amusing. Martin had a strange sense of humor. On the other hand, Emily’s expression was pleading and embarrassed. With her eyes, she was begging him to leave. Sonny realized he was making an uncomfortable situation even more uncomfortable.
He was poised to back away when Martin said, “Why not go chop some wood?” Humor still danced in his eyes.
He’d obviously seen the woodpile. Whenever Sonny’s thoughts focused on Emily, whenever he found himself dwelling upon the softness of her skin, the blueness of her eyes, about how warm and sexy she looked in his bed, about how her gown would creep up around her thighs while she slept… about how badly he wanted to make love to her in that bed, or on the soft clover near the brook… or under the pine trees…under the moonlit sky… Whenever he caught himself thinking of any of those things, he went outside and chopped wood.
So far, he’d chopped enough wood to last him several winters.
Arms crossed at his chest, Sonny pushed himself away from the wall. “I won’t be far,” he muttered, silently cursing Martin and his X-ray vision.
* * *
Emily heard the front door close.
Instead of putting the stethoscope to her chest, Martin got up, strode to the window and looked out. “There he goes. Straight for the woodpile.” He turned back to Emily. “How are you two getting along?”
Her hand hovered near the buttons of her blouse. How does someone get along with Sonny, she wondered. “He’s a very private person,” she said.
“No kidding. I first met him six years ago, when he donated money to add a children’s wing to the hospital. I consider him a friend, but I really don’t know him any better today than I did when we first met. But you’ve done something to break through that shell of his.”
She shook her head. “I’m sure I don’t know him nearly as well as you do.”
Martin shook his head. “You’ve gotten to him somehow. This place is sacred. It’s his sanctuary. Nobody, I mean nobody comes here. Before you arrived on the scene, I’d never gotten past the porch. And now I’m only here because you’re here.”
He sat next to her on the edge of the bed, adjusting his stethoscope. She was hardly aware of the examination, caught up as she was in what he’d just told her about being allowed here—Sonny’s secret place.
“Sounds good,” Martin said, removing the stethoscope. “I’ll talk to Sonny about bringing you to the hospital the day after tomorrow. We’ll take some X-rays and if they look okay, we’ll send you home. How does that sound?”
Suddenly she wasn’t sur
e how it sounded. It would mean saying goodbye to Sonny.
* * *
The next day Sonny felt kind of silly, like someone reciting lines from a corny movie, but he asked Emily if she’d like to go for a walk.
She smiled up at him, and his heart thudded in his chest. “I’d love to.”
He’d never wanted anybody to see his place. Now, suddenly, he couldn’t wait for Emily to see his favorite spots.
They walked around the spring-fed pond where he sometimes fished. Spring was Sonny’s favorite time of year. Maybe because everything was new. The grass was at its greenest, the air its cleanest. But he didn’t share those thoughts with Emily. He could only give away so much.
“There are a hundred acres here,” he told her as they walked over the new grass. He wasn’t trying to impress her with the amount of land he owned—one hundred acres wouldn’t begin to keep a farmer in business. He simply used it to gauge the distance and space between himself and the rest of the world.
Emily laughed and asked if he was like Owl in Winnie the Pooh.
He didn’t get it.
She must have noticed his puzzlement, because she said, “Owl lived in the hundred-acre wood, remember?”
“Sure.” But he didn’t remember. He’d never read any kid’s stories. Whenever people made reference to a storybook character, he felt like a visitor from another planet.
He took her to his favorite place: Spring Hollow. It couldn’t even be seen until you were right on it—a huge opening in the ground filled with moss-covered boulders bigger than houses. Water poured from the side of one rocky crevice, cascading over delicate ferns and moss.
“It’s beautiful,” Emily said, her voice full of awe.
She meant it. He could tell. And he was glad that she liked it here. This was new to him, sharing the beauty of nature with someone. He felt a brief moment of panic, afraid for himself.
“I can feel the coolness from here,” she said, stepping closer to the side.
Sonny grabbed her arm, afraid for her.
“The hollow creates a cave effect,” he explained, gently urging her back. “It’s cool in the winter, warm in the summer. The Indians used to store food in some of those small caves.”
Pictures of Emily Page 6