by Janet Dailey
‘Hardly. Besides, my neighbor’s already told me you have reddish-brown hair and eyes,’ Sabrina laughed, her tension fading.
‘Cinnamon, according to my mother,’ Bay corrected. ‘At least you were curious enough about me to ask.’
‘Naturally.’ She worked to make her reply sound casual and offhand.
‘What else did she tell you about me?’ he prodded.
‘Peggy isn’t very good at describing,’ Sabrina hedged, unwilling to pass on the comment concerning his masculinity.
‘All the more reason for you to see for yourself,’ he challenged.
There was the clatter of plates being stacked, then movement as the dishes were carried away. Bay’s actions gave her time to think of an excuse to avoid the exploration of his features that he had invited. Try as she could, Sabrina was unable to come up with one that did not reveal her inner apprehension at such intimacy.
When Bay returned, he did not take his former seat across from her but one that placed him beside her. Before she could voice her half-formed protest, he had taken her wrists in a light yet firm grip and carried her hands to his face.
‘There’s no need to feel shy and self-conscious,’ he scolded gently as she tried to pull away. ‘It doesn’t embarrass me.’
The hard outline of his powerful jaw was beneath her hands, pressed by his on either side of his face. As her resistance faded, he released his hold. The initial contact had been made and the warmth of his body heat eased the cold stiffness of her fingers. Tentatively Sabrina began to explore his face.
From the jawline, her fingertips searched over his cheeks to the hard angles of his cheekbones. Fluttering over the curling lashes of his eyes, she reached thick brows and the wide forehead. Thick, slightly waving hair grew naturally away from his face, maintaining a suggestion of dampness from the fog and the drizzle. There was an arrogant curve to his Roman nose and a gentle firmness to his male lips. After inspecting the almost forceful angle of his chin, her hands fell away.
It was a masculine face, Sabrina thought in satisfaction. There was no doubt about that. No one would ever refer to him as conventionally handsome, but he was certainly striking. Heads would turn when he walked into a room.
‘What’s the verdict?’ Bay asked in a husky caressing voice like deep velvet.
She guessed her approval was mirrored in her expression. She averted her head slightly from the warm gaze she felt on her face.
‘The verdict is,’ she answered with false lightness, ‘that I like your face.’
A finger tucked itself under her chin and turned her head back toward him. ‘I like your face, too,’ he murmured softly.
The warm moistness of his breath caressed her cheek a warning instant before his lips touched hers. Initial surprise held Sabrina rigid under his kiss, but the gently firm pressure of his mouth transmitted a warmness that seeped into her veins. Her heart seemed to start skipping beats. With expert persuasion, his mouth moved mobilely against hers until he evoked the pliant response he wanted. Then slowly, almost regretfully, he drew away from her.
Sabrina could still feel the imprint of his mouth throbbing on hers. She had to resist the impulse to carry a hand to her lips. A wondrously satisfying warmth filled her, leaving her bemused to its cause.
‘Why the pensive look, Sabrina?’ Bay’s husky voice inquired gently.
‘I’ve . . . never been kissed before,’ she murmured, uncertain if that was the cause.
‘Liar,’ he mocked softly. ‘That was no inexperienced maiden who kissed me back just now.’
‘I — I meant,’ crimson flames stained her cheeks, ‘since I lost my sight.’
‘That I will believe.’ Bay took hold of her hand in a casual, not intimate grip. ‘Let’s go get ourselves a cup of coffee at a restaurant somewhere.’
Sabrina willingly agreed to leave his ketch. For some reason the floor beneath her feet didn’t feel very steady. She wanted the security of solid ground beneath her.
It was a few minutes past ten o’clock when Bay parked the car in front of her house and walked her to the grillework gates. He didn’t follow her inside the small enclosure and Sabrina turned to him hesitantly.
‘I’ve had a wonderful time. Thank you,’ she offered.
‘So did I, therefore no thanks are necessary,’ Bay said with a smile in his voice. ‘I’ll be in L.A. all of next week. I’ll give you a call when I get back.’
‘It isn’t necessary.’ Sabrina didn’t want him to think that he was under any obligation to see her again.
‘I know that,’ he chided gently. ‘Goodnight, Sabrina. I’ll wait in the car until I see the light on upstairs, so be sure to turn it on, will you?’
‘Goodnight, Bay,’ she nodded.
He swung the iron gate closed and Sabrina locked it. She felt his gaze follow her to the door. Cinnamon brown eyes they were, to go with his cinnamon hair.
Five
* * *
The switch on the stereo was snapped abruptly to the ‘off’ position. There was nothing soothing to the music as far as Sabrina was concerned.
What was there to do, she wondered tiredly. She did not feel like cooking or cleaning even if it was needed, which it wasn’t. She was tired of reading. Besides, her fingers were still slow to read the raised braille letters, so the task required her total concentration. In this restless mood, she knew her thoughts would wander.
An inner voice unfairly blamed the mood on Bay Cameron. Although why his business trip to Los Angeles should affect her this way, Sabrina didn’t know. These restless moods had been with her before anyway, even before her accident. Then she had channeled the surging energy into her paintings. Now there was no outlet.
‘Have you ever done any modeling — in clay, I mean?’
Bay’s voice spoke clearly in her mind as if he was standing beside her. The seed that had been planted several days ago began to germinate.
Walking to the telephone, Sabrina felt for the receiver, picked it up, then hesitated. Before she changed her mind, she dialed the number. Excitement pulsated through her veins at the sound of the first ring.
‘Art Supplies,’ a voice answered on the second ring.
‘Sam Carlysle, please,’ Sabrina requested. Her fingers nervously twined around the corkscrew curl of the telephone cord. A few minutes later a familiar male voice came on the line. ‘Hello, Sam. This is Sabrina.’
‘Sabrina, how are you?’ he exclaimed in glad surprise. Then his tone changed immediately to contriteness. ‘Listen, I’m sorry I haven’t phoned or stopped by for so long, but what with one thing or another — ’
‘That’s all right,’ she interrupted quickly. ‘Actually I was calling to see if you could do me a favor.’
‘Name it and it’s yours, Sabrina.’
‘I wondered if you could send someone over today with some artist’s modeling clay and an inexpensive set of tools?’
‘Are you taking up modeling?’ he asked in a stunned voice.
‘I’m going to give it a try,’ Sabrina acknowledged. ‘That’s why I only want the bare necessities to see if I’m going to like it or be any good at it.’
‘I think it’s a tremendous idea!’ Sam enthused. ‘A stroke of genius!’
‘Can you send someone over?’
‘I’d come myself if I could, but I’ll have a delivery boy leave here in about ten minutes and I’ll make sure your place is his first stop.’
‘Thanks, Sam.’ A contented glow spread over her face.
‘Hey, listen, I’m just sorry I didn’t suggest something like this to you before,’ he replied, shrugging aside her thanks. ‘I’ll get this stuff out to you right away. We’ll get together soon, okay?’
‘Yes, Sam, soon,’ Sabrina agreed.
Barely a half an hour had elapsed when the delivery was made. She had already cleared a small area in the studio where she could work, realizing that her father would have to give her a hand this evening with the heavier items. The delivery man had tho
ughtfully offered to carry the packages wherever Sabrina wanted them so she hadn’t had to carry them to the studio.
After he had left and she had returned to the studio, a thrill of excitement danced down her spine. Her old smock was behind the door, smelling of oil paints and cleaning fluid. Soon, the odor of clay would wipe out that smell, she told herself gaily as she donned the protective smock and felt her way to the work table.
All conception of time vanished. She started out with simple shapes, using fruit she had taken from the kitchen for her hands to use as a guideline. Her name was called for the third time before it penetrated her concentration. It was another full second before she recognized her father’s voice.
‘I’m upstairs in the studio!’ she answered.
She stepped back, wiping her hands on a rag as she listened to his hurrying steps up the stairs. A look of apprehension and excitement was in the expression Sabrina turned to the open doorway.
‘I was getting frantic,’ Grant Lane declared with an exasperated sigh. ‘Why didn’t you answer me? What are you doing up here anyway?’
‘Working,’ Sabrina replied softly, but she could tell by the tense silence that her explanation wasn’t necessary. Her father had already looked beyond her and seen for himself. She waited interminable seconds for his comment. ‘What do you think?’ she asked breathlessly.
‘I . . . I’m speechless,’ he told her. ‘How — when . . . ?’ Then he laughed at his inability to get his questions out and came the rest of the way into the room, throwing an arm about her shoulders and giving her a fierce hug. ‘You are one fantastic little gal. I’m proud of you.’ His voice was choked with emotion.
‘Yes, but what do you think?’ she repeated anxiously.
‘If you’re asking whether I can tell the apple from the pear, the answer is a definite “yes.” I can even see that’s a cluster of grapes you’re working on now,’ her father smiled. ‘And I didn’t need that assortment of real fruit spotted with clay to make the identification either!’
’do you mean it?’
‘I mean it,’ he assured her firmly. ‘Now how about an explanation? When did you decide to do all this? You never mentioned a word about it to me. Where did you get all this?’
‘Last week Bay asked if I’d ever worked in clay. I guess that’s when I started thinking about it, subconsciously at least. This morning I decided to try it and called Sam at the art supply store. He had this delivered for me,’ Sabrina explained.
‘This morning? And you’ve been working ever since? You must be exhausted!’
‘Exhausted?’ She turned her face to him, her wide mouth smiling broadly. ‘No, Daddy, I’m alive. For the first time in a very long while.’
There was a moment of silence. Then her father took a deep breath. ‘Just the same, you’d better call it a day. No sense in overdoing it. You clean up here and I’ll see about the dinner you forgot,’ he teased.
‘All right,’ she submitted.
For the rest of the week, Sabrina spent every waking minute she possibly could in the studio room. The end results were more often failures than successes. It didn’t do any good for her father to insist that she couldn’t expect to be perfect as a beginner. But Sabrina demanded perfection of herself. Nothing less would satisfy her.
On Sunday morning, Grant Lane ordered her out of the studio. ‘For heaven’s sake, Sabrina,’ he declared, ‘even God rested on the seventh day!’
The mutinous set of her chin dipped as she sighed her reluctant surrender to his logic. Her fingers ached to feel the molding clay beneath her hands, but she knew her father was right.
‘I’ve got some work to do on the boat. Why don’t you come with me this morning?’ he suggested. ’deborah is going to be busy in the kitchen. If you have nothing to do, I know you’re going to sneak back up here the minute I leave.’
‘I wouldn’t do that,’ Sabrina laughed softly.
‘Oh, wouldn’t you?’ he mocked. ‘You’re coming with me.’
‘I think it’s awful that you don’t trust me, your own daughter!’ She clicked her tongue in reproval. ‘But if that’s the way you’re going to be, I guess I’ll have to go with you.’
‘There’s a pretty stiff breeze blowing in from the Pacific, so dress accordingly. But make sure it’s something you won’t mind getting dirty,’ her father added. ‘I thought I’d put you to work cleaning below deck.’
‘That’s why you want me to come along,’ Sabrina nodded sagely.
‘You don’t think it was your company I was wanting, did you?’ he teased, and walked to the stairs.
The wind was chilly, Sabrina discovered. It had not yet blown away the morning fog, so the sun had not warmed the air. Below deck, she didn’t feel the cool breeze. Wiping the perspiration from her forehead that had separated her dark silky bangs into damp strands, she wished she could feel it.
She pushed up the sleeves on her navy blue pullover and set to work scrubbing the galley sink. The perspiration was making the wool blend of the turtleneck collar tickle the sensitive skin of her neck, but she couldn’t very well scratch it with her soapy hands. As soon as she finished this, Sabrina decided she would call her father down for a cup of coffee. From the sound of voices overhead, he was doing more chatting with fellow sailing enthusiasts than work.
Maybe she should take the pot of coffee and some cups on deck and offer it around. There was a waterproof tin of cookies in the cupboard. Then she smiled to herself. That would really make certain nothing was accomplished today!
The quiet step of rubber-soled shoes approached the steps leading below. Sabrina was rinsing the soap from the sink when they began their descent. She stopped, turning slightly in the direction of the footsteps.
‘I thought I would bring some coffee up as soon as I finish here, Dad. I’ll bring some extra cups if you think the others would like to join you.’
‘That sounds fine.’
‘Bay! You’re back!’ The exclamation of delight sprang unchecked from her lips.
‘I got in late yesterday afternoon,’ he acknowledged. ‘I thought I might see you here today with your father. I never guessed he would make you a galley-slave.’
Sabrina smiled at the teasing voice. ’did you have a good trip?’
‘Yes. I had some investment property to check on and inspected some other land I’ve been interested in acquiring. I even ran into an old friend I went to university with. He’s topside talking to your father. Why don’t you come and meet him?’
She had half expected it to be a woman, and she wondered if her relief was reflected in her expression. She hoped not. She didn’t want Bay to think she was jealous. They were only friends.
‘I’ll be through here in a minute,’ she said. ‘If you’d like, you can take the coffeepot on up. There are some mugs in the cupboard. I can bring the sugar and powdered cream.’
‘All right,’ Bay agreed.
A few minutes later, Sabrina joined the others on deck. The wind lifted her bangs and she turned her face into the cooling flow of air.
‘Here, Sabrina, let me take those.’ Her father took the tins of sugar and powdered cream from her hands and helped her on deck.
‘This is Grant’s daughter, Sabrina Lane,’ Bay said. ‘This is my old fraternity brother, Doctor Joe Browning.’
‘You’d better watch who you call old,’ said a gruff male voice in a mock serious tone. Then Sabrina’s hand was taken in greeting. ‘I’m more commonly known as Joe or Doctor Joe to my patients.’
Cold fingers raced icily down her spine. ‘How do you do.’ Her greeting was stiff. Since her accident and the string of doctors she had been to, Sabrina had developed an aversion to those in the medical profession.
‘Joe, the name is Joe,’ he said. ‘Your father tells me you’ve been blind for only a year. You seem to be getting along rather well.’
‘There really isn’t much choice, is there?’ she retorted.
‘Of course there is. You could always get al
ong badly.’
His nonsensical reply unwillingly brought a faint smile to her mouth. She had always expected that even at home doctors were somewhat staid and unemotional, spouting platitudes and doing charitable deeds. This one seemed to be different.
‘I ran into my share of furniture and buildings in the beginning,’ she admitted.
’do you use a cane or do you have a seeing eye dog?’ He didn’t give her a chance to reply. ‘I hear they’re using standard poodles as well as shepherds and other breeds as seeing eye dogs. Can you imagine a poodle prancing down the street with its fluffy pompadour and that ball of fluff on his tail leading some blind man? It always seemed like the height of absurdity to me. Not that I have anything against the intelligence of poodles.’
Sabrina laughed at the image he had created in her mind. She liked his irreverent attitude and her wariness disappeared. The relaxed sound of her laughter began a natural flow of conversation among all of them. Doctor Joe Browning dominated most of the topics with his dry wit.
Some time, Sabrina was not certain when, the subject became centered on her blindness, the accident, and the damage to her optic nerves that had resulted from the head injury. She was suddenly aware that the inquiries were not casual but had a professional undertone.
‘Wait a minute,’ she interrupted the doctor in mid-sentence. ‘Exactly what kind of a doctor are you?’
‘A very good one,’ he quipped. ‘A surgeon, to be specific.’
‘What kind?’ Then she raised her hand in a halting gesture, and accused angrily, ‘No, let me guess. You’re an eye surgeon.’
‘You’re right with the very first guess. Now that’s the mark of a girl who pays attention,’ Joe Browning replied without the least embarrassment.
‘What have all these questions been? A subtle examination?’
‘Yes,’ he admitted simply.
Seething with indignation, Sabrina turned in the direction she knew Bay to be sitting. ‘You put him up to this, didn’t you, Bay Cameron? And you must have been in on it, too, Father.’