WHEN I SEE YOUR FACE

by Laurie Paige

  She felt his silent laughter before he moved to her side, taking her with him so they remained as one.

  "Give me five minutes," he said.

  Again she felt his soft laughter. She smiled, then yawned, suddenly too drowsy even to open her eyes. "Don't let go," she requested.

  "I intend to hold you all night," he whispered.

  "Be careful. That sounded like a promise."

  "It was."

  Rory kissed her rosy lips. He noticed the redness on her chin from his beard. He hadn't shaved that evening. But then, he hadn't been expecting company in his bed.

  He glanced at the packet on the table. But he had prepared for whatever might happen, he admitted. He had known there would come a time when passion took over. And there would be no one there to stop them.

  He just hadn't expected it to be quite like this. He hadn't wanted her to come to him from fear or need, but only from … what?

  It was a question he wasn't ready to explore just yet. When? He couldn't answer that, either. Part of it depended on the woman who dozed peacefully – and trustfully if she but knew it – in his arms at this moment.

  Tenderness, the strange, confusing tenderness that only she had ever aroused, surged through him. One thing was true. He would do anything to protect her from harm

  No one would hurt her. Not while there was life in his body.

  With this thought, his body stirred. He began to move, surprised to find the need arising so soon. She made a sound of pleasure in her throat and began to move with him, urging him deeper, faster. The riptide of passion caught them up in its heady rush toward completion again and tossed them to a distant shore, far and away beyond anywhere he'd ever gone before. He knew it was the same for her.

  Afterward she was silent.

  "What are you thinking?" he asked.

  She sighed. "It's just so powerful, passion is. I hadn't expected … I don't know what I expected."

  He turned off the lamp and cupped his body around hers. "It's different," he admitted. But he didn't know why.

  * * *

  Chapter 11

  « ^ »

  Shannon rolled toward the light when she awoke. She blinked, but it didn't go away. She blinked again and sat up in bed.

  Her brain moved with the speed of syrup on a cold morning, but finally she realized she really could make out the rectangle of light that was the window, and that it was morning.

  Almost fearfully, she glanced around the room. She could detect dark gray outlines against lighter ones – a chest of drawers against one wall, a small table beside the bed, light sheets against the dark comforter.

  "Dear God," she whispered, light-headed and not quite believing in this miracle. It could be a momentary fluke—

  "Ah, you're up. Almost."

  She turned toward the voice. An outline, definitely human and masculine, moved toward her. She was afraid to close her eyes, afraid the magic would disappear and she would be left in darkness again.

  Eyes wide, she watched him stop by the bed and bend over. As his head came closer, she strained to see his features, but that was beyond her.

  "Good morning," he murmured huskily, tenderly, with all the nuances of a well-pleased lover.

  A tremor ran through her, reminding her of shared delight and all the other passions of the night. Mixed up with the memories was the miracle of the morning.

  "I can see you," she said in a hoarse whisper.

  He stopped, his face inches from hers. "Say that again."

  "I can see … sort of. Shadows and outlines. I can see your head backlighted by the window. Your face isn't clear. It's like one of those store mannequins with indentations for eyes and just a suggestion of a nose and mouth, but I can tell it's a face."

  He sat on the side of the bed. "I see," he said slowly, as if mulling over the implications.

  "When I saw the light in the window, I thought it was a fluke, one of those odd flashes, more an impression of light than the reality of actually seeing it, but this time, it didn't go away when I blinked." She pressed her hands over her face. "I was so afraid it would."

  He lifted her into his lap and held her close. "It's just the beginning of the miracle."

  It wasn't until she felt the soft material of his sweatshirt against her breasts that she realized she didn't have a stitch of clothing on.

  "My pajamas…" she began. Visions of the night raced through her mind, of him and her, of touching and kissing, of pleasure and contentment. "Oh."

  Rory wasn't surprised that the miracle of her vision had come back this morning. It seemed in tune with the miracle of the night, of making love with this woman until the pleasure was almost too much to bear. That her sight should return now seemed to follow as naturally as day followed night.

  "Yeah, oh," he teased lightly, although he felt almost humbled by all that had happened. "I'll get them for you in a minute. First, a shower."

  As he stood with her cradled against his chest, he noticed the sheets. The strange tenderness came over him again. Stubborn, proud, independent – and a virgin.

  He should have known that. Her hesitation and uncertainty, all were signs that pointed to her inexperience as a lover. He worried that he might have demanded too much of her during the night, but then, he hadn't been the only one making demands. Her hunger had been as great.

  Taking a deep breath – now was not the time for passion – he carried her to the bathroom and, standing her on the mat, flipped on the water. He lathered his hands and washed her gently, ignoring her laughing protests and blushes when his touch became intimate.

  "There's no part of you I don't already know," he reminded her, allowing himself one quick kiss.

  He shampooed her hair, noticing the way the water subdued the fiery tones to dark auburn. Desire snipped at his self-control. He quickly washed, then dried them both. There were other things more important at this moment.

  "Look in the mirror," he suggested and gently turned her in the right direction, then flicked on the row of lights at each side. He turned the blow-dryer on.

  Shannon blinked in the brighter light, then leaned closer. She could make out two shapes. His and hers. She stared and stared, wanting to see more, but deliriously happy to recognize shapes and forms, as he dried her hair.

  "Toothbrush," he said and put it in her hand.

  She held it and stared at the vague line in her hand. "It's such a miracle," she said in wonder.

  "Nah," he said casually, "it's just a toothbrush. Been around hundreds of years."

  She smiled at his humor, knowing he was giving her time to become accustomed to the wonder of seeing the world again, however vaguely. When they were dressed, she in the pink pajamas and robe and a pair of his tube socks, he escorted her to the kitchen.

  "Breakfast is nearly ready," he said. "Sausage and eggs and toast okay?"

  "Yes."

  He came to her. "Coffee." He set the cup on the table.

  She stared at the dark shape against the lighter tones of the table. "Is the table white?" she asked.

  "Yes. Badly chipped, though. It's oak underneath. I'm going to remove the paint and leave it natural. When I get around to it."

  His laughter warmed her all the way through. She followed his movements as he fried eggs and buttered toast. In a few minutes he came to the table with two plates and silverware. She tingled when he brushed her arm.

  He touched her shoulder lightly. "Eat up."

  She did, finding she was ravenous. In more ways than one, she mused, aware of his presence in ways she'd never been aware of the male of the species. Her life had always been too busy, too focused on her goals, to notice things other women seemed to take for granted.

  Being without sight had forced her to slow down and smell the roses, so to speak. Recalling the passion of the night, she wanted to make love with him again, but, as usual when morning came, other problems loomed.

  "Regrets?"

  The question caused her to jump guiltily. "No,"
she said firmly. "Not exactly." She sighed. "The morning casts a new light on the situation, so to speak."

  "Because you can see?" His tone was harder.

  She considered. "No. Because last night complicates things between us. Sex is, or can be, a form of bonding. Have you ever heard of the Stockholm Syndrome?"

  "No." He was clearly surprised at the question.

  "Well, briefly, it's what happens when a captive identifies with her captors. In the States, the Patty Hearst case was an example. It's a survival tactic – to become one with the others, to fit in. That way, you won't be singled out to be punished or tortured."

  "If last night was torture, darlin', I can take a lot more of it."

  Heat crawled up her neck as she thought of his caresses – and her own. She doggedly continued with her explanation. "Something of the same thing can happen when people go through a traumatic event together, or a person saves another's life. A bond is established. That isn't necessarily bad, but it can lead to complications neither want. Later, it may be hard to break off when … when they realize it was a mistake."

  After a long minute, he asked, "Which am I – the captor or the captivated?" His brief laugh was sardonic.

  She didn't miss the inference of the last word. "I think we were both caught in circumstances beyond our control. The shooting, your finding me, the loss of sight, being neighbors, my worries about the man in the truck. It all adds up."

  "To last night?"

  She nodded. "You're a naturally protective and caring person—"

  "Spare me the psychoanalysis. Last night may have been triggered by circumstances, but what happened … that had been building for days, since you got out of the hospital."

  "But it wasn't real. Don't you see?"

  "More than you think."

  There was a tinge of bitterness in his voice. She tried to analyze it, but too many impressions of him, and the night, swirled around in her mind. "The passion, with everything else, is too confusing," she tried to explain. She sighed. "I'd like for us to be friends."

  "But not lovers," he concluded.

  She forced herself to nod.

  "We can try it."

  His agreement didn't ring quite true. As if he didn't believe they could be merely friends.

  Looking toward the bright rectangles of light, she reflected on the miracle of sight and of love. They were gifts people often took for granted. Tears filled her eyes before she could will them away. Keeping her head down, she quickly finished the meal and thanked her host.

  "I need to go home so you can get ready for work. It's Friday, isn't it?" She rose, then remembered her shoes. "My boots." She tried to recall where she'd pulled them off.

  "I'll get them."

  He helped her into them, then went home with her. They checked the house and found it empty. She thanked him, then waited for him to leave. Her emotional control shaky, she wanted to be alone, to think about where she was and where she was going from here. It wasn't possible with him around.

  "I know an eye specialist in Denver," Rory said, standing by the door, reluctant to leave although she wanted him to be gone. "You should have a checkup. If you like, I'll make an appointment and drive you down."

  She hesitated, then asked, "Can we wait? I'd like more time to see what happens."

  "All right. Let me know when."

  Returning to his place, he reflected on the irony of life. He'd tried not to take advantage of Shannon, to be honorable and all that, but last night, when she'd come to him, the hunger had been too much for both of them. This morning, her sight back to some degree, she'd withdrawn from him with some story about captive syndromes. It wasn't what he'd expected.

  But when had the beautiful lady cop ever done what the heck was expected?

  Well, their problems would have to wait until they got a moment alone. Which might be a while.

  He sighed, pocketed his wallet, left a note on the table for his dad and stepmother and hurried off to work. If he was lucky, they wouldn't stay for more than the weekend.

  Huh, he'd never had that kind of luck.

  * * *

  Shannon dressed, then called Megan and Kate and told them she thought her vision was returning. "It's like walking through the house at twilight without any lights on, very shadowy, but not impossible."

  "We've got to celebrate," Kate declared after a spate of excited questions and discussion of the possibilities. "Come over for dinner tonight. We'll have champagne. I'll send Jess over to pick you up. Oh, Shannon, this is such good news!"

  Smiling pensively, Shannon hung up, feeling much better after talking to her cousins. She picked up a catalog and peered at it, but the print was beyond her. She knew she was letting her expectations build too much, too fast, but it was hard not to.

  Like last night with Rory.

  Flames swept over her at the memory. He had been so wonderful, passionate and tender and all the things a woman could desire. And yet, she'd wanted more.

  What?

  It was a question she wasn't ready to answer. Not just yet. There were so many elements in her life that she needed to sort through. One was the miracle of the morning. Would it last? If it didn't, then what?

  It was a question she couldn't quite face at this moment when her emotions ran from extreme hope that she would soon be completely well to abysmal fear that the darkness would return.

  She walked through the house and was able to discern each piece of furniture. Remembering that the doctor hadn't wanted her to strain her eyes after he removed the bandages, she put on the sunglasses again. Her vision seemed to go dark. Panicky, she jerked them off.

  It was okay. She could still see.

  Tucking the glasses into her shirt pocket, she decided to wear them only when she went outside. In a flurry of energy, she cleaned the whole house and polished the furniture. An odd thing, especially since housework wasn't high on her priorities. When she finished, she truly felt at home in her new place.

  Napping on the sofa that afternoon, she woke when she heard a car on the road. She tensed, but it wasn't a vehicle she recognized. It slowed, then turned in at Rory's house.

  Probably a rancher with a sick dog. The demands on a vet's time were as great as those for a human doctor.

  Curious, she went to the window. The sun caused her to flinch. She put the glasses on. Hmm, there was a car at his place, but she couldn't detect anyone – no, wait.

  She yanked the sunglasses off, shaded her eyes and stared as hard as she could. Someone was walking from the house to the car. Now they were walking back. Another person came outside and met the first. They had been inside the house.

  Her breath quick and uneven, she called information, got the number of Rory's office, then decided to call Jess instead. He was at his desk. She explained what was happening.

  "I'll check it out," he promised.

  Relieved, she made sure her doors were locked, then considered getting her handgun from the suitcase in the closet. Remembering the World War II binoculars that had belonged to her great-uncle, she retrieved them and went to the window.

  The scene next door jumped into view. A man was carrying something into the house, not out of it. Suitcases, she realized. Oh, no! Rory apparently had company.

  She called Jess back, but he was out of the office. She hoped he and the sheriff didn't come roaring up the road, sirens blasting.

  No such luck.

  She heard the siren less than a minute later. She also heard Rory's truck arrive. She sighed and made her way out the back door and across to the other house. She knocked on the door and waited.

  Rory answered. "Hi, come on in. There seems to be some excitement at this end of the county," he mentioned wryly.

  "It's my fault," she admitted, going into the kitchen. "I saw someone at your house, so I called the cops."

  "That was kind of you. Let me introduce you to my dad and stepmother." He took her arm.

  "Uh, maybe another time—"

  The vehicle w
ith the siren arrived and turned in the drive. Shannon heard another vehicle stop. Jess had sent two cruisers, she surmised. She groaned in embarrassment.

  "And more company," Rory murmured. "Come on in, sheriff, Jess," he called. "The door's open."

  "What's going on?"

  A woman's voice, very irritated. His stepmother, no doubt. Shannon wished she could crawl into a hole.

  "A surprise visit by Wind River's finest," Rory answered the woman, amusement underlying the statement.

  "Is everything okay?" she heard Jess ask as the two lawmen stepped inside the narrow hall.

  A form separated itself from the others and came to her. "You okay?"

  She recognized the voice and the shape – six feet, six inches, two hundred and forty pounds. Her boss, the sheriff of the county. "Yes. Everything is fine. False alarm." She smiled faintly.

  "I forgot to tell Shannon my folks were due in today," Rory said casually, as if it were her business to know. "Dad, Catherine, this is Shannon Bannock, my next-door neighbor. Her cousin, Detective Jess Fargo. And the sheriff. Gene, you probably remember my dad, Richard Daniels, and my stepmother, don't you?"

  "Sure. How you doing?"

  The men shook hands while Shannon and the stepmother murmured greetings. Rory offered them coffee, but Jess and Gene said they had to get back to the office.

  After they left, Shannon backed toward the kitchen. "I've got to run, too. Sorry to have distressed you, Mrs. Daniels. I hope you enjoy your visit."

  She turned and ran smack into a warm chest. Rory's arms closed around her. "Easy," he murmured.

  "You should watch where you're going," Mrs. Daniels suggested pointedly.

  Heat flamed in Shannon's cheeks. She tried to pull away from Rory, but he wouldn't let her go.

  "She would, but she's blind as a bat." His tone was level, but Shannon sensed the underlying anger and coldness directed at the other woman.

  A beat of silence followed this declaration.

  "Where're your glasses, darling?" Rory continued, anger roiling in him like a dormant volcano coming to life. "You probably should wear them until we get you checked out. Some of her vision seems to be returning," he explained to the other two. He plucked the shades from her pocket and slid them on her face. "There," he said. "Why don't we all go out to dinner tonight?"