He swung around, surprised that she looked ready to leave. Margo grabbed the literature she’d brought and approached.
“I’m staying at the Fort Bragg Inn if you want to discuss any of this further. For now I’ll leave these pamphlets for you to read. It describes symptoms of posttraumatic stress disorder – P.T.S.D. You see, it’s so common they’ve even given it a name.”
Her smile was reassuring as she handed him the pamphlets, but it froze on her face when he straightened and stared into her eyes.
“You’re going to be on your way all right. You’re going to climb into that Bronco, forget the shrink stuff, and get out of here. Don’t ever come back.”
Chapter 3
Margo placed the reading material in his grasp. “Many people have difficulty sharing their personal concerns with a doctor of the opposite sex. If the fact that I’m a woman distracts you, I can refer you to a male psychologist.” Fred came to mind and she concentrated on him in order to ignore Zane’s gaze. “In fact, the V.A. Center might be a good bet for you. Interaction with other vets has proven very successful for some men. The doctor is a veteran also and can relate to your problems.”
He shifted pamphlets to balance on his hip. “I don’t have any problems, remember?”
Margo shrugged. “You probably don’t. But it’s always good to know where assistance is in case the need arises.”
It was time to make a move. She excused herself to use the bathroom. Zane set the pamphlets on the table, strode out the door, and stopped by the rough plank rail.
Margo hesitated, observing the fit condition of his body as he stretched. His arms reached skyward while he rotated his head. Living in the wilderness certainly hadn’t harmed his physical condition. Even though he was sweaty and covered with blood, she was aware of a definite beauty in him. Seeing him in this rugged environment and looking as primitive as he did, it was hard to picture him in a business suit sitting in an office. Then again, Vinnie had said he spent most of his time at the docks or on the boats. That was easier for Margo to picture.
After freshening up, Margo followed him back outside and paused on the porch to glance up at the sky. The sun was low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the meadow. She wouldn’t like driving that road in the dark. She’d better get going so that she could make it to town before sunset.
“I’d like to return tomorrow and answer any questions about the material.”
He didn’t respond and she didn’t press him. At least he was contemplating the suggestion. His grip tightened on the rail before he lifted heavy-lashed eyes. “You can come out here, but I’m not talking.”
Margo bristled with annoyance but didn’t let it show.
He stepped closer; too close. “Forget the shrink bit. The war was years ago. And I detest the big play for attention that the vet issue is going for now. I went. I served. I handled it.”
“So why are you here?”
“Enjoying life.”
She glanced across the meadow. It was an island refuge surrounded by miles of dense forest. Giant redwood trees stood guard against the world.
Right. Something was hurting inside Zane. It wasn’t anything she could pinpoint. He’d had no outward sign of delayed stress. She sensed it. He held too much in; kept his body too much in check. That kind of hiding covered a lot of inner pain.
“We’ll talk tomorrow.”
***
The door to the Fort Bragg Inn opened with a soft chime. The expression on the clerk’s face changed from welcome to horror as she eyed Margo’s bloodstained clothes.
“I knew it. You didn’t listen and you went out there.” She came storming around the end of the counter to drape a reassuring arm across Margo’s shoulders.
Margo was too exhausted to resist the familiarity from a stranger.
“It was that man, wasn’t it? What’d he do to you?”
Margo sat down on the carved deacon’s bench and breathed a sigh of relief. “Nobody did anything to me.”
“Look at you. You’re covered with blood and your face is deathly pale.” Her fingers felt warm as she laid them across Margo’s brow.
“It was the road,” Margo managed to explain as she thought of the twists and turns and steep drops down sheer cliffs. “That drive took ten years off my life.”
“The road? But you’re covered with blood. Did you have an accident? Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine, but I could sure use some of that coffee.”
Margo didn’t feel guilty about the woman waiting on her. The aroma was putting some zip into her and she could imagine what the taste would do. The clink of real china was a welcome sound, especially followed by the splash of poured liquid. Margo focused on that instead of her chatter.
“I can’t understand it. From what I’ve heard around town the Zanelli boys used to be real nice. Now…” She handed Margo the cup and saucer. “I better call the sheriff.”
Margo straightened as she took the cup. “Don’t do that. All I need is a bath and…”
“The law should know if there’s been any violence. By the way, my name’s Nan.”
“Please call me Margo,” she answered as the coffee warmed her tense muscles and brought a surge of energy. Then Margo quickly told her about the deer.
“A deer you say.” Nan’s eyes were wide and attentive. “Seems hard to believe that he would be taking care of an injured creature. I’d be figuring him to be doing the harm. I know they used to hunt all the time. Used to come up every fall.”
Margo would have liked to continue the conversation, especially because Nan had made reference to Zane’s past. But not now. Any information she gleaned would go through one ear and out the other. Maybe in the morning after a good night’s sleep.
Margo stood and set the cup on the antique sideboard against the far wall. “Thanks for the coffee.” She stretched her stiff muscles. “I’m going to take a hot bath and rest before dinner.”
Thoughts of the large porcelain tub with old-fashioned legs spurred her to her room. When she got there, she quickly shed her stained clothes, and in minutes the remodeled bathroom was filled with hot steam and scented with her favorite bath oil.
It felt as good as she had imagined. The soothing heat chased away the last remnants of stress from the trying day. With her head against the curved back of the tub, Margo stared at the delicate blue flowers on the old-fashioned wallpaper. Her thoughts drifted to Zane.
In their brief encounter he managed to touch the instinctive part of her that had inspired her toward psychology. His brash manners were an attempt to cover up the sensitive spots that could make him vulnerable. Did he know it hadn’t worked? She’d seen too much while he tended the deer. Not only of the caring side of him but also the brief glimpses of pain and suffering that had flashed in his eyes.
From the little Margo knew of his past history of brief relationships and a recent short-term marriage that ended in divorce, he’d probably frozen his emotions inside of him. It showed in his seeming inability to get close to others; his self-imposed isolation. It all pointed to a man unable to live fully in the present because he was a prisoner of the past experiences that he hadn’t faced. Most likely he had a secret – one he hadn’t let himself think about.
“So he needs therapy.” Margo shifted under the aromatic bubbles. “Now to get him to accept it.”
With a plan to spur her on, Margo finished her bath and slipped into her ivory silk robe. After ordering coffee from room service, she carefully placed her briefcase on the delicate table next to the window and reached for the phone. It didn’t take much effort to get through to Vinnie Zanelli.
“Did he agree to come in for treatment?” Vinnie’s voice crackled and Margo guessed the inn’s wiring must be old.
“It’s too early for that. I’m going back out there tomorrow.”
“I’ll be down to go with you. I’ll arrive early in the morning. Can you pick me up at the airport?”
Margo considered his request
with mixed emotions. Originally she’d wanted Vinnie to accompany her. But now that she’d made contact she didn’t feel she needed him along. In fact, he could hamper the situation. But when she suggested Vinnie not come, he adamantly insisted.
Margo hung up the phone, wondering if there was more Vinnie hadn’t told her. Perhaps it was just as well he would be on the scene. She might gain a whole new set of insights into Zane by seeing the two men together.
Margo picked up the receiver and dialed again. Her smile broadened as she heard her mother’s voice.
“Yes, maman. My room is wonderful.” Margo glanced across the antique mahogany bed to the chintz curtains fluttering at the bay window. “You’d love it, in fact. It’s one of those bed and breakfast inns converted from an old Victorian house.”
She carried the phone across the room and sank onto the window seat. Outside, gulls circled overhead. Waves crashed on the rugged coastline below.
After a few more minutes of chitchat, Margo got down to the real reason for her call. “There’s more to the case than Vinnie Zanelli told me.” She twisted her finger around a curl of hair, still wet from her bath. “He lied to me about his brother wanting help.”
Margo straightened the ivory silk of her robe as she listened to her mother’s questions.
“I don’t think he’s dangerous, but he needs help. I can sense it.”
Margo stood and began pacing the room as she explained. It often helped to look at a case objectively when she discussed it with her mother. Bettina served as an excellent sounding board for her troubled cases. Margo did the same for her. They indulged in that breach of ethics because they knew their brainstorming sessions about clients were confidential.
“The townspeople report behavior that could be P.T.S.D., yet he appeared in control when I saw him. Reserved and hidden.”
“He didn’t get nasty with you?”
“Just angry that I was stepping in on his privacy. But that’s normal. Apparently he didn’t ask for help. Vinnie assumed he wanted it.”
“Could be that he did ask,” Bettina reasoned. “Maybe he changed his mind when it came right down to it.”
“I don’t think so.” Margo absently brushed aside the curtain and watched a couple stroll along the edge of the cliffs. “He seemed too adamant about not needing a therapist.”
“Are you coming home then?”
“Vinnie’s flying into Fort Bragg tomorrow morning. I’m picking him up and we’re going back out there.”
“You think Zane will change his mind if his brother is along?”
“I hope so.” Margo cast one last glance at the couple and then dropped the curtain. “I want to work this case.”
“It’s probably smart to give it another try,” Bettina agreed. “But you be careful. Remember, you can’t help everyone.”
“I’ll be careful,” she promised.
“I’ll be home tomorrow night. Call me.”
Margo hung up the phone. Concern about her new patient made her restless and unsettled. She was confident she could help Zane, but would he let her? Not wanting to admit to having a weakness made people hide inside themselves instead of seeking help. Her father had done that. She slammed her fists on the sill. Yes. She’d make Zane accept.
Her father had needed help and refused to seek it. She and her mother had been forced to watch him give up on life. Neither woman would allow it to happen again.
The phone rang and interrupted her troubled thoughts. It was Fred calling to see if she’d made it to Fort Bragg. By the time she finished listening to him bemoan the government red tape at the center, followed by a lively debate about the latest political move of the Save the Whales Foundation, she felt better. Her thoughts were back on a positive track.
She put on a pair of slacks and tossed a multicolored poncho over her head. Outside the sun was beginning to set. She could see the streaks of color across the western sky. A walk on the cliffs overlooking the ocean would clear her thoughts. She’d need to be sharp and alert when she went back to deal with Zane.
***
Another chip of wood flew across the small room as Zane pounded the mallet against the chisel. Even though he’d worked since he woke up at three this morning, his blows were steady and sure. The carving towered over his hunkered body as he knelt on the floor.
It was nearly finished, but that didn’t matter to Zane. He didn’t look once at the life-size figures; it was enough to systematically chip at the unfinished base.
He hadn’t worked on this carving in weeks. He hadn’t needed to. But again, last night, he’d awakened from nightmares. Unable to sleep and not particularly wanting to, he’d dressed and retreated to the small shed that he kept locked. After brushing away cobwebs, he’d picked up the mallet and chisel and worked through the dawn.
It was the same dream he’d had for a year or so after the war. What he never could understand was why the man with the rifle changed from a Vietcong soldier to Al. Sweat beaded on his brow even now as he thought of it. Why? He didn’t want to remember. The past was buried.
“Ghosts never die,” he muttered as he pounded the mallet again.
Dr. Margo Devaull came to mind, but he had to admit that he couldn’t blame her for the dreams. The first one had happened before her arrival. Maybe he’d had a premonition, a sixth sense. No. He shrugged the thought off.
But he couldn’t shrug off the thoughts of her. And he knew why.
His brother only mentioned a psychologist once in a passing conversation. Zane hadn’t been paying much attention, but he did remember absently agreeing. He should have known his brother would act fast.
But why a woman? He wasn’t going to tell her anything. Didn’t Vinnie realize it had been months since he’d been around the opposite sex? Sometimes Vinnie didn’t have a brain in his head.
She had been on the premises only a short time, but he remembered every detail about her. Soothing voice. Sleek lines. Even the perfume she wore, light like wildflowers. He clutched the chisel.
His nostrils flared at the memory. How many months had it been since he’d been this close to a woman? There’d been plenty of women in his life, but he couldn’t remember them too clearly now. Even his ex-wife seemed a blur. Had they meant that little to him?
He tried again, but only one face formed. Rita. Why her? It had been years since he’d been engaged to Rita, but he could picture her as clearly as if they’d just been together. He could even remember her perfume. It was heavy, sultry. Nothing but the best for Rita Santini. Wasn’t that why he couldn’t marry her? She’d hate him if she knew what he’d done in the steaming jungles of…
Forget Rita. He slammed the mallet against the chisel. The sharp sound cut through his memories. In a rush of temper he threw the tools across the room and stood. Sweat trickled down his back while he clenched his fists against the unwanted trembling. No good. The shakes moved up his arms and across his shoulders as memories tortured him.
“Why did you join the Marines?” Rita wailed, her dark eyes flashing in frustrated anger. “You’re going to Stanford. We’re going to be married.” She cast a pleading glance to her brother. “Tell him, Al. Tell him he’s crazy.”
Al shifted uneasily and glanced over at Zane. “I talked him into joining with me. We’re going together.”
Rita threw up her hands. “I don’t believe this. You’re both crazy.”
“Come on, honey.” Zane grabbed her waist and swung her into his arms. “Our country needs us. Besides, it’s where all the action is. A chance to fight for freedom and democracy. We’ll be heroes – just for you.”
She started to protest, but before she could Zane covered her lips with a kiss. He could feel the tension in her body ease as she responded. He’d convince Rita.
“Hey, you two,” Al interrupted. “You promised pizza.”
“Later,” he whispered in her ear before he let her go.
Zane swore as he left the confining shed. His angry strides carried him through the tall gras
s of his yard. After he stomped up the steps of his back porch, he reached for the ax leaning against the wall.
Below the porch was a pile of cut logs. He headed for it. Straightening a large piece one end, he began to swing the heavy blade. Six logs split before he could unclench his fists from the handle of the ax.
He straightened upright, flexed his fingers, and stared at the noonday sky. “Control,” he muttered. “Get control.”
A few deep breaths soothed his nerves. How long had he been up here anyway? Months. Then why could he remember so clearly what it was like to have a woman?
He didn’t want to be reminded. He liked his life just the way it was. No pressures. No questions about his past and no reminders of it either. Quickly he stacked the wood. Anything to stop his thoughts of the past. Or of this female shrink. He didn’t want help. He didn’t want a woman. He didn’t want anyone.
Just as he finished the last log, he heard the distinct rumble of an engine. It sounded like the Bronco.
Several choice epithets filled the mountain stillness as he put the ax back against the wall and strode out to the front. Determination showed in each measured step. He’d get rid of her. During the early dawn hours, he had promised himself that no psychologist was going to poke around in his head.
The white Bronco weaved its way through the last few redwoods and cornered onto the track in the meadow. Zane frowned when he spotted two heads framed in the tinted windshield. Who was with her? Did she think she needed protection? The way his temper was rising, she could be right.
The Bronco pulled up in front of the cabin. However, the surprise Zane felt when his brother stepped from behind the wheel didn’t compare to the physical jolt when he saw her again.
With her long legs, she stepped easily out of the high-clearance vehicle. He noticed she liked bright colors. She had on white cotton pants and a baggy blouse splashed with pink and turquoise. Did she think the oversize outfit would hide her figure? No chance.
Love's Miracles Page 4