Love's Miracles

by Sandra Leesmith

  “Amos is doing fine. He’s working in the business district downtown.”

  “Then how can you say he would’ve been better off dead? It he’s doing well it’s probably because he was getting help. I bet you’d find that most veterans who saw combat have sought some sort of therapy.”

  “All but me. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “You have to open up. Talk about it like your friend Amos and the man in my case did, before you can heal.”

  “Why?” His voice turned harsh. “Does it give you a thrill to hear the sordid details? Is that how you get your kicks?”

  Margo stiffened and waited. Zane’s verbal abuse was a common reaction, a defense mechanism. When a patient opened up, especially one who’d held things in as long as Zane had, he felt vulnerable, exposed; often he attacked. So it didn’t surprise her, but strangely it did hurt.

  “I wondered why you’d keep coming up here every weekend when it was obvious I didn’t want to talk.”

  “I come because I care, Zane. And your family cares.”

  He spun around to face her. Bitterness reflected in his eyes, sounded in his voice. “You care? What a joke that is! You were probably at Berkeley protesting the whole thing. Don’t you hate Nam vets like everyone else?”

  “Zane,” she soothed, but he jerked away to face the meadow. “People protested the war – like your mother – because they were afraid. They didn’t want their sons, their brothers, and their friends to experience the dark side of life. Most of us still remember the effects of other wars.” Like what the Korean War had done to her father, she thought.

  Zane remained silent so she continued. “Don’t let the fears and confusion from those times ruin your life now. All of us are struggling to heal those wounds.”

  “I don’t let it ruin my life. There’s beauty and peace around me now.”

  “And loneliness.”

  His face closed, but Margo noticed the stiffening that crept under the yellow tank top.

  “Open up, Zane. Talk to me.”

  “You make it sound easy.”

  “Was it that hard to talk about your friend?”

  His eyes leveled with hers. Assessing. Judging. “No. I’m glad Amos made it okay.”

  “Were you injured like him?” This was it. She knew it. He was going to tell her.

  Zane jumped up so fast that he startled her. Birds squawked in the meadow and flew away in fright. One look at Zane’s face sent warnings racing through her system. Quickly Margo stood.

  “It’s over, Zane. We can deal with it.”

  “Is that what you think this is all about?” His expression iced over.

  Margo carefully took a step backward. “Isn’t it?”

  “Don’t you think I’m man enough?” He stalked toward her, his fists clenching and unclenching. “You think I’m hiding ‘cause they cut off my balls?”

  Margo backed away as memories of disturbed patients in the V.A. Center formed, but her actions weren’t fast enough. Suddenly Zane snaked his arms out and grasped her shoulders. Before she could react, she was plastered against the hard contours of his body.

  “I’ll show you how much of a man I am.” He ground his hips against hers. She could feel the evidence that everything was there. Intact and hard. “Feel that, doctor?”

  “Zane. This doesn’t help.” Margo tried to back away. Wariness curled inside, but it didn’t take control. At some level of understanding, she knew he was lashing out in anger, more at himself than her. “Calm down. We can talk this out.”

  “Talk?” He released her shoulder and carefully grasped her chin to tilt her face to his. His other arm tightened around her waist, pinning her lower body against his hips. “I don’t want to talk, doctor.”

  Suddenly the anger glimmering in his eyes disappeared. A strange look of hungry longing replaced it before he shut heavily lashed lids and closed his mouth over hers.

  His kiss was hard and demanding. Margo felt the temper in the firm lips and stiff position. But then like his eyes, his mouth softened. Margo could taste the loneliness and hunger.

  Strangely, it matched an unknown yearning inside her. She had to force herself not to give in to it. Her heart raced as his lips pressed and the roughness of his beard scraped her skin. She had to struggle as all sense of herself became lost in a sudden need and longing. Margo leaned back and pressed her hands against his chest, but he didn’t let go.

  The world spun in shafts of sunlight and gold. She held herself very still and tried not to notice that summer heat became forbidden fire. Time suspended, but she hardly noticed. Her senses filled with his taste, his essence, and the hard male feel of him. Never in her thirty-five years had she been kissed like this. It had to stop.

  Finally he tore his mouth from hers, only to tuck his head into the curve of her neck. His beard brushed her throat. His breath fanned the sensitive skin, hot and steady. There was no explanation, but it felt right for him to hold her like this. She wondered how long it had been since he’d held another person. Touching was an integral part of human behavior. Zane needed this. She could feel the tremors trace through him as she held herself very still.

  “I don’t know what’s happening and I don’t know how to stop it,” he whispered into her hair.

  Did she really want him to stop? “This isn’t what you need, although your reaction to my conjecture about you and the article was probably normal.”

  ***

  Zane’s curse became muffled in her skin. It was a normal reaction. That’s what he was having all right. Holding her was turning him on and it was taking every ounce of his energy to refrain from acting like an animal and pursuing his normal reaction.

  If he was sane, he’d let her go and get a mile away. Instead, he tightened his hold and let the curves press against the taut readiness of his body. He wanted her, now, here on the deck. That was normal.

  But she was right; it was also dangerous. No way could he give in to her – not now, not ever. If he did, he might not let her go.

  With effort, he pulled his arms from around her. “You’ll want to leave now.” He hated saying it but knew it would be best. She’d probably hightail it and never come back.

  “Do you want me to leave?”

  His glance flew to hers. She looked as shaken as he felt. He had a crazy urge to reach out and caress her cheek and tell her it was all right. He clenched his fist instead.

  “Under the circumstances…”

  She lifted her hand to his face, but he backed off.

  “I’m not afraid of you.” Her voice caressed like velvet. “You wouldn’t hurt me.”

  Don’t be so sure, he thought. He backed away a couple more steps. The soft look of her was driving him over the edge. The feel of her was still with him. He wanted to scoop her into his arms and head up the stairs to the loft.

  “But I can tell you this. I’m not the therapist you should have. I can’t be any help to you when we react like that to each other. You need to go back to…”

  “I don’t need any therapist. Not you. Not your friend at the V.A. No one. I told you that from the beginning.”

  He didn’t tell her what he did need her for. Besides the obvious physical satisfaction, he’d come to need other indefinable elements that her presence seemed to ignite.

  “Do you have lunch ready? Maybe we should eat.”

  Did she honestly think food would get his needs off his mind? He studied her face: the features he’d memorized so well, the ones he’d called up in the night when the stars were the only light that could tell him she wasn’t really there.

  “I fixed all the makings for a hamburger,” he finally managed.

  Several expressions flickered across her face. At this moment she was open, easy to read. He could see she was having the same trouble as he was and it made his need stronger.

  He should feel sorry he’d grabbed her, but he didn’t. Every one of those long weekends he’d wanted to do exactly that. And more. He didn’t feel one oun
ce of remorse.

  Unless she decided not to come back. The thought hit him like a blow. He glanced at her face.

  “Come on. I’ve sliced the tomatoes. They’re out of the garden. Fresh and ripe.”

  Her relieved smile warmed the ice in his heart. He tried not to feel it. The wildflower scent of her perfume wafted in the air. He turned and led the way into the kitchen.

  You’re a fool, he thought. Why are you putting up with this? So you can hear her voice? See her smile? A sucker for big brown eyes. He reached the refrigerator and paused before opening it. No. Be honest. You’re lonely and for the first time in years you can’t wait for the weekends to arrive. “And that scares you, doesn’t it, ole buddy?”

  “Did you say something?” She stood inches away.

  “Everything is ready. Wait here while I grill the meat.”

  “Sure.” She turned her back to him and went to the counter. Zane watched the way her jumpsuit stretched across her backside when she reached for the seat. His fingers tightened around the package of hamburger.

  Quickly he went outside and lit the gas burner. The patties took shape, but he hardly noticed what he was doing. Automatically, he got them ready while his thoughts spun in crazy circles.

  It wasn’t right to let her continue to travel so far when he had no intention of telling her a thing. Letting her follow false leads like this one with Amos was cruel and a waste of her valuable time.

  Yet it wasn’t a total waste, was it? He’d been on the mark when he’d told her she looked better. She always arrived from the city tense with the stress and strain common to those who dwelled in the complexities of modern civilization. By the time she left Saturday the lines across her forehead had disappeared. When she arrived Sunday she would be all smiles, easygoing and relaxed.

  Zane glanced out at the forest. The redwoods were no longer a refuge but a silent reminder of his loneliness and the truth. Okay, so maybe she benefited some from these trips, but be honest now. The real reason he wanted her here wasn’t for that or even to ease out of the isolation. He needed her help, plain and simple.

  He knew he’d have to talk to her. After what happened today she’d stop coming if he didn’t. But could he ever talk about the real problem?

  Suddenly he felt afraid. Would he be able to unlock the secrets he’d kept for years? Maybe so, because for the first time ever he wanted to tell someone what had happened in the jungles of Nam.

  ***

  Margo took deep breaths as she sat at the counter waiting for Zane. It didn’t help. Her nerves were a jumbled tangle of contradictory emotions. That kiss had shaken her up and she wasn’t quite sure of all the reasons why. Yes, the moment had been charged with emotion. Yes, she’d been upset thinking Zane had been disabled. No, Zane hadn’t given her much choice.

  But those were all lame excuses and she knew it. She was a trained and experienced psychotherapist. The kiss should never have happened. She knew how to prevent such incidents.

  So why hadn’t she? And why couldn’t she shake the feeling that Zane’s kiss had meant something deeper than either one of them cared to acknowledge? Margo pushed at the place settings on the counter. Zane had reacted in a normal manner given the circumstances. And so had she. All it meant was that she’d have to be careful how she handled the situation from now on. She’d have to work hard at maintaining a professional aura of control. Then as soon as she returned to the city she’d get off this case and refer Zane to someone else.

  At least there was hope for progress; another milestone reached. Zane had opened up, and he’d done it on his own – without threats, without manipulation on her part. Now the next step was to get him to talk about safe subjects.

  “These are done.” Zane strode into the kitchen. His movements were stiff, his expression closed.

  “Smells good.” She took the plate from him and watched him serve them both before sitting down next to her at the counter.

  The air crackled with the tension between them. Margo could almost hear the snap of it as she spooned a glob of mustard on a roll before setting a meat patty on top. Out of the corner of her eye she watched him bite into his hamburger. His lips covered the food. She tried not to remember what they’d felt like covering her mouth.

  They needed a safe conversation to lighten the atmosphere.

  “How are your carvings coming along?”

  His mouth was full so she shouldn’t really have expected more than the grunt she got.

  “I’d like to see how you do it.”

  The hesitation was obvious, but that in itself was a good sign because he usually didn’t show any reaction at all.

  “Unless you’d rather I didn’t stick around.”

  He considered her for long moments. “I guess we can go take a look.”

  Margo wondered how he managed the cool veneer so well. She thought the strain of keeping a composed face would be painful.

  “Do you use redwood for your carvings?” she asked.

  “Some.” He finished the last bite. “Mostly I carve from burls. I can get the wood without killing the tree.”

  He began to explain how he obtained the growth from the sides of the huge trunks. His tone grew less strained as he delved into the familiar. “A burl forms when a tree is damaged. Usually it’s from a cut. Scar tissue forms around the cut to protect it. That’s how the wood gets its swirls and gnarls which make it unique but difficult to work with.”

  As Margo listened she began to realize Zane didn’t want her to leave. His concession to discuss his work was an attempt to keep her here. Zane had progressed farther than she’d thought.

  “Do you have burls in your workshop?” she asked.

  “I’ll show you when we’re done.”

  Margo downed her soda and followed him outside. The fresh mountain air heightened her senses, or so she tried to tell herself. She refused to admit it had anything to do with walking beside Zane. She anticipated seeing his work, that was all. Zane’s art would tell her a lot about the man.

  She stepped into the workshop. From inside the building Zane had an unhampered view of the meadow and forest beyond. Further delight awaited her as she neared the unfinished planks filled with Zane’s carvings. Most of them were animals native to the area. There had to be over fifty. She couldn’t tear her eyes from the figures.

  “They’re all forest creatures.”

  “Go ahead. You can touch.” He sounded strained, yet there was a hint of pride.

  The finish felt like satin under her fingers. “You use the animals from around here for models?” she asked.

  “They wander in the meadow.” He ambled toward the wall of glass. “They know I won’t hurt them, so I can sit here and see everything they do.”

  “You’ve captured expressions on their faces,” she marveled. “How did you get them so perfect?”

  “Hours and hours of work.”

  A wistful note sounded in his voice and she glanced from a mischievous wooden chipmunk to him. He leaned against the edge of the window and stared, but she could tell he didn’t see the scenery outside.

  Nor did she. Images focused: Zane sitting at the bench, his long fingers carefully holding a carved piece of wood. She could almost feel the strong touch of his fingers as he shaped the final features.

  “You must have mountains of patience to etch the tiny details.”

  “Not so much patience as time,” he commented while he still focused inward. “I’ve thrown away more carvings than I care to count.”

  Margo finally managed to draw her attention away from Zane and focus on the woodland creatures. Each animal tugged at an emotion. Her glance landed on a startled deer and moved on to a curious skunk. Only a man with deep feelings could extract such expression in the difficult craft.

  “I’m impressed. These pieces are works of art. They should be shown at an exhibit.”

  He peeled away from the window and stepped beside her. His finger traced along the lines of a squirrel she held in her han
d. “There’s a part of me in each one of these. I don’t think I’d want to show them to anyone else.”

  She could smell the sunshine on his skin, hear the unsteady rhythm of his breathing. She glanced into his eyes and caught a glimpse of uncertainty before he shuttered them with his lashes.

  “I’m glad you showed them to me,” she murmured.

  A frown formed and she thought she saw pain in his eyes. His voice was low when he spoke, its tone touching and deep. “I don’t know why I let you see them, but…”

  She knew why. He was reaching out for contact and she didn’t want him to destroy it with reason. “I’m honored. I can tell from the work that you’re a sensitive man.”

  He backed away from her then and put space between them. The amusement in his expression surprised and pleased her. “Sensitive? No man likes to be told he’s sensitive.”

  She tried not to feel disappointed that he’d moved away. She smiled. “That’s the ‘in’ thing right now. Didn’t you know? I mean, it’s all the rage for a man to be sensitive and caring.”

  “Maybe I’d better stay out here in the woods.”

  “Where a man can be a man?” she teased.

  “You got it.”

  His chuckle echoed in the quiet room. He seemed surprised by the rich sounds.

  “Show me the process you use to do this,” she said. She didn’t want to lose the casual ambience that they were beginning to feel comfortable with. Margo suspected Zane didn’t either.

  Motioning for her to join him, he walked over to the workbench located in the center of the room and pointed to a small piece of burl gripped in a vise. “I use chisels to chip away the outer layers.” He picked up a small mallet and demonstrated. “This gets me to the general shape of the animal faster than carving.”

  His hands moved with confidence and agility as they had when he’d sewn up the deer. She tried not to imagine how they’d feel touching her.

  “When I get down to an overall outline, I start carving.” He laid out several tools for her to see and explained how each one worked.

  “You have to have a good eye,” she commented.

  He nodded. “The secret is to proceed slowly. You can always take a little more wood off, but you can’t put it back on.”