It sounded like advice she often gave herself, and what she should adhere to now.
For over an hour he explained the procedure of carving. The heavy tension that had charged the room eased as they both concentrated on the process, but Margo couldn’t shake away all of her memories. She refused to look at his mouth or get near enough to touch. If Zane had to force nonchalance, it was difficult to notice, but from the occasional pause and the way he stared she suspected he did.
In spite of the undercurrents, Margo was pleased. They’d made progress today. Now that Zane had opened up, she should be able to convince him to make the big move and return to the city. Now was the time to bring it up, she thought as they left the workshop and headed across the meadow toward the house.
“What you have here has been good, but I think you should go back to the Bay Area where you can get involved in therapy sessions.”
“I don’t need therapy.”
The tension that formed in him was hardly perceptible. But Margo noticed. “I can understand that. A lot of people who have experienced what you have feel the same way. But let me tell you what usually happens to them if they don’t go in.”
He kept walking, but she could tell he was listening. “Many of them find they have problems with drinking, drugs, sometimes violence, or a difficult time holding down a job.”
“You think I have these kinds of problems?”
“Do you?”
“No. And whoever told…”
“No one has mentioned those things to me. I’m giving you generalities. Perhaps your way of manifesting your stress is this escape into the wilderness.”
He remained silent.
“You’ve left your responsibilities behind. Zanelli, Inc. is a big business. Not something to walk away from.”
“How do you associate that with something that happened twenty years ago? How do you even know my problems relate to Nam?”
“Do they?”
The grass brushed her legs when she stopped. Zane swung around and faced her, his expression unreadable yet his eyes held…what? Confusion?
“A week before I came here I almost killed twelve men.”
Alerted by the anger punctuating each word, Margo kept her reaction calm. “Do you want to tell me about it?”
He stared into her eyes, then lifted his gaze to the sky. For a minute she thought he’d retreated behind his wall, but he straightened and spoke, his voice harsh.
“I knew better than to send them. The Coast Guard had issued warnings, but I let Vinnie talk me into it – something I’ve never done before.”
“And you think your judgment for making decisions is off?”
He tugged on his beard. “Maybe I don’t want to be in charge anymore.”
“One incident wouldn’t eat at your self-confidence like that. There have to be other events that led you to take such steps.”
“I didn’t take any drastic ‘steps,’ as you call it. I took a vacation.”
“That has extended for nine months.”
“So?”
“So deal with it. Find out what’s eating at your insides and get it out. That’s how you regain control of your life.”
He started walking again and Margo had to take long steps to keep up with him.
She continued talking. “Talk with other vets who’ve shared your experiences and…”
He stopped and grabbed her upper arms to force her to look into his eyes. “I’m not going in. I don’t need help. If you want to keep coming here, fine. But that’s the limit.”
“I can recommend another therapist who…”
“No.” His fingers tightened. “Only you.”
Margo forced a calm into her voice as she stared him down with a determined glare. “We can talk about this rationally.”
He hesitated before dropping his hands to his sides. An odd combination of anger and appeal flashed in his expression that he would have hated if he’d known it showed. Margo responded to it.
“Can’t you understand why it would be best to refer you to someone else?”
He nodded, but he didn’t give in. “Only you, Margo. And don’t be afraid. What happened today won’t happen again.”
Margo believed him. If he promised, he’d keep it. But what about her reactions? She realized she was losing the ability to maintain a doctor-patient detachment.
“Dr. Fred Barlow can come…”
“Only you.”
***
Later that afternoon, after the strenuous drive from Zane’s to the inn, she consoled her weary body by promising herself that soon Zane would probably be coming in to the center. Her commuting days were nearing an end. Even though he hadn’t agreed to therapy today, she knew many methods to use that would convince him.
A quick meal in the restaurant started her on the road to relaxation. The old songs from the sixties that were in the jukebox brought nostalgic memories. She hurried up to her room, took a leisurely bath, and then stretched out on the bed to let a session of meditation relieve the last curls of tension. It was easier said than done. No matter how hard she tried to center her thoughts, she couldn’t do it. Her day with Zane kept playing over and over in her mind. She couldn’t forget the deep hunger in his touch nor could she deny her response to the vulnerable side of him that was beginning to unfold. She couldn’t stop sensing that she might have the power to fill the chasm of loneliness that engulfed him.
Margo shifted and forced her muscles to relax. She had to stop this line of thinking. It was unprofessional for one thing, and certainly not like her. But then she’d never met anyone like Zane before.
“Oh, stop it,” she ordered. She tried to empty her mind again, but when that didn’t work she focused on plans for the future, ideas for therapy, and professional conjecture about Zane. Amos’s case had been the catalyst that still gave her reason to believe Zane’s behavior stemmed from the war. Then again it could be related to the fishing business. A man who read ecology magazines would be in conflict with the issues revolving around the fishing industry. And they hadn’t even touched on personal relations – his ex-wife, for example. And what about the song “Forever Friends”?
Margo rolled onto her side, brushing back the strands of hair from across her face. It would work out; it always did. Right now she needed some of the patience Zane practiced with his carvings.
It was no use. Margo sat up. Maybe a walk on the beach would help. She swung her legs over the side of the bed when the phone rang.
“Fred. What’s up?”
Margo listened. There wasn’t anything important. He’d just wanted to check on her. For once she didn’t mind. She welcomed the distraction.
“I sensed you were getting frustrated, Margo. Did it go any better today?”
Even though he knew next to nothing about the case, he was aware of her stress. They’d worked together too many years for him not to notice her mood swings.
“In fact, I wanted to talk to you about that. I think my client will be ready to come in soon. I’ve mentioned your name and told him I want to refer him to you.”
“How did he react?”
“He insists he doesn’t need therapy.”
“What’s your opinion?” Fred asked.
“His problems don’t appear serious, but I think he’d benefit from your sessions.”
“If he agrees, we’ll set up an appointment and go over his records. Think it’ll be this week?”
Margo braced the receiver against her shoulder while she slipped on orange cotton sweats. “Not this week. But soon, I hope. I have to be careful and not push too fast.”
“I don’t like you driving those roads. I’ll feel better when he’s at the center.” Fred’s exasperation carried through the wires. “Besides, you won’t last that long working seven days a week.”
Margo sighed. The strain of the long drive was wearing her down. That was probably the reason for her strange reaction to Zane’s kiss. She’d have to get Zane in soon. They’d both be in bet
ter control when he was surrounded by the formal environment of the center. On Zane’s land there was too much freedom.
“He just opened up today, Fred. Let me ease him into the idea tomorrow. Then I’ll put on some pressure.”
“You’re probably right.” Margo could picture Fred raking his fingers through his sandy hair like he always did when he had to decide on something he wasn’t happy about. “I just worry about you. I miss you too.”
He paused and Margo tightened her fingers on the receiver. She knew Fred wanted more of a relationship. Rarely did he let it show.
“There’s a new play opening at the university,” he said. “If you’re going to be in town, let’s take it in some night next week.”
That sounded nice – and safe. And maybe she could forget Zane for a few hours. Margo eased her grip on the phone. “Sure, Fred. I don’t have any consulting jobs lined up until the end of the month. How about Tuesday?”
“Tuesday’s fine. It’ll give you something to look forward to while you’re up there all alone.”
“Thanks.”
Margo hung up the phone. For several seconds she followed Fred’s advice and thought about the play. Images of Zane interrupted. What did tomorrow hold? Did he anticipate her visit with hope, or would she find him back behind the wall?
Today had been a breakthrough. Emotional release was allowed and expected. But tomorrow was another matter. She’d have to make every effort to put them back on a doctor-patient footing.
Even thought she was tired, Margo took the walk along the beach. The misty fog enveloped the surrounding cliffs and made her world seem small and uncomplicated. It was exactly what she needed – or so she thought. However, an unusual loneliness snuck in and ruined the peace.
Margo kicked at the sand and watched as the grains were swallowed up by a wave. She should be triumphant over her victory in getting Zane to open up; she should be delighted with the prospects of the play and Fred’s company. But a strange restlessness tugged. Margo shook it off. She didn’t want to admit that it had its roots in that moment with Zane.
Chapter 9
In spite of a restless sleep, Margo was bursting with energy the next morning. She had worked through several plans during the night; approaches that were designed to lead Zane into more discussion about himself and definitely designed to veer away from the personal. She’d anticipated every move, every direction she thought he might take. If he planned to retreat, she’d be ready for him. If he opened up, she was prepared for that too.
What she wasn’t prepared for was the sight of him. He had on boots and tight-fitting jeans. His white T-shirt was molded to his chest. That was not unusual. What made her breath go shallow was his face – he’d shaved his beard.
Slowly she stepped out of the Bronco. She headed for the deck. The strangest urge came over her to trace her fingers across the planes of that smooth-shaven skin.
Margo gave herself a shake. “Get a hold of yourself, kiddo,” she muttered under her breath. “He’s your patient. Nothing more. Yesterday’s kiss meant nothing to him and shouldn’t mean anything to you.” But the knowledge that the kiss had affected her strengthened her resolve to get off this case as soon as she returned.
At the foot of the stairs she grabbed the rail and paused. Her gaze traveled to his and held. Uncertainty and challenge glittered in his blue eyes. She knew then. He felt the same way and he didn’t know what to do about it. She had to make sure he didn’t use what happened yesterday as an excuse to reject therapy.
He spoke first. “I’m surprised you came.”
“It’s Sunday.”
What an inane thing to say, she thought as she took one of the steps.
“About yesterday…”
“Don’t worry about it.” She climbed another. This was her chance. “It happened. We’ll forget about it. Now that it’s over and done with, we’ll move on.”
Skepticism showed in his expression, but she was determined to keep her air of composure. “We’ll just have to remember that we’re together on a professional basis.”
“You can try.”
“Won’t you?”
He shifted his weight to his other foot. The stance, with his hip forward, exuded masculinity. “Will it do any good?”
“A relationship between a patient and a doctor is the worst kind to have. You need to confide things to your therapist that most people don’t tell friends or partners. Actually, people don’t want their friends to know everything about them.”
His glance raked down her body. Her skin heated.
His voice was husky, low. “Have you any idea how long I’ve been up here? Alone.”
Margo moved to the other side of the deck and leaned against the rail. “The point is, do you want to stay up here? Alone.”
The heat in his gaze turned to ice. Margo shifted.
“Maybe you’d be safer if I did.”
“Trying to scare me off, Zane?” She took a couple of steps toward him. “It won’t work. You opened up yesterday. It’s time to talk.”
“I don’t think…”
“Listen. You’re right about one thing. Sitting around on your deck is too conducive to getting sidetracked in unproductive thought. Why don’t we try something different? Active.”
He straightened and eyed her. “Like what?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged, her mind racing for a solution before he closed up on her again. “What about a walk? I haven’t been in the woods much.”
The skeptical look he cast almost made her laugh. If she hadn’t been so wary she would have.
“I know I’m not dressed for a hike.” She took a quick look at her white cotton jersey skirt. It was calf-length but loose so she could easily move her legs. The matching cotton blouse would be cool and she supposed her feet would survive in the white Keds. “But if we don’t go too far, I’ll make it okay.”
She hoped. She hadn’t been on a hike since she was a ten-year-old Girl Scout.
His expression seemed to lighten, but she thought she caught a glimpse of sly calculation.
“I suppose I could pack a picnic,” he conceded.
“Great idea.” She schooled herself not to let her relief show. He was going to accept her terms. Keeping a careful distance, she followed him into the kitchen. There was no sense in giving him a chance to change his mind.
It didn’t take long to put together a lunch. Margo managed to stay out of Zane’s way as he sliced carrot and celery sticks. Zane put the food and a canteen of water into a blue nylon day pack and hefted it onto his shoulders.
“Ready?” he questioned.
A momentary flicker of doubt crossed her mind, but she quickly dispensed with it. Certainly he’d take her on an easy trail. She nodded and followed him outside.
He strode out back, past his workshop, and headed through the grass toward the forest. The way his jeans slung low on his hips as he took each long stride caught her attention. She stole one assessing look and then glanced around, trying to focus on something else.
To the right, at the edge of the forest, she saw a shed. It was smaller than his workshop and had no windows. The large lock seemed out of place. Zane didn’t have a lock on his house nor did she recall one on the workshop.
“Zane,” she called and waited for him to halt and face her. “What’s in there?”
His gaze followed the direction of her finger and then swung back to her. A hardness she’d never seen before settled across his features. “Don’t go near that shed. Do you understand?”
He spoke harshly, succinctly, but Margo sensed there was more to his command than a matter of property. Pursuing it tempted her, but experience advised her to wait until later.
“No problem.” She smiled her assurance and began walking past the shed toward him, wondering about his tactics. Didn’t he know that forbidding her to go in there only made her more curious about what was inside? Of course, it could be that he unconsciously wanted her to find out. Sometimes the psyche p
layed games like that. She made up her mind to investigate later.
The walk turned out to be a wise ploy to defer personal thoughts of Zane. Even the mystery of the small shed had lost its hold on her imagination. After a half hour of strenuous climbing, her energy focused on taking another step and keeping up with Zane.
The trail was steep and slippery, not one she’d take a novice like herself on. She refused to complain. From the way he kept glancing back at her, Margo suspected he’d taken this trail on purpose to test her mettle. Or maybe it was another attempt to make her return to the city.
She wouldn’t give up, but she could protest. She hurried to catch up to him.
Just before she decided to demand a halt, he told her, “There’s a grove up ahead. It’s cool.”
Her muscles ached. There wasn’t a breeze stirring and the temperature had risen with the afternoon sun. Her blouse clung and she was sure perspiration must be shiny on her skin.
“I’m not used to all this exercise,” she puffed. “I mean, the most I get is climbing the stairs to my apartment.”
“I thought San Francisco girls kept their great legs in shape by climbing the hills.”
“My office is in Berkeley.” She started to tell him more about the location of the facility when she noticed his glance had focused on her legs. Better change the subject. She looked past Zane to the steep mountainside they’d just climbed. Manzanita and sage perfumed the air, but no trees grew on the sheer slopes. “I thought these mountains were solid redwood forest. Is it barren because of the logging?”
“Some areas are stripped because of the lumbering, but not this one.” He came up beside her. She tried not to notice the way his T-shirt clung to his damp skin or the woodsy scent of him. “The coast range is so steep in places that trees can’t grow. This slope, for example, is not only steep, but the soil is extremely porous.” The fistful of dirt he’d picked up slipped through his fingers. “It’s mostly loose gravel and doesn’t hold water.”
“But we just came from a heavily wooded area.” And it had been cool, not hot like this exposed mountainside.
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