Love's Miracles

by Sandra Leesmith

  “Yes, I want those things.” She let him see her longing. “I want them very much. But I also want my work. I haven’t found a way yet to have both.”

  Zane’s expression turned thoughtful.

  “What about you, Zane? Do you want those things? A wife? Children?”

  “I used to.”

  It was his turn for the loneliness to run through him. She saw it chase across his features. She squeezed his fingers in assurance, but he pulled his hand away and distanced himself, physically and emotionally. A frown furrowed his brow.

  “I tried that route. The married bit anyway. It didn’t work out. Thank God we didn’t have children.”

  “Do you want to tell me about it?”

  “I guess we both thought we were in love at first. But the problem with both of us was, neither one of us had anything to give to the other.”

  Zane rested his elbows on his bent knees and braced his chin on top of his stacked fists. He didn’t sound pained by the breakup of his marriage. Possibly he felt regret.

  “We figured out early on how shallow our relationship was and dissolved it. No messy divorce. Quick and clean.”

  “Have you ever been really in love?” Margo asked.

  “Once. Her name was Rita Santini. Beautiful. Intelligent and active.” His expression turned bitter.

  “What happened?”

  He didn’t answer and she glanced over in time to catch pain crossing his features. He saw her looking and shuttered his expression. “She married someone else.”

  “Do you still love her?”

  “Yes. But not in that way. I remember her with fondness. But she’s better off without me.”

  “You’re such lousy husband material?” she teased, her mood lightening a little with his confession.

  “Definitely,” he confirmed.

  He sounded so certain it made Margo wonder. “When were you together?”

  “When I was at Stanford. She was Al’s sister. I met her through him.”

  A strange quality entered his voice. Margo persisted. “How did you break up?”

  “I went to war.” His voice sounded distant now, as if he were trapped in memories.

  “Did she send a Dear John letter?”

  It was a common problem faced by many of her veteran patients. Oftentimes the breakup was for the best. Soldiers clung to the idea of someone being at home and that often made them believe they had stronger feelings for a person than they normally would have. The girls at home often saw reality sooner and found other relationships, but for a soldier, fighting for his life, the break from home ties was often a severe blow.

  “She didn’t need to send a letter. I sent one to her.” His response surprised her.

  “Why did you send a letter?”

  “I thought you’d resigned from the shrink bit?”

  Zane fell silent and Margo’s mind went into overdrive. He was right. She’d slipped into her psychologist mode. But pointing it out wasn’t a reminder – it was a defense mechanism to change the subject. Somehow this relationship related to his inner turmoil.

  The chatter of squirrels and the scurry of chipmunks brought her attention back to the grove. A bright blue Steller’s jay squawked when another bird flew into his territory. Again she was amazed at how tame the creatures were.

  There had to be love inside of Zane. The animals would not be there if there wasn’t. Neither would she. She’d be home in Berkeley, curled up enjoying a book or shopping with one of her friends. But she was in the redwoods with the wildlife, with Zane.

  Suddenly a growl broke the shared intimacy. A raccoon climbed onto the platform and snarled at the squirrels and chipmunks. They scattered, leaving the grove silent and still. An occasional grunt from the raccoon was the only sound heard in the shaded forest.

  Margo turned to Zane. A warm tenderness for this man welled within her. He’d been through so much suffering. She wanted to reach out and smooth away all of his hurt, all of his pain.

  “Maybe someday we’ll both have our desires,” she told him.

  “I know one desire I’d like now,” he whispered.

  His gaze heated her heart. Passion rose again and for a forbidden moment, she let him see the fire in her eyes as she held out her hand to his.

  He lifted her hand and placed it on his cheek, then turned to kiss the palm. “We’d better go,” he said.

  Reluctantly she let him pull her upright and then she followed him as he wound through the ferns covering the forest floor. Most of her attention was not on the trail but on Zane. She would never tire of watching him walk. He moved silently with smooth control and power. She smiled to herself, remembering the exact nature of that power in one simple touch.

  Suddenly, he stopped and raised his hand, cautioning her to silence. Motionless, he stood, his head tilted as he listened to the sounds of the forest. She didn’t hear anything, but she grew apprehensive when she saw the transformation in Zane. The veneer of civilization disappeared as he became a man of the woods, a hunter.

  Stealthily he moved toward a giant redwood, pulling her behind him by her hand. Without making a sound, he tucked her against the rough bark and motioned for her not to move.

  No sound could be heard, but Zane had tensed, every muscle alert and ready for action. Something was out there. What could Zane hear that she couldn’t? Her heart pounded as she watched him slowly bend down, grab a big stick, and hold it like a club.

  “What is it?” she whispered.

  “Shh, shh” he warned.

  Then she heard it: underbrush snapping, dead branches crackling. Images of bears and mountain lions came to mind, making it difficult to breathe, but it wasn’t a wild animal. A man’s voice filtered through the trees.

  “He’s got to be around here somewhere.” A metal click echoed. It sounded like the bolt of a gun sliding into place.

  She looked at Zane. The cold hardness in his eyes distressed her more than the danger from the unknown man. Images of war and jungle survival focused as she watched Zane prepare for attack. His body had suddenly become a lethal weapon. Whoever came upon them now wouldn’t have much of a chance. The man neared, and Margo stepped out from behind Zane and stood beside him.

  The other man spoke. “Put the gun away, Sheriff. Zane isn’t going to hurt anyone.”

  The voice was Vinnie’s. Margo stepped away from Zane to find herself staring down the barrel of a rifle.

  “Margo!” Vinnie shouted. “It’s all right, Sheriff. She’s here. I told you we’d find her.”

  Margo ignored Vinnie, her full attention focused on the uniformed man who was now aiming the rifle at Zane, who in turn gripped his club with white-knuckled fingers. No emotion showed on either man’s face, only an icy mask of primal wariness. Quickly, she stepped in front of the gun. Zane growled. She swung around to face him, willing him with her eyes to stay in control.

  “Vinnie’s right, Sheriff. There’s no need for that rifle.” She lowered her voice and spoke to Zane. “Put the stick down, Zane.”

  Behind her the safety catch on the rifle clicked into place. Zane dropped the club, but his body remained tense and alert. She could see the muscles in his arms twitch with the struggle to remain still.

  When she was sure Zane wouldn’t blow, she turned to the sheriff and Vinnie. “What’s this all about? Why the rifle and the Rambo tactics?”

  The sheriff lowered his gaze, and she suspected he felt slightly sheepish about his theatrics.

  Vinnie came to his defense. “Some doctor in Palo Alto called.”

  Fred. She should’ve known he would keep track of her.

  “We checked with Nan at the inn, and when she said you hadn’t returned, Zanelli drove up here.”

  Vinnie rubbed his hands together, clearly upset with the situation. Zane didn’t say anything to ease his brother’s tension.

  The sheriff spoke up. “Your brother said there might be some problems.”

  “As you can see, everything is fine.” Margo’s temp
er was slowly rising. A big part of the problem her patients had was the public’s over-reaction to their past. They assumed once a man had gone to war and become a killer, he’d always be one. The sheriff and Vinnie had just presented a prime example. “There was no need for this,” she gestured towards the gun.

  “When you’re this far out in the woods, you don’t take any chances with potential danger.”

  “Don’t get upset,” Zane surprised her. “The sheriff’s right. He had no way of knowing what was going on out here.”

  She swung her gaze to Zane. The anger was gone from his expression. Understanding, along with a tired acceptance, replaced the dangerous look.

  “Come on back to the cabin.” Zane started along the trail, not waiting to see if the rest would accept his command.

  Margo fell in step behind the sheriff. Before she did, she exchanged glances with Vinnie. She was furious with him and certainly planned to let him know. But not now. She didn’t want to involve the sheriff.

  She could see the back of Zane’s head as he led the procession through the trees. With all things considered, Zane had shown remarkable control. The sheriff was a relative stranger and had put Zane in a life-threatening position. That could easily have triggered a P.T.S.D. reaction. It hadn’t.

  Confidence began to boost her steps. While the episode didn’t fall under the norm for counseling techniques, it had accomplished a miracle. Zane had just proven he could face the world. She wondered if he realized that.

  Back at the cabin Margo went inside to get her belongings while the men remained on the deck. She could hear the sheriff asking the standard questions necessary to fill out his report. His bored tone made her think he was disappointed that nothing exciting had occurred. She sighed. Wasn’t there enough action in the county without him having to grab a gun and come looking for trouble?

  Her bag was stuffed since she’d just tossed the cut-offs and T-shirt in it. Thirsty from the walk, she went to the kitchen to get a drink of water. Behind her, she heard movement and, expecting it to be Zane, eagerly turned around. It was Vinnie.

  “What’s going on around here? You sent me a letter that stated you weren’t treating my brother.”

  Margo’s defenses rose at the accusing tone but she remained calm. “I came to tell him I was off the case.”

  “You needed to do that in person?” Vinnie’s voice rose as he strode to the island where Margo had tossed her bag. He batted at the pink T-shirt tail trailing out of the unzipped opening. “What else did you come here for? To offer him other services?”

  Margo worked to control the urge to slap Vinnie. Before she could think of a reasonable response, Zane stepped beside Vinnie and spoke, his voice deadly quiet. “Apologize for that remark, little brother.”

  No emotion showed in Zane’s eyes, which made his temper all the more lethal. Margo stepped forward, ready to protest the dissension, but Vinnie started to shout.

  “Apologize for what? Calling it like it is?”

  “You’re out of line.”

  “Look,” Margo tried again, remembering the last time the two had words. “There’s no need to get…”

  Vinnie glared at Zane and interrupted. “You going to try and tell me she didn’t spend the night?”

  Zane’s neck muscles corded as he clenched his jaw. Margo saw the sheriff step inside and size up the situation. She wondered if he’d stop the men if they started to fight. She had to do something and quick.

  “I spent the night because I had an accident and couldn’t make it home.”

  “Convenient of you.” Vinnie took a step away from Zane and squared off, ready to attack.

  “Nothing happened,” Margo tried again. “Look at the couch. Zane slept down here. You can see the bedding.”

  At least the sheriff looked at the evidence. Vinnie never took his glare off of Zane, but he spoke to her.

  “I can report you to the American Psychological Association and the state licensing board. Wouldn’t they love to hear about a breach in Principle 6A, regarding dual relationships?”

  Margo went cold. He’d done his homework. Principle 6A had recently passed into state law. No therapist shall have sexual relations with a patient for two years or until married.

  Vinnie went on. “And if they don’t take action, I’ll sue.”

  A low sound from Zane warned Margo. Quickly she stepped between the two men and faced Vinnie.

  “While we’re on the subject of legalities, Vincento Zanelli, we can discuss breach of contract and misrepresentation.”

  “What are you talking about?” Vinnie yelled.

  The sheriff had closed in on the scene and stood ready.

  Margo focused on Vinnie. “I’m referring to the fact that you sent me here under false pretenses. You told me Zane had agreed to treatment when, in fact, you’d never mentioned that I – or any other psychologist, for that matter – was coming.”

  “That’s right, Vinnie.” Zane’s voice was still too low. Too controlled.

  Margo backed towards him, sensing his patience had reached its zenith. “It’s pointless to argue. I don’t want any more problems. I’ll leave and that will be the end of it.”

  Vinnie started to protest but Zane stepped forward. His glare cut into Vinnie, and even Margo flinched from its intensity. The sheriff was ready as he stood between them.

  “I think the little lady’s right,” the sheriff finally intervened. “We ought to all settle down now.”

  He didn’t sound sincere and Margo wondered if perhaps he wanted to see a fight. Disgusted, she tried again.

  “I think…”

  Zane interrupted, his voice like ice. “Get out, Vinnie. The sheriff has his report. He can take you back to Fort Bragg.”

  Vinnie slammed his fist on the countertop tile. “Right. I’ll leave you two alone so you can finish what you started. Excuse us for even being concerned.”

  “I know you came out here for me.” Margo relinquished her anger, realizing part of Vinnie’s temper was caused by his worry.

  Vinnie didn’t respond but cast her a look filled with disgust before he edged past the sheriff and Zane and left the room.

  After a tense pause, the sheriff finally spoke. “Do you want us to escort you back to Fort Bragg, or are you staying here?”

  Before she could answer, Zane spoke for her. “She’ll go with you. Can you give us a minute? We have to clear up a couple of things first.”

  The sheriff nodded but obviously wanted to stay. Margo could bet his curiosity had the better of him. But some matters were private.

  As soon as he disappeared out the door, Zane grasped her shoulders and turned her towards him. “Are you going to be all right?”

  His eyes had softened and his voice smoothed. The gentle hold captured her more firmly than a manacle of steel. “I’m fine. What about you?”

  He nodded. Emotions chased across his features. Regret. Longing. Caring. She wanted to explore the depths of them, but not as a therapist. As a friend.

  “About what Vinnie said… Can he hurt you?”

  Again the concern. Moments ago he’d been wound tight with tense anger. Now he was melting her heart. She had to offer him more than added anxieties.

  “The American Psychological Association can’t file legal charges, so if he complains they can’t do anything to me.”

  “You didn’t commit any breach of ethics.” A hint of humor surfaced. “I can testify to that.”

  She smiled, but her heart wasn’t in it. The APA could in fact ban her from the association. That action would lead to investigation by the state licensing board. Over thirty percent of the nation’s legal cases tried last year involving dual relationships between doctor and patient had occurred in California. The state board was sensitive about the unusually high statistic and was cracking down on the mere hint of abuse.

  “I’ll be all right,” she assured Zane and hoped it was true.

  He traced her collarbone with his thumbs. “Don’t worry about Vi
nnie. I’ll make sure he doesn’t do anything to hurt you.”

  His touch created a torture she couldn’t bear, yet couldn’t step away from. She openly stared, trying to assign all of him to memory – his features, his expressions, the tenderness and the longing in his eyes.

  “Will you keep in touch?”

  He nodded.

  “And think about therapy.”

  He nodded again but this time rested his head on her forehead. Margo shut her eyes and tried not to notice the male scent, the glistening skin, the intake of each breath. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and hold him close within a circle of protective love.

  A horn honked outside.

  Zane took a deep breath and stared as if he too were committing all of her to memory. “I’ll write,” he promised.

  Margo tore herself away, grabbed her bag, and left him standing alone. The sight haunted her as she drove the twisted track back to the coast. Would he be all right? Would he leave the forest and seek the help he needed, or would he retreat until he was so isolated in his world that she’d never see him again?

  Fortunately the road was taxing and demanded most of her attention, so the pain of departure was kept at bay. When she finally arrived in Fort Brag, she managed to get through the last bit of red tape with the sheriff and Vinnie. She suffered the apologies from Nan, checked out of the inn, and phoned her secretary, leaving instructions to contact Fred.

  After all the necessary matters were dispensed with, she turned and parked the rented Jeep in a pull-out, leaned her head into her arms that were draped across the steering wheel, and sobbed.

  These last forty-eight hours had been more stressful than the past few months combined. The actual events should have been easy for her to handle, but they weren’t; her heart was involved.

  “Zane,” she cried. “How can I leave you now?”

  Images paraded across her mind – miles of soldiers lining up for her help, each looking exactly like Zane. Yet when a soldier would get to her and reach out with his hand, his features would change to those of her father. She’d look and see him holding a gun.