A Summer Smile

by Iris Johansen

  Pandora silently held her right arm out. There was a hand towel tied around her forearm in a make­shift bandage. When Zilah removed it she inhaled sharply. There were several deep claw marks on the girl's thin arm, three of which were still bleeding. Zilah shook her head. "Just a little scratch," she murmured caustically as she slid back the mirror above the vanity to reveal a medicine chest. "You should have disinfected those claw marks right away. For a doctor's daughter you're very ignorant of pri­mary first aid."

  "My father and I don't get along very well. He never got around to teaching me much about any­thing," Pandora said with a shrug. "He's never liked me."

  "Sometimes it's difficult to tell if someone likes you or not," Zilah said gently as she took a roll of gauze and a bottle of antiseptic from the shelf and closed the sliding mirrored doors. "People aren't always easy to read."

  "I can tell," Pandora said fiercely. Her eyes low­ered to watch Zilah carefully wash the scratches. "It doesn't matter. I don't care anyway."

  Zilah opened the antiseptic. "This will sting."

  Pandora inhaled sharply but made no other indi­cation of pain as Zilah applied the antiseptic to the raw wound. Her dark eyes were narrowed intently on Zilah's face. "You like me. I can tell that too."

  "Yes, I like you." Zilah looked up from winding the gauze about Pandora's thin, wiry arm. "Which

  only goes to prove I have temporary attacks of insan­ity. I have an idea you're going to bring me nothing but trouble."

  "I like you too," Pandora said awkwardly. "At first, I thought you were pretty flighty. But you're not afraid of tiger cubs, or blood, or even Philip. The only thing you're afraid of are those nightmares."

  "I imagine you could dredge up a few more things that I'm nervous about." Zilah stepped back after taping the gauze bandage firmly in place. "If those wounds start to fester, we'll have to go to your father for antibiotics."

  "We'll see," Pandora said noncommittally. "It will probably heal all right. I'm pretty tough."

  With a streak of vulnerability a mile wide, Zilah thought. "I'll change the dressing every day until we see how it's doing," she said firmly as she opened the mirrored panel and replaced the first aid materials on the shelf. "I'm pretty tough too." Then, as if to belie the statement, she suddenly swayed and had to grab the counter of the vanity to keep from fall­ing. "Oh, damn!"

  Pandora's arm was swiftly around her waist, steadying her. "What's wrong?" Her brow was creased in a troubled frown. "Are you okay?"

  "I'm fine," Zilah said, taking a deep breath. "I guess I've been on my feet too long. I forgot all about being a convalescent for a little while." She made a face. "Unfortunately, nature has a way of reminding you. I was stung by a scorpion yesterday morning and I can't seem to get my strength back."

  "I didn't know you'd been ill." Pandora's face was stricken. "Come on, I'll help you get back to bed." Pandora's grip was surprisingly strong for so slight a girl and she was almost lifting instead of supporting Zilah as she whisked her across the room. "You should have told me. Don't worry, I'll take care of you. Is that why Philip wanted me to act as your maid?"

  "I imagine you were right the first time. I doubt if he was really concerned about me."

  "Probably not." Pandora pushed her gently down on the bed and leaned forward to switch on the bed­side lamp. "You just rest here and I'll go get you some­thing to eat."

  "You don't need to bother. Daniel said he would bring me something after my nap. He should be here anytime now."

  "Then I'll go find him and tell him not to bother. You can see him in the morning. You're too weak to have to deal with visitors tonight."

  "I am?" Zilah asked blankly.

  Pandora nodded with authority. "You need a good meal and an early night." She scowled. "I'll even brush your hair and help you put on your creams and junk. You wouldn't want him to see you with all that slippery stuff all over you."

  "I use only a little moisturizer," Zilah said absently. "And he's seen me look a lot worse."

  Pandora's eyes were speculative. "Is he the one you're sleeping with? You don't have to worry about my getting in the way. After you're well again you won't even know I'm around, but you shouldn't have to worry about that sex stuff when you're sick."

  "Thank you," Zilah said meekly. "But Daniel and I are only friends. You won't have to use such discre­tion. He's probably the one who told Philip I needed a maid."

  "You're not sleeping with either one of them?" Pandora shook her head. "How peculiar."

  Evidently in Pandora's experience, good-looking women didn't sleep alone. It wasn't surprising with a man like Philip El Kabbar as a mentor. "Not really." Zilah smothered a smile. "I understand it can be quite restful. I thought I'd try it. Merely as an experi­ment, you understand."

  "You're laughing at me," Pandora accused Zilah with an uncertain frown. "I don't know if I like that." Then she grinned mischievously. "Oh, what the hell, it's no worse than what I was going to do to you."

  "Something worse than a tiger in my bathtub?" Zilah asked warily.

  Pandora had turned and was striding swiftly toward the door. "Only if I found it was Philip you were sleeping with," she said soothingly over her shoulder. "Otherwise I was going to forget all about it."

  "Forget about what?"

  Pandora paused as she opened the door, and there was a touch of fierceness beneath the mischief in her eyes. "I was going to wait until you were in the middle of. . ." She paused delicately, and then came out with an obscene Anglo-Saxon term that caused Zilah's eyes to widen in shock. "And then I was going to sneak in and drop Androcles on top of both of you." She smiled with infinite satisfaction. "I'd say that would do the job of spoiling the mood."

  "I think you could count on it," Zilah said faintly as she watched the door swing shut behind the girl. Throughout this entire weird encounter she had been feeling sympathy for Pandora in her passionate attachment for the sheikh. Now she began to wonder if she shouldn't feel a bit sorry for Philip El Kabbar.

  Seven

  The meadow of wild poppies seemed to stretch into forever and beyond. The silken scarlet of the pet­als was still trembling beneath the weight of the crys­tal dew and the breeze of dawn whipped across them like the murmur of a lover.

  "It's beautiful." Zilah's voice was as hushed as the world around them. The sun was just rising above the tamarisk trees in the distance, streaking the sky with hazy pink and gold. "I've never seen such heavenly colors." She lifted her face and let the cool breeze touch her cheeks, inundating her with the sheer sensual pleasure of sight, touch, and scent. She breathed in the fragrance of the rich earth blended subtly with the tamarisk and the poppy. It was so intoxicating, it almost made her dizzy. "Why didn't you bring me here before?"

  "I didn't want to venture outside the pasture," Daniel said as he swung out of the saddle and flung the reins over the head of the big bay he had been rid-

  ing. "I wasn't sure you were strong enough. Even though this meadow is only a little beyond the tama­risks on the far side of the pasture, I'm not a good enough rider to get you out of trouble if you tired. Old Dobbin, here, and I still aren't sure we trust each other."

  She shook her head. "You've done marvelously well for having ridden only a week." She slipped off her gray mare into his arms, automatically steeling herself for the little sensual shock that always came when he touched her. Friends. Most of the time it was easier to remember the ground rules he had laid down. Today it wasn't quite so easy in this paradise of sunrise and poppies.

  He shook his head. "We both know I'll never be anything but an adequate rider. The only reason I have as much control as I do over this trusty steed is that I have a pair of powerful legs I can wrap around him to show who's boss."

  She smiled with an effort. "Actually, I think Pandora intimidated you into being overcareful. I've found she has the devotion of a she-wolf when her maternal instincts are aroused. She's been practi­cally smothering me with attention this past week."

&n
bsp; "I know, she won't even let me in your room," Daniel said sourly. "It's practically thrown Philip into shock. He suspects you of using hypnosis on her."

  "Just kindness," Zilah said quietly. "He should try it sometime."

  "I think he's a little afraid to encourage her. Pandora can be overwhelming." He met her eyes steadily. "Perhaps not encouraging her is his own way of being kind to her. He doesn't want to hurt her."

  Was there a double meaning in that explanation? Had she been so transparent that he thought she needed a warning? She wasn't very accomplished at

  hiding her feelings. "The hurt will come anyway." She turned away. "And at least she'd have something to remember. A good memory to temper the bad ones." She glanced over her shoulder to smile at him. "And I want to create a beautiful memory right now. Have you ever run through a field of wild poppies, Daniel?"

  He shook his head. A wavering ray of light tan­gled in his hair, turning it into silken flame. He was dressed in a blue chambray shirt that stretched over his broad shoulders and clung to his trim waist. His worn jeans were tucked into suede boots. It was another memory to hold on to: Daniel with the sun­rise in his hair. "I can't say that I have."

  "Neither have I. Come on. Let's do it!" She turned and raced into the meadow. The wind was cool and stinging on her cheeks and the colors and scents flowed around her in a blur that shimmered with exquisite radiance. She could hear Daniel's footsteps behind her, the harsh sound of his breathing. Her own lungs were hurting but she didn't want to stop. She never wanted to stop.

  "Zilah, that's enough."

  She could hear a note of grimness in Daniel's voice that shocked her, and her pace faltered slightly.

  "If you don't stop, so help me I'm going to tackle you."

  She halted and turned to face him. "What's wrong?"

  He overtook her in two strides. His hands fell heavily on her shoulders. "What's wrong is that you're acting like a crazy woman. You've been ill, remember? Now you're behaving as if you're training for the Olympic one-hundred-yard dash." He shook her slightly. "I thought you were trying to make it clear to the other side of the meadow."

  "Well, why didn't you stop me before? I got a little carried away, but I'm not unreasonable."

  "Because I couldn't catch you, dammit." His lips curved ruefully. "I'm built more for endurance than for speed."

  She flung back her head and laughed joyously. "Daniel, there's no one like you. You always speak the exact truth no matter how it may hurt your ego." There was a strange look on his face that caused the laughter to fade from hers. "What's wrong now?"

  "I've never heard you laugh before," he said sim­ply. "I like it."

  She felt more breathless than when she had been running. "Then I'll try to do it more often. I didn't realize that I was being such a sad sack." She fell to her knees in the poppies. "Maybe you're right, my legs do feel a little weak."

  He knelt down beside her and leaned back on his heels. "Mine too." His eyes were narrowed on her face. "You're never gloomy. You're always smiling and serene." He reached out and touched her cheek with a gentle finger. "And beautiful. Always beautiful, old friend."

  Another memory. Old friend. This time it sounded like a lover's endearment again.

  "Pandora wouldn't consider that a compliment," she said shakily. "She thinks beautiful women are good only for one purpose." Her lashes veiled her eyes as she reached out to pluck one of the poppies that surrounded them. She wished she hadn't said that. It brought too vivid an image to mind. Daniel, strong and naked, making love to her in the big bed in her room with its cool satin sheets. She had never really seen him loving her. There had been only the dark­ness and the passion. Yet it had been more than enough at the time. She hurriedly tried to blank out the thought. She mustn't ask too much. These past ten days had been beautiful, too, and they had to be enough. Daniel had been as kind and gentle as an older brother to a beloved little sister. A very fragile little sister, however, she thought wistfully. It was almost as if he were afraid to touch her even in the most platonic way. Couldn't he see that she was almost entirely well now? He might no longer desire her, but even casual friends exchanged a casual caress now and then.

  They had grown close in so many ways. They had talked, played games, shared meals and experiences. She felt she knew him better than anyone in her entire life. He was part of her life now. How was she going to stand it when he considered her well enough to return to Zalandan and went about his own life? Would he visit her occasionally? Probably. He consid­ered her a good friend, and Daniel was very loyal to his friends.

  "You're not smiling anymore. What are you thinking about?"

  "Zalandan." One finger smoothed the silky petals of the poppy on her lap. "I called my mother last night. David and Billie are home from New York. She said he was very upset that no one had told him about the hijacking. He wanted to know when I was coming home."

  "Then he can keep on wondering," Daniel said harshly. "You're not well enough to travel yet. Dr. Madchen told you that yesterday, didn't he?"

  "Yes, he told me that." The decision had brought a surge of pure joy. "But it's only a matter of time until he releases me. I feel so well now. David was sur­prised he hadn't done it already. He said he was going to call him and discuss the case with him."

  "We've done fine without your precious David's interference so far. You can tell him to mind his own damn business." Then, when he saw the shock on her face, his lips twisted. "But you couldn't tell him that, could you? You owe him too much. He s your best friend."

  She shook her head. "He's my good friend, she corrected him softly. "Not my best one. Not anymore. You're my best friend, Daniel."

  He went still. Something flared in his face and was quickly masked. "How is Bradford going to take that? You've been his special property for a long time."

  "David doesn't believe that caring should be some kind of competition. He's a very beautiful human being, Daniel. There are times when he reminds me of a high mountain lake, clean and deep and crystal-clear. I want you to know him."

  "I'm not sure I want to," he said tersely. "Unlike Bradford, I'm intensely competitive, and I might find meeting such a paragon a little hard on my ego. You could never compare me to a blasted mountain lake." "It shouldn't bother you." She smiled gently. "You're something of a paragon yourself. It's true you're no clear mountain lake. You're more like the sea. Rough and powerful and yet capable of sustain­ing life, even giving life. I think you'd get along very well with David."

  His expression was stunned. "I'll try," he said gruffly. "I know he means a lot to you. That's part of my problem. I've always been a jealous bastard." He grimaced. "I suppose it goes back to when I was a kid and had to grab what I wanted and hold on tight to keep it from being taken away from me. I guess I'm still grabbing."

  "There's no need to grab what I'm willing to give," Zilah said. She reached out a hand to touch his arm. He tensed and she could feel the muscles bunch beneath*her fingertips. She felt an aching pain at that unconscious physical rejection but she tried to keep it from her voice. "I don't believe in half measures, Daniel. If you care for someone, you give every­thing they want or need."

  His harsh laugh held a note of pain. "That's right. You told me you'd sleep with Bradford in a minute if he asked it of you. That it wasn't important. I take it I'm now being sheltered under that same umbrella of generosity with the same carte blanche?"

  She froze, her eyes widening. "If that's what you want," she managed to get out.

  "Well, it's not what I want." His hands were unconsciously clenched into fists. His blue eyes were blazing in his pale face. "And it is important, dammit. Your body has value just as your mind and spirit do. You shouldn't treat it as something to throw away on anyone who reaches out to take it."

  She felt as if he'd struck her. "It's not like that," she said shakily. "I'm not like that. Not with just any­one, Daniel."

  "Oh, God, I know that." The words were wrenched out of him. His hands reac
hed out to cup her shoulders. They were trembling. "It just drives me crazy when you say something like that. You're so damn beautiful. Inside and out you're beautiful. Don't you know that? The world out there can be so dark and ugly, and you shine like a candle in that darkness. People like me need to know that there are little flickers of hope out there. So, dammit, shine proudly, Zilah."

  She was staring at him with her mouth slightly open. She felt as if she'd received the Nobel Peace Prize. She closed her lips and smiled at him with a radiant warmth that lit her face. "Candles and lakes and seas. We both seem to be full of metaphors this morning." She glanced behind her at the field of pop­pies bending in the breeze. "It must be the surround­ings. Poppies have to be one of the most beautiful flowers on earth." She shook her head in wonder. "And I used to hate them."

  "Zilah..."

  "It's strange, isn't it? But the fruit of the poppy is opium, you know."

  "I know." Daniel's hands tightened on her shoul­ders. His expression was guarded and intent.

  "Heroin. I couldn't stand the thought of that ugli­ness coming from such beauty. It took me a long time to come to terms with the idea. But I gradually began to be more objective about it." She looked down at the poppy clutched in her hand. "There is never just one side to anything. Opium can bring evil and yet it can stop agony as well. A poppy can beget horror, yet it can lift the heart with its beauty. Now I just try to embrace the beauty and live with the knowledge of the darker side." She moistened her lips nervously and looked up to meet his eyes. "I know I seem to be rambling on, but I'm trying to tell you something. I probably should have told you before, but it still hurts me to talk about it."

  "Then don't tell me," he said roughly. "I don't need to know. I don't have any right to know if it's going to hurt you."

  "But David knows," she said, her expression troubled. "I don't want you to feel I'm keeping something from you that I'd share with him."

  "I'm not that competitive. I don't need you to bare your soul to me to give me an advantage over Bradford."