Raphaela's Gift (15 page)

"No, I'm protecting her." He stood.

Her eyes flashed with anger as she returned his gaze. The tendons around her eyes and along her jaw and neck were tense, drawing her features into a strangely contorted mask. Her hellish look reminded him of the strange masks he'd seen native people wear on National Geographic.

"You're protecting no one but yourself. Open your eyes. Your daughter deserves your support. Your love. Give it to her, instead of being only her doctor."

"She has my love and support. Don't you dare tell me I don't love my daughter. How the hell would you know a damn thing about us? You observe us for a few days, do some art projects and claim you've got us all figured out. Well, hell! If it were that easy, would there be any need for psychiatrists?"

"Like I said, this isn't about protecting Raphaela. All of this defensiveness is protecting your insecurity. You can't stand to see someone who doesn't have an MD after her name know more than you do."

"You don't know more than a freshman psych student. Do you have a cheat-sheet taped under there?" he asked pointing at the table.

She wrapped her arms around herself. The muscles of her upper arms tensed, exaggerating the sinewy line of their toned lengths. "God, you're a cold son-of-a-bitch. If you're so sure Mountain Rise is a joke, why don't you leave?"

"Maybe I should. It probably doesn't look good for the other suckers--oh, I mean patients--to hear me talk like this, anyway."

She rolled her eyes at him. "That was about as mature as sticking your tongue out."

He wanted to do that too, but didn't. Why the hell did this woman rile him so? Not even Marian had done that, even after everything.

In a matter of minutes, he'd grown defensive and mean, overreacting again. Maybe she was wrong, but why did he have to say such off-handed things to her? Why stoop to a volley of insults?

He saw the pain in her gaze, the doubt he'd rubbed raw, and his anger was washed away in a tide of guilt. She wasn't nearly as confident as she wanted him to believe. She was right; a cold son-of-a-bitch was a good description of him. "Look, I'm sorry--"

"Don't apologize. I know you don't mean it. Why pretend?" When he didn't argue her point, she continued, "I wouldn't want to tell you what to do, but I suggest you think long and hard about leaving here. With your closed mind, our program isn't going to do a bit of good for you or your daughter."

Relieved, but a tad disappointed, he nodded and turned from her. Sure, she was right. If he didn't buy into the program, it was bound to fail. But if he left was he failing Raphaela?

No, he was not.

Determined he would not be returning, he left the studio. It was time to go home, find a new nanny, and continue with his treatment plan for Raphaela. She needed consistency. She needed to go home.

Faith watched Garret's form lunge through the doorway and then the familiar shivers started quaking her. What had she done? What kind of therapist tells her client to give up?

Granted, he'd shot hurtful bullets at her most sensitive parts. She supposed being a psychiatrist had helped him readily find those delicate regions. He was merciless, cruel, annoying, defensive, loyal, committed, handsome, intelligent…and leaving.

Damn.

Since he'd first arrived at Mountain Rise, she had become a bumbling idiot who didn't know her own mind. And definitely didn't know her body. Considering her state, how could she possibly expect to change his mind?

Did she want to?

"There is my princess!" Steven said from the doorway. She reluctantly glanced his way, wishing a meteor would strike the earth and send her into oblivion.

His eyes were bright as he leaned casually against the doorframe. He stepped through the portal and sauntered in a new and very annoying self-assured way.

When he stood before her, arms open wide once more, his expression changed. "What, no hug for your future hubby?"

No, and you're not my future anything.
"Sorry, not here. Okay?" She tried to smile but couldn't.

He looked behind him. "Why? Is someone watching? What's wrong with you giving me a hug? It's not like we're having sex, for God's sake."

"Look, this is my job. Why do you push so hard? And why should I have to explain this to you?"

The muscles along his jaw and up around his cheeks and temples tightened. "First, if you loved me, you'd want to give me a hug, no matter who was watching." His voice was low, and she knew what was coming next. Why did he have to come here? Why couldn't he have just left her alone?

He reached toward her and clutched her arms in strong, broad hands that regularly held steel bars bearing hundreds of pounds.

For the first time, she felt weak and defenseless with him. Her heart raced. "You're right. I'm sorry. I just had a bad session--"

His gaze pierced hers. "You do love me…Right?"

Her eyes dropped to the floor.

He shook her, not hard, just enough to get her attention, and it worked. Her gaze snapped back to his.

"You do love me," he repeated.

It wasn't a question, and she knew it. And she knew what she must answer. She shook her head.

"Say it," he growled.

Dread blocked the words.

"Say it, damn it."

"Why don't you leave her alone?" Garret said from somewhere behind her.

She tried to turn to look at him, but Steven pulled her to his chest and held her fast. Over her head he said, "Get lost."

"I would, but I need to discuss an important matter with Miss LeFeuvre, and since she is my therapist, she has a responsibility to talk to me when I need her."

"Bullshit!" Steven shot back.

"Would you prefer I take my complaint to the camp director?"

"I know your type. You're just trying to play hero and rescue the little helpless damsel in distress. Problem is, Lancelot, this Maid Marian doesn't need to be rescued. Does she?" He squeezed her ribcage.

"You've got your stories mixed up," Garret said with a chuckle.

"Who the hell cares? She doesn't have to be at your beck and call. That's beyond her job description. Who the hell do you think you are?"

She could feel the rage building in the body pressed against her. The muscles of Steven's chest, stomach and arms were steely tight, his grip on her growing increasingly constricting until she could barely breathe. Garret may have meant well, but he wasn't helping matters. "Garret, I'll be with you in a moment." She wished she could see Garret's face but then on second thought decided it was probably best she couldn't.

"Yeah, listen to the lady, Lancelot. Take a hike."

Her front teeth sunk into her lower lip. She'd never seen this side of Steven. Never seen such rage simmering under the surface. It scared the hell out of her. For the first time in years, she had no idea what Steven would do next.

The air hummed with tension, every molecule buzzing with deadly electricity. "Please, Garret," she repeated.

After a bloated minute, she guessed Garret hadn't left. Steven's muscles started trembling.

"Damn it, you're pissing me off!" Steven growled in a deep voice, sending shudders up her spine.

"Go, ahead. Be a man. Let go of the lady and give me your best shot, stud," Garret taunted.

Before she realized what had happened, she was shoved aside, left scrambling to regain her footing. She spun around just in time to watch Steven take a wild swing at Garret. The air blasted from her lungs as though she'd been struck.

Garret ducked and Steven stumbled slightly, having thrown his weight into the punch. But that didn't deter him. He had a wild-eyed look on his face.

"Oh God, Garret, no!" Her voice bounced around the room before she realized she'd spoken.

Steven charged at Garret a second time, both arms flailing wildly. He shoved Garret into a bookshelf. Garret shoved him back, sending him stumbling away.

Faith drew her hands to her mouth, feeling hot tears on her cheeks. "Stop it, Steven!"

But Steven was clearly lost in his rage. He picked up a chair and swung it at Garret, clubbing him on the top of the head after two misses. Desperate, and suddenly not caring about the consequences, she ran to Steven and clawed at his back, trying to make him stop the senseless attack.

Steven spun around and pulled back his fist. She saw his wildly contorted face, the hate in his eyes. A flash of color blinded her. Red and yellow and white.

And then, pain slammed the back of her head and meandered its way through her body. Her knees turned to marshmallow cream. Biting pain ran up her arm from her elbow.

"Damn it, look what you made me do!" Steven said, but his voice sounded distant, and she still couldn't see through the stars and blurred vision. "Baby, are you okay? Damn it, I didn't mean to do that."

She tried to lift a hand to rub away the annoying blurring water but her arm was numb, like she'd slept on it. She tried the other hand. It reached her eyes fine, but the back of her head felt funny when she touched it, lumpy and numb. Awash in instant nausea, she immediately dropped her hand. Then she heard nothing but blessed silence, except the pounding of her heart in her ears.

"Faith? Are you okay?" Garret asked.

Her vision started to clear, the hazy images around her taking form. Garret's face emerged from the confusion, his eyebrows pushed together, and his lips the color of milk, drawn tight.

"I'm okay. Just a little stunned."

"You don't look good."

She chuckled at the irony of his statement, despite her lingering fear and nausea. "Thanks for the compliment. You don't look all that great either." She scanned the room, but her distance vision was still poor. Everything was shrouded in fog. "Where's Steven?"

"He left." Garret pointed toward the door, his face red and sweat streaked. "I couldn't stand by and watch him manhandle you."

"I don't understand this. I've known Steven for years. He's never acted this way. What the hell happened?"

Garret leaned forward and offered her a hand to stand, but she shrugged it away. "What? So now this is my fault?" He stood. "That's what a guy gets for helping you, eh?"

"I didn't say anything. Would you quit putting words in my mouth?" When he offered his hand a second time, she shrugged it away again. "Leave me alone, damn it. I need time to think."

"Fine. I'm going to call for some help. You stay put." He took a step toward the door.

"No."

Glancing over his shoulder, he asked, "No, what? You don't want to stay here, or you don't want me to get help?"

"Don't tell anyone, please. I'll lose my job. Nothing is broken here, right? You're not hurt, are you? I'll talk to Angela, see if Steven's finished with his write up..."

He dropped his head then slowly shook it. "I would never have believed this if I hadn't seen it for myself. I hope you're happy with that jerk. If you knew what was good for you, you'd dump him before he hurts you…" he looked her in the eye. "…or worse."

As she dropped her forehead to her up-drawn knees, she leaned against the wall and listened to his uneven footsteps. The door hinges squeaked before the door slammed, the jarring sound echoing around the room and in her head.

"Oh my God, Garret! What happened to you?" Marian asked as he stepped into his room. His gaze lingered on Marian's face, her eyes wide with alarm. Then he looked to Raphaela who sat on the floor intently studying her wiggling fingers. He stooped down and watched his baby girl.

Butterflies. It was said the way they fluttered their fingers before their eyes looked as though they were trying to pluck butterflies from the air.

Such a beautiful analogy for such a troubling behavior.

"Nothing happened," he said. "What makes you say that?"

"You're as pale as a ghost." She stepped closer until she stood over him. "And what's that on your head? Is that…blood?"

He reached to his head and fingered the lump. "I was hiking and a rock fell from the cliff face and hit my head, that's all."

"A rock?" Cringing, she reached toward him.

He leaned back, not so much from the fear of pain, but the discomfort of having her touch him. "I'm fine. No need to fuss."

"It looks bad. Can I get you some ice or anything?" Not bothering to wait for his answer, she walked across the room and swept the ice bucket from the top of the dresser. "I'll be back in a minute." She left the room.

He dropped his gaze to Raphaela again, lowering his head like the therapists did to force her to look at him. Her eyes stared right through him. "Do you want to go home, Ella?"

"Home?" Marian asked from the door.

He didn't look up, intent upon watching his little girl capture the invisible butterflies. "That was fast."

"The ice machine's down the hall. Are you leaving?"

He looked at Marian. "I'd like to."

"A rock didn't hit you, did it?"

Why was she asking that? He didn't want to start that conversation. "I don't want to talk about it."