Raphaela's Gift (9 page)

She shrugged her shoulders as she fell into step beside him.

As Garret walked, his fear and anger eased, replaced with the strange peace that always came after a tense moment. He remembered that feeling, a strange mix of relief and elation, which followed the many successful traumas he'd experienced in the emergency room.

He looked at Faith. "Thanks for helping me back there."

"I didn't do much," she whispered.

He glanced at her. "Yes. You did."

"I kind of forced you to go down there. It was the least I could do--"

He stopped walking. "No one forced me to do anything."

Her cheeks flushed pink as she nodded.

A brusque wind lifted her hair, sweeping one strand across her cheek and another curling around her jaw. She shook her head to send them from her face, and a bolt of heat shot up his spine.

Since when did a woman's hair blowing in the wind turn him on?

He looked away; his unwelcome reaction was undoubtedly the result of over three years of abstinence and the day's excitement.

"How long do you think it'll take us to get back to the lodge?" he asked, beginning to walk again. He glanced down at his watch. Somehow, two hours had passed. Marian would be furious. But then again, he wasn't about to let her moods afflict him.

"Well, we're going uphill now, and I don't know about you, but I've done more than my fair share of running for one day."

He glanced at her and realized she still limped from her turned ankle. He gently caught her arm to stop her. "Are you okay? Sorry, this whole, 'I'll be a hero and rescue someone' thing was a bad idea. I shouldn't have let you come down here with me, not with that twisted ankle. You could have hurt it worse."

She smiled. "What are you talking about? It was my idea, remember? And I wouldn't have listened to you, anyway. Besides, you were truly heroic."

Ignoring the adulation he saw in her wide-eyed expression, he said, "I'm not a hero."

"Yes, you are." She dropped her gaze from his, and long dark eyelashes brushed her flushed skin. She looked so young at that moment. Idealistic and damned sexy. "You've done something I haven't been able to do."

He rested an index finger under her chin and coaxed it up. This woman's chin did not belong dropped against her chest. Ever.

She hesitantly met his gaze. "It's really hard to admit this." She shrunk from his touch, and he didn't try to reach for her again. "Since we met, I thought you were so smart, so sharp and together. You had an attitude, were cocky and defensive, but I just attributed that to our program. I know what many psychiatrists say about Mountain Rise."

She stopped next to a hollowed out tree stump and sat down, then reached down to slip first one shoe and then the other off her feet.

He waited, his breathing shallower than he would have expected, considering they weren't running.

"I faced the same thing one day--in a different way, though--as you did today," she continued. "Everyone watching you, waiting for you to perform some sort of miracle, while deep inside you don't have any idea what you should do."

The truth in her summary stung, yet he bit back a defense. She hadn't said it in a judgmental way. Still he flamed at the thought of that moment, of everyone looking at him. Despite the fact that doctors were always being observed, he'd never been comfortable being watched and criticized, his every action questioned Had his insecurities been that obvious?

"You see, the difference between us is simple. You stayed. I ran." She stood up and walked past him on the narrow path. As her shoulder brushed his, the wind stirred her hair again. A lock settled upon her lips.

He wanted to reach out and pluck the strand from her mouth. In its place, he wanted to plant his own mouth. His hand lifted, a fingertip briefly touching her lip. A jolt leapt up his arm, sending a wave of heat through his body.

Her gaze lifted to his. "Please don't," she whispered.

He jerked his hand away and stepped aside. "Sorry."

She turned from him, faced the river, and wrapped her arms around herself. The muscles of her toned arms tensed, hinting at their latent strength.

Temptation to ask what she was thinking and feeling drummed him. He wanted to know when people had watched and judged her. What miracle had they expected from her? Yet he knew she would clam up if pushed. "If running bothers you so much, why don't you go back and face whatever it was?" he asked, deciding that was a general enough question to be non-threatening.

"I can't. It's not that simple. Besides, I'd have to leave my job."

He stepped from behind her to stand at her side. Her eyes shone as he studied her profile. Straight nose, upturned a bit. High cheekbones now pink from exertion or possibly embarrassment. She chewed on her full bottom lip. He could practically taste its sweetness just watching her.

"My job means so much to me. It's all I have," she continued.

Her job is all she has?
He'd always had someone or something besides work to fill his life. His marriage, his daughter. A tingle of pity crept over him, quickly replaced by guilt. "And I'm an ass for treating you the way I have."

"No, you're not an ass."

"That's a matter of opinion. As I recall, you've called me a 'stubborn ass' at least once."

She turned to him, a gentle smile on her face. God, was she gorgeous! It took every ounce of his self-control to keep from grabbing her arms and holding her close.

He turned away as she bent to slip her shoes back on. "We'd better get back. Do you have any appointments this afternoon?" He started walking again, slower so she wouldn't strain her ankle any more than she already had.

"Three o'clock with Mr. Roberts," she said as he helped her climb over a rock and then motioned for her to walk ahead of him.

"I don't think you're going to make it."

"No? Why? What time is it?" she asked over her shoulder.

He offered his hand to her again when she stepped over a fallen tree. "Three-thirty."

Her shoulders slumped. "Damn!"

"Can I help somehow? Is there someone I can talk to? I can let them know it was my fault."

She shook her head and continued forward in silence. After a moment, she said, "Nope. That's okay. I'll handle it."

The walk back to the lodge took a lot less time than he'd expected, and he was grateful. Faith had grown silent and brooding, making him feel even worse.

After they rounded the corner toward her office, he said, "Thank you, again, for your help down by the water. And I'm sorry for--you know, by the river. I wouldn't have touched you--" The words simply felt wrong in his mouth.

"Please, don't," she said. "I don't want to talk about it. All right?"

Glancing at his wristwatch, he reluctantly turned from her. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said over his shoulder. As he turned, he caught a brief glimpse of her face, and of the regret and embarrassment in her eyes.

Damn me to hell!

Feeling like a first class lout, he rounded the second corner and passed a young guy, blond, with flashing highlights in spiked hair and deep brown eyes. The guy was short but solid, with muscled limbs. A gym rat. The Terminator. He nodded a greeting as they passed each other.

Arnold paused and asked, "Hey, you know where Faith LeFeuvre's office is?"

Garret studied him, not sure if he should tell him. "Who's asking?"

Arnold grinned, the expression cocky. "Her fiancé. Who wants to know?"

"I'm glad you decided to stay," Faith said to Mr. Roberts as she stood and led him to the studio's exit. The art therapy session had gone extremely well--a big relief. Mr. Roberts, an interior designer, was artistic and fully in touch with his creative side, but he still locked a wide range of "undesirable" emotions within. Through her limited experience, Faith had learned labeling feelings as either good or bad, then hiding the bad ones was common to people of all kinds. They regularly squashed them when those ugly emotions scampered into sight, like cockroaches in the cupboard.

At least Mr. Roberts had reconsidered and given the program another chance. She hated to see a child lose the benefit they might gain from Mountain Rise, but she could understand a parent's frustration.

Alex, a wiry boy of five, with freckles scattered over every inch of exposed skin, stood next to his father, snapping his fingers in front of his eyes with zeal. Mr. Roberts looked down at his son, pain fully exposed on his face, and then returned his gaze to her. "I hope I'm doing the right thing," he whispered. "This program is so unlike the other treatments we've come across, and he seems to be getting worse."

"That is exactly why you need to give it some time, Mr. Roberts. I have all the faith in the world your patience will pay off. As we discussed yesterday, his behavior may look like it's getting worse before it gets better."

"We've tried so many things." He turned from her and, leading a stiff-legged Alex, walked out the door.

A deep sigh emptied her lungs, and she took her time re-inflating them. Slow, deep, and steady, she breathed. In and out, in and out.

Today had been a whopper of a day. Thank goodness, it was over. She glanced at the clock hanging on the studio's snow-white wall. Five o'clock. Dinner. She walked to the windows and drew the blinds, staring while they lowered over the vivid green and deep browns of the trees and earth outside. A squirrel sat on the windowsill. She tapped on the glass, and the critter's tail flicked nervously before the animal scampered away.

Dropping the blind's pull-cord, she turned toward the door.

"Hi, Faith. I know you said you needed space, but I have an assignment and thought you'd be glad to see me."

She froze, her heart dropping to her toes.
Not Steven. Please, let this be a delusion. A hallucination.

He scowled as he stepped through the doorway. "Is that any way to greet your fiancé?"

He looked completely different. She almost didn't recognize him. His dirty-blond hair was spiked and streaked with highlights, and his skin was a golden-brown. But the biggest change was in his body. Only a few months ago, he'd been slightly stocky but average in build. Now he sported overdeveloped muscles and bulging veins on his arms. A beaming smile spread across his over-tanned face. His arms held wide in an offer of embrace, he sauntered toward her.

"Do you like it?" He asked, stopping inches from her. He turned around in a three-sixty then reached to take her in his arms.

"Like it? I hardly recognized you." She hurried by him, dodging his embrace, intent upon the doorway. How had that talk, those words she'd said to him months ago, been so misconstrued? "Sorry, Steven, I've got to go. Important appointment. We can talk later…or do you have to catch a flight or something?"

With a side step, he effortlessly blocked the exit. "No, no flight. I'm here for the next few days. Writing an article for Parent Magazine."

"Few days?" A lump the size of the Blue Ridge Mountains blocked her throat. She tried to swallow as she stared over his shoulder at the door behind him. A few days might as well be a lifetime. How would she avoid him for that long?

He stepped toward her, his deep brown eyes wide with surprise. "I thought we could get--er--reacquainted while I was here. I've missed you. I did all of this for you. Even had my teeth capped." He flashed his perfect teeth in an exaggerated grin.

What was wrong with him? She'd left him months ago, thought she'd explained it clearly enough. He acted like nothing had happened—like they were still lovers. She simply nodded, not knowing what to say.

Countless times, she had gently broken up with him, but he always came back within a few days, a week at the most. And after his relentless pursuit, she had caved in time and time again.

But this time it had been months. She'd thought it was finally over, not that he was a bad guy. He simply wasn't for her.

She would not go back. Not again. No way!

He was standing too close, his gaze riveted to hers, capturing it like a sparrow in a net. Without realizing what she was doing, she backed herself into a corner next to the door.

Sure, he looked great. He'd always known how to dress, but with his new body, his clothes fit even better, showcasing his form to perfection. His thick legs filled his dress pants, and broad chest and shoulders did similar service to his crisp white shirt.

Regardless, the last thing in the world she needed right now was Steven Abbott in her life. He was bigger than the mountains looming in the distance, and demanded more from her than she was willing to give.

With a deft flip of a broad hand, he cut the lights and leaned in for a kiss.

She clamped her eyes closed and wished lightning to strike her--or better yet, him--dead.

When his lips made contact with hers, her empty stomach convulsed, and as his tongue sought admittance into her mouth, she gagged. She lifted her hands and shoved at his concrete chest, her fingertips sinking into the ridges defining his pecs.

He stepped back, a bewildered look on his Ken dollish face. "What's wrong with you? Aren't you happy to see me? I came all this way for you, and you can't even give me a kiss?"