Linda Castle (20 page)

M
arisa sat with her back toward a hearth that was big enough to roast a full-grown steer in. The fire provided a pretty glow as she stared out the window and watched the blue sky turn to indigo and then finally black. Her chair was positioned near a table that was strewed with seashells, crystal vases and odd bits of New England-style bric-a-brac. The flames reflected off the glass and cast a prism of color on the polished wood floor.

It was quiet, just as Dr. Levy had promised it would be. Only the occasional pop and crackle of the fire broke the silence in the enormous room. After she begged them to give her some peace, Clell and Logan had gone exploring. The other patients were still in the dining hall in the other wing.

She was alone.

That was what she had wanted, wasn’t it?

“You look pretty as a picture with that fire behind you.”

Marisa stiffened. That rumbling, wonderful voice had to be wishful thinking, a product of her imagination.

It couldn’t be Brooks.

She turned her head toward the small door that led to the exercise area.

It was Brooks.

Searing emotions ripped through her middle. She wanted to run to him, and at the same time to flee from his sight. She wanted to touch his face and kiss him, to hide away and never know the wonder of his touch again.

He stepped into the room.

His hair was peeking out from a shapeless cloth hat with a huge brim. The plaid coat he was wearing was a full size too large, but he looked wonderful.

She had been starved for a glimpse of him.

But she couldn’t let him see what she had become.

“What are you doing here?” At least she was sitting in a normal chair and not an invalid’s chair. Perhaps she could send him away without ever having to see pity in his eyes. She prayed she could salvage that small scrap of her pride.

“I came to talk some sense into you.” He took another step toward her. He was wearing tall, lace-up boots with bloused pants tucked inside the tops. He smiled, but the expression didn’t light his eyes. A pang of guilt sliced through her.

He was sad. Even though she had made the right decision about breaking their engagement, she died a little inside to know she had caused him pain.

“Then you wasted your time,” she declared. Her eyes roamed over him hungrily. She wanted him to leave, yet she wanted him to stay. “What are you wearing?” Curiosity brought the words tumbling from her lips before she could stop them.

“Uncle Leland’s gardening clothes.” Brooks grabbed a handful of the tweedy material and held it away from his lean body. “I am in disguise. It worked—you didn’t see me on the train. And nobody recognized me as I wandered around looking for you.”

An icy finger traced a line down Marisa’s back.

“When Clell carried you onto the train…I nearly went to you then. I was in the same car.” He took another step toward her.

“Oh, God,” she whispered, and dug her fingers into the chair arms. “You know…about me?”

“Yes.” Another few steps. Now only a yard separated them.

“Oh, God,” she repeated in anguish. “I never wanted you to know. You weren’t ever supposed to know. Why couldn’t you have just left it all alone?” She stared at the lap robe covering her numb legs.

“I love you, Marisa O’Bannion, not your ability to walk.” He closed the last few paces and dropped down beside the chair. He put his finger under her chin, and with infinite tenderness forced her head up. “I love you.”

She stared at him for a full minute. Then she drew back. “You had better stop loving me, because it doesn’t make any difference. I won’t marry you.”

She wished she had not noticed the dark smudges beneath his eyes. He had not been sleeping well, that was obvious. How far would she have to push him before the volcano beneath the surface would explode and drive him from her in anger?

She had to do it. The sooner Brooks forgot about her, the better off he would be. “Don’t you understand? I don’t
want
to marry you.”

He flinched as if he had been hit, but he remained on one knee beside her chair. His clear, pale eyes narrowed. “I
will
marry you, Marisa.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. His mustache barely covered the taut, determined line of his mouth. She had never seen him like this. Barely restrained violence hovered near
the surface while he glared at her. She took a deep breath for courage.

“Maybe you didn’t hear me, Brooks.” She waved her hand in the air. “I am a cripple and I—I don’t love you,” she said, making sure not to look at his eyes, fearing she could not withstand what she might see in them.

He didn’t blink, barely seemed to breathe. His hand still rested lightly on his bent knee. Suddenly he reached out and took her by both shoulders.

“Damn it, Marisa. You are mine. You have been mine since our first kiss. You’ll be mine until the end of time.” With that he yanked her close and claimed her mouth.

A thousand points of light exploded in Marisa’s head. A thousand tiny daggers pierced her soul. Hot ribbons of passion and sorrow threaded their way around her breaking heart. She could not let him go on loving her, but she wanted to.

God forgive me, I want him to love me.

“Maybe you have no feeling in your legs, but you have feeling in your heart. Deny that kiss made your blood burn.” He shook her. “Go ahead, deny it if you can.”

A heated silence gripped the room.

“You can’t deny it because you still love me.” His eyes bored into hers and challenged her to lie once again.

“It doesn’t make any difference,” she whispered in agony. “I will not marry you. Now go away.”

“We’ll get through this together, sweetheart.” He caressed the side of her face with one rough, wide palm as he drew her nearer.

Unconsciously she leaned into the strength and warmth of his chest. “There is nothing to ‘get through,’ Brooks. I am crippled. I will never walk again.”

He drew back and looked at her through narrowed eyes. “Are you giving up?” Doubt rang in his voice.

“Just accepting the truth. I will never walk again, just as I will never marry you.” Her voice was flat with conviction.

“I never would’ve believed it of you.” There was a tone of disappointment in his statement.

“What?” She drew back from him, determined not to respond to his touch or the sound of his voice, even though she craved both.

“I would’ve denied it to the death.” His voice was icy now. “I would’ve fought any man who dared suggest it, but now I see the truth, Marisa. You are a coward.”

Coward.

The word hung like a foul stench.

If he had struck her she wouldn’t have felt the pain any deeper. The accusation sliced so deep she couldn’t draw her breath for three full beats of her heart.

“How could you?” She gasped. “How could you dare say that to me?”

“Honey, you have no idea what I will dare do or say. I’ll try anything to convince you we belong together. And I am not leaving—not until you stop all this nonsense and let me love you, care for you.”

“Then you are in for the fight of your life, Brooks James.”

Clell and Logan heard the glass breaking as they left the dining wing. They ran down the hallway, meeting Dr. Levy as they came through the corridor that opened onto the great room.

“What has happened?” she gasped.

They could hear Marisa shouting at the top of her lungs.

“What on earth?” Dr. Levy exclaimed.

Clell opened the door, but then lurched to a stop, causing both Logan and Dr. Levy to bump into his back. They
tried to step around him, but he put out a restraining hand to prevent them from entering the room. The sound of something heavy hitting the wall just beyond the door sent the three of them scurrying back a startled step.

“I have to get in there, my patient needs me,” Dr. Levy said as she tussled with Clell.

“Hold on just a minute, Doc,” Clell said. “Let’s not be too hasty until we know what’s goin’ on.” He glanced at Logan. “Sneak to the door and take a look.”

Logan crept to the door and opened it a crack. “Brooks is, uh, having a talk with Missy, I mean Marisa.” He chuckled when another object shattered against the stone hearth.

“Talk? It sounds as if they are tearing the place apart,” Dr. Levy said. “Now let me pass.”

“Well, the only one doin’ any tearin’ is Marisa. Brooks is just dodgin’ and talkin’,” Logan reported. Glass shattered against the door and Logan took cover for a moment. “And he’s doin’ all right so far. She hasn’t hit him yet.” Logan ducked back behind the shelter of the wall and eased the door shut.

“It’s about damn time,” Clell muttered under his breath.

“What? Are you both mad?” Dr. Levy tried to shake off Clell’s hands. “That is a defenseless girl in there. She is sick! She is—”

“Is she sick?” Clell challenged. “Or has she just given up…until now?”

“I am not sure I know what you mean,” Dr. Levy said.

“Listen, Doc, I’ve known that gal since she was born. The way she’s been actin’ lately just ain’t natural. This is more like the real Marisa O’Bannion. If Brooks can get her all fired up like this some good might come of it.”

Dr. Levy frowned. Her dark eyes searched Clell’s face. “Let me see.”

“Promise not to stop them?” Clell asked.

Dr. Levy sighed in exasperation. “1 promise.” She inched forward. Logan opened the door and she peeked around his broad shoulder. Marisa was grabbing every bit of crockery and china within her reach. As she threw she called Brooks James every name Dr. Levy had heard and added a few that were new.

Dr. Levy eased back into the dim hallway and stared at Clell in wonder. “You may be right, Mr. McClellan. If Mr. James can get her to show this kind of emotion, this may be what I have been searching for. This could be the key to her treatment.”

Marisa had woken with a splitting headache. Now she was flat on her back, imagining mental pictures within the pattern of knots and swirls of grain in the bird’s-eye maple paneling. A light tap on the door made her jump.

“Yes?” she rasped hoarsely. Her throat was raw from screaming at Brooks last night.

A uniformed nurse opened the door and stepped inside. “Dr. Levy is holding breakfast for you.”

“I’d like a tray in my room.” Marisa’s heart was rawer than her throat. She couldn’t face anyone. “I am not feeling very well today.”

“Sorry, miss, but Dr. Levy gave strict instructions you were to come down to breakfast.”

“But I don’t feel well,” she pleaded. It had taken all her energy to lie to Brooks. Now she wanted nothing more than to stay in bed and try to forget him, to forget life and love and all the pain it brought.

Just to forget.

“Sorry, miss.” It was plain the nurse was not going to grant her request.

“Oh damnation,” Marisa swore.

The nurse’s brows shot upward.

She had forgotten Ellen’s teachings once again, Marisa realized. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

The nurse never looked her in the eye as she went about the process of lifting her. She dressed her in a soft blue cotton dress, dispensing with the petticoats and the corset. With amazing speed and efficiency, Marisa was soon in her chair with her hair brushed and tied back with a blue ribbon.

When the nurse pushed the invalid’s chair toward the dining wing, Marisa noticed sunlight slanting through the canopy of trees. Heavy blackberry vines had lured a small flock of birds to the stone patio. Their happy twittering filled the high room and wafted out through the open door.

She resented them for being so alive.

Marisa was pushed to a long plank table. She didn’t look around, not wanting to see the other patients this morning. Images of Brooks kept intruding on her thoughts as she stared at the food in front of her.

“Well, don’t just sit there, your breakfast will get cold.” Brooks’s deep voice brought her head up with a start.

“You!” Marisa clenched her fists tightly together as she fought the unexpected burst of joy—and anger—that flared inside her chest. She didn’t want to be glad to see him, yet a rebellious part of her was so happy she was stunned by the intensity of feeling.

She could not let him see it. She had to push him away. “What in hell are you still doin’ here? I thought we had all of this settled.”

“Not by a long shot.” He crossed his arms on his chest
and stared at her down the long expanse of the table. He had shed Leland’s oversize clothes. Now a plain work shirt and Levi’s hugged his body as he casually leaned one hip against the back of a chair.

She didn’t want to notice how good he looked in the rugged apparel.

Dr. Levy breezed into the dining room and drew her attention. “Marisa, how are you this morning?” Clell and Logan were with her. Suddenly the other patients were all leaving. Those who could walk left on their own power; others were wheeled out by uniformed staff.

A suspicion of betrayal twined through Marisa’s mind.

“Which one of you told
him
where I was?” She glared at the trio. Last night she had not had an opportunity to question any of them, but now she intended to face the Judas who had led Brooks to her—and deal harshly with her betrayer.

“I did.” Logan took a step forward. “And I would do it again,” he added defiantly.

“Oh, if I could get out of this chair, I’d…” she threatened.

“Don’t take it out on Logan.” Brooks unfolded his arms and walked closer to her.

Every nerve ending sizzled, every inch of her craved his touch. She tried to deny the subtle change in her body at his nearness.

“If you want to tear into anybody, Marisa, then tear into me again. I can handle it. I can handle anything you care to throw.” He focused on her face, daring her to deny the truth. “How about a cup? There is one right beside you.” He set his jaw in a decisive way that made her want to run her fingertips over his face, to absorb his strength.

“I don’t want anything to do with you,” she blurted.
She had to stop letting her heart guide her. “I thought I made that clear. It is over between us, now just leave.” Her heart lurched as she lied. “Go find yourself a city girl that can walk at your side. Violet Ashland wants the job, go to her.”