Linda Castle (23 page)

“Wrong? I don’t know if that is the right word. Mr. James is a grown man. I think perhaps you are doing him a disservice.”

“The only disservice I could do him is to agree to marry him. And if you can’t be sure about my legs in less than a month…Our agreement ends in three weeks.”

“Ah, yes, the agreement. I heard about it. Utter madness that you would risk love and happiness on such an agreement. I suppose this means you intend to stick to it—rigidly?”

“You don’t understand. If I give in about the time limit, then Brooks will pressure me to give in on other things. No, I have to make sure we keep our word exactly as we made it. I have to be able to stand on my own two feet beside the man I love or I won’t marry him. I won’t settle for less and I won’t allow him to, either. He deserves better than that.”

“You love him very much, don’t you?”

“More than my own life, Dr. Levy.”

“All right. I will say nothing to Mr. James, but I hope you know what you are doing, Marisa.”

“So do I, Dr. Levy. Believe me, so do I.”

M
arisa clung to Brooks’s shoulders. Steam swirled around their faces and obscured her vision. The saturated muslin of her shift floated up around her waist, tying itself in knots as he walked through the water, carrying her to their usual spot on the stone steps.

Dr. Levy had taken a short leave from her duties in New York after she had sent word to Patricia and Ellen that Marisa desired no visitors. For the last week Dr. Levy had obliged her by coming to her room after Brooks left her and went to bed in his own room. Marisa had frequently pleaded fatigue and any other excuse she could think of in order to get back to her room. She and Dr. Levy stayed up late each night, trying different exercises, hoping for some indication that the prickly sensations in Marisa’s legs were more than just wishful thinking, but so far little had happened to restore her faith that she was going to fully recover.

“A penny for your thoughts, pretty lady.” Brooks kissed the tip of her nose.

“I was just thinking that summer is nearly over.” Her eyes flicked across his face.

“I haven’t forgotten, Marisa. I know we have exactly fourteen days left.”

She stopped avoiding his eyes and looked at him. Her gaze locked onto his own with an intensity that nearly rocked him backward in the warm water. “And you still believe?”

“I have always believed in miracles.” He grinned at her wryly. “You fell in love with me, didn’t you? If that isn’t a miracle, then I don’t know what is.”

“Oh, Brooks.” Her voice cracked with emotion. And as if they had a will of their own, her arms rose and reached out for him.

“If I only had your strength.” She kissed him—hard. All her longing and tentative hope was wrapped up in that one kiss. She clung to him and the strength of his belief, wishing she could have the same unshakable certainty in their future.

“You are stronger than anyone I know, Missy O’Bannion.”

She looked up at him and smiled. “You haven’t called me Missy for a long time.”

“I thought you preferred Marisa.”

“I thought I did, too, but maybe the truth is I don’t know what I prefer. I think I never appreciated what it was to be a happy girl growing up wild as a weed in the New Mexico Territory. I thought I would be happier being a lady named Marisa. But look what has happened.”

“You know what I think?” He toyed with a wet strand of hair that floated near his hand.

“What?” Absently she curled her fingertips in the whorls of damp hair on his chest.

“I think you can be both. I think you can be strong, feisty Missy and still allow me to care for the lovely lady inside you.”

She stiffened slightly at his words. “Brooks, nothing has changed. Our agreement still holds. If I can’t stand beside you in front of a preacher—”

“Don’t.” He pressed his fingers to her lips. “Don’t say it, don’t even think it. Just keep believing that miracles can happen.”

He positioned her on the stone steps and began the ritual of rubbing and rotating her limbs.

He shoved his hands beneath the water and slowly began to inch her shift out of the way. The firm texture of her thighs and the way her skin slipped like silk beneath his fingers excited him. He was unwilling to think that Marisa could never again share in this pleasure.

She had to recover. This woman was his life. He refused to imagine they would not be together until the end of time.

Marisa leaned her head back against the hard lip of stone. Her heart ached with love for Brooks, but she could not weaken.

Especially not now.

She closed her eyes and tried to block the pain she felt each time she saw love shining in his blue eyes. In all the weeks she had been here, the specter of self-pity had hovered near the edge of her consciousness. She had managed to keep it at bay, but now, with the slight glimmer of hope so near, it folded over her in a dark, cold wave. If only she had listened to Brooks. He had told her the filly was wild-eyed and she could not handle her in that sidesaddle.

Why hadn’t she listened? Why had her vanity been stronger than her good sense? Why had this happened to her?

As she sat there, guilt ridden and miserable, with the gentle waves washing over her waist, she fancied she
could feel the slight abrasive scrape of the stone bottom of the pool against her left heel.

It was a silly idea. Brooks had been vigorously rubbing that foot in his strong hands. She squeezed her eyes tighter, determined to stop torturing herself with foolish notions, but the sensation of rough rock against her heel persisted. Marisa opened her eyes and looked down at her limbs. Brooks was not holding her left foot as she had thought. Her heel was resting beneath the water on the bottom of the pool, just as she had imagined.

Felt.

A shudder of hope rippled through her. Could it be?

A part of her wanted to shout out the question, to ask Brooks, to involve him in this moment, but the cautious side of her remained quiet.

What if this was nothing? The tiny tremor of movement she had experienced before had not come again. What if she raised his hopes higher than they were? She could not stand to see the look of pain and disappointment in his eyes. Their agreement was firm and it had to endure. If she could not stand at the altar, she would not marry him. The truth of it all clawed at her, made her want to cry out with frustration, but she forced herself to remain quiet while Brooks continued to massage her other leg.

He released her right ankle. As her foot slipped beneath the water, she had the sensation of being tickled. When her toes came to rest at the bottom of the pool, she felt the distinct scratch of the stone tiles against her flesh. Marisa’s thoughts were racing ahead, hoping Dr. Levy would be able to tell her something more definite about her condition now.

“Brooks, I am tired. Would you take me back to my room?”

“Are you sure you don’t want to work longer?” The hopeful note in his voice condemned her for wanting to quit.

“I’m sure. I am very tired and would just like to go to my room.” The look of disappointment that flashed across his face as he climbed from the pool nearly changed her mind. She almost told him what was happening, but fought the impulse. She allowed herself to look at him, to savor his body with her eyes.

Water sheeted off his clothes and drew her gaze. Desire seeped through her. She could not let him know how much she wanted him, not until she knew what the future held for both of them. It would only make it harder for him to leave her if she didn’t improve any more. She forced herself to look away from the tantalizing sight of his body and reminded herself that Dr. Levy was waiting to come to her room. Perhaps tonight they would see something encouraging about her condition.

Brooks woke from the dream hard as a post. He lay still, eyes wide open and staring into the dark. His breath came in ragged gulps, while the memory of what he had envisioned hammered at his heart.

He wanted Marisa so badly his body ached. During their therapy sessions his groin tightened and throbbed with wanting her.

“Damn me,” he swore. What kind of man thought about such things when the woman he loved was suffering? As much as he hated to admit it, he was after all, just a man. His flesh and his heart didn’t seem to follow the same path. Maybe that was what made men and women so different. A woman’s desire was all wrapped up in emotion, logic and her own style of reason. For a man it was purely physical. Brooks fought to control his body’s natural hunger while the memory of making love
to Marisa haunted and taunted, crashing over him in ways that crumbled his resolve.

Even though his soul and heart loved her beyond reason, his traitorous body yearned for physical release. It tore his heart to little pieces each time he caught the look of hopelessness in Marisa’s dark eyes, and it shredded his soul to want her when she could not walk.

But maybe she felt the same kind of conflict when they were together. Maybe that was why she had suddenly curtailed their periods of massage and exercise. Even though he understood her need to be away from him if that was true, another part of him withered and died each time she asked to be wheeled back to her room.

A frustrated hiss issued from between his clenched teeth. He tossed back the sheet and rose from the bed. The room was hot and sultry, so he threw open the window and leaned out to inhale the still night air. But he noted little change in the temperature surrounding his nude body. There was no breeze, no relief. It was hot, torrid in a way that only exacerbated his lust and torment.

An owl hooted and his attention was drawn upward through lacy fingers of branches to the night sky. The vista wasn’t the velvet-and-diamond tapestry he had learned to love in the Territory, but it was beautiful just the same. A slender arc of light flashed across the darkness.

“A falling star.”

And even though it was about the stupidest thing he had ever done, Brooks made a wish upon it. He wished that Marisa would realize that he loved her—the woman she was inside—and that she would let him commit to her for the rest of his life.

“Try harder,” Dr. Levy urged. “With the returning sensation you are experiencing, there must be at least a
minimal amount of movement. Try again.”

Marisa bit down on her lip and willed her foot to rise from the mattress. Her upper torso trembled and shook from the effort. Beads of sweat formed at her temples and across her upper lip. This was the hardest thing she had ever done. Harder than roping a half-grown steer, harder than walking across the heat-scorched llano when her horse pulled up lame. She was ready to cry out in desperation and defeat when the image of Brooks flashed through her consciousness.

He had never given up. Not once.

Her foot jerked upward.

It was only a fraction of an inch, uncontrolled and spasmodic, but for a moment her nerves and muscles responded to the commands from her mind.

“I did it.” She slumped back into the pile of pillows, as exhausted as if she had run miles. “I made it move.” A smile wreathed her face.

“Yes, you did.” Dr. Levy’s voice was oddly thick.

Marisa levered herself back up and looked at her doctor.

“Are you going to cry?”

“Me? Of course not. I never cry. It’s not professional. I would never allow myself to get emotionally involved with my patients,” she said gruffly. “Now why don’t we stop for the night? You need to get some sleep. If you are going to get back on your feet, we can’t let you become exhausted.” Dr. Levy yawned when she thought Marisa wasn’t looking.

Marisa frowned. “I only have two weeks left. That is not very long to get back on my feet. I need to work longer.”

“All right, Marisa,” Dr. Levy said tiredly. “Have it
your way, but I don’t know how long we can keep this up.”

Brooks woke to the sound of pounding rain. He had slept badly, plagued by carnal thoughts and diminishing hope. When he pulled on his clothes and went to find a cup of coffee, his mood was dark. It did not improve when the sun retreated farther behind a veil of gray, foreboding clouds.

He stared at the dismal sky. It seemed a portent of bad things to come. But he shoved the pessimistic feeling aside and forced himself to brighten. He loved Marisa and she loved him. As long as they shared a bond like that, anything was possible.

He entered the dining hall to find Clell and Logan, dripping wet, sitting at one of the long tables nursing cups of coffee.

“‘Bout time you got up. All this soft livin’ is ruin’ you,” Clell said. Logan grinned at Brooks’s shocked expression.

“Not that it isn’t good to see you two, but what are you doing here?” An uneasy feeling was crawling around inside Brooks’s belly.

“Missy sent for us,” Logan said cheerfully. Clell shot him a dark gaze that clearly said,
For once would you just shut the hell up and quit spilling the beans?

Something thick and choking formed in the back of Brooks’s throat. “Missy sent for you?” He took a step nearer and focused on Clell’s face. “You can’t take her now. We still have another week.”

“Settle down, Brooks. She didn’t say nothin’ about comin’ home.” Clell gave Brooks a slight, reassuring smile. “Don’t go gettin’ all het up just yet. I ain’t even had a chance to talk to her or the doctor.”

As if on cue, Dr. Levy walked into the dining area. Her face was drawn and she looked tired, but she smiled and extended her hand to Clell. “Thank you for coming, Mr. McClellan.”

“Ma’am, I wish I could persuade you to call me Clell.” He smiled and pulled out a chair for Dr. Levy to join them at the table. Rain beat against the panes of glass and ran down in thready diagonal rivulets. “How is Marisa?”

Dr. Levy glanced at Brooks and then Logan. A frown creased her forehead. “I wonder if you would mind excusing us for a few minutes, gentlemen?”

Logan’s eyebrows shot up. He flicked an uneasy glance toward Brooks. “Pardon, ma’am?” he said.

“If you don’t mind…”

“Dr. Levy, is there something going on with Marisa that I should know about?” Brooks asked abruptly. “We had an arrangement.”

“Mr. James, I am fully aware of your arrangement and I believe it has been highly beneficial for Miss O’Bannion, thus far. However, at no time have I ever stopped being her physician. My loyalty and responsibility still lies solely with my patient.”

“What exactly are you saying?” Fear, protectiveness and anger all mingled within Brooks’s chest.

Dr. Levy sighed and rubbed her palm over her face in a gesture of fatigue. “I am not saying anything, Mr. James. I simply would like to talk to Mr. McClellan privately.”

Brooks glared at the doctor, then he heard the scrape of chair legs and realized that Logan was standing beside him.

“Come on, Brooks. Let’s go find us some eggs and bacon. We ain’t wanted here.” Logan scowled at Clell
and Dr. Levy with eyes so much like Marisa’s it made Brooks’s belly tighten.

He fell into step beside Logan and went toward the kitchen, allowing himself one backward glance at Clell.

As soon as Brooks disappeared, Clell turned to Dr. Levy. “What is this all about? Is Missy worse?”

“Not at all, Mr. McClellan. She is showing remarkable improvement. I am sure that her paralysis has been caused by swelling and pressure surrounding her spinal cord.”