Somewhere along the way, he'd become ugly in his selfishness. As Johann said, he'd demanded a wretched commonness from those around him. Healthy or sick- that's how he saw people, how he treated them. The world according to Ian Carrick. He sighed, depressed by the realization. He regretted that he'd hurt her, regretted even more that he'd been such a poor physician. He knew a good physician treated the mind as well as the body; unfortunately, he'd always had a wretched bedside manner.
Normally it didn't matter. Most of his patients didn't care about his personality at all. All they cared about was his skill, and that was unparalleled.
But nothing about Selena was normal. He owed her an apology.
Behind him, the door creaked open, then clicked shut. "Contemplating your monumental errors, I hope," said a drawling male voice.
Ian flinched. Johann. Christ. "Go away." Crystal clinked, liquid splashed. "I thought I'd join you for a drink."
Slowly Ian turned around. Johann stood next to the mahogany sideboard, wineglass in hand. Johann tipped the glass in a mock salute.
"Well, you've done it-what none of us was able to do in the month you were gone." "What are you talking about?" Johann set down the glass with a clunk on the table and peered up at him. "You stole Selena's smile."
Ian went to the chair across from Johann and sat down. "Did I?" He tried to make the words sound cold and disinterested, but he didn't quite manage.
"I know you're not a bad man-though I believe you're more than half stupid and certainly blind." Johann leaned forward. "She's an innocent, Ian. Doesn't that mean something to you?"
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"Her brain-"
"Screw her brain." He leaned back and plucked his glass from the table, gazing moodily into the crimson liquid. "You think about things more when you're dying. I think about the way I've lived my life, the way I've treated people, and more than half the time, I'm ashamed. But then ..." He shook his head, smiling just a little. "Then I think of Marie and the way I loved her, and I feel ... redeemed."
The words hit dangerously close to home. "What makes you think I need to be redeemed?"
"Ten minutes in your company."
Ian laughed derisively. "Touche"."
"Go to her, Ian. See her. There's a purity in her soul such as I've never seen before. She could change you."
Ian winced at the softly spoken words. For no reason that he could name, they caused a rush of emotion. Fear, maybe. Perhaps a little stab of hope. He pushed suddenly to his feet and turned away, striding from the room.
"Run along, little Ian, and hide your head in the sand. Or in your precious journal."
He ignored Johann's comments and kept walking, past the lawn, through the trees, toward the sea. He needed to think, to get away from this loathsome house full of damaged souls.
Selena was on the beach. She was wearing an old lawn shirt of his and those baggy pants, hitched at the waist with a fist-thick leather belt. Her long hair whipped out behind her, fluttered in the breeze. The pungent, clammy smell of low tide seeped up from the sand and rocks.
In front of her stood an easel. A pale cream-colored gown was pinned to the easel, and she was painting a huge yellow flower on the bodice.
She hadn't seen him, and he almost turned around, but something stopped him, something deep and ele-
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mental. He owed her something, words, a touch. An apology.
Quietly he came up beside her. "Hello, Selena."
She jumped at the sound of his voice and dropped the paintbrush, spinning around. "Ian," she mouthed.
Nervously he shifted his weight. The words he ought to say, needed to say, wedged in his throat, as thick and unwieldy as sand. "I ... I'm sorry, Selena."
Her face broke into a dazzlingly bright smile. "You are?"
"I never meant to hurt you."
"Of course you did not." A low, throaty laugh slipped from her mouth, vibrated on the cool, crisp air. "And of course I forget you."
Her laughter was infectious. He couldn't help smiling. She made it so easy to be wrong. "You mean you forgive me."
She laughed again. Easily. So easily. "You are right I do not forget you, Ian."
Before he could respond, she threaded her fingers through his. "Come with me," she said.
She pulled him away from the beach, drew him into the cold, primeval darkness of the forest. Laughing, she raced over the fallen logs, across the lichen-covered ground to a small, round clearing in the center of a canyon of spruce and balsam trees. Spears of sunlight stabbed through the trees in wavery, dusty streams.
Smiling, out of breath, her cheeks a high, pure pink, she let go of his hand and spun around. "This is my place," she said proudly. "Look." She let go of his hand and dropped to her knees, burrowing through a cavity in a rotted stump. One by one, she pulled out her treasures-a perfectly rounded white stone, a pink hermit crab shell, a dried strand of yellowish green kelp, a sand dollar, a broken bit of blue glass.
Ian stood back and watched her. Strange, unfamiliar feelings and sensations spilled through his body, making him feel almost light-headed. There was an other-
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worldly quality to this moment, this woman. She was not ... normal; and yet, perhaps she was what normal should be, what it was once.
She plopped to a sit and drew her riches into her lap, motioning him over.
She was like no other person he'd ever known, an impossible mixture of ethereal beauty and earthy strength. And when she looked up at him, he saw in her eyes an eager innocence that couldn't exist in this tired, unjust world.
"Ian?" A small frown tugged at her thick, arched eyebrows, reminded him that he'd remained silent too long. "I ... saved these ... for you."
He couldn't take his eyes off of her. She sat there, her treasures in her lap, gazing up at him as if he hung the moon with his bare hands. For one blindly painful moment, he wished he were worthy of that look.
The sum of his life, his soul, passed before his eyes in that instant and he felt a crushing sense of shame. From the moment he'd met her, he'd thought only of himself, his needs, his desires, and when he thought she couldn't fulfill them, he'd abandoned her. Left her to rot quietly behind the closed doors of her room.
And still she looked at him as if he were the god he so wanted to be.
But now, this instant, he didn't want to be a god anymore. He didn't want to take her to Harvard and show her off like some macabre Frankenstein's creature or miracle of modern science.
He wanted to fall to his knees beside her and be a man again. Just that. A man.
He wanted his soul back....
"Ian? Come here...."
Reluctantly he went and sat down beside her. He didn't know what else to do.
Her smile came back, bright as a summer sun. She reached down and picked up the bit of broken glass. It
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glowed a brilliant blue in the filtered sunlight. "This one is special," she said quietly.
"Why is it so special?"
She opened her hand and offered it to him. Without the light, it was only a cold, dark spot of glass on her pink palm. "The color of your eyes. Blue."
Ian felt something inside him give way, soften. "You remembered the color of my eyes?"
She dropped the glass in her lap and leaned toward him, tilting her face up. "I remember everything about you, Ian. Johann says I am a manacle."
"A what?"
She laughed suddenly, a low, throaty sound that filled the clearing. "I am always doing that. Please to forgive me. Johann says I am a miracle."
Ian swallowed hard. "And so you are," he said in a thick voice.
She looked away for a second, her face scrunched in thought, then she turned back to him. "I ... I know you want me to. remember my life before. For you, I have tried, but there are no memories inside me. My head is empty, except ..." Her voice trailed off. She bit down on her lower lip and glanced away.
"Except fo
r what?"
"You will think I am stupid."
Ian remembered the times he'd mentioned brain damage in front of her and winced. Such a heartless bastard. He'd spent days studying her as if she were an insect under glass and yet he'd never seen her. Not until this very moment, and what he saw filled him with awe. "No, Selena, I would never think that."
"I have no memories, but I have a ... filling. A feeling. Sometimes, when I am asleep or just waking up, I am so sad, without a reason." She looked up at him, a confusion in her eyes. "I believe my soul has been sad for a very long time. But now it is happy. I am with you and my family."
"You don't belong here, Selena. You're not crazy."
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Strangely, the words caused an aching sense of loss, and not because he wouldn't be a world-renowned physician for saving her life, but because she would leave him. "You will improve daily. One day you'll be almost normal. Your memories may even return, though I doubt it."
She drew back, looked at him quizzically. "I am also crazy. We are all crazy. Except for Johann," she amended. "He is a genius."
Ian burst out laughing. "So says Johann, I presume." She nodded solemnly.
Ian's laughter faded. He looked down at her earnest, innocent face and suddenly it wasn't funny anymore. None of this was funny. She was an accident waiting to happen; an utterly naive, completely gullible woman with no life experience, no memories of pain or hurt or betrayal. She was like a child, expecting the world to be a happy, just, honest place.
The pain she could experience was staggering. "Ah, Selena. You're too trusting. Johann is not a genius simply because he says he is."
"You will teach me to be not so trusting?" He laughed. "Certainly no one is more qualified to destroy your illusions and show you the dark side of life than I."
She looked disappointed. "Oh." "What's the matter?"
"I was hoping you would teach me to play croquet." Ian stared down at her. "Croquet?" She regathered her treasures. "It is a game with balls and mullets where you hit the ball through a spigot. The queen says it is most entertaining, but Edith said she would not teach me such a game until hell freezes over."
Ian had to bite back a sudden bark of laughter. "Why not?"
"Edith said she would not put a mullet into that lunatic's
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hands. But now that you're back ..." She looked up at him hopefully.
Ian didn't have the heart to say no. "Okay, Selena, I will teach you to play croquet."
She gifted him with a radiant smile. "I can learn the dark side of life tomorrow."
Such innocence ...
"Very well. Now, let's go back into the house. It's cold out here. I'd like to see you read. You did so well with existentialism, I think we'll try something else."
"Something happy please."
He stood up and, without thinking, put a hand out to her. She stuffed her treasures back into the mealy tree stump, then took hold of his hand and got to her feet. Together, hand in hand, they walked back toward the house.
Halfway there, she stopped dead and yanked her hand back. "Wait!"
"What is it?"
"I wanted to show you something wonderful that Lara taught me."
"Lara?"
"The tall child who sucks her thumb."
"I know who Lara is. I simply wondered what she could teach anyone."
"Oh, she knows a great many wonderful things. Like this." Selena lowered herself into a crouch and pressed her hands into the soft carpet of needles. A quick cock of her head ensured her that Ian was watching, then she rolled forward into a somersault. She whacked into a pine tree and plopped to the side, her booted feet flailing for a second before she righted herself.
Twisting around, she grinned up at him, her hair full of pine needles and dead leaves. She looked like a fairy princess come to life from the forest floor. "Isn't that grand?"
Jesus. The world was going to kill her. He sighed. "Just grand, Selena"
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"You try it"
"Me?"
She nodded eagerly, patted the soft earth. "It does not hurt one bit."
"I know that, Selena, I've done them. Years ago." He walked toward her and plucked the foliage from her hair, then offered her his hand. "Come along, now. I wish to see you read."
She sighed and took his hand, standing beside him. A leaf clung to her throat, but she seemed not to notice. "I think that is most unwise, Ian. You look like you need a somersault."
"What I need," he replied, "is a drink." "Ah, yes. Johann promised you would teach me of the drink."
"You will not drink, Selena. Ever." "Why not?"
"Men drink. Ladies do not." She appeared to think about that. "The breasts make it impossible?"
He couldn't have heard her correctly. "What?" "Johann explained to me that there was a difference between men and women. Women have breasts and unmentionables and men have-"
"Yes, I know what men have, and the anatomical differences are unimportant when it comes to drinking." "Then why can I not drink?" He rolled his eyes. "Because I said so." "Johann always gives me reasons for everything. He said that that is how I learn." "Johann is an idiot." "Oh, no. He is a genius."
Ian took Selena's hand and led her out of the forest. He said nothing more about drinking, or Johann, or reasons for anything. It was safer that way.
Chapter Fifteen
Somewhere, a wildcat screamed. The guttural, violent cry vibrated in the air, distant and muted by the closed windows.
In the parlor, Ian poured himself another drink, stiffer than the last. Absently he twirled the heavy crystal glass, watching the amber and red highlights of the scotch. The sweet, smoothing scent of the alcohol wafted up to his nostrils.
He turned from the sideboard and walked across the room, the sound of his footsteps lost in the thick Aubus-son carpet. He couldn't stop thinking about today, about Selena. He felt . . . changed by what had happened today, by how he'd felt when he looked into her eyes and heard her throaty laugh. He'd always been so damned frightened of imperfection, but she defied all definition of normal. Suddenly, compared to her, normal seemed boring, common.
He'd understood at last Johann's bit with the broken glass.
He heard the ferocious yowl of the wildcat again and walked to the window, peering out. The yard was sheathed in darkness. Towering black trees clustered around the blue-gray lawn. High overhead lurked a silvery comma of moonlight.
Something caught his eye. A whisper of movement 185
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where there should be no movement, a flash of white in the darkness.
Frowning, he leaned closer.
It was a woman in a nightdress. He saw her for a split second, then she disappeared in the darkness of the trees.
The wildcat screamed.
"Jesus Christ!" Ian dropped the half-empty glass of scotch and raced outside, running down the steps and across the thick carpet of grass.
He skidded to a stop at the edge of the woods, trying desperately to see into the shadowy darkness. But it was black, so black.
"Hello, sweet thing," said a throaty, feminine voice. "You can come out."
Overhead, a cloud skudded past the slivered moon.
He saw Selena. She stood about twenty feet in front of him, sideways on the narrow dirt trail, her hand outstretched. Her white lawn nightdress fluttered against her breasts and ankles. With her wavy hair rippling down her back, her profile bathed in moonlight, her nightdress aglow, she looked like Aphrodite come to life.
The bushes in front of her rustled. He heard the low, even breathing of the cat.
For a split second, Ian was so terrified, he couldn't breathe. His heart hammered in his chest, sweat broke out on his forehead.
"Selena." He whispered her name, unable to hear his own voice above the pounding of his heart.
She turned, straightened, and gave him a bright smile. "Ian! How-"
"Shhh." He surged forward. "Don't move."
A frown cr
eased her brow. "I do not u-"
"Hush," he said sharply. Slowly, achingly aware of every step, he moved toward her. The twenty feet seemed to stretch into a mile, then two.
Finally he reached her, took hold of her hand.
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"Your hand is wet-"
He clamped a hand over her mouth and yanked her close, slipping an arm around her waist. The bushes rustled again. Then came a low, warning
growl.
Step by cautious, breathless step, they backed out of the forest. The cat followed them, the leaves rustling with every step.
Ian saw a flash of gold eyes. Branches snapped. Leaves parted with a rustling hiss.
He backed up another step, felt the soft cushion of the lawn beneath his heel. Swallowing hard, he kept moving backward, his eyes trained on the movement in
the bushes.
The grass ended at last. He felt the crunching of small stones beneath his feet. They were on the path. It was now or never.
He swept Selena into his arms and turned, racing up the steps. The tired old boards squeaked and banged under his feet.
The cat screamed.
Ian didn't look back. He ran up the steps and into the house, slamming the door shut behind him. Selena slid out of his arms.
He spun to face her, so angry he was shaking. "What in the hell were you thinking?"
She stood still, her cheeks stained a bright pink, her untamed hair a wavy reddish brown halo around her face. The last lingering trace of a smile clung to her lips. "Thinking?"
The anger left him in a rush.
She hadn't thought at all. That was the problem. She'd heard or seen something that captured her attention, and she'd followed it, a curious Alice in Wonderland.
She had no more idea of the risk she'd faced than a
five-year-old would.
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Her smile trembled. "Maeve said cats are nice to pet. Soft."
Ian released a heavy sigh. It was pointless to be angry, and he wasn't really angry anymore. She'd scared him. He'd watched her there, in the forest, a wraithlike ray of moonlight against the darkness, with her pale, slim hand offered in greeting to a wild animal, and something inside him had snapped.
He walked toward her, took her small hand in his and led her to the settee. They sat down, and she gave him a look of such eager innocence that he couldn't help smiling. She was so pathetically anxious to please him. How could he make her understand?
"Selena, the world can be a very dangerous place." She frowned. "But the kitty-" "It wasn't a kitty. It was full-grown wildcat, and it could have killed you. Do you understand?"
She glanced back at the window. Realization dawned slowly. Her eyes widened. "The cat would hurt me ... just for a pet to it?"
He hated to disillusion and frighten her, but he had no choice. She had to learn to protect herself. "You can't go outside in the dark alone, Selena. No more." She pulled her gaze away from the window and frowned up at him. "I always go out at night. I do not need the sleep that others do." "Not anymore."
She considered that. Finally she shook her head. 'This is not a rule I shall follow."
Ian was stunned. He straightened, looked down at her sternly. "You will not go out at night." She wet her lips. "Yes I shall." Ian stared at her. Now what did he do? He'd given her a direct order, in his most authoritarian voice, and this slip of a woman who thought he'd hung the moon had said no. Quietly. Simply. No. "Selena, this is for your own good."
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