WHEN I SEE YOUR FACE

by Laurie Paige

  Nothing. Not a shadow at any window. The house looked deserted. A blatant invitation to a vagrant looking for an easy break-in and a bed for the night.

  Worry gnawed at his conscience. He tried to ignore it while he heated up a can of soup and made a sandwich. He hesitated, then made two sandwiches.

  Disgusted with himself, he pulled on shoes and a coat, slapped the two sandwiches on a plate, grabbed a carton of milk and headed across the backyard. At Shannon's back door, he knocked, then went inside.

  "Shannon," he yelled.

  "What?"

  Her startled voice was so close it startled him. She stood at the sink, the faint light in the western sky outlining her upper body like a silver aura.

  "It's me," he announced. "I brought you some supper."

  "Why?"

  He flipped on the overhead light. "It occurred to me you might be hungry," he said sarcastically.

  She gestured toward the stove, her chin tilted at a haughty angle. "I made a pot of soup."

  "Well, I brought some milk." He set his obviously unnecessary offerings on the table. "And a couple of grilled cheese sandwiches." The meal looked pretty meager.

  "Megan brought milk and bread and fresh vegetables when she returned from the auction," Shannon said, dismissing his efforts with cool disdain.

  He frowned, perversely irritated with her for being so damn self-sufficient when earlier he'd thought it best for her to get away from her cousin's home and be on her own. He recalled another grievance.

  "There wasn't a light on in the house when I got home."

  Her eyebrows, dark brown arches shaped like gull's wings, rose in tandem. "Am I supposed to go over and light the home fires for you?"

  "Hardly. I meant your lights weren't on."

  She turned toward the window. "Is it dark already?"

  "Yes."

  "Oh." She put a hand to her dark glasses. "It's odd, not to know day from night. How do you think a person learns to tell the difference?"

  As worry knitted twin lines between her eyes, his anger underwent a sudden change. Instinctively he closed the three steps between them and took her in his arms. "I don't know."

  She backed from his embrace, her hands in front, palms out, as if to hold him off. He stopped.

  Spying the mantel clock across the hall, he said, "You have a clock in the living room. Doesn't it chime?"

  "It used to. I turned it off because it woke me up during the day when I was working night shift."

  "I'll check it."

  He flicked on the lamp in the living room and opened the glass face of the clock. He found a key inside and a lever that switched off the chime mechanism. In a moment, he had it ticking merrily. Four tones rang out the half hour.

  "There, it's working," he said when he saw her standing in the doorway, her face turned toward him as if she were observing his every movement, her manner pensive.

  He smiled, then recalled she couldn't see it. It occurred to him that for once in his life he couldn't use the half-smile and oblique glance that worked like a charm on women of all ages – he'd used it to get past the dragon at the desk in the hospital – on this woman.

  Her head titled slightly to the side. "Would you like a bowl of soup?" she inquired politely. "It's a sort of made-up recipe with ham and mixed vegetables and tomatoes and kidney beans. I opened the beans when I was searching for the canned tomatoes. Fresh or frozen stuff I can identify by shape, but cans…" She shrugged.

  "I can see how that would be a problem. The soup smells great. Sure beats the tomato soup I was going to have."

  Her smile was quick and surprisingly warm. "Grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup? Comfort food. My mother used to fix that when I had a sore throat."

  He took her hand and tucked it in the crook of his arm. "Dinner awaits, madam. Shall we dine?"

  "I'd be honored, I'm sure."

  Sticking her nose in the air like some blue-blooded society matron, she let him escort her to the table. He served the soup, then poured milk and got out spoons and napkins. Done, he sat opposite her.

  The sky darkened to obsidian while they ate. He chatted about his cases and his worry over the mare at the Herriot ranch. During a pause, he felt the peace of the house descend on him. Observing Shannon as she carefully wiped her mouth, he wished she was his quiet, safe librarian.

  An odd thought, that. Shannon Bannock, with her vivid passion and independent attitude, was anything but safe, in his opinion. But she was lovely. And desirable.

  His body kept reminding him of that little fact every so often. A gentleman wouldn't take advantage of her at this difficult point in her life, but when she regained her sight, it might be a different story between them. Maybe then he wouldn't go home after dinner but would spend the night locked in sweet dreams with her.

  "I'll bring over a couple of timers for your lamps and set them to turn on at five and off at ten. That way," he added before she could protest, "no one will think the house is empty and decide to move in."

  "Oh," she said, her lips pursing in an enticing way. "I didn't think about that. Thank you for mentioning it."

  "You should keep your doors locked, too."

  "Okay."

  Surprised at her quick acquiescence, he left. At home, he puzzled over his equal parts attraction and irritation with her, then laughed at his own confusion. He wasn't a boy caught in the throes of his first love. He understood male-female interest quite well. Where Shannon was concerned, the feeling was very strong indeed.

  * * *

  Shannon heard the mantel clock strike six. She yawned and stretched, feeling surprisingly refreshed. After dinner with her sexy, surly neighbor last night, she'd forced herself to go to bed after the ten o'clock news. She was determined to keep "normal" waking and sleeping hours.

  Having made it through half a day and an evening on her own, she felt capable and in control once more.

  After she showered and dressed, she fixed a bowl of cereal. Remembering Rory's admonition, she flicked on the light with a "there, I hope you're satisfied" glance in the direction of his house before she sat down to eat.

  She wondered if he was up yet. And if he slept in anything. His skivvies? Pajama bottoms? Bare skin?

  Disturbed by the images this produced, her errant thoughts nevertheless veered off to contemplation of sleeping with him, of waking in his arms, snug in their warm bed on cold mornings. It sounded … heavenly.

  She'd had a steady in college, but then she'd gotten more and more involved in her studies and spent less and less time with him. When he'd pressed for commitment, it had been she who had backed away.

  With Brad, she'd thought there was a possibility. Now she realized she hadn't felt strongly enough about him to include him in her plans. From her psychology courses, she knew herself well enough to realize she would have to trust a man a great deal to share her heart and thus her body. But no man had ever made her want to go that final step.

  Except Rory Daniels.

  She frowned. There was this sensual thing between them, but neither she nor Rory would let it get out of hand.

  Besides, no man would want to get too deeply involved with someone like her, someone who possibly would be a handicap all her life.

  Leaping to her feet, she got busy. After washing and drying the dishes, she decided to dust the house. She nearly broke a lamp and a glass butterfly, but she managed.

  After that, she scrubbed the bathroom. Then she set out a few more knickknacks stored in a drawer of the breakfront that had been her mother's. Even if she couldn't see them, others could. She wanted her home to be pleasant.

  The telephone rang as she was trying to think what to do next. Having time on her hands wasn't a thing she was used to. She spoke to a friend about the state of the town. People were still upset that the robber was on the loose. The sheriff thought the man was long gone from these parts. A new deputy had been hired in her place. After they hung up, Shannon wondered if the man knew how to handle domestic pr
oblems.

  Thinking about domestic problems made her think about her father. He hadn't been able to stick it out. Uncle Sean and Aunt Bunny had been madly in love and yet there had been something wrong in their marriage.

  She was thankful when the telephone rang again, interrupting her unsettling thoughts. She talked to another friend, then another, then the sheriff. Finally Kate's husband, Jess, called. He had nothing new on her case.

  After lunch, she took a nap on the sofa with the sounds of Debussy's La Mer lulling her to sleep. Later, restless again, she dressed warmly and ventured outside.

  Guilt niggled at her as she opened the back door. She'd forgotten to lock it last night. Rory had, too, when he'd left.

  Inhaling the pure cold air, she stepped carefully off the concrete porch onto the grass. Earlier, the weatherman had said snow was predicted. She loved to watch the flakes float down from the sky. As a kid, she'd thought it magical.

  A sigh pushed its way out of her. She wasn't a kid. She had to face life as it was. If there was a fifty percent chance she might see again, there was also a fifty percent chance that she wouldn't. Those were the facts.

  She walked a few feet from the porch, keeping to a straight line. When she reached the line of trees that marked the woods, she would turn back. Her hands out, she pressed forward, forcing herself past the fear that slowed her steps. She had to get used to being alone.

  * * *

  Rory parked, went into his house and straight out the back. Megan had mentioned she'd gotten no answer at Shannon's when she'd called earlier. Standing on the deck, he studied the rock-and-timber house next door.

  She'd had it painted during a warm spell in the late fall. The bathroom had new fixtures, as did the old-fashioned kitchen. With plants and pictures of gardens, the house had a friendly air. Welcoming. But maybe not to him.

  With a rueful grimace, he crossed the four by fours over the creek and stopped at her back door. No lights shone inside. The door wasn't locked. He went in.

  He knew no one was home before he glanced into every room. Where the hell was she?

  An afghan was flung carelessly over the back of the sofa. A cushion showed the imprint of a head at one end. She'd lain there at some time. Probably when Megan had been trying to reach her. But where was she now?

  The hair rose on the back of his neck as he was forced to consider the possibilities. Surely she wouldn't be stupid enough to go outside. People had been lost in these woods, hunters who thought they knew the area.

  His insides went cold. Grimly he went out and surveyed the yard, then walked around the house. Returning to the backyard, he studied the ground. Shannon was tall, but slight. Her weight wouldn't make much of an impression in the dry stubble. Finally he spotted a footprint.

  He found a definite track in the dust at the edge of the woods. His heart thudded loudly, sounding like a bass drum ringing in his ears. The shoe imprint was small and slender, and it was fresh.

  "Shannon," he called as loudly as he could. He listened but heard only the sound of the wind as it rushed down the mountains. A storm was blowing in from the west.

  He called again, a sense of urgency driving him. The only answer was the cry of a crow by the creek. By heavens, he would take a strip off her hide when he found her.

  He tried not to think about his part in encouraging her to leave her grandfather's house and strike out on her own. If something happened, if she was hurt…

  Driven by mounting anxiety, he tried to pick up a trail in the woods. Failing that, he walked in a broad zigzag.

  "Shannon!" he yelled and felt the first snowflake land gently on his eyelash. The storm had arrived.

  * * *

  Shannon ran headlong into a tree. Startled, she put a mittened hand on the rough bark and one to her forehead. She'd have a bruise there, darn it. Her nosy neighbor would grill her about it. She turned back toward the house.

  And promptly ran into another tree.

  Puzzled, her head smarting, she turned again, but encountered another hard trunk. She pivoted, her hands searching for the open space that should have been there. She found a group of saplings. She turned again. Again there were trees in front of her.

  Suddenly all she could hear was the sound of her heart pounding in her ears and the howl of the wind, rustling through the pine needles. She realized she was in the woods, surrounded by trees, with no idea where the house lay.

  "Think," she told herself. Her voice was caught and carried away on the wind. The solitude of the woods closed around her, making her feel terribly alone.

  Sitting on a log, she removed a mitten and held up her hand. If she could tell in which direction the sun lay, she'd know she was west – at least she thought so – of the house. She would walk with the sun at her back and find the house or at least the road and thus ascertain her whereabouts.

  A bit of cold landed gently on her palm.

  Snow.

  Her heart lurched. No one knew where she was, including herself. She almost laughed at the irony, but the situation had become too dangerous. With the sun behind the clouds, her hope of finding her own way faltered badly.

  Listening, she heard only the softly sibilant ping of the snow on the fallen leaves and the wind ruffling the tree tops. The temperature was dropping.

  Pulling her mitten back on, she took a few steps forward. No, no, that wasn't the way. She faced the wind, which was probably coming from the west, then turned her back to it and went a few steps before touching a tree.

  The woods had suddenly grown thick and menacing, closing in on her on all sides. She pushed on, trying to keep the wind at her back and her mind functioning, sometimes fighting her way through branches and vines. The snow hit her face in hard little pellets.

  After a long time she rested against a sturdy pine, her side aching. She hated that her disappearance would frighten and worry her cousins. They would try to keep it from her grandfather unless it became impossible not to … as in attending her funeral. She pushed on.

  A thorn caught around her ankle, digging painfully into the skin and she went down hard. Breathing heavily, she lay there in a bed of leaves, the briars biting into her flesh.

  Suddenly it seemed easier to stay there, just not to get up. She was too tired.

  She heard a sound, a faint voice in the wind. Her imagination? The sound came again. She sat up.

  "Hello," she called. "Hello-o-o."

  "Shannon," a voice yelled back.

  Startled, she turned her head from side to side, trying to figure where it came from. "Yes. Hello," she shouted.

  "Keep calling."

  "Hello," she called at three-second intervals. After a period that felt like eternity but was probably only a few minutes or so, she yelled, "Can you hear me?"

  "Yes. Keep calling. It's Rory."

  "Well, I knew that," she muttered. Relief rushed over her, displacing the odd blankness of a few minutes ago. Energy flooded back into her muscles.

  "I can't hear you," he yelled.

  Guiltily, she resumed her spaced calls, increasing to one every second or two. After another minute, she heard the sound of crunching leaves close by.

  "Here," she called.

  "I see you," he said in normal tones.

  "Normal" between them meaning he was furious. She stood and tried to pull the thorn off her leg.

  "What the hell is so funny?" he demanded, stopping beside her and yanking her free of the vine.

  "Your being mad at me," she explained with a giggle. She realized she was on shaky emotional ground.

  His grip would have hurt except for the thick padding of her down jacket as he turned her to face him.

  "Thank you for coming," she said before he could scold her. She laid her hands on his chest and tried a smile. "I thought … I really thought I was a goner."

  Stretching up, she found his chin with her lips, then stepped closer, until she could reach his mouth.

  He went very still.

  Her relief and grat
itude wasn't appeased. She touched his mouth again, needing more from him. Then she ran her tongue along the angry line of his lips. They softened a tiny bit. She needed him desperately.

  His grip relaxed. "Damn," he muttered.

  His arms slid around her and hauled her against him. She felt his strength enclose her like a blessing. "I was so scared," she whispered, at last able to admit it.

  "You scared the devil out of me, too," he said and held her closer. He muttered something, then kissed her.

  She held her face up to his kiss and returned it with the same punishing need. Fire shot through her, starting at her lips and plunging all the way to her feet.

  She forgot the cold and the snow, the danger of being lost, the helplessness of being blind. Fervently she pushed her hands under his jacket until she could experience his body heat, even through the fleecy mittens.

  The hot seeking kisses went on and on … until he pulled away abruptly. "I must be as crazy as you." He took her arm. "Come on. We need to get back before dark."

  With terse directions, he guided her through the trees and brush. "I can't believe I came so far," she said.

  He snorted. "What were you doing out?"

  "I thought I could walk around the backyard without any problem." She paused. "I thought I would know when I got to the trees, that when I touched one I could turn back."

  "No one ever walks in a straight line."

  "That's why I wasn't worried. I figured I'd go around and come back to the house. Or at least to the road."

  Another under-the-breath curse followed this bit of logic. He picked up their pace. The snow was thick now, muffling sound. If he hadn't found her when he did…

  "I'm sorry," she said again, feeling worse with every step. "It was a stupid thing to do."

  "If you weren't so damn stubborn and determined not to ask anything of anyone, you would have waited until someone could watch you before you ventured into the unknown."

  "I've played in these woods all my life."

  "Not during the past ten years," he corrected. "Things change. Trees grow. Rocks shift."

  "You're right. I was thoughtless and stubborn and really, really stupid—"

  "Oh, for Pete's sake," he muttered. "Just shut up."