The Ruthless Billionaire’s Redemption

by Sandra Marton

  Danielle swallowed hard. Where was all her resolve to be strong? she thought unhappily. But she knew where it was; it lay somewhere behind them, stripped away by the long drive and by Lee’s cold silence.

  She forced herself to breathe deeply, then met his eyes. ‘The estate agent arranged for a woman to clean and do laundry. As for the rest—you were concerned about your privacy, the newspapers and all that. I—I thought it would be best if we—you said you wanted to be alone, and you will be. Except for me, of course…’

  Her words drifted away. There was more to it, she thought suddenly, and she’d never acknowledged it until this moment.

  Lee had insisted on privacy. But he’d never talked about being alone. It was she who’d wanted that, she who wanted to recapture the intimacy they’d shared for that fraction of time the day they’d met and again during those dizzying moments just before—just before…

  The chair squealed in protest as Lee grasped the wheels and began propelling himself towards the door.

  ‘This will be the first and last time you drag me up those bloody steps. First thing tomorrow, drive into town and hire someone to help out. Do you hear me?’

  Danielle nodded as she followed slowly after him. ‘Yes,’ she said softly, ‘I hear you.’

  But what she was really listening to, with an intensity that alarmed her, was the sudden loud clamour of her own heart.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  BUT there was no chance to go to town the next day or the day after. Rain fell in endless sheets from a pewter sky, turning the rutted dirt roads to oozing mud. Driving would have been difficult, if not impossible.

  By the time the clouds moved off and the sun shone again, it was obvious, even to Lee, that they really didn’t need anyone else. The cleaning woman was the wife of a local farmer; she arranged for delivery of cheese and eggs, meat and produce, all brought to the door by donkey cart. Danielle cooked simple meals, which she and Lee ate in silence at a scarred wooden table before the fireplace or on the terrace, viewing an overgrown garden that scented the air with rosemary, sage, and lavender.

  And all around stood the olive trees, silvery sentinels through which the wind blew its hot breath.

  The cottage and its grounds were, as the agent had promised, lovely. But, as the days passed, Danielle’s initial delight in the place diminished. The charm of the exposed-beam ceilings and whitewashed stone walls wasn’t strong enough to stand up to the tension that settled over the house.

  Lee spoke only when necessary, and then in monosyllabic grunts that discouraged any further conversation. After a while, Danielle began spinning a mindless chatter about the house and its grounds, but he paid no attention. Sometimes he wheeled his chair out of the room while she was in the middle of a sentence; sometimes he just sat unhearing and stared off into space.

  Watching him from the corner of her eye while he sat that way, Danielle thought about the active life he’d led. How much longer could he go on like this? It was as if the essence of him were fading away. Sooner or later, there’d be nothing left of Lee Bradford but a shadow.

  She told herself there had to be some way to occupy him. But nothing worked—he paid no attention to the old radio that picked up static-filled broadcasts from Italy and Switzerland, or to the old phonograph and stack of scratchy records that dated back to the sixties.

  Danielle wished she’d thought to bring along some books or even a deck of playing cards. She searched the cupboards and shelves without success. Finally, one morning, she pulled down the overhead ladder that led to the attic and climbed the rungs to a dark, airless space crammed with boxes and old furniture.

  An hour later, sneezing from the dust, she emerged triumphantly clutching a chess set and half a dozen yellowing books.

  She dusted everything off, then marched into the living room carrying the chess set. Lee was sitting near the window, looking out at the dark green cypress trees.

  ‘Look what I found.’ Her voice was determinedly cheerful. She waited, and finally he turned and looked at her. She held up the board, and his dull glance fell on it. ‘Do you play?’ she asked. He gave an imperceptible nod, as if it took all his energy to do so. ‘Well,’ she said brightly, ‘so do I. Why don’t we…?’

  He turned away before she’d finished the suggestion. She tried the books next, presenting them for Lee’s approval with a flourish and an artificial smile.

  ‘What shall we try? Colette? Voltaire? De Maupassant? They’re in French, of course, but I can—’

  ‘I’m sure you can,’ he said coldly. ‘But I’m not interested.’

  ‘Lee.’ Danielle’s smile fled and she took a step towards him. ‘You can’t just—’

  ‘Leave me alone.’

  ‘Lee, please—listen to me. This isn’t healthy. You…’

  She stumbled back as he rolled past her, the wheels of his chair barely missing her toes. The exchange between them marked some kind of progress, she thought unhappily. It was the most he had spoken in days.

  His message was absolutely clear. Leave me alone, he was saying, I don’t want any part of you.

  Dr Bonet had said it would take great strength to help him, and Danielle had glibly assured him she had that strength. Now she was no longer certain.

  Lee’s body was healing. She could see the improvement in his knee each time she dressed it, just as she knew that the bones in his ankle were knitting beneath his cast. But his spirit was not. If anything, it seemed to be deteriorating.

  It wasn’t hard to figure out what was happening. Lee’s world had come apart. The unknown lay ahead, and it terrified him. It was how she’d felt years ago, when her parents had died. One day, your life was moving ahead and the next, it lay shattered around you, and when you looked at the pieces you no longer cared what tomorrow might bring.

  Her heart went out to him. Filled with compassion, sometimes her throat tightened just watching him stare into the untended garden during the long afternoons, or into the blazing fire during the even longer evenings.

  But compassion, to Danielle’s surprise, was not an emotion that gave her much comfort. She began to feel edgy, almost irritable. It was all this inactivity, she told herself. She wasn’t used to it.

  She began poking through the cottage and its grounds, searching for something to occupy the dragging hours. There was an old shed behind the house; it was thick with dust and cobwebs, but tucked away in a corner she found a basket of garden tools.

  She squatted down and lifted out a rusty trowel. A smile flickered across her face. She hadn’t gardened in years, but she’d always liked it. Well, not always. A city child until she’d gone to live with Aunt Helen and Uncle John, she’d thought that vegetables started life in the supermarket.

  The Cummingses lived in the country. And they had a garden in which rows of carrots, cabbages, and lettuces marched neatly side by side. The first time Aunt Helen had sent her to pull some carrots for dinner, she’d been wide-eyed with amazement.

  ‘You mean, all this grows behind your house?’ she’d said to Val.

  Val had shot her a scornful look. ‘Yes, silly. What did you think?’

  ‘I don’t know what I thought. I just never—gee, it’s wonderful, isn’t it? Planting your own carrots, watching them grow…’

  ‘…picking off the bugs, getting your hands all dirty.’ Val had shuddered. ‘If you think it’s so great, you can help my father keep his dumb garden instead of me from now on.’

  It had been the first of Val’s chores she’d taken over, and the only one she’d truly wanted. Uncle John was an uncommunicative man, and he never said much even while they worked side by side in the garden. But Danielle had loved feeling useful; she’d loved, even more, the pleasures of working the soil. It was lovely to feel the heat of the sun on your shoulders and honest sweat on your skin. And there was a very special pleasure in seeing something come to life and thrive under your touch.

  It would, she thought now, be nice to feel that way again. Carefully, sh
e brushed the dust and spiderwebs from the old tools.

  She started working in the overgrown garden that afternoon. Sweat dripped from her face and her muscles ached from the unaccustomed exertion, but it felt wonderful to be doing something useful. It made Lee’s continuing moodiness easier to bear—at first. But, as the days passed, not even hours of weeding and hoeing relieved the tension Danielle felt building within her.

  Something foreign to her nature was eclipsing her compassion. It was days before she could force herself to name it.

  Anger. What she felt for Lee was anger.

  In the quiet of her bedroom, she stared at herself in the mirror. ‘You must be crazy,’ she whispered to her reflection. ‘Only a crazy woman could be angry at a man in a wheelchair.’

  But no matter what she told herself, the feeling grew. She felt ugly words bottled up within her that might, without warning, spill from her lips.

  She decided it might be best to take a page from Lee’s book and say nothing at all. She gave up her mindless attempts at conversation, becoming, instead, as silent as he.

  Her days were given over to the garden. Sage and lavender had survived long neglect, and she even unearthed phlox struggling for survival under a scraggly cover of weed. Her nights were spent with her nose buried in the books she’d once offered to read aloud. Not that she was really reading—the French words might as well have been Sanskrit as they danced across the page without meaning.

  Then, one evening, a log snapped in the fireplace. Danielle looked up—and found Lee watching her. It was the first time they’d made eye contact in a long time, and it was disconcerting. The expression on his face rattled her, too. He was looking at her in a way that told her he’d been doing it for some time.

  She blinked and looked back to her book. But she could feel his gaze burning her skin. Say something to him, she thought. ‘Did you—did you want something?’

  He shook his head. ‘No.’

  Then why was he still staring at her?

  ‘Are you sure? I—I could make some tea, if you like, or coffee.’ He didn’t answer, he just kept looking at her.

  ‘There are cookies, too, left over from—’

  Lee’s eyes narrowed. ‘Well,’ he said softly, ‘it’s not deathless conversation, but it’s better than nothing.’

  Colour rose to her cheeks. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘I tried telling you this wouldn’t work. But you wouldn’t listen.’

  ‘I don’t know what—’

  ‘Don’t give me that. You’ve been moping around here for days.’

  She stared at him. ‘I haven’t been moping.’

  ‘Yes, you have. And why not? This place is a—a damned morgue.’

  Danielle closed her book. ‘I’m sorry you feel that way. It seems like a very nice—’

  ‘What the hell else can it be, when you’re locked away here, taking care of a cripple?’

  A little knot of tension began forming in her belly. ‘I haven’t complained,’ she said calmly. ‘And you’re not a cripple. You’ll be up and about soon.’

  ‘With a beggar’s cup in my hand.’

  ‘With a life to live. If you’d only—’

  ‘Are you really that dense?’ His eyes were as cold as midnight. ‘I won’t be racing any more. That’s what Bonet—’

  ‘You might not race any more. That’s what he said.’

  Lee gave his chair a hard shove backwards. ‘What do you know about it, little girl?’

  ‘I know that it’s not enough to sit and brood. And—’

  ‘Ah. The little farm girl offers advice. How charming.’

  Danielle took a deep breath. ‘I’ve asked you not to call me that.’

  His face twisted. ‘What’s the matter, Danielle? Don’t you like the way people talk in the real world?’

  Her hand shook as she placed her book on the table. Then she rose from her chair and started towards the living room door. Lee’s voice roared after her.

  ‘Where the bloody hell do you think you’re going?’

  He was trying to pick a fight. But she wasn’t going to let him.

  ‘To bed,’ she said. ‘It’s been a long day.’

  Lee snorted. ‘Go on,’ he said, ‘run, little girl. Reality’s too much for you. I knew it would be.’

  Danielle took a deep breath. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘there’s not much sense in—’

  ‘Go on,’ he said, disgust coating each word, ‘get out. Go dream your sweet dreams.’

  ‘Damn you, Lee Bradford!’ She spun towards him, her hazel eyes bright with rage. ‘Don’t you dare talk to me that way.’

  An electric silence seemed to crackle in the shadowed room. She stared at him, and then she took a step forward.

  ‘You’re so wrapped up in yourself,’ she said, fighting to stay calm, ‘that you think you’re the only one who’s ever had your world turned upside down.’

  Lee turned his chair away, then waved his hand in contemptuous dismissal. ‘Yeah, I’ve heard that life is tough all over.’

  Danielle strode across the room and stepped in front of him. Her hands went to her hips. ‘That’s right,’ she said, ‘it is.’

  His lip curled. ‘What’s this going to be, a speech about how lucky I am to be alive? Forget it. I’ve heard it all before.’

  ‘No. No speech. Someone as selfish as you wouldn’t listen.’

  His arrogant smile faded. ‘Selfish?’ he said in a dangerous whisper. ‘Is that what you think?’

  ‘Do you really care what I think?’

  Lee drew a rasping breath. ‘I—I…’ There was a long silence, and then he looked down. ‘No,’ he growled, ‘why should I?’

  ‘If you think you’re the only one who’s been alone and hurting…’

  He laughed. ‘Don’t tell me. You didn’t get voted Homecoming Queen. Or maybe you didn’t have a date for the Senior Prom—’

  Her voice sliced across his with frigid clarity. ‘My father died when I was eleven. And before the year was out, my mother was dead, too. I was sent to live with Val and her parents.’

  Slowly, she sank down on the edge of the sofa. Her eyes met Lee’s. He was watching her as if he’d never seen her before.

  ‘That,’ she said softly, as much to herself as to him, ‘was my introduction to what you call reality.’

  Lee cleared his throat. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Val never—’

  Danielle gave a shrug. ‘Why would she? It wasn’t anything momentous to her. She was busy with her own life—she’s always been busy with her own life. I don’t think she noticed me much at first, except when I got in her way.’

  She fell silent again. The memories were flowing back, still painful after all these years. In some still-rational part of her mind, a bemused voice was demanding to know what she thought she was doing. But it was too late to stop—for one thing, the knot in her stomach was easing as she spoke.

  ‘OK.’ His voice was gruff. ‘OK. It must have been rough. But—’

  ‘Rough?’ Danielle shook her head. ‘I was eleven years old, Lee. I was just a child.’ Her voice trembled. ‘There’s no way to describe how alone I felt.’

  Lee’s chair clattered over the tile floor as he wheeled towards her. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I was wrong. You know what it is to hurt. But—’

  Danielle’s eyes lifted to his. ‘That’s not what this is about.’ She took a deep breath, then reached out and embraced the truth. ‘This—this is about giving up.’

  ‘Quitting,’ he said with distaste.

  She nodded. ‘Giving up, quitting—call it what you like.’ She touched her tongue to her lips. ‘I’m an expert at it. It’s what I did, for a long time. My world was gone, and—and I had a choice between facing what came next head-on or—or crawling inside myself and hiding.’

  Lee put his hand on hers. ‘You were just a kid,’ he said softly.

  ‘So I hid,’ she said, dismissing his platitudes. ‘I ignored my own life, I stood back whil
e everybody else…’ Her eyes flashed to his. ‘It took me years to see it and to change.’ There was steel in her voice. ‘But you’re not a child, Lee, you’re an adult in the prime of his life. Don’t let the time slip away from you.’

  He snatched his hand from hers. ‘Here we go,’ he said coldly. ‘It’s a speech, after all.’

  ‘No.’ The smile she gave him was twisted. ‘Just some advice—from one expert on giving up to another.’

  He recoiled from her words as if she’d struck him. The breath hissed between his teeth. ‘You don’t know what you’re saying,’ he said angrily. ‘I just want to be left alone. Is that so difficult to—?’

  ‘Damn you, Lee Bradford!’ Danielle’s voice exploded into the room. ‘Just listen to yourself. Quitting is quitting, no matter how you try and explain it.’

  Her heart felt as if it were breaking when she saw the pain that flashed across his face. But there was no calling back what she’d said. She had come here to help him get well, but the next move was his. There were some kinds of healing that could only come from within.

  They stared at each other in silence. Then Lee’s face twisted in rage. He reached out and caught her wrist. His fingers compressed the fragile bones, but she forced herself not to flinch.

  ‘I’m not a coward, damn you,’ he said in a ragged whisper. ‘I’ve never run from anything in my life.’

  ‘I didn’t call you a coward,’ Danielle said softly.

  ‘I know what you called me. And I don’t like it.’

  ‘Something terrible happened to you, Lee.’ Her voice was low, her gaze steady. ‘Now you have a choice. You can face up to it or you can curl up inside yourself, as I did. And if you do that—if you do…’

  All at once, her composure slipped away. She began to weep—for the lost child she’d been, for the despairing man he was. Lee cursed softly, and then his arms closed around her.

  ‘I—I don’t know why I’m crying,’ she sobbed. ‘I—I…’

  ‘It’s all right,’ he murmured. ‘Let go. I’m here. I’ve got you.’