by Nancy Morse
“Thank you, Dr—?” She was trying to assimilate the information and realized that she didn’t know his name.
“You can call me Dr. Billie. Everyone else does. We don’t stand on ceremony here.”
That’s what John had told her when she had first regained consciousness and had asked his name, except his tone had been considerably less friendly than Dr. Billie’s.
“Thank you, Dr. Billie. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”
“I’m only doing my job.”
“It wasn’t always this easy, though, was it?” said John.
Dr. Billie chuckled. “You got that right. There was a time when I would have been shot at just for showing up. Back in the fifties there were only about four hundred Seminoles left. On Mondays I’d mix my medicines and on Tuesdays I’d head out of Miami along the Tamiami Trail to where they lived. The old men used to block my way with rifles, but eventually, they couldn’t deny the healing power of the small white pills I made them swallow or the paste I spread on their cuts or the needles I stuck in their arms. Soon they welcomed me into their villages. Some even traveled miles to get their insulin shots or aspirin from me. I owe my thanks to Lorena Osceola for being brave enough to be my first patient. John and his brother used to come to me when they were kids. Of course, I don’t see much of John ever since…”
There was a palpable silence that lasted only a moment as the two men exchanged a look, but to Rennie it had the ring of something secret between them.
“Since he’s grown up,” said Dr. Billie, missing only a beat. “Give my regards to Lorena, would you, John?”
“Sure thing, Doc.”
“My advice to you, young lady, is to get some rest. And do whatever John tells you. He knows what’s best.”
Rennie listened as the front door opened and they disappeared outside. Her shoulders slumped with disappointment. It wasn’t that she wanted to rush back to that sham of a life she’d been living, but the thought of living in permanent blindness frightened her even more. How would she work? How would she know whom to trust when she couldn’t look into their eyes? She knew now that she had never really looked into Craig’s eyes. She’d been too busy playing a role in the scam without even knowing it. Like the song said, she’d been looking for love in all the wrong places. And now that she knew where it wasn’t, how would she even know where it was if she couldn’t see?
“Can I heat up that soup for you?”
The sound of John’s voice made Rennie’s dilemma even more painful. If only he knew how much she longed to attach a face to that deep, regretful voice. As if seeing him would somehow explain the sadness she heard resonating in every word, and maybe somehow justify this crazy attraction she felt for him.
“I’m not hungry,” she said sullenly.
He went to the table and looked down at the bowl of half-eaten, cold soup. “When I go out tonight, I’ll bring back some meat.”
Sarcastically she responded, “Going hunting?”
John’s dark hair sliced across his forehead as his head whipped around. “Why do you say that?”
“No offense to whatever meat you might bring back from the swamp, but I’d prefer chicken from the store.”
He laughed at his own uptightness. “I wasn’t planning on hunting anything in the swamp for you to eat. Actually, I was thinking of stopping at a grocery store on my way back.”
“I thought there isn’t anything around here for miles.”
“There isn’t. I have to go over to Big Cypress later to see someone.”
“Big Cypress is the reservation, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to see Lorena Osceola?”
“Yes.”
“Who is she?”
“My mother.”
He was hoping that she wouldn’t ask to come along. He wasn’t ready to take her there with him. There would be too many questions, from both Rennie and his mother, that he wasn’t prepared to answer.
“So, if it’s chicken you want, it’s chicken you’ll have. And maybe some beans and fish. You need protein. You heard what Dr. Billie said.”
“I also heard what Dr. Billie didn’t say. It’s a funny thing about not being able to see. You hear things in people’s voices, the things they don’t say. It’s like being able to read between the lines. Or like hearing the truth when they’re really saying something else.”
John felt himself go pale. Could she do that? Could she actually hear in his voice the things he was trying so hard not to say? He forced a calmness into his tone that he didn’t feel and said, “And what is it you think you heard?”
“He didn’t want to say it, but I know he meant that I shouldn’t get my hopes up. The bottom line is, I may never see again.”
“That’s not the way I heard it. If there were no hope of your seeing again, he would have told you. Believe me. I’ve known Dr. Billie all my life.”
“And what about you?” Her tone was mildly accusing.
“What about me?” He tried to sound uninterested, but inside, his pulse was racing.
“Do you expect me to believe that you work every night in the swamp? It doesn’t take a genius to figure out it’s on my account that you go out every night. You said yourself you wanted to stay as far away from me as you could get. I don’t blame you. I must be some sight. A blind mess with stringy hair, wearing clothes you were kind enough to lend me but are way too big, stumbling around like an idiot.”
He wanted to tell her that to him she was the most beautiful thing he’d seen in a long time. That the sight of her wearing one of his shirts made him feel good in spite of himself. That when he came in at daybreak after an unsuccessful night hunting the panther, he would stand there and watch her sleeping, the fan of her hair across his pillow, the rise and fall of her chest, and listen to the little sounds she made in her sleep, and he would wish more than anything to be lying there next to her, with her tawny head nestled in the crook of his arm. But he said nothing, for as quickly as the feeling overwhelmed him, that was as fast as it departed, chased away by the ever-present thought that wishing wouldn’t make it so. A woman like her deserved more than a man like him could give. Maggie had found that out the hard way.
“It has nothing to do with you,” he said. “I told you, I work at night.”
She gave a little sigh of resignation. “That’s all right. I understand.”
“Feeling sorry for yourself?”
It wasn’t easy owning up to the mistakes she had made. The hard part was admitting to herself just how wrong she’d been. And if she felt just a little bit sorry for herself, she had a right, didn’t she? But she was too tired to respond defensively. Half to herself she muttered, “Don’t we all have something to feel sorry for ourselves about?”
“You got that right,” was all he said.
Chapter 6
Rennie awoke with a start, heart thumping, feeling disoriented.
Where was she? What time was it? What was that aroma in the air? It wasn’t anything like the perfume that permeated her Palm Beach condo. And then she remembered. She wasn’t in her Palm Beach condo. She was out in the middle of nowhere, and it was the smell of that vast nowhere, the sweet, musky scent of earth and water, that invaded her senses.
The tension ebbed from her muscles. She was miles and miles, and light years, it seemed, away from that place that was filled with bad memories and cutting disappointments, the biggest disappointment of all being the one she felt with herself over all those wrong choices.
Was this, too, a wrong choice? She hadn’t exactly chosen to crash land her plane in the Everglades, of course, but she had made the choice to stay. Would she be as sorry for it as she was for her other mistakes? Only time would tell. For now, she felt safe…from Craig, from the senator’s influence, and from her own foolish judgments that had led her into such a sorry mess.
She sought to clear her mind of the past and concentrate on the present. But the present included John Pant
her, and the thought of him was equally disturbing.
Now, there was an enigma. Reclusive and secretive. She knew nothing about him other than the small details he chose to reveal. Rather, it was what he didn’t disclose about himself that was telling. She could hear the wariness in his voice when he spoke, and feel something in his touch that she could only describe as caution. It was almost as if he were afraid of her. What a strong, intelligent man could possibly fear from a blind woman was beyond her, but she sensed it had its roots deep in his soul. He was running from something.
Her heart went out to him. She knew what it felt like to be lost and alone, with no one to turn to except the person you were running from…yourself.
And what was this strange new feeling that cropped up whenever she thought of him, the one that excited and frightened her at the same time? It was ludicrous to think she could be attracted to a man whose face she couldn’t even see, and sobering to realize that the attraction came not from what he looked like, but from how he made her feel—safe, protected, yet a little reckless.
She could tell by the feel of the cool, damp air against her skin that it was night, and by the acute silence that she was alone, as she was every other night when she awoke to find him gone.
The truth was that whenever he was gone, she missed his deep, remorseful voice and the hesitant, almost shy, way in which he took her hand in his to guide her about. She missed his stories of the swamp, the gentleness with which he changed the dressing over her eyes, the scent of earth and wind that came from his hair, the sound of his footsteps across the cypress planks. She missed the air of mystery about him that spawned a host of questions, like where did he really go every night, why was he so reluctant to talk about himself, and what did he look like? In short, she missed him, a thought that was as arousing as it was worrisome.
She turned her head on the pillow and drifted off again, only to be awakened a short time later by a sound outside. She lay very still, straining to hear, as goose bumps raced across her flesh. When the sound did not come again, she relaxed. It was probably just a raccoon or an opossum scurrying about in the dark.
She remembered the time she found a baby raccoon in the backyard at their summer home. Her mother had shrieked violently as if aliens had landed on earth. The senator rushed from his study at the awful caterwauling, looked at the small creature, and ordered the butler to get rid of it. A man came with a cage and some bait, trapped it and took it away. It was usually like that with the things that meant the most to her, like the raccoon baby, the kitten she brought home but couldn’t keep, each of the puppies that “ran away.” She couldn’t remember a time when—
Her thoughts screeched to a halt. There it was again, that sound outside. Every muscle and fiber, every sense she still possessed focused on it. John had taught her how to size up a sound, to measure its distance from her ears and to notice the smaller sounds around it to determine the size of the creature and its proximity to her. What she heard now frightened her.
That was no raccoon out there. It was too big. Its movements were not scattered as those of an animal foraging, but strong and deliberate, as those of a human being with a purpose. Beads of perspiration broke out on her forehead and the hairs at the back of her neck stood on end. She tried to level her breathing, but her pulse pounded at her temples. One thought terrified her. She’d been found!
She got up from the bed and tiptoed toward the door, where she pressed her ear against the grainy surface and nearly choked on a gasp when she heard the distinct sound of footsteps moving about outside. It hadn’t taken Craig’s investigator that long to find her.
Sick with fear, she didn’t know what to do. She knew the kind of men who worked for Craig, men like himself, ruthless and unsympathetic. In her sightless state it would have been very easy for him to force her to go with him. And once back in Craig’s control, unable to see, she’d be powerless to flee. She had to do something. She couldn’t just stand there, barefoot and wearing nothing but one of John’s T-shirts, for him to walk in and take her.
It took every ounce of strength she had for her to remain there, listening and waiting. She heard the footsteps move off to the side of the cabin, and then around back. Now! Do it now!
Her hand shook as it grasped the doorknob. She felt a soft rush of summer air when she opened the door. Without thinking, guided only by sheer terror, she ran from the cabin.
The ground beneath her bare feet was moist and pliant from a rain shower earlier in the evening. The air she sucked into her lungs was humid and warm. With her arms outstretched, fingers splayed before her, she ran blindly. She stepped on a stone and bit back the pain that ripped through the sole of her foot. With a thud she ran smack into the trunk of a tree and fell to the ground, panting with fear. Stumbling to her feet, she whirled in all directions, not knowing where she was or which way to go.
A strangled sob escaped her throat, but it was when a pair of arms wound around her that an unearthly panic gripped her and she began to scream. As she kicked and clawed in an attempt to escape, over the sounds of her own shrieking and sobbing came a voice at her ear, as strong and insistent as the arms that held her. She was too frightened to know what it was saying at first, then realized it was saying her name. Something about it pierced her panic, forcing her to pay attention even as she continued to struggle. He said it again and again. Rennie. Rennie. Softly. Harshly. Every way it was possible for a name to be spoken. Until, finally, the realization struck. Rennie. Not Renata. Rennie. There was only one person she knew who called her that.
She felt herself go limp and would have collapsed on the ground had he not swept her up in the air and into his arms. Her arms snaked around his neck, and she clung to him as if clinging to life. Into her being she drew the reassuring scent of him, the sweet-smelling earth mingled with the ambrosia that was so uniquely his own. The fear and panic washed out of her like water rushing from a broken dam. She laid her head against the strong shoulder of John Panther, knowing that she was safe.
He carried her effortlessly back inside, where he placed her down gently upon the bed. She was crying with relief, but it was with a measure of residual fear that she clung to him, refusing to let go even when he tried to get up. He encircled each slender wrist in his strong grip and attempted to pry her hands loose from around his neck, but when it became clear that she would not…could not…let go, he stopped trying.
He sank down onto the bed beside her and let her hold fast to him, wrapping his own arms around her, using his quiet strength to quell her fears and quiet her sobbing. Until she was perfectly still in his arms, almost as if she were asleep. And even if he had wanted to let go, he couldn’t. She wasn’t sleeping, only exhausted. The minutes passed and she gradually came back to herself until she was able to speak. Her voice scratched at the back of her throat and emerged a hoarse whisper.
“I was so afraid. So afraid. I didn’t know what was out there.”
He felt her tremble and tightened his hold reassuringly. “I told you, there’s nothing to be afraid of out there. Didn’t we go over all the sounds?”
“Yes, but it was human.”
“It was me.”
“I didn’t know. You weren’t here, and I thought it was—” She bit back the rest of her words. “What time is it?”
“I don’t know. A little past midnight. Why?”
“You usually don’t return until dawn. What are you doing back so early?”
She felt the subtle tensing of his muscles and sensed the evasion in his voice when he said, “The animal I was—” he caught himself about to say hunting, and switched smoothly to “—studying, wasn’t cooperating tonight, so I called it quits. I was just cleaning up some debris outside that I’ve been meaning to take care of. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
And he certainly hadn’t meant to wind up like this, with his arms around her, so close to her that he could smell the lingering fragrance of soap in her hair and feel her heart beating.
; She didn’t have to run screaming from the cabin for him to know that she was running from something. He had recognized the fear in her sightless eyes that very first day. It was one more thing they had in common and, like it or not, it drew him closer to her. But whatever she was running from, would she run from him, as well, if she knew the part he played in Maggie’s death? The uncertainty had plagued him from the start. He could not deny that his feelings for her had grown in the two short weeks she’d been in his care, but the more he was drawn to her beauty and vulnerability, the harder it was for him to bear.
She asked, “What do you do out there?”
His throat went dry. “I study the animals of the night.”
“Don’t you sleep?”
“I have a little chickee out in the swamp where I usually catch a few hours of sleep before dawn.”
“You don’t have to go back out tonight, do you?”
The questions, asked in that fragile, beautiful voice, were becoming too painful for him, and he was torn by an impulse to tell her about his irrational need to wander the swamp night after night in search of the panther that killed his wife, and suffer the consequences. She had a right to be curious. But he also had the right to keep his private hell to himself.
His resolve was sorely tested, however, when her trembling body was leaning exquisitely against his and he could hear the breathless vulnerability in her voice. He struggled to keep his emotions at bay. Without realizing the consequences, he asked, “Any other questions?”
She tilted her head up at him, and through the moonlight that came in through the window her face looked pale and beautiful. “I want to know what you look like,” she said shyly.
“There’s not much to tell. Dark hair. Dark eyes.”
“No, I mean—” She hesitated, embarrassed to say what she really meant. She moved out of his arms. Her grasp unlocked from around his neck and her hands slid slowly across his shoulders, coming to rest on either side of his face. “May I?”
He knew what she wanted and groaned inwardly. But he understood its importance. With a brief nod, he said, “Go ahead.”
