“Poor thing,” Margo crooned as she cut the last thread. The deer seemed to sigh in relief.
“Do you think you can keep her here while I get some medical supplies?” he asked, his voice rougher now.
Margo held out her arms. “Give her to me.”
The warm bundle looked soft, but the animal had powerful muscles underneath. For a minute, she wasn’t sure she could hold her. She sat down on the ground and braced her legs forward. Thank goodness she was tall. The fawn fit into the cradle she formed with her lap and she was able to still its struggle. Zane – she assumed it was Zane – stood looking at her for a moment before he hurried toward the house.
Margo took advantage of his absence to lower her head and take deep breaths. It had all happened so fast. Her head was spinning from the sight of the deer’s blood, its cries of panic, and the thoughts of the animal’s pain.
***
Zane dashed through the house and into the bathroom where he rummaged in the cupboard for first-aid supplies. His fingers were starting to shake. He swore. Who was that woman out there and what on earth was she doing here? Impatiently, he shoved the box of Boraxo aside to reach the package of cotton.
He should be thankful she’d arrived. He’d been having a devil of a time getting that fawn to quiet down. After finding it on his way home from his hike, he’d struggled with the frightened animal all the way to the cabin. Still, no one just dropped in. Not in the eight months he’d been here.
Except Vinnie. His brother was due this week. A hard knot formed in his gut. Had something happened to Vinnie?
He found the cotton and tossed it into a plastic tub with the other supplies. First he’d have to tend to the injured fawn. Then he’d find out about the woman.
Outside he quickened his pace. But when he neared the woman and deer, he paused. She sat with her head bowed and the deer cradled in her arms. She looked as forlorn as the animal did.
Her brown eyes had been as wide as the deer’s when she’d first seen him. He glanced down at his blood-splattered clothing and shook his head. No wonder she’d been ready for attack. He had to hand it to her, though. She’d stayed calm and reacted quickly, not like most women he knew. They would have panicked at the sight alone.
Annoyed, Zane knelt in front of them. It didn’t matter how she acted; she didn’t belong here. She was trespassing and as soon as the deer was taken care of, he’d get rid of her.
“Hold her head back and use your other arm to keep her forelegs still,” he ordered, his voice harsher than he intended.
The rough sound alarmed the fawn, who began to struggle again. The woman tightened her hold, but he saw more than strain in her expression. She kept alternating her glance from the deer to him. He could almost feel the probing questions – questions she had no business asking. Zane silently swore.
“Easy now,” he said to them both, forcing his voice to soothe. “Calm down. I’m going to sew this up with some thread that dissolves.”
He rambled on, hoping the low tones would pacify the deer until he could finish the job. It even helped to calm his own jangled nerves. It wasn’t often these days that he heard the sounds of his own voice – or others for that matter.
As he wiped away some of the blood, his stomach knotted. He closed his eyes for a second to block the sudden flood of memories. Opening his eyes, he blotted more of the blood. The sight of it sickened him, but the sight of death sickened him more.
All around him men sprawled in the back of the chopper, their bodies contorted and stained with blood. He had flown the helicopter in to lift them out of enemy territory, but the CH-46 was a mangled heap of metal – no use to them now. It had been shot down and could blow any second. No time to call Da Nang and get a rescue crew.
Zane yelled as he struggled out the door. “Get out! On the double!”
Al and several other grunts hit the dirt. Suddenly shots rang out. Men screamed in pain. An explosion ripped the ground as the chopper blew.
Bile rose in Zane’s throat. Fear constricted his body until he saw Al jerk several times and then crumple over.
He screamed, “Al!”
Again Zane closed his eyes against the nightmare memories. The woman’s voice cut into his thoughts, breaking the hold they had on him.
“Will she be all right?”
Zane lifted his forearm to wipe the beads of sweat that had suddenly appeared on his brow. “The injury isn’t as bad as it looks. Once she recovers from the shock, she’ll be fine.”
He worked swiftly to sew the gap in the flesh. He knew she followed every move he made and wondered what she was thinking. Could she tell his surgical moves were trained and experienced? Would she know he’d done this thousands of times before, only on men instead of a deer?
Wary and gruff, he asked, “What’re you doing here?”
Her glance flew from his hands to his eyes. The deer jerked and she refocused on the animal. “I’ll tell you when we’re done,” she managed between her struggles.
She was stalling. What for? he wondered. Something was up. He knew it and his intuition was usually on target. It had saved his life many times in Nam when he’d been hiding out in the jungle hoping the enemy wouldn’t find him. His intuition had saved lives while he was at sea commanding the fleet of Zanelli fishing boats. Too bad he hadn’t relied on it the last time. He’d almost killed one of his best crews.
He eyed her closely and wondered if she could be a reporter. Zanelli, Incorporated was often in the news, thanks to Vinnie. His brother openly fought for the rights of the fishing industry against the pressure from ecology-minded organizations. Most of the time Zane agreed with the ecologists, which was another reason he didn’t miss his former life as head of the corporation.
He stared at the brilliant colors of her clothing, then at her face. A city woman. Suspicion unfurled. Maybe Vinnie had sent her.
“You from San Francisco?”
“Berkeley.”
His suspicion deepened, but he didn’t pursue the questioning. Not now. He didn’t want to upset the deer with possible anger. Another stitch slipped into place while his mind raced with speculation. Maybe she was lost. There were several old lumber roads that meandered through the forest.
Her voice interrupted his thoughts. “She seems to be weakening.”
He looked at her arms as they gripped the fawn and could see the strain. “You’re doing fine. I’m almost done.”
The last suture closed the gap and Zane tied it with deft movements. He sloshed disinfectant over the wound before he spoke again. “This is Zanelli timberland that you’re on. It’s private property.”
“Good. I was beginning to wonder if I had the right place.”
He tensed and began checking the deer’s hindquarters for any other injuries. What could she possibly want? She didn’t look like a woman who would come all this way for a social call. She wanted something. Maybe he shouldn’t ask. He finished with the deer and glanced up at her. “You can let her go now,” he advised.
Carefully, he lifted the fawn and helped the animal to its feet. It wobbled for several seconds, took a couple of bounds, then paused to look at its human benefactors before turning slowly to walk toward the forest.
***
Margo stood and watched the awkward movements of the small animal. She marveled at its resiliency. She felt wobbly herself now. Her stomach was still doing flip-flops.
Margo’s glance slid to the man she’d come to see. He stood tall, around six-one, with a broad chest and lean hips. His ministrations to the deer had been gentle in spite of his large hands. He had really cared about the animal’s welfare. It was a good sign and not what she’d expected. Especially not after the way he’d looked when she first saw him.
Oh, he looked frightening enough, with his beard and unruly hair blood-spattered and caked with mud. But there was hope. More than hope. Margo felt relieved; so relieved that she gave in to her body’s demand and slumped down on the cool grass.
“W
hat’re you doing?” His voice turned harsh.
Margo tensed. “I’m drained. I’m going to rest a minute before I…”
“No you’re not.” His once tender hands were now rough as he grabbed her arms and pulled her upright. “You’ve got some explaining to do.”
So much for hope, she thought as she gathered her sagging strength and tried to straighten out of his hold. He didn’t let go.
“No need to get rough, Mr. Zanelli. I’m no threat to you.”
His grip tightened, not enough to hurt but enough to make her aware of his sudden wariness. His eyes narrowed as he studied her face. “Do I know you?”
“Of me. Dr. Margo Devaull. Vinnie told you I was coming.”
The suspicion in his expression changed to concern. “What’s wrong with him? Is he all right? Why does he need a doctor?”
Great. Vinnie had lied. She eyed Zane’s muscled forearms and wondered what else Vinnie had neglected to tell her. Was Zane violent? She was trained in self-defense, but Zane was a big man; a strong man.
Best thing to do was to keep cool. “He’s fine. He was going to come with me, but he had to make a quick trip to Portland.”
“Come with you? What’s up?” The lines of concern became a scowl.
Margo pulled her arm out of his grasp. His concern was changing to confusion and she guessed it would soon become anger. She took another step back. “I’m a psychologist, Mr. Zanelli. Vinnie asked me to come and see you.” She held out her hand to shake, but he didn’t take it. His jaw clenched.
Margo lowered her arm and took a deep breath. She knew it was important to remain calm. “Your brother’s under the impression I might be of some help to you. I was informed you’d been told and agreed to see me.”
“Look, lady. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t need help.”
She didn’t resent the skepticism. No sign of emotion showed on his face. She sensed, however, the inward struggle to remain so calm. She could hear it in his voice; see it in the clamped set of his muscles. His blue eyes pierced hers with a stare that she imagined would intimidate most. It served to pique her interest. That bothered him too. His expression became curious, assessing.
“You always make house calls?”
“My specialty. I have a practice in the Bay Area.”
“You’ve wasted your time. There’s nothing for you to do here.”
She flashed her professional smile that was composed and a shade toward cool. “Your brother said you’d discussed coming out of your self-imposed isolation and he recommended you have help. He told me you’d agreed with him.”
“He mentioned it – not me. I said I’d think about it.”
“Have you?”
“No.”
The average person wouldn’t have noticed the slight flex of his jaw or the way the cord in his neck tightened, but Margo’s clinical glance missed nothing. He wasn’t going to admit he needed help. Nothing unusual there. Yet she sensed he’d closed up a part of him. Was it in defense? Margo cast him a reassuring glance. “Look, this must be sudden and awkward. I’m not going to push myself on you. It has to be your decision to seek help. If you don’t want it, I’ll leave.”
She watched his shoulders relax their stiff pose. Her own tension eased. This was going to be complicated. She hadn’t expected that, but she could deal with this new set of circumstances. It required moving slowly, one step at a time. Her smile warmed. “I have your supplies in the back of the Bronco. I also have some literature you can glance at.”
Before he could react, she spun on her heel and headed toward the front of the cabin. She heard him following her. At the vehicle he reached around her and grasped the door handle, pinning her against the sun-warmed metal and glass. Then he paused, a second or two longer than necessary. His blue eyes stayed steady on her face as if he wanted to study her reaction to his move.
Margo stared back, aware of the power in him, the intelligence in his eyes. She knew he meant to intimidate, but instead he’d secured her fascination. He didn’t like that either.
Abruptly he stepped back and yanked open the back door. “I’ll get the supplies.”
She shrugged and stepped back. “Fine with me. I’m tired from that drive.”
The steep road had been a trial, rutted from rain and studded with rocks and debris. There were times when she’d scraped one side of the Bronco against the mountain wall, while on the other side gravel spewed from under the tires to tumble down the sheer cliffs. There were other times when the grade became so steep she’d worried if she’d make it to the top. On the map it had looked like fifteen miles of a black line. But reality was a different picture altogether.
Zane hefted two boxes out of the Bronco. “Wait here.”
Margo nodded while rubbing the stiffness from her arms. They felt cramped from the death grip she’d had on the steering wheel, plus the hold she had kept on the deer.
She watched Zane set his boxes on the porch and return for the rest. He made several trips until he was down to the last two. Margo decided she’d better take action before he literally bundled her into the Bronco to be off. Quickly she grabbed her purse and the pamphlets underneath.
“Look. I realize you don’t think you need a psychologist, but since I came all the way out here let me tell you about some of our programs.”
He started to protest, but she raised her hand.
“Your brother is concerned and frankly, at this point, I’m more worried about him than you. You seem like you know what you’re doing. Vinnie is the one who is confused. Why don’t you let me talk to you for say…” She glanced at her watch. “Fifteen minutes. Just give me that much time, then I’ll be able to reassure Vinnie.”
“I’m not talking to a shrink.” His words were clipped, cold. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”
On first impression, she’d agree with him. He had been calm, rational, and very much in control when handling the emergency with the deer and now with her. Of course, appearances could be deceiving. He was very controlled.
“Fifteen minutes, and I go back and reassure Vinnie.”
He was listening. Margo headed for the stairs.
In two strides he caught up with her. “Fifteen minutes. No more. And I’m not answering questions I don’t want to.”
“Of course. Can we sit down inside?”
He wasn’t pleased. He probably suspected she’d guess things about him when she saw the inside of his house, which was exactly what she intended to do. Without waiting for an invitation, Margo climbed up the plank steps.
Inside the house and across the spacious room, she spied a redwood table of beautifully carved burl. Several magazines were on top: National Wildlife, American Zoologist, Animal Kingdom. Margo straightened and observed the large prints of endangered species framed on the wall. So animals interested him? She could work with that if he agreed to treatment.
Zane went to the kitchen sink to wash up and gestured to the bathroom for her. Margo took one look in the mirror and shuddered. Blood was spattered all over her sweater. She might as well write that one off, she thought as she returned to the living area.
While she seated herself on the couch, he strode to the natural rock fireplace that extended to the ceiling and braced one foot on the hearth. Margo had to admire the pose. His jeans tightened across his legs. The Pendleton hung loose, giving him a deceptively casual look. The inn clerk’s description came to mind: earthy and handsome, yet dangerous.
Even though he was splattered with blood he didn’t seem dangerous in a physical sense, she decided as she tilted her head and studied his profile. But he did seem hazardous to be involved with. She could picture women easily falling for him with just one glance from those blue eyes. He slid her one of those looks now from under hooded lids.
“Fifteen minutes. No more.”
Right. She crossed her legs and perched her notepad on her knee. She’d give him the Macy’s credit card approach – begin by asking general-informa
tion questions to relax his guard. He held too much back.
She wrote his name across the top. “Dominic Zanelli. Does everyone call you Zane?”
He nodded.
“Is it a derivative of Zanelli?”
He nodded again.
“Where were you born?”
“San Francisco.”
By the time fifteen minutes had passed, she’d gone through the vital statistics. A quick glance showed he’d relaxed his stance a bit. Good. Normal reaction. And he hadn’t noticed the time.
“When were you in Vietnam?”
She wrote down the dates, noting his position had not changed.
“You saw a lot of combat. I imagine you had many traumatic experiences.”
This time he reacted. It wasn’t outward, but more of something she sensed. Maybe it was the way he braced his hand on his knee. She set her pad beside her and used her quiet, reassuring tone.
“You were in a high-stress position. The fatality rate for helicopter personnel was high. Most didn’t live out their tour of duty.”
He looked away from her and stared out the window. “You have no idea what it was like over there.”
Margo didn’t flinch from the bitter tone. This too was a common reaction.
“I don’t pretend to know. But I did my training in the V.A. Center in Palo Alto. I worked there with fifty to a hundred vets who suffered from posttraumatic stress disorder.
“I don’t want to get into this, but I bet you have some of the common symptoms – nightmares and irregular sleep patterns. I bet when a Huey flies overhead the sound of the chopper brings back memories. Maybe that is one of the reasons you’ve decided to stay here in the woods.”
He didn’t answer, but his fist was clenched on his knee. A quick glance at her watch showed she’d been talking for almost half an hour. He hadn’t noticed the time. The subject had his attention, but she didn’t want to lose his trust.
“I’ve already talked longer than you allowed, so I’ll be going now.” She gathered her papers and stood while stuffing them in her bag. “Many times the reactions are delayed. They show up after you’d thought the subject forgotten. That causes stress in itself.”
Love's Miracles Page 3
