Linda Howard - Come Lie With Me

While she was helping him to dress, a process that didn’t anger him as it had that morning, he said thoughtfully, “You’ll be spending most of your time dressing and undressing me, it seems. If this is the routine you’re going to be following it’ll save a lot of time if I just wear a pair of gym shorts; I can put on a robe before we eat, and Alberta can bring trays up here.”

Dione successfully hid her delight, merely saying, “That’s your second good idea of the day.” Secretly she was elated. From a practical standpoint he was right: It would save a lot of time and effort; however, it would also exclude Serena from most of their meals. That would be a big help.

If wasn’t that she disliked Serena; if she had met her under different circumstances, Dione felt that she would have liked Serena very much. But Blake was her concern now, and she didn’t want anyone or anything interfering with her work. While she was working on a case she concentrated on her patient to the extent that everyone else faded into the background, became gray cardboard figures rather than three-dimensional human beings. It was one of the things that made her so successful in her field. Already, after only one morning, Blake so filled her thoughts, and she was so much in tune with him, that she felt she knew him inside and out. She could practically read his mind, know what he was going to say before he said it. She ached for him, sympathized with him, but most of all she was happy for him, because she could look at his helplessness now and know that in a few months he would be strong and fit again. Already he was looking better, she thought proudly. It was probably due more to his anger than her efforts, but his color was much improved. He could stay angry with her for the entire time if it would keep him active and involved.

She was feeling satisfied with the morning’s work as she walked beside him into the dining room, but that feeling was shattered when Serena plunged toward Blake, her lovely face bathed in tears. “Blake,” she said brokenly.

Instantly he was alert, concerned, as he reached for her hand. “What is it?” he asked, a note of tenderness creeping into his voice, a particular tone that was absent when he talked to everyone else. Only Serena inspired that voice of love.

“The patio!” she wailed. “Mother’s bench…it’s ruined! They’ve turned the pool into a madhouse! It looks awful!”

“What?” he asked, his brows snapping together. “What’re you talking about?”

Serena pointed a shaking finger at Dione. “Her gym! They’ve torn up the entire patio!”

“I don’t think it’s that bad,” Dione said reasonably. “It may be disorganized now, but nothing should be torn up. Richard’s overseeing the installation of the equipment, and I’m sure he wouldn’t let anything be damaged.”

“Come see for yourself!”

Dione checked her watch. “I think we should have lunch first. The patio isn’t going anywhere, but the food will be cold.”

“Stalling?” Blake inquired coldly. “I told you, Miss Kelley, that I don’t want this house changed.”

“I can neither deny nor confirm what changes have been made, because I haven’t been outside. I’ve been with you all morning. However, I trust Richard’s good sense, even if you don’t,” she said pointedly, and Serena flushed furiously.

“It isn’t that I don’t trust my husband,” she began heatedly, but Blake cut her off with a lifted hand.

“Not now,” he said shortly. “I want to see the patio.”

Serena fell into immediate silence, though she looked sulky. Evidently Blake was still very much the big brother, despite his obvious ill health. His voice carried the unmistakable ring of command. Blake Remington was accustomed to giving orders and having them carried out immediately; his morning with Dione must have gone completely against the grain.

It was the first time Dione had been on the patio, and she found it beautifully landscaped, cool and fragrant, despite the brutal Arizona sun. Yucca plants and different varieties of cactus grew in perfect harmony with plants normally found in a much more congenial climate. Careful watering explained the unusual variety of plants, that and the well-planned use of shade. White flagstones had been laid out to form a path, while a central fountain spewed its musical water upward in a perfect spray. At the back of the patio, where a tall gate opened onto the pool area, was a beautifully carved bench in a delicate pearl-gray color. Dione had no idea what type of wood it was, though it was gorgeous.

The patio was disorganized; evidently the workers Richard had hired had used the patio to store the pool furniture that was in the way, and also the materials that they didn’t need at the moment. However, she saw that they had been careful not to disturb any of the plants; everything was placed carefully on the flagstones. But Serena ran to the lovely bench and pointed out a long gouge on its side. “See!” she cried.

Blake’s eyes flashed. “Yes, I see. Well, Miss Kelley, it looks as if your workers have damaged a bench that I consider priceless. My father gave it to my mother when they moved into this house; she sat here every evening, and it’s here that I see her in my mind. I want this whole thing called off before something else is ruined, and I want you out of my house.”

Dione was distressed that the bench had been damaged, and she opened her mouth to apologize; then she saw the flash of triumph in Serena’s eyes and she paused. To give herself time to think, she walked to the bench and bent down to examine the scarred wood. Thoughtfully she ran a finger over the gouge; a quick glance at Serena caught a hint of apprehension in those amazingly expressive eyes. What was Serena worried about? Looking back at the bench, the answer became readily apparent: The bench was undoubtedly damaged, but the gouge was old enough to have weathered. It certainly hadn’t been done that morning.

She could have accused Serena of deliberately trying to cause trouble, but she didn’t. Serena was fighting for the brother she loved, and though her battle was useless, Dione couldn’t condemn her for it. She would just have to separate Serena from Blake so her work could continue without a constant stream of interruptions. Richard would have to bring that laser brain of his into use and keep his wife occupied.

“I can understand why you’re both upset,” she said mildly, “but this gouge wasn’t done tonight. See?” she asked, pointing at the wood. “It isn’t a fresh scar. I’d guess that this has been here for several weeks.”

Blake moved his wheelchair closer and leaned down to inspect the bench for himself. He straightened slowly. “You’re right,” he sighed. “In fact, I’m afraid I’m the culprit.”

Serena gasped. “What do you mean?”

“A few weeks ago I was out here and I bumped the wheelchair into the bench. You’ll notice that the gouge is the same height as the hub of my wheel.” He rubbed his eyes with a thin hand that trembled with strain. “God, I’m sorry, Serena.”

“Don’t blame yourself!” she cried, rushing to his side and clutching his hand. “It doesn’t matter; please don’t be upset. Come inside and let’s have lunch. I know you must be tired. It can’t do any good for you to tire yourself out like this. You need to rest.”

Dione watched as Serena walked beside the wheelchair, all concern and love. Shaking her head a little in amused exasperation, she followed them.

Serena remained close by Blake’s side for the rest of the day, fussing over him like a hen with one chick. Blake was tired after his first day of therapy, and he let her coddle him. Though Dione had planned to have another session of exercise and massage, she let it go rather than fight a battle to do it. Tomorrow…well, tomorrow would be another story.