Beverly Barton - Guarding Jeannie

Looking directly at Manton, Sam said, "I owe Jeannie and you my life. Thank you."

Manton nodded toward Jeannie, moving his hands rapidly, signing to her, then looked back at Sam.

"He's too modest to accept any thanks. He claims that all he did was help me get you to the hospital."

"That saved my life," Sam told him.

Manton grinned, signed again and waited for Jeannie to translate.

"He says that all the thanks he needs is for you to keep me safe."

"I'll do whatever it takes to protect her," Sam said.

Instinctively Sam knew that Manton understood his meaning without further words and knew, too, that this second substitute father was concerned about his and Jeannie's relationship.

He noticed that Jeannie and Manton seemed to be conversing, though Jeannie didn't speak and Manton didn't sign. They're talking telepathically, Sam thought, and wondered what they were saying.

Manton nodded, walked away and boarded the cruiser. Jeannie turned to Sam.

"He's getting our luggage." She held out her hand, motioning Sam to her. "Manton usually carries me from the dock to the house. It's an uphill climb from here. See the steps over there?"

Sam took note of the curving set of rock steps that led up from the beach to the hill above. From where he stood, he couldn't see the house.

"What were you saying to him a few minutes ago?" Sam asked. "I know you were communicating with him."

"I told him to go ahead and get the luggage, that you would carry me up to the house."

An undeniable pleasure spread from the pit of Sam's stomach to his whole body. The sensation was ridiculous, he told himself, but he could not argue against the truth. Jeannie looked to him for care and protection. Not to Julian Howell, and not to Manton. Not any longer. The girl had become a woman, gently but firmly choosing Sam, instead of either surrogate father, to be her protector.

Sam lifted Jeannie into his arms, as he had done so many times recently, but this time the ritual was fraught with deep meaning. And they both knew it. Carrying her to the house was a symbolic giving of herself, a placing of herself into Sam's hands—not only to keep safe, but to possess, to pleasure, to love.

Sam had no idea the walk from the dock to the house would take so long. No wonder Manton had always carried Jeannie. Once at the top of the rock steps, Sam drew in his breath, an appreciative sigh escaping his lips. Green grass spread out as far as the eye could see. Live oaks climbed toward heaven, while some of the limbs curled downward and grew back into the earth. Spanish moss hung heavily on the trees, dripping almost to the ground here and there. Palm trees swayed in the summer wind. In the distance, blue sky and water met.

Sam couldn't remember anything about Le Bijou Bleu except the beach. He had no memory of the docks.

"Six years ago, I didn't wash up near the pier, did I?" he asked.

"No, I found your body on the other side of the island. Manton carried you to the boat."

"When they tossed me overboard, I didn't think I had a prayer." Sam caressed the top of her head with his chin, then turned his head sideways and rested his cheek against her hair.

"You have to put the past behind you," Jeannie said. "It can't be changed."

Halting his steps momentarily, Sam closed his eyes. With the hot sun and warm wind on his face, he allowed Jeannie entrance into his thoughts. The moment they connected, his eyes flew open and he gripped her fiercely. It would be so easy to let her take away the painful memories, at least for a while. He wanted to forget, but how could he allow her to experience the guilt for him?

"No," he said, mentally and emotionally withdrawing from her. "Don't. I can handle it."

"All right. If that's what you want. But sooner or later, you're going to have to deal with the pain you've buried deep inside you." She touched his cheek. He flinched. "If you share it with me, I can help you put the past to rest."

The sound of Manton climbing the rock steps reminded Sam that he and Jeannie were not completely alone. "Where's the house?" Sam asked.

"Look straight ahead. You can see the roof through that grove of trees."

With Manton at his side, Sam carried Jeannie across the wide, seemingly endless stretch of verdant ground leading to the house. The two-story raised French cottage had been built on the top of a rise, giving the occupants a view of the ocean from all sides.

A menagerie of animals greeted their arrival. A half-dozen cats of various sizes, colors and ages were curled around the banisters, their curious eyes staring at Sam. Four panting mixed-breed dogs, tails wagging playfully, rounded the side of the house.

Jeannie spoke to the animals, calling each by name. They purred and woofed in unison, welcoming their mistress.

Manton hurried ahead of them, rushing up the steps and onto the huge veranda to open the front doors. The rooms were large and airy, with floor-to-ceiling windows and double French doors leading to the veranda. The windows had been opened, and the warm breeze fluttered the lace curtains as it filled the rooms.

Jeannie reminded Sam to set her on her feet when they entered the front parlor, a spacious room with clean white walls, Victorian sofa and chairs upholstered in cream damask, and a baby grand piano in the corner.

He slid her slowly down the length of his body, allowing the intimate contact to linger. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she gazed up at him dreamily. He wanted to kiss her. She closed her eyes, waiting for his kiss.

Manton paused in the doorway long enough to make eye contact with Sam, then proceeded to carry the luggage down the hall to the bedrooms. Jeannie cleared her throat. Sam grinned.

"Is he going to be watching us the whole time we're here?" Sam asked.

Opening her eyes, Jeannie frowned. "Manton will be here all the time, but he won't be watching us. We'll feel his presence, because he is a part of this island. As much a part of it as the earth and the trees, the flowers, the birds, the animals."

"I think I'll have a difficult time considering him just part of the scenery." Sam kissed the tip of her nose, and chuckled when she wrinkled her nose and frowned at him. "Where does Manton sleep?"

A tentative smile began spreading across her face. "He has rooms downstairs on the lower level." Her smile widened. "Our rooms are on the main level, just down the hall."

Lowering his head, his breath mingling with hers, he brushed a light kiss over her lips. "Are we going to need separate rooms?"

She drew in a quick breath, then released it on a deep sigh. "No." That one word said it all. The acceptance of the inevitable. The promise of ecstasy. The knowledge that no power on earth could keep them apart.

But as surely as Jeannie knew that Sam Dundee was destined to become her lover, she knew that he would never be free to love her as long as his past possessed his soul. Every time she touched him, she sensed his unease and uncertainty. He wanted her with a fierce and desperate hunger, but he was afraid of her, of her special talents—and he felt unworthy.

How could she ever make him understand that she was as afraid as he was? The power of Sam's primitive nature, his savage strength, his iron will, all just barely concealed beneath his sophisticated surface, made her doubt she could ever possess him, truly possess him, heart and soul.

Not only did the vast differences in their basic natures stand between them, but so did Sam's guilt-ridden conscience and Jeannie's endangered existence. No matter how they might long to be together, Jeannie knew she had no choice but to accept the likelihood that she and Sam had no future together.

Jeannie shuddered at the realization.

"What's wrong?" he asked when he felt her tremble.