Beverly Barton - The Outcast

Sam hugged Elizabeth. "Ah, kiddo, why did you have to grow up?"

"He'll do the right thing," Elizabeth whispered to Sam. "I have to believe that he'll decide he can trust us."

"If you're going with me, let's go." Reece swung open the motel-room door.

Elizabeth followed him outside. A slow, steady drizzle fell from the sky. Raindrops pelted her face as she stood gazing out into the dark night.

"Please, dear Lord, please take care of Reece," Elizabeth prayed silently. "Set him free. Give him the peace he's never known."

When Reece prodded her to move, she turned to him, staring into his hard, lone-wolf eyes. He had shut her out. Not one sign of emotion showed on his face.

Elizabeth stepped out of the shower, dried herself off quickly and slipped into clean panties, jeans and a sweater. After towel-drying her long hair, she combed it away from her face. A weariness she had seldom experienced encompassed her, a bone-tired weariness, a heartsick weariness.

In less than a week her whole world had turned upside down, thanks to Reece Landry, thanks to her own obsession with saving him-saving him not only from a wrongful conviction but from a life that had almost destroyed him.

No matter how hard she tried to get through to him, he would allow her only so close and no closer. He had made love to her with a passion she'd never known existed, but he had given only a portion of himself to her, holding in reserve his heart, not trusting anyone enough to share his soul.

Elizabeth felt as if she had lost control of her life, of her thoughts, of her emotions. Reece Landry had become her whole world. She had become so wrapped up in helping him that she'd lost herself.

Elizabeth opened the door to the bedroom she had shared with Reece only last night. It might as well have been a million nights ago. He had been so cold and distant since their return to the cottage. She had no idea where he was. Outside, in the living room or in an upstairs bedroom. Of course, she understood that he, too, had some soul-searching to do. Would he be able to put his trust in others, to accept the advice of his lawyer?

Sitting down at the antique dressing table, Elizabeth ran a comb through her damp hair. She glanced into the mirror, seeing her own image, the wide blue eyes, the mane of dark wet hair, the sad expression she could not banish.

Laying down the comb, she closed her eyes, extinguishing her own image, closing out the world. She hadn't meditated in several days. At home in Sequana Falls, daily meditation was a part of her life, helping her center her energy and focus her abilities. Aunt Margaret had taught her that meditation was the only way she would ever learn to control the great talent with which she had been blessed, the only way her soul could derive true peace.

The day would come when she would be able to shield herself, to protect herself from the psychic energy of others. Aunt Margaret had explained how many years it had taken her to reach a point of self-protection, where she could, at will, block out the bombardment of the energy others emitted.

Elizabeth repeated the word angel, using it as her mantra, seeking sanctuary and inner peace in her prayerlike state of meditation.

"An-gel. An-gel. An-gel." As she chanted, her voice became a low whisper, her mind gradually clearing as utter calmness encompassed her.

Reece eased open the bedroom door, stopping dead still when he saw Elizabeth sitting at the dressing table, her eyes shut, her lips moving repeatedly as she whispered a single word. Angel.

What the hell was she doing, his loyal, loving little witch? Casting a spell? Going into a trance? Calling on the heavenly hosts to come to their aid?

The best he could make out, she was praying or something along those lines. He couldn't remember a time since he was a kid that he'd prayed, that he'd asked for someone else's help. He'd begged and pleaded for someone-anyone-to save his mother and him from Harry Gunn. He supposed, in a way, God had answered his prayers, but he had taken his own sweet time doing it. Blanche's death had freed her from Harry; Reece's physical strength had emancipated him from his stepfather's brutality.

Even knowing he was witnessing a private moment in Elizabeth's life, one he had no right to share, he could not turn and walk away. He couldn't stop staring at her, listening to her, absorbing some of the radiant peace she emanated, like a deep spring bubbling forth pure, clean water. A warmth spread through his body, accompanied by a calmness he had never known.

What was happening to him? he wondered. Was Elizabeth delving into his mind? Was she manipulating his emotions?

She looked so serene sitting there at perfect peace with herself and with the world around her. She was offering that same peace to him. Did he dare believe in its existence? And if he did believe, did he have the courage to accept her precious gift?

He wasn't sure how long he stood in the doorway, transfixed by Elizabeth's beauty, both physical and spiritual. Perhaps it was only minutes. Perhaps longer.

Complete quiet settled over the room. Elizabeth opened her eyes and turned slowly toward Reece. He saw that she started to lift her hand to him, but stopped abruptly.

"How long have you been standing there?" she asked.

"Don't you know?"

"Yes, I know, but do you?"

"I don't think I'm ready to accept what you're offering me." Reece walked into the room, his gaze fixed on Elizabeth. "I want to trust you completely. I want to believe that my life can be... That I can put the past behind me. All the anger and pain and hatred. But I can't."

"You don't want to let go of the emotions that have dominated your life." Elizabeth turned all the way around on the velvet bench. "You're afraid of the unknown. Of trust and loyalty and love."

Reece sat on the edge of the bed. Raking his hand down his face, he wiped his mouth. "You want me to turn myself in, don't you? You want me to hand myself over to the sheriff and trust you and Sam and Gary and Chris to save me."

She smiled at Reece. Tears gathered in her eyes, obscuring her vision. "I know it's difficult for you to accept the fact that there are people who care about you, but-"

"I didn't ask anybody to care about me." Bent over, his hands clasped together between his spread knees, Reece stared at the floor. "I didn't ask you to help me and I didn't ask you to care about me."

Such anger! Elizabeth felt the resurgence of hostile emotions growing inside Reece. He was fighting an inner battle, yearning for something he didn't quite believe in, afraid to relinquish his hold on the old demons that had haunted his life since childhood-the familiarity of their ugly but constant presence the only thing he'd ever been able to count on.

"What if you allowed me to see into your future? If I could promise you that B.K.'s real murderer would be brought to justice and you would be cleared of all charges, would you trust me and the others who want to help you?"

Jerking his head up, Reece stared at her, his amber eyes gleaming with uncertainty. "I thought you said that you couldn't see my future, that our futures were entwined and you would never look into your own future."

"If it's the only way to help you, then I'm willing to try." Elizabeth stood.

Reece glared at her. "No. Don't do it, Lizzie. Don't break one of your sacred rules for me. I've taken enough from you as it is."

Elizabeth walked across the room, knelt in front of Reece and laid her head on his knee. "You're afraid of the future. Even if you're cleared of B.K.'s murder and claim your inheritance, you won't be free. You'll stay in Newell, you'll take over Stanton Industries, you'll avenge yourself against Kenny and Alice and even Chris. But nothing you do will ever change the past. B. K. Stanton is dead. You can't hurt him. Blanche is dead. You can't help her."