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with a grin, “that is going to be a full-time job, and
not without hazards.”
“I’ve already found that out,” she said with a sigh.
“Won’t you change your mind and come with
me?”
She looked up at him thoughtfully. “If you’ll
take Mr. van der Vere along, too, I’ll come.”
He lifted his eyes helplessly to the sky. “What a
horrible thought.”
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Blind Promises
“Will you?”
He looked down, his head cocked, his eyes twin-
kling. “For you, lovely lady, anything.”
“Not so lovely,” she murmured, touching the scar.
“It hardly shows,” he argued. “And it’s
healing. You’ll be left with hardly a memory of
it in a few weeks.”
“I suppose.”
“Is that why you came here?” he asked quietly,
stopping to watch her expression. “To hide your
scars?”
She stared at the sand under her own bare feet.
“I suppose I did, in a way. My mother died in an
accident a few months ago, you see. She’d been
drinking, and I let her drive….” Her shoulders lifted
and fell. “I got a few scars and I had a concussion,
but everyone seems to feel that I killed her.”
“Do they?” he asked thoughtfully, “or is it guilt
that’s punishing you?”
Her eyes flashed. “Guilt?”
“Your eyes are tortured, Miss Steele,” he said
softly, studying them. “You’re very young to try to
live with that much guilt. I’m a fatalist myself. I
believe that the hour of death is preordained.”
She swallowed. “Is it?”
“Such things are best left to theologians and
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91
philosophers. But it seems to me a horrible waste
to let guilt destroy your life along with your
mother’s. Was she a happy person?”
She shook her head. “My parents had divorced,
my father had remarried and Mandy found it rough
trying to live by herself.” She stuck her hands in her
pockets. “She couldn’t cope. She wanted me to
come back home, to take care of her.” She laughed
bitterly. “I couldn’t even take care of myself….”
He caught her gently by the shoulders and turned
her to face him. “Try living in the present. You
can’t change what was.”
She felt her lower lip tremble. “The guilt is
eating me alive.”
“Then stop feeding it,” he advised. “Stop hiding.”
She searched his kind eyes. “Have you ever
thought of becoming a psychiatrist?” she asked,
forcing lightness into her tone.
One corner of his mouth curled up. “I studied
psychology for three years before I decided I liked
electronics better and transferred to a technical
college,” he confessed.
She burst out laughing. “I should have realized,”
she said. “You could probably do your brother
more good than I have, you know.”
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Blind Promises
“He won’t listen to me or talk to me,” he said,
shaking his head. “But he’ll listen to you.”
“Only when I yell.”
“It’s a start. You really want to take him to
Savannah? Okay. But you tell him. I’m not going
back in there to save my life,” he chuckled.
“I find that blatant cowardice,” she murmured.
“No doubt. I call it self-preservation.” He strode
back down the beach beside her. “Have you told
him—about the scars?”
“No,” she said simply. She swallowed. “You…
won’t tell him?”
He glanced at her. “You’re making too much of
them, you know,” he said softly. “You’re a lovely
woman. But if you don’t want him to know…”
“It’s not for any special reason,” she said
quickly. “It’s just that, well, he doesn’t need to
know, does he?”
He turned away before she could see the tiny
smile on his face. “No, of course he doesn’t.”
They walked quietly back to the house, and
Dana gathered all her nerve before she knocked at
the door of Gannon’s study.
“Come in” was the harsh reply.
She opened the door, to find him sitting in his
big armchair with tumbled furniture all around
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93
him, a black scowl on his face and a smoking cig-
arette in his hand.
“Who is it?” he asked shortly.
“It’s me,” Dana said.
The scowl blackened. “Back from your daily
constitutional?” he asked sarcastically. “Did my
brother go with you?”
“Yes, he did,” she said coolly. “It was quite a
nice change, to walk and talk without yelling.”
He snorted, taking another draw from the ciga-
rette. “Can you find me an ashtray?”
“Why?” she asked innocently, noting the pile of
ashes beside the chair on the carpet. “Are you tired
of dumping them on the floor already?”
“Don’t get cute. Just find me an ashtray and
bring it here.”
She didn’t like the silky note in his voice, but she
got the ashtray and approached him warily.
“Where are you?” he asked, cocking his head
and listening intently.
She set the ashtray softly on the arm of the chair
and moved back. “Back here,” she replied then.
“Your ashtray is next to you.”
He muttered something. “Afraid to come too
close? Wise woman.”
She shifted from one foot to the other. “It’s my
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Blind Promises
time off,” she reminded him, “but I wanted to ask
you something.”
“I know it’s your time off,” he said curtly. “You
remind me every day exactly how much you have
and when you want it, so why the poor little slave
girl act over the supper table? Playing on Dirk’s
sympathies? I might warn you that my brother is
something of a playboy: he likes skirts.”
“He’s a nice, kind man, and you ought to be half
as blessed with his good humor,” she threw back.
“Shrew!” he accused, sitting up straight. His
face hardened; his eyes darkened. “If I could see
you, you’d be in considerable trouble right now.”
“What would you do, take me over your
knee?” she asked.
His nostrils flared. “No, I wouldn’t risk
breaking my hand.”
“How discerning of you,” she murmured.
His eyes searched in her direction, and some-
thing wicked flared in them. “I think I’d rather kiss
you speechless than hit you.”
She couldn’t help it. She flushed like a budding
rose, gaping at him. Her knees felt strangely weak
as the words brought back vivid memories.
“No comment?” he murmured. “Have I
shocked you? Or would you rather forget that last
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night in my arms you responded like a woman
instead of a shrew?”
“I’m your nurse, Mr. van der Vere, not…!” she
began.
“You’re a woman,” he interrupted, “and
somehow I think that fact has escaped you for a
long time. You have the feel of fine porcelain, as if
you’ve never been touched by human hands. Is it
part of the shield you wear to keep the world at
bay? Are you afraid of feeling too much?”
“I’m afraid of being accused of unethical
conduct,” she returned. “You aren’t the first man
who’s made a pass at me, Mr. van der Vere, and,
sadly, you probably won’t be the last. Sick men do
sometimes make a grab for their nurses if the
nurses are young and not too unattractive.”
“The unattractive bit wouldn’t matter to a blind
man, would it?” he asked shortly.
“The blindness is temporary,” she said firmly.
“The doctors have told you that. Your sight will
return; there’s no tissue damage—”
He cursed roundly. “There is!” he shot back. He
got to his feet and almost fell in his haste.
She rushed forward without thinking and helped
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