She smiled, in
spite of herself.
“You're not repulsive,
Peter.
I'm just not interested.
Not in you or any other boy.
I have enough to keep me busy now with
nursing school and with the farm.”
He
grimaced.
“So there's no chance, is that
what you're saying?”
“We can be
friends, like we've always been.
I need
friends.
I just don't want to be in
love.
It would make life much too
complicated.”
He looked at
her with a glimmer of hope in his eyes.
“Does that mean you
could
love me, if you'd let yourself?”
His hand tightened on her arm.
She shook her
head.
“No, Peter.
It means I don't intend to fall in love with
anyone.
Especially not you.
We've known each other all our lives.
You're the boy who pushed me in the pond when
I was wearing my Sunday clothes, remember?
And you're the one who tied my braids together with fishing line.”
She grinned, hoping to break his mood before
it became any more serious.
“And you're the
first girl I tried to kiss.
That didn't
go so great, either.”
Finally, he
smiled.
“Okay, so we can be
friends.
Good friends?”
His eyes twinkled.
“Like brother
and sister.”
“Ugh!
Now you're just being hard.
But at least I can still see you.
And I'll be there to offer a shoulder to cry
on, when some medical student breaks your heart.”
She turned
toward the door, laughing.
“Dream on,
Peter.
Now I have work to do, and I'm
sure there's some nice girl back in Georgia, just waiting to fall in love with
you.”
When he was
finally gone, turning more than once to wave goodbye, she closed the door and
stood staring at the letter on the table.
Picking it up, she ran one finger under the seal, aware that her heart
was pounding.
As she unfolded the single
sheet of heavy vellum, something dropped to the floor.
Bending down to retrieve the slip of paper,
she began to read.
Dear Miss
Haynes,
On behalf of
Stani Moss and all of us who love and admire him, I wish to express sincerest
gratitude.
Without your heroic efforts
following his unfortunate accident, his doctors assure us, the outcome might
have been tragic indeed.
As it is,
although he faces a lengthy recuperation, we have every reason to look forward
to the day when he is restored to health and able to resume his career.
We are certain
that you understand the importance of protecting his privacy during this
difficult time.
It would be most
unfortunate if he were to become the focus of the exploitative press.
We trust that we can depend upon your
discretion should you be approached by these unscrupulous journalists.
Please accept
the enclosed as a small token of our gratitude.
Yours,
Milo Scheider
She examined
the paper that had fallen to the floor.
It was a check, made out to her for two thousand dollars.
She stared at it, trying to grasp the meaning
of such a large sum.
What was he paying
her for, saving Stani's life or not telling her story to the tabloid
press?
As if she would tell anyone, even
those closest to her, what had happened in this room.
She had made a pact with Stani that no one
would ever know her name.
Not that this
Milo, whoever he was, would know that.
Still, it felt as if she were being warned, if not threatened, against
doing something ugly and self-serving, by a man who had never even met her.
She stuffed the
letter and the check back into the envelope and dropped it in her open
purse.
She wouldn't take the money,
wouldn't cash the check, she resolved angrily.
Surely that would tell him what kind of person she was.
Savagely
dusting the mantel, she fought the overwhelming sense of disappointment that
someone so close to Stani would think she wanted payment for trying to keep him
alive until he could be safely returned to them.
She wondered if Stani himself knew about this
letter.
Maybe he had even asked this man
to write to her.
After all, what did she
really know about him, other than the fact that he was talented and
famous?
Those things didn't necessarily
mean that he was a nice person.
On the
contrary, maybe Jack had been right in saying he was a “bad boy.”
He could well be the spoiled, temperamental,
self-important sort of person so often associated with such a meteoric rise to
fame.
Sinking into
the armchair nearest the fire, she sat staring into the flames.
She would never know what sort of man he
was.
She was here and he was somewhere
being pampered and petted back to health.
What he thought of her, or didn't think of her, didn't change a
thing.
She had promised to let him go
and prayed that he would recover, and the letter at least assured her of
that.
She would look forward to the time
when she stopped thinking about him, where he was and how he was.
Surely with so many things to occupy her
mind, she would start to forget him.
They had spent
less than twenty-four hours together, and he had been unconscious virtually all
of that time.
She had never even heard
his voice.
Why did she feel she knew
him, shared some bond with him?
She had
never been inclined to be romantic, to fantasize over film stars or devour
those silly romance novels.
Surely, she
hadn't developed a case of idol worship.
No, even she had to admit, her emotions ran much deeper than that.
The best thing to do, she decided, was just
what Jack had said, give herself time.
One day, Stani Moss would be just someone she'd had the opportunity to shelter
from a storm, and she would forget those few shared moments when she believed
he had tried to comfort her in return.
Chapter Twenty
When Stani woke
on New Year's Day, he had no memory of the past ten days.
He thought he recalled waking up, or trying
to, several times before.
But each time
a burning sensation had rushed up his right arm, followed by a shower of sparks
behind his eyelids.
In just seconds, he
was floating above the bed, freed of the pain that seared his left shoulder and
pounded in his skull.
He thought he
remembered trying to raise his left arm once, but it wasn't there by his
side.
Instead, he could see a tube
draining bright red liquid from his shoulder into a bag nearby.
The more he searched for his arm, the more
frantic he became, until finally he thought he heard a scream.
For a few terrified minutes, he'd been
certain his arm was missing.
Had he only
imagined himself being held in the strong comforting arms of his old friend
John?
When he'd finally located his left
hand, lying limp across his midsection, he'd held on tightly, as the shower of
sparks lifted him above the pain again.
He thought he
had seen Jana beside him each time he'd tried to open his eyes.
The worry and fatigue on her face told him it
was bad, whatever was happening to him.
Now that he was fully awake, he could see her there above him, watching
him closely, tears in her eyes.
She
spoke to him, assuring him that he was going to be all right now.
He knew he was hurt, his head, his arm, what
else?
He wanted to ask, but couldn't
find words.
So he listened, hoping to
hear the answers.
Jana told him
to wait, as if he could do otherwise.
She was going to find Milo.
When
they stood, one on either side of the bed, Stani knew they were going to tell
him what had happened.
As he looked from
one tired face to the other, he was suddenly very afraid.
They explained to him—each finishing the
other's careful sentences—that he had been in an accident ten days ago.
He was in a hospital now in New York.
He'd had surgery on his shoulder, and his arm
was strapped to his body while his shoulder began to heal.
He had suffered a concussion and a bad cut
over his ear.
It would take some time,
but he would be fine they promised.
Now
he just needed to rest and let them take care of everything.
It never
occurred to Stani to ask questions.
The
little they had told him, he found overwhelming.
He clung to the thought that nothing more was
expected of him.
Just rest.
He needed to rest now.
He learned that John Kimble had indeed come
all the way from London to stand outside his door.
And Peg was there, sleeping in the room at
night so that Jana could get some rest.
He never questioned how they came to be there.
It was comfort enough to know that they were,
as they had always done, taking care of everything for him.
Chapter Twenty-one
Emily had
decided she would use the hours it took to drive back to Williamsburg for
sorting her thoughts and planning what she would say about her holiday.
She had promised herself not to tell any more
lies, so she'd just tell anyone who asked that she'd had a last-minute change
of plans and gone home for Christmas.
The only person she knew she'd have to tell the whole truth, or at least
most of the truth, was Penny.
Penny
would know the minute she set foot in the room they shared that something life
changing had occurred over the past two weeks.
Since almost
the beginning of Emily's freshman year, they had been roommates and best
friends.
Initially, Emily had been
assigned to room with a girl who was much more interested in studying life on
campus than anything contained between the covers of a textbook.
Their room was the scene of nightly coed
gatherings, and one weekend Emily was asked if she'd mind finding another place
to stay while her roommate's boyfriend slept over.
She spent all of her time outside of classes
in the library, where at least she could study in peace.
She was thoroughly miserable, far from home
and worrying about her father, without a friend or even the comfort of her own
room.
After several late nights in the
library, she’d been approached by one of the students who worked there for
extra cash.
Penny Riley was two years
older, a pre-law student on scholarship.
A tiny girl with a big voice and a bigger heart, she was always quick to
detect a soul in need.
She had noticed
the pretty, sad young girl sitting alone night after night, and never one to be
shy, slipped her an invitation to join her for coffee later.
Once Penny
offered a sympathetic ear, Emily had told her the problem, with the result that
Penny suggested they try to switch rooms and bunk together.
Secretly, the older girl was concerned that
the atmosphere in the dorm might drive Emily to abandon school altogether.
With the help of an understanding dorm
supervisor, they had made the switch and been together ever since.
Emily smiled to
herself as she acknowledged that Penny, of all people, would forgive her
deception.
Penny knew the value of a lie
when used for a good reason.
It was
Penny who had made up that outrageous tale to put an end to the gossip that had
circulated the dorm.
When Emily had
refused to discuss her family or her home, for fear of being pitied, rumors had
started.
They had evolved into a broad
fantasy, in which Emily was an orphan, a
real
orphan, who had grown up
in an orphanage.
A wealthy benefactor
was paying her way through school, providing her with her nice clothes and her
much-envied car.
As with all rumors,
this one eventually found its way back to Emily.
She had confronted the first person she could
find who would repeat the story, unfortunately in the company of a dozen other
students in the dorm's lounge.
As the
details unfolded, she had been devastated.
But with as much dignity as she could muster, she’d walked out of the
lounge with her head held high, declaring that she had never heard anything so
ridiculous.
Penny had stayed behind,
returning to their room later with a wickedly self-satisfied grin on her face.