Head up, she limped past Jackson and her mother as she followed her father down the hallway and across the living room. He flung the French doors open and stepped outside. She made a move to join him then stopped.
The deck, jutting out from the side of the cabin, overlooked the lake. From the doorway, Sam saw birch trees with their leaves shivering in the light breeze and wispy clouds trailing across the blue sky. From a distance, she heard the roar of a speedboat. The sun’s warmth invited her to take one more step, to walk to the edge of the deck and peer down at the clear water shimmering in the light.
She hesitated. Her gaze darted from the lake, to the trees, to the underbrush. She’d be exposed, out there on the deck. What if someone were hiding in the brush watching her? She wanted to shrink, grow smaller and smaller, until she was no longer a target for prying eyes. Wiping her damp palms on her jeans, she caught her father staring at her with a frown playing across his face. She stiffened her spine and walked slowly out the door. Pulling out a lawn chair, she sat as quickly as she could.
With a shake of his head, her father moved a chair closer to where she was sitting, joining her. He sat back and stretched his legs. For a moment he didn’t speak as his eyes focused on the distant shore.
“It’s lovely here, isn’t it?” he finally asked, turning his attention to her.
Sam nodded.
“Restful.”
She nodded again.
Drawing his legs in, her father bent forward and lightly touched her knee. “It’s why we picked this place. We’re trying to help you, my dear.”
“But, Dad, I need to be independent. I need to do things for myself.”
His eyes strayed to her head. “Like your haircut?”
Sam pulled at the short spikes. “You were making a big deal out of it. I simply fixed it.”
“A pretty childish reaction, wouldn’t you say?”
She dropped her hands and gripped the arms of the chair.
“You want to stay alone.” Leaning back, he studied her. “How do we know you won’t become frustrated or upset or angry again, and do something equally childish?”
“Like what?”
“Harm yourself.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. “I’m not going to hurt myself.”
“Maybe not on purpose, but after what I saw today, I don’t know if I believe you, Samantha.”
Sam opened her mouth to argue, but in the distance an engine suddenly backfired. She shrank down in her chair.
Seeing her reaction, Lawrence shook his head. “Look at you . . . the slightest noise has you jumping like a scared rabbit. How can you expect us to leave you alone?”
She sat up in the chair and drew her shoulders back. “I don’t need a babysitter,” she insisted.
“Quit referring to Anne as a babysitter. She’s trained in physical therapy and comes highly recommended. Of all the candidates we interviewed, she was the most qualified.”
“You and Jackson
interviewed,
” she stressed, “not me. I haven’t even met this woman. How do you know I’m going to like her?”
A smug smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Of course you’re going to like her.” The smile vanished. “Don’t you trust me to make the right choices for you? Haven’t I always done what was best? While you were in the hospital, I made sure you had the top doctors in the country. When you finished art school, I gave you a job at the agency . . .”
Her chin went up a notch. “Yes, and I’ve worked hard for you.”
“Us . . . you’ve worked hard for
us,
” he emphasized. “You’ve made me proud, Princess, and someday it will all be yours, but you need to get well first.”
“I know,” she hedged, “but just because I need therapy does not mean I can’t make my own decisions—”
His eyebrows shot up, stopping her.
Dropping her hands into her lap, she lowered her head. “Look, I know I have some problems . . . the nightmares, the vertigo, the panic attacks . . . but I’m still capable of living my own life. I know what’s going on.”
He remained silent.
Looking up at him, she saw doubt written on his face. “I do,” she protested. “I’m getting better at differentiating between my dreams and what’s real.”
“What about last night?”
She silently cursed Jackson for not keeping his mouth shut.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve had an episode like that.”
Sitting back in his chair, he watched her for a moment before shifting his attention to the lake below. “You agreed that it’s restful here.” His focus returned to her. “Staying here and letting Anne take care of you is much better for you than living in the Cities and doing your therapy there.” His eyes strayed back toward the lake. “Up here, you won’t be running into our friends all the time. You won’t have to deal with their endless questions about your accident. You can concentrate on getting better.”
“And if I’m away from the Cities, you and Mom won’t have to deal with their curiosity either, will you?”
“Samantha, what on earth is that supposed to mean?”
“It’s got to be hard not having the
perfect
daughter anymore, isn’t it, Dad? If I’m up here, you won’t have to be reminded of how things have changed. Out of sight . . . out of mind. Isn’t that part of it?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He huffed. “We’re only thinking of what’s best for you.”
“I can think for myself.”
“No, you can’t.” He focused on her hair. “You proved it this morning. Look at what you did to yourself,” he said, disgusted.
Not meeting his eyes, she ran her fingers through her short hair. “It doesn’t look so bad,” she said defensively.
“Samantha.” He rose to his feet. “I’m done arguing. Anne Weaver will be staying with you and that’s it.”
Sam let her body sag, feeling drained. She should’ve never let her temper get the best of her. How could she have been so stupid? She’d played right into their hands and now she didn’t have the energy to fight him. Great. Another stranger hovering over her, telling her what to do.
Time to get up, Sam. Take your meds, Sam. Eat your broccoli and carrots, Sam. Time to go to bed, Sam.
Any hope she had for privacy would be gone.
Her father pivoted on his heel and moved toward the French doors.
“Wait,” Sam cried out, jerking forward. “Couldn’t we compromise?”
Turning toward her, he arched an eyebrow. “What kind of compromise?”
“Let me stay alone at night.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He shook his head slowly. “What about the nightmares?”
“Didn’t you say Jackson was prescribing a new medication that’s supposed to stop the dreams?”
“You’ve refused to take your medications.”
From inside the cabin, Sam heard someone knocking at the door. Anne Weaver. Time had run out.
“If I promised to take them?” she asked in a rushed voice. “Look, if they work like Jackson said, I’ll go to sleep and not wake up until morning.”
Her father eyed her skeptically. “Will you cooperate with Anne?”
“Yes,” she said, wringing the word out.
“Hmm.” He looked at her, unconvinced. “I’ll need to discuss it with Jackson.”
Sam rose to her feet and reluctantly followed her father into the cabin. Once inside, she saw Jackson standing in the middle of the living room and talking with a woman dressed in blue jeans and a sleeveless top. A thick blond braid snaked down her back. God, she was tall, a couple of inches taller than Jackson. At first impression, she seemed willowy, but then Sam noticed that her arms were corded with muscle.
She felt weak and helpless next to her.
The woman’s attention shifted from Jackson and landed on Sam. Immediately her eyes focused on Sam’s hair.
Cocking her head, Sam silently dared the woman to comment.
Her mother noticed Sam’s defiant stance and rushed to her side. “Samantha, darling, this is Anne Weaver,” she said in her best society voice.
“Hi, Samantha,” Anne said, holding out her hand. “It’s good to finally meet you.”
Conversation stilled and it seemed that her family held their collective breath as they waited for her reaction. Sam knew what they were thinking. Would she play nice? Or would she be rude? If she wanted her father to agree to give her at least some privacy, it was in her best interest to be polite. She tamped down the urge to tell them all to go to hell and leave her alone. With a tight smile, she took Anne’s hand. She could almost hear their collective sigh.
“Anne,” she said curtly as she tried to return Anne’s firm grip and failed.
Releasing Anne’s hand, she limped to the table and snagged a piece of bacon off a platter as the conversation resumed.
Jackson and her father poured on the charm while they explained their expectations. They began to go over the list of Sam’s medications; her therapy; her injuries. Every time they said the word
accident,
Sam cringed inside. Trying hard not to limp, she carried her bacon over to the couch and sat down. She broke off a small piece and popped it into her mouth while the talk flowed around her as if she were invisible. It tasted like sawdust. With a grimace, she swallowed hard and placed the uneaten portion on a napkin lying on the end table.
Anne had a small notebook in her hand and was taking notes. She paused and glanced over at Sam.
“Would you like a glass of water?”
“No,” Sam replied, rising slowly. “I feel a headache coming on. You really don’t need me, so I’m going back to bed.”
As she stood, she caught the look passing between her father and Jackson. But she didn’t care what they thought. They’d all ganged up on her and she’d lost. No matter what she said or did, she was going to be stuck with Anne Weaver. She might as well retreat to the bedroom and let them hash it all out. Once in the bedroom, she slipped out of her flats and crawled under the covers. Spying Jackson’s book, she picked it up and began thumbing through the pages, the words not really penetrating her brain. Suddenly the title of one chapter caught her attention.
“ ‘Lake Country Ghosts,’ ” she murmured.
“Do you really have a headache?” Jackson asked from the doorway, startling her.
“Yes,” she lied as she slammed the book shut and tossed it on the bed.
Noticing the book, Jackson crossed the room, and picking it up, ran a finger down the spine.
“Not your usual reading,” Sam commented drily.
His shoulder rose. “I was bored, and found this in my room.” Placing the book on the nightstand, he sat beside Sam. “Look, I know you’re unhappy with this arrangement, but it really is for the best.”
“According to you and Dad.”
He shot her a dark look. “You need to trust us.” Abruptly, the darkness fell away. “You’re going to like Anne. She’s highly qualified and I
know
she’s just the person to get you on track.”
“I’m not a derailed train,” Sam replied in a voice tinged with sarcasm.
“Darling.” Jackson’s hand moved toward her cheek.
Sam froze, fighting the desire to scoot away from him.
With a sigh, he let his hand drop without touching her. “By the end of the summer, you’ll be back to normal,” he said with a firm nod of his head.
She didn’t know if his statement was for her benefit or his.
His eyes strayed to the clock on the nightstand. “Look at the time. Lawrence wanted to leave by one.” He stood and looked down at her. “I’m leaving the car here. Anne has the keys along with a spare key to the cabin. That way she can come and go without disturbing you.”
“I don’t like that.”
“Why?”
“How do you know she won’t make copies?”
“She’s not going to make copies,” he replied with a snort. “We wouldn’t have hired her if she couldn’t be trusted.”
“What if she loses the key?”
“Sam, you’re being silly,” he said, blowing her off. “Are you going to come out and say good-bye?”
Easing down in the bed, Sam pulled the covers up to her chin and curled on her side. “No.”
With a sigh, Jackson sat back down on the bed, careful not to crowd her. He was silent for a moment while a mixture of emotions flitted across his face—irritation, disappointment, and finally resignation. When he did raise his head, Sam caught the sadness in his eyes. “Samantha,” he began slowly.
She drew in a sharp breath as her fears from the night before came crashing back.
Here it comes . . . he’s had it . . . he’s going to break off the engagement.
Part of her longed to throw her arms around him and beg him to stay.
“Samantha,” he said again, “I hate seeing you and your father at odds.”
She exhaled in a rush and waited for him to continue.
Turning his face away from her, he stared off into space. “I’ve told you how my childhood was filled with family strife . . . my mother . . . my father . . . the affairs . . . the constant conflict. That’s not what I want in our life.”
Surprised at the mention of his parents, Sam rose up in bed. “Jackson, he’s not allowing me any independence.”
“He agreed to let you spend the nights alone.”
“As long as I’m a good girl,” she said bitterly.
“I’ll talk to him—”
“No!” she exclaimed. “I think you
talk
to him a little too much. Why did you tell him about the nightmare?”
“He had a right to know.”
She felt her temper flare. “And you took it upon yourself to tell him. You say I need to trust you, but how can I when you report everything to my father? Exactly where does your loyalty lie?”
“My loyalty?” he sputtered, his face turning red. “After I’ve stood by you through this horrendous ordeal, you can question that?”
Too late she realized that she’d gone too far and leaned toward him. “Jackson, I’m sor—”
Shooting to his feet, he stared down at her. “Loyalty? Ha! It’s a question of love. Your father loves you, and you take it for granted. You don’t know how lucky you are. Try having parents like mine!” he exclaimed. “You’ve never had to suffer the embarrassment of watching your mother carry on with young men. You’ve never been a pawn in a marital tug-of-war.”
“But—”
He whirled and paced over to the window. He shoved his hands in his pockets and his shoulders drooped. “I can’t
stand
this fighting. Between us—between you and your father. Is it too much to ask for a little peace in my life?”