When I See Your Face

“Not really,” the nurse assured her. She was a quiet, efficient person who spoke in a normal, friendly manner. “If you had bangs around your face and a layered look on the sides, the short hair would blend in with the rest in a couple of weeks.”

“Thanks. I’ll do that.”

After they left, Shannon found her brush and fussed with her hair. She wondered when she could shower. She must look terrible. On an impulse, she called the beauty shop.

Marilee said she would give her a shampoo and a cut whenever she appeared. “Don’t worry about other customers,” she said airily. “They can wait.”

Shannon felt better after hanging up the phone. She’d punched in the number without help. Her spirits lifted. It was a beginning. Today the telephone. Tomorrow the world!

She laughed until she realized she was close to tears. That wouldn’t do, not at all. She wasn’t going to get all weepy and make people worry about her when the doctor didn’t know anything yet. Besides, everything was going to be fine.

When Megan arrived, Shannon was ready to go, and they took off for home.

“Umm, the air smells so crisp and fresh,” Shannon said.

She found she could tell where they were by using her other senses. She recognized the clatter of the tires on the old trestle bridge when they went over the creek. She heard the cows at a dairy farm. The scent of incense cedar indicated the woods near the house.

When they arrived, she eagerly got out of the station wagon and waited for her cousin. She’d experienced a sense of vulnerability at leaving the known haven of the hospital, but now she wanted freedom from restrictions and routine.

“It snowed last night. The sun is out today and everything looks pristine,” Megan had told her. “Hold on. I’m coming as soon as I get myself together. It’s really cold today. It’ll be well below freezing tonight.”

Shannon waited for Megan to take her arm and lead her into the house. Lifting her face to the sun, she pictured the mountains, elegant in their coats of new snow. She loved the hills and the sense of family that came to her each time she returned to the ranch. Her roots were buried deep within the rocky soil.

With a painful lurch of her heart, she realized she might never see the place again. The hot darkness descended on her, as if someone had thrown a blanket over her head. She breathed carefully and fought for composure.

“Can you carry your personal belongings? Your gun’s inside the bag. Careful. The flagstones may be slippery.” Megan put a plastic bag into her hand and took her arm.

Shannon pulled herself back from the brink of panic. She walked through the snow to the side door of the sprawling two-story ranch house, guided by Megan’s touch and voice. “Here’re the steps. Up. Up. Let me get the door open. Okay, let’s go inside.”

“Home,” Shannon murmured when the door closed behind her. “It’s good to be here.” She inhaled the scent of fresh pine and cinnamon in the air. “Something smells good.”

“I made spiced cider before I left to pick you up. Kate sent over apple fritters. Mrs. Roddey cut some pine boughs and put them on the hearth.”

Mrs. Roddey was wife to the rancher who leased their land. “Where’s Grandfather?” Shannon stuck her gloves in her pocket, then hung her coat on the hall tree without help.

“He lay down for a nap a little bit ago. I think the worry over you has gotten to him. He’s looked sort of peaked the past few days.”

“Maybe Christmas was hard on him. It is for many people. It makes them feel lonely.”

“Go into the parlor,” Megan suggested. “I’ll take care of these bags and things.”

Shannon touched the door with her right hand, then, going on memory, walked into the parlor, which was the family gathering place.

The warmth of a fire in the fireplace reached out to her as she carefully felt for the glider rocker and took a seat. She exhaled a ragged sigh, as if she’d finally reached a safe place after an arduous trip. She hated the feeling of uncertainty, of being vulnerable—

“You did that very well,” a masculine voice commented.

Shannon gripped the arms of the chair. “Brad?”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” the man said with sardonic amusement. “Rory Daniels. I came by to check on a couple of Megan’s boarders and stayed to welcome you home.”

Shannon realized how ungracious she’d sounded. “Oh, yes, the Good Samaritan. Thank you again for your help.”

She realized Rory must be in the chair that used to be her grandfather’s. Sitting in the big leather recliner, her granddad used to read the Christmas story from the Bible every year on Christmas Eve. That was before the stroke that had left him paralyzed.

Things, times, people changed. A wise person accepted that fact. But it was hard.

“Don’t mention it. As a doctor, I’m dedicated to healing, no matter what kind of animal crosses my path.”

Was it her imagination or was his tone decidedly cooler than his earlier greeting? Had she offended him by thanking him for his help?

“That’s very commendable,” she replied with the exact inflection he’d used on her, irritated without knowing why.

There was a brief silence. “Your hair looks nice,” he commented.

Shannon’s hand flew to the bristly section at her temple. “I had it shampooed and cut before I let Megan bring me home. Marilee said it would blend okay in a few days.”

“It looks great now. You can hardly tell one side is shorter than the other.”

She didn’t want to ask, but there was something she’d worried over during the hours when she couldn’t sleep for thinking about the future. She thought he would tell her the truth. “What about the wound? Can you see where the bullet went in or…or anything?”

She hated the hesitation, as if she was afraid of his answer. She squared her shoulders and waited.

When he moved from the chair, she felt a stir of air near her face. Warmth touched her an instant before he did.

Fingers caressed the side of her jaw before sliding under her chin and lifting her face. She stared up at him, or where she imagined him to be.

She was wrong. When he spoke, she realized his face was nearly level with hers and very close. His breath caressed her cheek as he answered.

“The scar at your temple won’t be visible. Your hair will cover it completely when it grows another half inch. Now under your chin…”

She waited, her breath shallow, for his pronouncement.

“That might be noticed if someone is specifically looking for it, or if they happen to be at this level with your head tilted just so. Otherwise, it isn’t obvious. The surgeon did an excellent job of stitching it up.”

Her breath rushed out in audible relief. Feeling self-conscious, she tried to laugh. That sounded even worse.

“Nothing like being vain,” she finally managed.

“Everyone is,” he said softly, “to a certain extent. No one wants to feel like a freak.”

His tone was deep, with an unexpected huskiness that surprised and disturbed her. He’d sounded amused, cynical, maybe bitter, but also gentle and understanding. Which didn’t fit her image of him at all.

“Well, that’s one worry you’ve certainly never had,” she said, injecting wry amusement in her voice.

“Haven’t I?”

Wondering what he meant, she instinctively reached toward him, as if to check for herself that he was as she remembered. She encountered his lean cheek and chiseled jawline. He had classical good looks, the bone structure strong and masculine, his nose straight, his lips…she tried to think of a descriptive word and failed.