Come Lie With Me

Come Lie With Me
Linda Howard

The accident that temporarily robbed Blake Remington of his ability to walk also took away his will to live.It would take a woman whose soul was as paralyzed as his body to make him care again. Dione Kelly was Blake's last chance. She knew that, and she knew the challenge his case presented.But what she didn't realize was that, in healing the broken man he had become, by helping Blake to rediscover his strength, she would expose her own painful vulnerabilities and start to heal herself. Bestselling author Linda Howard beautifully examines the dark anguish of loneliness in this moving, heart-wrenching and ultimately resounding novel about faith, trust and the miracle of love.

“I won’t be here,” Dione said calmly.

“You’re my therapist,” Blake snapped, tightening his grip on her wrist.

She gave a sad little laugh. “It’s normal to be possessive. For months you’ve depended on me more than you have on any other person in your life. Your perspective is distorted. Believe me, by the time I’ve been gone a month, you won’t even think about me.”

“Do you mean you’d just turn your back on me and walk away?” Blake asked in a disbelieving tone.

Dione flinched, and tears welled in her eyes. “It…it’s not that easy for me, either,” she quavered. “But I’ve been through this more times than I can remember. I’m a habit, a crutch, nothing more, and I’m a crutch that you don’t even need now. If I left today, you’d do just fine.”

“That’s not the point.” His flesh was suddenly taut over his cheekbones. “I still need you.”

“Linda Howard knows what readers want, and dares to be different.”

—Affaire de Coeur

LINDA HOWARD

Come Lie with Me

Come Lie with Me

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter One

The ocean had a hypnotic effect. Dione gave in to it without a struggle, peacefully watching the turquoise waves roll onto the blindingly white sand. She wasn’t an idle person, yet she was content to sit on the deck of her rented beach house, her long, honey-tanned legs stretched out and propped on the railing, doing nothing more than watching the waves and listening to the muted roar of water coming in and going out. The white gulls swooped in and out of her vision, their high-pitched cries adding to the symphony of wind and water. To her right, the huge golden orb of the sun was sinking into the water, turning the sea to flame. It would have made a stunning photograph, yet she was disinclined to leave her seat and get her camera. It had been a glorious day, and she had done nothing more strenuous than celebrate it by walking the beach and swimming in the green-and-blue-streaked Gulf of Mexico. Lord, what a life. It was so sweet, it was almost sinful. This was the perfect vacation.

For two weeks she had wandered the sugar-white sands of Panama City, Florida, blissfully alone and lazy. There wasn’t a clock in the beach house, nor had she even wound her watch since she’d arrived, because time didn’t matter. No matter what time she woke, she knew that if she was hungry and didn’t feel like cooking, there was always a place within walking distance where she could get something to eat. During the summer, the Miracle Strip didn’t sleep. It was a twenty-four-hour party that constantly renewed itself from the end of school through the Labor Day weekend. Students and singles looking for a good time found it; families looking for a carefree vacation found it; and tired professional women wanting only a chance to unwind and relax beside the dazzling Gulf found that, too. She felt completely reborn after the past two delicious weeks.

A sailboat, as brightly colored as a butterfly, caught her attention, and she watched it as it lazily tacked toward shore. She was so busy watching the boat that she was unaware of the man approaching the deck until he started up the steps and the vibration of the wooden floor alerted her. Without haste she turned her head, the movement graceful and unalarmed, but her entire body was suddenly coiled and ready for action, despite the fact that she hadn’t moved from her relaxed posture.

A tall, gray-haired man stood looking at her, and her first thought was that he didn’t belong in this setting. P.C., as the vacation city was known, was a relaxed, informal area. This man was dressed in an impeccable three-piece gray suit, and his feet were shod in supple Italian leather. Dione reflected briefly that his shoes would be full of the loose sand that filtered into everything.

“Miss Kelley?” he inquired politely.

Her slim black brows arched in puzzlement, but she withdrew her feet from the railing and stood, holding out her hand to him. “Yes, I’m Dione Kelley. And you are…?”

“Richard Dylan,” he said, taking her hand and shaking it firmly. “I realize that I’m intruding on your vacation, Miss Kelley, but it’s very important that I speak with you.”

“Please, sit down,” Dione invited, indicating a deck chair beside the one she had just vacated. She resumed her former position, stretching out her legs and propping her bare feet on the railing. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“There certainly is,” he replied feelingly. “I wrote to you about six weeks ago concerning a patient I’d like you to take on: Blake Remington.”

Dione frowned slightly. “I remember. But I answered your letter, Mr. Dylan, before I left on vacation. Haven’t you received it?”

“Yes, I have,” he admitted. “I came to ask you to reconsider your refusal. There are extenuating circumstances, and his condition is deteriorating rapidly. I’m convinced that you can—”

“I’m not a miracle worker,” she interrupted softly. “And I do have other cases lined up. Why should I put Mr. Remington ahead of others who need my services just as badly as he does?”

“Are they dying?” he asked bluntly.

“Is Mr. Remington? From the information you gave me in your letter, the last operation was a success. There are other therapists as well qualified as I am, if there’s some reason why Mr. Remington has to have therapy this very moment.”

Richard Dylan looked out at the turquoise Gulf, the waves tipped with gold by the sinking sun. “Blake Remington won’t live another year,” he said, and a bleak expression crossed his strong, austere features. “Not the way he is now. You see, Miss Kelley, he doesn’t believe he’ll ever walk again, and he’s given up. He’s deliberately letting himself die. He doesn’t eat; he seldom sleeps; he refuses to leave the house.”

Dione sighed. Depression was sometimes the most difficult aspect of her patients’ conditions, taking away their energy and determination. She’d seen it so many times before, and she knew that she’d see it again. “Still, Mr. Dylan, another therapist—”

“I don’t think so. I’ve already employed two therapists, and neither of them has lasted a week. Blake refuses to cooperate at all, saying that it’s just a waste of time, something to keep him occupied. The doctors tell him that the surgery was a success, but he still can’t move his legs, so he just doesn’t believe them. Dr. Norwood suggested you. He said that you’ve had remarkable success with uncooperative patients, and that your methods are extraordinary.”

She smiled wryly. “Of course he said that. Tobias Norwood trained me.”

Richard Dylan smiled briefly in return. “I see. Still, I’m convinced that you’re Blake’s last chance. If you still feel that your other obligations are more pressing, then come with me to Phoenix and meet Blake. I think that when you see him, you’ll understand why I’m so worried.”

Dione hesitated, examining the proposal. Professionally, she was torn between refusing and agreeing. She had other cases, other people who were depending on her; why should this Blake Remington come before them? But on the other hand, he sounded like a challenge to her abilities, and she was one of those high-powered individuals who thrived on challenges, on testing herself to the limit. She was very certain of herself when it came to her chosen profession, and she enjoyed the satisfaction of completing a job and leaving her patient better able to move than before. In the years that she had been working as a private therapist, traveling all over the country to her patients’ homes, she had amassed an amazing record of successes.

“He’s an extraordinary man,” said Mr. Dylan softly. “He’s engineered several aeronautical systems that are widely used now. He designs his own planes, has flown as a test pilot on some top-secret planes for the government, climbs mountains, races yachts, goes deep-sea diving. He’s a man who was at home on land, on the sea, or in the air, and now he’s chained to a wheelchair and it’s killing him.”

“Which one of his interests was he pursuing when he had his accident?” Dione asked.