stretched out into the water. Several had fishing boats tied to them. Another had a canoe and a bench.
The afternoon was warm, even hot, although his idea of hot had changed after years in Afghanistan.
Clint could tell from the shoreline and the other docks that the water was lower than normal, maybe by a foot or more. Still, it was a rich blue, which meant depth, and he wondered whether it was fed by springs as well as snow from the mountains.
He went inside and searched websites dedicated to building docks and lost himself in going from one to another, gathering ideas. It was not, he realized, as easy as he’d thought, which was a good thing. He needed a challenge.
It was well past eight when he closed the laptop. He’d made several designs along with a list of needed materials for each. He would take them over to the Mannings’ the following evening.
He stood and the floor swayed beneath him. He grabbed the chair, knowing what was going to happen. He tried to concentrate, but the room was moving now. He needed to get to the bedroom, find his medicine. Lie down before he fell. The dizzy spells were almost always followed by a thunderous headache. He had hoped...
The hall swirled as he used the walls to steady himself. The foot, still sore as hell, didn’t help. He reached the bed. Medicine and a glass of water were on a table next to it. He always left it there.
He lay down on the bed and some of the dizziness faded. Not all of it.
The ceiling still moved. Then the pain started...
CLINT WOKE FEELING as if he had been in a ten-hour battle. His head throbbed, his body too weak to reach the bathroom for a shower.
Light flooded into the cabin. Yesterday, before the dizziness came, he’d been feeling better about the cabin, about being here. He liked Josh. The man didn’t say much, but he didn’t have to.
He thought about Stephanie and wondered if she would be at dinner tonight. He didn’t know why he was so attracted to her. She was far too serious for him, too cautious, too...unreceptive.
Maybe it was the challenge. Or maybe it was the brain trauma. Whatever it was, she was back in his head this morning, crowding everything out but the residue of pain.
He forced himself to get up and walk to the bathroom. There was some good news. Despite the doctor’s warning that his foot would be worse today, it was better. Or maybe he was just putting it into context with the rest of his body.
He took a cold shower to wake up, then a hot one. He limped into the kitchen and poured a large glass of orange juice. He headed for the porch swing. The solitude was jarring. He recognized the irony of that, but since he was eight, he’d almost always been with others, first at boarding schools, followed by army training facilities and finally overseas. He was usually the center of things, something he’d learned in boarding school. To lead for fear of being left behind.
Now he was more alone than he had ever been and none of his mental tricks helped. Not the charm he’d developed, nor a nurtured optimism, nor an immediate goal. He had difficulty seeing anything but emptiness ahead.
He finished the orange juice, limped down the drive and crossed the road that ended in a little roundabout just beyond the cabin. He eyed the path up the steep slope of the mountain. Maybe tomorrow.
He went back inside, and for lack of anything else to do, he started checking out universities to finish his degree. His interest was in aeronautic electronics, but he didn’t find a program that he liked. Maybe his heart wasn’t in it. The thought of spending the rest of his working life in an office was deeply depressing. Although he had a natural curiosity about nearly everything and was a good student, the classroom had been the means of getting to where he wanted to be, and that was in the sky. He liked the outdoors, playing sports and testing himself physically. All that was at risk now.
He found one of Josh’s books and took it to the porch. Maybe it would keep his mind from the future. And Stephanie Phillips.
* * *
STEPHANIE STARED AT the email from one of the few friends she had from the past. Her ex-husband was getting another divorce. That marriage had lasted two years longer than her own. The friend also said he’d made queries about her whereabouts.
A shiver of apprehension ran through her.
Mark Townsend didn’t like rejection. He had practically destroyed her during their marriage and after the divorce. He had stolen her money, destroyed her reputation, made it impossible to practice in the Northeast. Wherever she went, he found a way of preventing her from being hired.
She’d found the position in Covenant Falls when a close friend from vet school told her of an older veterinarian in Colorado who was looking for someone to take over his practice. He’d inherited his family ranch and wanted to go back to full-time ranching, but didn’t want to leave the community without a vet. He was willing to finance the sale for the right person.
She’d told Dr. Langford about Mark during their initial interview. One of the vet’s daughters had experienced a similar problem, and he had recommended that Stephanie take her mother’s maiden name legally. He’d cleared it through the state board and after working together for six months, he agreed to sell her the practice. He’d also suggested she retain the name of Langford Animal Practice. In today’s electronic world, a dedicated searcher could find her, but she’d hoped Mark’s new marriage would dim his vindictiveness toward her.
Now that his latest marriage was ending, she worried he might come after her again. Or would he concentrate his ire on his newest ex-wife?
How could she have been such a fool to marry him?
Maybe he couldn’t find her. Or if he did, his power wouldn’t be as great in Covenant Falls as it was in Boston. True, she wasn’t a lifetime resident of Covenant Falls, but she was actively involved in search and rescue and was a member of the volunteer fire department. She also volunteered in causes that interested her, especially the community center.
Except for Eve, though, she’d avoided close relationships.
She closed the computer and glanced at her watch. She was running late for Eve’s dinner, although she was glad she had conducted her weekly search. It was best to be prepared.
She regretted letting herself be talked into the dinner. She wasn’t in the mood to be sociable. Especially not after reading the email about Mark.
But she had promised Eve.
She changed into a clean shirt but left on the blue jeans she’d worn all day. Darn if she was going to dress up for Clint Morgan. She did add a touch of lipstick. Just a bit. She brushed her hair and braided it back into a long plait. Ready to go.
Or not.
She almost wished for an emergency, and she felt guilty as hell about that. No! It was just that damned email about Mark. It reminded her of her own helplessness, her own sorry judgment. She hated the reminder.
Stephanie tried to look on the bright side. She would see her horse, Shadow, that she boarded at Eve’s ranch, and Nick and the other two people she liked most in
