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Down from the Mountain
Barbara Gale
BEAUTY AND THE RANGERThe surprise of his life awaited David Hartwell at the top of the Montana mountain: besides a sprawling mansion, he'd also inherited his late father's ward. Beautiful, enticing Ellen Candler didn't flee at the sight of his scarred face. Because she couldn't see it.Although she was blind, Ellen had never given up hope of one day recovering her sight. But she didn't need her eyes to tell her this overpoweringly masculine forest ranger was running away from something. While he was coaxing her down from her sheltered mountain existence, Ellen was secretly waging her own campaign of seduction to turn her reluctant guardian into a loving mate…for life.
“Are you going to try to seduce me?” Ellen whispered, her throat tight with uncertainty.
“Do you want me to?” David asked, his own voice a husky rasp.
“Yes, I do believe I do.”
It was a struggle to keep his composure. “Then I guess I will.”
“You guess? If you want me, really want me, you’ve got to tell me, David. I need to hear you say so.”
Her face was strained and white beneath the pier light, and he knew it cost the earth for her to say these things.
Lifting her onto the hood of the car, he let her feel the heat of his arousal. Towering above her, aching with passion, he was incredulous at her doubt, and put it off to her blindness. But even if he’d never told her, hadn’t she noticed how he could hardly keep his hands to himself?
Dear Reader,
It’s that time of year again—when every woman’s thoughts turn to love—and we have all kinds of romantic gifts for you! We begin with the latest from reader favorite Allison Leigh, Secretly Married, in which she concludes her popular TURNABOUT miniseries. A woman who was sure she was divorced finds out there’s the little matter of her not-so-ex-husband’s signing the papers, so off she goes to Turnabout—the island that can turn your life around—to get her divorce. Or does she?
Our gripping MERLYN COUNTY MIDWIVES miniseries continues with Gina Wilkins’s Countdown to Baby. A woman interested only in baby-making—or so she thinks—may be finding happily-ever-after and her little bundle of joy, with the town’s most eligible bachelor. LOGAN’S LEGACY, our new Silhouette continuity, is introduced in The Virgin’s Makeover by Judy Duarte, in which a plain-Jane adoptee is transformed in time to find her inner beauty…and, just possibly, her biological family. Look for the next installment in this series coming next month. Shirley Hailstock’s Love on Call tells the story of two secretive emergency-room doctors who find temptation—not to mention danger—in each other. In Down from the Mountain by Barbara Gale, two disabled people—a woman without sight, and a scarred man—nonetheless find each other a perfect match. And Arlene James continues THE RICHEST GALS IN TEXAS with Fortune Finds Florist. A sudden windfall turns complicated when a wealthy small-town florist forms a business relationship—for starters—with a younger man who has more than finance on his mind.
So Happy Valentine’s Day, and don’t forget to join us next month, for six special romances, all from Silhouette Special Edition.
Sincerely,
Gail Chasan
Senior Editor
Down from the Mountain
Barbara Gale
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For Jonah, who sat beside me
during so much of the writing of this book.
BARBARA GALE
is a native New Yorker. Married for over thirty years, she, her husband and their three children divide their time between Brooklyn and Hobart, New York. Ms. Gale has always been fascinated by the implications of outside factors, including race, on relationships. She knows that love is as powerful as romance readers believe it is.
She loves to hear from readers. Write to her at P.O. Box 150792, Brooklyn, New York 11215-0792 or visit her Web site at www.barbaragale.com.
Dear Reader,
It is an honor to introduce two very special people blindsided by life.
Having lost her vision early on in childhood, Ellen Candler has lived most of her life sequestered on a Montana mountainside. Facially scarred in an auto accident, David Hartwell is a forest ranger who patrols the New York State Adirondack Park in solitary isolation. Feeling their differences keenly, they have each, in their own separate ways, withdrawn from the world. When circumstance obliges them to spend three months together, they are confronted with hard choices. They can remain sequestered in their comfortable but lonely worlds, or they can challenge themselves, confront their demons and struggle toward a greater happiness.
Perhaps Ellen and David will offer you the comfort of their own story, as you carve out your own destiny.
Much good fortune,
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
David softened his death grip on the steering wheel, wincing as he rubbed his pounding temple. He hoped the rental agency didn’t inspect its cars too closely because countless deep ruts had kept him bouncing as he careened up the rough Montana mountainside. Forced to reduce his speed to five miles an hour, it was all he could do to take it slow and not bottom out on the isolated dirt road, dusty with July heat. Peering through the windshield, he tried to recall where the potholes were, but he’d been gone too long, and the light was fading, getting on to twilight.
Still, the evergreens were as tall as he remembered, casting the same deep canopy of shade that had made him so uneasy as a child. Even now, twenty years later, and he a grown man, they seemed ominous and forbidding. Interesting how the lush evergreen forests of upstate New York, where he now lived, didn’t make him feel this way at all. Another mile up the mountain, a darting jackrabbit or two, and a house—a veritable mansion—finally came into view.
His childhood home.
David shivered, surprised that after all these years it could still affect him so, this dark pile of brick that belonged on some lonely moor in England, not sculpted into the side of an obscure mountain in the Midwest. Well, he thought as he sighed, no one ever denied that the law was a lucrative profession, and his father had certainly been a most successful lawyer. All this was history; now John Hartwell was dead. Hard to believe, that. John had thought he would go on forever, had warned everybody he would, joked about it all the time, although it had never seemed funny to David.
And leave it to dear old dad to have the last laugh, David thought wryly, the way he’d up and died during the first vacation David had allowed himself in years. A vacation that forestry headquarters had practically forced upon him, insisting that it wasn’t healthy for a lone man to take on so much. Finding himself scuba diving in Antigua, sipping margaritas, dozing on a hot, sandy beach—things he’d never done before—David had thought maybe they’d been right. So it was frustrating to get a telegram insisting he fly home, until he realized that it was for his father’s funeral. To settle John’s estate, as it turned out, because it had taken so long for headquarters to track him down that he’d missed the actual burial.
But he was home, now, staring up at the towering, grand house that John had built, homage to a beloved wife who hadn’t lived long enough to enjoy it. Mullioned windows, elaborate turrets, opulent gardens… David shrugged away memories that haunted him still. It was all so long ago, but now…
Now he was stalling, he realized ruefully. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to climb from the Jeep and, sailor-like, hoist his duffel bag over his shoulder. He was about to mount the wide slate steps when the great oak doors of the house swung wide and a reed-thin, red-haired woman appeared on the threshold.
Wine-red hair and long legs. A good combination, David decided. Young, but not so very. Twenty-five, maybe thirty. Grief-stricken, if the deep lines around her mouth were any indication. But when she raised her head in welcome, it seemed to him that, through the haze of the late-day sun, a burnished halo surrounded her face, and he felt an odd stirring. She had touched something so long buried that he couldn’t put a name to it, but he must have sighed because although her glance fell on him, she took a quick step back.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he apologized as he reached the top stair, his dark eyes searching as they scanned her pale face. Black, sooty lashes made a natural frame for the young woman’s troubled eyes. Green eyes, very nearly luminescent. Uncanny how they almost looked right through you.
It was his face, of course, or rather, the road map it had become, compliments of a drunk driver twenty long years ago, that scared her. It always happened, and in just this way. One look at his scars, the little girls clammed up, and whoever this woman was, she was certainly no different, the way she looked every which way but. He watched her fidget, her flushed face an easy read as she searched for words. Embarrassment was a common response from strangers, though David had never understood it. Shock, yes, even horror and repulsion, he could fathom, but what the hell did people have to be embarrassed about? They were his scars, after all.
Her voice, when she found it, was almost convincing as she denied his accusation. “I’m not frightened,” she protested. “That is, unless you’re not who I think you are. But you are David Hartwell, aren’t you?”
He bowed his head in mock salute although he was careful to keep his voice polite. “Yes, ma’am. The prodigal son returned home.”
“I’m so glad. We’ve been expecting you every day since— Well, ever since your father passed away. Welcome home, Mr. Hartwell, though I am very sorry to greet you under the circumstance.”
David said nothing as she stood aside to let him pass, his face unreadable as he stepped past the threshold of his childhood home for the first time in more than a decade. Probably as big as his entire cabin back in New York, was his first thought as he surveyed the vestibule. But how John loved the finer things in life. Certainly it was reflected in the design of his home. Quiet colors, subtle lines, but everything realized in a way that could only be called palatial—the long refectory table, the gilt mirror above it, the fresh flowers gracing it. Why, the table was probably three hundred years old, the mirror was definitely Louis XIV, and the flowers were…orchids! What in heaven’s name had John meant, coming to live in Montana and building such a house?
“Not much changed that I can see,” David observed ruefully as he maneuvered his duffel bag past the young woman’s slight figure.
She was curious, but her mouth quirked with humor. “You don’t think so? John liked to shop but he hated change, so everything he bought stayed where it landed. Oh, now and then the odd piece was moved, but overall, I’d say you’re probably right,” she agreed brightly. “Of course, he had a very keen eye.”
“No disastrous purchases?” David asked, openly amused. “Not once? Never?”
The young woman laughed and he admired the sparkle in her eyes, even if it was fleeting. “If you only knew how he researched every purchase!”
“Like this was his private museum?”
“John Hartwell was downright obsessed! I teased him about it all the time and everyone told him that he should have been a curator, but he always said that if he’d have been a curator, he wouldn’t have been able to afford his expensive taste! He was an authority on Flemish art, you know. Museums from all over the world called him every day and they always deferred to his opinion! All yours, now,” she said with a vague sweep of her hand.
Amused but unmoved, David shook his head. “This stuff would be very out of place where I live. Best contact the local museum.”
“Oh! I thought— Well, that’s your decision, of course,” she said, the light leaving her eyes. “I’ll be glad to help you, whatever you decide.”
“Now, ma’am, please don’t let’s get all sentimental,” David frowned. “They’re just antiques. There’s no real buried treasure here.”
Although David spoke courteously, beneath his polite manners the young woman was sorry to hear an underlying tone of impatience. She had hoped… It would have been nice for John’s son to have shown an interest in preserving his father’s collection. No matter how small, it was a museum quality assemblage. But what she hoped didn’t matter. She couldn’t blame him for his lack of interest, even if it weighed heavily on her heart.
“You’re right,” she agreed softly, trying to hide her disappointment. “It’s just a bunch of antiques. But still, John would have wanted you to claim something for yourself. He has some beautiful figurines in the library that might interest you.”
“Look, ma’am, how about you pick something out for me? You seem to be pretty well-acquainted with his collection.”
“Me? Oh, no, I couldn’t do that!”
“Yes, you could.”
“No, I couldn’t, really,” she insisted firmly. “It’s too personal a decision.”
“You think I’m behaving boorishly.” David sighed, sensing that her strong conviction was a part of her character. “I had hoped my dad had made arrangements for his collection. He knew I wasn’t interested in antiques.”
“Maybe he had some idea that you’d think differently, once you returned to Montana. He loved Montana and he thought you did, too. He always believed you would return, on a permanent basis. Maybe that’s why he made no plans. Maybe he was waiting for you.”
David countered coldly, angry at the wave of guilt that flooded him. “He shouldn’t have been waiting, and well he knew it.”
Her face clouded with confusion. “But John said you had unfinished business here.”
“I did once, but that was a long time ago and things have changed since then. Once I left—once I made the break—I couldn’t bring myself to return. My dad knew that.”
“But you’re here now.”
“A little late, don’t you think, for whatever he intended?”
“Late for the funeral, perhaps,” she agreed softly. “But not too late to return home. Like I said, John always believed you would, one day.”
“As I said, I’m too late,” David reminded her, weary of their argument. But noting the shadow of sorrow in her eyes, he was sorry to have been so abrupt. Although they had no history to claim, it was nothing short of rude to behave so badly. It wasn’t her fault if she had no idea of the extent of his grief. And his regrets were legion.
“Look here, ma’am,” David said, his voice carefully neutral. “I don’t mean to come off coldhearted, but I’m not too good with words. I guess I’m still a little shell-shocked at how fast everything is happening, but I did love my father and I’d be grateful if you’d cut me some slack.”
The young woman turned away. It was clear that John’s son would not be consoled. “Of course, Mr. Hartwell, I can do that,” she said quietly.
“And please call me David, my friends call me David and— Oh, hey, don’t do that!” David begged, horrified to see a tear roll down her cheek. “I didn’t intend to hurt your feelings!”
“He was good to me, you know,” she explained as she brushed away her tears.
“No, I don’t know, though I guessed as much. I don’t know who you are, remember?”
“We were friends, John and I.”
We were friends. Was that her idea of an introduction? Once again David was struck by the unreal quality of the situation, how changed everything seemed but was not, the presence of this stranger, how she refused to meet his eyes. Unless…
He stepped to one side. She didn’t stir.
He thrust his body the other way. No response.
Holding his breath, he placed his face in hers, but she didn’t flinch. Another inch and it would have been an interesting moment. Well, at least now he knew why his ravaged face didn’t offend her.
“How long have you been blind?”
“You noticed. I wondered. Or were you trying to be polite and not say anything?”
“Polite is not a word commonly associated with me,” David laughed matter-of-factly. “But were you seriously trying to hide your blindness?”
Her smile was lopsided but she said nothing.
“Oh, come on, did you honestly think I’d miss it?” he asked with heavy irony, trying to ignore the faint scent of gardenia that teased his nostrils now that they stood so close.
“Of course not!” the thin girl laughed lightly. “It’s just that I prefer my blindness to be observed as late as possible. When people realize I’m blind, it sort of complicates things.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet,” David said, disbelieving.
But she took him seriously, and David watched, fascinated by the way her mobile face registered the smile in his voice. She might be blind but her eyes were a myriad of emotions. He didn’t even know her name, but the weirdest feeling came over him, that he would never tire of watching the play of emotions on the face of this lovely, sad woman.
