Whirlwind. Nancy Martin

      He walked for a couple of miles, but it did no good. Still muttering under his breath, he found himself heading for the hilltop that overlooked Tyler—a sparsely treed vantage point that had once been part of the Gerhardt farm. The Gerhardts, he knew, had been forced out of the dairy business by the crunch in farm prices, and their land had not yet been taken over by the conglomerates that were moving into the area. The top field was overgrown now, the lush grass congested by tangles of wildflowers.

      Cliff stopped at the break in the trees, resting his hands on the weathered fence post, his gaze drawn by the panorama that spread out before him. It was a scene that had often calmed him. The green pastures of neighboring farms, dotted with cattle, were bordered by darker fields of alfalfa, corn and the pale green-yellow of new oats. It would have made a pretty postcard—picturesque and serene.

      But he didn’t feel serene as he glared at the wide landscape that spread out majestically before him. The warm breeze that rustled in the leaves of the trees at his back did not ease Cliff’s mind. Nor did the warmth of the sun relieve the tension that tightened the muscles of his neck and shoulders.

      “Cliff!”

      A gentle voice called to him from the field below, and a fragile woman stood up from where she’d been plucking wildflowers. She lifted a slender hand to the brim of her straw hat and called, “Is that you?”

      It was Alyssa Baron, perhaps his only friend in Tyler. Cliff waved weakly, not sure he wanted to see even Alyssa this morning. But he vaulted over the fence a moment later and went down the hillside to meet her.

      She had brought her basket and was filling it with cornflowers and daisies. To ward off the morning chill, she had pulled a pair of casual but clearly expensive slacks and scalloped sweater over her slim frame. Her pruning shears swung from the worn ribbon on her belt, and bits of earth clung to her manicured hands.

      Alyssa’s fair skin was flushed with sunlight and she wore no makeup to conceal her age. With her light hair pulled back into a clip under the hat, she looked ten years younger than she should have. Her blue eyes were large and expressive.

      For a queer second, Cliff noted how much she looked like Liza. But Alyssa’s was a fragile kind of femininity counterbalanced by the strength in her expression. Liza was more vibrant, in personality as well as appearance. Her features were like her mother’s, but exaggerated—not quite so delicate. And her voice wasn’t gentle.

      Alyssa’s was as soothing as the soft sound of the morning breeze. On a self-deprecating laugh, she said, “I can’t get used to the way you just appear out of the forest. It’s like magic. How can you move so quietly? A man your size?”

      He didn’t answer, and she thrust her basket into his hands, chatting as if he’d made a clever riposte.

      “Don’t tell anyone,” she went on blithely, “but I’m stealing flowers. Do you think someone will arrest me? I’m in charge of arranging centerpieces for the senior citizen dinner tonight, and of course I left it to the last minute! Aren’t I awful?”

      Alyssa Baron wasn’t awful. She was beautiful, and she possessed one of the purest hearts in the world.

      She was also very perceptive.

      Looking up at him, she said suddenly, “What’s wrong, Cliff?”

      “Nothing.”

      Alyssa smiled with understanding. “Not sleeping again?”

      He shook his head. “It’s not that. I just...it’s been a long day.”

      She laughed. “My dear, it’s not even noon yet! What’s going on?”

      He couldn’t tell her about Liza’s arrival in Tyler, Cliff realized. That was Liza’s business, not his. He knew how Alyssa was going to react to that news, and he didn’t want to be around to watch. Alyssa might cry. She wore her emotions quite close to the surface when it came to her children—Liza especially. How many times had she expressed her feelings about her wayward youngest daughter? Cliff didn’t think that he could stand breaking the news of Liza’s return and watching Alyssa’s eyes fill with pain as she soaked in the information.

      So he said, “I’m not used to being around people.”

      “Ah,” Alyssa said wisely. “Did you go into town this morning?”

      “Just for a minute.”

      “That always upsets you,” she said, shaking her head. “I wish it didn’t. People don’t hate you. They don’t know you, that’s all. You make them nervous, I suppose. You don’t know how to chat.”

      Cliff laughed shortly. “No, chatting isn’t my strong suit.”

      “It’s all right,” Alyssa replied, bending into the flowers again and snipping stems with her shears. “I know you’re perfectly nice. Someday everyone else will figure that out, too.”

      As Alyssa cut more flowers for her centerpieces, Cliff held her basket and considered her words. He didn’t disagree. Not aloud, anyway. But Cliff knew in his heart that he wasn’t perfectly nice. He could be perfectly awful—that was the problem. And if he wasn’t careful, somebody could get hurt by his awfulness.

      He hated the thought of hurting anyone. Perhaps that was why he’d come to live at Timberlake in the first place. To be alone. To stay away from people in case he went truly crazy.

      That was his biggest fear, he supposed. Going really nuts. It could happen, he knew. He’d read about other guys who’d come home from Southeast Asia and lived normal lives for a few years before snapping out completely. Posttraumatic stress disorder, it was called. Funny how something so terrible could be made to sound easy to cure.

      Staying at the lodge was safe, though. Cliff saw Alyssa Baron once every couple of weeks—that was it. Oh, a clerk at the grocery store or at Murphy’s Hardware might say a word or two when he made his monthly foray into town, but he forged no real connections. Cliff preferred life that way.

      Now Liza had steamrolled into the lodge and it scared the hell out of him. Cliff realized he was trembling again as he held Alyssa’s basket. It was being around people that frightened him. He knew he was capable of doing terrible things to his fellow man.

      And Liza. She had the power to push him over the edge, Cliff decided. Not knowing the kind of horror she would unleash, she’d taunt and torment and goad him until he exploded. What might he do to her if he went crazy? The thought terrified him.

      Alyssa straightened and read his expression. Alarmed, she put her hand on his arm and said, “Cliff?”

      He shook off her touch. “I’m sorry. I’m—I’m not...”

      “What can I do to help?”

      Nothing, of course. Just stay away, he wanted to tell her. Get your headstrong daughter out of the lodge before I do something insane.

      But he didn’t say that. He wasn’t capable of expressing those feelings, not even to Alyssa, who’d been a kind of therapist for him over the years, whether she knew it or not. Alyssa had accepted Cliff from the beginning without making demands on him. She had not insisted that he talk. Nor had she forced him to spill his guts and explain himself to her. She’d simply taken him into her life the way he was—broken and frightened of the world. And of himself, maybe.

      She said, “Don’t be upset.”

      A lot of responses boiled in his head, fighting to get out. But he said on a tight sigh, “Sometimes I just want to forget everything.”

      “You will. You’ll get over it, Cliff.”

      “Should I?” he asked, half to himself. “Should I keep trying to put it in my past?”

      Alyssa sighed, too, sounding troubled. “I don’t know what to tell you. Some people think it’s best to confront the worst, but I...well, I’m not an expert. I just hate seeing you so distressed, Cliff. Every time you start thinking about