When I See Your Face. Laurie Paige

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.

      She traced the outline of his mouth with her fingertips. His lips were warm, firm and yet surprisingly soft. When they moved slightly under her touch, a tingle of electricity zinged up her arm.

      She drew back, startled.

      Her unthinking action was too intimate. She’d invaded his personal space. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me, to touch you like that.”

      A hand caught her wrist and brought her hand into contact with the warm flesh again. “Go ahead,” he invited. “I like being touched. By you,” he added in a very soft voice, as if it were a surprising afterthought.

      Thus encouraged, she outlined his nose, ran a finger over each eyebrow, then glided over his forehead to his hair. The strands felt crisp and clean under her hand.

      She knew it was inky black. So were his eyebrows and lashes. His eyes were a light, pure blue. It was a startling combination and extremely attractive.

      The scent of shampoo and aftershave came to her. His cheek was smooth to her touch as if he’d showered and shaved recently. She thought how it might be if they kissed—

      “You’re as handsome as ever,” she reported, dropping her hands to her lap, feeling foolish and inept in a way she hadn’t felt since her first date.

      He stood and moved away.

      Toward the fireplace, she surmised. His tall—six-two or so—frame blocked its warmth. Odd, but she sensed something was bothering him. She couldn’t imagine what.

      Rory was a man who had it all—looks, money, respect, the career he’d chosen even though she’d heard his father had wanted him to go into law. What was his problem?

      It occurred to her that he’d never married. He’d dated various women, none of them for long, according to local gossip. Why settle for one when so many were available?

      The black depression returned. Hearing Megan’s footsteps, she was glad he’d moved away. An odd picture they would have made, her exploring his face as if she’d never seen the man before.

      And him letting her…even encouraging it.

      Well, weirder things had probably happened. She clasped her hands tightly in her lap and felt the tingle lightly play over her fingertips and up her arm again. She’d never felt that before, not just from touching someone.

      “Why don’t you stay for dinner?” Megan said to Rory, coming into the room. “Grandfather would love to have a man to talk to for a change. He and I rattle around the house like two lost souls most nights. That’s why I’m delighted Shannon’s here. She can entertain us now with wild exciting tales of her work.”

      “Thanks, I’d like that. I imagine Shannon’s had some interesting experiences,” Rory said.

      “Well, nothing else as exciting as the robbery and ‘shoot-out,’” she said, using the media’s term with a large dollop of droll humor.

      Megan and Rory laughed at her stories as she recounted some of the odd things people did in unexpected situations—like the man who carried the cash register out of his burning store and set it on the hood of his burning car.

      To her surprise, the next hour passed quickly. She even began to relax as Rory took up the conversational reins and amused them with stories of pets and their owners.

      She found herself listening intently. There were nuances in people’s voices she hadn’t noticed before…such as the husky, sexy quality in the masculine baritone. A tingle raced along her scalp and down her neck.

      A noise came from down the hall. “Here’s Grandfather,” Megan announced, rising. “Rory is staying for dinner with us,” she told the older man. “I told him you would be glad of some male company.”

      Shannon felt her grandfather’s kiss on her cheek, then heard him greet Rory in a guttural tone, the words indistinct.

      Rory chatted easily, relating news of the ranches around the valley and the people on them, all known to the Windoms for years and years. He’d always been a polite person when they met, even when they argued over local issues, but now she saw—realized, she corrected—that he was a considerate one, too.

      He told of his plans to breed an Olympic champion. “Big pie-in-the-sky plans,” he admitted with a self-deprecating chuckle. “But if you’re going to dream, it might as well be a big dream as a small one.”

      “I agree,” Megan put in.

      “What’s your dream?” Shannon asked. She and her cousin, only a year younger and her best friend, had shared everything as teenagers. As adults, they had put aside long, heart-searching discussions for the realities of living.

      Megan laughed. “I want to ride that Olympic champion for Rory.”

      Shannon pictured the other two working together on their common goal. They would probably fall in love and marry. Their children would be beautiful….

      Loneliness swept over her with no warning, a terrible desolate sense of isolation. No one would want her—

      With an effort, she pulled herself back from the brink of morbid self-pity. That wouldn’t do, not at all.

      For the rest of the evening, the conversation flowed among the three of them. Her grandfather surprised her by managing to make a few comments, an improvement over his usual silent presence.

      He’d been through ten years of living in a wheelchair, barely able to communicate during that time, all without a whimper. She’d never seen him cry over his fate. Clenching her hand into a fist, she vowed to be as brave, no matter what happened nine days from now.

      A hand touched her clenched one, lightly, briefly.

      She realized it was Rory’s, seated at her left. Turning towards him, she smiled to show him she was fine.

      “Atta girl,” he murmured next to her ear, startling her at how close he was.

      After dinner, their guest insisted on helping Megan clean up. While they had someone come in occasionally to clean the house and watch after Grandfather, they couldn’t afford full-time help.

      A five-thousand acre ranch was expensive to run but brought in little money. Thanks to Kate, the place was solvent, but for a while after her Uncle Sean’s death, the cousins had thought they might lose it.

      Shannon worried that she would now be an added expense on the household budget. She needed to find a way to make a living. Others managed, she reminded herself, as she mentally cringed at the idea of facing people without being able to see their gestures and expressions.

      Besides, she’d be able to see with her right eye at the very least. She was sure of it.

      But just in case, what could she do?

      While the conversation ebbed and flowed around her, she contemplated the future. As a psychologist, she didn’t have to have sight. She could record her sessions and dictate her notes. It would be more difficult but not impossible.

      “Don’t you think so, Shannon?” Megan asked.

      “What? I’m sorry. I wasn’t listening.”

      From