LITMIR.BIZ

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enough to feel the fine tremors trembling within his grasp.

      Was that Jules’s shocked reaction to his spare, unadorned words? Or the remnants of his own anger running its course?

      But almost as if she sensed the instant he began to analyze the subtle movement, she freed herself. “You’re a man, Mac. Pure and simple. A man who happens to be blind. Millions of people live with that handicap every day and lead full, productive lives—”

      “Spare me the inspirational speech.”

      He’d heard the same lecture from his doctors, the police psychologist, his parents—even his big brother. He should be grateful he was alive. Hopeful he had a 50-50 chance of regaining sight in one eye.

      But a friend was dead.

      His career was finished.

      His life had flashed before his sightless eyes.

      He didn’t need some freckle-faced Florence Nightingale doing the neighborly thing for old times’ sake. He needed to be alone to figure out where he’d made his mistake, and devise a plan to make everything right again.

      “Go home, Julia.”

      There. He’d made himself perfectly clear.

      He turned toward the open doorway. He hoped.

      “I found a pair of sunglasses with the price tag still on them.” She started talking again without comment or argument, as if his succinct command had been an invitation to make herself at home.

      Mac halted his grand exit. With his fingertips, he reached out and verified that he had found the door. The worn contours of sculpted oak reassured him. He wasn’t the one disoriented this time.

      The clang of metal on metal and the suction pop of the refrigerator door opening behind him indicated she was preparing a meal. He ignored the sudden anticipation that wet his mouth and rumbled in his stomach, and concentrated on her words. “Somebody’s trying to take care of you. At least the glasses would protect your eyes from the light, if not from infection.”

      The glasses had been a gift from his youngest brother, Josh. Along with some lame advice about making him look cool, and turning him into a babe magnet.

      Such questionable laws of nature no longer applied to him.

      “You don’t have to be here, you know.”

      The racket behind him stilled, followed by a long, controlled whisper of air. “Yes, I do. For twenty-four hours.”

      Twenty-four hours? What was that about?

      He heard the rustling noise again. Julia was moving.

      Wrapping his fingers around the doorjamb for balance, he tipped his ear toward the intriguing sound. In his mind he pictured a pair of legs, dressed in soft, snug denim, the thighs gently touching with each step.

      He closed his eyes unnecessarily and envisioned her as a fifteen-year-old. She’d had a stocky, muscular build, perfect for snagging grounders and blocking base paths. He wondered what she looked like now. If she’d filled out in the right places over the years. If those muscles had turned into curves. If those long legs he heard brushing together were rounded or straight. Or…good God, what the hell was he thinking?

      This was a fine time for his intellectual curiosity to rear its head. He wanted to get rid of her, not study her like some unidentified lab specimen.

      Then the import behind her odd pronouncement registered through his instinct to analyze and identify. “If you don’t want to be here, then why are you?” he asked.

      The pungent odor of gas catching flame told him she had gone back to the stove. “Your mother was worried about you. My mother was worried about me. Their solution was to put the two of us together.”

      “They’re not matchmaking, are they?” His older brother Brett had recently married, and Martha Taylor seemed to have developed a fever now to find mates for all her brood. For Mac, her timing couldn’t be worse.

      Julia laughed. “Are you kidding? Have you seen me lately?”

      Her self-deprecating joke turned full circle in the dead air that followed. He knew the instant that her gaze searched his back in apology. Mac straightened. Six feet, three inches of stiff back ought to finally get rid of her.

      “Can’t say as I have.”

      “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” An immediate flurry of activity covered the silence. “I’m fixing an omelette for a late breakfast. It’ll take just a few minutes. Have a seat, the chair is two steps to your left. I’ll get some coffee going, too.”

      Hell. Her attempts to distract him from her apology pricked his defenses. He’d rather do battle with her than endure her pity. He already carried enough of his own to choke on.

      He ignored the pangs in his stomach and the curiosity of his mind, and tramped back into the living room. He hit the trash can and kicked it aside, not giving a damn about the mess he’d inevitably made.

      That enticing whisper of denim followed quickly behind him. “You don’t have to like this,” said Jules. “But we should make the best of it.”

      “Fine. You make the best of it. I’m going to my room.”

      “Dammit, Mac, be reasonable.” She snatched his sleeve and tugged him around. Half a turn, maybe. Or was it all the way around? He squeezed his eyes shut against the dizzying confusion. As if the complete darkness was somehow more comforting than the shadowy nothingness of his vision.

      “You look like hell. You need a shave and clean clothes. This scruffy look never was you.” A second hand grasped his chin and tilted his face to one side. “At least let me bandage your eyes. We can’t risk infection.”

      He jerked his chin free of her soft, firm touch. “I can risk anything I damn well please.”

      “What about breakfast? I didn’t see any dirty dishes. Have you eaten at all today? What about fresh air? Sunshine? Do you ever get outside?”

      The woman was relentless. “Too many damn questions!” He twisted his arm from her grip and swatted the air, clearing the space around him, and hopefully scaring some sense into her. “Just leave me alone.”

      Mac headed for the dining room, intending to leave Nurse Jules and her annoying determination behind him. On his second step he banged his shin against the coffee table and let out a stream of curses that would have made his mother grab the soap and wash out his mouth.

      He spun around, planning to skirt the table. His knees butted into the sofa. He took a half turn to the right, ignoring a flare of panic, and ran into the overturned trash can.

      Just like that internal clock, the compass inside him had gone haywire.

      Mac choked back a frisson of fear that erupted within.

      Lost in a spinning world. Trapped among the unknown terrors of his own home.

      Imprisoned by his handicap.

      For a man who had relied on cool, concise thinking his entire life, this continual buffeting of emotion played havoc with his sense of reason. Guilt. Fear. Anger. They were all his enemies now.

      And for the first time in his life, he could think of no way to fight back.

      Chapter Two

      “With a cane you could tap your surroundings and find the way out.” Julia’s calm suggestion made a mockery of Mac’s own common sense.

      “Shut up.”

      He could control this. He could figure a way out of the maze of his own living room.

      The rustle of sound barely registered as he concentrated on getting his bearings. He detected her unique scent, coming from behind him now, an instant before her hand latched onto his.

      For an unthinking

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