Come Lie With Me - Linda Howard [1]
“Miss Kelley?” he inquired politely.
Her slim black brows arched in puzzlement, but she withdrew her feet from the railing and stood, holding out her hand to him. “Yes, I’m Dione Kelley. And you are…?”
“Richard Dylan,” he said, taking her hand and shaking it firmly. “I realize that I’m intruding on your vacation, Miss Kelley, but it’s very important that I speak with you.”
“Please, sit down,” Dione invited, indicating a deck chair beside the one she had just vacated. She resumed her former position, stretching out her legs and propping her bare feet on the railing. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“There certainly is,” he replied feelingly. “I wrote to you about six weeks ago concerning a patient I’d like you to take on: Blake Remington.”
Dione frowned slightly. “I remember. But I answered your letter, Mr. Dylan, before I left on vacation. Haven’t you received it?”
“Yes, I have,” he admitted. “I came to ask you to reconsider your refusal. There are extenuating circumstances, and his condition is deteriorating rapidly. I’m convinced that you can—”
“I’m not a miracle worker,” she interrupted softly. “And I do have other cases lined up. Why should I put Mr. Remington ahead of others who need my services just as badly as he does?”
“Are they dying?” he asked bluntly.
“Is Mr. Remington? From the information you gave me in your letter, the last operation was a success. There are other therapists as well qualified as I am, if there’s some reason why Mr. Remington has to have therapy this very moment.”
Richard Dylan looked out at the turquoise Gulf, the waves tipped with gold by the sinking sun. “Blake Remington won’t live another year,” he said, and a bleak expression crossed his strong, austere features. “Not the way he is now. You see, Miss Kelley, he doesn’t believe he’ll ever walk again, and he’s given up. He’s deliberately letting himself die. He doesn’t eat; he seldom sleeps; he refuses to leave the house.”
Dione sighed. Depression was sometimes the most difficult aspect of her patients’ conditions, taking away their energy and determination. She’d seen it so many times before, and she knew that she’d see it again. “Still, Mr. Dylan, another therapist—”
“I don’t think so. I’ve already employed two therapists, and neither of them has lasted a week. Blake refuses to cooperate at all, saying that it’s just a waste of time, something to keep him occupied. The doctors tell him that the surgery was a success, but he still can’t move his legs, so he just doesn’t believe them. Dr. Norwood suggested you. He said that you’ve had remarkable success with uncooperative patients, and that your methods are extraordinary.”
She smiled wryly. “Of course he said that. Tobias Norwood trained me.”
Richard Dylan smiled briefly in return. “I see. Still, I’m convinced that you’re Blake’s last chance. If you still feel that your other obligations are more pressing, then come with me to Phoenix and meet Blake. I think that when you see him, you’ll understand why I’m so worried.”
Dione hesitated, examining the proposal. Professionally, she was torn between refusing and agreeing. She had other cases, other people who were depending on her; why should this Blake Remington come before them? But on the other hand, he sounded like a challenge to her abilities, and she was one of those high-powered individuals who thrived on challenges, on testing herself to the limit. She was very certain of herself when it came to her chosen profession, and she enjoyed the satisfaction of completing a job and leaving her patient better able to move than before. In the years that she had been working as a private therapist, traveling all over the country to her patients’ homes, she had amassed an amazing record of successes.
“He’s an extraordinary man,” said Mr. Dylan softly. “He’s engineered several aeronautical systems that are widely used now. He designs his own planes, has flown as a test pilot on some top-secret planes for the