Now You See Him

Chapter 1


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Francey let her long toes wriggle into the hot white sand. They were her one beauty, she thought dispassionately. How many people could say they had beautiful toes? And considering that she'd lived most of her life in chilly northern climates, few people had had the chance to appreciate the one gift nature had given her.

Here on the tiny island of St. Anne in the blue Caribbean she seldom wore shoes at all, and when she had to, she made to do with leather thongs. Still, no strange men were falling all over her, rhapsodizing about her toes. Which was just as well. She wasn't going to be ready to have any men falling all over her for quite a while. If ever.

She'd been lucky so far. In the time she'd been staying in her cousin's secluded villa, he'd sent very few people to intrude on her healing process. A couple of elderly women who'd just lost their husbands, a college student breaking away from drugs and an unhealthy relationship, a middle-aged woman facing cancer with remarkable courage. All broken birds, traveling to the peace and serenity of Daniel Travers's rambling colonial cottage. All of them eventually left, their healing processes begun. All but Francey, who stayed behind, walking alone in the sand, waiting for her own healing to start.

But today her luck had run out. Arriving on the evening flight from Boston was the first man Daniel had inflicted on her, and there was nothing Francey could do but accept with as much grace as she could muster. After all, she had no place else to go. At least, no place that she could face. The whitewashed walls of the villa, the wide boundaries of Daniel's land and private beaches, were all the world she cared to deal with. And if she had to share that world with another one of Daniel's charity cases, then share it she would.

It wasn't as if she weren't a charity case herself. Not financially, of course. Her personal fortune, while not in the league of Daniel Travers's, was respectable enough to keep her from having to worry. But emotionally she was as dependent as a welfare mother, and Daniel knew that.

Besides, the new arrival wasn't likely to make many demands. Michael Dowd was a semi-invalid from somewhere in the south of England, a man who was recovering from a near fatal auto crash. The hospitals had done the bulk of the work over the past few months. Now he just needed sunshine and rest, something the villa could easily provide. It was named Belle Reste for just that reason, and Francey could no more resent the intrusion than she could welcome it.

She would have to leave for the plane soon enough, using the absurd, pink-awninged Jeep Daniel had provided, but until then she was going to treasure the last moments of her solitude.

Maybe she should have pushed it. Maybe she should have forced herself to face the debacle her life had become, forced herself to deal with it. She'd been coasting on a mindless, dreamless breeze, the dark shadows left behind in New York. She'd thought there was no hurry, but Michael Dowd was about to prove otherwise. The presence of any man was going to force her to deal with things she would rather keep ignoring.

She could always abandon him to his own defenses, rent a house of her own. The tourist season hadn't geared up yet, and she'd made a few connections during her infrequent visits to town. Something would turn up.

But she couldn't do that to her cousin Daniel or the ailing Michael. Providing a haven for emotionally destitute souls was one of Daniel's many charitable activities, and Francey had taken full advantage of it. The least she could do would be to provide the kind of healing environment she'd been enjoying. She didn't know whether Michael Dowd could stay alone, but she suspected he needed someone keeping an eye on him at the very least, if not outright nursing.

The villa was big enough that he wouldn't have to get in her way. And he was hardly likely to be making a pass at her in his current condition.

She threw back her head and laughed, squinting up into the bright sunlight. Who the hell did she think she was? In the best of times, with the healthiest of males around, she was hardly irresistible. Even the forced proximity of Belle Reste wasn't likely to turn an invalid into a ravening beast.

Maybe she had been alone too long. Maybe she needed to get used to the company of men again. Someone weak and harmless would be a perfect start. He would probably be querulous—most sick men were—and no threat at all. She could cosset him with custards and fresh fruit, and outwalk or outrun or outswim him if he grew to be too much of a pain. He would probably talk about his girlfriend or his ex-wife or both, and he'd probably whine. All in all, there was absolutely nothing to worry about, she told herself.

Nevertheless, she was going to savor every last minute of her solitude. She was going to drink in the hot sun, the cooling breezes, the rich scent of the ocean and the tropical growth around the villa. She was going to sit and drink fruit drinks and think about absolutely nothing at all until she had to face the mountainous drive to the airport. And from the moment she picked up her unwelcome houseguest, she was going to be the perfect hostess.