Everything but the marriage (3 page)

"None that I can see."

"How long was she in the water?"

"Not long before I got to her and pulled her head up. It took a little while longer to get both of us out of the water. And it was a while after that before I got her home. She was cold, so I put her in a warm shower and then put her in bed."

"Sounds good so far. I'd like to see her."

"Be my guest." Devlin circled the breakfast bar and led the way into the bedroom.

The woman was still lying where he'd left her, but when he stopped beside the bed, he saw that her eyes were open. He'd grown so accustomed to her being unconscious that it was a shock to see her awake.

He'd turned on a lamp near the bed earlier, and in its hght, he could see that her eyes were large, the color hovering somewhere between blue and green. At another time, he might have thought them beautiful. At the moment, he was struck by their complete lack of expression.

She didn't seem at all disturbed to find herself in an unfamiliar bed, with two strange men standing over her. She stared at him for a long, silent moment before her eyes shifted over his shoulder to Ben. She gave him the same silent scrutiny and then closed her eyes as if losing interest in keeping them open.

It was left to Ben to speak. Something in that wide blue-green gaze had left Devlin voiceless. He stepped back automatically as Ben edged by him and sat on the side of the bed. The woman's eyes opened again as she felt the bed dip, but she only stared at Ben with that same emptiness in her eyes.

"Hi. How are you feeling?" Ben's voice was low and soothing. He reached for her arm, which was lying on top of the covers, his fingers searching for her pulse. She watched him for a moment, as if debating whether or not to answer him.

"I'm okay," she said at last. Her voice was so low Devlin had to strain to hear it.

"Good. Do you remember your name?"

"Annalise/' she said slowly, frowning as if it were an effort to remember. "Annalise St. John."

"Do you remember falling in the river a little while ago?"

"No."

"Devlin pulled you out." Ben gestured over his shoulder to where Devlin stood silently watching. Her gaze shifted to Devlin, but there was no visible change in her expression, nothing to tell Devlin that she was glad he'd saved her life.

"Fm Ben Masters and Vm a doctor," Ben continued when she offered no response. "Would you mind if I checked you over? Made sure everything was in working order?" His friendly smile got no response. Her thin shoulders lifted in a gesture of indifference.

Taking that for consent, Ben glanced at Devlin. "Can you get my bag? It's in the front seat."

"Sure." Devlin left, glad of an excuse to leave the room. Something about that blank gaze made him uneasy. It was like looking at someone whose soul had abandoned her.

Who was Annalise St. John, and what had happened to drive all the life from her eyes?

Chapter 2

Well, it would be a good idea to run a few tests— a blood workup, maybe. But I don't think there's anything physically wrong with her that about a week's worth of sleep and three square meals a day won't fix."

Ben and Devlin were seated at the breakfast bar, fresh mugs of coffee in front of them. Outside, the rain had gone from a downpour to a steady drizzle that slanted past the windows.

Annalise St. John was asleep again. She'd allowed Ben to examine her and then drifted off to sleep, apparently indifferent to his findings.

"So what's wrong with her?" Devlin asked, cradling his palms around his coffee.

"She's exhausted and undernourished. Could be anorexia," he said, more to himself than Devlin. He shook his head. "I don't think that's it, though. If I had to guess—which I do—I'd say she either hasn't had the money for food or doesn't care enough to bother eating."

"Doesn't care enough?" Devlin raised his brows. "I'd never really thought of food as something you had to care about to eat."

"Well, I can't be sure without seeing more of her, but I'd say your Annalise has a pretty nasty case of depression."

Devlin nearly protested Ben designating her as "his" Annalise, but it wasn't important enough to argue. "Depressed enough to commit suicide?" he asked slowly, remembering those moments when she'd stood on the riverbank across from him.

Ben shot him a quick look, his dark eyes sharp with interest. "Hard to say. Depression affects different people different ways. She seems very passive now, too passive to bother killing herself, I'd say. But that's not to say it's not possible. Is that what you think happened? She jumped in the river?"

"I don't know." Devlin lifted his shoulder in a shrug, half sorry he'd mentioned the possibility. It seemed like an intrusion into her privacy somehow. "It was getting dark, and the rain made it nearly impossible to see."

"Well, no one could say for sure but Annalise, and I'm not even sure she'd remember. She doesn't seem to remember much of anything."

"Amnesia?" Devlin questioned, startled.

"No. More like an immense indifference. Or maybe she thought I was being too nosy for my own good," he added with a grin.

Devlin's smile was perfunctory. Remembering those empty eyes, he didn't think Annalise cared what questions Ben asked. He didn't think she cared about anything.

"I can arrange to have her admitted to the hospital," Ben said briskly.

"The hospital? I thought you said there was nothing physically wrong with her."

"Depression is a treatable medical condition," Ben said.

"So she needs drugs or therapy to recover?"

"Not necessarily. There's no one treatment for depression. We'd have to do some testing. Hopefully, we could get some cooperation from her."

"Did you suggest this to her?"

"She fell asleep on me before I could mention it."

Devlin frowned down into his coffee cup. Ben was offering the obvious solution. Annalise St. John would be taken off his hands, given into the care of competent professionals who could help her deal with her problems. He could forget all about her and get on with finishing his house.

"I think I'll just let her sleep here tonight," he said slowly. "If she wants to go to the hospital tomorrow, I'll bring her m."

"Okay. Let me know how she's doing one way or another and don't hesitate to call if you need me." He

drank the last of his coffee and slid off the high stool. "Fve got early appointments in the morning so Vm going to head home. Fll give you a call tomorrow."

"Yeah. Thanks." Devlin stood up and held out his hand. "Thanks for everything. Send me a bill."

"I will." Ben grinned. "I make it a point to send bills to patients I figure can pay them."

"That reminds me," Devlin said, remembering the reason he'd asked Ben to come out in the first place. "I wanted to give you a check for your clinic. Kelly tells me you're doing some really worthwhile work."

"Kelly's prejudiced because she works there part-time," Ben said lightly, watching as Devlin dug through a drawer full of screwdrivers, cupboard handles and screws of assorted sizes until he finally came up with a checkbook.

"I feel we're doing some good," he continued. "People don't think of the poor as being a problem in a small town. But Rememberance has grown a lot in the last few years, and the problems have grown along with the town."

"Well, I've been hard up against it in my time," Devlin said, ripping the check out and handing it to Ben.

"Thanks. I really appreciate this." Ben's voice trailed off, his eyes widening in shock as he took in the size of the check. He looked at Devlin. "I was about to say that every little bit helps," he said with a shaken laugh. "But this definitely qualifies as more than a little bit. Thank you."

Devlin shrugged, wishing that he'd just made the donation anonymously, as he'd done with the other donations he'd made to various charities this past year. Maybe it was because he knew Ben through Kelly that he'd felt the urge to give him the check personally. Besides, Kelly had told him the clinic needed money urgently, and arranging anonymous donations took a little time.

"I'd appreciate it if you don't mention this to anyone. Including Kelly." Especially Kelly, he thought. The last thing he wanted was for her to start asking questions about how he came to have that kind of money to give away.

"Sure." Ben folded the check and slipped it into his pocket. "I really appreciate this. To tell the truth, I was wondering how we were going to pay the lease next week. This should take care of that worry for quite a while."

Devlin shrugged, ignoring the curiosity in the other man's eyes. "Like I said, I've been up against it a time or two myself."

He shut the door behind Ben, leaving his hand on the knob as he listened to the sound of Ben's rickety old sedan disappearing down the long driveway toward the road. From the condition of the doctor's car, he thought that perhaps he should have given him a donation toward a vehicle fund.

He hoped he hadn't misjudged Ben's discretion. He hadn't told his younger sister much of what he'd done since leaving home ten years before, turning her ques-

tions aside with vague answers about traveling a lot and offering thin excuses for why he hadn't written.

She'd finally stopped asking, glad enough to have him back in her life that she was willing to accept him without question. Devlin didn't need anyone to tell him that her husband didn't feel quite the same. Dan had never said anything, but it was obvious that he hadn't bought Devlin's vague explanations.

As far as Dan was concerned, there was no excuse for the way Devlin had simply disappeared from his sister's life, ignoring the letters, leaving her to deal with their mother's death and their father's abuse.

Looking at it from Dan's point of view, Devlin couldn't blame him for feeling the way he did. The fact that he hadn't known Seth Russell was abusing Kelly didn't excuse him, even in his own eyes. He should have known. He should have been able to read be-tweoi the lines of Kelly's letters and see what was happening.

He shrugged, as if the physical gesture could ease the invisible burden of his thoughts. He couldn't have done anything to help Kelly even if he had known, but it didn't change the guilt he felt that he hadn't been there for her.

But the past was the past and he had other, more urgent concerns at the moment. Like an unconscious woman with possible suicidal tendencies. And the fact that he hadn't eaten since lunch, which was nearly eight hours ago.

If the former was a problem with no immediate solution, the latter was at least easily dealt with. Getting

some leftover stew out of the refrigerator, he placed it on the stove and turned the burner to a low heat before going to check on his guest.

She didn't stir when Devlin stopped beside the bed. If it hadn't been for the barely perceptible rise and fall of her breathing, he would have been convinced that she was dead.

His hands in his pockets, Devlin looked down at her. There was nothing to be read from her features, nothing to tell him whether her fall into the river had been deUberate or accidental. Not that he'd expected a visible sign.

Annalise St. John. It was a pretty name—unusual. If he hadn't been there to pull her out of the river, would anyone have known what name to put on the body? Or would she simply have been buried in some graveyard, records of her death filed under the name Jane Doe? And would anyone have cared, one way or another, including her?

She was too thin. Her pale skin was stretched taut over cheekbones that were too sharp. One arm lay on top of the blanket, and the bones in her wrist were clearly visible. He pulled one hand out of his pocket and reached down to circle her wrist, frowning when he saw how much his finger overlapped his thumb.

How long had it been since she'd eaten a decent meal? She'd had nothing with her but the clothes on her back—no purse, no jewelry, no identification. Maybe she was one of the growing number of homeless, unable to find work, slipping through the cracks in the welfare system.

Her skin was cool to the touch. Only the faint but steady beat of her pulse under his finger reminded him that he was touching a living, breathing woman and not a pale statue.

How had she gotten out here, so far from town? It didn't seem likely that she'd walked this far. Unless she'd caught a ride from someone. Or maybe his original speculation had been right. She'd left a car somewhere across the river. Tomorrow he'd go look for it, tow it back here if necessary.

He released her arm, straightening slowly, his eyes still on her face. She was fine boned. Even with the added pounds she should be carrying, he suspected she'd have a fragile look about her. Was she attractive? He tilted his head, trying to picture her with a little more flesh on her bones, a touch of color in her cheeks.

But the image wouldn't quite come into focus. He kept seeing those blue-green eyes, completely empty of expression.

He'd seen a lot of misery during his time in prison. His first cell mate had hung himself a year after Devlin arrived. But he couldn't remember seeing quite that same emptiness in Sal's eyes before he killed himself.

He shrugged the memories off and turned away from the bed. Whatever had happened to bring the woman to this low, it wasn't his problem. He'd fished her out of the river, given her a place to spend the night.

In the morning, he'd feed her breakfast and take her to the hospital or any other place she wanted to go.

He'd provide her with money for a fresh start if that was what she needed. Money was the one thing he had plenty of these days. But that was as deep as his involvement was going to go.

Devlin ate the reheated stew, listening to the light patter of the rain on the roof. The weather report on the radio was promising dear skies by morning, which meant he could start on the redwood shingles that would cover the exterior of the house. And if the rain continued, there were plenty of things that needed domg inside. That was the thing about building a house, there was always work to do.

By the time he'd finished rinsing off his plate, the rain had stopped. Looking out the window over the sink, he could get an occasional glimpse of stars through the tattered cloud cover. That meant he'd be able to work outside tomorrow.