No Greater Love - Eris Field Page 0,15

rest unless you do.”

Janan caught her breath as she met his eyes that had changed from gray to nearly black. He’s terrified of what tomorrow will bring, she thought. “Well, if it’s all right with you, that other pillow”—she gestured to the other side of the wide bed—“looks very tempting.”

“Come.” He patted the other pillow. “We’ve both had an exhausting day.” After she had settled with her head on the pillow, he touched her finger tips with his. “You said your mother made Ayran for you. Tell me more. Tell me what you were like as a little girl?”

She froze and her long eyelashes dropped instantly so that he could not tell what she was thinking, but she did not draw her hand away. She never talked about the time before the earthquake, the time before she lost everything.

When she did not speak, he continued softly, “Now, take me for example.” He tapped her fingers lightly with his. “Not only did I stutter, I was the clumsiest boy you can imagine. I tripped over things and anything breakable seemed to find its way into my hand. When I thought someone was staring at my birthmark, my stuttering became worse.” He stroked her hand and one slender, cool finger slipped under the cuff of her sleeve to smooth the inside of her wrist. “You’re too thin.”

“Suddenly you are a connoisseur of women?” she jeered, trying to hide her hurt as she struggled to sit up. “No doubt you prefer your women blond and curvaceous.”

“No, you misunderstand me.” He tugged on her hand to bring her back to her pillow. “I meant that you’re working too hard. You’re trying to do too much.” He sighed. “It was a physician’s clinical observation. Not a man’s.”

“Clinical? Who are you kidding? You’re a psychiatrist.”

“Yes, but I was a physician first.” His eyes crinkled and he gave her a wicked grin. “Now, as a man, I would say that you are just right—perfect height, lovely, willowy body, beautiful oval face, and hair that only exists in a man’s dreams.” More than just right. You have eyes that men would go to war for, skin that entices a man’s touch, and lips that curve up at the corners just waiting for a man’s kiss. “Am I forgiven?” he asked humbly as he continued to stroke her wrist.

“Well,” she acknowledged gruffly, “I may have lost a little weight. It takes a lot of work to keep the house ready to be shown to prospective buyers.”

“Yes, and you are working and looking after Carl too.” He scowled as a sudden thought struck him. “Who shoveled your walk?”

“Who do you think?” she snapped in disbelief. “Everyone shovels his own walk.” She peered at him suspiciously. “Who shovels your walk?”

“We don’t get very much snow in Amsterdam. Maybe a light dusting but then it melts quickly or the army of bicyclists going to work make it disappear.” He smiled at her. “You were going to tell me what you were like as a young girl.”

Her eyes when she looked at him were defenseless. “I was gawky, the tallest girl in the neighborhood. The children called me leylek, a stork.”

“A stork?”

“Well, storks are very common in Anatolia. Big birds, some white and some black, with long, spindly legs. They’re migratory. We call them our guests. In the autumn, they fly to South Africa, but in the spring, they come home, to Anatolia, to lay their eggs and raise their young.” Her voice gentled. “Many mate for life and return to the same nest each year in late-March or early April. You can see their nests on nearly every roof.”

“But why did they call you a stork?”

She blushed. “I had very long legs.”

“I see.” The memory of one long slender leg tucked between his as she crouched over him to give CPR quickened his breathing and he moved slightly to hide his response to her but didn’t remove the hand covering hers. “Go on."

“I hated the name but with my long legs I could win every race. I could even beat my brother.” She lifted her head so that she could meet his eyes directly. “His name was Tomas.”

“A fine name,” he said gravely. “In Dutch it means a twin.” His hand closed snugly over hers. “Did you and Tomas play together?”

She nodded slowly. “I haven’t heard my brother’s name in twenty years. Yes, marbles,” she said, holding back tears.

“Tomas had a wooden box of beautiful tiger-eye marbles.” She paused and then said