Chapter One

     Florida!
     Nina Brochard gazed across the expanse of manicured lawn and exotic shrubbery, inhaling deeply of the fragrant April air. This was all so different from France. The best part—it was half a world away from André.
     She had finally taken the step to save her sanity and prayed the price she would have to pay wouldn’t be too steep. Having arrived only the night before, she felt jet-lagged and so homesick she could cry—her entire body ached from the pain of separation. Brushing away the tears she shook her head; now wasn’t the time to dwell on the past or fall apart; there were practical things that needed doing.
     Notepad and pen in hand she went to the garage and hit the switch that controlled the outside lights on either side of the door. When she arrived last night, one of them was dark. Just to make sure, she flipped the switch on and off a couple of more times, but indeed, the one on the left was burnt out.
     She looked at the growing list of things that needed doing. “Most of this stuff is more than I can handle by myself,” she muttered, “but I’ll be darned if I can’t change a light bulb.”
     Leaving pen and pad on the hood of the car, she hoisted the folding ladder from its hooks on the back wall and opened it under the burnt-out light. Three rungs up, eye level with the light fixture, she reached to unscrew the light bulb. Nina was about to remove it from the socket when she felt the legs of the ladder sink into the soft earth off the driveway. She fumbled, trying to grab hold of the wall, scraping her knuckles against the stucco as she lost her balance and fell. The ladder landed on top of her with a stunning whack to the side of her head.
     Nina lay flat on her back in a prickly fern, a knot of branches poking her painfully between the shoulder blades. Her right foot, twisted at an angle, was still caught in the ladder.
     She breathed deeply, trying to clear her head. Her thin T-shirt did nothing to soften the fiery burn of the needles. By wiggling her foot, she was able to free it, but felt a sharp, piercing pain in the ankle. With an effort she pushed the ladder to the side.
     “Are you hurt? Here, let me help you.”
     She looked up to see a man bent over her, his hand outstretched. He seemed gigantic as she lay on her back, glasses askew. In the fall she’d lost one loafer and her hair was likely a mess of unruly curls. The relentless midday sun beat down on her, intensifying the hot wave of embarrassment at being caught in such a predicament. She tugged at the T-shirt to cover her bare midriff.
     Unceremoniously he lifted her in his arms and put her on her feet. “Better?”
     Her clothes clung like a second skin, moist with perspiration. She took a step and bit her lower lip. “Ouch, that hurts.”
     “Your ankle?”
     “Yes. I must have sprained it.”
     “Let’s get out of this heat. I’ll take you inside.”
     She held her breath to keep from groaning and nodded.
     The man put an arm around her waist. Step by step he led her, hobbling on one foot, through the garage and into the house.
     Nina gave him a quick glance. He was tall, somewhere around six feet plus, but she wasn’t good at guessing people’s heights or their ages for that matter. A tan, like dark sienna covered his smooth skin, and smile creases radiated from the corners of his eyes. His shoulders were broad, his body trim … quite a man, a good looking man.
     “Where do we go?” he asked.
     Panting from the pain, she motioned toward the den. “There, on the couch.”
     He carried more than walked her across the floor and lowered her to the couch. Pulling up a chair, he removed her lone loafer. “Now then, let me take a look at that ankle.”
     “It’s all right. You’ve already done enough.” She waved him away, burning with awkwardness from so much attention. Alone in her house with this man, a total stranger, she felt uneasy, and she tried to formulate a polite dismissal. “Thanks so much for your help. I’ll be all right now.”
     Not taking the hint, he gently palpated her ankle, watching her reaction.
     It didn’t hurt, but when he tried to move the foot, she cried out.
     “Painful?”
     “More than that. It’s agony.”
     “You may have broken a bone. There’s a walk-in clinic close by, managed by a colleague of mine. I’ll drive you there.”
     “You’re a physician?”
     “Yes, I’m a pediatrician.” He held out his hand. “My name is Michael Hamilton.”
     His hand felt soft as it grasped hers in a firm handshake. His intense blue eyes held her captive for a moment.
     “I’m Nina. Nina Brochard.”
     He smiled at her, a kind gentle smile. “Nice to meet you, Nina. My son, Brian, mentioned a foreign lady bought this house a couple of months ago.”
     "Yes, I bought the house, but I only lived here for a few weeks before I had to leave."  Her eyes met his.  “Brian’s your son? And Samantha’s your daughter-in-law?”
     “That’s right.”
     “Brian Hamilton. Why, of course. I met them when I was here in the fall. They’ve been so good to me. When I arrived last night I found they’d filled the fridge with drinks.” She pointed at the coffee table. “And they brought the fruit.”
     He smiled. Nina studied him as he sat next to her. He was handsome in a masculine, outdoorsy way. A high forehead and a slightly aquiline nose gave him a strong face, softened by his frequent and gentle smile. Laughter danced in his jacaranda blue eyes. His dark hair showed the merest dusting of grey at the temples. She guessed he’d be close to sixty, as she was.
     “You’ll probably want to clean up a bit before we go.” Michael touched some dried mud on her arm. “Could I bring you a washcloth?”
     “I’d appreciate that.”
     He disappeared into the kitchen and she heard the sound of running water and drawers opening and closing.
     Nina looked through the glass door at the sparkling water in the pool on the lanai, wishing this silly accident hadn’t happened. There were more important things she had to deal with. She thought of her husband, André; his years of betrayal had set in motion an avalanche of forces she’d been powerless to arrest. Her daughter’s anger and threats disturbed her deeply, but her only choice had been to escape to Cape Coral to stay sane.
     Michael’s voice interrupted her troubled thoughts. “There’s mud on your cheek, as well, and dried blood on the back of your arm.” He handed her a damp cloth.
     “Thanks. You’re very thoughtful.” As well as she could, she cleansed her face and arms. She turned to face him. “Better?”
     “Much.” He wagged his finger at her and grinned. “Don’t go away. I’ll get the car and be right back.”
      While he was gone, she tried to get up, but almost passed out from the pain.  So she stayed put and waited for him, cursing herself for being so clumsy.
     Michael returned after a few minutes, holding her loafer in the air like a trophy.
     “I’ll need my purse. It’s in the bedroom, if you don’t mind.” She almost choked on the words. Goodness, it was difficult to ask for help. She was used to being in charge. Now she shrank from being helpless and vulnerable.
     He returned and handed her the purse. “Anything else before we leave?”
     “No.” She needed to use the bathroom, but she’d rather eat live frogs than ask him to take her there.
     Aided by him, she stood, and with his arm around her waist, she hobbled to his car at the end of her driveway, where he opened the door. Leaning against the side of the car, she glanced across the street at the bungalow-style house with its panorama windows and attached two-car garage. Fronted by deep emerald green lawn, the tall palm trees, clusters of frangipani and hibiscus gave the home a simple, understated appearance. Content, she smiled—to her this was a palace—it was her new home.
     “Ready?” he asked.
     She nodded. He helped her into the front seat and moved her bad leg inside.
     “Thank you, Michael.” She tried to convey the sincerity she felt. “I haven’t even asked if you have the time to take me to the doctor. Am I keeping you from anything?”
     He looked at her and smiled. “No. Nothing I’d rather do. I have a few days’ vacation and volunteered to do some repair jobs around Brian’s house. I was checking the sprinkler system when I saw you fall.”
     She laughed. “I’m glad you were there.”
     “So am I.”
     He’d been dressed in paint stained coveralls and a checkered shirt when he came to “rescue” her. Now he wore a pair of jeans and a powder-blue polo. He got behind the wheel and adjusted the air-conditioning. “Too much air for you?”
     She shook her head, appreciating his thoughtfulness. “No, it’s just right.”
     He backed out of the driveway and expertly maneuvered his way along the winding streets. His hands on the steering wheel were lovely—slender wrists, long hands with tapered fingers and well-tended nails. Sensitive hands, made for healing.
     “How come you’re fixing light-bulbs?” he asked.
     “What did you say?”
     “Doesn’t your husband take care of repair work around the house?”
     Her heart skipped a beat, then pounded heavy in her chest. I wish he hadn’t brought it up. For a few moments I was able to stop dwelling on André.
     She shuddered from the memories. “Yes, when he’s around,” she replied.
     “Isn’t he here now?”
     “No.” She hesitated, then added in a low voice.  "We're separated."  She stared through the windshield. “I’d rather not talk about it.”
     “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”
     They drove in silence. The radio played a piece by Boccherini, melodious and soft. She sensed him looking at her and turned to meet his gaze.
     “Brian said you’re from Europe?” The question was in his voice.
     “I’m from Annecy, France. It’s a small medieval town, some fifty miles south of Geneva in Switzerland. Annecy is an old town, charming and a canal runs the length of the downtown area. We pride ourselves on having one of the cleanest lakes in Europe.”
     “I’ve been to Paris and Marseille. La Rochelle. Do you know
La Rochelle?”
     “No. It’s a big country—I’ve seen some of it, but not all.”
     He turned off the road and into the parking lot of a strip mall. “We’re lucky. There’s an empty space by the door. I’ll get a wheelchair, won’t be a minute.”
     “Oh, I don’t need …”
     “Oh, yes you do.”
     Nina clenched her fists, his interruption jolting her memory—unbidden she thought back on the innumerable times André had cut her off. She shrugged, complying, and he wheeled her inside. After she completed the customary forms, she asked the nurse to help her to the restroom. She washed her hands and made a futile effort to pull a comb through her tousled hair. In the mirror above the sink she caught a glimpse of her usually tanned face … now it was ashen, her hazel eyes huge against pale skin.
     The nurse helped her return to the waiting room. Michael and another man walked toward her.
     “Nina, this is Dr. Bradbury. Rick, meet Nina Brochard.”
     They smiled their greetings, and the doctor wheeled her into his examination room. The X-ray didn’t show any broken bones.  You've sprained the ankle.  Painful, but nothing serious."  He wrote a prescription and accompanied her to the waiting room.
     Dr Bradbury patted her shoulder. “Keep that foot elevated and put ice on it.” Nodding at Michael, he smiled at her. “I’ll see you in a few days.”
     Again Michael helped her into the car. On the way home, he stopped at Walgreen's’ pharmacy, and took her prescription to be filled.
     While he was gone she watched the traffic rush by. The street scene certainly was different from any European city she was familiar with—no pedestrians sauntering along; no crowds loitering, window-shopping; and no street cafes, their tables occupied by people having drinks. A profusion of shocking pink bougainvillea and bushes of varicolored ixora created color clusters in the road divider. It’s pretty here. I like it a lot, but goodness how I miss my children and home and all the familiar places in Annecy! She took a few deep breaths to quell the tears that threatened.
     Michael returned, handing her a box containing an ankle brace and positioned a pair of crutches next to her. He slid behind the wheel and started the engine. As he drove out of the parking lot he told her the pharmacy would deliver the medication in a couple of hours.
     Puzzled, she glanced at him. “Why didn’t you get it now?”
     “It’s not like in Europe, where medication is prepackaged. Here the pills or capsules have to be counted and put in sealed vials. Takes a bit of time.”
     Preoccupied she fingered the crutches, hardly hearing him. “I hate the idea of using these things.”
     “You’ll be surprised how much easier you’ll get around with them. Give them a try.”
     “I’m afraid they’ll make me feel even more handicapped.”
     He glanced at her. “You’re right, they might do that, but only in the beginning.” He cleared his throat. “You may think I’m forward, but I’m curious. What’s your background?”
     “I’m a psychologist.”
     “Interesting. Do you work as a therapist?”
     “I did, until recently. Among other things, I used to lecture at the Geneva University. I probably will work again, once I’m settled.”
     Michael parked in her driveway. Opening the door on her side he held out his hand to help her, but she shook her head, grabbing a crutch in each hand.
     “I might as well get used to them until I can walk on this foot again.” By the front door she took a moment to catch her breath, filling her lungs with the aroma of freshly mowed grass and the voluptuous fragrance of gardenia. Her progress was slow and laborious. Reaching the living room she gave up. “My hands hurt.”
     “It’s normal. You’re putting your entire weight on them,” he said. “Where would you like to go?”
     “The lanai will be fine. I love it there.”
     Using Michael’s arm for support she stretched out on a lounge chair. He made sure she had everything she’d need on a low table close to her chair, the crutches within reach.
     He sat next to her and seemed in no hurry to leave. Nina, dreading to be alone, was relieved by his presence.
     “Would you care for a cup of coffee?” he asked. “I wouldn’t mind one myself. Haven’t had my caffeine fix yet.” His bright smile flashed, showing good teeth.
     “I don’t drink coffee, only decaf, but don’t let that stop you.”
     He grinned and hurried inside.
     She relished this time of day on the lanai before the late afternoon sun turned it into a golden caldron, vibrant with light. Inhaling the scented air, she watched and listened to nature. My perfumed garden.  The fragrances were too numerous to identify.
     Michael came carrying a tray. He handed her a tall glass of ice water and set the tray on the table.
     “The picture on your bookcase… is it your family?”
     “Yes.”
     “Mind if I get it and you can tell me who they are?”
     “Sure. Go ahead.”
     He returned with the photo, pulling his chair closer. Holding the picture, he leaned near as she pointed, the heat from his shoulder radiating through her arm.
     “Here on the left is my son, Danny. Next to him is my daughter Lillian, named after my mother. Her husband Jean-Luc stands beside her and in front of her the twins, my granddaughters, Morgan and Natalie.”
     “Who’s the man with silver in his hair?”
     She hesitated, reluctant to touch on the subject. “My … that’s my almost ex-husband.”
     Brow creased, he glanced at her, but didn’t comment. “Nice family. Are the twins identical?”
     She shook her head. “No. They’re like ordinary sisters.”
     “How old are they?”
     “Fifteen.”
     Their dear faces plunged her into an abysmal homesickness. Again tears welled up in her eyes. Not wanting him to see her cry she turned her head.
     “Homesick?” he asked gently.
     She only nodded, afraid he’d hear the catch in her voice.
     Neither of them spoke for several minutes. He glanced at his watch and sighed. “I have to leave.” He handed her his card. “These are numbers where you can reach me any time. Please call if you need anything.”
     She took the card, turning it in her hand, and stuck it between the pages of the book she’d been reading.
     “I won’t lose it.” On the table, she found the notepaper and pen she always kept handy and scribbled her number.
     He took the piece of paper she held out to him, glanced at it and stuck it in the pocket of his shirt. “Anything else I can do for you before I go?”
     “No, I have everything I need.” She reached for his hand and squeezed it. “Thanks for everything. You’ve been very good.”
     “I’m glad I happened by at the right moment.” He gazed at her, studying her face and seemed about to add something. The moment passed.
     He stood. “I’ll be working on Brian’s house tomorrow; I’ll stop by to see how you’re doing—if you don’t mind.”
     Smiling, she shook her head. “I won’t mind.” She felt his hand on her shoulder. A moment later she heard the whoosh of the lanai door and when she looked, he was gone.
     Like a cloak, desolation enveloped her. Then she remembered Michael’s words, “… I’ll stop by to see how you’re doing,” and she didn’t feel quite so alone.