Chapter Nine

Solitude - it's not always lonely, sometimes it's healing, Devon thought. He sat at the stone table in the gazebo, his sketchbook in front of him, drawing studies of the rose bushes, trying to get the little striations in the leaves, the way the petals drooped on the blown roses, the shape and substance of the rose hips and thorny stems. He used the art gum eraser to clean up some stray marks and blew away the crumbs, chuckling to himself at how adept he'd gotten with that eraser. "I'm an artist in art gum," he commented aloud.

"You're an artist in pencil and chalks, too." Libby's voice, coming as it did out of what he'd thought was an empty gazebo, startled him enough that he dropped the sketch pad. "Whoops, sorry Devon." She picked the pad up and handed it to him.

"What are you doing home - it's clinic day for you isn't it?" He flipped the cover over the pad and laid it down. The Center was closed for installation of a new satellite link-up for the computers, so he was home instead of there, unusual on a week day.

Libby sat down across from him and tapped a finger on the sketch pad, "May I?"

He nodded and pushed it closer to her, "Sure - just remember, I'm still a student."

She flipped through, looking at the drawings. There were a lot of studies of the plants and rocks in the garden - where he'd been trying to capture the essence of the way light and shadow enhanced or hid them. He was very good at drawing the flowers and the leaves, she thought, capturing all the little veins and spots that made them unusual and interesting. "These are lovely - is that the white climbers over by the rock garden?"

Devon got up and walked around to stand looking over her shoulder, "Yeah - I was having a good time drawing them until the bees decided I was worth dive-bombing and I had to move."

"They thought you wanted their territory, probably." She turned the pages over one by one. "Oh, this is nice of Dilly and Joss - look at the face on the puppy."

"I thought you disliked that dog," Devon commented.

"I don't dislike him, just when he messes on the floor." She closed the sketchbook and gave it back to him. "Very nice - I hope you plan to keep doing it."

Devon set it on the table, closed his pencil and chalk cases and nodded, "Yeah - it's soothing." He sat opposite her again, elbows on the table, just looking at her. "You're so pretty today - what's the occasion?"

Libby glanced down at herself. She was in her deep green slacks and vest with a cream silk blouse under it. "Just thought maybe I'd go shopping - see what's new in the stores. I haven't done that for awhile."

"New clothes are nice," Devon said gently. "They can make ya feel good - lord knows, you need to feel good."

She blinked, "I feel good most of the time - oh - I see." She reached across and put her hand over his, pleased that for once he didn't flinch and pull away from her. "Devon - you do know that I still love you, don't you?"

Ridiculously, her simple question went straight through him and he found himself blinking away tears, his throat closed so he couldn't do more than shake his head. Finally, he managed, "N-no, how can you?"

Libby got up and walked around to stand beside him. She put her hands on his shoulders, feeling the tension there, but made him look up at her. "Because you're still you - nobody can touch the essence of the person inside you, Devon - and I fell in love with that person before you were nearly as lovable as you are now." She had been fascinated with Hando - a bit in love with him even then. It wasn't until the real person inside emerged - Devon Wallace - that she had given her whole heart to him. "I love you. I always will love you, no matter what."

They stared at one another. He looked as if he didn't quite believe her, so she leaned down, put her mouth on his, and for the first time since he came back to her, she kissed him.

She felt his body go taut and felt him struggle against her touch - so she cupped his face in her hands, ever so gently, and continued kissing him. She paused, brushed his hair out of his eyes and kissed his forehead, brows, cheekbones, jaw, and back to the mouth she found so beautiful, murmuring, "Devon - Devon - please let me love you, comfort you."

"No, I. . ." he got out, trying to push away from her, finding there was no place to go because he was at the end of the stone bench. It was accept her embrace or fall onto the floor of the gazebo. That fall would be too symbolic, he thought in distraction. Their eyes locked, wide golden eyes gazing down into equally wide greeny-blue eyes, the pupils dilated until they were huge. He did love her so - and her touch was so warm on his face - "Libby - please help me."

She wasn't sure she even heard it, he said it so softly, but his mouth was moving, he was saying, "Please," over and over. "Shut up," she said with a smile, "of course I'll help you." And she kissed him again as his arms came around her body with a fierceness she hadn't thought she'd ever feel again. All she could think was, "Thank God!"

Mrs. Wallace, standing a few feet away, unintentionally eavesdropping because she'd been cutting roses and happened upon them inside the gazebo, turned and walked back into the house as silently as she could. "Thank God!" she said to the two dogs, who looked at her, tails thumping happily on the kitchen floor. "I think our Devon is back home again."