Free Dove's Way by Linda Francis Lee Page A

sometimes couldn’t get his hand to work correctly, or the blinding light in his head. He did feel crazy sometimes. Crazed with anger and fury and pain.
    A soul-deep shudder began to work its way through his body. He wanted his brother gone.
    Grayson ran his hands through his dark hair. “God, what a debacle.” He strode to the mantel, where a fire was burning itself out. “It used to be so good. The three of us, bound together.”
    “All for one and one for all,” Matthew whispered, suddenly remembering carefree childhood days of hope and glory, nothing more taxing than adventure and fun.
    “Yes, the Three Musketeers. Always standing up for each other.”
    “Always in trouble.”
    Grayson chuckled. “Speak for yourself. You were always in trouble. You and Lucas. Though I’m convinced that it was that best friend of yours, Reynolds, who was the ringleader of it all.”
    Matthew studied Grayson. The eldest son had worked hard at staying out of trouble but somehow had always managed to make their father angry. As with so many things, Matthew had taken his life and all the golden glory of it in stride, never questioning, never thankful. Taking it for granted.
    He didn’t know then how easily it could be swept away.
    One false move. One tiny slip. And all the world came crashing down as if his life hadn’t been any more real than a flimsy house of cards.
    What stores of energy had gotten him this far in the day dwindled. Despite the fact that Grayson was still there, Matthew couldn’t stand any longer. As casually as he could, he sat down on the divan, pressing his head back, closing his eyes. Without warning, memories swirled, leaping like flames in the fireplace. He thought of the intensely gratifying article that had run in the Boston Herald nearly two years ago. He had reread it just the other day, stared at it for hours, remembering the grand gala given in his honor that had followed the article. But it hadn’t been the gala that he had cared about. Only the reason for the event had mattered.
    He felt the strain sink out of his body, his back relaxing into the thick cushions, despite the fact that he told himself to get up and deal with his brother. But the ease was too enticing, beckoning him down.
    “Matthew?”
    “Matthew!”
    He shook his head with effort, realizing he must have drifted to sleep. Hell.
    His eyes flashed open, and he nearly jumped out of his skin when he came face-to-face not with Grayson but with Finnea Winslet, who peered close, her eyes narrowed with worry.
    “Is something wrong?” she demanded. “Are you ill?”
    He didn’t move a muscle as his mind tried to make sense of where he was and why she was there. “No, I am not ill,” he stated. “And yes, something is wrong. You are here.”
    Finnea’s brow eased and she smiled. “Good. I’m relieved to see you’re back to normal. Ill-humored and pesky as a mayfly.”
    “Just yesterday you said you took back all the unkind things you thought of me.”
    She tossed him a crooked grin. “I take that back, too.”
    She walked away, an odd green-and-gold gown billowing around her ankles. He watched despite himself, feeling the intensity that she always managed to make him feel. He remembered all too well the shape of her long legs that now hid beneath her skirts. He remembered the feel of her abdomen, gently curved beneath the palm of his hand. Remembered the smell of her wild hair and golden skin, like jasmine just after a rain. But then, as always, he remembered the rest of that day.
    When he found her in the wreckage, she had been unconscious and covered in blood. Anyone who could walk away did, disappearing into the thick jungle with a man who said he could lead them out. Matthew had been able to walk but he hadn’t been able to leave Finnea. He didn’t understand then or now the feeling that came over him—the desire, the yearning. The need to save her.
    He explained it away as simple decency. A debt owed—to Janji, if no