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Chapter One

Night shadows rippled in the waters of the lake and flickered through the needled branches of tall ponderosa pine trees standing at the back of the mountain hotel. A small girl, wandering sleepily onto her second-floor balcony, heard murmuring voices and saw two men walking toward a stone wall at the edge of the water. As the child recognized her father, she leaned against the railing and called out to him, but her voice was lost in the muffled sound of gunshot. Her father slumped to the ground, and in paralyzed terror, the little girl watched as the man dragged Papa by the legs into the darkness of encroaching trees.

Dr. Steve Sherman touched the button on his intercom and alerted his secretary that he was ready for his next patient. As an attractive fair-haired woman and a little girl about four years old opened the door and came in, he walked toward them and offered his hand.

“Steve Sherman. I’m glad to meet you, Mrs. Drake.”

“My pleasure, Doctor,” she responded politely. She had arresting blue eyes that regarded him rather coolly under thick, crescent-shaped eyelashes.

“And this pretty little girl must be Penny?” Steve smiled down at the blond, curly-headed child who was staring at him with unblinking eyes. Her posture was stiff, guarded, and the little girl’s tiny fingers visibly tightened on her mother’s hand.

The child had been referred to him by the Colorado Children’s Mental Health Clinic, and the unusual circumstances that had triggered her emotional withdrawal intrigued him. As a well-known child psychologist specializing in children’s trauma, Steve had gained a reputation as an authority on using play therapy as a means of defining and releasing emotional conflicts in children.

He’d carefully read the thick case-study file on the little girl, verifying that since the death of her father four months earlier, Penny Drake’s behavior had become erratic, defensive and antisocial, a complete reversal from the happy, outgoing child she had been before the tragedy. Without any promise of taking the case, he’d agreed to an initial interview with the child and her mother.

Ignoring the way Penny turned her head away and refused to make eye contact with him, Steve said warmly, “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Penny.”

No response.

“Thank you, Doctor, for seeing us on such short notice.” Deanna answered politely, while at the same time trying to control her disappointment. Dr. Steve Sherman was not at all what Deanna had expected or hoped for. The casually dressed doctor looked more like he belonged on a golf course than in the office treating children who desperately needed help. He wore a polo shirt, open at the neck, allowing glimpses of chest hair that matched the slightly curling reddish-brown shocks of hair falling over his forehead. Tan slacks and loafers added to the youthful look, and Deanna guessed him to be in his early thirties. Her heart sank. She had expected a much older man. She desperately needed someone who was professionally competent and serious about helping her little girl.

“I assume that the Children’s Clinic sent you Penny’s records?” Deanna continued, endeavoring to put some kind of formality into the interview. Handling matters in an efficient, organized way was her nature and had been partly responsible for her success as a businesswoman.

“Why don’t we sit down?” Steve suggested pleasantly without answering, mentally noting her let’s-get-down-to-business tone. The elegance of her short layered blond hair and the way she held her head gave her a regal quality that matched her beautifully shaped mouth and firm chin. Deanna Drake’s negative vibes were a warning to ready himself for a challenge. This might be interesting.

“Have a seat…or a pillow, rather,” he invited as he pointed to a low round table surrounded by soft cushions placed in the center of the large room.

Deanna tried to keep her expression from revealing her reaction. Was the initial interview with this psychologist going to take place here, in this room which held no resemblance to a regular office? Except for a well-worn floral couch and a window seat, the only places to sit were the floor cushions and a few children’s chairs scattered around the room. A desk, a chair and some file cabinets were pushed into one corner, and the rest of the space was taken up with all kinds of children’s paraphernalia. Everything was shoved onto shelves without any visible sign of organization. A line of framed diplomas on the wall shared crowded space with large baseball posters, Mother Goose pictures, Sesame Street characters and childish artwork. How could the psychologist possibly expect to conduct a professional interview sitting on floor cushions around a table that held a pitcher of chocolate milk, a plate of cookies and several stuffed animals and puppets?

“The pillows are more comfortable than they look,” Steve reassured her, noting her hesitation. “Of course, Mrs. Drake, we can go into the conference room and conduct the interview there if you’d be more at ease…?” He let the sentence dangle like an unspoken challenge.

Deanna met his eyes without a flicker of her long lashes. “This will be fine.” She certainly wasn’t going to let this unorthodox therapist make her lose her composure.

“Good,” he said approvingly as if she’d passed some sort of test.

As Deanna sat down on one of the floor pillows, she was thankful that she had decided to wear white slacks and a yellow shirtwaist blouse instead of a summer dress. Trying to keep her legs covered with a short skirt would have been totally embarrassing. She gave Penny’s hand a reassuring squeeze as she eased her daughter down on the pillow next to her. Taking a deep breath, she tried to quell her nervousness.

Steve chose a cushion across the table from them, sat down and wound his long legs into a cross-legged sitting position. “Would you like a glass of chocolate milk?” he asked as if they were at some Mad Hatter’s tea party.

Deanna silently fumed, No, I don’t want any milk. I want to know if you can help my daughter. She hadn’t driven fifty miles down a mountain road from her home in Eagle Ridge to Denver, and also canceled some important business engagements, so she could play tea party. Without comment, Deanna took the glass he offered.

From the way Penny was watching her mother, Steve knew that the little girl had already picked up, with the intuitive perception of children, that her mother didn’t like Dr. Steve Sherman. He sighed. Not a good beginning. The first hurdle in successfully treating any child was gaining the parent’s confidence, and it didn’t take a degree in psychology to know that he was losing the first inning with Deanna Drake.

“I hope Penny likes chocolate milk,” Steve said as he set a glass in front of her. The child’s guarded look went from her mother to Steve and back to the milk. Then she set her little lips in a stubborn line and made no move to touch the glass.

Steve watched her while pretending to give all his attention to his own glass. As much as the little girl might want to drink the chocolate milk, she wouldn’t touch it. Why? What held her back? What was fueling her willpower and resistance? Although he’d had remarkable success working with traumatized children, he knew that when a psychosis was deeply-seated, the psyche protected itself at all costs.

Steve had read newspaper accounts of Benjamin Drake’s murder in the file, and he knew that they had found the child whimpering in a terrified state on her balcony, but whatever had happened on the night that Penny’s father had been shot still remained a mystery. She must have been a witness to the crime. Who knew what secrets were buried in Penelope Drake’s pretty little head? And equally important, would the child be put in danger if he was successful in breaking her silence about them?

“Would you like a cookie, Penny?” he asked, placing one beside the little girl’s untouched glass of milk. Then he took one for himself and laughed as he sniffed it. “Don’t they smell good. Freshly baked.”

Deanna tried to control her impatience. When she’d heard about Dr. Steve Sherman, the child psychologist who had just moved to the Denver area from California, her hopes had risen like released balloons. Maybe he was the miracle she’d been praying for. Maybe he had the expertise needed to help Penny be herself again. But as Deanna studied the man across the table from her, her high hopes were more like helium balloons sagging from slow leaks. The relaxed psychologist’s attention was on pouring chocolate milk and offering cookies, as if the gravity of the situation completely escaped him.

Steve met her frown with a smile. He knew exactly what she was thinking. Deanna Drake had come to him because she was desperate, and he could tell that she had already written him off as another false and painful disappointment. No doctor in a white coat. No clipboard filled with charts. No reassuring medical trappings. A waste of time. Disappointment radiated from her.

“You live in Eagle Ridge, Colorado?” he asked in a conversational tone, as if they had all the time in the world.

“Yes.” It’s in the file, Deanna silently replied as her chest tightened. Everything was in the records, including her hotel management degree and her five-year marriage to a man fifteen years her senior.

“I’m not sure where Eagle Ridge is.” He raised a questioning dark brown eyebrow. “I guess you know I’m new to Colorado. I’m determined to take some time and enjoy these magnificent mountains.”

“Eagle Ridge is northwest of Denver, about fifty miles. It’s a small mountain town that survives on tourist dollars winter and summer. I inherited a small resort hotel from my late husband. Of course, if you’ve read Penny’s case history, you know all of that.”

“Sounds like a wonderful place to raise children,” he said, ignoring the slight edge to her voice.

“I can’t imagine living anywhere else,” she admitted, and then added quickly, “But I’d move in a minute if I thought it would help Penny.”

“Those are my sentiments as a parent exactly,” he agreed. “That’s why I left California. I wanted something better for my son, Travis. I’m also a single parent. I lost my wife when Travis was less than two years old. His grandmother helped raise him, but she passed away last year, so it’s just the two of us.”

So the handsome Dr. Sherman was a widower, thought Deanna. Why they were spending time on his personal life, she didn’t know, but the fact that he also had a child was, in a way, reassuring. “How old is your son?”

“Travis is seven. I’m hoping he’ll really take to Colorado. I’ve promised to take him hiking and fishing this summer, and next winter we’ll hit the ski slopes.” He grinned at Penny. “He’s never thrown a snowball. And he wants me to buy him a sled. He’s always singing that song about Frosty—you know the one I mean, Penny?”

The little girl’s eyes flickered slightly with interest, but she didn’t answer. Deanna silently fumed. Where was he going with all of this chitchat? Since her father’s murder, Penny seldom interacted with anyone or anything.

“Do you want me to sing it for you?” he asked with a grin. The change in the little girl’s stare was almost imperceptible, but Steve’s trained eyes caught it. So far, so good. Penny Drake is bright and receptive. He leaned toward her and whispered in a confidential tone, “I don’t know all the words. Do you?”

Her mouth remained closed.

Deanna watched them both. Steve didn’t seem to notice Penny’s silence or feel rebuffed by it. He carefully broke his cookie into tiny bite-size chunks before eating each piece with delighted exaggeration. “Mmm, good.” He winked at her, but Penny’s expression remained guarded, and she continued to sit rigidly without touching cookie or milk.

Deanna deliberately looked at her watch, a pointed reminder that Dr. Sherman was using up time for which she was paying. She was impatient with the psychologist’s apparent lack of direction and his total disregard for the gravity of the situation. Disappointment created a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

At that moment, there were three short knocks at an inner door and Steve smiled as if he’d been expecting someone. He called out, “Come in, Travis.”

As a small boy poked his head into the room, Steve motioned him over to the table. “Come on in, Travis. I want you to meet Penny and her mother, Mrs. Drake.”

Travis had the same wide grin as his father, and the same wayward russet hair that had a will of its own. His face was lightly freckled, and dark eyelashes and eyebrows framed an alert pair of brown eyes.

“Hi,” the boy said brightly.

“Would you like some cookies and milk, Travis?”

“Sure,” he said as he plopped down on a pillow next to Penny. Then he eagerly reached into the pile of stuffed animals in the center of the table, and drew out two puppets, Kermit the Frog and Cookie Monster. “Here”, he said, thrusting the blue puppet into Penny’s hands. “You can feed Cookie Monster. See, he’s got a pocket for cookies. Take one for him, and one for you.” Leaning toward her, he said in a conspirator’s whisper, “That way you get to eat two.”

Penny took the puppet, and her expression changed to one of wonder as she watched Travis put a cookie in Kermit the Frog’s lap and pop one in his own mouth. “Peanut butter cookies are the best!” he announced happily.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Steve chided gently, silently patting himself on the back. Good move, Steve, old boy. Using Travis to help diagnose the little girl’s social patterns looks like a winner. Penny still didn’t eat a cookie or feed the puppet, but her listless manner had been replaced by a notable flicker of interest as she watched Travis.

“Son, remember the pictures of those huge Colorado mountains?” Steve asked casually. “That’s where Penny lives.”

Travis’s brown eyes widened. “Really? Wow!”

“I bet Penny would like to see those clay mountains you made for our train set.”

“Sure.” He put down his puppet and took the one back he’d given Penny. He grabbed one of her hands and urged her to her feet. “You can be the engineer, Penny. I’ll show you how.”

Deanna stiffened. In the last four months, Penny had never willingly had anything to do with other children. Numerous attempts to get her to socialize with girls and boys her age had failed. She always hung back, guarded and silent, taking in everything with those candid eyes of hers, but never participating. Deanna couldn’t believe it when Penny didn’t even look in her direction for reassurance, but followed the boy over to a large train set on a sawhorse table.

Unable to hide her surprise, Deanna murmured, “I don’t believe it.”

“Believe what?” Steve casually took a sip of chocolate milk, but Deanna detected a gleam of satisfaction as his gaze locked with hers over the rim of his glass.

She didn’t know how he had subtly managed to create a safe atmosphere for Penny, but she did know it was time to let go of the reins. “All right, Dr. Sherman. Tell me about play therapy.”

“The technique is really very simple,” he said, wiping off a chocolate-milk mustache. “Children are encouraged to use toys and other materials to reveal what is being repressed or controlled. Once they reveal those inner workings, we can answer the fears that have been responsible for changes in personality and behavior.”

“But Penny has a roomful of toys,” Deanna protested. “She has people willing to play all kinds of games with her.”

“And they allow Penny her own space—just to be?”

“We don’t push her to do anything.”

“Isn’t it true that for four months you’ve been pushing her to be the little girl she once was?” he asked frankly.

Deanna’s spine stiffened. How dare he question her loving concern for her daughter? “It’s true that I’ve been searching for a way to heal my child’s emotional wounds and return her to normalcy.”

“Pushing too hard?” he suggested quietly. “I know how hard it is for parents to relax and be patient when there’s so much at stake. I’m afraid there aren’t any quick fixes for deep emotional traumas. It takes time, patience and love.”

Deanna looked at the two children, their heads together, one yellow as corn silk, the other the russet brown of autumn leaves. Her eyes suddenly misted, and she lowered them quickly, blinking rapidly to hold back the tears. She was startled when he reached across the table and laid his hand on hers.

He didn’t say anything, and for a brief moment she drew in the warmth of the unexpected touch. Then she took her hand away. Life had not been easy, and she knew that she could be stiff-necked about a lot of things, but she prided herself on being willing to concede when she’d been mistaken. She didn’t need to understand why and how this man dealt so successfully with children. She took a deep breath to steady her voice as she asked, “Will you work with my daughter, Dr. Sherman?”

“There are no guarantees.”

“I know, but you can try. You don’t impress me as someone who runs away from challenges.”

He chuckled. “Are you trying to turn my own psychology back on me, Mrs. Drake?”

“Deanna,” she corrected with a smile. “Yes, I am. What do you say? Just tell me what’s involved—the number of weekly sessions—and I’ll have Penny here. I can arrange to stay in town two or three days in a row. Luckily, I have a good hotel manager who can handle things in my absence. Can we start right away?”

“Whoa.” He smiled as he held up his hand in a stopping fashion. “I’ll need time just getting acquainted before we have serious sessions. Slower is often better when working with children.”

“I understand.” Nodding, she forced herself to curb her impatience. “You set the pace and we’ll hold to it.”

“Unfortunately, I’m clearing my schedule for the month of June. I won’t be back in the office until the first of July.”

Her heart took a familiar plunge. Another frustrating delay. Another heartbreaking marking of time.

“I am sorry,” he apologized. “You see, I’ve promised Travis a summer vacation in the mountains. I couldn’t break my word.”

“Where are you going?” Deanna asked evenly as her mind instantly started racing like a runaway truck on one of Colorado’s mountain passes.

“We haven’t quite decided.”

“May I make a suggestion? You and Travis could be guests at my resort hotel for part of your vacation.” She smiled at him. “Eagle Ridge has beautiful scenery, a river for rafting, a lake for fishing and dozens of other mountain activities. You could stay at the hotel for as much of your vacation as you like. In exchange for my hospitality, you could spend some time with Penny. What better place for your getting-acquainted sessions?”

Her smooth, take-charge manner amused Steve, and he liked the way her eyes sparkled and her cheeks flushed pink with excitement. Deanna Drake had been attractive before, but now her face glowed.

He had to admit, her suggestion certainly had its merits, but there was only one thing wrong with it—he couldn’t treat children in a vacuum. The play therapy room and everything in it was carefully selected and engineered to allow the child free expression of inner feelings. Without the proper setting, Penny wouldn’t release her habitual responses, but would keep on repeating the old ones instead of forming new ones.

He tried to explain this to Deanna. “In order to make meaningful use of toys, or play therapy, the therapist must control all the variables that can possibly be controlled. Any extraneous factors can confuse what the child is revealing, or be so distracting that nothing is accomplished in the sessions. It’s important to have a consistent environment and one that provides everything for the child and therapist to interact.”

Deanna looked around the room, “I don’t see anything in here that isn’t replaceable. If you make me a list, I’ll have a playroom ready that will meet your needs.”

“The expense—” he began.

“Won’t be close to what I’m willing to spend on Penny,” she countered swiftly. “I can easily provide a nice private room in the hotel for your exclusive use. As often as it’s convenient for you to have a session with Penny, the room will be ready and furnished as well as this one. That way, we could begin Penny’s sessions while you and Travis enjoy an extended vacation in the mountains.”

The decision was not an easy one to make. He could have insisted that the idea wasn’t workable. A warning was there that he might become too emotionally involved.

There were other considerations, too. The killer of Deanna Drake’s husband was still at large. As far as he knew, the case was still open, and from what he could learn, there were no real suspects and no definite motive. Since Penny’s trauma was tied to the night her father was killed, Steve knew that the child’s withdrawal was a way of protecting herself. If he successfully helped Penny retrieve a memory that would be a threat to whoever shot her father, what would be the consequences?

What would be the consequences if he didn’t?

Later he wondered exactly what it was that made him put aside his reservations and agree. He seemed to have no choice as he looked into Deanna’s hopeful face, but to smile and say, “All right. It’s a deal.”