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challenged her. But he fully expected her to carry most of the load.
    It would be her project in the truest sense. Which made it the chance of a lifetime for her, professionally. And also absolutely terrifying.
    She drove herself tirelessly and mostly managed to keep her fear that she might fail at bay.
    Donovan was not always there in the studio with her. He would set her a task or a problem to solve and then disappear, only to return hours later to check on her progress, to prod her onward.
    Often during the day, when he wasn’t with her, he took his personal elevator down to his underground gym to work with one of his physical therapists. Now and then,she would see them, Donovan’s trainers. And the massage therapists, too. They were healthy, muscular types, both men and women. They came and went by the kitchen door. Anton, the cook, who was big and barrel-chested with a booming laugh and long gray hair clubbed back in a ponytail, would sometimes feed them after they finished putting Donovan through his paces.
    Donovan seemed dedicated to that, at least, to taking care of his body, to making it stronger—though he continued to do nothing to heal his damaged spirit.
    Or, apparently, his broken relationships. As had happened the first night, people Abilene never saw showed up at the front door to ask to speak with him. Olga or Ben always answered the doorbell when it rang. And they always sent whoever it was away.
    More and more as the days went by, Abilene found herself wondering about that. About the people who cared for Donovan, the people he kept turning his back on. She would wonder—and then she would catch herself.
    Really, it wasn’t her concern if he refused to see former friends. She didn’t even like him. Why should she keep wondering what had happened to him? Why couldn’t she stop puzzling over what could have made him turn his back on other people, on a fabulous career?
    There was the climbing accident, of course. That seemed the most likely answer to the question of what had killed his will to work, to fully engage in his own life. It seemed to her that something must have happened, some thing that had changed him so completely from the out going, inspiring man she’d admired from a distance back in college into someone entirely different.
    She found she was constantly reminding herself that she was there to work, not to wonder what in the world had happened to Donovan McRae. She told herself tofocus on the positive. If she could pull this off, create a design that would wow the Foundation people and hold her own overseeing construction, her career would be made.
    And there were some benefits to being stuck in the desert with Donovan—Olga, for one.
    The housekeeper was helpful and pleasant and ran the big house with seeming effortlessness. And beyond Olga, there was Anton’s cooking; every meal was delicious and nourishing. And the conversation at dinner, while not always pleasant, did challenge her. Donovan might not be a very nice man, but he was certainly interesting. Ben provided a little balance, with his dry wit, his warm laughter.
    Abilene really did like Ben. As the days passed, the two of them became friends. Every night, he came to her rooms for an hour or two before bedtime. Often, he brought dessert. They would eat the sweet treat, and he would commiserate with her over Donovan’s most recent cruelties.
    And beyond the great food, the comfortable house, the very efficient Olga and Abilene’s friendship with Ben, there was music. Anton played the piano, and beautifully. Sometimes after dinner, in the music room at the east end of the house, he would play for them. Everything from Chopin to Gershwin, from Ray Charles to Norah Jones.
    One night, about two weeks into her stay in Donovan’s house, Anton played a long set of Elton John songs—songs that had been popular when Abilene’s parents were young. Anton sang them, beautifully, in a smoky