Brian was in his quarters, his head resting against the back of the chair, his eyes closed.

When Anna tapped on the door, he straightened and opened his eyes, which narrowed on her.

"Your father's here to see you."

At first Brian said nothing. "Tell him I'm busy."

"That would be a lie."

"When did you get so righteous?" Brian tossed the question at her.

Anna made a show of glancing at her watch, "About five minutes ago."

Brian ignored the humor. "I don't want to see him."

"He's your father," she shouted angrily.

"Do you want me to wave a banner?"

Maybe Anna wouldn't have reacted so strongly if her own father were alive. "That comment was unworthy of you, Brian."

"Listen, Miss Miracle Worker. This is between my father and me. I'd advise you to keep out of it."

"No."

The barely controlled anger showed in the tight set of his mouth. His eyes were afire. "Stay out of this; it's none of your business. You seem to think you've got me wrapped around your finger. You're wrong. I refuse to allow you to dictate me my personal affairs. Is that understood?" His voice gained volume with each word, until the room seemed to shake with the sound. "Get out, Anna," he warned in a dangerous tone. "Get out, before I do something I'll regret."

She took a step in retreat, then stood her ground.

Brian advanced his chair across the room until he was in front of her.

"He's your father," she murmured. "Don't do this to him. Don't do this to yourself."

"Stay out of it, Watson," Brian growled out between clinched teeth.

In the past, Anna had found ways around Brian's pride. Now, facing him his steel-hard resolve, she felt defenseless. There was nothing she could say or do.

Brian's father stood when she entered the living room.

"I can tell by your face what he said. Don't bother to explain."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Littrell," she added in a weak voice. "I feel terrible."

"Don't." He smoothed the hair along the side of his head and reached for his coat.

"I shouldn't have forced the issue."

He snapped the briefcase closed, his back to her. "Give me a call when you think..." Again he let the rest of the sentence fade away.

"I will." Anna walked with him to the front door. "I'm sure everything will work out fine."

Gravely he shook his head. Not for the first time, Anna noted the tired, hurt look in his eyes.

She stood on the front steps until his car rounded the bend in the road. Without questioning the wisdom of her actions, she marched through the house and into Brian's room.

"That was a despicable thing to do."

"I told you to stay out of it," he stormed back.

"I won't."

Brian went out onto the verandah.

"You can't do this to your own father. He loves you. Seeing you like this is tearing him apart."

"You're right, it is," Brian shouted, appearing in the doorway that led outside. "Don't you think I've seen the pity in his eyes? He's no different than anyone else. I don't want his sympathy. I can't stand to see that look in his eyes."

Some of the intense anger drained out of her. "I'd give anything to have my father look any way at me," she whispered.

"Don't confuse the issue with sentimentality."

"Oh, Brian," she moaned, and exhaled a wistful sigh. "Can't you see what you're doing?" You're driving everyone who loves you out of your life."

"That's my choice," he returned bitterly. "I can see and do as I please."

"But you can't play tennis with your father."

The color fled from his face as his eyes hardened. Fierce anger shot from him. "You're right about that, Miss Miracle Worker. I'm not going to play tennis with my father. But then, I'll never play again, so what's the difference?"

The urge to fall to her knees and hold him was so strong that it was all Anna could do to turn and walk away.