Finding the Dream

by Nora Roberts

  rattlesnake." Max leapt back, bunched up, cowered. "God almighty, the posse shot my horse right out from under me. Dead horse, Max."

  For his finale Max wheeled, cantered to the left, and dropped to the ground. Michael tumbled off, rolled. As he got to his feet, he caught sight of Laura, racing in skinny little heels across the yard.

  "Oh, God, are you all right? How did it happen? Oh, your horse!"

  Though he started to speak, Michael found himself too involved in watching that nifty length of bare leg as she vaulted the fence in her neat little lady's suit.

  Max lay dead, hardly flicking an eye when Laura knelt at his head. "Poor thing, poor thing! Is it his leg? Who's your vet?"

  At the sight of the horse lying with his big head nestled in the lap of Laura's pretty blue skirt, Michael tucked his tongue in his cheek. "Looks like it's curtains for old Max."

  "Don't say that," Laura snapped back. "He might have just bruised something." But what if he hadn't? She pushed back the hair that curled flirtatiously at her jaw. "Girls, go back to the house now."

  "But, Mama—"

  "Don't argue." She couldn't bear the idea of either of them witnessing what might have to be done.

  "Laura," Michael began.

  "Why are you just standing there?" Worry and temper warred in her eyes. "Why aren't you doing something? The poor thing is suffering, and you're just standing there. Don't you care about your own horse?"

  "Yes, ma'am, I do. Max, cut."

  On cue, and to Laura's astonishment, the big horse rolled again, then got to his feet.

  "It was a trick, Mama." Kayla laughed gaily at the shared joke while Michael pulled Laura up. "Max does tricks. He was playing dead. Like a dog does. Isn't he wonderful? Isn't he smart?"

  "Yes." Under a ragged cloak of dignity, Laura brushed off her skirt. "He's certainly talented."

  "Sorry." A wise man knew when to smother a grin. Michael rarely chose to be wise. "I'd have warned you if I'd seen you coming. Then you were off and running." He scratched his cheek. "Seemed a lot more worried about my horse than about me. I could have broken my neck."

  "The horse was down," Laura said primly. "You weren't." But everything faded into admiration as Max bent his head to her. "Oh, he is beautiful. Aren't you gorgeous? Aren't you clever?"

  "Max has been in tots of movies." Ali moved closer. "So has Mr. Fury."

  "Oh?"

  "Stunts," Michael explained. He took a carrot out of his pouch, handed it to Laura. "Give him that, he's your slave for life."

  "Who could resist?" As she offered the treat, she spoke slowly. "Didn't I tell you girls not to pester Mr. Fury?"

  "Yes, but he said we weren't." Kayla smiled hopefully up at Michael. Standing on the rail of the fence, she lifted her arms, confident.

  "Because you weren't." He hauled her up, fit her so naturally on his hip that Laura frowned. "I like the company," he said to Laura. "So do the horses. They get tired of looking at me all day. The kids are welcome to come by anytime. If they're in my way, I'll tell them."

  To Kayla's delight, and Laura's momentary horror, he plunked Kayla onto Max's wide back.

  "It's high. Look how high up I am."

  "I'm trying not to," Laura said, her hand automatically going to the bridle. "He's a stunt horse, not a saddle pony."

  "Gentle as a lamb," Michael assured her, then lifted Ali over the fence and put her behind her sister. "He'll carry the three of you if you want. He's also strong as a bull."

  "No, thank you." Her heart settled as she looked into Max's eyes. They were indeed gentle. "I'm not exactly dressed for it."

  "So I noticed. You look good, Ms. Templeton. And you looked damned good climbing over the fence."

  She looked back, into Michael's eyes. Gentle? No, indeed, she thought. But just as compelling. "I imagine I made quite a picture."

  "You don't know the half of it, sugar."

  She stepped back. "Okay, girls, party's over. You need to wash up for dinner."

  Ali started to complain, stopped herself. She didn't want to risk being told she couldn't come back. "Can Mr. Fury come to dinner?"

  "Oh." Discomfort and manners. Manners always won. "Of course Michael, you're welcome to come."

  And if he'd ever received a cooler and less enthusiastic invitation, he couldn't remember. "Thanks, but I have plans. I'm heading over to Josh's to meet his son."

  "Well, then." She reached up, lifted Kayla, then Ali to the ground. "We'll get out of your way."

  "There were a couple of things I wanted to run by you. If you've got a minute."

  "Of course." Her feet were killing her. All she wanted was to take off those damn heels and sit down. "Girls, tell Annie I'll be in shortly."

  "Thank you, Mr. Fury." Her mother's daughter to the core, Ali offered a hand.

  "You're welcome."

  "Thanks, Mr. Fury, for showing us the horses, and the tricks and everything. I want to tell Annie." Kayla started to race off but stopped at the fence. "Mr. Fury?"

  "Yes, ma'am?"

  She giggled at that, then sobered. "Can you teach dogs, too? If you had a puppy, or somebody did, could you teach him tricks like Max?"

  "I expect I could, if he was a good dog."

  She smiled again, wistfully, then hurried away behind her sister.

  "She wants a dog," Laura murmured. "I didn't know. She never said. She asked years ago, but Peter… Damn it. I should have realized."

  Intrigued, Michael watched the varied emotions play over her face. And the weightiest was guilt. "Do you always beat yourself up this way?''

  "I should have known. She's my child. I should have known she wanted a puppy." Suddenly tired, she dragged her hands through her hair.

  "So get her one."

  Her chin set. "I will. I'm sorry." Shaking off the guilt, she looked back at Michael. "What did you need?"

  "Oh, I need a lot of things." Casually, he draped an arm around Max's neck. "A hot meal, a fast car, the love of a good woman—but what we both need is a couple of mousers."

  "Excuse me?"

  "You need some barn cats, Laura. You got rodents."

  "Oh, God." She shuddered once, blew out a breath. "I should have realized that, too. We used to keep some when we had horses, but Peter—" She broke off, shut her eyes. No, she was not traveling down that road again. "I'll be making a trip to the pound, it seems. I'll get a couple of cats."

  "You're going to get your kid a dog from the pound?"

  "And why not?"

  "No reason." He led Max toward the fence. "Figured you for the purebred type, that's all. That's the way some people are about horses. They want Arabians, Thoroughbreds. I've got me one of the prettiest fillies you could want in that stable. She's smart as a whip and quick as a snake. She's what you'd call a mongrel, though. Always liked mongrels myself."

  "I prefer character above lineage."

  "Good for you." In an absentminded movement, he bent down, plucked a struggling buttercup out of its patch of grass, and handed it to her. "I'd say you've got both in those girls of yours. They're beauties. Heartbreakers. The little one's already wrapped her fist around mine. And she knows it."

  "You surprise me." She stared down at the sunny yellow flower in her hand, baffled. Despite fatigue and aching feet, she followed him into the stables. "You don't strike me as a man who'd take to children. Little girls."

  "Mongrels are full of surprises."

  "I didn't mean—"

  "I know you didn't." He settled Max in his stall, latched the door. "The little one's got your eyes, smoke and storms. Ali's got your mouth, soft and wanting to be stubborn." He grinned then. "You breed good, Laura."

  "I suppose I should thank you, though no one's ever put it quite that way before. And I appreciate your entertaining them, but I don't want you to feel obligated."

  "I don't. I said I like them. I meant it. Besides, they owe me for the show. Me and Max don't work for free. I could use some help around here."

  "Help?"


  "Mucking out, hauling hay. Unless you've got a problem with your progeny shoveling manure."

  She'd shoved plenty herself in her day. "No. It'll be good for them." Automatically, she lifted a hand to stroke Max's nose. "You've worked a minor miracle here," she noted, glancing down the spotless building.

  "I've got a strong back and plenty of ambition."

  "For?"

  "Making something out of this. Saddle horses, trick ponies, jumpers. I've got a way with them."

  "If Max is any example, I'd say you've got a major way with them. Were you really a mercenary?''

  "Among other things, including the troublemaking hoodlum Mrs. Sullivan claims I am."

  "Oh." She rolled her eyes at Max, cleared her throat. "I expect Annie's remembering the boy who gave Josh his first cigarette."

  "One of my lesser crimes. I quit six months ago myself. Easier than worrying about setting fire to the hay."

  "Or dying of lung cancer."

  "You gotta die of something."

  She turned just as he reached up to slip the bridle off Max. Their bodies bumped. As much out of curiosity as to steady her, he took her arms.

  Soft. Fragile as he'd imagined. And as he shifted, just a little, the gentle swell of her breasts pressed against him. Her eyes had whipped to his at first contact. They stayed there as her heart hammered.

  "I always wondered what kind of handful you'd be." He smiled, let his hands run up and down those pretty arms. "Never had the opportunity to find out before. Of course, you were too young for me back then. You've caught up close enough now."

  "Excuse me." That was her voice, calm and cool. She was able to manage that, though everything inside her was hot and unsteady.

  "You're not in my way." Easily, he lifted a hand to toy with a curl that flirted with her cheek.

  "Then you're in mine." She didn't know how to handle men. Had never had to, really. But she was smart enough to know that now she needed a crash course. "I'm not interested in flirtations."

  "Me either."

  She borrowed a page from Margo's book, made her eyes bored. "Michael, I'm sure scores of women would be flattered. If I had the time, I might be flattered myself. But I don't have the time. My children are waiting to have their dinner."

  "You've got that down," he acknowledged. "Lady of the manor. You were born for it." He stepped back. "If you find yourself with time on your hands, you know where to find me."

  "Give my best to Josh and Margo," she said as she set out on watery legs for the house.

  "Sure. Hey, sugar?"

  Bristling only a little at the term, she looked back. "The mousers. Don't come bringing me some furry little kittens. I want big hungry toms."

  "I'll see what I can do."

  "I'm sure you will," he murmured as she walked away. "Christ, what a package," he said to Max. Amused at himself, Michael rubbed the heel of his hand against his heart. It had yet to settle down for him. "She's the type that makes a man feel like a big hungry torn. And clumsy with it."

  Shaking his head, Michael headed upstairs to wash off the stable dirt.

  "So, Margo's a mommy." Michael grinned at his hostess, who failed to look the least bit maternal in a peach-toned jumpsuit that clung glamorously to every curve.

  "I'm a great mommy." She kissed both his cheeks, European fashion. "I love being a mommy." Drawing back, she took a long look and wasn't disappointed. "What's it been, Michael? Six years, seven?"

  "Longer. I was trying to tear up the European circuit, and you were taking the Continent by storm."

  "Those were the days," she said lightly and, tucking her arm through his, led him inside.

  "Great place." He wasn't surprised by the elegance of the California Spanish, but he was by its coziness.

  "Kate turned us on to it. You remember Kate Powell."

  "Sure." They strolled out of the tiled foyer into a spacious room with a blazing fire and twin sofas in deep maroon. "How's she doing? I heard she's married now."

  "Still a newlywed. You'd like Byron, I think. We'll have to have a party when you're settled. Introduce you around."

  "I'm not much of a partier these days."

  "A small one, then. What can I get you to drink?" She glided behind a deeply carved bar. "Josh will be right down. He had a meeting run over."

  "Got a beer?"

  "I think we can manage that." From the small cold box under the bar she chose a bottle. "So it's horses now."

  "It seems to be."

  He watched her open the bottle, pour beer smoothly into a pilsner. On the third finger of her left hand diamonds and gold flashed. Her hair was more gold, soft, flowing waves of it. And there were more diamonds at her ears. Still, he saw that it was her eyes that shined the brightest.

  "You look good, Margo. Happy. It's nice to see you happy."

  A little surprised, she glanced up. "Really?"

  "You never seemed to be really quite there."

  "Apparently you were right." She set the glass on the bar and pried the silver wine saver off a bottle of champagne. "But I've gotten there."

  "A wife, a mommy, and a shopkeeper." He lifted his glass in a toast. "Who'd have thought it?"

  "And doing a marvelous job at all three." After pouring herself a flute of champagne, she toasted herself in turn. "You'll have to come by Pretenses, Michael. We're on Cannery Row."

  "I'll come see your shop, you come see my horses."

  "That's a deal. I'm sorry about your house."

  He shrugged his shoulders. "No big deal. I didn't like it anyway. I was more pissed off about the stables. I'd barely gotten them finished when I lost them. Still, it's just wood and nails. I can buy more."

  "It must have been horrible. I've seen film of mud slides and the aftermath of some. I can't imagine being in the middle of it."

  "You don't want to." ,

  He still had moments when the image of driving rain, thundering earth, and wicked winds flashed into his mind. And the panic that came with the flash that he wouldn't be quick enough, strong enough, smart enough to save what mattered to him.

  "Anyway, I'm working on the plans for rebuilding, got a contractor lined up. It's mostly just time and money."

  "I'm sure you'll be comfortable at Templeton House until you've rebuilt."

  "It's hard not to be. I met Laura's kids today. Beautiful kids. The older one's reserving judgment on me, but Kayla—" He chuckled. "She just moves right in."

  "They're wonderful girls. Laura's done a terrific job there."

  "She hasn't changed much."

  "More than you might think. The divorce was hard on her. Terribly hard. But she's got that strong Templeton core. You never met Peter Ridgeway, did you?"

  "Nope."

  "Trust me," Margo said and drank deeply. "He's a bastard."

  "Sugar, you hate him, I'll hate him, too."

  Laughing, she took his hand. "It's good to have you back, Michael."

  "Moving in on my wife already, Fury?" Josh came in, an owl-eyed baby on his hip. "My kid and I'll fight you for her."

  "I think he could take me." Curious, Michael set his beer aside and walked over to study J. T. The baby studied him right back, then reached out and grabbed a handful of Michael's hair. "Come here, slugger."

  Even as Margo opened her mouth, dozens of maternal warnings on her tongue, Michael nipped J. T. neatly out of Josh's arms and settled him on his own hip. The natural move made Margo's eyes blink in surprise, then narrow with speculation.

  Enjoying the stranger, J. T. gurgled.

  "Great job, Harvard." Michael gave J. T. a quick nuzzle. "Congratulations."

  "Thanks." Josh grinned at his wife. "I had a little help."

  Chapter Five

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  Laura did bring home a fuzzy little kitten. In fact, she brought home two. And a pair of lean, sharp-eyed toms. And a big-footed puppy with a spotted coat and an eager tongue.

  The small zoo in her car caused her a bit of trouble but gave
her a great deal of pleasure. She drove home with cats meowing bitterly in their boxes, kittens sleeping on the car mat, and an adoring puppy sprawled in her lap.

  "Wait until the girls get a load of you." Already in love, she stroked the puppy's head. "And I guess if they fight over you, I'll just have to go back and pick up a brother or sister for you."

  Laughing, she turned into the drive at Templeton House. So foolish, she realized, not to have done this before. Old habits, she mused. Peter hadn't wanted pets, so there had been no pets. But Peter had been gone nearly two years. And that was two years too long not to have made some simple adjustments.

  After parking the car, she glanced around at her menagerie and blew out a breath. "How the hell am I going to manage to get you all inside?"

  She had a leash for the pup, which she attached to his brand-new collar. She held out no hope that he would understand the purpose. For a brief moment, she considered laying on the horn until someone came out to give her a hand. Which, she assumed, would send her new petting zoo into a frenzy.

  So she'd deal with it herself. "You first," she decided, and opened the door. The puppy cowered, sniffed at the empty space on the other side of her lap. Then, gathering his courage, he jumped. If she hadn't been laughing so hard, she would have held on to the leash. But the pup landed in a sprawl and looked so surprised that she roared with laughter and the leather slid out of her hands.

  He was off and running.

  "Oh, damn it." Still laughing, she sprang out of the car. "Come back here, you idiot."

  Instead, he raced in circles, then cut through old Joe's pampered bed of narcissus, yapping joyously all the way.

  "Oh, that's going to be a problem," she realized. Wincing, she walked around the car to retrieve the sleepy kittens. In the back, the toms continued to complain at the top of their lungs. "All right, all right. Give me a minute here."

  Inspired, she tucked a kitten in each of her jacket pockets, then hauled out the cat boxes. "You two are Michael's problem." Following the excited barks, she headed toward the stables.

  The sight that greeted her when she stepped through the arbor of wisteria was worth every moment of annoyance. In the far yard, her daughters were kneeling on the ground embracing and being embraced by a wildly enthusiastic spotted mutt.