Dream Breakers, Oath Takers

by Jacqueline Jayne

  “Good luck to me there. She’ll never stop spoiling him. And she doesn’t lack confidence.”

  “I believe you. Look. When she sees you handling the dog differently, she’ll follow suit.” He waited a beat. “Maybe. Some folks are stubborn.”

  “Trust me, she is.”

  “So that’s where you get it.” He grinned at her and slipped the nylon cord from around his palm. “Here. Take the leash and mirror what I’ve been doing. Give him enough lead to walk comfortably, but not so much as he can get in front and pull. Don’t look down or acknowledge something is different, and he won’t either.”

  Without the happy little mutt noticing, she slid the bundle of loops over her fingers and walked as if nothing had changed. “You know this won’t last long.”

  “It’ll last as long as you want.” Zane shrugged.

  “I meant the dog.”

  “Me too.”

  “Hmm. I think you’re lying to me.”

  “You think too much, Delphine. Relax and let your mind wander for a change. Refuel.”

  If only he knew how much she wanted to refuel, but she didn’t dare let her mind wander for fear the nightmares would overrun her waking, rational thoughts.

  His chest rose from a deep breath and then collapsed slowly. “Smell that? I love the woods after a rain.”

  The shaded grove, cool and wet from a brief afternoon shower, exuded a heady perfume of earthy scents, sweet and musky like his cologne, blocking out Paris only a few feet away.

  He adjusted his hat and smiled before offering her his hand. “A perfect evening for a stroll and quiet conversation? Nothing more.”

  Nothing more. His words sounded more like a vow than a promise. His placid expression oozed sincerity. “Okay.” How could a little conversation hurt? Or holding hands? As always, he’d offered like a gentleman.

  She switched the leash to her left hand, and Henri dutifully scurried to the side. Sliding her fingers across his warm palm, she felt as giddy as a teenager at her first dance.

  Not wanting to focus so much on his touch, she dived into conversation. “So, what’s second?”

  “Second?”

  “You said first off, you prefer I call you Cowboy. What’s second, or isn’t there one?”

  “Second, my business trip isn’t all that short. In fact, I booked a one-way ticket not knowing how long I’d be here. I admit it’s subject to change, and honestly, I didn’t know how much time I’d be spending in Paris. I expect to be in the outlying areas as well.”

  “What is it you do? You said you don’t study art, you know art. I take it you work for a museum?”

  “Sort of.” He pursed his lips and then licked them. “I’m doing a study on Julian Eymard. He was the—”

  “I know who he was.” She grinned. “Mamie would be sorely ashamed of me if I didn’t, and shaming her is unacceptable. So why?” she asked, truly intrigued. “Are you with the Vatican, looking to reverse his sainthood?”

  “I definitely don’t work for the Vatican.”

  Almost afraid to ask, she blurted out her next question. “Are you finishing a thesis and graduating from a seminary? For priesthood?”

  He laughed aloud, filling the small woods with his sexy voice. “Priests don’t date. Not even for a last fling. And this is a date.” Before she could jump in with another protest, he continued. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but I’m not at liberty to disclose my employer. Part of my contract. But I can tell you I’m sort of an historian slash archeologist slash art lover slash—”

  “Cowboy.”

  He nodded. “Sums it up. Mostly.”

  “Mostly?”

  “Gotta leave some mystery, or you won’t want to see me again.”

  “One step at a time,” she warned, but her heart lurched a little too joyfully for her own good. He wasn’t leaving Paris in a hurry. “So why Julian Eymard?”

  “Well, a man smart enough to boot Rodin out of his congregation and back into art deserves a deeper look.”

  His response rang true, but she felt like he held back.

  “That’s it? All this way when you could have researched from books in the comfort of your living room.” She shook her head.

  “One, I live with Boone, so there is no comfort in our apartment. Not in one corner. And two, I don’t think any book is comprehensive. I can’t travel back in time, but I believe there is information and, for lack of a better description, essence to be uncovered by visiting a man’s place of origin.”

  “Slash investigator?”

  “Yeah, something like that. I’m intrigued by people. All people. I want to know what shapes someone—their thoughts, feelings, and values. To truly understand the human psyche, I believe I need to stand in their shoes, look out through their eyes, and feel with their heart.”

  With all that earnestness, she believed Zane Gideon might be the one man that could be truly empathetic. Even with her.

  “We all have hard and fast core values, but how do they develop? What makes one man a saint and another a criminal? If they shared the same experiences, would they react and develop into a similar person, or do our choices come from someplace deeper? Some compass we’re born with?”

  “Slash philosopher. Slash psychologist.” She gripped his hand a little tighter and allowed their arms to touch.

  He grinned, his defined lips shaping a bow around even teeth. “Guilty. Eymard didn’t have an easy childhood and was plagued by illness his whole life. Yet he didn’t give up on what he knew to be his greater purpose. To make a difference in the lives of the unfortunate. I think his inner compass was engineered.” He hesitated for a moment, and for the first time, his jaw tensed, and his eyes smoked over. Suddenly, the man of ten thousand words turned guarded. “Never mind. I’ve gone on too long.”

  “No. Finish. I really want to know what you think.”

  He shook his head, and his grip on her hand loosened.

  “Tell me, and I’ll kiss you good night.” She issued the temptation with a warm smile, a smile that said he’d get the kiss anyway.

  “What about a kiss good morning?” Those wicked-sexy dimples pierced deep into his cheeks.

  “Only if you pick me up at Mamie’s for breakfast.”

  “Quick thinker. Not sure I like that.”

  Delphine pursed her lips and let them morph into a grin. “I think you do. Come on, Cowboy. You know you want to talk, and I enjoy listening.”

  He swallowed hard. “Fine, but only because you called me Cowboy.” He stopped them from walking and turned to face her. “I believe Eymard was touched by the divine.”

  “Divine? You mean by an angel? By God?” Not at all what she expected, and her hand went slack, slipping away from his already loosened hold.

  “There. I said it. You must think I’m crazy.”

  “Not crazy. Not at all.” Thanks to her nightmares, her previously wishy-washy belief in unworldly beings, at least the evil ones, intensified. She wouldn’t mind proof of winged good guys. “So, what have you learned about Eymard so far?”

  “Not much new. I need to get out of the city. I’d hoped to head over to Grenoble, check in with some of his ancestors, then work my way back.”

  Grenoble. South and east. Much closer to Geneva, Switzerland, than Paris. Too far away for another date. Irritated at the new information, her insides turned cold. “Why aren’t you there now?”

  “Got pulled onto another project.”

  “Which involves…” she said, hoping he’d finish her open-ended statement.

  His expression turned serious, even downright pissed off, judging by the crease between his brows. “Nothing as fun as tracking Julian Eymard. In fact out-n-out boring, but the boss insists, so I do what I’m told.” Evasive. The tone of his voice told her that Cowboy didn’t like being told to do anything. Even by a boss. He expelled a breath like flushing out his system, and the crease disappeared. He lifted her fingers with the tips of his, and she angled her hand until they pressed palm to pa
lm. He grasped her lightly, drawing circles over the back of her hand with his thumb that elicited the most delicious shiver over her skin. “As of yesterday, I’m glad he’s a shortsighted jackass. Had I stuck to my plans—”

  “We never would have met?” Delphine met his magnetic stare, and a sensation as strong as the voice in her dream overwhelmed all her inhibitions. “I’d have hated that. Not meeting you.” Was kismet in play? It sure as hell felt like it.

  “Me, too.” His voice lowered, and blue eyes turned smoky in the shadows. “Enough about work. Here I am with a beautiful woman, and all I can do is talk.”

  “I didn’t complain. You’re interesting. Complex. Surprising.” She hadn’t dated in more than two years, but she could have sworn he was going to lean in for a kiss. She wanted to misshapen those hard lips with her own and prepared with a quick flick of her tongue over her bottom lip.

  To her intense disappointment, he didn’t kiss her. Instead, he let go of her hand but kept his face close to hers. “Not so fast, Cutoffs. I’m saving my kisses to keep you around.” He stroked his fingers along the flesh of her jaw. “And when I kiss you, you won’t want me to stop.”

  Chapter Nine

  Delphine didn’t want to be affected by his brazen confidence, but her sex tingled and swelled in anticipation of the night’s end. “We’ll see about that,” she countered with all the cool she could tap.

  “Yes, ma’am, we will. Now, it’s getting dark. You promised me the Marble Gallery, and I promised you supper.”

  Henri yipped as if agreeing, and Delphine looked down to admonish him. “You don’t get a say.” For her sharp tone, the dog marched off the path and wound as much of his short leash as he could around a branch.

  “I think he’s had enough behaving. I got him.” Zane bent to untangle the leash and scooped up the spoiled mutt, cradling him in his arms. The dog drove his head into Zane’s chest, begging to be petted. After five seconds of being scratched behind the ears, Henri whimpered with glee.

  Still reeling from his promise of kisses, Delphine forgot her docent duties. They strolled the path in companionable silence without pausing to admire the statues. She liked simply being in his company. He was right about night allowing the head and heart to calm. Especially here. Yet all the while she couldn’t help feeling a little jealous of the dog tucked against Cowboy’s chest.

  Halfway through the woods, the ambient light from the sunset shone on the statue of Eustsche de Saint Pierre, one of the Burghers of Calais. Unlike the full bronze set at the front of the grounds, each of the Burghers here had been cast separately. Bigger-than-life and strategically positioned along the path, each statue could be viewed for up-close study.

  Zane zeroed in on Saint Pierre like he’d seen an old friend.

  “I think the Burghers are my favorite of Rodin’s works,” he said, placing the dog back on the ground. He straightened and pointed at the solemn bronze face. “Look how he expertly captured their expressions of sorrow and defeat. Casting them individually and set in the woods is genius. The bronze has a satiny patina that absorbs the light. Especially at dusk.” His voice lowered. Not to a whisper, but exuding reverence. “Saint Pierre almost seems alive standing here, telling his story like a cautionary tale for doing what’s right.”

  For a man that claimed to appreciate quiet, he couldn’t go for long without talking. Delphine decided she liked that about him. Almost more than when he twined his fingers with hers.

  Fully absorbed in professor mode, he continued. “Especially when the powers that be leave you in the lurch.” He backed away from the statue to stand beside her. “Many historians believe the story is distorted and that they have disproved this beloved tale. They say that Saint Pierre took a pay-off from England’s king to hand over the city. They say the act of wearing the nooses was a ritual of submission, not uncommon in those days, and execution not even a threat. Have to admit, I agree with them.”

  “Wish you hadn’t told me that.” She looked up into the pained, metal face that had always moved her and touched her heart by his sacrifice. “I’d have rather believed the lie. I love this part of the grounds. I call it Hero’s Forest.”

  “No reason to change the way you feel. If they were fictional characters, you’d still admire their courage. The story, the one everyone knows so well, serves a greater purpose.”

  “True, but somehow the doubt makes them seem…less.”

  “Only if you let it. Try to think of it as truth versus factual. Factual is simple—the time, the place, and actions recorded for the historical event.

  “The truth is lives were saved. The truth is, these men sacrificed something to save those lives because life matters most. Who cares if Saint Pierre parlayed their desperation into financial opportunity?” He shrugged. “He also negotiated an acceptable surrender, then had to parade around town wearing a noose. Humbling before the enemy, trusting some crazed soldier wouldn’t pull the rope tight and kill him anyway despite his deal, took guts and meant salvation for his people. You aren’t brave unless something bigger than you is going to be lost. Truth is these men were truly brave, no matter the facts. I want you to remember that.”

  His face glowed, and she believed not so much from the heat but from the core suspended in his center. The primary feed electrifying his thoughts with heartfelt emotion.

  She’d no doubt Zane Gideon would measure up to the Burghers under the same conditions.

  “Trust me, I won’t forget.” She wouldn’t forget anything about Cowboy for a very long time. His lesson on truth touched her heart in a way she hadn’t expected. That’s when a more relevant truth hit her. “I don’t believe you need me to give you a tour at all.”

  He regarded her without responding, and her heart palpitated. Though many men had admired her, she liked the guarded way Cowboy gazed at her. The way he was right now. As if he actually saw beyond her body into the soul that struggled beneath. Could he tell how much his little speech inspired her?

  Approaching her, she expected him to pass off Henri. Instead, he took her hand again, the rough callouses grazing over her soft, sweaty palm. Masculine and large, she felt her femininity rise for a man she couldn’t keep.

  “I suppose I should own up.” He took a deep breath and leaned his head to gaze down at her, the brim of his hat providing a canopy that felt far too intimate. “No, I don’t need you to perform a week-long intensive on Rodin. I’ve been to Paris more than a few times and am well acquainted with the museum, the history of Hotel Biron, the chapel, and the gardens. I fibbed to your grandmother because I wanted a reason to spend time with you. A reason you wouldn’t want to refuse.”

  Most women would be flattered, charmed, and ready to forgive after his sweet confession.

  Not Delphine. The knowledge she’d been duped wounded her deeply. Too deeply to continue the charade.

  “I thought you were different.” She jerked her hand away. “But you’re like any other man after all.”

  In a hurried march, she stomped the short distance out of the woods, but she felt Zane right on her heels. He strode beside her as they emerged by the Marble Gallery.

  She swiveled her head to glare at him. “You used a silly dog and flowery philosophies to try and get a pretty girl into bed.”

  His eyes widened, and he stopped in his tracks. “Philosophy and history never worked before. Are you saying I’m onto something?”

  His glib response infuriated her, blotting out her self-anger.

  She turned to face him. “Don’t twist my words. You know exactly what you were doing. All you saw was a nice body and a pretty face. And yes, I know I’m pretty.”

  “And tall. Obviously, that’s why I targeted you. Pretty and tall. Mostly I can only get one or the other, so I settle for pretty. Sex with a tall woman is preferable for a guy like me.” He removed his hat and placed it over his heart. The hot city breeze raked his hair while the setting sun burnished his head of perfect gold to bronze. “If you’d been smart too, I’
d have hit the trifecta. But a pretty, tall woman, well—that’s more than a humble cowboy can hope for.”

  “Are you mocking me?”

  “I am. Lying isn’t part of my personality, but I’m not above a fib if the end justifies the effort. From the moment you told me you traveled to Paris to assist your granny, you became worth the effort. Most people don’t give a fig about family anymore. I do. You do. That fact alone doubled my interest. Without manipulating the truth, I’d never have gotten the chance to spend time with you or—”

  Delphine cut him off. “Time with me? Be plain. You mean seduce me into sex.”

  “Sure. Started out as sex, and I still hope we indulge in our mutual desire, but you set a lot of boundaries rigged with landmines. If I was hell-bent on a night in bed, there’s a whole city of pretty girls that wouldn’t dodge me or verbally abuse my character.”

  Cowboy moved in on her, and her nerves swirled like a tornado, but she didn’t move. Refused to show any emotion.

  “You give off this reserved, uppity front, but you’re working at being cold. Someone with your talent is cursed with passion, so there must be a reason. A secret that you fear being discovered. I’m all about uncovering secrets.”

  She shook her head and stepped back. “No secrets.”

  “Now who’s lying?” He kept talking and moving closer. “Your tears over the Burghers. The heat in your frustration over the dog. The unconditional dedication to your grandmother. All signs of what lies beneath your placid expression. Once in a while, you break. Relax, but only for a moment. You’ve offered me nothing about yourself tonight. I reckon someone’s hurt you in an unforgivable way.”

  His perceptions cut her to the bone. Never had someone bothered to assess her or want to delve beyond the shallow pool of feeling she offered on rare occasions. Cowboy tempted her to do more than remove her clothes, a complication she hadn’t calculated into their date. But how could she share her painful past or the vivid nightmares that felt as though she transported to Hell? He’d swear she was crazy and then run while her heart broke.