The Complete Where Dreams

by M. L. Buchman

  “Sorry to be a damper on your party.” He bowed to her, “Ms. Knowles.” And he was gone before she could react. Before she could protest.

  Jo poked her sharply in the ribs which broke the spell that had bound her in place. She startled to her feet and trotted out through the kitchen as fast as her high heels would let her. The staff was all gone. She pushed open the back door and stepped out onto the street.

  A few spaces down the block, a car roared to life with a throaty rumble—his car from the Cape Flattery parking lot. She raised an arm to stop him as he dropped it into gear, but he was faced away from her and roared off into the night.

  The chill air sent a shiver over her bare leg and shoulder, and up her spine.

  “I didn’t take it that way.”

  Russell stared at the phone number Angelo had given him. He must be insane. Or really, really, really desperate.

  “Yeah, that describes it pretty well, doesn’t it?”

  Nutcase sat on the settee table and watched him pace the length of the boat and back.

  He reached out to scratch the cat’s head. She shied away in time to avoid being whacked by the phone he’d forgotten he was holding.

  “Well, there are two choices. I can either agonize over this for another half hour and then it will be too late to decently call and all bets are off. Or I can stop being such a wimp and dial the phone.”

  Nutcase carefully licked a paw and scraped it across the fur between her ears.

  “You’re no help at all, are you?”

  She licked the other paw and went after a spot beside her nose. Cats had it so easy; all they needed was a sucker like him. He could use a little easy right now.

  Well, there was nothing for it.

  He punched in the number. When it hit the third ring, he began to hope for voicemail, though he had no idea what he’d say to a machine. He’d think of something. Fourth ring.

  “Hi, this is Cassidy.” Even as a recording her voice was warm, friendly.

  “Hi, this is Russell. Russell Morgan. You may recall the rather unpleasant chap from Angelo’s. Could you give me a call at—”

  “Don’t you want to speak to me in person.”

  “You… Whoa! I thought you were a recording.”

  “Well, that’s a new line.”

  He sat down on the pilot’s berth. Then lay down and put his feet up on the companionway ladder.

  “Wasn’t meant to be.” Could he sound any stupider if he tried? “A line I mean.” Indeed, apparently he could. Stupider by the second. “Why did you even answer the phone?”

  “You mean other than the fact that I had no idea who was calling?”

  “Yes, other than that.”

  “Because I like you.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Great. Now his hearing was failing him.

  “Well, you do have a certain knack for uncharming and also jumping to conclusions. And your ability to ask me the question I didn’t even know I was avoiding doesn’t help matters.”

  She stopped. In the silence he could imagine her, sitting in some high-rise condo, all perfectly manicured. Terry cloth bathrobe and hair done up in a towering swirl of towel. If she had a cat, it would certainly never be a constant mess like Nutcase. Probably an elegant Siamese with a meow that could shatter glass.

  Her voice was soft when she resumed, “Remember what you said about porcupines.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, I apologize. I too become all bristly when I’m talking to you and I don’t know why.”

  “I do.”

  “You do?”

  Russell slapped his hand against his forehead, “No, I mean that I know why I do around you.”

  “Willing to share?”

  “Not really,” which sounded awful. “What the heck. This conversation is already nothing like I’d imagined anyway. You remind me too much of my past and not enough of my future.”

  “Is your past so vile and your future so clear?”

  Nutcase clambered up onto his chest and he mussed her hair with his free hand. The silly thing purred madly.

  “No. And…” Well, he had to be honest here, though for the life of him he didn’t know why. “Not as much as I’d like. It’s more that you are right out of my New York past.”

  “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” It was a tease—though he couldn’t easily imagine Cassidy Knowles teasing. He’d flirted with hundreds of women, every model who came through the studio and every waitress who’d ever served him for starters. But picturing a taunting tease coming from Cassidy simply didn’t fit. Maybe it was a statement of fact.

  “A part of me isn’t interested in knowing more.” Great! Insult her again. “But, uh, that sounded lousy, a part of me does.” It did. “Very much.” Now that he’d said it, it was true.

  Nutcase head-butted his chin hard enough that he bit his tongue.

  “What would you like to know?” Her voice was cautious.

  “Ever been on a sailboat?”

  “No.”

  “Would you like to? I mean,” and then he plunged in, “my parents are coming to town and they’d like you more than they like me and I could really use your help with them. It would pay back anything I do for Perrin a hundred times over; I’ll even find a different model if you insist though you’d be great. My parents like Angelo well enough, but they have a, um, different relationship.” Angelo might be best friends with their son and they might have helped to raise him and send him to college, but he was still the son of their cook.

  Nothing but silence so he kept going.

  “And the others in the marina, well, they’re just like me. And my parents are, they’re, well, you know…” He petered out. That was it. He’d hit a new low in charm. “Look, I understand. Pathetic idea. I’ll just crawl back into my hole again. Thanks. Sorry to bother—”

  “When?”

  The word hung on the wires between them.

  “Tuesday?” his voice squeaked. It had never done that before. It sounded terribly desperate.

  “Day after tomorrow?”

  “Ten a.m. ‘D’ dock at Shilshole Marina?”

  There was a long pause during which he couldn’t hear a sound except Nutcase’s buzzing as she kneaded his chest with her prickly little claws.

  “Sure.” The word was so small for something so momentous.

  “You’re kidding? Really?”

  “Trying to talk me back out of it?”

  “No. Uh-uh. No way. You’re committed now.” Russell couldn’t believe it.

  “I said I would come. Are your parents so scary?”

  “Only to me.”

  Then she laughed. It was the most miraculous sound he’d ever heard. He’d never heard her laugh. It rang from her like a thousand bells on a Christmas tree. He felt as if he’d just lost a hundred pounds, the weight he’d gained the moment his mother had called to announce their pending visit.

  “What can I bring?”

  “Just yourself. I’ll bring lunch fixings. Just dress in layers, it can be warm or cool on the water depending on the wind. You don’t mind visiting another lighthouse, do you?”

  “Oh, is Tuesday the first? I didn’t realize.”

  “What was that?”

  She cleared her throat in one of those delicate, feminine ways that indicated a subject change that could never be turned around.

  “Tuesday. Ten a.m. ‘D’ dock. Shilshole,” she repeated dutifully.

  “Right.”

  “See you then.”

  Then he was listening to a dial tone. But what had he said to make her angry? Only she hadn’t been. He’d swear she hung up just a moment before laughing aloud.

  She was the darnedest woman he’d ever met.

  Mukilteo Lighthouse

  Mukilteo

  First lit: 1907

  Automated: 1979

  47.94871 -122.30453

  Mukilteo, in the local Native American language, means “good place for camping.” In 1792 C
aptain George Vancouver came ashore there and named it Rose Point for all the wild roses that bloomed along the grassy shore.

  Later renamed Point Elliot, it became the site of the signing of the Treaty of Point Elliot. This treaty of 1855 ended the Indian wars, established the Tulalip Indian Reservation, and truly opened the area up for significant white settlement.

  The picturesque lighthouse has hosted hundreds and hundreds of weddings. Not a single one of the first hundred was rained on.

  JULY 1

  Russell was ten minutes early when he headed for the security gate at the head of the dock. It wasn’t so much that he wanted to be there for Cassidy, it was that he needed a breather from his parents. Breakfast at the Palisades had been very civilized and polite. Perfectly friendly to all appearances, and the waitress in constant attendance with a pitcher of mimosas had certainly helped keep his nerves in line. If he’d had half a brain, he’d have invited Cassidy to breakfast as well. Though that might be too high a price, helping Perrin was being more fun than he’d expected.

  Cassidy was already waiting there when he reached the head of the dock. He opened the steel gate and stood back to appreciate her as she came through. Brown Docksiders on her feet that had clearly never seen the outside of a shoebox before today. Blue slacks with a crease up the front that was so perfect they must be as new as her unblemished shoes. Her blouse was a pale-blue, fitted, button-up shirt that looked immensely feminine on her shapely frame. Her smile was radiant and her hair back in a neat ponytail.

  And over her arm was a red coat. A huge coat, totally inappropriate for the heat of the day…

  A red parka.

  “Turn around.” It was barely a croak as it escaped his throat.

  She obliged, doing a slow three-sixty. The runner’s ponytail. The auburn hair the same length as… And then her smile came around again, beyond radiant. Mischievous.

  If it hadn’t been for the railing behind him, he’d have fallen backward into the ocean.

  “You!?” He clenched the steel, real and solid beneath his shaking fingers.

  She nodded.

  “When? How? It can’t be.”

  She slid a hand through the crook of his arm and guided him down the ramp toward the boats.

  “It can be. I figured it out at New Dungeness, saw you through my binoculars.” She was just as amiable as if they were old friends chatting on a sunny afternoon about the model sailboats racing on the Conservatory Water in Central Park. As if his brain wasn’t misfiring on a grand scale already.

  “And then you sprinted off into the fog so fast I thought you were a mirage.”

  “And then I sprinted off into the fog. I didn’t think; I just ran. It was a bit of a shock.”

  “I’m noticing that myself.” It was hard to believe that he was able to form whole words. That they were in sentences made it one of the modern miracles. He should probably send a note to some bishop or cardinal if he ever recovered.

  She looked from side to side inspecting the various boats they passed: fishing craft, fifty-foot power boats, and a lot of big sailboats. Most of them were deserted and quiet except for the occasional weekend visit, but ‘D’ dock had a nice share of liveaboards as well. She was being a little obvious about not looking up at him.

  “Why didn’t you…? Do you know how long I’ve been looking for you?”

  “You mean other than the week you spent camped out in front of my condo?”

  “So, that was you. You live near there? Somehow I knew that runner was my Lady of the Lights.” He looked down at her, shocked to his core that both women were standing embodied in one right here beside him.

  “My friends wanted me to call the cops on you. It was getting a little creepy.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to spook you. I was just trying to find…”

  “Someone else.”

  He sighed. What could he do?

  “Yes. Someone else.” She was right, there was a lot more to her than he’d first suspected.

  “Right after New Dungeness, I, uh, had to go to California, and that trip lasted a bit longer than I anticipated. I was going to tell you at Angelo’s, but you left too quickly. As to the rest, let’s go meet your parents. I think they’ll enjoy the story as well.”

  He considered throwing himself on the dock to rant until he felt better. Some traitorous part of him wanted to dance a happy jig. Another part was seriously considering tossing her off the dock…now there was a tempting image.

  As if she’d been reading his mind, she slipped her hand from his arm and took a couple steps ahead.

  Just as it had out at Cape Flattery, and the other night at Angelo’s, her touch made him feel calm, strong, and protective. The breaking of that touch left its memory. No one, not even Melanie had ever made him feel this way.

  Lady of the Lights. Cassidy Knowles. A prettied-up, city girl. A runner. An outdoors woman. He couldn’t reconcile it all in his brain. How much he didn’t know about her was mind-boggling.

  She stopped unerringly by the bow of his boat. Of course she did. She’d seen it five times over the last six months. He’d walked to Tatoosh Island with her hand on his arm and refused her invitation to Destruction Island light. The world was whacked.

  Cassidy reached out a hand toward the bow of his boat. Nutcase was perched on the very end of the bowsprit that rode just a foot or so from the dock. The cat sniffed her extended hand for a second and then launched herself across the water into Cassidy’s arms. Rather than withdrawing as Melanie had or simply dodging the scruffy beast, Cassidy caught her and let her snuggle right into her arms and rub her head under Cassidy’s chin.

  Well, she’d certainly passed the cat test. His father came down the finger pier between his boat and the next to meet the visitor.

  But would she survive the parent test?

  Russell aimed the bow into the wind and set the engine to idle. With the ease of a half year of practice he raised the main and cleated off the sheet. He still hadn’t run the jib halyard back to the cockpit and he hurried forward to haul it up before the boat slipped off the wind. The big foresail unfurled with a loud snap.

  The breeze was fresh without being strong or cool, a near perfect sailing day.

  Tying off the line, he hung the loose tail in a quick coil and trotted back to the cockpit. He killed the engine and kicked the tiller over with his knee.

  In one smooth sweep the Lady slid from loud vibrations and diesel fumes into the solid, silent pull of the world’s winds. She heeled over and surged forward—a tug deep in his gut that made him feel everything would be okay. He’d come a long way from his first scary solo out to the Lime Kiln light and back.

  His father watched him closely. He’d always been tall and patrician, and would look completely in place as an English lord advising a Queen. His hair was grayer, the lines deeper, but it was still a commanding face.

  Russell’s mother was in her usual Liz Taylor mode. Blue jeans that cost more than most evening gowns and a cashmere sweater showed off the success of her personal trainer’s perseverance on a body nearing sixty. A silk kerchief of royal blue kept her thick, brown hair under perfect control. Large, round-eyed sunglasses were pushed up on her forehead as she eyed Cassidy—who was the only one at ease on the whole boat. Other than Nutcase.

  The fur beast had checked in with him on her way to her perch on the boom. In moments the ball of black fur lay curled up in the foot of the sail atop the boom. Far enough out that nothing lay below except ocean waves. Did she enjoy the danger? Or not see it? They’d tried a kitty life preserver: an unsuccessful and painful experiment. The scratches on his arms had taken a week to heal from that one.

  Cassidy sat across from his parents on the low side of the cockpit, a plastic tumbler of iced tea held easily in one hand. A tiny fleck of sunscreen remained on the edge of one ear that he longed to rub in, but he didn’t dare. They didn’t have that kind of a relationship.

  Actually, they didn’t have any relationship, othe
r than bumping into and despising each other for six months. Without even knowing they knew each other. But they did—Angelo was going to kill himself for not taking the day off to join them and watch.

  Unless Angelo already knew, but hadn’t told him. Maybe he’d begged off so he wouldn’t be swimming ashore right about now.

  “I didn’t know you were a model, though I should have guessed.”

  At Cassidy’s words, he dropped the tiller and had to grab for it again as the boat slewed into the wind. Nutcase popped her head up and stared at him. She slowly resettled as he didn’t call “helms a’lee.”

  “You were a model?” he blurted it out.

  His mother blushed a moment.

  “Miss Puerto Rico,” Cassidy informed him.

  His dad nodded in agreement and threw an arm around his wife’s shoulders giving her a quick hug. That was news as well. They were always so formal and separate; as cold to each other as they were to him. Maybe cold wasn’t quite right. Perhaps always on show was more accurate.

  “Yes. I took the prize money and moved to New York. Worked the catalog pages and runways to put myself through NYU. Close your mouth, dear. You look foolish.”

  He clamped his mouth shut and clipped the end of his tongue.

  “You didn’t know?” Cassidy gave him a puzzled expression. How was he supposed to know everything about his parents’ past? She probably knew every detail about her own from the moment she exited the womb until…now. He didn’t even know where her parents were.

  He shook his head.

  She opened her mouth. This was it. He was about to be torpedoed. He really didn’t need a lecture from the person who was supposed to be his buffer.

  “So, John,” Cassidy turned back to his parents, “how did you two meet?”

  Russell had to blink. Not only had she slipped in a perfectly natural subject change, but she hadn’t sold his soul either. Someday he’d stop underestimating her.

  “The opera,” his mother answered. There were times he wondered if his father could even speak. She always ran every social occasion, with immaculate finesse and warmth; one he’d always thought a bit artificial.