The Complete Where Dreams

by M. L. Buchman

  The look she turned on her husband was electric. They actually held hands; there was another one Angelo would never believe. Russell certainly didn’t.

  “Well,” his father’s voice was gruff from lack of use. “I was at a fundraiser for the Met.”

  “I was in marketing.”

  “Prettiest thing I’d ever seen came walking up to me at the hors d’oeuvres table.”

  “I had no idea who he was,” his mother said off-handedly. “I’d just finessed a million-dollar donation from a usual hundred-thousander and decided to take the rest of the evening for me.”

  “Walked right up to me.”

  “I was headed for the bar.”

  “Walked right by me.”

  Their sentences were overlapping, their voices soft. Russell glanced at Cassidy who was enraptured by the story. Her body shifting so easily as the boat slid over the waves it was as if she’d spent her life afloat. The sun discovered the hint of red in her hair and made it warm and alive.

  “Then she looked back over her shoulder at me.”

  She smiled up at him, “You were staring.”

  “She never got her drink.”

  “He forgot he was holding a piece of shrimp until I stole it from him.”

  Cassidy’s hand shifted over her heart as if she were about to melt.

  He ducked to peek under the sail. They were off Edmonds already, this lighthouse was so close. They’d be there in no time. Another hour to the lighthouse if the wind held off the beam. They might go the whole way up the coast on a single tack, Nutcase would appreciate the long nap without the boom swinging about. And it was far too deep off the lighthouse to throw out an anchor. Lunch aboard would get them most of the way back to dock. He might survive the day yet.

  “Did you really?” Cassidy was busy looking amazed. What had he missed?

  “What else was I supposed to do with him? He had talked my ear off until the hotel kicked us out into the lobby. It was three in the morning. They’d already cleaned everything in the room except the two chairs we were sitting on.”

  He looked at his father who noticed his scrutiny. He shrugged and nodded with a silly smile on his face.

  They’d slept together on their first date. People didn’t…well, he had often enough. But parents didn’t…his couldn’t…had.

  “Where did you find a place?”

  It was a friggin’ hotel, Cassidy. Lots of beds there. His own mother—the little beauty queen-social climber that she was—had climbed right into his father’s lap and his fortune.

  His mother reached out and touched Cassidy’s hand like a best friend emphasizing a point.

  “It’s New York. There’s always someplace to dance.”

  Dance?

  “We found the seediest little dive,” John tapped his feet on the cockpit floor. “Smoking dark jazz.”

  “We slow danced past sunrise.”

  He was so glad that Cassidy was doing the speaking. He’d have blown the conversation eight different ways already. Maybe he could understand some of his father’s silences. Julia Morgan had clearly charmed Cassidy Knowles and he suspected that wasn’t as easy as his mother made it look. Maybe his mother really was that charming and it hadn’t been the act he’d assumed all these years.

  When had he decided that anyway? Anne? No, Kristi. His mother had been ever so kind to a coed named Kristi he was about to break up with later that night. His mother totally spoiled his strategy and he’d been so pissed. He’d been stuck with her for another three months before he figured out how to let her down easy. By then he’d totally missed his chance with... Was he really that shallow?

  “That first week we went out dancing every night,” Former Miss Puerto Rico leaned up against his father. “John, we need to take that up again when you retire.”

  “You’re retiring?” It blurted out of him and lay there on the deck like a week-old fish.

  “I’ve got some bright young men who are ready to move up. You were never interested in the business and they’re ready for me to let it go. Finally I realized, so am I.” He shrugged off forty years as if it had been a three-month gig.

  “The business?” Cassidy took the conversation back before he could fumble it overboard.

  “Morganson Shipping. I made up the name even before Russell came along, but the boy was never interested in the business. Perhaps you’ve heard of us.”

  Cassidy laughed, that dancing musical sound of a thousand bells. He couldn’t help smiling.

  “I’ve seen enough of your shipping containers on my daily run down along Seattle’s waterfront.”

  “Could have bowled me over too,” Julia poked a finger into his father’s ribs. “He, the jerk, didn’t tell me who he was, at least not until that weekend when he casually invited me over for dinner to meet his parents. Herman and Alicia Morgan. I was so scared I almost fainted.”

  “You were magnificent and almost as beautiful as you are now. Simply amazing, Russ. She out-niced even your grandmother and that took some doing in those days.”

  Russell was glad for the tiller. It was the only reason he didn’t collapse entirely. Not only hadn’t his mother been a gold-digger as he’d finally decided she was, but they’d just told Cassidy he was worth millions. Actually hundreds of millions. Far above and beyond his own comfortable success.

  She hadn’t reacted.

  At least not yet.

  He certainly wasn’t looking forward to their next time alone. He could count on one hand with all his fingers folded up the number of women who hadn’t gunned for him the moment they found out who he was. Even Melanie had originally been drawn by his fortune and it wasn’t until after it was over that he understood that she’d moved beyond that.

  Imbecile!

  He had liked Cassidy.

  Did like her.

  “Catching up on your reading?”

  Cassidy rammed the letter in her pocket and looked up, shielding her eyes against the sun.

  Russell stood over her, moving easily with the sway of the deck. He looked like the statue of Rhodes: tall, powerful, and gazing out over the harbor and the world that was his domain. One of the seven wonders of the world.

  And he was, in an odd way. Once he’d relaxed a bit, he’d been funny, even charming. But there was none of the false, pickup-line smoothness that she’d heard too many times on too many first dates. Perhaps it was because of their history, it was now too late for that.

  “A bit,” she kept her hand on the letter—it felt as if it might jump out and bite her if she didn’t keep it trapped in her pocket.

  Russell glanced back at the cockpit. She did too and saw John with a leisurely hand on the tiller. Julia leaned back against him as the boat slid easily over the sparkling water.

  From up here on the foredeck, Cassidy had a splendid view of the way ahead and to the left. The big foresail blocked her view to the right. Whidbey Island towered ahead: rocky cliffs, conifer-covered headlands. There were a few small power boats anchored in a narrow cove and they passed a brightly painted buoy over a dozen feet tall that rang its deep bell with each wave that rolled by.

  Russell squatted down.

  “I wanted to say, thanks. You’re great with them.”

  He didn’t even reach out a hand for balance, as if he’d been born on the boat. She’d felt off balance all day. Ever since she’d woken up with her stomach in a knot of nerves that refused to be explained away.

  She nodded her head, it was all she trusted herself to do.

  He was so close she could easily reach out. See if his hair was truly as soft as it looked, or touch her fingers to his smile.

  “I don’t know how you do it. I’ve never seen them so comfortable.” He glanced aft again. “And how did I know so little about my own mother?”

  Her hand was still on her father’s letter, crumpled in her slacks pocket. He’d found work as a carpenter and a field hand and who knew what all. Odd-job man to all the Kitsap Peninsula and Bainbridge Island as w
ell while his wife tended ailing parents and an unhappy toddler. Rebuilding the well house at a tiny, island winery had led to a job as vintner, horticulturist, and general repairman all rolled into one. When the old owner had died, he’d left the whole winery to her father. He’d given up everything to be with his family, and gotten everything in return, just in a different form.

  You never know where opportunity lies, Ice Sweet.

  You never know.

  “Your parents are charming. I like them a lot.”

  “And they like you, which may be a first among the women I’ve brought home.”

  She’d never met a man with more skill at saying the wrong thing. At first it had made her angry, now she was finding it rather sweet. He was forthright with no games and no filter. His feelings turned into speech before they turned into thought and were carefully groomed and sanitized. He was a lot like his cat in that way—a sweet mess and a bit scruffy around the edges.

  “Is that what I am?”

  “What?” he looked worried as he reviewed his last comment in his head.

  “Am I a woman you’ve brought home? Konked with a club and dragged to your boat like some mighty Viking?” If a Viking like this kidnapped her, maybe she’d want to go along with it.

  He opened his mouth and then thought better of it and closed it again. He shook his head ruefully.

  “Porcupines.”

  She laughed. He’d really grabbed onto that image. He was so close that she could smell him despite the sailing breeze. His sleeves rolled up to reveal powerful arms—big, safe arms to be wrapped in. Her hand reached out, of its own accord, and rested on his knee.

  The muscles were shifting easily beneath the denim, working unconsciously to keep his balance on the rocking boat. His eyes were watching hers and she could feel herself melting. Would he kiss her? She finally knew the answer to her much earlier question: if he tried, she certainly wasn’t going to resist.

  Her body shifted as the boat thumped off a wave and she leaned a little closer to him. Her hand on his knee steadying him as well. They were so close that her head was spinning…oak—he smelled of oak and mahogany and teak and ocean waves. Of heady reds at their prime and of soft, cool whites sipped late at night in front of a warm fire.

  She leaned closer. If he wasn’t going to kiss her, she’d kiss him.

  “ ‘I didn’t realize Tuesday was the first.’ ”

  His words didn’t make sense. This was a moment for—

  “You’ve been to every lighthouse.”

  “Yes,” she had, but what did that have to do with a kiss under the midday sun.

  “You have the same calendar.”

  She nodded her head and leaned forward again.

  “You lied.”

  No she hadn’t. “About what?” She didn’t ever— “Oh.”

  “Oh, she says. ‘Haven’t been to a lighthouse before,’ she said.” He pushed a strong finger against her shoulder. Hard enough to tip her away.

  “You lied.”

  “No, I evaded.” Evaded the most exasperating man on the planet.

  “You lied.”

  If he said it one more time, she was going to smack him.

  “Didn’t.”

  “You said, and I quote, ‘Yes, I am a lighthouse virgin.’ ” He looked immensely pleased with himself. She shoved his knee hard enough that he tipped back from his squat and landed on his behind against the lifelines.

  “Do you catalog everything everyone says so that you can throw it back in their face? I didn’t want you of all people to know about…” There was no way she was going to explain her own father to this irritating man.

  He stared off across the water for a moment. Looked up at the sails as if he might find a clue up there. His smile twisted slightly to one side and his eyes twinkled as his gaze returned to her. Deep, ocean-deep eyes.

  “Nope. Just you. Just everything you’ve ever said. I’d bet I could repeat every word.”

  “There you go, doing it again.” Her heart rate had definitely jumped, it was all she could hear.

  “The jerk being charming?”

  He was so full of himself, and he was absolutely right. It was one of the nicest, back-handed compliments she’d ever had.

  “Hey, up there.” John shouted to make his voice carry above the wind. “We’re almost there.”

  Russell stood with the grace of the wind and stepped out onto the narrow bowsprit to look beyond the sail. He paused for a long moment and then turned to her with a positively wicked grin.

  He offered his hand. His grip was warm and firm as he helped her to her feet, and with the slightest little tug he could pull her into his arms whether she wanted to or not. Instead of having the decency to take advantage of the moment, he turned and placed her hand on the lifeline so that they could head back to the cockpit.

  His grin didn’t abate in the slightest.

  All the way back to the cockpit, she could feel Julia’s scrutiny. Russell’s mother didn’t miss a thing and it made Cassidy’s cheeks burn. She’d seen how close Cassidy had come to kissing her son. John gave no indication of noticing what he’d interrupted—if indeed he had. Maybe John was where Russell had inherited his obtuse nature.

  Cassidy slid shakily into the seat.

  Julia glanced at her son.

  Russell stood at the tiller with his dad, both of them looking up at the sails and absorbed in some silent guy conversation about wind and canvas.

  Julia took her hand and patted it, “Don’t worry, dear. The Morgan men aren’t the sharpest tacks in the bunch, but they get there eventually.”

  If her cheeks were heated before, they were on fire now. She turned to look away from her reflection in Julia’s sunglasses, vague and pale in the dark glass.

  There was the Mukilteo lighthouse. It was close, very close as John had sailed them within a few hundred feet. She could easily see the stepped Fresnel lens through the glass windows and the octagonal banister around the third story walkway.

  The sun lit the lighthouse and the keeper’s cottages to a near blinding white. A brilliant green-and-white state ferry pulled out from behind it. Even the “lawn” before the beacon was white, the white of crushed seashells in the sun.

  Then she noticed the canopy. It was white and light as a feather, set across the front lawn for a party. People were sitting in rows of chairs facing the water. Some at the back and sides stood for a better view: a view of a wedding.

  The minister was in black and white. A groom in black, right down to the tails on his tuxedo. The boat slid forward and Cassidy saw the bride in profile. She could have been Jo’s twin with her straight dark hair and rounded face—and she was absolutely breathtaking in her gown, a clingy satin with a flowing sheer of chiffon to soften the edges. She wore no veil, rather a ring of white flowers worked into her black hair.

  Many of the eyes in the audience were looking at her on the sailboat, following her. Before Cassidy could look away, she came to her senses. They were looking at the beautiful sailboat slipping along behind the bride and groom. Cameras clicked and flashed in a brilliant display that must have surprised the bride and groom, for they turned and so did, finally, the minister.

  Cassidy pulled out her camera and shot a photo of sail, water, lighthouse, and wedding.

  The minister and couple waved at them. Several of the audience joined in. She waved back and felt silly and touched at the same time.

  As they slipped past she caught the wedding and lighthouse in the background and Russell Morgan in the foreground, holding the tiller and looking aloft at the set of his sails. This shot would get a place of honor on her wall.

  A wedding day memory. What would hers be like? Would some beautiful sailboat pass by while she looked at the man she loved?

  And where was he anyway? She stole a glance at Russell.

  No! Not possible.

  He was pointing out something to his father.

  “Helm’s a-lee!” He called.

  He swung
over the tiller and John started doing something with the ropes.

  That’s when she spotted Nutcase on the swinging boom.

  “The cat!” Her cry simply made Russell grin all the more. He was going to flip the cat over the side out of sheer cussedness. She tried to scramble up—Russell’s hand landed on her head and drove her back into her seat. The heavy boom swung by just inches above her.

  There was a soft thump as Nutcase jumped onto the cabin roof. The boom swung across, Russell ducking underneath with all the grace of long experience, even slapping the massive thing with his hand as it swung by, a smack of flesh on wood, like a man greeting an old friend.

  The cat sat on the cabin roof watching the boom complete its swing. Then it daintily raised one paw to its mouth and tugged on an errant claw, leaning against the new slant of the deck to keep its place.

  “You jerk!” She spun to face Russell. The adrenalin was still pounding through her, making her temples hurt. “You could have…”

  She didn’t know what. But he could have.

  “Warned me!”

  Russell’s smile diminished at that point. It wavered for a moment before fading entirely.

  John fussed with the lines and didn’t look up. Julia sipped her ice tea. The silence in the cockpit stretched out for an overlong moment before Russell cleared his throat.

  “Nutcase knows the drill.”

  Well she sure didn’t; he’d scared the daylights out of her. She faced forward feeling angry and foolish simultaneously. And the stupid cat, as if nothing had happened, turned to face the sun.

  Seafaring cats. They knew their place in life. They knew when to stand fast and when to jump. Why couldn’t her life be that easy?

  Everything in her life had made sense—right up until she’d received the phone call that her father was dying. Even after all the caregiving and the funeral was over, order had never fully returned to her life. Her career was on the upswing and she loved living near her friends again for the first time since college. It should have all made sense, but it didn’t.

  Then her father’s letters made it worse.