Borrowed Dreams (Debbie Macomber Classics)

by Debbie Macomber

  Carly had followed her feet with no clear destination in mind, and soon found herself in a park. The happy sound of children’s laughter drifted toward her. She stood on the outskirts of the playground, watching. That was the problem with her life, she mused seriously. She was always on the outside looking in.

  Well, not anymore, her mind cried. Not anymore. With a determination born of self-pity, she ran to the slowly whirling merry-go-round.

  “Hi.” A boy of about seven jumped off a swing and climbed onto the moving merry-go-round. “Are you going to push?”

  “I might.” Carly started to trot around. The boy looked at her as if she were a wizard who had magically appeared for his entertainment.

  “Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to talk to strangers?” Carly asked him as she ran, quickly losing her wind. She climbed onto the ride and took several deep breaths.

  “You got kids?” the boy countered. “I think it would be all right if you had kids.”

  “Nope. There’s only me.” But Carly wasn’t trying to discourage his company. She had no desire to be alone.

  The boy’s brows knit in concentration before he gave Carly a friendly grin. “You’re not a real stranger. I’ve seen you in the grocery store before.”

  Carly laughed and jumped off the merry-go-round to head toward the swing set.

  “I saw you buy Captain Crunch cereal.” He said it as if that put her in the same class as Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy. He ambled to the swing set and took the swing next to hers, pumping his legs and aiming his toes for the distant sky until he swung dangerously high. Carly tried to match him but couldn’t.

  “I saw you pick up something on the path. What was it?”

  “An old piece of glass,” Carly answered, still slightly out of breath.

  “Then why’d you take it?” He was beginning to slow down.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Can I see it?”

  “Sure.” Using the heels of her shoes to stop the swing, she came to a halt and stood to dig the piece of glass from her pocket.

  The young boy’s eyes rounded eagerly as she placed it in the palm of his hand. “Wow. It’s neat.”

  It was only a broken, worn piece of a discarded wine bottle to Carly. Tossed aside and forgotten, just as she had been by a mother she couldn’t remember.

  “See how the sun comes through?” He held it up to the sky, pinching one eye closed as he examined it in the sunlight. “It’s as green as an emerald.”

  “Feel how smooth it is,” Carly said, playing his game.

  The boy rubbed it with the closed palms of his hands and nodded. “Warm like fire,” he declared. “And mysterious, too.” He handed it back to her. “Look at it in the light. There’s all kinds of funny little lines hidden in it, like a treasure map.”

  Following his example, Carly took the green glass and held it up to the sun. Indeed, it was just as the young boy had said.

  The muffled voice came from the other side of the park.

  “I gotta go,” the boy said regretfully. “Thanks for letting me see your glass.” Taking giant steps backward, he paused to glance apprehensively over his shoulder.

  “Would you like to keep it?” Carly held it out for him to take.

  His eyes grew round with instant approval, and just as quickly they darkened. “I can’t. My mom will get mad if I bring home any more treasures.”

  “I understand,” Carly said seriously. “Now, get going before you worry your mother.” She waved to him as he turned and kicked up his short legs in a burst of energy.

  Carly’s hand closed around the time-scoured glass. It wasn’t as worthless as she’d thought, but a magical, special piece. What else was there that was as green as an emerald, as warm as a fire, and as intriguing as a treasure map? Tucking it back into her pocket, she strolled toward her apartment, content once again.

  Stopping off at the supermarket, Carly returned home with a bag full of assorted groceries. The flick of a switch brought the radio to life. The strains of a classic Carole King song filled the small room with “You’ve Got a Friend.” Carly hummed as she unloaded the sack. Unbidden, the image of Brand fluttered into her mind. She straightened, her hand resting on her hip. Brand was her friend. The only real friend she’d made in Anchorage.

  The soft beat of the music continued, causing Carly to stop and ponder. The song said all she had to do was call his name and he’d be there, because he was her friend.

  But Brand was flying today. At least, George had said he wouldn’t be back until late afternoon.

  Maybe she should phone him just to prove how wrong that premise was. Carly reached for her cell and punched out Brand’s number. Her body swayed to the gentle rhythm of the song and she closed her eyes, lost in the melody.

  “Hello,” Brand answered gruffly.

  The song faded abruptly. “Brand? I didn’t think you’d be back.” Her heart did a nonsensical flip-flop. “I … ah … how was your trip?” She brushed the bangs from her forehead, holding them back with her hand as she leaned her hip against the counter.

  “Tiring. How are you?”

  “Fine,” she answered lightly, disliking the way her pulse reacted to the mere sound of his voice. As much as she hated to admit it, Carly had missed Brand’s company. Then, to fill an awkward pause: “The radio’s playing ‘You’ve Got A Friend.’ ”

  “I can hear it in the background.”

  Carly could visualize Brand’s faint smile.

  “I heard from Jutta Hoverson.” Her fingers tightened around the receiver.

  “Jutta … oh, the artist. What did she say?”

  Carly exhaled a pain-filled sigh. “She’s not interested in selling.”

  “Carly, I’m sorry.” Brand’s voice had softened. “I know how much you wanted that painting.”

  She appreciated his sympathy but didn’t want to dwell on the loss of the artwork. “I’ll bet you’re hungry,” she surprised herself by saying. “Why don’t you come over and I’ll fix you something? Friends do that, you know.”

  He didn’t hesitate. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  Brand sounded as surprised by the invitation as she was at making it. But it was understandable, Carly mused; she wanted to be around people. If she’d been in Seattle, she’d have wandered around the waterfront or Seattle Center. Setting up a tray of deli meats and a jar of olives, Carly realized that her mood required more than casual contact with the outside world. She wanted Brand. The comfort his presence offered would help her deal with Jutta’s refusal to sell the painting. Wanting Brand with her was a chilling sensation, one that caused Carly to bite her bottom lip. She didn’t want Brand to become a habit, and she feared being with him could easily become addictive.

  The doorbell chimed. She glared at the offending portal, angry with herself for allowing Brand to become a weakness in her well-ordered life.

  “Hi.” She let him in, welcoming him with a faint smile.

  “Here—I thought these might brighten your day.” Brand handed her a small bouquet of pink and white carnations and sprigs of tiny white flowers. The bouquet wasn’t the expensive florist variety but the cheaper type from the supermarket.

  Without a word, Carly accepted the carnations, her fingers closing over the light green paper that held them together. Brand’s gesture made her uneasy. Flowers were what he might bring a date. And George had mentioned something about the heavy medical bills Brand was paying off. His wife’s bills. She didn’t want him spending his hard-earned dollars on her. She frowned as she took the bouquet from him.

  “What’s the matter?” Brand asked, and she was reminded anew how easily he read her.

  Carly lowered her chin, not wanting to explain. “Nothing.”

  “Are we back to that?” Irritation marked his words. “Have we regressed so far in such a short time?”

  “What do you mean?” She raised her head, barely managing to keep her voice even and smooth. Moistening her lips was an involun
tary action that drew Brand’s attention. He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her; it was written in his eyes. He knotted his hands, and Carly recognized the strength of the attraction that pulsed between them. The knowledge should have given her a feeling of power, but instead it upset her. As much as possible she hoped to ignore the attraction between them.

  “We went to the art show and it was obvious something was troubling you,” Brand said, studying her closely. “I wanted you to tell me what it was, but you made me ask. I don’t remember your exact words, but the message was clear. There was nothing wrong.” His voice became heavy with sarcasm. “Well, Carly, that was a lie. There was something wrong then, just as there’s something the matter now. I have a right to know.”

  Carly pressed her lips firmly together. She tried to hide her feelings but found it impossible. In the past she’d gone out of her way to anger him whenever he got too close. Brand inhaled a steadying breath as his hands settled to either side of her neck and he pulled her toward him. “I won’t let you do it, Carly. I’m not going to fight with you. Not when you’ve wiggled your way into my every waking thought for the past week.”

  Pride demanded that she turn away, but Brand’s hold tightened, his fingers bringing her so close she could feel his warm breath against her face. A battle warred in her thoughts. She cursed herself for craving the comfort of his arms, and in the same breath, she reached for him. Not smiling. Not speaking.

  Needing was something new to her, and Carly didn’t like to admit to any weakness.

  Brand’s arms slipped around her waist as he drew her into his embrace. The only sound in the room was the radio, playing a low and seductive melody from the far corner.

  He didn’t try to kiss her, although she was sure that had been his original intention. Apparently he realized she needed emotional comfort at that moment. While he might want to kiss her, he restrained himself. Carly was grateful. Her defenses were low. His hand cupped the side of her face, pinning her ear against his heart. She could hear the uneven thud of his pulse. It felt so incredibly good to be in his arms and comforted. She felt secure and at peace. Good to be with him … bad for her emotionally, for fear she might come to depend on him …

  Confused, Carly didn’t know what to think anymore. All she knew was that she was too weak to break away.

  “I thought you offered to feed me,” Brand said after a long, drawn-out moment, his voice husky.

  “Are sandwiches all right?” She turned and brought out the tray of deli meats and the jar of green olives, setting them on the counter. A loaf of bread followed, along with a jar of mayonnaise and another of mustard.

  “Fine. I could eat a”—he paused as he surveyed the contents of the plate—“pastrami, turkey, beef, and green olive sandwich any day.”

  “There are store-bought cupcakes for dessert.”

  “Fine by me,” Brand replied absently, as he built a sandwich so thick Carly doubted that it would fit into his mouth.

  After constructing her own, she joined Brand at the kitchen table. “I guess I should have warned you that my cooking skills are somewhat limited.” She popped an olive into her mouth.

  “Don’t apologize.”

  “I’m not. I’m just explaining that you’ll have to take me as I am. Fixing a meal that requires a fork is almost beyond my capabilities.”

  Chuckling, he lifted his napkin and dabbed a spot of mustard from the corner of his mouth. “Do you think there’s any chance that Jutta will change her mind and sell the painting?”

  The letter was on the table and Brand couldn’t help but notice it. Carly took it out of the envelope and handed it to him to read. “I don’t think she’ll sell, but I don’t blame her. She’d like me to ask her about some of her other work.”

  “What do you plan to do?” Brand pushed his empty plate aside and reached over and took an olive from hers.

  She slapped the back of his hand lightly and twisted to reach for the jar on the counter. “Take your own, bub,” she rebuked him with a teasing grin.

  Brand emptied several more onto his plate and replaced the one he’d taken of hers. “Well?” He raised questioning eyes to hers.

  “I think I’ll write her again. Even if she won’t sell the portrait, I’d like to get to know her. Whoever Jutta Hoverson is or whatever she’s done doesn’t bother me. It’s obvious the two of us have a lot in common.”

  Brand didn’t respond directly; instead, his gaze slid to the bouquet of carnations she’d flippantly tossed on the countertop. His expression was gentle, almost tender. “You’d better put those in water.”

  Carly’s gaze rested on the pink and white carnations, and she released her breath. “You should take the flowers home with you.”

  “Why?” He regarded her closely, his expression grim.

  “I thought you were paying off Sandra’s medical bills.”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “We’re friends, remember?” Her voice was low. “Flowers are something you’d bring to impress a date. You don’t need to impress me, St. Clair. I’m a friend. I don’t ever plan to be anything more.”

  Brand sat still and quiet, and although he didn’t speak, Carly could feel his irritation. “I wasn’t trying to impress you.” His voice was deep. “My intention was more to cheer you up, but I can see that I failed.” Silence filled the room as Brand stood, carried his empty plate to the sink, and, without a word, opened the cupboard beneath her sink and tossed the flowers into the garbage. His expression was weary as he turned back to face her.

  “Brand,” Carly tried. She hadn’t expected him to react in such a disgruntled way.

  He ignored her as he headed toward the front door. “Thanks for the sandwich,” he said before the door closed behind him. The sound vibrated off the walls and wrapped its way around Carly’s throat.

  * * *

  An hour later, Carly had written a reply to Jutta Hoverson. The second letter was easier to write than the first. Again she mentioned how much she’d enjoyed Jutta’s work, and she recounted the time she’d visited the Seattle Art Museum in Volunteer Park. She told Jutta that she didn’t appreciate the abstract creations, but a friend told her that they supposedly had a lot more meaning than met the eye. Rereading that part of the letter caused Carly to smile. Of course, the friend had been Diana, and the comment was typical of Diana’s sense of humor.

  Carly closed the letter by asking Jutta to send more information about her other paintings. As she took a stamp from the kitchen drawer, she caught sight of a single carnation that had remained on top of the counter next to the sink. She paused with the stamp raised halfway to her tongue. The carnation looked forlorn and dejected. Feeling bad about the way she’d treated Brand, she opened the cupboard beneath the sink and pulled the bouquet from the can. She gently brushed the coffee grounds from the pink and white petals. Having no vase, Carly placed them in the center of the table in the empty olive jar, which served admirably as a holder.

  She regretted what she’d said to him. There were better ways of expressing her feelings. But hindsight was twenty-twenty. That was another of Diana’s favorite witticisms. Dear heaven, how she missed her friend.

  After a restless evening in which her mind refused to concentrate on any project, Carly realized that she wouldn’t feel right about anything until she’d apologized. Humble pie had never been her specialty, but, as she recalled, though the initial bite was bitter, the aftertaste was generally sweet. At least she’d be able to go on with the rest of her day. And the sooner the apology was made, the better. To take the easy way out and phone him tempted her, but Carly resisted. Instead, she donned a thick cable-knit sweater and drove the distance to Brand’s apartment.

  * * *

  Her knock on his door was loud and hard. She waited long enough to wonder if he was home. His truck was outside, but that didn’t mean much. She finally heard movement inside the apartment and placed a pink carnation between her teeth before the door was open
ed. “Peace?” she offered.

  “Carly.” He frowned, as if she was the last person he expected to see. His expression clouded before he said, “Come in.”

  Carly removed the flower and attempted to spit out the taste of the stem and leaves as she moved inside. “Well?” she questioned.

  Brand moved a hand over his face, as if he thought she might be an apparition. “Well, what?”

  “Am I forgiven for my cavalier attitude?”

  He looked at her blankly, as if he still didn’t understand what she was asking. “You mean about the flowers?”

  Carly tipped her head to one side. Brand had obviously been asleep and she’d woken him. Things were quickly going from bad to worse. “I’m sorry, I … I didn’t know you were in bed.”

  “Care to join me?” Brand teased softly, and pulled her into his arms. He inhaled, as if to take in the fresh scent of her. “It’s been a long time since I had someone warm to cuddle.”

  Carly tried to remain stiff, but the instant she was in his arms, she melted against him. He smiled down on her, and his finger traced the smooth line of her jaw. His touch had the power to weaken her resolve. This was bad, and it was getting worse. To complicate matters even more, Brand could see exactly how she felt.

  He chuckled softly, and his breath tingled the side of her neck as he leaned forward to nuzzle the curve between her neck and shoulder. “Why don’t you put on some coffee while I grab a shirt and shoes?” He reluctantly moved away.

  Carly released a sigh of relief when he left her. Not knowing what to do with herself, she wandered into his kitchen. Her back was to Brand when he entered the room a few moments later. “My coming today was a gesture of friendship,” she began, and smiled tightly as she turned to face him. “I felt bad about what happened at my place. My attitude was all wrong. You were being kind and I …”