Summer Dreams

by Delia Latham

  He led her down the slope of his back yard to a set of steps that took them onto a private strip of beach—an extension of his own property. They trudged across the sand and around a bend.

  “You up for a bit of a climb?”

  “Are you?” She indicated the wicker basket he carried, which now weighed twice as much as it had when they’d left his kitchen.

  “This is actually pretty heavy,” he admitted with a chuckle. “How did you know?”

  “When you stopped talking and started focusing on breathing, I kinda figured…”

  They laughed together. Logan set the basket down, stretched his arms and back, and then picked it up again. “It isn’t far. Let’s go.”

  She didn’t budge. “May I share something my mother taught me when I was a child?”

  Puzzled, he nodded.

  Summer reached for the basket, placed her hand right next to his, and gripped the handle. “Many hands make light work.”

  “What? No.” He tried to pull the basket back, but she proved more stubborn than he expected.

  “Let me help, Logan. I want to.”

  “And here I planned to come across like a superhero.” He chuckled. “Fine, then. And thank you.”

  They set off up a hill strewn with heavy boulders and time-worn rocks. Orange poppies peeked through cracks and crevices in the stone, the bright state flower bearing witness to the presence of soil somewhere beneath. When they reached the top, Logan led Summer along a path that bore little evidence of use. It formed an S-curve around the side of the hill, and then just…ended.

  “Oh.” Summer glanced around, her brows drawn together. “Now what?”

  Logan eased the big basket to the ground. “Now, we go inside and have lunch.” He pushed aside the scattered branches of a mesquite shrub and revealed a concave indentation in the hillside.

  “A cave!”

  Logan chuckled. “Well, I’d hardly call it that. It’s really just a big bowl hewn into the hillside by…who knows what? Years of weather? Or perhaps some earlier generation hollowed it out for protection from the elements. All I know is, once I found it, it became my favorite place to hide away. I’ve spent a few warm nights tucked in here with my sleeping bag, a kerosene lantern and a good book.”

  He set the picnic basket inside the opening, and then placed both hands on Summer’s shoulders to turn her in the other direction. They’d been so busy climbing, he had a feeling she hadn’t noticed the view as they rose higher above the beach. From where they stood now, they could see far out over the ocean, and miles into the countryside.

  Her eyes widened, and one hand flew to the side of her face. “This is stunning. Please tell me you’ve painted something from here.”

  “I have. Couldn’t help myself. I’ll show you when we get back to the house. For now, however...will you excuse me one moment? I promise to return before you even miss me.”

  He stepped toward the cave and then tossed a look over his shoulder. “Wait here, OK? Don’t go anywhere, and don’t come in just yet.”

  Her eyebrows drew together, and one corner of her lips rose a little. “Where could I go? We’re kind of at the literal end of the road.”

  He grinned, enjoying the moment. “I shall return.” And he did, in under five minutes. Finding her waiting with her gaze on the gorgeous panorama spread out around them, he offered what he hoped was a courtly bow, along with his arm. “Please join me at our table, milady.”

  Summer’s little giggle made him grin. He kept his gaze fixed on her face as they stepped out of the ever-present breeze into the dim cave.

  She gasped, and her gaze shot to his. “Logan! This is...” She shook her head. “It’s spectacular!”

  He completely agreed.

  A large, flat rock in the center of the room wore a dainty cover of handmade lace—a tablecloth passed down from his grandmother. Earlier that morning, he’d brought up a number of supplies, including a few pieces of china dinnerware that had never been used as far as he knew. Until she gave them to him, his mother’s china cabinet always displayed the pieces in pristine beauty.

  Flickering from no less than a couple dozen cracks and crevices, candlelight danced against the rock walls. The china and silverware reflected the flames from a couple of tapers in delicate crystal holders.

  Logan had spread the table with food from the basket. Overall, it made for an inviting scene. A cluster of large, purple grapes spilled from one bowl. An assortment of meats and cheeses nestled atop a platter. Alongside, a variety of crackers waited in a pretty relish dish. A small, silver basket covered with a light cloth contained focaccia and rye breads. Small condiment dishes held mustard, mayonnaise, and some kind of oil his friend at the sandwich shop in Cambria had recommended.

  A small hand on his arm drew his attention. “You did all this, Logan? You planned to bring me here to lunch, and went to all this trouble…?”

  “Wait, wait.” He took her hands—both of them—and pulled her closer. “This was not trouble. Let’s get that straight, shall we? I had the best time planning this for you. The only problem was wondering if I’d be able to talk you into coming to lunch with me.”

  She stood quietly, her gaze on his face. At last, she tiptoed and touched her lips to his cheek. “No one’s ever done anything quite so sweet and romantic for me.”

  He swallowed a burst of pure emotion and produced a grin he hoped didn’t look as sick as her softly spoken comment made him feel. Why wouldn’t she have experienced any number of ‘sweet and romantic’ gestures from men smart enough to see her worth? “Well, then I’m glad to be the first,” he whispered and ran the back of his hand down her face, from temple to cheek to soft, inviting lips. I just hope I’m also the last. I’d like to keep doing things like this for a really long time.

  She leaned her face into his touch. Her gaze held his as she offered a slow smile that lit a fire deep in his belly. In that moment, every trip up the hillside carrying dishes and candles and food seemed like a walk in the park. He reluctantly pulled away and led her to the table.

  She smiled when she saw the rock chairs he’d covered with soft afghans.

  “You didn’t forget anything, did you?” She sat and caught his gaze. “It’s perfect. Beyond perfect. I’ll never forget this day.”

  “Neither will I.” He took his own rock seat and reached across the table for her hand. “Shall we pray?” He loved the light in her eyes when she nodded and the silky softness of her fingers. Closing his eyes to say a prayer seemed a sacrifice of sorts, because it meant he couldn’t see her for the brief time required to offer thanks for their food, for the day, and for the privilege of spending time with his delightful guest.

  ****

  By the time Logan delivered her back to Paradise Pines, Summer’s head spun with thoughts she shouldn’t be thinking, emotions she shouldn’t be feeling, and pleasure she shouldn’t be experiencing. She’d intended to concentrate on her writing.

  Logan’s quiet attentiveness, his unapologetic concern for her comfort, well-being, and enjoyment had sparked a strong response from somewhere deep within her soul—something new, uncontainable, and even a little bit wild…something that yearned toward him in every way.

  But the whole thing was impossible. Summer didn’t live in Cambria. While her home in Three Rivers wasn’t exactly an ocean away, even the three-hour drive would, over time, prove inconvenient for nurturing a relationship.

  She said hello to Freckle, patted his head and scratched behind his ears, and then gave him a bowl of warm milk—or whatever the white liquid was that Miss Angie continued to provide, insisting her “source” affirmed it wouldn’t hurt Freckle. It had taken a day or two, but eventually, she’d managed to get the fawn to try slurping out of a bowl, rather than nursing from a bottle.

  Once again, her heart pinched with the knowledge that she knew absolutely nothing about mothering a fawn. God, don’t let me do anything that will hurt him, please. I’ll take care of Freckle, if that’s what
You want for now, but I don’t really know how—You know that. So please…give me Your wisdom in dealing with this little creature. Amen.

  After he’d eaten, she romped a bit with him, amused by how much like a young dog he behaved. He chased her toward the woods and in wide circles on the large lawn. When she dropped onto the ground after a few rounds, he plopped down beside her and licked at her hand.

  But throughout their playtime, her mind remained on Logan, questioning the wisdom of allowing something to develop between them. He was so pleasant, and undeniably handsome. She’d felt at home within the walls of his house, and hadn’t seen much of anything she’d want to change if given the opportunity. Everything about him and his home seemed right for her. The man’s talent left her awed and amazed.

  True to his word, he’d taken her back through the house when they’d returned from their romantic luncheon in the hillside hideaway. His studio, a room walled by glass on three sides, was full of all things art—including several paintings he’d created while seated outside the small cavern where they’d had lunch. Each of them possessed the same magnetic ability to draw Summer into the scene and almost believe she was actually there.

  The highlight of that visit came when he pulled out a canvas tucked into a dark area against the one wood wall.

  “This one is mine.” Holding up one hand, palm out, he issued a silent request that she wait while he arranged the painting on an easel and then adjusted a light to shine on it just so. “I’ll never sell it, and it will always be my favorite.” Gaze fixed on the canvas, he took a couple of backward steps before looking at her again.

  She uttered a quiet gasp. In that moment, his eyes were a deep, woodsy green. Against the unusual dark hue, gold flecks sparkled in the light that played around him from the wall of windows.

  “I call it Summer Dreams. Would you like to see it?”

  He extended a hand—this time in a welcoming gesture—and she laid hers in it, unable to take her gaze from his. For some reason, she closed her eyes as he led her to a spot directly in front of the canvas and then stepped away.

  “Look, Summer.”

  She lifted her eyelashes, and although she didn’t look his way, she knew he watched her every expression, and read every nuance of her reaction.

  “Oh!”

  How was this even possible?

  It might have been any one of Logan’s amazing ocean scenes…except that Summer was in it. Dressed in a long, full white skirt and top, she stood poised at the edge of the water—arms stretched out, face lifted heavenward, the toes of one bare foot curled into the sand. The other foot held an air pose, stretched out as if…

  She caught her breath as the truth blossomed in her heart. He’d painted her dancing. Summer’s heart pounded against her chest as if seeking to be set free, to be allowed to fly. Or to dance. “How…?” Her voice caught in her throat. She cleared it and tried again. “When…?” Finally, she raised a tear-soaked gaze to his, and something in the depths of those gold-flecked green orbs started a smoldering flame deep, deep within her misbehaving heart.

  He stepped close and slipped an arm around her waist. “I started it before I ever met you, Summer.”

  She shook her head and looked once again at the painting. Perhaps she’d been mistaken.

  But, no. The woman on the seaside was her, without a doubt, although Logan had depicted her as far more beautiful than she actually was. Her hair shone like sunshine, and the color of her skin...well, she only wished she possessed that kind of beauty. In this painting, she seemed to be the focal point, despite the vastness of the ocean beside which she stood.

  “I don’t understand.”

  He sighed. “I probably shouldn’t have shown you just yet. I didn’t intend to, but…well, I couldn’t help myself.” He led her to a sofa that dominated the center of the room, facing one window.

  From that vantage point, a wide swath of the Pacific glistened in the midday sun. Whitecaps frothed on the surface, and a sailboat bobbed like a toy in the miles of surrounding water.

  Logan took both of her hands in his. “I had witnessed the scene in that painting almost every night in my dreams for at least a month before you showed up on the Paradise Pines beach.” Truth shone from his gaze like a beacon.

  “I don’t understand.” She whispered the words once again. Another tear rolled down her face, and Logan released her hand to gently brush it away.

  “Summer…God has been sending me dreams of you. I watched you dance while I slept for weeks. I saw that wave roll in and take you under the water, and I knew you would die unless I could reach you in time. In my dreams, I never made it all the way across the width of the beach before I awakened in a cold, horrified sweat.”

  He traced the line of her jaw with one finger, trailed it under her chin, and then up to her lips, which he touched oh-so-gently before once again taking her hand. “That day on the beach, I was there for a reason. I knew you were real, and that I needed to be there to save you. I didn’t know if you would show up that day, but I knew you’d be there someday. So I’d been painting from that same spot on the Pines beach all month.” Once again, he touched her face, cupping it in his hand. “Waiting for you.”

  7

  Summer ran her fingers across Freckle’s back, barely aware of the fawn. She couldn’t stop thinking about the painting, Summer Dreams. How was it possible that Logan had been working on it prior to her arrival in Cambria? That he’d been dreaming about her before they even met? The whole scenario created questions in her mind that she was neither equipped nor ready to try and answer.

  Miss Angie sank onto the lawn beside her.

  Summer started, but then she smiled a welcome.

  “You looked so thoughtful, dear. I hesitated to interrupt.”

  “You’re never an interruption, Miss Angie. I was just…thinking.”

  “That much I could see.” The older woman’s soft laughter sent a thrill of something comforting and joyful coursing up Summer’s spine. “I finally joined you because I thought maybe you’d like to talk about whatever’s got you looking so solemn.”

  “That was sweet of you.” Summer looked directly into eyes the exact color of the sky over the Pacific. She wasn’t accustomed to sharing her heart with anyone. She had no really close friends—a writer’s life could be quite solitary—and her innate shyness and reticence about meeting new people magnified the situation. Yet, despite having known Miss Angie only a few days, she found herself wanting to confide in the sweet woman. There’d be no need to ask for a promise of discretion. Miss Angie could be trusted with her concerns.

  “Iron sharpens iron.” Miss Angie spoke into the brief silence. “So a man sharpens the countenance of his friend.” She chuckled. “That’s from Proverbs twenty-seven. I love the wisdom in that book. Here’s another, from chapter eleven, verse fourteen. ‘Where no counsel is, the people fall: but in the multitude of counsellors there is safety.’’’

  Summer’s lips tipped upward. “How’d you get to be so smart, Miss Angie? With all your knowledge of the Bible, you should’ve been a Bible teacher…or preacher…something like that.”

  The woman waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, no! God has other things for me to do, child. I’ll leave the preaching to the preachers.”

  “You deliver better sermons in the life you live every day than many ministers ever accomplish behind a pulpit.”

  “Thank you, Summer. That’s very sweet. But I’m not here to talk about me.” Miss Angie laid a gentle hand on Summer’s wrist.

  A warm tendril of something wonderful flowed from her fingertips, up Summer’s arm and all the way to her heart. A sense of harmony overcame the turmoil under which she’d been laboring, and the clutter of questions and concerns in her mind quieted. She lifted wide eyes, but the woman seemed unaware of anything momentous having happened. For half a second, Summer thought perhaps her imagination was far too active.

  “Would you like to share your heart with an old woman?”
<
br />   Summer hesitated only a second more. “It’s Logan.”

  Miss Angie’s sweet smile soothed like a healing balm. “As I thought it might be. I hope my talented young friend has given you no cause to be troubled.”

  A soft laugh surprised Summer, but she rather enjoyed the pleasant vibration. “If you’re asking if he has misbehaved, I think you already know the answer. Logan is the most respectful, gentle, courteous, chivalrous man I’ve ever known.”

  It was the other woman’s turn to laugh. “That’s quite a list of attributes.”

  Summer nodded. “And it’s not even complete. I could come up with more words to describe him in a positive light.”

  “I agree. Logan is quite an exceptional young man in every way.” Miss Angie’s vivid gaze was sharp as if reading Summer’s mood in words visible only to her. “So, my dear. What is it that has you troubled?”

  “I—” She stopped, teasing at her bottom lip. Confiding in Miss Angie might be safe, but it wouldn’t be easy. “I think…something might be…well, happening between us.” Her cheeks warmed and a wave of overwhelming embarrassment churned. Miss Angie would think she’d lost her mind.

  “Something’s happening.” A smile transformed Miss Angie’s still-pretty face, making it intensely beautiful. “From the murky aura of worry surrounding you, I take it you think that isn’t a good thing, but I must confess…I can’t imagine why not!”

  “Isn’t it a bit soon to feel so drawn to him?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, dear. You’ve only indicated an attraction. Christ actually loved you—loved you, Summer!—before you were ever born.”

  Summer stared. How did Miss Angie think of all these biblical nuggets so quickly and with such accuracy to a given situation?

  A low gurgle of laughter caught her attention, and the older woman’s blue gaze twinkled in her direction. “Not that I’m suggesting such things happen to mere mortals very often.”