Dreaming of You

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Dreaming of You Page 12

by Francis Ray


  The knock came again. Picking up her leather-bound notebook, Faith left to answer the door. She was meeting with the supervisor of housekeeping in fifteen minutes at the entrance of the courtyard. Lonnie was early, but Faith didn’t mind. Their monthly meetings were often lengthy.

  The smile and greeting Faith intended never materialized. Her eyes rounded in shocked surprise. “Brandon. It’s seven thirty!”

  “Good morning. I’m early because I wanted to catch you before you left.”

  “Is there a problem with your room?” she questioned, trying to figure out what was going on.

  He propped his hand on the door frame; a grin tugged the corner of his sexy mouth. “I can get up when it’s important.”

  Now she understood. “You’re meeting Mr. Montgomery this morning at your place.”

  That whipped the grin from his face. “He’s out of town on family business. At the rate he’s going, it’ll be three weeks before he’s finished.”

  Once that would have given her immense joy; now it meant she would have to endure the continued heartache of having Brandon around and knowing he’d never be hers. “Perhaps not.” Stepping onto the small concrete porch with big clay pots of variegated vines and pink geraniums and begonias on either side, she closed the door.

  “I thought we’d have breakfast together. At least I can enjoy Henrí’s cooking if I can’t steal him away from you,” he teased.

  “I commend you on your restraint,” she said drolly.

  “You should,” he said. “How about it?”

  “I have an appointment with the head of housekeeping. I thought you were her.” She started up the flagstone path toward the rustic gate.

  Brandon fell into step beside her and took her arm. “I’ll wait for you. Then, if you have time, you can go with me to my place to look at the damage in my bathroom and tell me which fixtures I should buy.”

  Opening the gate for them, he let her pass through, then caught her arm again. Her skin tingled, heated beneath his fingertips. “I’m sorry, Brandon. We’ll be at it at least two hours, probably more.”

  “Do you have plans for lunch or dinner? We could do it then.”

  She stopped. “Brandon, I know what you’re doing.”

  “I never thought you were stupid or the kind of woman to give up.”

  She hugged the leather-bound notebook closer to her chest. “In some things no, but others—”

  “In nothing,” he said, cutting her off. “Whenever you can make it to the Red Cactus is fine. We close at twelve on Saturday night.”

  “We have several events tonight,” she told him. “Two might last past that time.”

  “If you can’t make it, I’ll expect to see you at breakfast in the morning. Since you like to get an early start, we’ll meet at eight.” His tone broached no argument.

  Her lips curved upward. “Getting up early two mornings in a row. My, my. I’m honored.”

  “Friends do that.”

  Faith barely kept the smile on her face. “Yes, they do. I see Lonnie waiting for me. Enjoy your breakfast.”

  “I will. Sierra won’t be there to swipe my croissant.” Like a young kid or a man who didn’t want to take his eyes off a woman he cared about, he walked backward. “See you when you can.” With a wave, he turned and continued up the path whistling, with his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

  She bit her lip. “Brandon, don’t do this to me, please,” she whispered. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she tried to smile and went to meet the waiting supervisor, making a mental note to call Brandon later on and cancel for breakfast tomorrow.

  Brandon had a problem. As he drove to Morgan and Phoenix’s house Sunday afternoon, he wasn’t sure how he was going to solve it. Faith hadn’t taken him up on his invitation to breakfast, lunch, dinner, or anything in between. After leaving messages all afternoon Friday, he’d finally managed to track her down late Saturday evening. She’d told him she was swamped, asked for a rain check, and hung up, leaving Brandon listening to a dial tone.

  Thoroughly at a loss, he turned into the gated community where his older brothers and their mother lived. Well, Luke still had a home in the subdivision, but he and Catherine preferred the mountain cabin where they’d met. Brandon suspected it was because the place held a lot of good memories for them, but Catherine could also keep an eye on her pet wolf hybrid. Catherine could stand toe-to-toe with any man and not flinch. Faith was proving to be just as strong.

  Women had played hard-to-get before and kept him dangling, but Brandon had a feeling that Faith wasn’t playing games. She was avoiding him. He wasn’t going to allow that. He just hadn’t figured out how he was going to overcome her resistance. From the way things were going, maybe she should be teaching him how to handle women.

  He pulled into the driveway of Morgan’s Mediterranean-style home with white brick and red-tiled roof and parked beside a black Lexus SUV he didn’t recognize. Probably someone who had just dropped by, he thought as he got out of his sports car. The cookout was an hour away. At least it wasn’t his mother.

  Opening the passenger door, he picked up two stainless-steel pans of beef, chicken, and links heavily wrapped in cellophane. He’d started cooking the meat on the grill at his restaurant to cut down on the cooking time and ensure that it wasn’t over-or undercooked. Morgan’s skills on the grill were hit-and-miss. Phoenix was learning. Brandon was happier when he handled the cooking.

  No one wanted to chance ruining the cookout to thank the Santa Fe Council for the Arts for welcoming Phoenix with open arms. Morgan and their mother might be members of the council, but learning Phoenix had contributed heavily to the sculptures attributed solely as the work of her mentor could have ruined her credibility. Morgan had worked tirelessly to ensure that hadn’t happened. Brandon balanced the containers and rang the doorbell.

  Morgan opened the door. “Hi, come on in. Anything else in the car?”

  “Salads and baked beans.” Brandon stepped into the artful entry. Since Morgan’s marriage to Phoenix it now held Unbowed, a one-third-life-size statue of a woman with tears on her cheeks but a radiant smile on her face. The figure made him pause and remember the tears he’d seen on Faith’s face, tears he’d caused. He didn’t like how that made him feel.

  Morgan noticed the direction of his brother’s gaze. “Although I’ve seen it a hundred times, it still gets to me, too. Especially when I know how close I came to losing her.”

  “She loves you too much to have stayed away,” Brandon said.

  “I tell myself that now, but when she was in New York getting ready for her first opening I spent a lot of restless nights.” His hand reverently touched the face of the statue.

  “She’s where she belongs.” Brandon might not want to get married, but he was happy for his brother. “Although why you married a woman who loses track of time in her studio and forgets to cook I can’t imagine,” Brandon teased in a voice loud enough to carry.

  “Because she has other qualities I value more,” Morgan said just as loudly.

  “I’ll bet.” Laughing, Brandon stepped into the great room and came to an abrupt halt. Faith stood beside Phoenix near the bust of Morgan. From the surprised look on Faith’s face, she hadn’t expected to see him any more than he had her.

  “Hi, Brandon,” Phoenix greeted him. “You know Faith, of course.”

  “I’m beginning to wonder.” He came farther into the room. “Hi, Faith.”

  “Hello, Brandon.” She moistened her lips and spoke to Phoenix. “I don’t want to keep you any longer from getting ready for your guests. We’ll talk later.”

  Phoenix put her hand on Faith’s arm to stop her. “They won’t be here for a while yet.”

  “Honey, where should I put these salads?” Morgan spoke from the entrance to the great room. Each arm circled a large stainless-steel bowl.

  Phoenix shook her head. “To say my husband is lost in the kitchen is an understatement. Faith, I know you didn’t come to work, but c
ould you please help me?”

  “Of course.” There was no hesitation.

  Phoenix removed the bowl of potato salad from Morgan’s grasp and gave it to Faith, then took the bowl containing field greens. “Brandon, please come into the kitchen and we can put what you don’t want on the grill in the refrigerator. Then, too, you can talk Faith into staying.”

  “No, I have to get back,” Faith protested.

  “I’m sure you have competent staff members. The kitchen is this way,” Phoenix said.

  Faith threw a helpless look at the front door, then slowly followed Phoenix.

  Brandon and Morgan exchanged puzzled looks. Brandon placed the heavy tray of meat on the leather hassock. “Guess being married to you cured Phoenix of her shyness.”

  The frown on Morgan’s face didn’t clear. “I hadn’t thought so until now. But what do I know? I’m just the man who’s crazy about her.”

  “You think you know a woman and then, wham, she pulls a three-sixty turn on you.” Brandon shook his head.

  “Any woman in particular you’re talking about?” Morgan asked mildly.

  Brandon didn’t keep secrets from his family, but neither was he about to discuss Faith’s request. “All women are the same.”

  Morgan picked up the containers of meat. “If I thought you really believed that, you’d have me worried. Come on. Let’s get this meat on the grill.”

  Faith didn’t know how it happened, but thirty minutes after Brandon arrived she was still at the house. Phoenix always had one more request: please take the men a glass of raspberry tea, do you mind slicing tomatoes for the cucumber salad, could you please take the bouquet of flowers out of the refrigerator and put them in a vase?

  If Faith hadn’t been so worried that Brandon would come inside and press her for the reason she had been avoiding him, and he was smart enough to know she had been, she would have enjoyed the time with Phoenix. As it was, Faith kept one eye on the back door leading outside and the other on what she was doing.

  “The flowers look beautiful.”

  Faith set the white long-stemmed gladiolus in the center of the kitchen table. “I couldn’t very well mess them up.”

  “That’s debatable.” Phoenix studied the oblong table for eight. “Everything looks ready to me. What do you think?”

  Faith’s practiced gaze swept the table with its colorful yellow and blue swirl dinnerware, flatware, the side dishes and desserts. “All you need is the meat.”

  “I’ll go see if any of it is ready.” Phoenix headed for the back door.

  “I should be going,” Faith said.

  Phoenix stopped. “Could you please wait until I get back in case the doorbell rings?”

  “Phoenix, I really have to get back.”

  “I know, but considering that along with the arts council members we’ve invited several artists, it might be a good idea to stay and speak with them about your vision to display works of art in your hotel.”

  Faith hesitated. She’d always put the hotel’s welfare ahead of any personal considerations. “Just for a little while.”

  Phoenix was out the back door in nothing flat. Through the half-glass door Faith saw her walk to Morgan and curve her arm around his waist. He did the same to her.

  To love and be loved. What must that feel like? Faith mused. She was afraid she’d never know.

  She turned away to fuss unnecessarily with the flowers. She didn’t want Brandon to see her looking at him with the longing that was becoming more difficult at certain times to hide.

  A bump sounded on the door. She looked around. Brandon stared back at her with a platter of meat in his hands. Forgetting she’d been trying to avoid him. She rushed to open the door.

  “Thanks. Where does Phoenix want this?”

  “There.” Faith indicated a spot near the head of the laden table. “There’s a lot of food here.”

  “She’ll need it. I’ve fed this group before.” He set the platter in the space provided beside the plates, napkins, and flatware. “Phoenix said you’re thinking about staying.”

  She glanced away. “Just for a bit.”

  “Would you stay longer if I wasn’t here?”

  Her head whipped back around. The lie hovered on the tip of her tongue, but she didn’t want her feelings for him to take away any more of the honesty that had always been there between them. “I’m not sure.”

  “Fair enough.” Folding his arms, he leaned back against the counter. “Mind telling me what I did wrong?”

  “Oh, Brandon, you know as well as I do.” She shoved an impatient hand through her hair. “It’s embarrassing to think of what I asked you.”

  “So put it out of your mind.” He straightened and stared down at her. “Good friends are hard to find.”

  “Yes, they are,” she said, then was relieved to hear the doorbell. “Phoenix asked me to answer the door for her.”

  “Send them out on the patio. I’ll check the food.”

  Faith continued to the front door. She’d stay for a little while, and then she was leaving.

  Monday morning Brandon dragged on his jeans, then stuffed his crisp white shirt into the waistband. Faith had managed to avoid him at the cookout. Sitting on the bed, he pulled on his boots, then stood. If he wasn’t a strong man, Faith might give him a complex.

  Standing, he shoved his billfold into his hip pocket and the change into his front. Today was going to be different. One way or another, they were going to spend some time together, and he knew just the way to accomplish his goal. A quick glance at his watch confirmed that he was on schedule. Grabbing his keys, he was out the door.

  He found Faith just where the night desk clerk had told him she’d be. He shook his head. She worked too hard. The coffee had probably grown cold, the iced orange juice watery, the food cold. “Good morning. Mind if I join you?”

  “Brandon,” she said, a little startled. The long earrings danced in her ears.

  “Good morning. You don’t usually wear those, do you?” He flicked the dangling turquoise stones. He’d noticed them yesterday as well.

  “No.” Her voice sounded a bit breathless.

  “You should. They’re pretty.” He closed his hand on the top of the iron chair. “May I?”

  “Please. I’m sorry.” She laid the notebook aside.

  A middle-aged waiter with a warm smile appeared almost instantly with a glass of orange juice and one of water. “Good morning, Mr. Grayson. Your usual?”

  “Yes. Thank you, Troy.” Brandon picked up the large glass and gulped half of it down.

  Faith folded her hands and placed them on the black mesh surface of the table. “You’re turning into a morning person.”

  “Don’t tell anyone.”

  The waiter served Belgian waffles sprinkled with cinnamon and powdered sugar, crisp apple-cured bacon, pan sausage, and scrambled eggs, picked up Faith’s cold plate of food, and replaced her coffee, juice, and plate with wheat toast, scrambled eggs, and crisp bacon.

  “Thank you,” Faith and Brandon said.

  Brandon nodded toward her plate. “Does that happen often?”

  “A bit.” She picked up her fork.

  Faith took care of everyone, but who took care of her? “What are you working on?”

  “A business venture.” She picked up her juice. “Nothing makes Henrí happier than people enjoying his food.”

  “We have that in common.” Brandon cut into his two waffles, which were three inches high. “By the way, I know you changed subjects.”

  She sipped her juice, then picked up her fork. “You were always perceptive.”

  Had she always been stubborn? Brandon cut another wedge of waffles. “How did it go with the artists?”

  “Ralph Dawkins and Deloris Juarez agreed to let the hotel display their work,” she told him, excitement in her voice. “Of course, they consented after Phoenix said she was thinking of offering her sculptures.”

  “Dawkins was flirting with you,” Brandon accused
, the image still having the power to annoy him. The artist had cornered Faith, making outrageous compliments on her eyes, saying they resembled pools of dark chocolate, and asking her to sit for him.

  Faith beamed. “He was, wasn’t he?”

  Brandon put his fork down. “That man is a known womanizer.”

  Her dark brow arched. “Brandon, isn’t that like the pot calling the kettle black?”

  “There is no way you can compare him to me,” Brandon denied, his voice rising. “I don’t lead women on just to get them—”

  “Brandon, I was teasing,” Faith said. “I turned down his offer to do my portrait.”

  “Dawkins does landscapes.”

  Faith munched on her toast. “That’s why he said it would be such an honor for me.”

  “That guy is full of it.”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps not.” She picked up her juice. “How is the bathroom going?”

  Brandon could see it coming. Faith falling for the bull Dawkins was going to feed her. Not if he had anything to say about it, and he knew the perfect way to keep her busy. “I’m thinking about having it remodeled.”

  “You are? I thought you were just getting new fixtures, since you’re anxious to have it done.”

  “After growing accustomed to the spaciousness of the bath in my hotel room, I’ve decided to remodel mine the same way,” he explained, warming to his story. “You and a designer worked together, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  Although she’d already said as much, Cameron had mentioned that Faith had a hand in every phase of the extensive renovations the hotel had gone through three years before. “I know you’re busy, but would you mind coming over this morning and giving me your opinion?” He placed his fork on his empty plate. “If Mama hears that I’m redoing the bath, she’ll have that decorator from Albuquerque here in nothing flat.”

  “She’s single, I suppose,” Faith said.

  Brandon thought he heard annoyance in her voice. He expected as much. Faith knew how he felt about being pushed into marriage. “She owns her own design studio and has won numerous awards.” He didn’t have to work too hard to look put upon. “Save me.”

 

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