Dream Keeper

by Gail McFarland

  And I’m going to tell her that I know all of that is true because I love her father.

  * * *

  Kneeling, laying the wood for the fire she wanted, Dench smiled and watched Rissa move carefully around the room lighting candles and rearranging the red and white roses set among the pine boughs. She wore the red and gold velvet dressing gown he’d taken so much care in selecting, and though she said nothing, he knew that she was pleased with his notice. The gown flowed softly from her shoulders, drawing his eyes to the delicious study in contrast—the high richness of her breasts, the lowering fullness of their child—and he felt the pleasure rise.

  “Dench?”

  Music played around them, softly mellow jazz, and when he looked up into eyes the shade of ripe pecans, he smiled. Maybe the baby will have her eyes.

  “Did I tell you that I liked the Christmas tree?”

  Better late than never. “I’m glad.” His lips quirked when the thought crossed his mind. “Did you like the tree, or what was under it?”

  “That’s not fair. You know that I loved having all the toys under the tree. Santa dropped off nearly as much stuff here for Nia and Jabari as he did at their own home.”

  “AJ and I were up all night putting those bikes and wagons together.”

  “You had help, and Marlea will never forgive you for spoiling her kids.” Rissa came closer and smiled down at him when his arm slipped around her legs, holding her close.

  “If she can forgive your mother, she can forgive me.”

  “Well, I forgive you.”

  He looked up quickly. “For what?”

  Rissa fingered the open heart-shaped diamond pendant resting against her skin. “For giving me another reason to love you and the tree that inspired you. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He released her long enough to stand and collect her hands in his. When she fumbled with the matches, he took them from her and left the box on the mantle. Leaning close enough for a chaste kiss, he drew back as her eyelids dropped sleepily. Softly feminine and vulnerable, she stood with her eyes closed, holding his hands and waited.

  When he kissed her again, taking his time, tasting her mouth, enjoying the softness of her lips, and feeling the tremor of her hands in his, he watched her. Her golden skin took on the blush of a ripe peach and her breathing quickened when she stepped closer, settling their joined hands atop the swell of their baby. Feeling like a man on the rare side of drunk, Dench brushed her lips with his.

  Opening her eyes, she smiled. “I hope that’s not all you’ve got, because I’m expecting a really great kiss to welcome in the New Year.”

  “Got one in my pocket,” he told her. “But I have something else. Come here, I want to show you.”

  “We’re not going to dance? Because dancing with you is really nice, and I really love this music, but I have to tell you that it makes really nice foreplay but it doesn’t really replace…you know…and since the doctor has cleared me for…you know…for everything we might want to do, maybe we should…”

  “Rissa?”

  She looked up at him, question in her eyes.

  “Shut up and let me lead. We’re not dancing, and I’ve got this.”

  “Okay.” Pressing her lips together, Rissa let him lead her to the sofa in front of the fire he’d laid, and watched as the flames sparked color and heat. Pulling his knee onto the cushions, Dench produced a small blue Tiffany & Company box. Offered from the palm of his hand, the box was identical to the one he’d given her on Christmas morning.

  “I don’t understand,” she said, “what is this?”

  He opened the box and she blinked in surprise. Unable to stop herself, caught in the magic of the moment and the charm of her husband, she put forth a single finger and touched the pavé diamonds of the open heart, a smaller version of the one she wore.

  “You already gave me one. What is this one for?”

  “For Faith,” he told her. “If diamonds are forever, then it only seems right that you should both have one, and that they should match.”

  “She’s a baby, Dench.”

  “Our baby.” He looked at her as though those two words were the answer to everything. “Our baby,” he said again when he folded the box into her hand. “I figure she’ll love this when we give it to her for her sixteenth birthday. In the meantime, hold it as a part of our promise to her.”

  “You are so corny, you and your dumb promises,” Rissa said against his lips. “Could you do anything to make me love you more?”

  “I’ll work on it.” His hands squeezed her shoulder and he felt her tremble. Around them, the music changed. “Stand By Me” vibrated through the air and Dench pulled her closer, thanking the nameless angel who delivered the little musical miracle. Taking the Tiffany & Company box from her hand, he closed it and set it on the table beside the sofa.

  Curling close, her belly snug between them, Rissa laid a hand on his chest and marveled in his strong heartbeat. His pulse traveled through her fingers and the connection called to her very essence. But there was one more thing to say before the elemental lines of basic lust were crossed. Rissa twisted herself to look into his face and her tongue darted across her lips.

  “Before the New Year comes, I have…a question, and I need an honest answer.” He frowned, and she saw the green and gold flecks swirl in the depth of his eyes.

  “What’s the question?”

  “This has been a long year, a hard year, and I want to know how much of it…” Her voice failed and her eyes fell.

  “Rissa, we lost one and gained another. We’re stronger, together. We’re better, together. I can’t think of anybody I’d rather have faith in.” He smiled suddenly, the flash of teeth and the touch of his hand making her blink. “There’s not a soul in the world that I would rather have faith in. Only you.”

  “And there’s not a soul in the world that I would rather have Faith for, Dench.” When he stretched his long legs toward the fire, she sighed and listened to the music that still spun through the air around them—“Mr. Magic.”

  “You know, earlier, I was thinking of some things that I want to be able to say to Faith when she’s older, but I just thought of something I want to say to you. Dench, I want to tell you that you are my rock, now and forever. When we lost the baby, you held me and refused to let me lose myself. When we jumped off that cliff in Jamaica, you held me and didn’t let go. Whether your team wins, or loses, I still get the best of you.” Her hands were warm when they closed on his cheeks. “Dench, I’m not ever going to forget that again.”

  Between them, the baby flipped and bumped. The touch of his hand seemed to calm the baby, but his wife wanted more. “You know, you’ll have to take a rain check on that corset and the stilettos, but I can think of other things that we can do.”

  His breath was hot and moist against the column of her throat and his voice, striped with low growling hunger, scraped at her core. “Girl, you don’t know how much I missed you, ’cause you know I love you like…”

  “Jesus loved the church,” she whispered, crushing her mouth to his. The taste and feel of him was everything she remembered, wanted, and craved. “Dench,” she whispered, needing to say his name.

  “Tell me you missed me.”

  “I did, I do. Always and endlessly.”

  Her teeth closed lightly on his lower lip and he saw the hunger surge through her gaze when her hand found skin beneath his shirt. Desire fanned intent and heat licked at his soul. She felt it steam between them, from his hands as they touched her, from his skin against hers. His fingers were quick and nimble, easing the buttons of her red velvet gown open, freeing her when it slipped from her shoulders.

  Suddenly modest, his fingers paused to gather the cloth at her breasts. “I want to do this right,” he said. When she offered her hand, he took it and drew her to her feet. “When it comes to you, I want to do everything right.”

  Rissa bit back her usual quick retort and settled for leaving her fingers in
his care as he led her back down the long hallway. In their bedroom, cast in ambient light, she was warm and yielding, letting him lead her. For the briefest of seconds, their eyes met and they were caught in the wash of déjà vu. The first time together, it had felt exactly like this…

  She felt the ache burn and their appetite grew and strained when he kissed her, and her urgency aroused him, made him more than he’d ever meant to be for anyone. Wanting more, fearing for her and the baby, Dench pulled back, would have released her if she had not moaned and clung to him.

  Rissa’s fingers pressed his flesh, found ridges of muscle, and pulled him to her. Her fingers gliding along the planes of his back branded him. Her eyes were soft, her smile languid, as her fingers committed his face to memory. Tracing his eyes, the bridge of his nose, his lips, she sighed softly, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against her breast.

  Shedding the red and gold gown, letting him take the panties he might once have simply ripped away, she looked too fragile for touching. Her belly, heavy with life waiting for expression, seemed too vulnerable for the passion he held so close to his surface. With heavy breasts that still lifted their nipples to his lips and the supple skin his greedy hands could not resist, Rissa was a wanton goddess of fertility and yearning, and he didn’t know what to do with his hands.

  “I’m not sure of how to do this.”

  “Let me help.”

  Taking his hands, she drew him with her onto a bed of silky sheets and smooth rhythm. He moved with her and even from the beginning, she was hot, wet and trembling. She moved into his arms, as close as a dream, and his muscles tensed under her impatient hands, fueling them both, making them greedy for each other. With the lift of her hips, his body quivered against her, fighting for control, until it shattered under need and pleasure.

  Flesh pressed and she took him inside her, holding tight as the thrill rushed after him. Blood pounded in his ears as he gathered for her, again and again, and like a legendary Valkyrie, she rode the storm he powered. Between them, the flume of color and scent, thrown hard against desire once denied, now spilled wet and wild until the storm inside them was spent.

  On his side, feeling his body cool, his desperate heartbeat slow, he smiled and watched the curve of his wife’s cheek as her smile echoed his. Somewhere beyond their home, celebrants chanted, fired guns, and popped champagne. But in their bed, safe in their home, even their child found peace in the womb and rested.

  Dench curled himself around his wife, spooning her perfectly and pulled the sheet higher over their bodies. The molten gold of her skin still warm and flushed from their love, the soft waves of her dark hair falling over her shoulder, and the closing of her fingers over his imprinted themselves on his heart.

  “Happy New Year, Rissa.”

  “Happy New Year, Dench.”

  If this moment was his destiny, Dennis Charles Traylor knew that he would never regret an instant of the time that had brought him here. Not even when his beautiful wife closed her eyes and snored.

  Chapter 22

  “She calls you a what?”

  “Household ninja.” Rose Kirkland smiled and flipped hot muffins into the basket on the counter. “I rather like it. It sounds very modern. I think it sounds like I’m a highly efficient household operative.”

  Martha Baldwin’s hands froze. “I think it sounds like you ought to be working for Jackie Chan. She couldn’t call me that—no, sir.”

  “I’m sure that Mr. Chan is a perfectly fine gentleman, but Dench and Rissa are quite an interesting pair, and I’m enjoying them.”

  Shaking her head, Martha couldn’t help clucking as she made coffee. “Interesting is one way of describing those two. Personally, I have a few other terms. You’ve only known them for a few months, I’ve put in a lot more time with them.”

  “Where do you keep the cups?” Rose turned from side to side, opening cabinets along the way. She finally found the cups on a shelf in a corner cupboard and held one up for approval. “How many do you think we need?”

  Martha’s eyes rose with her thoughts. “Let me see…there’s you, me, Marlea oh, and Libby, Jeannette and Connie…and I think that Sierra Clarence will be here, and Sandra, too. Eight should do it.”

  “But not her partner? I would have thought that Ms. Trask would have been here with bells on.”

  “I think they want to plan something to surprise her, and Yvette is going to try to keep her occupied for a while.” Martha said softly. Sandra offered to run interference, but since this is her daughter, and this pregnancy has been special, Marlea wanted her here this morning.”

  “Oh, I absolutely agree, and I think that if Rissa had any input, she would want her mother here, too.” Rose set the cups on the counter and lowered her voice. “You know she says that the baby communicates with her?”

  “Shut up!” Martha’s mouth dropped open and she forgot all about the coffee.

  “Yes, she told me that the baby lets her know things, and that she’s very opinionated.”

  “Things? Opinionated? What kind of things, and Lord help me, opinions about what?” Martha lifted her hands, then gave up and settled for crossing her arms again. “Look, I told you when you took the job, that girl is…different.”

  Rose leaned thoughtfully against the counter. “But they’re so sweet together. Especially now, him flying back and forth, making every one of those childbirth classes with her, determined to be her coach. But now that you mention it, whoever saw a woman married for almost five years and still trying to cook?”

  “This one.” Martha blew hard air and rolled her eyes when Rose took one of the hot muffins and broke off a piece to munch. “Got the nerve to plan a brunch this morning and I don’t know what we’re going to eat, beyond coffee and muffins. Married all this time and left to her own devices, Marlea is still burning up the pots.”

  “It’s either the style or it’s contagious, but it’s a darned good thing for Rissa that Dench’s aunt taught him to cook. He does pretty well, too.”

  “Maybe he should give AJ a few lessons.”

  Rose popped the last of her muffin into her mouth. “It’s okay, we’ll never let them starve, will we?”

  Martha rolled her eyes again. “I would starve Rissa if she called me the—what does she call you?”

  “The household ninja.”

  Martha shook a pointed finger at her friend. “I’m telling you now, I would let that little minx starve.”

  A quick blast of wintry air crossed the warm kitchen and both housekeepers turned to see Marlea and AJ pushing into the house. “Which little minx? We took Nia with us. She and Jabari are at Tiny Gym this morning.”

  AJ moved to the high granite counter and dumped his load of bags, then reached for Marlea’s. “It’s not Nia. It’s Rissa, right? I know my sister. Whatever she did, could you just forgive her?” Marlea dropped her heavy jacket into AJ’s arms and headed for the sink.

  “We know how she is.” Martha strolled over to the counter to watch Marlea strip Field Greens Café bags from the boxes and plastic containers. She cast a knowing glance over her shoulder, then looked back at Marlea. “What’s that?”

  “Brunch.”

  “With all that restaurant cooking, you’ll need serving dishes.” Martha smirked, turning to Rose, who was already searching the cabinets. Finding pretty bowls and matching platters, she rinsed and dried them, then passed them over to Marlea. Martha smirked again. “Lots of serving dishes.”

  “I am so not supposed to be here.” AJ eased from the room.

  “You made coffee?” Marlea noticed. “I brought coffee.”

  “Bought coffee is more like it.” Martha sniffed and smiled, suddenly forgiving. “Would that be French vanilla?”

  “And would there be more of it?” Cool air swirled through the kitchen again as Connie stepped across the threshold.

  “AJ let us in,” Jeannette added. Libby and Sierra pushed into the door behind her and began pulling off layers.

  �
�Warmth,” Sierra sighed, stepping more fully into the kitchen and heading straight across the pine flooring for the fireplace. “Can you believe how cold it is outside?”

  “It’s January, Sierra.”

  “Like I don’t know that.” She walked to the source of the warmth and held her hands out to the fire. “It’s going on three weeks after Christmas and the tree is down, but I’m still pulling tinsel and pine needles out of the carpet. I sure do love this fireplace.” Rubbing her hands together, she smiled at the flames and sniffed the fragrant burning wood.

  Martha and Rose shared a glance and a private laugh when Marlea waited for her to turn her back, then swept bags and carryout containers from the counter and into the trash compactor. She might not be a great cook, but she wasn’t trying to advertise it. Knowing the woman she’d coached for so many years, Libby simply collected her coffee and went to stand next to Sierra. Being helpful, Connie and Jeannette quickly washed hands and moved dishes to the counter for serving.

  “Pretty much everybody is here, right?” Libby made a quick swing by the counter and picked up orange juice. Seating herself at the table, she crossed her legs and looked comfortable.

  “Except me, and since I’m going to be the grandmother, you wouldn’t want to start without me.” Sandra Yarborough swept into the room, dropping cool kisses and warm hugs along the way. Shrugging out of her long red coat, she left it on a chair and gratefully accepted the coffee Martha offered. She took a sip and accepted a still warm muffin with a wink. “Chef Stephanie and Field Greens Café, right?”

  “She knows what’s up,” Martha whispered to a nodding Rose.

  “Before we do anything else, I brought my camera.” Sandra struggled to pull her ancient Hawkeye and flashbulbs from a brown leather case. Screwing the bulb in, she dug in the camera case again and pulled out a small telescoping tripod. Snapping the tripod together with a practiced hand, she mounted the camera and organized the women for a group photo. She set the timer and hurried to take her place in the center of the group—she barely made it as the flashbulb popped, temporarily blinding them all.