Dream Lover

by Stacey Keith

  April’s neighbor had come outside and was pretending to water her plants. She had on Tweety Bird house slippers and must have been mad as hell that she couldn’t hear a word they were saying.

  Matthew had been through agonizing trauma—things that Brandon didn’t even know about because he hadn’t been around. Too busy riding bikes, chasing tail, getting into trouble. At the time, he’d had no idea Matthew was a daily witness to brutal fights between Celia, their mother, and that wife-beating asshole Monroe. Even now Brandon tried not to think about it because when he did, his stomach tightened with guilt.

  He wasn’t about to tell April that.

  She was supposed to represent everything he hated: the law, the state, the crap that had sent him to foster care in the first place. Even the fact that she was a social worker should have made him hate her.

  But April smelled like vanilla. She reminded him of a fluffy white house kitty, the purebred kind with a jeweled collar. Maybe that was why he had such a hard time seeing her as the enemy. But he knew it was all a trick.

  He’d had a social worker once named Sandra Jacobs who’d ignored his pleas to move him out of a foster home. His foster father had been a drunk, abusive, belt-whipping bastard, a lot like Monroe. If you were late to dinner by even a fraction of a second, he made you kneel bare-legged on a bed of uncooked rice. For hours. And that was his easiest punishment.

  No, he had to work the system, work April. Because otherwise the system would eat his brother alive.

  “Matthew has a hard time in school, I’ll admit,” Brandon said. “He’s like me. Walls mess with his head.”

  April turned her face toward him, flushing when she saw him looking at her. “Yes, but he has to go. It’s the law. Just because a child isn’t happy with school, that doesn’t give him the right to abandon his education.”

  Straight out of the social worker handbook. April had all kinds of theories about life, didn’t she? She just didn’t have any experience living.

  “Tell me something,” he asked softly. “Did you like school? Were you one of those girls who gave a shiny red apple to the teacher and put pony stickers on her notebook?”

  Sure, he was baiting her. He wanted to see what she would do, even though a part of him knew better.

  But another part of him wanted to see where that vanilla smell was coming from. His blood heated at the thought of grabbing her wrists and pinning them to the mattress. The triumph of feeling her part her legs for him. How soft her breasts would be when he cupped them in his hands and stroked the tips.

  And now he was hard as a rock.

  “Is this where you start insulting me again?” April asked.

  “Insult you?” Her pink lips were very close. The longer he stared at them, the harder he got. Casually, he moved his forearm down to cover the worst of the problem. “No one’s ever accused me of being a gentleman.”

  The space where he ended and she began grew thick and heavy, the way air felt before a storm. You could be standing outside and everything would go still, too still, and then the heat lightning would crackle through the sky and the thunder would boom and all hell broke loose.

  Brandon had that same premonition now. Some ancient force was about to be unleashed. Now that it was here, he had no clue how to make it stop. Coming here had made things so much worse.

  “You could homeschool Matthew,” April was saying, “but I think we both know you’re not homeschool material.”

  Brandon couldn’t deny it. He couldn’t do much of anything, actually, except watch her lips move.

  “We provide counseling services,” she went on. “Maybe your brother would benefit from grief counseling about his mother?”

  Grief counseling. Brandon heard the words. He just couldn’t make sense of them. The urge to taste her made him sweat. He wanted to chase that brisk, impersonal professionalism out of her eyes and replace it with a look of delirious surprise.

  But why her? Why an annoying, know-it-all virgin like April?

  “Are you even listening?” she asked him. “It’s like I’m talking to myself all of a sudden.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “You were the one who wanted to discuss this.”

  “I’m discussing.”

  She waited, clearly expecting him to say something. He wondered if she wore sexy girl stuff underneath that skirt. Was she one of those women? Prim and buttoned-down on the outside, but once the bedroom doors were closed…

  “Matthew’s great at motocross,” Brandon said. “He’s won some important races. I’m trying to get him sponsors.”

  “Two-fifty cc’s or four-fifty?” she asked, shocking the hell out of him.

  “Two-fifty,” he replied. “How do you—”

  “My dad,” she explained. “Dirt bikes, muscle cars, vintage rebuilds, you name it. I grew up smelling motor oil.”

  Man, it was weird having a conversation with a woman he had such mixed feelings about. Usually chicks wanted one thing from him. And it wasn’t friendly chitchat.

  April looked at him with those big blue eyes, which made him lose his train of thought again. “Can I ask you something?” she said.

  “Sure.”

  “How did your mom die?”

  He couldn’t tell her because he didn’t know himself. Matthew had been there, but Matthew wasn’t talking about it. When Brandon started getting in trouble as a teen, Celia had decided to let him rot in foster care. She and Monroe had just had Matthew, so it seemed as good a time as any to cut Brandon loose. For over a year, he was shuttled around. Then Celia let him come home, mostly because she needed a babysitter for Matthew. And Brandon had come home for Matthew. Also to get the hell out of foster care. But not because of his close relationship with his mom.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “To be honest, there’s a lot I don’t know.” In fact, his brain didn’t seem to be functioning at all. Not with this tightness in his chest and this trapped yearning feeling because he wanted what he couldn’t have. Not with her looking at him. Not with those lips.

  He launched himself away from the porch fast enough that she couldn’t see what she’d done to him. What better way to scare her off, to guarantee that she’d nail him in court for sexual harassment or being a shitty guardian or whatever the hell she wanted to. All because he had some sick craving for her that didn’t make any sense and wasn’t going any further than this.

  “Wait,” she called to him. He looked over his shoulder at her, all radiant in the light of late afternoon. Her beauty was angelic. April was a window into a world he’d never known, not even in his dreams.

  She moved closer, still a little wary, arms crossed. “I know you think I’m a lightweight. But what I really am is a messenger. Matthew’s school attendance is no laughing matter. If he won’t go to school, you should ground him or limit his motocross. Because the state of Texas will intervene. And I promise you neither one of us will like what happens after that.”

  Chapter 6

  April needed a drink—non-alcoholic this time. She went to the kitchen sink and cranked on the faucet, thinking she would get a glass and be ladylike about it. Instead, she ducked her entire face under the water and gulped desperately until she couldn’t hold any more. Then she grabbed a fancy tea towel that Cassidy had given her as a housewarming present—towels April vowed never to use, only admire—and wiped her face with it.

  She sat at the table in her half-painted kitchen and wondered what on earth she was going to do.

  Ryan was picking her up in an hour and they were going to San Antonio for dinner. April buried her face in the towel again and listened to her stomach gurgle with the gallon of water she’d just downed.

  She could still feel the scorch marks left over from being next to Brandon. Her skin was burning up with them. Everything he said or did—the way he looked at her, the way he didn’t—branded
itself into her memory.

  Maybe it was time to just admit the truth.

  She was fatally attracted to Brandon McBride.

  He was dangerous. Inappropriate. Wrong. Even confessing it could cost her a job she’d worked so hard to deserve.

  But she felt better somehow. Maybe admitting you were sick, at least to yourself, was the first step to curing the disease.

  April forced herself to breathe. Okay, so this was what attraction felt like, a cross between being crushed to death under a steam roller and about twelve cups of coffee. There was no reason to worry about something happening. Brandon made it clear she didn’t interest him. Why would she? He was attracted to bold, exciting women. She was about as exciting as a piece of unbuttered toast.

  Knowing that left a hollow ache in the pit of her stomach. Both her sisters had married rich, handsome men. By the time Cassidy was twenty-three, she’d been raising an adorable seven-year-old daughter. Maggie had been married and divorced by then. Mistakes were made, sure, but so what? They took chances and those chances paid off.

  What had April done with her life so far?

  She dragged herself out of the chair and rearranged the tea towel on its display rack, even though it wasn’t crisply pleated anymore. Then she got ready for a date she was already dreading.

  This is a chance it makes sense to take, she told herself. Maybe she could learn to have feelings for Ryan instead of someone who, even if he had wanted her, would leave a tire mark on her fragile pride.

  In profile, Brandon looked like the kind of long-ago emperor you might find on an ancient coin. There was a dignity to him and a fierceness that drew her because she hungered to know where it might lead. He was a flame turned low. But once he let go, that flame roared into a bonfire hot enough to blister anyone who got near.

  She showered and dressed as though moving through a dream. Water felt different on her skin. Each drop left a trail of liquid heat. When she put on her pink gingham sundress, the fabric seemed softer and she was more aware of how constricting it was on her body. She ran one hand down her bare arm, feeling all the tiny hairs spring up against it.

  Some part of her that had been sleeping was coming alive. Was this what wanting someone did to you?

  April heard footsteps outside on the porch. Still in a fugue state, she answered the door. Ryan grinned down at her, solid and respectable in his collared button-down, jeans and boots. It was his off-duty uniform, just as hers seemed to be this hand-me-down dress.

  “Hey, April,” he said. “Are you ready?”

  He was nervous. She’d known him long enough to be able to tell. He raked one hand through his buzz cut and broadened his smile. “You look great. Oh, and I got you these.” He thrust a bouquet of wildflowers at her, which should have melted her heart. Instead, the gesture made her nervous.

  Ryan followed her into the kitchen to put the flowers in water. It was easy letting Ryan inside her house. Brandon, never. She was too afraid of him, too afraid of what she might do. But with Ryan, there was no suspicion or fear.

  That was a good thing, right?

  They got into his truck, which smelled like warm leather seats and peppermint gum. Mrs. Felps, still watering across the street, gave Ryan a friendly wave. An hour ago, she was ready to call the cops on Brandon. Guess a fine, upstanding young man like Ryan Murphy passed her sniff test.

  “I ran into your mom at the Strom Mart,” he said as they headed toward the Interstate. “I told her we were having dinner tonight.”

  April’s stomach clenched, but maybe it was from all the water. “What did she say?”

  “She was surprised. Then she told me to take you somewhere fun because—and mind you, this was Priss talking—you wouldn’t know fun if it was Adam’s housecat.”

  Ryan did most of the talking on the drive to San Antonio. April looked out the window and watched the world flash by. She saw a phalanx of Harley riders who could have been stand-ins for Brandon—same long hair, same effortless control of their bikes, same road warrior attitude.

  April imagined herself pressed up against Brandon on his Harley, wrapping her arms around his waist, breathing in the scent of his skin, his hair, the cotton of his T-shirt. Something deep inside her stirred ravenously.

  She crossed her legs.

  “You okay?” Ryan asked.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “You got a lot on your mind.” Ryan gave her a curious glance. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Of course.”

  “What made you change your mind? You know, about going out with me.”

  Oh, boy. April sucked in a breath. “Well, you were right when you said a person never knows if they’re going to like something until they try it.” She searched his face and saw disappointment. “We have lots in common,” she added hopefully.

  Ryan still seemed less than impressed.

  “We’re both in public service,” she said.

  Frustration weighed on her. Why couldn’t she make this work? She wanted it to. Learning to like somebody who was clearly right for her was the best way—probably the only way—to stop her feelings for Brandon. Feelings that were going to cost her an entire career, throw heaps of shame on her parents, and turn her into a sad, pathetic repeat of Cleo.

  April loved Cuervo, but she had no illusions about the way people viewed things. Look how they’d gossiped about Cassidy after she got pregnant on prom night. Or how Maggie’s first husband, Todd, was a cheating dirtbag but some folks decided it was Maggie’s fault for failing to satisfy him in bed.

  “I lost you again, didn’t I?” Ryan said, not unkindly. His patience with her was truly heroic. April forced herself to pay attention.

  “Nope. I’m right here.” She smiled at him to show she meant it. “We’re going to have a great time tonight.”

  Even if I have to fake it ’till I feel it.

  The nearest big city to Cuervo, San Antonio still managed to hang on to its funky, small-town charm. It had the Alamo—sacred to every native Texan—Sea World, Six Flags and the River Walk. The city was just over an hour from Cuervo, but it might as well have been on the other side of the moon considering how infrequently April visited.

  Ryan parked his truck and they walked down a level to the San Antonio River, which was flanked on both sides by pedestrian-only sidewalks with bright patio umbrellas, ivy-covered bridges and riverboats hung with string lights.

  As the sun set, San Antonio put on its other, flashier costume, one that attracted a younger crowd. It was hard for April not to notice girls her age who weren’t wearing Wizard of Oz sundresses. Lots of teased hair, fake eyelashes, bare midriffs. April felt as though she’d just come out of a bingo parlor.

  “You want to walk around first?” Ryan asked her. “Feels good to stretch your legs, doesn’t it?”

  April caught Ryan manfully trying not to ogle a girl who crossed in front of them. Even April could see how gorgeous she was. But instead of putting April’s back up, she felt nothing at all. Was that normal? If it had been Brandon staring at the girl, April would have felt hurt and disrespected. Maybe that wasn’t the right response either, but at least it would have shown she cared.

  “So what happened with that truancy case?’ Ryan asked her. “What was that kid’s name?”

  “Matthew,” she said guiltily.

  “Did you ever follow up on that?”

  Shoptalk. She could do shoptalk. “His guardian came to see me today. We talked about it.”

  “That biker guy, McBride, came to you?”

  April felt defensive all of a sudden, as though she’d done something wrong. “Yeah.”

  “Came to see you at the office, right? Where there were people around?”

  “There were people around, but we were on my porch, in full view of Mrs. Felps.” April could hear how bad that sounded, especially to a
cop. “But I don’t think he’s dangerous, if that’s what you’re thinking. All he wanted—”

  “April, why didn’t you tell me?” Ryan looked more upset than she had ever seen him. He stopped walking, as though he needed a moment to process the information.

  “It just happened,” she said. “Like a couple of hours ago. He didn’t do anything. All he wanted was to talk.”

  A barge full of mariachi music and people drinking cervezas drifted down the river. The night air rang with their laughter.

  “You don’t know this guy,” Ryan told her as though she were a child. “You don’t know the first goddamn thing about him. How did he find out where you live?”

  “He wasn’t there to rape me,” she said, louder than she meant to. Lowering her voice, she added, “I didn’t even let him inside my house.”

  Ryan looked marginally less annoyed with her, but clearly, he didn’t believe that she was capable of taking care of herself. Why was everyone against Brandon? Sure, he was tall and dangerous looking. He had long hair and a badass bike. But wasn’t the real reason because Brandon didn’t fit Cuervo’s wholesome image?

  When the town went from one stoplight to two, there’d been a ribbon-cutting ceremony. When April’s brother-in-law Jake opened his tech park, the City Council tripped over themselves to get over there for the national press conference. Cuervo loved attention, but only from certain types of people.

  Then Brandon McBride came along and everybody went nuts because there wasn’t a woman in that town who didn’t stare at him and think, Oh, honey, if only…

  She turned away and kept walking, forcing Ryan to catch up.

  “Don’t be mad at me,” Ryan said. “I’m just looking out for you. That guy is bad news, trust me. I’m afraid of what he might do to you, given the chance.”

  Instead of being afraid, April felt a surge of heat so powerful, it almost knocked her off her feet. She pictured Brandon without his shirt on, staring down at her naked body. Being able to touch him, to feel him move over her. Actually experiencing the things she’d only read about in books or heard about in songs on the radio.