He dropped beside me on the couch, and put a bag of chips and a cold soda in my hand. “Who won the game?”
Crap. The one time I want to dream, I have one like I’ve never had before. I pressed the icy can to my cheek, but the dream’s arousal still had my blood pumping.
I yawned to hide my embarrassment. “No idea. Fell asleep.”
“I noticed. Must have been a good one. You were making yummy sounds.”
Double crap. Yummy sounds? Heat from down below shot up my neck and blossomed on my cheeks. Parts of me that didn’t usually throb were throbbing. Painfully. He stared at me until a slow, knowing smile took over his face. Damn it.
“Hope it was about me,” he said.
“In your dreams,” I shot back without thinking. I really should engage my brain before opening my mouth.
He patted my knee. I started and moved a little farther away from him. It wouldn’t do to jump his bones in the hospital waiting area. Maybe there was an empty room nearby.
“And,” he continued, “I hope it included some of that whipped cream you’re so fond of.”
I knew it. I grabbed a magazine off the side table and fanned myself. “That would explain the yummy sounds,” I said.
“If you hear me making yummy sounds in my sleep, you can bet I’m not dreaming about whipped cream. Unless…” His eyes locked on mine and darkened, just like they had in my dream.
I stopped fanning. “Unless?” I peered more closely at him. “Good Lord, are you blushing?”
He might have been turning red, but he wasn’t shy. He leaned toward me. “Unless I’m licking it off your bare skin,” he said in a low voice.
Triple crap. I fanned myself vigorously. “Is it hot in here?”
“I’m not hot,” he said.
“Yes you are.”
“Glad we got that settled.”
“You—” I took my food and moved to a chair across the room.
He picked up a newspaper and began reading while eating his chips. The sound of muffled chuckling came from behind the newsprint, but I ignored him.
It was going to be a long night.
- 35 -
“We have Miss Houseman stabilized and are moving her to a room.”
A young woman spoke to Malcolm. He was on his feet, rubbing his eyes. He must have dozed off, too. I glanced at my watch. Past midnight. I stifled a jaw-cracking yawn.
“What do you mean, stabilized?” I asked.
She turned to me. Her nametag read, “Dr. Webb.”
“Are you family?” she asked.
We both shook our heads. Malcolm explained.
“We’ll keep her for observation for a couple of days. You might want to go home and get some rest. It will be hours before she’s coherent.”
She turned on her heel and disappeared through a door.
Malcolm watched me from near the couch, his arms across his chest.
And image from my most recent dream popped into my head—him silhouetted against the hayloft opening—it reminded me of something. The book, that was it, the one on Sandy’s bedside table. Could she be in love with Malcolm?
“You want to go back to the house?” Malcolm asked.
I forgot the fantasy highlander image and sat near the in-the-flesh version. He looked the part—especially rough from sleep, with his hair mussed from running his hands through it, and stubble roughening his cheeks—even in nice slacks and a button-down shirt. Maybe because I knew what was under his shirt.
After seeing him coldcock JJ, and then one-arm the shotgun, I could easily imagine him wielding a sword. He’d studied fencing for the pentathlon. Between that and the swimming, it was no wonder he had such broad shoulders.
Reality, Parker. Let’s stay there, okay?
Oh, hell, why start now?
I rested my head on the back of the couch. “We can leave if you need to,” I said. “I know you have that client thing tomorrow.” But I wanted to stay. Sandy was alone. I knew what that felt like.
“Either way is fine with me. I’ll postpone the meeting. I want to make sure she’s okay. But you must be tired.”
“She should know someone cares enough to wait.”
He sat again and put his arm around me, pulled me toward him. “Com’ere.”
I resisted, leaning in the other direction.
“Come on. I won’t bite, I promise. Not here, anyway. Sit next to me.”
“I am next to you. Have you talked to Dex?”
“Yes. Everything’s fine. Come on. You’re not close enough.”
I let him tug me against his side.
“That’s better.” He ruffled my hair. “You have a good heart, Viola Parker.”
I sighed and laid my head on his shoulder. “Guess that makes two of us. Don’t tell anyone, okay? I wouldn’t want to ruin my reputation.”
He lifted me onto his lap and put his other arm around me. “Your secret is safe with me. Are you comfortable?”
I squirmed and shifted my arms and burrowed past his collar to find his neck, sucking a deep breath of his glorious smell right inside me. Instantly, I felt calmer.
“Um-hm. What about you?”
“Don’t worry about me.”
“That’s not fair.” I rested my lips against his skin. Not quite a kiss. I wanted to flick my tongue out and taste him.
“What’s not fair?”
“You worrying about me but not letting me worry about you.” I touched him with just the tip of my tongue. Salty. Nice.
He groaned softly. “You’d better not do that here.”
“Are you comfortable, or what?” I asked.
“Not any more.” He reached under me and between his legs to make an adjustment.
“Good,” I said. No reason why I should be the only one stirred up and damp. “I’m going to sleep, now. And Malcolm?”
He grunted a one-syllable all-purpose response.
“If I start making yummy sounds in my sleep, don’t wake me up.”
~~~
The dream began in the house with the little white Westie. This time, I sorted through papers on a cluttered roll-top desk. I couldn’t find whatever it was I was looking for, and I didn’t know what that was supposed to be, either. But I kept looking through the same piles again and again, just like I do when I lose something, muttering, ‘it must be here’ as if pure belief would make it so.
I knocked pens to the floor and left them. A tape dispenser and stapler followed. I shoved a stack of official-looking documents to one side and uncovered an answering machine. The dog barked.
Wastrel met me in the woods toward the south end of Winterlight. He was tacked up and ready to be lunged. This was something we did a lot when he was alive. I’d stand still holding what amounted to a thirty-foot lead line, and he’d work around me in a circle. Only thing was, we were in dense woods, which made it impossible. Dreamtime—different rules.
Usually, I would walk in a tiny circle myself while lunging a horse, holding my end of the line in one hand and the lunge whip in the other. Instead, I braced my legs and leaned all my weight back, as if we were water skiing. My heels dug into the ground, creating a hole. Leaves and twigs, and then rocks and dirt began to accumulate around me.
Wastrel cantered faster until he galloped around the circle. The sound of his hooves beating the ground filled my ears like gunfire. It was too fast. He could slip and get hurt.
“Whoa,” I said.
Bones spewed from under my feet. My arm muscles bulged, began to hurt. I wanted to get away from the bones. I was sinking farther and farther into the ground. Down into the ground with the bones.
“Whoa,” I said, louder.
Nothing I did made any difference. He wouldn’t slow, and now Nicky was on his back, screaming. A sense of dread seized my belly.
“Whoa. Whoa!”
I couldn’t let go. “Hang on to his mane!”
Tears of frustration ran down my cheeks. My arms were being yanked out of the sockets. The rope burned my
palms. Stupid. I usually wear gloves.
Something snapped. I jolted awake, shaking, sweating, and crying.
“Vi!” Malcolm shook me.
I sprawled across his chest. Somehow, he’d maneuvered us flat on the couch without waking me, charmed a nurse out of a pillow for his head, and a blanket for me. My hands clutched wads of his shirt in tight fists.
“I’m all right,” I said, taking deep breaths and forcing my hands to unclench. “Just a dream.”
“More like a nightmare. Do you always dream so vividly?” He stroked my back and snugged the blanket around me. “You’re trembling.”
I wiped my face on his shirt. He shifted enough to pull out his handkerchief and gave it to me.
Bones, again. What did it mean? Before, they’d been in the house with the little dog. Now, the woods. What was Nicky doing there? And why was Wastrel terrorizing me? This seemed like a very bad turn of events.
As if a dead body in the manure pile weren’t bad enough.
Maybe he wasn’t terrorizing me, but literally escalating the alert. I need to be slapped upside the head several times before I get it. This could be Wastrel’s way of getting my attention. It worked.
“Want to talk about it?” Malcolm asked.
“Did I say anything?”
“You weren’t making yummy sounds, that’s for sure. Sounded more like ‘whoa.’ Several times.” He rubbed a spot on his side. “And you about tore a couple chunks of meat off my ribs. Must have been some ride.”
I was on some ride all right.
I forced myself to relax and focus on the delicious sensation of having so much of our bodies in contact. But it was no good. Well, it was good, but I couldn’t concentrate.
Was there something I needed to look for in the woods or on a desk? But what woods and what desk? Even if I narrowed my search to the south end of Winterlight, that encompassed a lot of ground. And riding out was currently forbidden. I’d find a way around that, later. I could see if Malcolm had a roll-top desk, but if not, then what? The tape recorder. I flung off the blanket, stood, and rummaged in my purse. The micro cassette was there. I showed it to Malcolm.
“Do you have an answering machine that takes one of these?”
He was still on his back with his arm across his eyes. He lifted his head and squinted at me. “No, why?”
I put it away. I couldn’t make sense of the mess in my head and wasn’t ready to try and explain. We were just getting comfortable with each other. I’d blow it if I said a dead horse talked to me in my dreams. Root canal without gas sounded more appealing than taking that risk.
No. I had to take the chance and trust. “Do you know anyone with a little white dog?”
He rose, recognition mixed with apprehension in the tense set of his jaw. “My father has a Westie, yes. Charlie. Why?”
Malcolm senior. I looked at my watch. It was five-fifteen a.m. Okay. No need to panic. The jumbled images in my dreams could mean anything. I hadn’t seen him, just his dog.
I tried to sound casual. “When was the last time you talked to him?”
“You asked me that Sunday, too. Vi, what’s going on?”
“Let’s see if we can find out how Sandy is.” I started toward the nurse’s station. “And coffee would be good,” I said over my shoulder.
He had my arm before I made it three strides. I must have looked unhappy.
“Okay,” he said. “Coffee, first. Then, you’ll explain.” He tugged me down the glossy white hallway to the cafeteria.
While we waited, he said, “I talked to Dad a couple of days ago. We’re having lunch today.” He did a neck roll and scrubbed his hands through his hair. “Or, not. If I’m not going to my client’s, then we’ll do it another time. I’ll call him later.”
I took my coffee and blew over the surface to cool it. I needed it in my system, and I needed it now. “Does your father have a roll-top desk?”
He’d been about to take a sip. He went still and stared straight ahead. I could just hear the wheels turning in his head, trying to figure out why I was asking crazy questions.
Finally, he turned to me and said, “Yes.”
“Call him now.”
Whether it was the urgency in my voice or the intensity of the dream I’d been having literally on top of him, I don’t know. He flipped open his phone, pushed one button, and held it to his ear. And waited.
His face grew concerned. He closed the phone. “No answer,” he said. “Where would he be at this time of day?”
“I’m going to check on Sandy, then we can go, okay?”
He nodded, distracted. We went to look for a nurse, and ran into the doctor from the emergency room.
“Oh, I was just looking for you,” she said. “Miss Houseman is conscious. You can go in, but keep it brief. Come with me.”
Sandy looked pale and small surrounded by all the machines. Her eyes were open. Well, one was. The left was swollen shut.
“Hey,” I said and took her hand. Malcolm stayed at the foot of the bed.
“The new girl,” Sandy mumbled.
“That’s me. How’re you feeling?”
I wanted to ask her who did this to her, but wasn’t sure if this was the time. She looked at Malcolm, started to smile, then her face went blank.
“Must look like shit,” she said.
I glanced at him. Nope, didn’t need to see the rest of the books on her shelf. She was in love with him. At least a serious crush, just as I suspected. Couldn’t blame her. I knew exactly how she felt.
“You look terrific,” Malcolm said and patted her foot. “Can we get you anything?”
She closed her eye and went back to sleep.
We stood in the hallway in silence, both of us lost in our own thoughts.
“Look,” I said. “Why don’t you drive into the city and see your father. Clara or somebody will come get me. I’ll call Sandy’s boss in a little while. Let him know she won’t be in. You go, and don’t worry about us.”
He nodded and walked away. He got halfway toward the exit before he came back, put his hand behind my neck, and kissed me full on the mouth. I leaned into him and kissed him back, wishing we were anywhere but a sterile hospital corridor. The hayloft would work just fine.
“Thank you,” he said. “I’ll see you later.”
Thank you? For what? For kissing him? For telling him to go?
“Later,” I said. But he was already through the sliding doors.
And later, as it turned out, would come much later.
- 36 -
While waiting for the gift shop to open, I called Nicky. I was bored, and I knew it would give her a charge. She said hello in a low, unsure voice.
“Miss Nicola Malcolm? Do you know who this is?”
She giggled. “I do now.”
In the background, I heard, “Nicky? Who are you talking to? I didn’t hear the phone ring.”
Crap. She was with Brooke. Her strident voice came through loud and clear. Sounded like they were in the car.
“Just a friend.” Nicky said. “I keep it on vibrate so it doesn’t ring when I’m in class.”
“I thought none of your friends had phones,” Brooke said.
Nicky hesitated. I hadn’t meant to get her in trouble.
“Um…Jane’s sister has a phone, and she lets her use it sometimes.”
“Okay. But we’re almost at school. Tell Jane you’ll talk to her later.”
“Jane?” Nicky said to me.
“You’re a quick thinker,” I said.
She giggled again and whispered, “I have to go. I’ll talk to you later. Thanks for calling.”
She hung up. Cute kid. Good phone manners. I felt bad for putting her in a position where she had to fib, especially to her mother. Then again, it was Brooke. No need to feel too guilty. From what Malcolm had said, I’d be seeing Nicky a lot over the summer. Maybe once she was away from her mother for a while, she’d open up.
I bought Sandy a bouquet of irises and lilies,
started to sign the card, then thought I should make it from me and Malcolm, but that implied a relationship, so I decided to sign it just from him, because I’m sure he would have bought her flowers if he hadn’t been so distracted, but then, I didn’t want to give her the wrong idea, so I ended up signing it from everyone at Winterlight, especially Fawny-Wawny. I drew a cute little hoof print to make it look like a horse had signed the card.
What little sanity I’d brought with me from the Island was too quickly leaking away.
Sandy was asleep when I took the flowers to her room. I sat with her for a while. She just snored. My time would be better spent sneaking past Dex One’s guards to go riding. I tried calling Clara, but my cell phone’s battery was dead. I snapped it shut and went in search of a pay phone.
An hour later, I was mucking stalls and glad for the familiarity of it. Clara had filled me in on the comings and goings the rest of the night at Norman’s wake. He’d been cremated while I sat with Sandy that morning. She’d be sad she didn’t get to say goodbye.
Hank and Clara didn’t have an answering machine. My truck was still dead, Malcolm’s SUV was in the shop, he had the Jag, his truck was parked out in the field, and I didn’t know where the keys were. I couldn’t get to the store to buy a tape player. My only option was to go to the south end of the farm and hope I stumbled onto something. But how to get past Dex One’s army?
When I’d gone upstairs to connect my phone to its charger, a different guard was camped out, this one an overweight guy in sweatpants and sneakers. With a rifle cradled in his arms, he was no less menacing for the casual clothes and hefty proportions.
A little while later, he lumbered past the stall I was in, and I had a thought. “Hey,” I said. “You on a break?” I leaned against the pitchfork in such a way that my tee-shirt rode up enough to show an inch of skin.
“Done for the day.” His eyes strayed to my belly.
“What’s your name?”
“Brian.”
I put out my hand. “Nice to meet you, Brian. I’m Vi. Thanks for helping to keep an eye on things.”
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