Soul Dreams

by Desiree Holt

  He grimaced.

  Blake: We’re talking about them now.

  Booklady:

  Booklady: But in the store, we could have a cup of coffee. And I make killer cookies.

  He had to grin.

  Blake: The cookies could almost tempt me, but no, it’s not possible.

  He waited almost a full minute before she answered again.

  Booklady: Okay. Next week.

  He was about to reply when her next message beeped in.

  Booklady: Good night.

  He answered her, but nothing came back. Obviously she’d signed off.

  Blake idly scratched his palm again. So, the very sexy Miss Foster didn’t date. There had to be a story in there somewhere. He knew what his reason was, but what was hers? His curiosity piqued, he typed Nina Foster Books and More Freewill Wyoming into the search engine. He got a lot of hits, but they all led back to the bookstore. He found the article in the local paper from five years ago welcoming her to Freewill as the new owner of the store. Nothing about where she’d come from, though.

  More snippets of news. It quickly became obvious she supported the Chamber of Commerce, had a Saturday reading hour for kids, an adult book club that met once a month at the store, and baked cookies for everyone. But not one scrap of personal information. It appeared at six o’clock she rolled up the store and disappeared into her house. Period.

  Blake knew what his own problem was, but what made a woman like Nina Foster retreat from the world? She was worming her way into his curiosity. Would she answer him if he tried to initiate the IM himself? Like tomorrow night?

  He was still staring at the blank computer screen when Grange clumped up the stairs.

  “I don’t know why in the damn hell you insisted we buy a house with stairs in it,” he complained, stopping in Blake’s doorway.

  Blake answered without looking at the man. “Because it was the cheapest one isolated from town. Satisfied?”

  “Nothing will satisfy me until you get off your ass and stop feeling sorry for yourself.” His tone softened. “Please let me make an appointment with the plastic surgeon, the one who wanted to operate on you. At least get his assessment of what he can do. It may be a lot more than you think.”

  Blake swiveled his chair so he faced Grange. “And exactly how would I get there? On a plane with the whole world staring at me?”

  “We don’t have to fly. We could drive.”

  “Are you crazy? Do you know how far it is from here to Phoenix, Arizona?”

  Grange shrugged. “It’s worth it to get you back to the surgeon.”

  Blake had been competing at a rodeo in Arizona when the fire happened. He’d been airlifted to the Arizona Burn Center in Phoenix where he’d spent seven painful months. The team of plastic surgeons had talked to him in vain, even showing him computer-generated pictures of the extent to which they could repair the damage. But he’d been so depressed he hadn’t wanted to consider it.

  “Anyway,” the other man continued, “they’ve got good plastic surgeons in Laramie and Cheyenne. Damn it, Blake, I won’t let you rot away in this house until there’s nothing left to do but stick you in the ground.”

  “I’ll think about it.” He said the words but only to get the old man off his back.

  “I guess that’s something. See you in the morning.”

  Blake sat in the chair for a long time after Grange had stomped down the hallway. Maybe if Booklady was up for another Internet chat, he wouldn’t rot away just yet.

  Chapter Three

  Will he like the books I have for him this week?

  As Nina started the coffeepot and plated some of the fresh cookies she’d baked, she couldn’t seem to get Blake Massie out of her mind. After the night she’d sent him the first message on a whim, they’d “talked” nightly. Now two weeks had passed, weeks in which she’d created every kind of fantasy about him. She’d hardly been able to think of anything else.

  What did he look like? She envisioned him as tall, like Hawk Blackwater, with a muscular build. Dark hair, maybe long enough to brush his shirt collar. A face not handsome but square-jawed and rawboned. As she sipped her first mug of coffee, her mind wandered to her dream from the night before.

  She was flushed and warm from her bath, droplets of scented water clinging to her naked body. She reached for the big bath towel on the counter behind her, only to feel someone wrapping it around her. Someone with strong fingers and a hard male body. Someone whose distinctive scent of sandalwood surrounded her. She tried to turn around to see him, but he held her in place.

  “Not without the blindfold,” he reminded her, as he tied a folded silk scarf over her eyes.

  “Why won’t you ever let me see you?” she asked. “I want more than my imagination.”

  “Isn’t it better this way? Then you can imagine me as anyone you want.”

  “I want you,” she insisted. “After all this time can’t you reveal yourself to me?”

  “Not yet.” He lifted her in his strong arms and carried her into the bedroom, seating her gently on the mattress.

  The towel slipped from her body, leaving her exposed to his eyes. She bit her lip, wanting to demand she have the same privilege, insisting she see his body, too, but it was an argument she never won. She wanted to ask him why he was only naked from the waist down, why he always wore a T-shirt made of baby-soft material. But then, in the next moment, she didn’t care. His large rough hands cupped her breasts, and his lips closed around one nipple. She felt the pull all the way to her cunt and clenched her inner muscles to still the throbbing. By now, his touch alone could set her off.

  She loved the rough surface of his palms on her skin. What kind of work made his skin so coarse? Every time he touched her every nerve popped to life. As his hands skimmed down her ribcage to her hips and thighs, he sucked on first one nipple then the other. She was so wet the scent of her own musk drifted up to her. She was sure Blake could smell it, too.

  He slipped a hand between her thighs and dipped a finger into the folds of her slit. Slowly, he painted her lips with the liquid from his finger.

  “Taste yourself,” he told her in his husky voice. “See how good you taste.”

  She ran the tip of her tongue over her lower lip, catching the salty/sweet flavor.

  “I want you to blend my taste with yours. My cock weeps for you.”

  Again he rubbed his fingertip slowly over her lower lip, and again she let the flavor sizzle on her tongue.

  “See how much we taste alike? How we blend together?”

  He pushed her back so she lay on the bed with her feet touching the floor. She pictured him kneeling as his shoulders touched her thighs, wedging them farther apart. She held her breath, waiting for the first lap of his tongue on her clit, the tiny nip with his teeth that would feed the fire burning inside her. The texture of his beard was a pleasant sensation on her skin, making her—

  Hot coffee sloshing over the rim of the mug startled her out of her erotic reverie. Good Lord! It was bad enough she indulged in these dream fantasies at home. What if she did this when there were people in the store? Daydreaming about her phantom as she read his messages, she’d managed to weave an image of him into her mind. Did he really have a beard? Was he really tall? Why, like her dream lover, wouldn’t he let her see him? And why on earth was she having erotic dreams about a man she’d never met except electronically?

  Heat crept up her cheeks, as if she’d already been caught out, and she set about getting ready to open.

  Since the dreams had begun plaguing her, she’d tried to do some research. Originally, she’d thought maybe she would find some ancient legends from the Arapaho or Cheyenne, who’d populated the area. The only one she’d found was from the Abenaki, about a man and woman who dream each other’s dreams and are meant to be together. Could this be happening to her? Had her life deteriorated so much she needed a man in her dreams to have sex? Or was the legend real, and the gods were sending her messages? She s
hook herself and got back to work rearranging the special display table at the front of the store.

  Tomorrow was Thanksgiving, so the cookies she’d baked were in the shape of turkeys and pumpkins for today’s customers. Tonight, as soon as she closed, she would put out the Christmas decorations. Five years after her emotional disaster, the holidays were still so painful for her. Tom had made Thanksgiving so special, all the while telling her the lies he knew she wanted to hear. And Christmas would always be her moment of greatest humiliation. Any holiday spirit she’d ever possessed had been erased. Disappeared. But she needed to be cheerful for her customers, and her time with Forrester had trained her to put on a public face, one people would believe.

  After she locked up the store, she would go home to Brutus and try to get through one more painful, solitary holiday. But first came the delivery of Blake’s latest order of books. Lord, the man must read night and day and have an unlimited bank account.

  She wished desperately she knew more about him. She’d even Googled him, but the only Blake Massie she could find was one listed in the white pages somewhere in Texas. There was little information about him other than he owned a ranch with his family. Impossible, she thought to herself. Why would someone who ranched in Texas hole up in an isolated house in Freewill, Wyoming? The lack of information frustrated her.

  But she did feel they were getting to know each other. Sort of. Kind of like dating, without the actual dates. They talked about movies, books, television, sports. He asked a lot of questions about Freewill, which seemed a little strange since he’d chosen to rent a house here. She would have expected him to know more about the town before choosing it as the place to hide himself away.

  He’d managed to dodge all her questions about his choice of residence, both the house and the town. Of course, she’d told him nothing about her past life, either, so she couldn’t complain much there.

  She did need to IM him and let him know his delivery would be later than usual. And she ought to do it before she opened the store.

  Sitting on the stool at the counter, she pulled up her Instant Messenger on the computer, highlighted his screen name, and opened a message box.

  Booklady: Good morning.

  The blank screen stared back at her.

  Maybe he’s not even up yet.

  Nearly two minutes passed with no response. She nibbled on a fingernail while trying to decide if she should close down and try again later. Then the ding of the IM bell sounded, alerting her to an incoming message.

  Blake: You’re early today. I hope there’s no problem with the books you’re bringing.

  Booklady: No, not at all. I wanted to let you know I’ll be later than usual tonight.

  Blake: ???????????

  Ah, he wanted to know why.

  Booklady: I’m staying after the store closes to put up Christmas decorations.

  Blake: Oh.

  Booklady: Want to come in and help me?

  She tried to be patient as she waited for his answer.

  Blake: I’ll pass. I don’t decorate for Christmas anymore.

  Anymore? Did he use to? And what happened to make such a change in his life?

  Booklady: How sad. Would you like me to bring you a wreath for your door?

  Another long pause. Nina bit her lower lip. Why couldn’t she leave it alone? What was making her so perverse about this?

  Blake: Wreaths are for funerals. What time will you be by?

  Funerals? Not Christmas? She swallowed a sigh. Apparently, mention of the holiday had cured him of any more chitchat today. She wanted to smack herself.

  Booklady: About eight thirty. Work for you?

  Blake: I’ll let Grange know.

  She thought for a moment then decided to see exactly how much she’d irritated him.

  Booklady: Would you rather have Grange pick them up instead?

  Blake: NO!

  His answer had came back quickly and in capital letters.

  Why does he even care? He never comes to the door.

  Booklady: All right then.

  She hovered the cursor over the symbol to shut down when another message came through.

  Blake: Will it be too late to talk tonight?

  Nina swallow a hysterical laugh. Only she and the mysterious Blake Massie could call what they were doing “talking” by any stretch of the imagination.

  Booklady: No. I’ll be ready about an hour after I drop off the books.

  Blake: Good.

  His icon disappeared from the message box, signaling he’d signed off, abrupt as usual. Nina closed the program and poured a mug of fresh coffee for herself. What had her life become when the sum of her social activities, except for public events, had been reduced to an Instant Messenger relationship with a man she’d yet to meet?

  One way or another I’m going to get into his house and make him introduce himself. I might bring an end to our electronic relationship, but I have an itch where he’s concerned I need to scratch. Badly.

  ***

  Blake stared at the computer screen. So, Nina was decorating her store tonight. He supposed like everyone else in the world, Christmas was a big deal to her. As it once had been to him. For a brief painful moment, he tried to imagine how Jennie and Holt were celebrating the holidays. Did they decorate, or were they still upset about what had happened?

  He shook his head. They needed to get on with their lives. Jennie sent him the ranch business reports every month, and Grange insisted he read them. Blake was proud of the way his sister had stepped up to handle the records and accounting. And Holt had begun attending seminars geared to helping him with the business of running the ranch and making decisions on cattle and feed. They were doing fine without him. They didn’t need to constantly be reminded of the physical wreck he was.

  If he had any regrets, it was he could never have a chance to take his Internet relationship with Nina Foster any further. He was reduced to staring at her picture on the Books and More website nearly every day and rereading all their Instant Messages. What a pathetic idiot he was. Sometimes he wished he’d died in the fire rather than live like this.

  Boots on the floor behind him signaled the approach of Grange.

  “Breakfast. Get your ass downstairs and eat.”

  “And if I said I’m not hungry?”

  Grange barked a laugh. “I’d say I don’t give a shit. I made good food, and you’ll eat it if I have to tote you downstairs myself.”

  “Yeah? You think you can take me?”

  Grange folded his arms. “You wanna give it a try?”

  Blake shook his head. “I’m coming. By the way, Nina sent me a message. She’ll be late delivering the books tonight.”

  Grange raised an eyebrow. “Oh, it’s Nina now? Getting cozy, are we?”

  “No, not that it’s any of your business.”

  “Well. Suit yourself, but tomorrow’s Thanksgiving. I don’t know what she’s doing, but I baked an extra pie, and I’m gonna ask her in and give it to her.”

  Blake clenched his jaw. “Hand it to her at the door. Don’t make a big deal out of it and give her ideas.”

  “Don’t be telling me what I can and can’t do. She’s a damn nice lady bringing your books right to the house for you. I’m gonna show her a little courtesy even if you don’t.”

  I’d like to show her some courtesy…and a lot more.

  “Fine.” Blake threw up his hands. “But not one foot beyond the front hall. And I’m not open to negotiation.”

  Grange twisted his lips in a half-smile. “What if we could find a way for her to visit with you without seeing you? Would you go for that? You need to have contact with someone besides me for a change.”

  Blake almost blurted out he’d been exchanging nightly Instant Messages with the lovely Nina for two weeks and having erotic dreams about her, but he bit his tongue.

  “I’ll put my mind to it,” he said, his voice filled with sarcasm. “Meanwhile, I’d better get to the breakfast you’re so hot
for me to eat.”

  But as he made his painful way downstairs, a kernel of an idea rattled around in his mind. Was the lovely Nina into any kind of games—somewhat erotic games? Did he dare broach the subject with her? He mentally shrugged. He’d either chase her off or intrigue her. So, was it worth the risk?

  ***

  Nina was tired by the time she finally drove through the gate at Blake’s house and up to the front porch, but very satisfied. The store looked great. Hawk had sent one of his deputies over to help her with the heavy stuff and anything high up on the walls. She’d given him the leftover cookies to take back to the station, and for a minute, she thought he might kiss her. Now, she had to make this one drop and she could go home. And figure out what she would have for dinner tomorrow.

  She had refused invitations for dinner from people she’d formed acquaintanceships with, happy they thought of her. But she’d lost the holiday spirit long ago and couldn’t seem to get it back. Hawk was having Wyoming Eats cater a full dinner for the deputies and their wives or whatevers. The meal would be held at the station, so those on duty could participate. Riley had insisted she join them, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to be surrounded by such an abundance of joy. When her parents were killed in an auto accident, she had isolated herself emotionally. Oh, sure, she was active in the community, but as Nina the bookstore owner, not Nina the person.

  “You need to get past this,” Riley insisted. “You’ve actually let some stupid schmuck steal five years of your life. Don’t you think it’s a long time to lock yourself away because of some idiot? You’re a lot smarter than that, and you aren’t the young girl you used to be. It’s time to give yourself a break.”

  Nina chewed on her bottom lip. “I keep trying to remind myself I had no idea how to handle the humiliation at the time. Then my parents were killed and….” She shrugged. “You know the rest.”

  “I know it’s time for you to move forward. You’ve carved out this niche for yourself and can’t seem to move out of it.” She smiled. “I really wish you the same happiness I’ve found with Hawk. And I was sure the odds of me finding it were slim to none.”