Soul Dreams

by Desiree Holt

  “I know, I know.” Nina hugged her friend. “Maybe Santa will bring me someone for Christmas.”

  “I wish.”

  Maybe Santa will bring Blake Massie to my door in person for Christmas. I wish I could at least hear his voice. Find out what his story is. If he never leaves his house, he has to be even more distanced from people than I am.

  She grabbed the shopping bag from the store with the latest order of books and climbed the steps to the front door. When Grange answered as usual, she handed him the books and waited for him to thank her and close the door.

  “Would you come in a minute, Miss Foster?”

  “Excuse me?” She wasn’t sure she heard him right.

  He shifted his feet, obviously uncomfortable. “If you could come in for a moment, I—that is, we—have something for you. For Thanksgiving.”

  Nina couldn’t imagine what he and/or Blake had to give her, but she stepped into the small front hall.

  “Could you wait right here, please? Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

  Obviously, this was as far as she was permitted. While Grange walked toward the back of the house, she took the opportunity to take in the surroundings. The floors were a dark hardwood and polished to a high gloss. Nina tried to figure out whose elbow grease was responsible. Was this how Blake passed his days?

  The walls were a soft cream color, but all the molding matched the hardwood on the floor. Impressive. Someone had spent a lot of time restoring this house, bringing out the best in the aged wood. Of course, they could have hired someone to do it. But then there would have been talk around the town, and she’d heard nothing.

  The light hanging from the ceiling had an old-fashioned appearance to it and bathed the little hall with a warm glow. But Nina noticed an absence of any pictures or other decoration. The rooms on either side of the hall were dark. If the house was anything like others she’d seen in town, they were the living room and dining room. Did anyone use them? Did people ever, even come here? Not according to the Freewill gossip line.

  A stairway with a polished banister led to the second floor. She couldn’t help staring up there, hoping she’d catch a glimpse of the elusive Blake. But there was only a faint light showing upstairs and no sound at all.

  She shifted her gaze down the hallway when Grange’s boots on the floor signaled his approach. He held a plastic container of some kind in his hands. As he drew closer, she realized it was a cake container. He appeared almost embarrassed when he handed it to her.

  “I got carried away with my baking,” he said. “Ended up with an extra pie. I—we—thought maybe you’d like to have it.”

  The container was warm when she took it, and the tantalizing scent of apple and cinnamon drifted out from beneath the lid. For a moment words failed her. She glanced up the stairs once more then back at Grange.

  “Thank you. Both of you. I’ll enjoy this tomorrow.”

  “I hope you have a Happy Thanksgiving.”

  Dandy. Brutus and I will pig out on frozen pizza, but this pie will cheer me up. Especially because it’s a gift.

  “Same to you,” she said, and fled the house.

  All the way home, the mouthwatering aroma of the pie tempted her senses. If she ever got to meet him would Blake Massie tempt her senses as well? What would it be like to have him next to her instead of the pie?

  Idiot. What are you doing? Stupidly daydreaming again about a man you haven’t met or even spoken to. What a mess you’ve made of your life.

  ***

  “Well?”

  Blake stood at the top of the stairs, staring at Grange. He’d stayed at the window until Nina pulled away, watching until she drove through the gate and made the turn onto the road.

  “Well, what?” Grange asked.

  “Did you give her the pie?”

  “You know damn well I did. You saw her carry it out.” He frowned. “Woulda been nice if you came downstairs to wish her a Happy Thanksgiving, nice as she’s been to you.”

  “First of all, Thanksgiving stopped being happy for me two years ago. And once she got a look at me, she’d probably stop being nice.”

  Grange planted one booted foot on the bottom step and leaned an elbow on his knee. “It’s a miracle I’m even nice to you, grouchy as you are. Blake, I know how you feel, but somehow you’ve got to get past all this. You could do something about this situation if you wanted to.”

  “We’ve been through this again and again. Even if I could get to the hospital, there’d be a lot of pain with no guarantee. You know I’m right.”

  “I didn’t realize you were a coward as well. Maybe I should go back to the ranch and leave you by yourself. I guess it’s what you really want, isn’t it?”

  Fear seized him for a moment. Without Grange, he’d be lost. The old man did practically everything for him, and what did he do to show his gratitude? Bitch at him all the time and hide in his room. Maybe he could at least throw a kernel his way. What would it hurt? He didn’t give anything much chance for success, anyway. Maybe if he got his leg in shape….

  You think fixing the leg would make up for the scars on your face? The devil in his brain asked. Your body? You think she’d like you if you walked better?

  Shut up. It probably won’t work anyway.

  “Listen. Do you still have those exercises they gave us at the hospital? And the equipment you bought? You didn’t sell it or anything, did you?”

  Grange stared at him in stupefaction. “Am I hearing right?”

  “Don’t make such a big deal out of it, old man, or I’ll change my mind. But I was thinking if nothing else, we could work on this leg. See if we can get it anywhere near back in shape.”

  “Well.” The man rubbed his forehead. “It’s been almost two years. Don’t know how much damage is permanent and how much can be fixed with some therapy. But if you’re willing to put up with the routine and not give me any shit, I think we’d best try it.” He stared up at Blake. “Before you get any older and any crankier.”

  Blake started to snap back but held his tongue. He realized Grange had been moved by this sudden effort but tried not to show it. He also didn’t want Blake to have false hopes after all this time.

  “Just don’t give me any Happy Thanksgiving crap,” he bit off and stomped back to his room.

  Once seated in his big leather chair, he stretched out his leg, resting it on the ottoman. Cold weather always bothered it more. Naturally.

  It suddenly occurred to him he actually might have waited too long, wallowing in self-pity the way he’d been. He might not even be considering it now, except for Nina Foster. The one person besides Grange he had any contact with these days.

  He picked up one of the books she’d brought tonight, rubbing his hand over the cover as he always did.

  He’d listened to the short exchange between her and Grange when he’d given her the pie. Her voice had been exactly as he’d imagined—a little low, with a lilt to it. He imagined her figure much as he’d seen it on her website, although the bulky ranch jacket she wore effectively disguised it. Strange how he’d been with so many women before, yet none of them ever made him feel the way Nina did. For a while, he’d been sure the accident had destroyed his sex drive. Sex had been the last thing on his mind for two years. But suddenly, with this new situation, it had come roaring back. Too bad he couldn’t do anything about it. Except in his dreams.

  Damn those dreams, anyway. He hadn’t had them since he had been a horny teenager, and they’d been nothing like the ones haunting him every night. He closed his eyes, and at once the image from the previous night popped into his brain.

  “I love your taste,” he growled against the tender skin of her pussy.

  She lay back on the bed the way he’d placed her, thighs spread open by the width of his shoulders as he knelt between her legs. He flicked the tip of her clit with his tongue and was rewarded with a low moan. He used his thumbs to spread open her satiny lips and swept his tongue along the wet slit. He
could do this for hours and never tire of it.

  He hadn’t been sure she would take to the blindfold when he suggested it.

  “It’s so much better when you can’t see,” he promised. “Besides, I can always be your mysterious lover. Anyone you want.”

  She’d surprised him by agreeing to play the game. Maybe she had her own secrets, and having her eyes covered swept away reality for her. But she’d put up only a token protest. He worried about his hands. He could do nothing about the skin except wear gloves, and there he drew the line. She asked him the first night if he did outdoor work of some kind, and he’d given her a noncommittal answer. It seemed to satisfy her, however.

  They had begun to learn the rhythm of each other’s body. The pleasure points. The ways they pleased each other.

  He held her pussy lips open as he plundered her with his tongue, now teasing her clit, now thrusting inside her like he wanted to do with his cock. She writhed beneath his grip, making the most delicious sounds. He tightened his hold on her, knowing her climax was near.

  His cock was so hard he was sure he could pound nails with it. If he didn’t get some relief soon, he’d be in serious pain, but he wanted to make sure Nina got every bit of pleasure he could give her.

  A spasm rolled up from within her, gentle at first then wild, with a sudden burst that had her wrapping her legs around his neck and riding his tongue. He exercised every bit of discipline and control he possessed until the tremors began to subside. Quickly rolling on a condom, he lifted her hips and drove into her in one hard thrust.

  Oh God! Oh Jesus! He thought he’d died and gone to Heaven. It was always like this with her, the moment before—

  “Hey!” A booted foot nudged him out of his dream. “You planning to sleep in your chair?”

  His eyes flew open. Heat burned his cheeks and he gave a quick glance to make sure he wasn’t tenting the fly of his jeans. Fortunately, the book was on his lap, covering his cock which was desperately trying to make itself known. He rubbed a hand over his face, feeling the rough bristles of his beard and remembering the sensation of it against the smooth skin of Nina’s thighs. He sucked in a lungful of air and tried to compose himself.

  “I guess I’ll get in bed and read.”

  Grange’s eyes widened. “You mean you actually read the stuff you have the poor woman haul out here?”

  “Come off it. You know I do. At least some of them.” He shifted in his chair. “How about a hand here?”

  He was still embarrassed at needing help to get his boots off. The muscles in his left leg would barely flex enough for him to do it himself. He gritted his teeth while Grange tugged off first one then the other and stood them next to the chair.

  “I’m gonna catch some television,” the older man said. “There’s a John Wayne movie on tonight I want to watch. Holler if you need anything.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Blake told him. “You go on and catch your movie.”

  As Grange left the room, the bell on Blake’s computer dinged, the signal he had an incoming message. Maybe his dream had conjured up her electronic presence. He limped over to the desk chair and clicked on the IM box.

  Booklady: Thank you for the pie. What a very nice holiday gift.

  Now, Blake wished he’d been the one to think of it.

  Blake: Grange had the idea. Sorry. I should have thought of it myself.

  Booklady: No problem. Please thank him again for me.

  He should probably sign off, but something perverse kept him sitting in the chair.

  Blake: What are your plans for Thanksgiving?

  Why did he even ask her? Why did he care? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

  After a long pause, she typed.

  Booklady: Brutus and I have very big plans for the day. You?

  Oh, yeah. He had really big plans.

  Blake: Grange will spend the morning cooking, and I’ll do my best to eat.

  What a stupid fucking thing to say. Had he lost every ability to carry on a conversation, even if it was an electronic one?

  Booklady: Is there something wrong with his cooking?

  Blake: No.

  Seconds ticked by.

  Booklady: With you?

  What would she say if he told her in gruesome detail how very much was wrong with him.

  Blake: Have a nice holiday.

  He closed the IM box before she could reply.

  Why did he have to act like such a shithead to the one person besides Grange he had any interaction with? For the first time in two years, he was actually disgusted with himself. He started to open the program again then changed his mind. She was probably shaking her head at his lack of manners.

  If only the dreams she’d begun to occupy were real. From the moment he’d seen her picture on the website, she’d taken up residence in his mind and then as the central figure in his erotic dreams. What had he become, focused on an electronic relationship with no place to go?

  He leaned back in the chair for a moment, eyes closed. Like the others, this dream had seemed so real. He could still feel the silk in his hands he used to blindfold her with. His dream self had been surprised when she’d agreed to it the first time, but then it became part of their game.

  The difference this time was the dream started in the middle. Usually, it began with him entering her bedroom, but tonight it was like a television movie on pause that had been restarted. He tried to figure out why but finally chalked it up as one more oddity in this unexpected series of erotic dreams.

  The vision wouldn’t leave his head all the while he got ready for bed. When he was finally under the covers, he opened the book on Indian folklore he’d requested. First, he thought the Arapaho who still lived in the area of the Laramie Mountains might have some legend about dreams. But it was in the section on the Abenaki where he discovered the legend about a couple meant to be together who were mated in their dreams then met in real life.

  Jesus!

  He kept remembering Nina in the dream at the moment of her climax. His hand stole beneath the sheet to the opening of his boxers. His dick was still rock hard and demanding release. As he brought himself to orgasm, the image of Nina with the blindfold covering her eyes kept flashing in his brain. He really wanted to ask her how she felt about fantasy games.

  Chapter Four

  Thanksgiving morning dawned clear and bright, the landscape covered with thick inches of the previous night’s snowfall. Blake stared down at it from his bedroom window. Vivid images of his family’s ranch—his home for most of his life—in a setting of pristine snow danced before his eyes. Holt would be out early with the wranglers feeding the horses and checking on the cattle in the winter pastures. A fire would be blazing in the big stone fireplace, and Alma, their housekeeper, would be preparing a huge Thanksgiving dinner for all the ranch hands. For a moment, the pain of loss hit him so hard it nearly brought him to his knees. He almost couldn’t breathe.

  And for the first time since the fire, he felt a longing for home. For human contact besides Grange. For a chance to touch Nina Foster outside his dreams. To see if her skin was as creamy as it appeared. If her lips were as tasty as they were in his dreams. He didn’t regret saving the horses. He still heard their screams sometimes at night when he couldn’t sleep. And smelled the fire and his own burning flesh. He’d paid a price higher than he’d ever expected, and now his life had nothing more than endless days of misery.

  The enticing aroma of sage stuffing and sweet potato pie drifted up from the kitchen. Grange never gave up trying to create some sort of normal life for him. As he’d done the past two years, he prepared a dinner as close to the one the ranch would be eating as he could.

  I don’t know why he puts up with me. Maybe today I’ll show my appreciation by eating with at least some evidence of pleasure.

  He was tucking his shirt into his jeans when the bell on his computer dinged and the IM box appeared. He’d taken to leaving the computer on all the time, unwilling to accide
ntally miss a message.

  He clicked on the box to open it.

  Booklady: I wanted to wish you a Happy Thanksgiving.

  Blake: Same to you.

  Booklady: Will you be having a big dinner? Lots of company?

  Hell. Didn’t she hear the gossip? Everyone in town must know the only people who came to his house were her and deliverymen.

  Blake: Just me and Grange. How about you? Big plans?

  He waited almost a full minute before she answered.

  Booklady: Brutus and I will be having dinner together.

  Right on the heels of the message the bell chimed again and another entry popped up.

  Booklady: Please tell Grange Brutus and I enjoyed some of the delicious pie for breakfast. Thank you both for your kindness.

  Blake felt like such a fraud. Not only wouldn’t he talk to her except via computer, Grange had been the one to give her something.

  Blake: We’re glad you enjoyed it.

  Booklady: I guess we each just like our own company for Thanksgiving. Maybe you can read some of those books.

  Blake glanced at the stack of books on his desk. He’d already worked his way through several of them.

  Blake: I’ve been reading them. You made excellent choices for me.

  Another pause.

  Booklady: Perhaps the time might come when we could get together and discuss them.

  Lord, don’t tempt me. If only it could happen.

  Blake: Perhaps.

  Booklady: Why do you spend so much time by yourself?

  How the hell did he answer that one? With another question, of course.

  Blake: Why do you?

  There was a long pause. Blake figured she was pissed off and had shut down. But the next message popped up.

  Booklady: It’s a long story.

  Blake: Mine, too.

  Booklady: Gotta run. Enjoy your turkey.

  And she was gone.

  Blake sat at the desk for a long moment. What was her story? She wasn’t physically damaged the way he was. He could tell from her pictures on the website. Had she suffered some terrible loss? Was she without family? But that wouldn’t necessarily shut her off from others. If she was eating alone on Thanksgiving, she was still hurting from something. Had some man damaged her emotionally to the point she’d closed in on herself? Was the store her only life? The idea made him furious. If he was right, he’d like to find the guy and beat him to a pulp.