Dare to Dream

by Modean Moon

  And she knew what he wanted to talk about. But what could she say? I'm sorry seemed pitifully inadequate for the biting words she could never take back, and yet it was all she could say.

  "About Friday," she began hesitantly.

  "Later," he said tersely. "After we finish with Wilson."

  The blue Mercedes, top securely in place, waited in the loading zone in front of the office building. Nick's fair-weather car had apparently seen its share of foul weather since Friday, Dani thought as she looked at the mingled red and gray mud covering the car. The only clean spots were on the windshield, where the wipers had kept the glass clear, and the cleanliness emphasized the pastel pink of the parking ticket stuck under the wiper.

  Nick unlocked the passenger door, tossed a garish orange merchandise bag from the front seat to the back, and stepped aside to allow Dani to slide into the car. He handed her the folder, slammed her door, plucked the ticket off the windshield, and eased his length into the car without saying a word. He started the engine and shot out into traffic. The silence in the car was deafening. Almost as though he realized it, too, he turned on the radio, tuning in an easy listening station, but when the romantic strains of a familiar melody filled the car, he snapped off the radio, leaving only the rhythmic thumping of the windshield wipers to emphasize the silence.

  The parking lot, shared by the bank and the adjacent shopping mall, crawled with cars even at this early hour. Nick finally found a parking space some distance from the entrance. Dani didn't wait for him to walk around to help her out. She met him at the front of the car. Once again he took her by the elbow and hurried her along.

  Inside the bank he bypassed the long row of tellers' windows and went directly to the offices. He announced himself to the receptionist, who smiled apologetically.

  "I'm sorry, but Mr. Wilson isn't here yet, and Mr. Tankersly, the trust officer, is still tied up in a meeting. He did say, though, that if you got here before he returned, to ask you to wait in his office." She showed them to the office. "I'm sure he won't be long, but would you care for coffee while you wait?"

  "No. Thank you," Nick said, smiling politely, but he lapsed once again into stony silence when the woman left. He sank into a chair, obviously impatient and irritated by the delay and lost in thoughts far removed from this bank.

  Dani watched him hesitantly for a moment and then sat in the chair next to his. The folder was a solid reminder of why they were together. Think business, she told herself, and when she did, she remembered Wilson's second underhanded sale of the leases.

  "Nick?"

  His head jerked up.

  "Did you see Sunday's paper?"

  He shook his head. "I haven't had time for a newspaper in days. Why?"

  "Then you don't know about—"

  Sam Wilson's laugh filled the room. He stood in the doorway, flirting outrageously with the blushing receptionist.

  "Know about what?" Nick asked.

  "Mid-South," Dani whispered, just as Wilson entered the room.

  Dani felt a shiver of distaste run through her as Wilson nodded coolly to them and settled himself comfortably on the edge of the desk.

  "It seems a shame to have to wait any length of time for what is little more than a formality," he said.

  He was going to bluff his way through it, Dani thought, and Nick had no idea of what was going on.

  "Does that mean you were unsuccessful in meeting our requirements?" she asked in a voice edged in ice.

  "Unfortunately," Wilson said, smiling ruefully at her.

  That poor excuse for a man ought to be put through at least a little discomfort, but without just blurting out what she knew, she had no way of letting Nick know what had happened. She played for time and a way to tell him. She gazed at Nick, praying he could read the silent plea for understanding in her eyes before she again spoke to Wilson.

  "Perhaps we could all save some valuable time by rescheduling this appointment for a later date," she said.

  She had Wilson's attention now, and Nick's.

  "I believe my time for meeting your title requirements has expired," Wilson said tightly.

  "Yes, it has," Dani told him, opening her folder. Marcie, ever efficient, had tucked a new legal pad and a pen inside the folder. Dani drew circles on the pad while she gathered her thoughts. "However, under the terms of the escrow contract, Mr. Sanders has an additional fifteen days to attempt to resolve those problems before relinquishing any claim to the leases."

  Wilson's pale complexion grew even paler, and small beads of perspiration dotted his upper lip.

  "What's your game, lady?" he asked tensely. "A month ago you told me this was an either-or situation. Either I came up with a farm-out agreement or you didn't take the deal. Why have you changed your mind now?"

  Dani read the same question in Nick's eyes, but he said nothing. She played absently with the legal pad and as she did, she turned it over, exposing the top document in the file. She slanted the folder so that Wilson couldn't see the contents. Bless Marcie's organized, competent heart! Paper clipped to the escrow contract was the article from Sunday's paper, the incriminating paragraph circled in red ink.

  "Your comment about 'welching' on a deal distressed Mr. Sanders greatly," she said sweetly, ripping the entire document from the file as she watched the vein in Nick's temple throb a warning.

  "Perhaps you'd like to refresh your memory of the terms of the contract," she said to Nick as she handed him the papers, held so that Wilson saw only the backs of them.

  "Perhaps I should," he said, his gaze probing hers before he glanced at the clipping. If possible, his already grim countenance hardened as he read the damning paragraph, but when he looked back at her, his eyes sparkled with understanding and appreciation.

  Nick folded the contract in half and leaned back in his chair, facing Wilson. "I've had a little luck since the last time we met, and since you are indirectly responsible for that luck, I feel I owe you something."

  Dani set her purse and file on the desk top and turned to watch Wilson's discomfort. She didn't know how far Nick would carry this line, but he was doing it beautifully.

  "You don't owe me anything, Sanders," Wilson edged off the desk. "All I want to do is conclude our business and put this entire unpleasant experience behind us."

  "But that wouldn't be fair to you, Sam," Nick said, smiling easily. "The leases have been tied up so long now that you won't have a chance of selling them to anyone else before they expire. Let me approach Mid-South. Maybe I can work something out with them. If not…" he hesitated and then smiled brilliantly. "If not, just to show my goodwill, I'll take a part of the acreage as a business risk."

  "No," Wilson said. "No. You told me at our last meeting—"

  "I said a lot of things at our last meeting," Nick said, looking at Dani while he spoke, "things said in anger that I've had time to reconsider." He drew his gaze from her and squared his shoulders as he faced Wilson. "In spite of what was said, this contract"—he tapped the document against his knee—"gives me the right to an additional fifteen days, and I intend to exercise that right."

  Wilson's pale face was now tinged with green. Definitely green, Dani thought. She was so caught up in appreciating his discomfort that she didn't anticipate his move. Neither did Nick. Wilson's hand snaked out and snatched the contract.

  "Let me see that damn thing," he hissed, flipping the pages open and stopping in frozen silence.

  Wilson glared at her then, a look filled with such malevolence that she involuntarily shrank back in her chair, aware for the first time that this man could be a dangerous enemy.

  "You bitch," he spat at her. "You've done it to me again."

  Dani saw Nick's knuckles whiten as his hand clenched into a fist. Quickly she placed her hand on his, urging him by her light touch not to carry through with his intended action.

  "I've merely done my job, Mr. Wilson," she said carefully, feeling a little ashamed for taking credit for what Marcie actually uncove
red but knowing that now was not the time to stop to give her credit. "Sometimes it is necessary to pry behind the surface of something to discover the truth."

  "You will apologize to Miss Simms, Wilson." Nick's voice cut across hers, deadly calm, but Dani was not deceived. She felt his fist still clenched beneath her hand.

  Wilson visibly regained his composure. He looked at her when he spoke, his eyes glittering brightly. "I think not," he said concisely. "You aren't the only one who can pry behind the surface."

  Dani felt Nick's hand moving beneath hers, but she was unable to look away from Wilson's mesmerizing eyes.

  "I think," Wilson continued, "that you will release this escrow contract today, and that you will keep your mouth shut about this entire transaction."

  "Why would I do that?" Nick asked in a voice as cold as Wilson's.

  Wilson smiled at her, a brittle, challenging smile. "Because your lovely lady has kept her secret so well, I don't think you would subject her to the embarrassment of having her clients discussing the months she spent in an expensive sanatorium with Frank Merriweather footing the bill. What was it, Mrs. Simms? Drugs? Alcohol?"

  At first Dani couldn't comprehend what he was saying, and then her thoughts spun with the question of how he had found out, but even as she understood, as she silently formed Robyn's name, she heard a sound remarkably like a growl as Nick shook off her hand and sprang at Wilson.

  She was paralyzed, unable to believe what she was witnessing, numb and senseless, until she realized that Nick's fist had connected with Wilson's jaw and that now he had him by the throat, his large hands choking the life from the man as he held him suspended against the wall.

  "No! Nick, you can't!" she cried, running to his side, tugging desperately at his arm. She made no more impression on him than a fly would have. His eyes glazed with a fury she had never seen; he held Wilson, not hearing the man's attempts to call out, not hearing her words.

  "He's not worth it!" she screamed at him, trying to pry his hands loose. And then, sensing nothing else could stop him, "It's true."

  Somehow she had reached him. He released his grip on Wilson and let the man slide down the wall. He turned to her, his eyes still dazed but infinitely sad. She backed away from him, feeling the soft leather of her purse brush against her as she leaned on the desk.

  "It's true," she whispered.

  Nick called out to her, his voice hoarse with an emotion she couldn't stop to identify, but she was beyond hearing him, acting only on instinct. Her survival depended on her not hearing him. She snatched her purse from the desk, dodged his outstretched arm, and pushed through the throng of people trying to crowd into the small office. And if she couldn't listen to his voice, she refused to listen to the voice within her, the one that derided her as she fled from the bank, the one that called her a coward for fleeing, the one that called her worse for leaving Nick to face the questions that must follow.

  She burst onto the crowded sidewalk with no plan of escape. When she saw the early morning shoppers, most of them with heads bowed against the light rain, she knew she needed no plan. She mingled with them, hurrying along, knowing that if necessary she could lose herself in any one of the shops. A taxi pulled up to the sidewalk ahead of her, letting out a passenger, and Dani ran to it. She had no desire to be alone in the crowd.

  "Where to, lady?" the driver asked as she scurried into the back seat.

  Where to? Where could she go? There wasn't any place she belonged.

  "Where do you want to go?" the driver grumbled from the front seat.

  It wasn't where she wanted to go. It was the only place she could go. She gave him the address of the apartment.

  Tightly drawn draperies effectively blocked what little sunlight struggled through the dripping gray sky and refused to allow it to penetrate the gloom of the apartment. Dani, her shoes kicked off and her feet tucked under her, curled in her corner of the couch. The kitten, for once hesitant about approaching her, curled on the opposite cushion, watching her as she mentally surveyed the destruction of her life. And she was the one who had destroyed it. She couldn't escape that knowledge any longer.

  Her career was ruined, or would be by the time Wilson finished with her. She might be able to make some sort of living handling divorces or bankruptcies from a neighborhood law office, but never again would Win-Tech or any of her other clients be able to read one of her decisively worded opinions without questioning her judgment.

  And her job was gone. She couldn't subject Frank Merriweather to the embarrassment her presence in his firm would cause him once Wilson began spreading his tales.

  It would make no difference now that Frank Merriweather had acted only from kindness, that she had been unable to care for herself and had no one to turn to. She remembered herself as she had been when he first approached her—the uniform the sanatorium had provided, starched faded jeans, and cotton shirts no more individual or appealing than the hospital gowns she had worn for so long, and she, sunk so deep in despair that she didn't care how she looked or what she did, responding only slightly when they forced her into physical therapy sessions, not at all in counseling, until he burst into her life, giving her a reason to care, tempting her with this job. With the help of Chet Davis he had found her individualizing clothes and later this apartment.

  It would make no difference that he was the one who had voiced the anger she couldn't express when he learned of Mrs. Simms's parting words, "Don't turn to me for help, Danielle. The State raised you. It can take care of you now." No. It would make no difference that he had offered financial help only when her insurance was exhausted and that she had repaid every penny. Nor would it matter that she owed a debt to him that could never be repaid.

  And Nick. Ah, that was the worst of it. She'd never had a chance to tell him she was sorry. Now she never would. If she didn't understand what had happened, how could he? How could she explain to him that she had used his strength, used the love he offered, hiding in it, being nourished by it, taking from him, always taking, not realizing until it was too late that she loved him, that she was capable of loving. And the horrible things she had said to him. If she hadn't been so defensive, hiding, always hiding, she would never have lashed out at him, cutting into wounds that were every bit as deep and as painful as her own.

  She stretched her arm across the back of the sofa and leaned her head against it. And today? Because of her, she had seen Nick's awesome temper unleashed. Because of her, he had been beyond caring that he might kill a man.

  "Oh, God, Nick," she moaned, "what have I done? What have I done?"

  She felt a raspy tongue against her cheek and opened her eyes to see the kitten perched on the back of the sofa, his face next to hers. "It's all right," she said, ruffling his still damp fur. "I'm sturdy. I'll get through this."

  She put the kitten back on the opposite cushion and watched his little paws kneading the upholstery. "I've started over before," she whispered. "I can do it again."

  But could she? She felt her own hands kneading the air, clenching and extending in the familiar exercises, and concentrated on the blank wall across from her, trying to blank her mind. Could she survive this? Could she fight to rebuild her life knowing it would be as empty as the last five years had been, would be forever empty, forever without Nick?

  She mustn't think about that now. Now she must concentrate on survival. Now she must push back any thoughts that threatened her survival. She could think about them later, when it was safe, when it wouldn't hurt so much.

  What am I doing? Her life was in shambles, she had destroyed a man's love for her, she had hurt him needlessly and cruelly, and now she was busy tucking away her pain, anesthetizing herself so that she could function as though none of it had happened. It ought to hurt! What kind of person was she? A normal person would feel the hurt, would let herself feel the hurt. Oh, God, she screamed in silent prayer, just once, just once let me feel something honestly! Just once let me know that I can feel it!

&
nbsp; She forced her hands to be still. She spread them on the cushion in front of her and stared at them. "Unless someone cares enough about you to look closely," Nick had told her, "the scars aren't noticeable. And once he cares that much, he ceases to see them." Oh, Nick, if only those were the only scars. Would you have ceased to see the others? And as that question whispered through her mind, she felt her breathing deepen, she felt the hollowness expanding behind her eyes. Her chest was full, too full for her ribs to contain the pounding pressure hammering to be released. A constriction somewhere above her heart began pushing its way upward.

  It was too much! She couldn't take it now, not yet. Instinctively she started to push it away. No! If pain were the only thing she could feel, she would feel it. She would live.

  She felt tears in her eyes then, tears she had thought never again to shed, brimming over, scalding her cheeks, as a broken sob tore its way from deep within her, followed by another, and another, until she collapsed against the cushion, her hands tight fists on each side of her head, giving way to the grief which racked her—grief for the life she would never share with Nick, grief for the pain she had caused him. And still the sobs came, and the tears, too long dammed, refused not to burn her eyes. Grieving for now was not enough. Too much waited its turn. Rob, laughing, gentle Rob, dying while he worked to make someone else happy. And Bobby, blue-eyed innocent Bobby, who never had a chance to dream. Dani moaned against the sofa cushion as all her ghosts demanded and had their moment. Only then did she cry for herself, for Dani, frightened and alone, for Dani who through her thoughtlessness and carelessness and selfishness had caused it all. She cried until drained, her body shaking with sobs until it had no more strength, and then she lay weak and defenseless against the damp sofa while the kitten mewed anxiously and caressed her salty cheek with its tongue. She found the strength to slide her arm around the kitten's body and draw him close to her, his softness a stark and needed contrast to the numbness, the blessed, peaceful numbness now overtaking her.