“I know you can make a difference.” Love shone in his eyes as he caressed her cheek. “Can I ask one last favor of you?”
“Of course, ask me anything.”
“Kiss me goodbye… and mean it.”
Sarah fell into his arms and kissed him with all the passion and longing she’d denied for months. She summoned all the feelings she imagined stretched over the coming years—the endless culmination of days and hours she’d be without him—and deepened her final goodbye. He pulled her closer, melding them into one. She could barely breathe but reveled in the feel of every contour of his body, every beat of his heart. Her chest ached knowing this was the last time she'd ever taste his lips.
Slowly, Wolf pulled away and stepped back. He peered deeply into her eyes. “I want to drink in your beauty one last time so that when the years dim my eyesight I’ll still have your image etched in my memory.” Without another word he turned and mounted.
Scout’s bristly hair brushed her arm as her beloved rode past her and out of her life. Her bleary gaze remained focused on him until he was gone. Tears streamed down her face and fell onto the arms she clasped around herself as she struggled to capture their last moment of passion together.
Chapter Thirty-One
Sarah stirred. She scowled at the steady buzzing and robotically reached to the nightstand to swat the button atop her alarm clock. Her palm stilled the annoying noise. Rolling onto her back, she stared at the ceiling through blurry eyes and tried to clear her muddled mind. She must have been dreaming. But everything… he…seemed so real. She brushed a hand across her cheek, surprised to draw back fingers damp with tears. Why did she feel so miserable?
Hugging her second pillow to her chest, she curled on her side and scanned the sunlit bedroom, recognizing the familiarity of her surroundings. Her floral comforter draped across the foot of her four-poster bed, the matching drapes drawn back with tassels to reveal plantation blinds, and the padded seat in the alcove where she so often sat and looked out on the street below brought memories flooding back. She was home, in her own bed? A strange hollowness crept into the pit of her stomach. If this was where she lived, then what about Maggie’s boarding house, the livery, the schoolhouse, the beautiful town square?
Outside, a siren wailed in the distance and interrupted her thoughts. The muted honking and tire squealing she recalled signaled the start of the morning commute. Sarah rose and padded to the window, opening the wooden blinds and squinting out at the myriad of colored vehicles darting along the busy boulevard ten stories down. The usual murky haze shrouded the sky, fouling the air and blurring the skyscrapers in the distance. Yes, the scene was definitely straight out of Manhattan. But why did she remember Missouri?
Vivid pictures of wispy clouds floating in a sea of pale blue drifted into her mind. She pulled her face into a doubtful pucker. In New York?Not likely. What about the stream where she’d bathed and washed her hair…the mission and the Indian children? How could what she dreamed leave such a lasting impression? Didn’t one usually forget those things when they woke?
With a twist of a rod, she closed the window covering, flattening the slats and creating a cinema screen where images of an endless prairie, dirt-covered streets, wooden walkways and haunting hazel eyes flashed before her. Covered wagons and painted red faces…the bits and pieces fit together with such reality, she trembled.
Crossing back to the bed, Sarah perched on its edge, sat, and curled her toes in the downy ecru carpet covering her apartment floor. So different from the braided rug in Maggie’s parlor. How often had Sarah dreamed? Many times before, but never about something so vivid as to haunt her waking hours. Maybe she occasionally recalled a fragment here and there, but this night vision felt like she actually lived it—breathed it. And what of Wolf, the handsome half-breed she fought to win, but lost?
A deep exhalation rushed past her lips as she massaged her brow, fingering the puzzled crease that crinkled it.
She shivered, partly from the morning chill, but more so from the memories of events she could swear actually happened. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shrug her feelings of loss. Months of life in another time and place couldn’t actually pass in one night, could they? How could faces and personalities she conjured up assume such reality?
She stared at the fingers she recalled had reddened from Molly’s blood…the very fingers that now had brightly colored nails and were well manicured. A dream? Really? How else could she explain away all the weirdness?
She rolled her eyes. No doubt, she’d soon forget all of it—the horrible images, the terror—even the shared love. But that part, she didn’t want to let go. If only for a night she’d met the man she wanted to love forever.
Her gaze rested on the clock. Work beckoned, and she reluctantly stood. She loved her job, but maybe her duties as copy editor for O’Malley Publishing was to blame for her night visions. All those historical novels she proofed must have planted the seed in her psyche. She shook her head and chuckled. Now she was just grasping at straws. Or, was she grasping at love however she could get it?
Romance evaded her every day. Most men she met were jerks…jerks in suits. Still, even in her dreams, she hadn’t fared well. So much for her handsome, buckskin-clad hero. Her “humph” sliced the silence. Where in New York would you see that kind of hunk? With a sigh, she resigned herself to another day lost in the fictional dreams of authors.
Mechanically, she smoothed her duvet across the bed, her mind still seeking a plausible explanation for her silly emotional state. Romance novels caused her dream? Well, she certainly wasn’t going to stop reading. Life without books would be as meaningless as…as living without the without the man she’d fabricated. Despite that sorrowful thought, she forced a laugh. So she’d had a crazy dream. It had to be fluke… or something she ate. It happened once and wasn’t likely to again. So why did she feel so devastated? Hormonal? That had to be the reason.
As she neatly arranged her decorator pillows, she recalled hearing about people who analyzed visions; maybe she needed one. She headed for the shower, an image of herself stretched out on a couch, trying to explain the madness to a perfect stranger. No way she was doing that. She forced herself to think about only what lay ahead, letting the warmth of the water soothe her stress and clear her head.
Dressed and ready, Sarah did a quick mental check, making sure she had everything—purse, keys, and travel mug filled with coffee. All set to strike out and catch the bus to the business district, she reached for the doorknob just as someone knocked.
“Who the heck is visiting at this hour?” she muttered.
She yanked open the door, her purse swinging on her shoulder. Her mouth gaped.
“Sorry to bother you so early. I’m sure you didn’t expect to find a perfect stranger on your doorstep, but I’m having somewhat of an emergency.” He gave a sheepish grin and brushed his long, dark hair out of sparkling hazel eyes. “I’m your new neighbor. My sister and I are sharing the apartment next door while her husband is in Afghanistan. We’ve just moved in, and everything is still in boxes. I can’t stand unsweetened coffee, and I wonder if I might borrow some sugar.”He held out a cup.
Sarah’s gaze locked on the familiar face, and a gasp froze in her throat. She stared at the man through eyes that felt the size of silver dollars. “I….”
“Oh, how rude of me, I didn’t even introduce myself before I shared my life story with you.” He thrust out his free hand. “I’m Nathaniel Elder, but friends call me Nate…sometimes Wolf, even though I have no idea why. And you are?”
“Sa…Sarah Collins, I think.” She grasped his hand and sensed a tingle spread tiny sparks up her arm. “Won’t you come in? I’ll be happy to loan you some sugar.” She released his hand and smiled. “But, only if you agree to dine here tonight. I insist on making dinner for you and your sister. It’s my way of welcoming you to the neighborhood.”
He followed her to her kitchen. “I’m pretty sure Molly would
love that. I know I would. We haven’t had a chance to go grocery shopping. What time?”
Sarah placed her purse on the table and filled his cup. “How about seven?”
“Sounds great.” He paused in the doorway, his hand covering the brimming white granules, and glanced back at her. “I have the strangest feeling we’ve met before, but that isn‘t likely since me and sis just moved here. Have you lived out of state?”
She swallowed the urge to share everything with him. Instead she shook her head. “No, I was born and raised here, but you look awfully familiar to me, too.”
Sarah grabbed her purse from the table, joy welling in her heart. “We’ll have lots of time to get acquainted later, but right now I have to get to work.”She followed him into the corridor, stopping to lock her deadbolt. Happiness trembled her fingers and erased the shroud of despair she couldn’t earlier explain. “Hey neighbor,” she called out as he slipped inside the apartment next door. “Do you believe in dreams?”
The end (or perhaps the beginning)
Coming Soon from Books We Love
Sarah’s Passion
“Nathaniel Elder.” Sarah Collins leaned her elbows atop the manuscript spread across her desk and rested her chin between her raised palms. Her editing chore forgotten, she stared into space, picturing “Wolf’s” handsome face and puzzling over the amazement that led him to her doorstep directly from a dream so real she awoke with tears still wet on her cheeks.
“Something wrong, Miss Collins?” A brusque voice sliced through her thoughts.
Sarah jerked upright and stared into the face of her supervisor, Mr. Crane. He stood in her doorway, his unibrow crooked upward with piqued curiosity.
“No sir, nothing’s wrong. I-I was just thinking.” Shaking fingers straightened the manuscript pages she’d scattered to find where she’d left off. The mere presence of the man raised the hair on her arms, much the same the horrid banker from her dream had. Silas McCann. She shuddered at the memory of his horse face and yellowed teeth.
“Think on your own time, Miss Collins. You get paid to edit not daydream.” Mr. Crane disappeared down the hallway, his heels clicking against the aged brown tile. Maybe she’d read too many western historical tales, but the term, ‘burr beneath his saddle,’ came to mind. He never smiled and always acted like he was pissed at life. If only he knew how miserable he made his employees, but surely no one had the nerve to confront him. Job security and all.
Tucking thoughts of her night vision and miserable supervisor aside, Sarah pulled her chair closer to the desk and started reading. The words didn’t register, and she re-read the same sentence five times before giving up. She tossed her head back and sighed. “It’s no use, I can’t concentrate.” Pushing away from the desk, she closed her eyes and massaged the bridge of her nose.
How could she feel so attached to a man she’d only dreamed about? They’d never met, at least not in this lifetime. Past lives? Dreams? The entire situation was far too confusing for her feeble brain. Her new neighbor had moved here from God knows where, with his sister, Molly, who by the way, just happened to share the name of someone else in the dream. What were the chances that Nathaniel also had the same ‘nickname’ as the Indian-named ‘hero’ in her dream?
This day couldn’t pass fast enough. She checked the clock on the wall, anxious to get home. Four more hours? No one could effectively edit in her condition. She’d just have to fake being busy, just in case the ogre happened by again. Her thoughts focused on dinner and what to fix. Her new neighbors were coming to dine. She’d asked them as a way of welcoming them to the neighborhood. Yeah right! His drop-dead gorgeousness had nothing to do with the invitation, nor did the fact that in her dream they’d just shared the most passionate kiss ever. One could only hope she wasn’t losing her mind. Considering the memories rolling through her brain, even a psychiatrist probably couldn’t sort them out.
She made another attempt at editing the historical manuscript, but each mention of the Indian hero summoned forth visions of Nathaniel and the way they’d met, journeyed together, and fought the growing attraction between them. Sarah rolled her eyes. How crazy to expect tonight to resolve her confusion. She pictured herself trying to explain why she felt she knew them both. “Hi, Molly, nice to see you again, and alive this time. I’m sorry I couldn’t heal your wounds after the war-party attacked, but…” Yeah, that wasn’t a one-way ticket to the looney bin. Now her insides quaked, but for an entirely different reason. How did one act normal around people you felt certain you already knew--people you loved and lost?
About the Author
Ginger lives in Tennessee with her husband, Kelly, and within quick driving distance to her grandson, Spencer. He’s the reason they relocated from California. She retired after many years of working at an institution of higher education, with plans to devote more time to her writing, and she’s very pleased with her accomplishments. When asked to identify her favorite of all she’s written, she’d probably claim to love them all equally, but truth be told, Sarah’s Heart is probably the one she holds most dear. You can find all her books, novellas and stories listed on her website:
http://www.gingersimpson.com
and don’t forget to visit her blog, Dishin’ It Out:
http://mizging.blogspot.com
If historical novels like Sarah’s Heart, are your cup of tea, make sure to visit the group blog where Ginger shares her love of western lore and writing:
http://cowboykisses.blogspot.com
About the Publisher
http://bookswelove.net
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