No Time To Dream

by Treva Harte

  "What about you?" she managed, on a huge yawn.

  "I can wait this time. Think of it as payback for earlier when I didn't."

  "There isn't any…debt between us…Jack."

  "It's not an obligation, sweetheart. It is just pure pleasure."

  He settled her into the bed and pulled up the covers. She curled up against him like a sleepy cat, ready for warmth and cuddling. She smiled as she felt him, obviously aroused, next to her.

  "Sure…you want to…wait?"

  "Go to sleep, sweetheart. Watch out for me in the morning when you will be ready to take me on."

  She laughed and then yawned.

  "I love you," she mumbled as she began to drift off to sleep. "You chase the dreams away, Jack. I don't want them any more. I'm so tired of feeling that way. What I want is you."

  "And I want you, Jen. Always."

  He kept holding her even after he was sure she had fallen into a deep, untroubled sleep. She had a smile on her face. He kept looking at her face as she slept, breathing deeply, seemingly calm.

  Oh yeah, Logan. This is the first time she has said she loves you. So what if she was half-asleep and scared out of her mind from everything? She said it. It's working. You can do this. It wasn't so difficult this time, was it? It was easy to be gentle, easy to show her some tenderness. And it was good. Almost as good for you as for her. Jen deserves this. You can keep this up. If you can just hold back a little, this will work. Don't scare her, for God's sake. Be a damned Boy Scout, Logan. It might just work. What you want just might happen.

  If he was going to be a Boy Scout he needed to do something more. Something he should have done for her and for himself and Victor, long before this. He didn't know why he hadn't. Maybe it was because he could accept Victor was dead. He hadn't realized that Jen had to have proof before she could accept it, too.

  Jack didn't waste time on preliminaries once he got his phone call through.

  "What would be the right amount for a bribe to get information on whether a man is alive or dead in Colombia?"

  "Who has the information?" George Instone asked. He never wasted much time either. That was what made him such a damn good private investigator.

  "I don't know. Maybe no one. Maybe drug smugglers. Maybe some poor peon out in the back of beyond. Maybe no one does yet and you'll find out for me before anyone else."

  "That covers a lot of territory. How much are you willing to pay?"

  Jack thought. If it cost more than he could handle, he could call his father and get a loan. That was something he'd never done in his life and never wanted to do. But this wasn't for him.

  "Whatever it takes. I'm willing to pay more if I hear he is alive, of course."

  "You'll have to tell me more. If the guy isn't involved in the drug trade, the rebel army or terrorism, let's try twenty thousand dead. Fifty thousand alive. We can keep the price negotiable. A Colombian drug smuggler would sneer. But he might negotiate. Anyone else would think about accepting. Think about it real hard."

  "The price is very negotiable," Jack told him, crisply. "I need to know. Are you willing to check things out yourself?"

  "If the price is negotiable." Instone was thoughtful. "Expenses need to be covered, of course. Who the hell do you want to find?"

  "Victor Ruiz," Jack answered. "You may remember him—"

  "The hotshot newspaper photographer who went down—well, God knows where he went down. He was investigating the drug smuggling going on near the rain forests, wasn't he? Christ, Jack, that has been well over a year and a half ago."

  "Twenty months ago. Almost exactly."

  "He's probably dead."

  "Probably. I need to know if he is."

  "So you say. Any reason?"

  "He was—is—a friend. It's something I need to do for him."

  "I can't guarantee a damn thing on this one. The trail is probably cold and there isn't anyone alive to co-operate with me."

  "Do your best, Instone. Do your best. That's why I contacted you. Your best is usually pretty damned good."

  Jack gave him names to call, filled in what facts he did know and, grumbling, the private investigator promised to check in periodically.

  "How long do you want me to try to find out anything? I can promise you I won't turn up anything right away," Instone said.

  "Until you are satisfied, completely satisfied, that you have done everything there is to do on this."

  After he hung up, he went back to the bedroom and stared at the sleeping woman there for a long time.

  He pulled himself up. The dream had been really vivid this time. He knew he had deliberately prolonged it, intensified it. He hadn't dreamed about her for so long he had become vaguely uneasy. Despite the sadness in the dream, he felt connected to Jen whenever he conjured it up. When it stopped coming the way it had, he started to wonder about how close the real connection was now. He'd been away for far too long.

  His memory was almost completely back now. Knowing his name had been useful. That knowledge let him take a gamble on getting transportation. When he contacted Ramón, with his uneasy host's help, he knew Ramón would know his name.

  Ramón was the only one in the area who had the contacts to get him out and enough knowledge of the outside world to realize what helping a semi-famous norteamericano might mean for him. Since he was also the local drug lord and probably dabbled in arms smuggling for the highest dollar, Victor knew that there was the distinct possibility he would be held for ransom or disposed of if there was more profit in that. At the time he had his conference with Ramón, he almost didn't care. Ransom might get him out. And if he died, that would at least end the long exile from home.

  He had watched Ramon's face weighing the advantages and disadvantages. Perhaps Ramón had needed some favors from some officials that bringing him in would achieve. Victor didn't know or care why the decision had been made. Whatever the reason, Victor found himself borne in a sling to Ramon's tiny airstrip, which was usually used for other types of flights. Being carried in a sling was like an old movie—but it was also the only way he could be moved. His leg had long since ceased to be of any use for more than a few hobbling yards.

  He didn't know how long it would take the tiny plane to fly him to someplace closer to civilization, but at least he was on his way. The long wait in limbo was over.

  He had been so sure he could just finish up his one last dangerous, bewitching assignment and sweep back home to take care of everything. He'd be the hero.

  Some damned hero. He was flat on his back, dependent on a drug smuggler to get him home. He just hoped that Jen would be able to forgive his arrogance and tardiness.

  Victor's eyes shut again. He imagined touching Jen's face. It was going to happen. It had taken longer than either of them thought for him to get back to her but it was going to happen.

  Jen opened her eyes. For a moment she was startled to see Jack there. She sucked in her breath. She had just been held and made love to by a man after horrible nightmares and she woke, expecting to see Victor. What was wrong with her?

  This dream had been different, too. She could imagine Victor making her dream. She hadn't wanted to, not again, especially after the horrible one just a little while before. But this hadn't been frightening. Not really. Victor was coming back.

  Then Jen shook her head. She was in bed with Jack. How could she be dreaming of having Victor come home? She was so confused. She had told herself before that the dreams meant she wasn't ready for a new man in her life. But she did want Jack in her life. Or she had thought she did until these dreams began again.

  No. She wouldn't think that way. She was involved with Jack and she liked it. She didn't want to back off if that meant leaving Jack and what they were beginning to share. She wasn't sure what the dreams meant, but Jack was too important to give up because of her nighttime imagination.

  Chapter Five

  "Jack, Jack! I have news." Jen came running toward him as he drove into his driveway late
the next evening.

  "So do I, Jen. Bad news," Jack told her.

  "What?" Jen's throat clutched up. "Not your father—?"

  "No, no, honey, it's not an emergency. I've been called away to work on the Titus account tomorrow. The records are a disaster and someone has to sort them out. We're not even sure what Titus has in his office."

  Jen put her arm around his waist as they walked into his house. "And you got volunteered?"

  "More or less," Jack said.

  He wasn't going to admit that he had volunteered himself. It had occurred to him that if he kept himself at a little more distance—in this case about five hundred miles of distance—it would be a lot easier to behave like a gentleman. Not being able to touch or taste—He stepped back slightly. Yes, that would be the best thing if he wanted to keep his resolution.

  "Oh," Jen's voice wobbled and then strengthened again. "Well, then, we'll have to enjoy ourselves tonight, won't we?"

  She slid herself against him and saw Jack's eyes take on a now familiar gleam. She stretched her neck up to nip his jaw. His hands moved toward her shirt buttons. She obligingly unbuttoned the first one.

  He'd restrain himself later. God, if he did what he wanted to do he'd have to keep away from her for at least a day or two to get back on track. Three days. God, maybe four—but just now he had to sink into her, hard and fast, biting and sucking. He'd pay his dues later. He promised he would. Later. What the hell was he thinking? No!

  Jack jerked away from her like a dog being yanked on a leash.

  "What's wrong with you, Jack Logan? Do I have bad breath? Am I such a rotten kisser? What?"

  "No," he breathed out. "I—this is just like what happened after Jamieson jumped you. I felt like I had finished up the job for him after I attacked you in my own damned house."

  "Did I complain?"

  "You don't complain, Jen." Jack looked unhappy. "Not enough. You just have nightmares."

  "I had nightmares before we ever got together," Jen pointed out. "You didn't cause them. Why are you acting so strangely? I love whatever we do together, Jack. But now you act like there's something wrong with me."

  "There's nothing wrong with you." Jack deliberately gentled his voice. "It's me. I keep forgetting to behave myself."

  "I don't want you to behave yourself." Jen began to feel an irrational desire to hit him. "Oh, damn it. Maybe I'm busy tonight. I'll see if Molly wants to go out with me instead. Or maybe I'll call some guy who is interested."

  "Jen!"

  She turned and stalked away, boiling. He didn't follow after her or call to stop. Jack had known her long enough to know when to stay away from her.

  Jen slammed the door of the house shut and Molly watched while Jen stomped over to the telephone.

  "What's up, Jen?" Molly asked. "Lover's spat?"

  "I wouldn't call it a spat," Jennifer said. "Mrs. Jessup? Would you be able to mind Vicky tonight? I thought I might go out with my sisters, if it's OK with you. Really? Perfect. We'll see you then."

  "We're going out?" Molly asked. "Jen, if you recall, Cee Cee is already out. She's taken on a new hobby this month—she and some friends have started a group. She does lounge singing."

  "I forgot," Jen frowned. "I guess Cee Cee did mention it. But it's hard to remember what nutty thing she is doing from one day to the next."

  "She isn't bad, actually," Molly told her. "In fact they got a gig at this bar in D.C. after just a few rehearsals. Of course one of the musicians is kind of hooking up with the bar owner, which helped a lot."

  "A bar, huh? Perfect. I'm in the mood for a bar. Let's go and get ready, Molly."

  "Whew!" Molly exclaimed. "Jack must have really put his foot in his mouth."

  "Jack Logan is—is an asshole," Jen spat out. "And I could stand a drink. Maybe more than one drink. I'm going to put on that outfit that Cee Cee picked out for me on my birthday and we're going to get rowdy."

  "Jen, I'll get carded," Molly protested. "Well, I should be carded, anyhow."

  "Fine. We'll make sure you dress so you look old enough to be in a bar, too." Jen kept going.

  "My God, who are you and what have you done to my older sister? Or what has Jack done to her?"

  "I'm not saying you should go drink. I just want to go out and have some girl talk, be a little silly. Is that OK with you?"

  "But, Jen—"

  "Shut up and get ready. I'm just dying to hear Cecilia's act."

  "And the worst thing isn't that he treated me like some fragile little blossom, too stupid to know what she wants." Jen brooded over her beer. "The worst thing is that I didn't even get to tell him my good news."

  "Which is?" Cee Cee had sat down between her set, flirting with the patrons, the bar owner and the bartender, who was slipping her free beers. As far as Jen could tell, Molly seemed to be conscientiously sticking to ginger ale. Of course Jen was on her third beer—and she hated beer—so she wasn't really sure.

  "You know. Oh, yeah. I didn't tell you guys either. I won the contest."

  "You did it?" Molly sounded thrilled, then spoiled it with a little hiccup. "Congrats, Jen."

  "You're going to be a guest columnist with the paper?" Cee Cee smiled at her big sister. "Dad would have been proud."

  Jen smiled a little, too. She had told her sisters and Jack once the deadline had gotten closer. She would have burst otherwise.

  "I didn't tell anyone who I was. I didn't hide it or anything, but Turner is a common name and I figured no one would guess. Actually the editor was a little peeved when he figured it out. He was afraid someone would cry nepotism or favoritism or something. But I won the chance to guest write one column in the newspaper fair and square. They really liked what I wrote and they want to print my article next week."

  "I think this calls for more beer." Cee Cee looked for the bartender.

  "Not for you," Jen was firm. "You still have to sing. You're really great, by the way. Did I tell you that before? I can't believe you've never taken lessons seriously or anything. I had no idea you could."

  "You said all of that about four times already." Cee Cee shook her head. "I think you're getting a little buzzed, Sis."

  "Right now it's good to feel buzzed. It's a lousy bar, though. And if you keep flirting with the owner, I think there is going to be big trouble between you and his girlfriend," Jen pointed out.

  "Well, she wants to break up the group anyhow and she can't play the piano decently," Cee Cee shrugged. "I might as well make it fun while it lasts."

  "Oops. I feel sick," Molly said, ominously.

  "Molly, you didn't!" Jen exclaimed.

  "Well, I did just a little."

  "You can't drink. At all. I don't know why you even tried," Cee Cee told her. "By the way, don't run to the ladies room. That really will make you sick. It's disgusting in there. Go on out in the alley."

  Molly fled outside.

  "Cee Cee, do you suppose it's because of the nightmares?" Jen asked.

  "Huh?"

  "The reason Jack won't touch me. It started after I had my usual nightmare."

  "How should I know?" Cee Cee muttered. "I didn't even know you had nightmares until you just told us tonight."

  "I wish they would stop. All of this makes me feel so guilty, you know? I keep thinking and wondering what I could have done differently and it all seems so hopeless, but I can't stop."

  "Get over it, Jen." Cee Cee acted as if the words were forced out of her. "It wasn't you. You did the right thing. It was Victor's fault."

  "Huh?"

  "It probably didn't seem like a big thing at the time to him but it was. He made the choice to go without you. You wanted to have all the responsibility for things going bad but guess what? You had no choice. You aren't God. You did what you had to do but you don't want to blame Victor. Well, it was Victor's fault as much as anybody else's that he's gone now. You weren't in control of his choice. He was."

  As she spoke, Cee Cee almost absent-mindedly blew the bar owner a kiss.
<
br />   "It was Victor's—" Jen stared at her sister. "Yes, I suppose if it was anyone's fault or anyone's choice, it was Victor's."

  At the same moment the pianist, who had been quarreling softly with what looked to soon be her ex-boyfriend, let out a scream and hit the man over the head with a beer bottle.

  "Oh, man!" Cee Cee said, with some delight.

  In the next minute all hell broke loose. Marcie, the girlfriend, went for Cee Cee next. Cee Cee calmly threw some beer in her face. Several other male patrons stopped the bar owner, who was going for Marcie. Or maybe he was going after Cee Cee. Jen lost track of what was going on—probably because she had to duck under the table.

  As she heard various chairs and bottles crashing above her, Jen prayed that Molly would stay outside. Then she prayed that she would get out of this mess before anyone notified the pol—

  Just then she heard the siren's wail and her heart sank. She heard Cecilia giggling somewhere above her and wondered just why she had thought a girls' night out would be therapeutic.

  Jack sat quietly in his living room with just a reading light on. His beer was in one hand and the small box in the other. Absently he tossed the box up and caught it with one hand.

  He knew what the old man wanted from him now that he'd opened the box. But what did he want? All right, what did he want besides Jen? That want had been with him all his life but he had her now. Maybe.

  I'm handling things wrong with her. What should I do? What if I just ask Jen to marry me? What if she said no?

  What if she said yes?

  God knows it shouldn't matter so much to him if she did marry him and things didn't work out. That was a pattern he was used to with his parents. But he didn't want to go into something thinking failure was a possibility. Besides, Jen would suffer if it didn't work. She expected more. She deserved more.

  He'd thought of asking her before Vicky was born. A baby needed a father and even now there was a certain stigma attached to not having one around. But he had known that Jen would say no. If she'd said yes, he wasn't so sure he could have married her knowing she was doing it for her daughter's sake.