Building Dreams

by Ginna Gray

  GINNA GRAY

  A native Houstonian, Ginna Gray admits that since childhood, she has been a compulsive reader as well as a head-in-the-clouds dreamer. Long accustomed to expressing her creativity in tangible ways—Ginna also enjoys painting and needlework—she finally decided to try putting her fantasies and wild imaginings down on paper. The result? The mother of two now spends eight hours a day as a full-time writer.

  Chapter 1

  It was too quiet.

  The thought struck Ryan McCall halfway up the stairs, and he paused, his expression puzzled. Normally by that point he could hear rock music rattling the walls of his apartment. Or, at the very least, the television blaring. His son rarely did anything in moderation.

  Ryan trotted up the remaining steps, curious but not particularly alarmed.

  The first vestige of the latter feeling came a moment later when he unlocked his door and opened it to a dark apartment. Stepping inside, Ryan flipped on the living room lights and checked his watch. It was only nine—too early for Mike to be in bed. Maybe he had fallen asleep watching television in his room.

  "Mike! You here?"

  There was no answer. Frowning, Ryan tossed the mail onto the coffee table and strode across the room, heading for the door that led into the bedroom hallway. "Hey, Mike! Where are you?"

  His son's room was empty. The bed, on which the boy wallowed periodically throughout the day, was made up in Mike's usual haphazard manner but it showed no sign of having been touched.

  The room was crammed with a thirteen-year-old boy's clutter. A catcher's mitt and a bat and ball lay on the desk, along with dozens of baseball cards, two crushed soft drink cans, a deflated football, a pair of dirty socks, a pocket electronic game, and an assortment of candy wrappers, rocks and scraps of paper. A squadron of model airplanes hung from the ceiling and another half-finished aircraft sat on a sheet of newspaper in the middle of the floor. In a pile in the comer, where Mike had tossed them, were a torn kite, a Frisbee and a skateboard. A ratty sneaker with a hole in the toe lay on its side beside the bed. Yet, for all its messiness, the room had an undisturbed air.

  Real alarm began to spiral up inside Ryan. Where was Mike?

  The front door slammed. "Hey, Dad. I'm home!"

  Ryan whirled, his relief so great his knees nearly buckled. The debilitating emotion lasted only an instant, just long enough for parental ire to override it. Dammit, where the devil had that boy been? No matter what, he was damned well supposed to be home by dark with the doors locked.

  Ryan stalked toward the living room. Mike was heading for his room, and father and son nearly crashed into one another when Ryan stormed through the door.

  "Oh, hi, Dad. Wait'll you hear-"

  "You've got some explaining to do, young man."

  "Huh?"

  "Where the devil have you been? You know you're not to leave without permission."

  "I didn't leave! Well... not really. I was next door."

  "Next door?"

  "Yeah. I've been helping our new neighbor move in."

  Ryan stared at his son, taken aback. Mike was a good kid. He was responsible and cooperative, but like most teenage boys, when it came to things like household chores or anything that involved physical labor, he groused long and loud.

  "Well, hey, that's great, Mike. I'm proud of you." Ryan hesitated. "Uh... you did volunteer to help, didn't you? I imean... they're not paying you, are they?"

  "Heck no! I wouldn't take money from someone like Mrs. Benson," Mike declared, affronted. The next instant he brightened, his young face lighting up with enthusiasm. "Wait till you meet her. Dad. She's really great. She's a high school teacher—or she was until school let out last week for jlthe summer. She says she's not going back next fall. She's going to take a real long sabba... sabbat..."

  "Sabbatical?"

  "Yeah, that. Man, I bet it'd be cool, having a teacher like Mrs. Benson. She young. Well... sorta... for a teacher, anyway. And she's real friendly and all, and she laughs a lot. I And guess what else, Dad? Amanda Sutherland... you know, that lady who does the news on television? Well she'n Mrs. Benson are best friends. Ms. Sutherland is helping her I move."

  One corner of Ryan's mouth kicked up in a faintly scornful twist. "Is that right?" he replied without a trace of interest. Women were far from his favorite topic of conversation.

  He retrieved the mail from the coffee table and started riffling through it. "So how about Mr. Benson? What's he like?"

  "Oh, there's not a Mr. Benson. At least, not anymore, there isn't. Ms. Sutherland told me he died about seven months ago."

  Ryan's head snapped around, his eyes narrowing. "You mean our new neighbor is a widow?"

  "Yeah. And she's-"

  "Oh great. That's just great," Ryan snapped. "Just what I need—an unattached female right next door. That's the perfect piece of news to cap off what's been a really rotten day."

  Ryan and Mike had lived where they were for almost eight years. Until his death the previous month, a doddering old bachelor had occupied the apartment next door. Ryan had hoped that the next tenant would be someone equally innocuous.

  "Ah, c'mon. Dad. Don't be that way. Mrs. Benson is different. She's nice and... well... special. You'll like her. Really."

  "Yeah. Right." His jaw tight, Ryan returned his attention to the day's mail.

  Mike headed for the kitchen. "Tonight Mrs. Benson just brought over some small stuff. The movers are bringing her furniture tomorrow, and she's moving everything else herself in a rented trailer. So anyway, I told her I'd be back to help some more after my softball game tomorrow," he said with his head inside the refrigerator. "That's okay, isn't it, Dad?"

  "I guess," Ryan replied through gritted teeth. "But first you have to do your Saturday chores."

  "Ah, Daaad. Do I have to? Just this one time, couldn't—"

  "You know the rules, Mike."

  Actually, Ryan half hoped that the additional work would make Mike change his mind. On the one hand, he was proud of his son for generously helping out a neighbor, but he hated the idea of a single woman living next door, and he certainly did not want Mike to spend a lot of time with her. In Ryan's experience, unattached females were usually on the lookout for a man.

  He tore open an envelope with more force than necessary, his teeth clamped together so hard they ached. At the first opportunity he intended to make his feelings about women crystal clear to this new neighbor.

  ❧

  The opportunity arose the very next morning. As usual whenever Mike had a softball game, Ryan's identical twin, Reilly, came along. Depending on the previous evening and the woman with whom he had spent it, Reilly sometimes appeared on their doorstep on Saturday mornings looking a bit frayed around the edges—but he came. He was nothing if not a devoted uncle. So far, he hadn't missed a single game.

  That particular Saturday morning Reilly arrived early bearing a box of warm donuts for their breakfast and whistling off-key. Ryan took one look at the devilish twinkle in his brother's eyes and raised a sardonic brow.

  "You're bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this morning. Don't I tell me you actually got a decent night's sleep for a change. What's the matter? Get stood up?"

  Reilly grinned. "Hardly. If you want to know, I spent last evening with a dynamite gal. You ought to try it sometime, Hoss. Does wonders for your outlook. As a matter of fact, I know a fantastic lady I could fix you up with."

  "Forget it. When I want a woman I know where to find .one. Besides, there's nothing wrong with my outlook."

  ''Wanna bet," Reilly muttered, trailing his brother into the kitchen.

  Between the three of them, the McCall men quickly devoured the whole box of donuts. A short time later they clattered down the stairs and headed for the p
arking lot amid laughter and good-natured jibes.

  Just as they reached Ryan's Jeep Cherokee, an older economy car towing a rental trailer pulled into the parking lot and sputtered to a stop a few feet away. Mike's face lit up.

  "Hey, look! It's Mrs. Benson!"

  Ryan groaned and tried to stop him but he was too late. His son rushed over to the car and leaned down beside the driver's window before the woman could kill the engine.

  "Hi, Mrs. Benson. Ms. Sutherland," Mike added, sparing the woman in the passenger seat a quick glance. "I didn't expect to see you again so soon." Grinning, he glanced over his shoulder and motioned eagerly to his father and uncle. "C'mere 'n meet Mrs. Benson, Dad. You too, Uncle Reilly."

  Ryan gritted his teeth, but he had no choice. Reilly, who needed no second urging where women were concerned, was already sauntering toward the car. Ryan followed him reluctantly.

  Beaming, Mike made the introductions.

  "I'm delighted to meet you," the woman behind the wheel said, smiling up at Ryan. "And please, do call me Tess. We're neighbors now, after all."

  Ignoring her outstretched hand, Ryan responded with a curt nod, then deliberately looked away, his expression stony.

  Whatever his greeting lacked in courtesy, his brother's more than made up for in charm. With a hand braced on the car door Reilly leaned down and flashed his most devastating smile. "Morning, ladies." His gaze slid back and forth between the two women, and he sighed dramatically. "I swear, it just isn't fair. This brother of mine has always had the devil's own luck. Imagine having two beauties like you move in right next door. Nothing like that ever happens to me.

  "Oh, brother." Rolling her eyes, Amanda gave a disgusted snort and scooted down in her seat. Arms crossed tightly beneath her breasts, she stared straight ahead.

  Tess's uncertain gaze flickered from Ryan's rigid face to his brother's smiling one. "Uh...I'm afraid you're mistaken, Mr. McCall-"

  "Reilly," he insisted with an affable grin.

  "Uh... Reilly. You see, I'm the only one who'll be living here. Amanda is merely giving me a hand."

  "Really. Hey, in that case, perhaps I can talk your friend into moving into my building?"

  "Don't hold your breath," Amanda muttered, but she I didn't deign to look at him.

  Reilly grinned. His eyes twinkled as they roved over ,Amanda's stiff profile. "Say aren't you... Of course! Amanda Sutherland. I thought you looked familiar. You're a roving reporter for Channel Five, aren't you?"

  "That's right."

  "I'm a big fan. Maybe we can get together sometime so I can tell you how much I admire your work. Say.. .over dinner tonight?"

  Amanda cut her eyes around, giving him a look that would have shriveled most men. Reilly McCall's grin widened.

  "I'm busy."

  "How about tomorrow night?"

  "No."

  "The night after that?"

  Amanda shook her head.

  Ryan shifted impatiently and made a point of checking his watch. "The woman's not interested, Reilly, so count yourself lucky and come on. We have to get to the park." He gave Tess another curt nod and turned and walked back to his own car without another word.

  "It was nice meeting you," Tess called after him, but his only response was to yell to his son to shake a leg.

  Crestfallen, Mike gazed after his father. He sent Tess an iapologetic look. "Gee, I'm sorry, Mrs. Benson. Dad doesn't really mean to be rude. He's got a lot on his mind, is all."

  "That's all right, Mike. I understand."

  His father hollered again, and Mike darted away toward the Cherokee. "Don't forget," he called back over his shoulder. "I'll be over as soon as the game ends."

  He had barely tumbled into the back seat when his father reversed out of the parking space and sent the utility vehicle shooting out of the lot.

  Ryan's expression did not encourage conversation, but Mike was too upset to care.

  "Shoot, Dad. Why'd you have to go and act that way to Tess?" he demanded glumly.

  "Yeah, Hoss.'' Reilly's eyes twinkled with devilment. "I'd like to know that, too. You were a real jerk back there. If a looker like Tess Benson moved into my building I sure wouldn't bite her head off. I'd woo her with soft words and flowers." He waggled his eyebrows. "You'd be surprised how far a little sweet talk can get you."

  "Ah, knock it off. Uncle Reilly," Mike snapped, surprising both men. Tess isn't that kind of woman,"

  "Hey, Mike... buddy. What gives? I didn't mean any-"

  "Oh, just forget it." Flouncing back in the seat, Mike stared out the window, his young face sulky.

  The two brothers exchanged a baffled look and fell silent.

  Mike didn't say a word all the way to the ball park, but he was never able to stay angry for long. When they arrived and he spotted his teammates he let out a whoop and rushed off to greet them, his pique forgotten.

  "Now, what do you suppose that was all about?" Reilly mused.

  Ryan stared after his son, a worried frown drawing his thick eyebrows together. "Beats me."

  ❧

  For several seconds the two women sat in Tess's car, staring after the McCalls' departing vehicle.

  "Well," Amanda huffed. "He certainly won't win the good neighbor award. That man's about as warm and friendly as a coiled rattlesnake. Who would've guessed that a sweet boy like Mike would have a father like that."

  "He was rather abrupt."

  "Abrupt! The man was downright rude."

  "Yes... well... may be we shouldn't be too quick to judge him. It could be that he's just having a bad day or something."

  Amanda groaned and rolled her eyes. "I swear, Tess Benson, you are the most tolerant, good-natured, incurably optimistic person I've ever known. It's disgusting. The man is mannerless and abrasive. He's got the personality of coarse-grit sandpaper, for heaven's sake."

  Tess laughed. "Maybe. Or maybe he's simply got problems right now. Or maybe he's just in a bad mood. We all have days when we're mad at the world and would just as soon people stayed away. Since I'm going to be living next I door to the man I'd prefer to give him the benefit of the doubt."

  "You would," Amanda muttered. The rumble of a diesel engine and the squeal and hiss of air brakes announced the arrival of the moving van. The long tractor-trailer rig lumbered into the parking lot and rolled to a stop beside the car.

  Tess looked up at the apartment building, and drew a deep breath. "I guess it's time to get started. This stuff won't get unloaded by itself." With a determined sigh, she reached for the door handle and slowly, awkwardly, hauled her very pregnant body out of the car.

  ❧

  Four hours later, Tess stood in the kitchen of her new apartment, knee-deep in boxes, wadded newspaper and bubble pack, wearily rubbing her aching back.

  "Where ya want me to put this one, Mrs. Benson?" She looked around in time to see Mike come through the front door, staggering under the weight of the carton he carried. The thirteen-year-old was sweating profusely, and the tendons in his neck and underdeveloped arms were corded and straining.

  "Mike! You shouldn't carry something that heavy up the stairs all by yourself! Here, let me help."

  From the look of horror on his young face you would have thought Tess had suggested she benchpress five hundred pounds. He clutched the carton tighter and held it out of her reach when she came around the end of the bar. "No! You can't do that!"

  "The kid's right." Amanda sauntered in through the open doorway carrying a half dozen clothes-filled hangers hooked over each shoulder. "In your condition, you haven't any business trying to manage something that heavy."

  "But-"

  "I can handle it, Mrs. Benson. Honest. Just tell me where you want it."

  "C'mon, sweetie, follow me. I'll show you." With a don't-you-dare-say-a-word look for Tess, Amanda maneuvered through the maze of boxes and jumbled furniture with her unhurried, hip-swaying walk and led the boy out of the room.

  Tess watched them go, feeling properly chastised and more
than a little useless.

  "How about it, Mike? Whaddaya say we take a lemonade break," Amanda suggested a minute later, when she and Mike returned.

  "No thanks, Ms. Sutherland. But you go ahead. There're just a few more boxes left in the trailer. I'll get 'em while you rest. They're too heavy for you to carry anyway."

  "Now there goes one heck of a nice kid," Amanda drawled, hitching herself up onto a stool beside the bar.

  "Yes, he is. But I'm afraid we're taking advantage of him."

  "Are you kidding! He's having a ball. Look, Tess, trust me on this. If there is one thing I know, it's the male animal. The early teens are tough on a boy. Their hormones are just beginning to bubble and they're filled with all kinds of doubt and anxiety about their budding masculinity. Believe me, lending a hand to two women makes Mike feel manly and strong."

  "Still... I could have helped. I'm not an invalid you know."

  "No. But you're too far along to be doing any lifting and toting. And remember, when I let you talk me into this, our agreement was that you would leave all that to me. With Mike helping there is even less reason for you to concern yourself. We can take care of the heavy stuff. You just unpack boxes."

  Tess made a face, but she didn't argue—not when Amanda used that tone.

  As her friend drank her lemonade, Tess studied her, bemused. Amanda wore a pink tank top and skimpy white shorts that showed off her spectacular leggy figure. Her lioness mane of streaked blond hair was piled atop her head and twisted into a loose knot. Her appearance today was not quite that of the sharp sophisticate seen daily on television reporting local news events, but despite the heat and humidity and hours spent in sweaty, back-breaking work, Amanda still managed to look elegant. She made Tess feel like a beached whale. An exhausted, washed-out beached whale.

  They had been best friends since grade school. Even then Amanda had been a beauty, exuding an innate female magnetism that not even obnoxious six-year-old boys had been able to resist. With the passage of time her allure had merely grown stronger. The combination of keen intelhgence, stunning looks and an aura of sultry sensuality continued to draw males like flies to honey.