A touch of love

by Conn, Phoebe

  She eased herself up into a sitting position and removed her towel turban. Her hair was still slightly damp, and she gave her head a hasty shake to fluff out her curls. She had

  touched Jesse before that afternoon with no ill effects. He had held her hand, kissed her, even given her a leisurely back rub without clouding her thoughts with hideous visions. Why had that day been different?

  "Jesse, wake up," she urged loudly, and he immediately opened his eyes.

  Jesse sat up and squirmed to get comfortable amid all the pillows. "Do you usually sleep with all of these?" he asked, clearly tempted to toss several to the rug.

  "No, most are merely decorative but that's not really our problem, is it?"

  Jesse also thought her mattress was too damn hard, but he was so relieved she was speaking calmly that he let the matter of his comfort, or lack thereof, slide. He reached over to turn on the bedside lamp. "No, but I'd prefer arguing about pillows to watching you become so upset again. Are you really all right?" He reached out to touch her forehead, but Aubrey raised her arm to block the move.

  "Just keep your hands to yourself, please. When you showed me the photograph of your cousin and his family, what were you thinking?"

  Insulted by her harsh rebuff, Jesse crossed his arms over his bare chest and tried to recall. "I thought they'd been kidnapped and murdered. I was hoping you'd receive the same eerie sensation from the photo that I had, and perhaps some tangible clue. It didn't even occur to me that you would provide the details you did." Jesse waited, and wondered if she would again accuse him of creating the bloody vision she had had, but she simply nodded.

  ''And when I touched your knee? What were you thinking then?"

  Jesse knew telling the truth was always best, and smiled slyly. "I was thinking what beautiful legs you have, and I

  was worried about your being cold. Believe me, bull riding was the farthest thing from my mind."

  Aubrey believed him and softened her tone. "Was the description I provided accurate?*'

  "Sure was. That's what startled me so, and it obviously did worse to you."

  Aubrey thought they ought to be having this conversation elsewhere, but still felt too shaken to move. She hadn't invited another man up to her bedroom, but then, she hadn't invited Jesse there, either. She knew she ought to complain that he had exceeded the limits of her hospitality, but he looked so at home beside her. He provided precisely the comfort she so desperately needed.

  "I wasn't thinking about anything when I touched your scar. I was just going to trace its curve, then wham. I felt as though I'd been tossed right into the dusty arena with you, and that's the last place I'd ever want to be."

  "Is that why you kept me from touching you just now? Are you afraid it might happen again?"

  "I don't know what to think," Aubrey confided truthfully. "I felt as though I'd been turned inside out and shaken like an old rug. It was all so quick. I was seated at poolside one moment, and the next, I'd been plunked down in the middle of a rodeo. To say that was frightening in itself doesn't come close to explaining my terror. I knew something awful was about to happen and I was powerless to prevent it.

  "Nothing like this has ever happened to me prior to meeting you." She turned to face him squarely. "That's why I think it's you who's creating all the havoc."

  Jesse thought her assumption just plain crazy, but that was scarcely a helpful opinion. "Let's think about this a minute," he counseled. "You're the one who's been looking inward, searching your heart for your own sacred path, and attempting to rely more on your intuition. Isn't it

  possible that you've achieved more than you'd realized before I came along and gave you the opportunity to test your newfound abilities?''

  A low, frustrated moan poured from Aubrey lips. 'Trusting my intuition and being able to relive your experiences are two entirely different things. I've only wanted to know myself better, not to spy on others in such a painful way."

  Her anguished expression touched Jesse deeply. He longed to hold her close, but left his hands tucked firmly against his sides. "I can understand that, and believe me, there's a whole lot I hope you can't see just by touching me. But I came awfully close to losing my leg, so it's not surprising if getting stomped by a bull isn't imprinted in every cell of my body. Maybe it's violence that registers with you, and while that's obviously terrifying, some good might come of it."

  "I still think it's you," Aubrey protested. "Maybe it's some chemical link, or perhaps a psychic tie."

  "You think we're plugged into the same cosmic socket?" Jesse was tickled by that idea and started to laugh.

  Exasperated that he would make light of something so serious, Aubrey swung at him, but Jesse caught her wrist before her hand connected with his bare shoulder. She had forgotten how reluctant she had been to touch him just a few minutes earlier, and stared at the slim, tan fingers encircling her arm. Fearing the worst, she held her breath, but other than an almost exquisite awareness of his size and strength, she had no sickening result.

  Jesse studied her frown. "Is it happening again?"

  Aubrey released a deep sigh. "No. Thank God. Now let me go, before it does."

  Jesse released her, but he was badly disappointed that she was so afraid of his touch. After a brief hesitation, he proposed a solution. "Let's try an experiment. I'm going to concentrate on an image. You'll have to trust me that

  it's not violent, but let's see if you can picture what it is in your mind. Now give me your hand."

  Aubrey swallowed hard, but wanting answers as badly as he, she extended a trembling hand, and he took it in a fond clasp. She closed her eyes and, shutting out her fears, swept aside all thought save those of him. The earlier images had been instantaneous and she waited, not at all patiently, for this vision to come to life in her mind's eye. She deepened her breathing in an attempt to create a relaxed, meditative state, but still, nothing came to her.

  Then she realized that Jesse might be deliberately attempting to trick her. She opened her eyes and found him studying her closely. "Are you really concentrating, or are you simply making your mind a blank?" she asked accusingly.

  "What kind of experiment would that be?"

  Aubrey tightened her hold on his hand. "Just answer me!"

  Jesse had been concentrating on a kid's birthday party because they were such colorful, happy events. He had been silently singing "Happy Birthday," and considered the fact that she hadn't heard it ringing in her head ample proof there was no exchange of thoughts occurring between them.

  "I was working real hard to make you see something pleasant. Let's try again and maybe we'll have better luck."

  Aubrey's gaze narrowed suspiciously, but she reluctantly closed her eyes and fought to cast aside any doubt of his sincerity. In a moment she saw a familiar grassy plain and a clear, azure sky. Way off in the distance, a rider was coming her way. When he drew near, she recognized him as an Indian brave in fringed buckskins. Astride a huge black and white pinto, he was racing straight for her, his jet-black hair whipped by the wind. Soon she could hear

  his stallion's labored breathing and the thud of his hooves pounding across the verdant prairie.

  The Indian's right hand was raised; his feather-trimmed lance balanced in his fingertips, ready to throw. Aubrey stared in rapt wonder, fascinated by the sheer beauty of the moment. The instant the brave released the lance, the steel tip caught the sun's rays, blinding her. Frozen in place, she sucked in her breath and waited for the razor-sharp blade to pierce her chest.

  Frightened by Aubrey's gasp, Jesse yanked her toward him. "What did you see? Tell me."

  Mesmerized by his searching gaze, Aubrey was surprised to find his eyes a radiant blue rather than dark brown. The Indian brave was still with her, and she shook her head to send him away. "That was totally unfair," she complained. "I'd never have confessed to having a weakness for Indians had I known how quickly you'd use it against me."

  Jesse had given up on the birthday party in favor
of visualizing making love to her right there in a bed that was much too hard and cluttered with frilly pillows for his tastes. With both of them nude and hot for each other, his images had perhaps been lewd, but they certainly hadn't involved any Native Americans. "I wasn't thinking about Indians," he swore convincingly, "which proves I've absolutely no talent, nor responsibility, for the awful visions you've had."

  Had he not been so adamant about it, Aubrey might have questioned him further. Instead, she pushed away from him and rolled out of bed. "Fine. Maybe it isn't you, but that discovery doesn't explain what caused the visions, or how to prevent them from happening again." As she rounded the bed, she reached out for the ornate footboard and challenged him again.

  "What if I can't learn how to control this, Jesse? It must

  be like having flashbacks to bad acid trips, or the hideous trauma of war. What if it happens when I shake hands with someone at a seminar? Or, God forbid, just bump into a stranger on a crowded street?"

  Jesse wished for a way to lure her back into bed and bring his erotic fantasy into reality, but that hope was too remote to pursue. He swung his feet over the side of the bed and pushed off. "Scientists claim our minds have a vast, untapped potential. If there's a name for whatyou did, psychometry, wasn't it? Then you're not the first person to have the ability."

  "Ability? It's a curse!" Aubrey strode past him into the bathroom and slammed the door.

  Jesse made a face at the closed door. He would have appreciated a thank you for helping her into the shower and upstairs to bed, but clearly she was too self-absorbed to offer one. He went back downstairs. His clothes were still out in the cabana, and as he went out the back door to get them, he flipped on the patio lights which brought Guinevere running and barking.

  "Some help you are," he scolded. "All you're good for is a mop. How'd you like me to dip you into the pool and scrub the patio with your hairy hide?"

  Guinevere reacted as though she had understood Jesse's threat, veered away, and took cover beneath the patio table where Lucifer lay enjoying a lengthy nap. The tomcat opened one eye, recognized Jesse even if Guinevere hadn't, and responded with a bored yawn before resuming his slumber.

  Jesse slipped on his shirt as he returned to the house, and carried his pants and boots into the den. He doubted Aubrey would feel like eating, but having had only a few bites of fruit for lunch, he was famished. "Maybe we can cook up a big caldron of porridge," he muttered under

  his breath, but when he walked into the kitchen Aubrey was already making dinner preparations.

  She had pulled on a T-shirt, jeans, and sandals and not bothered with makeup. "There's some homemade vegetable soup in the freezer. Will that be enough for you with cornbread and a salad?"

  That she had even recalled he was there surprised Jesse, and he thought better of refusing her offer. "It would be just fine. Do you get CNN news?"

  Aubrey told Jesse the channel, and he turned on the small set facing the kitchen table. There was the usual assortment of disasters, and updates of the conflicts which simply shifted location over the globe without ever being resolved. "Do you ever have the feeling that they're merely broadcasting the same news day after day and none of us is smart enough to catch on?"

  Although surprised by his cynicism, Aubrey readily agreed. "Constantly. Only the scores on the sports segment change, and sometimes I'm not sure about those."

  Jesse set the table and sat down to watch the rest of the news. With the aid of her microwave, Aubrey soon had dinner on the table, and while he would have preferred to cut into a steak, Jesse thought the soup was good, and said so. Aubrey made an appropriate murmur of thanks, and that exchange was their only dinner conversation. Jesse understood Aubrey's worries, but with no way to allay them, he just kept still.

  Having dinner with a silent companion was a bitter reminder of the last days of her marriage, and Aubrey left the table as soon as politely possible. "Just leave your dishes," she called to Jesse as she started out of the room. "My cleaning woman comes tomorrow, and she'll take care of them."

  "Good night," Jesse responded, but Aubrey had already started up the stairs and he doubted that she had heard

  him. He didn't do dishes at home, but having nothing better to do with himself, rinsed theirs and put them in the dishwasher rather than let them sit. They had finished the soup, and he returned the remaining square of corn-bread to the refrigerator. He swept the crumbs from the table and tossed them in the sink.

  * There, everything looks great. You'd make some lucky woman a fine husband," he told himself. Then he leaned back against the counter and cursed the fact that he couldn't do more for Aubrey than keep her kitchen neat.

  Aubrey tried to read, but couldn't concentrate on the printed page and set the novel aside. She checked the television schedule but none of the programs appealed to her. Thinking she would be better off to make it an early night, she went downstairs, put her pets on the back porch, and fed them. As she started back up the stairs, she heard the theme music for a popular drama coming from the den and was relieved Jesse had found something to watch.

  Suddenly overcome with a longing for company, she paused momentarily, then decided it would be a mistake to bother him when he could so easily misinterpret her interest. He was attractive and charming, but had created a problem for her she had not even suspected might exist before he strode into her Saturday seminar. How she was going to get through the next day's seminar was problem enough at the moment, and she continued on up the stairs, intent upon reviewing her notes.

  More than an hour passed before she turned off her lights, and then try as she might, she couldn't get comfortable. She heard Jesse pull his truck into the driveway, and hoped he would have a better night. Here she was, an expert on stress reduction, and she felt as though her limbs had not merely been tied in knots, but looped into a

  decorative macrame plant holder. Leaving her bed, she paced the darkened bedroom.

  Before she grew sufficiently tired to rest, a distant siren reminded her of the presence of the outside world. Fearful she might begin receiving random visions, she stood still for a moment, but other than the emergency vehicle's faint wail, nothing came to her. "Courage," she admonished herself, then went to curl up on the windowseat, gazing out at the night.

  The crickets' chirp was magnified by the silence of the neighborhood, but Aubrey preferred their cadence to the heartrending throb of her fears. What if Jesse was right, and she had somehow crossed into a new realm where psychic impressions became a daily occurrence? She would have to stop giving seminars, and do all in her power to limit her contact with others or risk being destroyed by the dark visions that plagued her. Would it be selfish to refuse to share a gift that might possibly bring the justice Jesse sought? Or would it simply be a matter of self-preservation?

  Even deep in thought, she noted the change in the crickets' rhythm. It had been a quick break, as though someone had moved through the yard and interrupted their frantic communications, but she hadn't heard the scrape of a shoe across stone. Alarmed, she closed the window and went downstairs to check the doors, but she had locked the back after putting the pets to bed, and Jesse had locked the front after reparking his truck. The side door to the patio was also locked, and because she always left the light on in the kitchen as a security measure, she doubted anyone would seek to force an entry there.

  It could have been a stray cat, or even an opossum lumbering along close to the ground, but as Aubrey returned to her room, she took comfort in the fact that Jesse would be there to help her should she need it. The

  lights had been out in the den, but she felt certain he was a light sleeper, and would respond should she call. Fears of a prowler were ridiculous in a neighborhood frequently patrolled by the police, but Aubrey trusted her intuition. She opened the journal she kept in one of the bedside tables, and made a note of the date and time. Then deciding the day had been extraordinary in many respects, she confided her fears in the silent pages of her di
ary. By the time she was finished, she was ready for sleep, but certainly not looking forward to tomorrow.

  believe she knew much about love. ''If you liked him well enough to date in the first place, maybe you ought to take a little longer to get to know him."

  Trisha took a step closer and looked Jesse up and down through fluttering lashes. "I'd just be wasting my time, and misleading him, so it wouldn't be a good idea. Besides, I've already learned from experience that the magic is either there at first glance, or it never comes."

  Jesse shook his head knowingly. "Sometimes that kind of magic doesn't last longer than a single night. Aren't you looking for more?"

  4 ' Of course. Isn' t everybody?''

  Jesse wondered about Ricky Vance, but didn't consider Shelley's boyfriend worth mentioning. He wished Aubrey would hurry up, and glanced toward the house. "Not everyone," he replied. "Believe it or not, there are men and women who just love to flirt but somehow never seem to find what they're looking for and quickly move on. Perhaps you know someone like that."

  Trisha considered Jesse's stare just a bit too intense and, certain he was making a pointed reference to her dating habits, became defensive. She straightened her shoulders proudly. "It's never wise to jump to conclusions," she replied.

  "That's exactly my point. It's difficult to really get to know someone in a couple of dates. Why don't you give the banker another chance?" Jesse began to smile as he remembered the advice he had given Gardner. He sure wasn't helping out the bashful sound engineer by advising Trisha to date someone else, but it was easy to see by the fierce grip she had taken on her patent leather purse that she didn't like being told what to do, so maybe it didn't matter.