Dreams for Stones

by Ann Warner

  “More the other way around.” Her face was solemn, but her eyes were alight with humor. “Mrs. Costello is a wonderful cook. And Mr. C fusses over me. You know, he makes sure I wear my boots when it snows and take an umbrella when it rains. Whenever I think about moving into an apartment, I realize how lonely it would be.”

  She had that right.

  She picked up one of the garden’s brochures by the entrance and handed it to him. “What would you like to see first?”

  “You’re the expert.” He tucked the brochure in his pocket. “Why don’t you give me a guided tour?”

  She cocked her head, obviously thinking. “Since you’re a professor of literature, I guess we’d better start with the Secret Garden.”

  “Like the children’s book?”

  She nodded, turning to lead the way. “You know, it’s been adapted into a musical. I went to see it with Grace last week when Frank didn’t make it back from Kansas City in time.”

  Alan frowned, trying to bring up the details of the story. “Frances Hodgson Burnett, isn’t it?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “I don’t remember the story.”

  “An orphaned girl is sent to live with her only relative, an uncle by marriage. He’s a humpback who lives on the moor and is grieving for his wife who died years—”

  “I remember now.” He didn’t remember, not really. But he didn’t need to hear any more. Not about a man who had lost a wife. He spoke carefully. “Rather a peculiar story to base a musical on.”

  “I thought so too. But it works. I do think the book would face a hard time getting published today, though.”

  “Why?”

  Kathy frowned. “If a story like that came in with a character who had been holding onto his grief for so long, I’d probably ask the writer to reconsider.”

  But surely it was the other way around. You didn’t hold onto grief. Grief held onto you.

  He turned away. The careful arrangement of walkways and flowers blurred. “You must not have lost someone essential.” Oh, God, where had that come from. His body shuddered, fighting off the anguish. He wanted to be free of grief, wanted to live. He hadn’t chosen this. . . this...

  He took in a deep breath, unclenching his hands, trying to steady his vision as he moved away from Kathy and bent blindly over the flowers at the side of the path, trying to come up with something that would ease them away from the abyss.

  “It was Hemingway, wasn’t it?” Kathy sounded pensive. “Didn’t he say something about if sorrow is cured by anything short of death, it isn’t real sorrow?”

  Islands in the Stream. When Alan read the book, he’d thought it made for a pretty quote. He hadn’t believed it then. Now, he knew it was true.

  He had to do something to get this conversation stopped. If they continued this way. . . he straightened and took a careful breath.

  The brochure dropped out of his pocket. He bent to pick it up, then glanced at the list of garden names, picking the first one he managed to bring into focus. “What about the Japanese Garden?”

  Kathy gave him an odd look before leading the way.

  In the Japanese garden, he looked around, finding relief for his rioting emotions in the lack of bright colors. Gray stones and black water were interwoven with the varied greens of grass, juniper, cypress, and rushes.

  The most delicate green of all was the willow just beginning to bud. The water shimmered slightly, and the reflection of the willow moved as if touched by a breeze.

  Kathy led the way to a bench on a small pavilion built out over the water. “This is my favorite part of the gardens.” Her voice sounded hoarse.

  He glanced at her and was surprised by the look on her face. The sort of look he’d been trying to hide from her in the Secret Garden.

  He spoke gently. “You don’t seem very happy about it.”

  “It’s ridiculous really.”

  It was a relief to let go of his discomfort by focusing on hers. “It can’t be ridiculous if it’s making you unhappy.”

  “I got engaged here. Then he broke it off.”

  Alan remembered how she’d looked the first time he met her, as if she hadn’t been sleeping or eating enough. She’d lost that strained expression some time ago, but right now he could see traces of it, and he felt a spurt of anger at the unknown man who had caused it.

  Her hands twisted together in her lap. “I don’t miss him. It turned out he wasn’t a very nice person. But being here, I remember the beginning. The beginning was good.”

  He reached over and took one of those restless hands in his. As he rubbed his thumb gently across the silky skin of her wrist, he realized how much he struggled not to touch her every time he was with her. “You could have said something. We didn’t have to come here.”

  “Yes. Yes, I did, actually. I love this garden. I’ve missed it.” She raised her head and looked at him with a rueful smile. “I thought. . . Well, I’m glad you’re here.”

  Her eyes were still troubled. He wanted to banish that look, wanted to make her smile again, but he had no idea how. He put his arm around her and sat quietly holding her, rubbing his cheek in the softness of her hair, wishing he had the courage to be more than her friend.

  After a time, she shifted against him and lifted her head from his shoulder. For a silent moment, they gazed at each other. Then, still meeting his eyes, she leaned closer and kissed him.

  The touch of her lips did it. A tipping point, freeing the emotions he’d tried to hold in check, not just this evening, but every time he’d been with her these last weeks. He wanted her. Oh, how he wanted her. Was tired of forbidding himself this comfort.

  He tightened his arm around her and bent his head, his lips seeking hers, wonder coursing through him at the touch of her mouth. Why had he waited so long to do this? It felt inevitable. Right.

  Except. The last time he kissed a woman. Meg.

  When Kathy’s lips moved against his, for the space of a heartbeat, it was Meg in his arms.

  There was a sudden commotion as the garden was invaded by two small boys chasing each other, their mother following behind, pushing a stroller and yelling at them to stop running.

  Kathy pulled away and he sat, unmoving, shaken by the strength of the feelings flowing through him.

  When the intruders moved on, Kathy took a breath. “We need to go. The gardens close soon.”

  Her voice was husky, and it wobbled, but he didn’t think his voice would work at all, although he needed to say something casual, meaningless, to ease them back from what the last moments had shown. That she was becoming too important to him.

  He couldn’t let that happen. Not fair to either one of them.

  He never should have kissed her, and yet, right now, he didn’t regret it. Wanted only to repeat it, again and again. And hold her. Just that.

  But from his reaction, he knew kissing was a step he didn’t have the courage to go beyond.

  She tucked her hand in his, and they walked slowly toward the entrance.

  Maybe it was only lust, the hunger humming in his veins. But if it were only that, it would be easy. Lust was the least of it.

  He wanted so much more.

  But to have it, he had to risk the pain.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Alan snapped awake, shaking and sweating. He hadn’t had the nightmare in over a year, but it was still as bright and clear as the day it happened.

  He lay still, breathing carefully, waiting for his heart rate to slow down and the discomfort in his throat and chest to ease.

  So what was the proper term for a man who kisses a woman then dreams of his dead wife? Conflicted, peculiar, bizarre, pathetic?

  No doubt, Elaine could come up with several more esoteric terms.

  He turned his head to look at the clock. A large, red 3:14 glowed back at him. He shifted his gaze to the wall at the end of the bed. In the dim light, all he could make out was the outline of Meg’s picture.

  He turned on the lamp and la
y there looking at Meg. In the picture, she was leaning against the corral, smiling at the camera, her thumbs hooked in the pockets of her jeans, the tiny diamond on the fourth finger of her left hand catching a spark from the sun.

  Meg. She was woven so tightly into his memories, if he rooted her out there would be nothing left. And yet what he wanted to remember often seemed to slide beyond his grasp, like a dream he could still sense but couldn’t quite pull into focus. While what he wanted to forget swirled through his thoughts like the howling of a blizzard.

  The memories ambushed him when he least expected it—in a flash of golden hair on a woman walking down the street, in the sound of a merry laugh, in the clean smell of rain. Meg had made him aware. And now he couldn’t turn it off.

  How many times in all those years had she taken his hand and said, “Quick, Alan, you have to come see.” The first wildflower in the spring—she was always the one who found it. Snow beginning to outline the branches of the cottonwood tree growing in the dry creek bed at the old ranch. A new foal falling back on its haunches with a surprised look on its face and Meg’s voice saying, “Oh, Alan, isn’t he a beauty?”

  Without Meg. . . his life, a moonscape. Not somewhere anyone would want to stay for long.

  It wasn’t right to get involved with a woman and take whatever she was willing to give when he had nothing to give in return.

  He had to end it.

  ~ ~ ~

  It was Kathy’s turn to drive to TapDancer for the weekly riding lesson. She listened to Delia and Grace’s chatter with only partial attention as her mind chewed over the events of the previous evening.

  Alan had kissed her. So why wasn’t she over the moon? Why instead of a happy fizz, did she feel a shiver of unease?

  Maybe because of what preceded it, not to mention how it had ended. First there was that odd conversation when she’d taken him to see the Secret Garden. They’d talked about the book, and Alan’s reactions had been so. . . peculiar.

  Who was the someone essential he’d lost? There had to be someone, because she was certain he hadn’t been speaking theoretically. He’d turned away from her, but she’d been able to tell from his posture and the slight hoarseness of his words, he was struggling to control his emotions.

  And what had she done? She’d blundered in with that Hemingway quote. Alan hadn’t even bothered to respond. And it had made her feel. . . shut out.

  Maybe that was why seeing the Japanese Garden again had affected her the way it did. The strong emotions had been a surprise—a mix of sorrow over what might have been and relief it hadn’t. Making no sense, really.

  And Alan. In spite of whatever had made him withdraw from their conversation earlier, he’d been so kind. Not trying to jolly her out of her mood. Just holding her, waiting until she was ready to let it go.

  She’d kissed him. Because in that moment, she couldn’t not kiss him.

  And he’d kissed her back.

  How right it had felt. As if, when his lips touched hers, her world had shifted, and with a satisfying click, moved into proper alignment.

  So, this is how it felt to love someone to the exclusion of all others. Would it have ended differently if they hadn’t been interrupted, forced to pull apart before either of them was ready?

  The walk back to the parking lot had been silent. That was all right, though. She hadn’t wanted to dilute what she was feeling with talk. Had wanted simply to hug tight the wonder and joy and not let them slip away.

  But when she turned to him before getting in her car, she saw he had that troubled expression on his face. The one he’d had the day at the lake after she quoted the poem.

  She’d touched his arm, asking him what was the matter. He’d blinked without answering, but then, as if a switch had been flipped, the look disappeared, and when he spoke, the calm everydayness of his words denied all that had been wordless in the touching of their lips. And those words pushed her away more effectively than any physical force.

  Where had he gone? The man who had kissed her.

  ~ ~ ~

  As always, Cormac was on hand to welcome them to the ranch. His bark summoned Alan from the barn, and Delia ran to get a hug.

  Alan also greeted Grace with a hug. Or maybe it was fairer to say Grace hugged him. Like she did everybody.

  Kathy’s heart skipped into a quick beat as she waited for a special look, then it settled into a slow, heavy rhythm when he barely glanced at her.

  Feeling like crying, Kathy brushed and saddled Siesta and led the filly outside while Alan was still helping Grace and Delia get ready.

  Alan’s father was in the ring working another horse, and he rode over to her. “You’re doing real fine, my dear. It looks like you’ve been riding all your life.”

  She managed a smile. “Thanks. I’m still having trouble getting Siesta to do exactly what I want every time, though.”

  “It’s all in the body language. That Siesta horse, now she’s real sensitive. If you like I’ll take a look, see if there’s anything I can suggest.”

  Kathy rode around the ring, following Robert’s suggestions, her thoughts stilling, her pain easing, as she concentrated on his calm voice both correcting and praising her.

  “Don’t she and that filly look real nice together?”

  Kathy, glancing over, saw that Alan had ridden Sonoro into the ring, and Robert’s last remark was aimed at his son, not her. She reined Siesta in and walked her over to the two men. “Where are Delia and Grace?”

  “They’re riding in the meadow today.” Alan glanced at her then looked away.

  “Time for you to take over, son.” Robert touched his hat to Kathy and rode over to the barn, leaving her to face Alan.

  “Dad giving you some good tips?” Alan adjusted effortlessly as Sonoro danced and pulled at the bit.

  “Yes.” She waited for Alan to look at her, but all his attention seemed to be on Sonoro, who continued to fidget.

  “He’s the best.”

  “Yes.” Tears gathered in her throat.

  “Okay, let’s see what he showed you.” Alan’s tone was calm, detached.

  Quickly, she turned Siesta and gave her the signal to move into her fastest gait, the paso largo, running away from that bland look on Alan’s face. Running as well from the knowledge that Alan’s disinterest hurt more than Greg’s betrayal.

  For the remainder of the lesson, she kept her eyes focused between Siesta’s ears and her mind blank.

  By the time they led the horses into the barn for unsaddling, Grace and Delia had taken care of their horses and had walked over to the mares’ pasture to visit the foals.

  In the dim quiet of the barn, Alan spoke in an unhurried voice. “Grace said she needed to get back early today. I’d be happy to finish up Siesta for you.”

  “Thanks. I’m sure Grace will appreciate it.” Kathy forced the words out of a throat that was tight and aching. She turned to leave.

  But, no. She had to face this head on. Now. Before she got in too deep. Because there was no longer any doubt in her mind where this was going. There would be no floating into love. Not this time. Not with this man.

  The two of them in this moment, poised on the brink of—something. One small step—toward him or away—and the future would be irrevocably changed,

  She turned back. Alan was lifting Siesta’s saddle off. “Tell me something.” She was grateful her voice was working all right, even if the rest of her felt tight and frozen.

  “What?”

  “About last evening.”

  There was a slight hitch in his movements as he set the saddle down. Then he picked up a brush and began to groom Siesta with long smooth strokes. “What about it?”

  She walked over and stood near Siesta who leaned into her, snuffling at her pockets. Only a short time ago she would have jumped away, certain the mare was going to nip her.

  “I’m confused. Last night you kissed me, but now you’re acting as if we’re barely acquainted.” She ran her hand over
the soft velvet of Siesta’s muzzle, taking comfort in that touch. “I’m okay with the idea of going slow, but. . . ”

  Alan lifted his head. Although he didn’t meet her gaze, she saw his face tighten, making the dark circles under his eyes more noticeable.

  “It’s best if we’re just friends.” He moved to Siesta’s other side and resumed brushing.

  “If that’s all you want, you shouldn’t have kissed me.” Well, she had kissed him first. But she was in no mood to be fair. It was all she could do to keep her lips from trembling.

  “I’m sorry.” He continued to brush Siesta.

  Then he straightened and, for an instant, his eyes met hers. His looked tired, sad. Silently he seemed to be begging her, please don’t do this. Then he turned away and spoke in that impersonal tone she was beginning to hate. “I won’t be able to have dinner with you next Friday, but I’ll see you as usual on Saturday.”

  It defeated her. His calm. His insistence they could act as if none of it had happened. . . the kiss, this conversation.

  She dropped her hands away from Siesta and walked blindly out of the barn, away from Alan, sucking in deep breaths, trying to clamp down on the sudden onslaught of grief.

  ~ ~ ~

  The Galiceno mare was late foaling. It was her first, and Alan knew his dad was worried.

  Since the only thing on his schedule Monday was an afternoon meeting with Hilstrom, he decided to spend Sunday night at the ranch. Better by far to sit up with the mare than to lie awake a second night thinking about that scene with Kathy. He’d hurt her, when his intention had been to keep her from being hurt.

  He hadn’t even realized she’d left until he looked up from brushing Siesta and discovered she was gone. He’d dropped the brush, gone to the barn door, and stood in its shadow watching as Grace, Delia, and Kathy got into Kathy’s car and drove away.

  When he let her walk away the first time they met, he’d risked only his standing with his department head, not that that was a small matter. But this time, as he watched the car roll out of sight, he knew the stakes were so much higher. His peace of mind. . . and his heart.