The Dream (Crosslyn Rise Trilogy)

by Barbara Delinsky

  “Oh, baby,” he said, “come here.” Slipping a large hand under her bottom, he lowered himself and pressed her close. In the next breath, he was kissing her again, and in the next, tugging at the fastening of her jeans.

  “Carter,” she whispered, breathless. “What—”

  “I need you,” he gasped, pushing at her zipper.

  “Now?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “Here?”

  “Anywhere. Help me, Jess.” He’d turned his attention to his belt, which was giving him trouble. Jessica did what she could, but her hands were shaky and kept tangling with his, and when it came to his zipper, his erection made things even more difficult. After a futile pass or two, the most important thing seemed to be freeing her own legs from their bonds.

  She didn’t quite make it. Her jeans were barely below her knees when Carter pressed her back to the steps. With a single strong stroke, he was inside her, welcomed there hotly and moistly. Then the movement of his hips drove her wild, and she didn’t care that they were in the front hall, that they were half-dressed, that the ghosts of Crosslyn Rise were watching, turning pink through their pallor. All she cared about was sharing a precious oneness with Carter.

  * * *

  That weekend was the happiest Jessica had ever spent, because Carter didn’t leave her for long. He made love to her freely, wherever and whenever the mood hit. And wherever or whenever that was, she was ready. Hard as it was to believe, the more they made love, the more she wanted him.

  As long as he was with her, she was fine. As long as he was with her, she believed his words of love, believed that his ardor could be sustained over the years and years he claimed, believed that his head would never be turned by another woman.

  When he left her on Monday morning to go to work, though, she thought of him at the office, in restaurants, with clients, and she worried. She went to work, herself, and she was the quiet, studious woman she’d always been.

  Maybe if people had looked at her strangely she would have felt somehow different. But she received the same smiles and nods from colleagues she passed. No one looked twice, as had happened when she’d dressed up the Thursday before. No one seemed remotely aware of the kind of weekend she’d spent.

  She didn’t know what she expected. Aside from a bundle of tender muscles, she was no different physically than she’d always been. But no one knew about the muscles. No one knew about Carter Malloy. No one knew about the library sofa, the parlor rug or the attic cot.

  So she saw herself as the others saw her, and everything that was risky and frightening about her affair with Carter was magnified.

  Until she saw him that night. Then the doubts seemed to waft into the background and pop like nothing more weighty than a soap bubble, and she came to life in his arms.

  The pattern repeated itself over the next few weeks. Her days were filled with doubts, her nights with delight. Graduation came and went, and the summer session began, but for the first time in her life, there was a finite end to a day’s work. That end came when Carter arrived. He teased her about it, even urged her to do some reading or class preparation on those occasions when he had brought work of his own with him to do, but she couldn’t concentrate when he was with her. She would sit with a book while he worked, but her eyes barely touched the page, and her mind took in nothing at all but how he looked, what he was doing, what they’d done together minutes, hours or days before.

  She was in love. She admitted it, though not to him. Somehow, saying the words was the most intense form of self-exposure, and though one part of her wished she had the courage because she knew how much he wanted to hear it, she wasn’t that brave. She felt as though she were driving on a narrow mountain path where one moment’s inattention could tip her over the edge. She wanted to be prepared when Carter’s interest waned. She wanted to have a remnant of pride left to salvage.

  * * *

  His interest waned neither in her nor in Crosslyn Rise. Sketch after sketch he made, some differing from the others in only the most minor of features, but he wanted them to be right. He and Jessica had dinner one night with Nina Stone to get her opinion on the needs of the local real estate market; as a result of that meeting, they decided to offer six different floor plans, two each in two-bedroom, three-bedroom and four-bedroom configurations.

  Also as a result of that meeting, Jessica learned that Carter wasn’t interested in Nina Stone. Nina was interested in him; her eyes rarely left his handsome face, and when she accompanied Jessica to the ladies’ room, she made her feelings clear.

  “He’s quite a piece of man. If things cool between you two, will you tell me?”

  Jessica was surprised that Nina had guessed there was something beyond a working relationship between her and Carter. “How did you know?” she asked, not quite daring to look Nina in the eye.

  “The vibes between you. They’re hot. Besides, I’ve been sending him every come-hither look I know, and he hasn’t caught a one. Honey, he’s smitten.”

  “Nah,” Jessica said, pleased in spite of herself. “We’re just getting to know each other again.” Far better, she knew, to minimize things, so that it wouldn’t be as humiliating if the relationship ended.

  Still there was no sign of that happening. On the few occasions that Carter mentioned Nina after their meeting, it was with regard to the project and with no more than a professional interest.

  “Didn’t you think she was pretty?” Jessica finally asked.

  “Nina?” He shrugged. “She’s pretty. Not soft and gentle like you, though, or half as interesting.”

  As though to prove his point, he spent hours talking with her. They discussed the economy, the politics in Jessica’s department, the merits of a book that he’d read and had her read. He was genuinely curious about what she was thinking, was often relieved to find that she wasn’t lost on some esoteric wavelength where he couldn’t possibly join her.

  When it came to Crosslyn Rise, he took few steps without having her by his side, considered few ideas without trying them out on her first. Though her feedback wasn’t professional from an architectural standpoint, it was down-to-earth. When she didn’t like something, she usually had good reason. He listened to her, and while he didn’t always agree, he yielded as many times as not. Their personal, vested interests balanced each other out; when he was too involved in the design to think of practicality, she reminded him of it, and when she was too involved in the spirit of Crosslyn Rise to see the necessity of a particular architectural feature, he pointed it out.

  By the middle of July, there was a set of plans to show Gordon. As enthusiastic about them as Carter was, Jessica set up the meeting. Then the two of them stood side by side, closely watching for Gordon’s reaction as he looked over the drawings.

  He liked them, though after he’d said, “You two make a good team,” for the third time in ten minutes, Jessica was wondering what particular message he was trying to get across. She had tried not to look at Carter, and when he caught her hand behind her skirt and drew it to the small of his back, she was sure Gordon couldn’t see.

  Possibly he had sensed the same vibes Nina had, though she hadn’t thought Gordon the type to sense vibes, at least not of that kind. She finally decided that it was the little things that gave them away—the light lingering of Carter’s hand on her back when they first arrived, the way he attributed her ideas to her rather than taking credit for them himself, the mere fact that they weren’t fighting.

  The last made the most sense of all. Jessica remembered her reaction when Gordon had first mentioned Carter’s name. She thought back to that day, to her horror and the hurt in those memories. At some point along the way, the hurt had faded, she realized. She had superimposed fondness and understanding on the Carter Malloy who had been so angry with the world and himself, and doing that took the sting off the things he’d once said. Not that she dwelt on those memories. He had given her new ones, ones that were lovely from start to finish.


  “Jess?” Carter’s low, gentle voice came through her reverie. She looked up in surprise, smiled a little shamefacedly when she realized her distraction. He motioned to the nearby chair. Blushing, she sank into it.

  “Everything all right, Jessica?” Gordon asked.

  “Fine. Just fine.”

  “You know these highbrow types,” Carter teased, smiling indulgently. “Always dreaming about one thing or another.”

  Her cheeks went even redder, but she latched onto the excuse as a convenient out. “Did I miss anything?”

  “Only Gordon’s approval. I have to polish up the drawings some, but he agrees that we’re ready to move ahead.”

  Jessica’s eyes flew to Gordon. “Getting the investors together?”

  Gordon nodded and opened a folder that had been lying on the corner of his desk. He removed two stapled parcels, handed one to each of them, then took up his own. “I’ve jumped the gun, I guess, but I figured that I’d be doing this work anyway, so it wouldn’t matter. These are the names and profiles of possible investors, along with a list of their general assets and the approximate contribution they might be counted on to make. You can skip through page one—that’s you, Jessica—and page two—that’s you, Carter. The next three are William Nolan, Benjamin Heavey and Zachary Gould. You know Ben, don’t you, Carter?”

  “Sure do. I worked with him two years ago on a development in North Andover.” To Jessica, he said, “He’s been involved in real estate development for fifteen years. A conservative guy, but straight. He’s selective with his investments, but once he’s in, he’s in.” He looked at Gordon. “Is he interested?”

  “When I mentioned your name, he was. I didn’t want to tell him much else until the plans were finalized, but he just cashed in on a small shopping mall in Lynn, so he has funds available. Same with Nolan and Gould.”

  Jessica was trying to read as quickly as possible, but she’d barely made it halfway down the first sheet on Benjamin Heavey when Gordon mentioned the others. “Nolan and Gould?” She had to flip back a page to reach Nolan, ahead two to reach Gould.

  “Are you familiar with either name?” Gordon asked.

  “Not particularly.” Guardedly she looked up. “Should I be?”

  Carter shot her a dry grin. “Only if you’re into reading the business section of the paper,” which he knew, for a fact, she was not, since they’d joked about it just the Sunday before, when she’d foisted that particular section on him in exchange for the editorials.

  “Bill Nolan is from the Nolan Paper Mill family,” Gordon explained. “He started in northern Maine, but has been working his way steadily southward. Even with the mills up north, he has a genuine respect for the land. A project like this would be right up his alley.”

  Carter agreed. “From what I hear, he’s not out for a killing, which is good, since he won’t get one here. What he’ll get is a solid return on his investment. He’ll be happy.” Turning several pages in his lap, he said to Gordon, “Tell me about Gould. The name rings a bell, but I can’t place it.”

  “Zach Gould is a competitor of mine.”

  “A banker?” Jessica asked.

  “Retired, actually, though he’s not yet sixty. He was the founder and president of Pilgrim Trust and its subsidiaries. Two years ago he had a heart attack, and since he was financially set, he took his doctor’s advice and removed himself from the fray. So he dabbles in this and that. He’s the type who would drop in at the site every morning to keep tabs on the progress. Nice guy. Lonely. His wife left him a few years back, and his children are grown. He’d like something like this.”

  Jessica nodded. Determined to read the fine print when she had time alone later, she turned to the next page. “John Sawyer?”

  Gordon cleared his throat. “Now we start on what I like to call the adventurers. There are three of them. None can contribute as much money as any of these other three men, or you or Carter, but each has good reason not only to want to be involved but to be sure that the project is a success.” He paused for only as long as it took Carter to flip to the right page. “John Sawyer lives here in town. He owns the small bookstore on Shore Drive. I’m sure you’ve been there, Jessica. It’s called The Leaf Turner?”

  She smiled. “Uh-huh. It’s a charming place, small but quaint.” Her smile wavered. “I don’t remember seeing a man there, though. Whenever I’ve been in, Minna Larken has helped me.”

  Gordon nodded. “You’ve probably been in during the morning or early afternoon hours. That’s when John is home taking care of his son. By the time two-thirty rolls around, he has high school girls come in to play with the boy while he goes to work.”

  “How old is the kid?” Carter asked.

  “Three. He’ll be entering school next year. Hopefully.”

  At the cautious way he’d added the last, Jessica grew cautious herself. “Something’s wrong with him?”

  “He has problems with his hearing and his eyesight. John had tried him in a preschool program, but he needs special attention. He’ll have a tough time in the public kindergarten class. There is a school that would be perfect for him, but it’s very expensive.”

  “So he could use a good money-making venture,” Carter concluded. “But does he have funds for an initial investment?”

  Gordon nodded. “His wife died soon after the boy was born. There was some money in life insurance. John was planning to leave it in the bank for the child’s college education, but from the looks of things he won’t get to college unless he gets special help sooner.”

  “How awful,” Jessica whispered, looking helplessly from Gordon to Carter and back. “She must have been very young. How did she die?”

  “I don’t know. John doesn’t talk about it. They were living in the Midwest when it happened. He moved here soon after. He’s a quiet fellow, very bright but private. In many respects, the stakes are higher for John than for some of these others. But he’s been asking me about investments, and this is the most promising to come along in months.”

  “But will the money come through in time for him?” Carter asked. “If all goes well, we could break ground this fall and do a fair amount of framing before winter sets in. We may be lucky enough to make some preconstruction sales, but most of the units won’t be ready for aggressive marketing until next spring or summer, and then the bank loans will have to be paid off first. I can’t imagine that any of us will see any raw cash for eighteen months to two years. So if he’s going to need the money sooner—”

  “I think he’s covered for the first year or two. But when he realized that the child’s education was going to be a long-time drain, he knew he had to do something else.”

  “By all means,” Jessica said, “ask him to join us.” She focused her attention on the next sheet. “Gideon Lowe.” She glanced at Carter. “Didn’t you mention him to me once?”

  “To you and to Gordon. You did call him then?” he asked the banker.

  “By way of a general inquiry, yes. I named you as the contact. He thinks you’re a very talented fellow.”

  “I think he’s even more so. He takes pride in his work, which is more than I can say for some builders I know. Now that they’re getting ridiculous fees for the simplest jobs, they’ve become arrogant. And lazy. Cold weather? Forget it—they can’t work in cold weather. Rain? Same thing. And if the sun is out, they want to quit at twelve to play golf.”

  “I take it Gideon Lowe doesn’t play golf?” Jessica asked.

  “Not quite,” Carter confirmed with a knowing grin. “Gideon would die strolling around a golf course. He’s an energetic man. He needs something fast.”

  “Like squash?” she asked, because squash was Carter’s game, precisely for its speed, as he’d pointed out to her in no uncertain terms.

  “Like basketball. He was All-American in high school and would have gone to college on a basketball scholarship if he hadn’t had to work to support his family.”

  Jessica’s eyes widened. “Wife and kids
?”

  “Mother and sisters. His mother is gone now, and his sisters are pretty well-set, but he’s too old to play college basketball. So he plays on a weekend league. Summers, he plays evenings.” Recalling the few games he’d watched, Carter gave a slow head shake. “He’s got incredible moves, for a big guy.”

  “And incredible enthusiasm,” Gordon interjected. “He made me promise to call him as soon as I had something more to say about Crosslyn Rise.”

  “Then you should call him tomorrow,” Jessica said, because Carter’s recommendation was enough for her. She turned to the final page on her lap and her eyes widened. “Nina Stone?” She looked questioning at Gordon.

  “Miss Stone called me,” Gordon explained with a slight emphasis on the me. “She knows something of what you’re doing since you’ve talked with her. She knows that I’m putting a group together. She wants to be included in that group and she has the money to do it.”

  Jessica sent him an apologetic look. “She was insistent?”

  “You could say that.”

  “It’s her way, Gordon. Some people see it as confidence, and it sells lots of houses. I can imagine, though, that it would be a little off-putting with someone like you, particularly on the phone. Wait until you meet her, though. She’s a bundle of energy.” As she said it, she had an idea. Turning to Carter, she said, “I’ll bet she and Gideon would get along. You didn’t say if he was married.”

  “He’s not, but forget it. They are two very forceful personalities. They’d be at each other’s throats in no time. Besides,” he added, and a naughty gleam came into his eye, “they’re all wrong physically. She’s too little and he’s too big. They’d have trouble making … it, uh, you know what I mean.”

  She knew exactly what he meant, but she wasn’t about to elaborate in front of Gordon any more than he was. The only solace for her flaming cheeks was the rush of color to Carter’s.

  Fortunately, that color didn’t hinder his thinking process. Recovering smoothly, he said, “If Nina has the money, I see no reason why she shouldn’t invest.” More serious, he turned to Jessica. “What’s her motive?”