Paranormal Heartbreakers Boxed Set

by Jeanne Rose

  Which gave him goose bumps. What was the painting doing in Mara Fitzgerald’s possession?

  “Called you home?” she murmured, also staring at the painting. “You dreamed about this painting, too?”

  “That’s where I get a lot of my ideas for my paintings.” When he wasn’t having nightmares. “I use any visionary power I have for my art.”

  “Visions? Is dreamwalking done while you’re sleeping or is it a type of meditation?”

  “It’s done both ways. Though the wise use it intentionally, so I guess you’d say that was closer to meditation.”

  “The wise?”

  Though he’d told her his grandmother would explain everything, he somehow didn’t mind her asking. She couldn’t help but be curious. “Dreamwalking is a skill that’s passed down from one generation to the next by the Kisi.”

  “Then how did I–”

  ”That’s what we need to find out. We’ve never known of anyone who could just choose to dreamwalk at will. People have to learn how to do it – it’s used by the wise to heal or seek wisdom, offer protection.” He mused, “Of course, any power can also be reversed, as well, controlled by those who seek to do evil.”

  For a moment, Mara was silent. They both stared at Lightning Over Red Mesa, Luke noting that the tiny figure he’d painted in the first place did indeed seem to be in a different position. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Was the mythos surrounding his art actually real?

  “I don’t want to do evil,” Mara told him. “I don’t think that’s why I got into your dream.”

  “I know you’re not evil.”

  “You do?”

  “I would be able to sense it if you were.” About himself, however, he wasn’t sure at all. He hurried on, “But let’s get out of here. My grandmother will be better at explaining.”

  Having gotten closer while looking at the painting, he heard her swallow. “Should I be afraid?”

  When dreams often scared the hell out of Luke himself? But he said, “I don’t think so. There’s got to be some kind of explanation.”

  “I feel so mixed up.” She gestured to the painting. “I’ve been there twice, you know. I saw an Indian woman the first time, then you.” She paused, swallowing again. “There were so many emotions. I woke up crying my heart out, like I’d lost someone, something.”

  He could feel her pain, like a strange, deep grief was stirring within him as well. As if he, too, felt more than the instantaneous attraction. As if they’d known each other before.

  He didn’t want to take the time to understand. Instead he touched Mara’s shoulder, then realized he’d given his word to keep his hands off her.

  “I forgot,” he said, withdrawing.

  But she hadn’t gotten uptight. In fact, her mood had changed completely. She had a dreamy look as she turned, drifting forward to slide her hands up his chest. Surprised, he just stood there. Her hands stopped when they reached his face. Her lips trembled and tears stood in her eyes.

  Again, the strange grief stirred within him. Mixed with longing. He felt compelled to react, to take her in his arms. She moaned as he suddenly pulled her against him, and raised her mouth for his kiss.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  LUKE MOLDED MARA against him, kissing her deeply, running his fingers through the silk of her hair. She felt so good, like she belonged in his arms. They fit together perfectly. His heart thudded against his ribs when she wrapped her arms tightly about his neck and opened her mouth to him. Their tongues touched, the contact fiercely exciting. Pressed against his chest, her nipples pebbled, telling him without words that Mara experienced the same thrill.

  Only minutes before, he’d had his guard up with this woman. Now he was lost to everything but the sensations of holding her, plying her with insistent kisses. She was so receptive, so enticing. He wanted to scoop her up in his arms and carry her right back to the bedroom. Seriously tempted to do just that, he tightened his hold.

  She made another soft sound and squirmed a little, stopping him from going further. Then she placed her hands against his chest and pushed herself away, looking dazed . . . and a bit horrified.

  The sudden loss of contact was like a rush of ice water. “No,” she said, her face suddenly closing.

  Luke fought frustration and let go of her. “Damn it, woman.”

  She stepped back, her breasts rising and falling softly as she let her breath slow. “I don’t know how we got into this.”

  He was having trouble catching his breath himself. And controlling his too-easy anger. “Of course, you blame me, the manhandler.”

  “No.” Face flushed, she backed up further. “I realize it was my fault. I don’t know what got into me.”

  At least she wasn’t making it out to be all his doing.

  Anger dissipating, he scowled anyway. “What’s the matter with you? Are you schizoid or something?”

  “If you’re trying to say I have a split personality,” she said tightly, “the correct terminology is disassociate personality disorder.”

  He hadn’t thought she might be crazy before but now he was beginning to wonder.

  “I would be a very unique case,” she went on, her beautiful brow furrowed, obviously taking the criticism seriously. “Since I only change identities in my dreams.”

  “Yeah, and are you dreaming now?”

  “I . . . no.” Then she made a dismissive gesture. “But talking about dreams got me into this situation in the first place.”

  She glanced at Lightning Over Red Mesa, then turned away to open the closet door and remove a fuzzy blue and brown sweater. Her purse had been hanging on the doorknob and she slid it over her shoulder.

  “Can we go? I guess I need to talk to Isabel.”

  They headed out, Mara locking her apartment behind her. Luke wasn’t sure what to believe. This woman was a puzzle, an enigma. He didn’t understand her motivations, not to mention her special abilities.

  All Luke knew was that she could push his buttons with the swing of her hips, the smallest quiver of her pretty mouth. She had too much power . . . especially over him. He wished he could either out and out have her or find some way to keep his distance when he wanted to. That he could do neither left him frustrated and angry. He hated feeling like a randy teenager around her.

  Maintaining an uneasy silence, they climbed into the truck and took the main highway north out of Santa Fe. One of the oldest cities in the U.S., it was a charismatic mix of low-slung, aged adobe buildings and newly constructed replicas, some of which were vacation homes for movie stars and other wealthy people from L.A..

  Mara stared at a fancy new development on the outskirts of town, thinking the attached townhouses rambling up a rocky hill resembled cliff dwellings. But the housing development was only a pleasant distraction. Reality returned as they left the city limits.

  Ancient mountains and wild foothills loomed in the distance. Anxiety warred with an odd sort of excitement inside Mara herself.

  She glanced at Luke, his profile stern against the bright daylight beyond the truck. Her heart beat faster, a combination of excitement and fear. Had she been foolish to simply pick up and leave with him?

  Despite their mutual antagonism, she couldn’t help feeling her actions were justified. And being with him satisfied her on more than a physical plane.

  Why? Because this dreamwalking business might finally resolve her problems with nightmares? Could mysticism explain something that science couldn’t? For she’d left psychology behind in the dry New Mexican dust when she’d learned that Luke had also dreamed of Red Mesa . . .

  “So you don’t think you’re crazy, huh?”

  His voice shook her out of her musings, reminding her of the man’s all-too-real physical presence. She wished she could treat their strange, heady attraction with as much casualness as he could. He’d seemed more irritated than unnerved when she’d pulled away from their kiss. On the other hand, she’d been nearly devastated, and had pushed away from him to
protect herself.

  A difficult thing to do when he turned and affixed her with a dark, disconcerting gaze, which made her struggle to remember his question.

  “I don’t know if I’m crazy or not,” she said breathlessly. Even a look left her confused and bubbling with some unnamed emotion. “But I’ve never read about sharing a dream with someone else in any psychology textbook.”

  “How about parapsychology?”

  “I never took a course on that,” she admitted. “It wasn’t a requirement. Plus it kind of . . . scares me.”

  “Why?”

  The fear was elemental, something she didn’t want to explore too closely. “There aren’t any real explanations for special mental abilities like telepathy and so forth.”

  “So you want everything easy to figure out.”

  “Psychology isn’t necessarily easy,” she said, irritated by his nonchalant accusation. He always seemed to be on the attack. “But at least it makes an attempt at explaining things for us.” She decided to do some explaining herself. “I used to have terrible nightmares from time to time as a child. I’d wake up screaming and sobbing. My parents tried to help but all they could do was comfort me.”

  “What were the dreams about?”

  A chill shot through Mara as she remembered. “Something was chasing me and I tried to run but I couldn’t get away.”

  “A chase dream sounds pretty ordinary.”

  “The details were unusual.” Again, she felt defensive. She closed her eyes for a moment, summoning memories. “The ground seemed to pound and it was so hot, my feet burned. I think they were bare. I heard this loud, harsh breathing. Something huge and terrible blocked out the sun but I could hardly move. I knew I was going to die.”

  She took a deep breath. Even now, after years of therapy, the imagery bothered her – a great lethal shadow. She’d concluded that the dream must have represented some deep level anxiety but she’d never figured out the cause.

  Silent, Luke kept his eyes on the road.

  “There’s nothing in Kisi mysticism to interpret a dream like that?” she asked hopefully.

  “Nightmares may be nothing but nightmares. You’d have to ask my grandmother if you wanted to know if there was anything more to a particular problem. She’s the expert.”

  But Mara pointed out, “You must have some expertise with dreams. You were in mine.”

  He glanced at her assessingly.

  “Or I was in your dream,” she amended, the sensual longings she’d felt then suddenly reclaiming her now. “However you choose to take it.”

  “I don’t want to argue about that dream. I’d rather replay the footage for pure enjoyment.”

  Damn. And she’d had to bring it up again. Footage instantly replaying for her at the suggestion, Mara felt the same anticipation, the same dread . . .

  She squirmed with discomfort.

  And then changed the subject. “I used to draw my nightmares as a child. I thought putting them on paper would magically take them out of my mind.”

  “And did it work?”

  “Sometimes. The drawings still scared me, abstract though they were. At least I could crumple them up and throw them away.” She absently rubbed a finger along the edge of the window, gazing at a rocky red outcropping as they passed. “I think the whole process, doing the drawings, and wishing I could understand the nightmares in the first place led me into art therapy.”

  “You studied the subject?”

  “I worked in the field. I have a degree.”

  “So how come you’re managing an art gallery now? Did you get laid off?”

  “I quit.” And she wasn’t about to share why with Luke. Instead, she turned the conversation around to him. “Do you find painting therapeutic?”

  When he didn’t immediately answer her, she figured she’d hit one of his sore spots. He obviously had far more than her. And Luke was too reclusive and hostile to be open about much of anything.

  That’s why she was surprised when he admitted, “I have to paint.”

  “It’s a compulsion?”

  “Something like that.”

  “And you portray imagery from your dreams.” As he’d already acknowledged.

  “From some of my dreams. If I had a choice, I’d paint instead of dreaming a lot of the time.” Again, the black unrelenting gaze before he turned back to the road.

  He wouldn’t admit it but he must truly have horrific nightmares. She could empathize, though he was also entitled to his secrets. But as the Jeep climbed to higher terrain, clinging to narrow curves etched into the sides of steep hills, Mara found herself wanting to help him. She hated seeing anyone in psychological pain.

  “Maybe your nightmares would be alleviated if you painted them,” she suggested.

  “If my bad dreams ended up on canvas, they wouldn’t be hanging in anybody’s gallery,” he said tightly. “People would take one look and run away.”

  His tone chilled her. The paintings he did finish were haunting enough.

  She stared out the window, recognizing the familiar crest of a mountain range not far from the Kisi pueblo. They would be arriving soon.

  Where she’d finally hear about Kisi mysticism.

  Kisi dreamwalking.

  Was the latter a type of lucid or “awake” dreaming, a state over which a person might exercise some control whether awake or asleep? Mara realized that’s what she hoped to find out, prayed to obtain for herself by coming out here. So why hadn’t Luke taken advantage of his obvious ability?

  “Doesn’t dreamwalking help you deal with nightmares?” she asked. “Can’t you react in your dreams, make decisions, do what you want?”

  His hard mouth softened, the corners turning up into a crooked smile. His sidelong glance raked over her. “If I could have done what I wanted with you last night, we would have both woken up a hell of a lot more relaxed this morning.”

  Her face grew warm as she thought about the lovemaking her dream-self had interrupted. The lovemaking part of her wanted to finish. She should have known better. Luke liked to intimidate her and he’d use any weapon that was handy, including his own sexual appeal.

  Well, she could intimidate right back. “I did what I wanted to in the dream – told you to get lost.”

  Actually, she’d asked the dream-Luke to wait and he’d faded away. But the real man didn’t disagree.

  Despite herself, Mara felt the same inexplicable sadness as when they’d parted in the dream. Though she should feel some sense of triumph. She already could exercise some control.

  If talking to Isabel Joshevama could add to that, help her understand, reduce her fears, she’d feel as if she had a new lease on life. Nothing would throw her, not even the disturbing attraction she felt for the spooky man beside her.

  ISABEL MOTIONED for Mara to take a seat when Luke led her into the narrow room directly off the kitchen. Besides the two comfortable chairs arranged beneath a high, thick-silled window, the room was furnished simply. Some wreaths of dried corn decorated the opposite wall, beneath which sat a single bed. At its foot stood a wooden chest and beyond that, a small draped table upon which perched a kachina. A shaft of light from the window bathed the small figure, which seemed to be a serpent sprouting glimmering feathers.

  Unusual. Mara had seen eagle kachinas and owls, wolves and other animal spirits portrayed as tiny dancing figures wearing sacred masks. But a serpent? She stared, prickles rising on her arms.

  “You have entered my room, just as you entered my dreaming place. This time you were invited.”

  Mara turned her attention to the elderly woman, her curiosity and sense of triumph quickly fading into the awe she’d felt upon first learning that anyone could enter others’ dreams. Isabel’s words puzzled her. She glanced at Luke, a strong silent presence as he lounged against the wall near her chair.

  “It was your grandson’s dream, wasn’t it? Not yours.”

  “I’m speaking of the night before last, when you approached me, hi
ding your face.”

  Mara was startled, then stunned. “You?” She’d had two dreamwalking experiences? “But the Indian woman in my dream was younger.”

  ”Because that is the way I still see myself in my visions. I’m strong, vital, not a blind old woman.”

  Mara could hardly believe it. Had Luke known? And why hadn’t he told her? “How can it be?”

  “Yes, how indeed? Where did you learn dreamwalking?”

  “I-I didn’t learn it.”

  Isabel frowned. “You had no training?”

  “I never even heard of dreamwalking . . . until Luke mentioned it today.”

  Isabel turned her face in Luke’s direction. “Why did you explain anything, Stormdancer? I asked you to bring this woman to the pueblo, not give her any ideas.”

  Stormdancer?

  “She wouldn’t have come otherwise.” Luke straightened, folding his arms across his chest. “And they have laws about carrying women off by force. I didn’t think you’d want to see me end up in jail.”

  Emotions awhirl, Mara was angry. “Why shouldn’t Luke explain a few things?” He could have stood to explain more. She complained, “He tried to hypnotize me.”

  Isabel raised her brows.

  “Voice control, Grandmother,” Luke explained. “But it didn’t work. You know I’m not that skilled.”

  Mara’s irritation grew. “Intimidation won’t work. I came here of my own accord.” She insisted, “I never meant any harm. I was just as shocked as you by the dreams I’ve been having, practically scared out of my wits.”

  Luke cut in, “You don’t have to worry, Grandmother, she’s not a witch.”

  “A witch? How ridiculous.” Though Mara herself had had momentary doubts about evil when she and Luke had talked in her condo. But she’d never studied any sort of magic. “If anyone’s practicing sorcery, it’s the Kisi, not me.”