Dare to Dream
It’s said love is timeless. Meghan Dennehy and Will Thornton are about to prove it.
Uncomfortable in her world, Meghan seeks happiness between the pages of romance novels or in the world built in her dreams. She longs for a place to belong and a love of her own. The antiques of the past hold far more interest than the fast-paced era she lives in.
Over a hundred years in the past, Will Thornton, a half-breed former army scout is caught between two worlds. Passing for white, he does not forget his native heritage and proudly bears the name Ghost Walking, given to him by his grandfather. Still, his heart yearns for someone to love him for who and what he is.
Fate intercedes to bring them together. But destiny isn't always kind, even to young lovers. It will take more than passion to bind them. It will take faith in a love that transcends time.
Genre: Historical, Time Travel
Length: 52,865 words
DARE TO DREAM
Debbie Vaughan
EROTIC ROMANCE
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Erotic Romance
DARE TO DREAM
Copyright © 2011 by Debbie Vaughan
E-book ISBN: 1-61034-473-1
First E-book Publication: July 2011
Cover design by Jinger Heaston
All cover art and logo copyright © 2011 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
McEntire, Reba Lyrics. "Turn on your Radio." All the Women I Am. The Valory Music Co. © 2010
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
PUBLISHER
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
Letter to Readers
Dear Readers,
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DEDICATION
For Donna, my best friend since forever, who’s always watched my back. For Janet, a kindred spirit, who will be my friend forevermore. Thank you both for your encouragement and faith in me, even when I had little in myself. May you always follow your hearts and reach for the stars.
DARE TO DREAM
DEBBIE VAUGHAN
Copyright © 2011
Chapter 1
“I’m dying here!” Donna whined for the zillionth time.
“What am I supposed to do about it?” Meghan waved the bottle of Diet Dr. Pepper under her friend’s nose. “I offered to buy bottled tea to bring along, but no, you need fresh—with hand-squeezed lemons, no less.”
“How was I to know we’d get lost? Maybe I can lick the sweat off the bottle?”
“Eww! You’re the one driving, moron. Your truck, your GPS.”
Donna Andrews was Meghan’s best friend, co-owner of Eclectic Interiors, their decorating business, Dolly Parton look-alike, and confirmed iced-tea connoisseur. More tea-colored lemonade in Meghan’s opinion since each sixteen-ounce freshly brewed glass must have exactly three slices of lemon and a cup of sugar. Diet anything had never touched Donna’s lips, so the DDP was safe.
“The GPS is fine. We’re just out of reception range is all.”
“We’re lost, dipshit.” The last detour sign was ever so helpful, an arrow pointing down a dirt road, followed by miles of…nothing. How the hell was anyone supposed to know where they were going? Maybe the locals did, if any existed, but not two girls from Arkansas. One dirt road led to another, more trees, more rocks, more mountains. Rocky Mountain high? Not.
“Just tell me when the little blue light comes on overhead, will ya?”
Meghan replied with a loud Dr. Pepper burp.
Donna diverted her gaze from the road long enough to roll her big blue eyes.
Meghan ignored her and tried to enjoy the scenery.
An hour later, the only life they had seen was a mountain goat. The GPS was still dark, Meghan’s DDP had long since met its tragic end, and of course, she needed to pee.
“Stop. Please stop. I’ll go behind a bush, who’s to see? Seriously, stop!”
“Oh, all right!”
Donna pulled as far to the left as possible, to avoid the sharp drop on the passenger’s side. She shut the ignition off. Without giving her time to open the door, Meghan scrambled across the seat, bent on climbing over her, tissue in hand.
She pushed Donna’s ample boobs out of the way so she would fit between them and the steering wheel, and began unbuttoning her tight Levi’s before her feet touched the ground. Damn Donna! The girl had a bladder the size of a thimble compared to Meghan’s gallon size. She could hold her water forever, but when forever came, that was it. She did her best to get her boots out of the line of fire. Sighing with relief, she pulled up her undies and jeans then inspected her favorite boots for water marks. Luckily for Donna, she found none.
Meghan gasped as Donna strolled along the rim of the road, perilously close to the edge, sending flurries of pebbles over the side and an army of anxious geese marching up Meg’s back. Seemingly oblivious to the danger, Donna turned her cell phone in every direction, obviously trying to get a signal.
With one arm wrapped around a spindly pine for security, Meghan yanked her back from the edge. “Pay attention. Falling off the side of this mountain won’t get us found any faster. I say the first wide spot we come to, we turn around and go back to Steamboat.”
“Works for me.”
The trouble was they hadn’t seen a space wide enough to turn a tricycle, much less a Dodge Ram dually. The damn truck was a city block long without the near empty twelve-foot trailer tacked on. This trip had been
a bust.
Twice a year they set out on a treasure hunt. Their interior design business had taken off like a rocket three years ago and was a natural offshoot to Donna’s rabid hobby of collecting primitives. She had the knack of finding the unfindable and paying next to nothing for it. Her three thousand square foot log home was filled from floor to rafter with her prizes. The business had started accidentally when husband Dan built her a one-room log building to house her extras, and the local newspaper ran an article about her collection. Donna couldn’t seem to part with any of her finds until the lady from a ritzy neighborhood had offered three thousand dollars for the 1800s pine wardrobe Donna had gotten from an old Missouri farmhouse destined for demo. The woman bought the piece sight unseen from a photo displayed in the article.
The one thing Donna liked better than spending money was making it.
Meghan’s contribution was her bookkeeping skills. She worked free for a year to buy in since she didn’t have the proverbial pot to piss in. Now she was a full partner, bookkeeper, and interior designer. Meg could mix primitive, Tuscan, urban, and make everything work harmoniously. She had invented shabby chic.
The shop’s rise in popularity was spurred in part by the rise in antique collectors, so pickings had gotten pretty slim in the south. Each year they traveled farther and found less. Now they were lost, the perfect way to end a horrible buying trip. Meghan couldn’t even manage to enjoy the fall foliage and the crisp mountain air. She loved the outdoors and roughing it. Donna’s idea of roughing it involved a king-sized bed and a pool. She sighed in defeat.
“Stop that,” Donna said in exasperation.
“What’d I do?”
“You went all cow-eyed and sighy again. You need to get your nose out of those romance novels, get out into the real world, and most importantly, get laid.”
“Don’t start, I wasn’t—hey, is that smoke?”
The truck rounded another bend, and lo and behold, a farmhouse stood framed against a rock and evergreen background. Smoke curled from the stone chimney, circled the humungous ruin of a barn, and drifted down into the valley below. Donna braked hard, sending the trailer sideways into the drive and dirt flying. She was already yanking on a pair of heavy leather gloves and tying a scarf over her abundant blonde hair.
“Wait, you can’t go in without permission. Fire? That means folks are home.” Meghan scrambled down the side of the truck, tucking her long silver blonde mane under her straw cowboy hat as she went. The brim kept the spiderwebs out of her eyes and off her face. She hated spiders.
The porch was covered in a layer of dust an inch thick, but then, what wasn’t out here? She rapped on the wood door, sending a cloud of dirt flying into her face. Turning to Donna pacing by the truck, she shrugged and took a step. A creaking sound caused her to turn back.
The old woman leaned hard on a curly willow cane. Some optical illusion made the cane look as if it drilled into the ground with each step she took, or perhaps, sprang from it. Her pure white hair hung straight and glossy past her butt. She wore a faded calico dress cinched at the waist with a macramé belt. Beaded deerskin boots met the hem. Her outfit had Native American flair but not her features. Her eyes were the soft gray of misty mornings.
Finding her voice, Meghan addressed the woman politely. “Hello, ma’am. We seemed to have gotten turned around by a detour about twenty miles back. I hate to bother you, but could we use your phone?”
“Come in. Come in.” She waved to Donna. “Come have some tea.”
She had said the magic words.
The smell of sassafras filled the air in the tiny kitchen as the woman moved silently about, collecting enamel cups, honey, and a cast iron teapot.
“Here, let me help.” The pot had to weigh eight pounds empty, closer to ten with water and roots. Donna made a face, and Meghan gave her an elbow to the back of the head.
Donna smiled around clenched teeth then opened her mouth. “Do you have sugar?”
“You can’t—” their hostess and Meghan said in the same breath. The old woman laughed and poured the rich amber tea, leaving Meg to finish. “You can’t use sugar, Donna. The acid in the tea neutralizes the sweetness, so you’d need a ton. Honey works better and it’s all natural, so you won’t die.”
The wrinkled lips smiled, showing a set of near-perfect white teeth. Their hostess offered up the honey pot. Meghan added a decent dollop to her cup then did the same to Donna’s before passing the pot back to their hostess. Meghan inhaled the steam, and a smile split her face. She loved sassafras tea almost as much as she hated spiders. Oh crap!
“How rude of me—us. I’m Meghan Dennehy, and this is my friend, Donna Andrews.” She stuck out her hand, and the old lady took it in hers, turning the palm up.
“You have a very long life line, and your love line is even longer.” Her gray eyes sparkled, appearing young and bright in a wizened face. Familiar.
Donna snorted tea through her nose and choked. Waving Meg off when she beat on her back, she croaked, “Not Meggie. She can’t keep her nose out of a book long enough to find a man.” Then, without missing a beat, she started her spiel. “I can offer you a real fair price for the stove, enough to get something more modern and easier to use. Who cuts the wood for that thing anyway?”
Meghan felt the heat rise to her face as quickly as the dollar signs had in Donna’s eyes.
“We have a decorating business and specialize in this sort of thing.” She nodded to the stove then raised her cup. “These are collectable now.” Meghan kicked Donna under the table before placing her free hand on top of the one still holding the other. “Honestly, the purchase price for what I’ve seen so far might set you up in a real nice little retirement home. You’re not safe out here all by yourself. Ah, is there anything left in that old barn?”
From the corner of her eye she saw the look of expectation grow on her friend’s face.
The woman rose and walked to the cupboard, drew aside the curtain, and brought out an oilskin wallet. Returning to the table, she set the purse aside and sipped her tea, glancing up once or twice toward the top of Meghan’s head.
“Beg pardon, ma’am.” Meghan snatched the cowboy hat from her head and laid it in her lap, allowing her silver blonde hair to cascade over her shoulders.
“Run on out to the barn before you bust.” She didn’t have to tell them twice.
Her hat forgotten, Meghan and Donna jammed in the doorframe hip to hip. Meghan ducked under Donna’s boobs and ran for all she was worth. Donna reached for the fallen hat.
One door lay on the ground, and the other hung askew from one rusty hand-forged hinge. A cowboy hat sailed past her head as she waited for her eyes to adjust to the dim light filtering through the boards and the hole in the roof. She picked it up and dusted the straw brim off on her jeans. Twirling her long, straight hair around her hand, she wound her mane into a rope on top of her head then plastered the hat over the mound to keep it out of the way.
Exchanging equally delighted grins, they stepped away in opposite directions.
Meghan was in her element and had soon assembled a stack of hames, harnesses, hand-forged horse shoes of varying sizes, the remnants of a McClellan military saddle, a canvas Cavalry feedbag, and a smithy’s bellows. Two broken wagon wheels indicated a buckboard might be around somewhere. Meg pointed them out to her friend when Donna came back empty-handed. At the mere mention, Donna headed for the door to check the shed on the north wall.
“I’ll check the loft.”
Meghan climbed carefully, testing each rung before transferring her full weight, batting at the cobwebs threatening to envelope her. Her first glimpse of the second level made her forget spiders and instead envision cowboys and cattle drives, wild Indians, and mustangs. The loft had been someone’s sleeping quarters.
Two narrow beds sat side by side covered in Indian blankets that for some reason the mice had chosen not to chew. They were filthy, yes, but whole, as were the two moldy leather saddles. Mold was b
etter than dry rot. The leather could be brought back with proper care. Her heart skipped a beat. Her mind turned to gentle hands, calming wild things like the man in her dreams. A sob almost choked her.
“You okay up there?” Donna yelled from below. “I found the buckboard.”
A deep breath steadied her. “I have about ten thousand dollars worth of Indian blankets and saddles. Get the rope, and I’ll lower them down.”
A few minutes later Donna lugged one saddle to the trailer while Meghan secured the other to the rope with a double hitch through the pommel. On Donna’s returning yell, Meghan swung the saddle over the side and lowered the relic into her waiting arms. “I’m gonna poke around up here for a bit. Go check about the phone. Hey, she never said her name.”
Donna laughed. “We didn’t give her much chance.”
Meghan looked over the side and grinned. “True. I’ll be down in a minute. Go get directions and start negotiations. Be nice.”
“I’m always nice.”
“Then be fair!” Her hands itched to open the trunks at the foot of each bunk. She lifted the first lid with reverence, a door back in time. A cavalry uniform, complete with faded yellow suspenders, lay neatly folded. A Bible. She blew away the dust and read the inscription: William Thomas Thornton. Was the old woman a Thornton? Loose pages fell and crumbled to dust in her hands. She wanted to cry for the loss.
Meghan moved to the next trunk and found, of all things, a wedding dress. The lace was yellowed with age but whole. Something furry touched her hand, and she squealed, awaiting the bite that never came. Sucking up her courage she lifted the dress to find molting rabbit fur attached to the frayed netting of a dream catcher. They had been all the rage a few years ago. Like a spider’s web with a totem attached, the disk was supposed to catch bad dreams and keep them from harming the sleeper while letting the good ones in through the spaces in the web.
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