Dare to Dream

by Debbie Vaughan

  Filled to the brim. Completed. Made whole. Words Meghan never thought would apply to her life echoed in her mind only to dissolve seconds later as Will began to rock into her. The sensation drove away thought and reason, leaving only want. Her movements countered his, her legs wrapping his thighs to hold him closer, urge him deeper. Her lips trembled, and he covered them with his.

  “Shhh, darlin’, don’t,” Will pleaded.

  Meghan sobbed. As if an unseen hand released the hold on her heart, her joy overwhelmed her, and she couldn’t hold back her tears. Will’s movement ceased. No, that wasn’t right. Meghan nudged his butt with her heels. “Don’t you dare stop.”

  He kissed her eyes, her cheeks, and finally her lips, mimicking with his tongue the thrust of his hips. Meg missed a breath as his motion changed from steady thrusts to a circular motion with a short stroke at the end. Each time he nudged a certain spot inside her, her breath hitched. A delicious pressure began building in her groin.

  Will’s movements became more intense. Meghan’s breaths came in short pants from between parted lips.

  “Open your eyes, sweetheart.”

  “I can’t,” Meghan gasped, afraid.

  “Open your eyes.” Will missed a stroke and swore softly. “I can’t keep this up forever, darlin’. Let me see what you feel.”

  She opened her eyes slowly, cautiously, and fearfully. Circle, thrust. She stared up at him. Will’s eyes were the color of the sky before the storm and as intense. Circle, thrust. She gasped as the pressure built and built then burst through in wave after wave of pleasure. Her cries were swallowed by his lips. Will thrust hard and deep once, twice, and on the third, cried her name to the heavens as his seed filled her.

  In the aftershocks, her vaginal muscles continued to grasp his cock, unwilling to let him go even now. After a few moments, Will rolled to his side and pulled her with him. Face to face, still linked, he held her tightly. Meghan flung her leg over his hip, her arm over his shoulder, hand holding the back of his head. She searched his eyes for a sign. What she saw made her heart beat faster. But was it real?

  She lowered her head, nestling her cheek into the hollow of Will’s throat. His pulse beat strong, steady, and a little fast under her ear. He sure felt real. He made her feel more alive than ever before. Her brain repeatedly reminded her of the impossibility of the situation. Time travel did not exist and even if it did, she had no time machine. She didn’t even own a car.

  Faith meant believing in things unseen, often in things unexplainable. If she believed enough, could this all be reality? She believed in God, even though she had never met him. Was this so very different?

  Will stroked her hair and brushed his lips across her temple.

  “Can I tell you something?” Meghan whispered.

  “Anything.”

  “You won’t believe me.”

  Will snorted softly. “Why won’t I?”

  “Well, mostly because it’s unbelievable. I just can’t think of any other explanation.”

  Will wiggled himself into a sitting position and pulled Meghan along with him. She settled under the arm he draped over her shoulder as he absently twirled her braid around his fingertip. Resting her hand on his heart, she started with the buying trip which led them to Colorado.

  “So, the ram you spoke of when you were delirious wasn’t a sheep?”

  “No, a truck…a motor vehicle.” What did they have now to use for comparison? At a loss, she finally said, “Mr. Ford will invent them soon, I think. They’ll call them horseless carriages. A truck is like your wagon, made for hauling, but without a horse or mule, an engine pulls them.”

  “Like a locomotive?”

  “Not exactly but close enough.”

  “Huh.”

  He didn’t ask many questions, for which Meghan was thankful since she wasn’t sure she had any answers. Should she worry Will only humored the crazy lady?

  “The ladder appeared as old as everything else. It held my weight going up, but I guess the extra pack on my back tipped the scale. Of course, slapping at the spider didn’t help. I lost my hold. I don’t remember anything else until I woke up here.”

  “What year did you say you came from?”

  “2010.”

  “Huh.”

  “You don’t believe a word I said, do you?” Annoyance flooded her even though she had no grounds. How could she expect him to believe something so outlandish when she didn’t? Just because she said something didn’t make it so, even if he loved her. She swallowed hard. He’d never said that. He wanted her, yes. But want didn’t equal love. Just because she loved him didn’t mean…

  The realization might as well have been another beam bashing her head. She loved him. She had loved him since the moment she laid eyes on him. He was her dream man. How could she not? Her chest hurt, and her eyes filled and spilled over.

  “Shhh, sugar. I didn’t say I didn’t believe you. It’s just a lot to wrap my mind around. I’ve seen lots of things others might think crazy—”

  “In the sweat lodge?”

  “Yes.” But not all in the sweat lodge or even with peyote in his stomach. When he’d seen the white doe, he’d been clearheaded.

  “Did you see things in the sweat lodge?”

  “Yes.” She feared to say more. She’d already said too much.

  “Did you see your guide?”

  “White Buffalo said I did, plus his and another one.”

  Will turned her in his arms. “What did you see besides a white buffalo?”

  “A white deer, a medicine-hat stallion, and eagles circling overhead.”

  Chapter 22

  She’d seen not only her spirit guide, but his. The white buffalo may have been his grandfather’s totem or representative of the All Father. White Buffalo liked to suggest they were one and the same. The eagles circling represented the winds of change. No wonder White Buffalo said she had great magic. Meghan didn’t look like she had a drop of Indian blood in her veins. The Spirits didn’t often embrace the whites like they did the natives.

  She’d gone very still after her story. Meg knew how outlandish the notion sounded, because she’d said so. Yet, she wanted him to believe the tale, to believe her. If only things were that simple. He kissed the top of her head, thinking of what to say to ease her mind—without lying.

  “I’ve seen things in the sweat lodge you wouldn’t believe if I told you. No one would. Those are visions, dreams, and they dissolve with the smoke.”

  “That’s what scares me. I’ll wake up, and this will all have been a dream.”

  The catch in Meghan’s voice broke off a piece of his heart, poor little thing.

  “I’m not going anywhere. You go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

  Will realized the truth of his words. He could think of no place he’d rather be than with her body tucked into his. She was his to protect and care for. So what if she was tetched? Her mind might yet clear, and if not, she held no danger to herself or anyone else. She stirred in his arms.

  “Where are you going?”

  She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and rolled her eyes. “I’ve got to pee, okay?”

  He sensed her struggle and tried not to grin. He’d seen everything she had to offer, and she remained embarrassed to use the pot in front of him. To play the gentleman this once wouldn’t kill him. He rolled to put his back to her.

  “Can you hum or whistle or something?”

  It proved hard work to hum and grin at the same time, but he managed. Finally, when she didn’t return to bed, he turned to find her gone. Panic seized him until he heard her humming in the kitchen. He availed himself of the chamber pot, which was a mite hard to hit from his height, then pulled on his drawers and britches.

  “Crank it up, ’til you blow the speakers out your Chevy truck.”

  He watched her hips sway to the rhythm as she sang. Will straddled a chair. “What’s that you’re singing?” A chuckle slipped past when she clutched her
heart.

  “You scared me half to death! It’s dangerous to sneak up on a woman with an iron skillet in her hand.”

  “I’ll try to heed the warning. What’s the song?”

  “Something new by Reba McEntire. I can never think of the name. If you want biscuits, I need milk. If you want eggs, I need those, too. I found the bacon.” Meghan held up the slab.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He pulled on his stockings and boots then did up his britches. “You need to get your moccasins on before you catch your death.”

  “I guess I’d better get dressed before Charlie and W.B. get here.”

  She scrunched up her cute little nose, and Will almost forgot to ask. “W.B.?”

  “He doesn’t answer to Grandpa. Grandfather and White Buffalo are just too long.”

  Will retrieved a clean shirt from the other room since Meghan wore his before asking, “He approved the abbreviation?”

  “Not exactly, I didn’t ask,” Meghan admitted.

  Will wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her off her feet and her shirttail up.

  “Stop,” she squealed. “I stink!”

  Will waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “I can bathe you if you want.”

  “I want a bath. Do you even own a tub?”

  He’d made her blush again, and darned if she wasn’t cute. “I’ll see what I can scare up after I get the chores done. Until I find something suitable, you’ll have to make do with the basin. Stay near the stove. I don’t want you getting chilled.” Her eyes grew round and anxious. “I’ll make sure nobody disturbs your privacy.”

  Heedless of his healing lip, he kissed her hard, patted her bare butt, and moved toward the door and his coat. “I’ll have your milk and eggs in a little bit, sweetheart.”

  The cold air went a long way to ease the burgeoning erection in his pants. He wanted nothing more than to return to the house and toss her back on the bed, but chores needed tending and the girl had to eat sometime.

  Neither Charlie nor White Buffalo were in the barn. Will figured they went to the lodge. After a night in the cold barn loft, Charlie would relish the warm heat to ease his joints. From the looks of the hay, his grandfather had made use of the stack as a bed. Will didn’t blame him. Charlie snored something awful.

  Will found himself humming Meghan’s song as he fed Spirit and laid out hay for the mares when they came up from the lower pasture. The word truck stuck in his mind. Odd, but then, so was the song.

  He tossed some cracked corn to the hens and while they were off their nests, stole their eggs. Rubbing his cold hands briskly on his britches, he blew on them to add warmth before wrapping his fingers around Katie’s teats in hopes she wouldn’t kick the bucket over. She rewarded his efforts by standing still, quietly munching her hay. As the swish-swish of the milk hit the sides of the bucket, contentment filled Will. He could make this work, make Meghan happy. He would protect her from whatever, or whomever, she was running from. When she felt safe, perhaps the real story would come to the surface. Until such a time, whether she actually believed the tale she told or not didn’t matter.

  He wanted to know her in every way a man might know a woman, to gaze into her eyes when her need turned to fulfillment like this morning. He’d never tire of her moans and soft sighs. But more than the sex and the joining of their bodies was a joining of their souls like two halves of a whole. Her laughter and fearlessness when she rode Spirit allowed something within him to soar free. White Buffalo would understand these thoughts, perhaps even be able to interpret them. Charlie would just laugh and shake his head.

  He sure seemed to dislike Meghan with a passion all of a sudden. The girl had done nothing to earn his treatment. His actions were plumb peculiar. Will knew Charlie was normally the kindest of men. Did his grandfather have the answer? Was Charlie afraid Meghan would steal him away? If that happened, it would be Charlie’s doing, not hers. If they could get along peaceably, everything would be fine. If not, Meghan wouldn’t be the one leaving. Not if Will had his way.

  Will moved the half-filled bucket aside, rose, and let the calf out of the stall to nurse.

  Charlie couldn’t stay out here in the cold for long and not turn ill. The house was as much his as Will’s. Will had moved to the barn to have some privacy and to get away from the old man’s snoring. Privacy was even more an issue now. An idea hatched in his mind. If Charlie cooperated, Will’s plan might work.

  They hardly used the parlor for anything other than storage. The fancy furniture had been a whim when Charlie started trying to marry him off. If he moved the pieces to one end of the room, there’d be plenty of space to put a bed at the other for him and Meg. They’d keep each other warm enough, even with the door closed to the stove in the kitchen. With Charlie’s bunk on the far wall, his snoring might be tolerable. The more Will thought about the idea, the better he liked it. Come spring he could add another room if need be.

  Come spring there might be a need.

  Will dropped back to the milking stool, startling the calf, and sloshing some of the milk from the bucket. His hunger for Meg had made him blind to the obvious. More came from lovin’ than easing the pain in his crotch. Until his conversation with Kathy, he’d never paused to think they might make a baby. He hadn’t really even then.

  He pushed the calf away when he would have drunk from the pail. Will stared at Katie and her offspring, remembering her heavy udders and swollen belly last winter. His thoughts turned to Meghan. He saw her clearly, heavy with his child. A hand resting on her aching back, breasts and stomach straining the clothes she wore. His heart stuttered.

  While he was in no rush to share her, if a baby came from their loving, so be it. A babe would be a part of her, another part to love. With the thought came the realization. It wasn’t his body alone that hungered for her, but his heart.

  He rose and stretched. His woman would be waiting on the eggs and milk. She needed to eat, to keep her strength up. And she wanted a proper bath. He quirked an eyebrow. That was a lot of water to haul. He supposed she was worth it. He’d give her anything.

  Shit fire! I forgot all about the dress!

  Chapter 23

  Engulfed by a sense of well-being she had never before experienced, Meghan mixed biscuit ingredients and set them aside as she waited for the milk.

  The cooked bacon sat on the back of the stove to stay warm. Once the eggs were fried, she’d add flour to the fat for rue, needing only milk to make the gravy. In the meantime, she needed a snack to tide her over. Two pieces of bacon gave her the energy to occupy herself with a spit bath, washing only the essentials, face, armpits, and crotch. The latter seemed a tad tender but in a good way. What she wouldn’t give for a soak in a hot tub. She flipped her braid over her shoulder. Oh, how she wanted to wash her hair.

  As clean as she was likely to get, and afraid to get caught naked, Meghan wrapped a blanket around her and went in search of clean clothes. She pushed the parlor door wide, surprised to find the room had not only one window, but two. The wavy, bubble-filled panes let in the light while the solid pine door between them promised to keep intruders out, at least until they broke a window. A stone fireplace with what appeared to be a built-in woodbox covered most of the opposing wall. While the bin may have been intended for firewood, clothes storage seemed to be the current use.

  Will and Charlie’s clothes lay near the top, but as she dug deeper, she discovered smaller things. The farther she went, the smaller they became. Charlie was indeed a packrat. She held up several pairs of patched pants to gauge a possible fit. While Will appeared to have always been tall, he seemed to have gone through a chunky phase between growth spurts. She laid several tops and bottoms aside to try. Underwear must not have fared as well as outer garments.

  Meghan was thankful for once her boobs weren’t as big as Donna’s. If they were they’d be knocking her knees soon from the gravitational pull. She hated to wear britches that hadn’t been laundered in God knows when without panties, but what choice
did she have? She’d wash the rest if they fit. She shimmied the pants on under the blanket and then reached for a soft gray plaid flannel shirt just as the kitchen door crashed open.

  “Meghan!”

  “Eeep!” She swallowed her heart, pulled the shirt closed, and called, “In here.”

  Will stormed into the room and snatched her by the shoulders as if he wanted to shake her like a maraca. Instead, he hugged her. Maybe she wasn’t the only one afraid everything would disappear.

  The thought warmed her. He must believe her, if only a little. She laid her ear over his racing heart. “I was looking for something to wear. I hope you don’t mind?”

  “Of course not, take whatever you want. I didn’t mean to scare you, but my hands were full, so I had to kick the door. Come see,” Will blustered to hide his all too apparent chagrin. He pulled her hand away from her chest, and the shirt gaped. With a leer, he did up the buttons, managing to rub his thumbs over her breasts each time before tugging her into the other room.

  The infamous number two washtub sat in the middle of the kitchen. If she drew up her knees, she might fit okay. While not much of a tub, it would serve.

  “Once you get the biscuits out of the oven, I’ll stoke the fire under the boiler. You have to feed me first, or I’ll be too weak to haul water.”

  “Sit down before you faint.” Meghan led him to a chair and gave him a shove.

  She added a cup of fresh milk to the dry mix in the bowl and stirred. With floured hands, she kneaded the dough. The weight of Will’s gaze bored into her back as she worked. Once she placed the biscuit pan in the oven, her attention turned to the eggs.

  “Are Charlie and your grandpa coming?”

  “Nope. Just you and me.”

  She cracked six eggs in the bacon fat. Once they were done, she fished them out and set them aside while she made the gravy. Her right hand contracted as she tried to lift the large skillet to pour the gravy in a bowl. She flexed her fingers, and the sensation went away.