Dane's Storm

by Mia Sheridan

  Coffee made, I went to my studio, sat at my desk and logged in to my computer. Pulling out my cell phone, I double-checked to see if I’d missed a call from Dane while I’d been out of the office for five minutes. A fresh wave of indignation washed over me and I set my phone down, logging on to the Internet.

  “Jay, how do I book a flight online?”

  “What airline do you usually fly?”

  “I never have.”

  He looked confused. “You’ve never flown before?”

  I shook my head.

  “Didn’t you go on a honeymoon?”

  “No . . . circumstances didn’t allow for a honeymoon. I know it’s pitiful, but I’ve never been out of Colorado.”

  Jay stood and walked to my desk. “Well then, it’s about time. I just wish this was under better circumstances.” He typed in a website and showed me where to put in the dates of travel. I chose Wednesday, because I figured Dane would be at his office. I couldn’t go on a weekend as he’d probably be at home and I had no clue where he lived—or with whom—or how to find out. At the thought of Dane living with another woman, my stomach cramped, but I pushed the feeling aside as best as I could, determined not to think about that. Why shouldn’t he? The boy I’d loved so desperately all those years ago deserved to have happiness. The options for flights came up, and I cringed.

  “Yikes,” Jay said. “Booking short notice is going to cost you. I still think it’s worth it.”

  “What if he’s out of town or something?” I murmured, thinking aloud. I couldn’t really afford to spend the money on this ticket in general, but what if I got there and it was all for nothing?

  “Get travel insurance,” Jay said. “That way, if there’s any sort of issue, you can rearrange your flight.”

  I nodded, and before I could talk myself out of it, I took a deep breath and hit purchase.

  I was going to California. I was going to see Dane Townsend after seven long, and at times, desolate years. And despite how long it had been, I still didn’t think I was anywhere near ready.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Then . . .

  Audra laughed, pulling the blanket around her more tightly. “God, it’s freezing. This is sorta crazy.”

  She and Dane were sitting on an old quilt under a tree on the side of a frozen pond on Dane’s family estate. There was a small, rickety-looking dock and an old wooden oar boat trapped in the frozen water next to it. It was mid-winter and though the temperatures were in the forties, the air was fresh and crisp and there was virtually no wind.

  Dane grinned, sliding closer, opening the blanket he had wrapped around his own shoulders to envelop her so they were pressed together, sharing the warmth. She inhaled his clean masculine scent, feeling the same buzz of electricity his smell always elicited. “Perfect for cuddling with my girl,” he said, and her heart leapt with joy at his words. His. Dane Townsend’s. She still felt a thrill of disbelief every time she thought of it, even though it’d been a couple of months since that day in his car when he’d asked her to be his. “Winter’s always been my favorite season.”

  She smiled softly, staring at the frozen pond. “Does anyone use that boat in the summer?”

  “No, not anymore. My grandfather used to fish, and he came out here when he was alive. My grandmother never liked it. Said he came home smelling like mackerel and she couldn’t stand it. She’d go to her room and slam the door.” He chuckled. “But it hadn’t been used in years when Dustin, Dalila, and I discovered it. We used to sneak away and come here to swim when we were kids. We’d race each other to the other side.”

  The pond wasn’t huge, but Audra had to practically squint to see the other side from where they were. She pictured a small boy moving through the water, no one to save him if he needed help, and she couldn’t help the shiver of fear that moved down her spine. “What if you had gotten a cramp or tired somewhere in the middle?” she asked on a frown.

  Dane shook his head. “One of us would row the boat containing life preservers next to the two racing. We had a signal. If we were ever in trouble, we’d hold up two fingers in the air like this”—he brought one hand out of the blanket and held his arm in the air, two fingers forming a V—“which meant we needed help, but couldn’t form the words to ask for it.”

  “Hmm,” she hummed. She felt irrationally upset. What if something had happened to him all those years ago? What if he hadn’t walked into her art classroom that day? What if she’d never met him at all? “Well, at least you were prepared, I guess.” Even she could hear the note of displeasure in her voice.

  He chuckled softly and pulled her closer. “It’s sweet that you’re worried about me for something that happened years and years ago.”

  She glanced at him, his eyes twinkling with laughter and she let out a small breathy laugh. “You’re impossible.” But her heart warmed and she nuzzled into him, soaking up his warmth. He was here now. She had met him. No act of fate had stolen him from her before she’d had a chance to love him. Before he’d filled her life with color.

  “What about you? What sneaky things did you do as a kid?”

  She gave a small shake of her head. “Nothing very exciting. I used to draw butterflies in the attic and then dance and twirl beneath them. Silly.” A small, self-conscious laugh ghosted from her mouth but he didn’t smile back, simply tilted his head, his eyes filled with some sort of gravity she didn’t know how to read.

  “Butterflies?”

  She nodded and told him about sneaking up there when she was in trouble and creating kaleidoscopes of butterflies on the walls and ceiling. Audra spoke slowly and somewhat haltingly, still feeling shy and unused to sharing her secrets—even simple, childish ones.

  “Why butterflies?” he asked softly, as a snowflake landed on his nose.

  She glanced at the sky and squinted, noticing a few more fluffy flakes swirling in the air. “I don’t know,” she murmured. The air was cold around them, but she felt cozy and safe, safe enough to be honest. She didn’t just want to share information with him, to disclose the facts of her life, she wanted to tell him who she was on the inside, to answer the questions no one else had ever asked. Because she trusted him. “I guess it was a way to express the things inside of me. I’ve always felt like my life was sort of . . . colorless.” She expelled a breath, and it plumed in the frosty air. “It’s like I have a whole world of thoughts and feelings and . . . dreams on the inside, but everything around me has always been in black and white. Muted somehow.” She gathered her strength, her heartbeat thrumming against her ribs. “Until you.”

  **********

  Dane’s heart gave one joyous jump and then slowed with calm happiness. Until you. The words rang in his head, bringing a smile to his lips. “God, Audra, you’re all I think about,” he murmured before leaning in and kissing her. Audra tilted her head so he had more access to her mouth and let out a breathy sigh of pleasure, trusting him with her body and her heart. He’d never get enough of kissing her, of feeling the slow slide of her tongue against his own, of exploring her so thoroughly as she made breathy moans that made his body throb and harden. She was pleasure and pain, so small and delicate, and yet powerful enough to possess him with a lingering look, a secret smile shot in his direction so that he felt like his knees might buckle with wanting her.

  Her hand moved under the hem of his shirt, her palm flattening on his lower stomach, causing his muscles to bunch as he let out a groan. Seeming to be spurred on by his sound of tortured pleasure, she unbuttoned his jeans and slid her hand inside, wrapping her hand around his erection. “Oh God, Audra, honey, stop. I’m so . . . I’ll . . .” The thought ended on another groan of pleasure as she stroked him, exploring his body.

  “I want you,” she whispered. He opened his eyes dazedly, seeing the same desire on her face that must be on his.

  “Are you sure?”

  She nodded, lying back on the quilt as he brought the other blanket over them, and continued to kiss her. Her mouth was s
weet and wet, hot in the midst of the freezing weather outside their intimate cocoon. After what felt like hours of intimate exploration, Dane put on a condom, his hands shaking with the intensity of his arousal. He pushed into her tight body, Audra’s face constricting in pain for only a moment before she relaxed, then gazed at him with that trusting look that made him feel like a superhero. He began moving inside her, so intensely turned on he knew he wouldn’t last long. He brought his hand to the place they were joined and she arched her back on a gasp as he used his finger to pleasure her. He gritted his teeth, trying desperately to hold himself back until she’d come. God, it felt so different being inside her when she came. He could . . . feel her come and it was the most wonderful, exciting thing he’d ever experienced. She cried out his name, her fingers raking down his skin as he, too, shuddered in bliss.

  Afterward, lying together in the lazy aftermath, Dane kissed down her neck as she smiled happily at the winter sky, snow still falling softly around them. And, to him, the whole world felt new, sweeter somehow. She turned her head as he nuzzled her ear, her hand reaching toward the delicate, pale green flowers blooming in the snow. She gasped out a breath and Dane raised his head, his expression lazy, his eyes filled with contentment. “What?”

  Audra nodded toward the flowers and then to the tree protecting them from the weather. “My grandfather told me a legend about these flowers. Do you know it?”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Audra

  Now . . .

  I stared out the airplane window, ice crystals gathered at the corners of the double-plated Plexiglas. The plane gave a sudden jolt and I turned my head forward, clenching my eyes shut. New discovery: I didn’t love flying. The nerves that fluttered inside me, due to being thirty thousand feet above the earth, joined forces with the apprehension over the reason I was flying to form a roiling cauldron of anxiety.

  The air smoothed out and I took a deep calming breath, keeping my eyes closed. Maybe if I could fall asleep, I’d wake and this part of my journey would be over. I’d been so nervous about today, I’d slept terribly the night before. It might be difficult to sleep, but then again, I was exhausted. The roar of the engines became a distant background noise, the edges of my worried brain seemed to smooth, the particles floating away and . . .

  I was standing in a field of flowers, every color so vibrant and vivid that all I could do was turn slowly, staring in delighted awe. I knew all their names: snapdragons, tulips, poppies, alstroemeria, and I had the strangest sense that this place had been created with me in mind. My fingers grazed a bright purple orchid, its petals velvety and smooth, and a cool breeze blew across my face.

  I turned completely and gasped when I saw a man walking toward me. I blinked and he smiled warmly at me. “Audra.”

  “Grandpa,” I breathed. My eyes widened when over his shoulder, I saw my grandmother standing on one side of a tall tree, and my father standing on the other. Standing. In my father’s arms was a small wrapped bundle that he cradled carefully, gently. My heart leapt, my throat constricting as longing welled inside me so suddenly and so intensely that I felt weak. A small moan of yearning rose in my throat.

  “You must bloom, Audra,” my grandfather said. Slowly, my eyes moved to him and then to that small, cradled bundle.

  “I want . . .” I croaked, reaching toward my father, reaching toward that beloved bundle I wanted so badly in my arms. “I want . . .” I repeated.

  My grandfather smiled again. “Soon. But first you must bloom.” My grandfather looked over his shoulder at my father, and my father, looking more peaceful than I’d ever known him to be, smiled at him and then at me. “The war stole his spirit, and I gave up my own. You must not give up yours. Bloom, Audra.”

  Bloom? I didn’t understand. I—

  The loud ding woke me and I blinked my eyes open, groggy and discombobulated, unbalanced from the dream I’d had. Bloom, Audra. What the heck had that been about? I sat up straight, trying to shake off the strange dream and get my bearings. I was on an airplane, flying to California to see a man who had once looked at me with love, and then with pain, and finally a blank nothingness.

  I took a deep breath, letting it move through my body. God, that dream. It’d left me with the weirdest feeling. I needed to shake it off.

  I looked out the window and saw gray sky and billowy white clouds, and when I leaned farther, my forehead pressing against the glass, I could see the ground, and even make out individual buildings below. We were landing. My heart thundered in my chest, seemingly louder than the roar of the engine. You can still change your mind, Audra. Just get back on an airplane and fly home.

  And what? Let Luella Townsend ruin my business? Stay curled up on my couch—in the home where time had stood still—and crumble to dust? I’d been tempted to do that another time as well, but I hadn’t. I’d gathered myself together and kept going. Maybe not in all aspects of my life, but at least in one. Thistles and Thatch. It had kept me alive—both literally and figuratively—by feeding my body and soul. I would not simply hand it over without a fight.

  Feeling bolstered, I smoothed my hair back, worked out the kinks in my neck from sleeping in an upright seat for several hours, and prepared for landing.

  The San Francisco International Airport was crowded and confusing, but I managed to find my way to the front where I stepped onto a curb filled with taxis and other vehicles. I hadn’t checked a bag, because I’d only be here for a couple of days, and I’d been able to fit what I needed in a carry-on. Wheeling it behind me, I asked a man in an airport uniform for directions to the BART—rapid rail transit—and twenty minutes later, I was on a train, moving rapidly underground toward downtown San Francisco. Thank goodness Jay had been able to help me plan all this in advance or I’d have been completely lost.

  I almost missed my stop because of people watching, but managed to squeeze through the doors as they were closing, bursting out onto the train platform, my bag barely making it as the doors slammed and the train pulled out of the station.

  I climbed the stairs to the street and pulled out my phone, following the directions to the hotel I’d booked. When I arrived in front of it, I groaned. God, it looked like a flea trap. Sighing, I pulled my suitcase inside. It was important that I be frugal, so I’d booked one of the less expensive hotels I found online. I just hoped it had clean sheets.

  Check-in was quick and easy enough—the older woman at the front counter barely giving me a glance as she took my information and handed me a key card. I took the elevator to the third floor, let myself in the room, and considered my home for the next two nights.

  The only other hotel I’d stayed in was on my wedding night at the Four Seasons in Denver. Dane and I had driven there after our ceremony at the courthouse. It had been the first time we’d slept in a bed together, and so filled with lust and love, we didn’t do much actual sleeping. My mind might have lingered on the sadness that memory evoked, on how desperately in love I’d been—on how hopeful happiness had filled me—but the strange smell in this room distracted me from those thoughts. I wrinkled my nose at the odor that hung in the air—something that brought to mind . . . hot dogs?

  Stepping forward, I leaned my head into the open door to my right and clicked the light switch. It was a small bathroom, old but clean enough it seemed. I wasn’t used to anything much better as far as bathrooms went—not at this point in my life anyway—so I wouldn’t complain. It would do. Much like my house. Much like the meager food that was my diet. Much like my life outside work.

  It would do.

  The bed appeared to be clean as well, though I pulled up the sheet and checked the mattress as Jay had instructed. No bedbugs. I dropped the sheet and sat on the bed, sighing. California was an hour behind Colorado and so it was relatively early. I’d mapped out the commute, and I could make it from downtown San Francisco to where Dane worked in Silicon Valley in an hour and a half. If I hurried, maybe I’d catch him returning from lunch.

  I’d wo
rn jeans and a sweater on the plane, but maybe I should dress in something a little nicer to show up at his company. Did it matter? It wasn’t really like I was there to impress him. It was a personal matter. Still, I got up and took a few minutes to freshen up, bringing my toiletry bag into the bathroom and brushing my hair and reapplying some of the makeup that had worn off during the flight.

  My nerves were back, but I’d come this far. I could go a little farther. For a moment I simply stared at myself in the mirror, assessing what Dane might find different about me now. Last time he saw me I was twenty. I looked older, though my skin was still clear and smooth, and I wore my dark hair in a similar style—the straight strands just brushing my shoulder blades. I was pretty, not beautiful, and time hadn’t changed that. No, I didn’t think I’d changed that much at all really, though I saw myself every day and probably wasn’t the best judge.

  What would he look like? That thought caused a shiver of trepidation to move down my spine. He’d been such a beautiful boy and I doubted even seventy years would take that from him. I pictured him as he’d been when I first met him—his eyes filled with laughter and a smile that played constantly across his beautifully shaped lips. He was a golden boy and he was very aware of that fact, but it was the humility in his eyes, the ability to laugh at himself, and his deep well of kindness that I’d fallen in love with. It was those things I’d seen in him before we’d ever spoken a word to one another. And as I remembered that first day I met him, the picture of his vibrant smile morphed into how he’d looked the last day I’d seen him in the lawyer’s office. His expression had been cold and hardened, his eyes moving away when our gazes clashed. I had deserved that hostile glare, but it had still burned like a blade slicing at the tender places inside of me.