Dream 3 - Finding the Dream

by Nora Roberts

  "Oh, God." Now there were tears mixed with the sweat on Laura's face as the foal slid out. "There he is."

  Once the foal's shoulders were clear, Michael cleaned the membrane away from the nose. The foal was wet, still attached by the umbilical cord. Though Michael wanted to pull it clear, see for himself, he waited with Laura as the foal struggled free of the birth sac, and the cord broke as nature intended.

  For a while, there was no sound in the stall but the mare's steadying breathing and her first soft, delighted whinny as she understood she had a child.

  "He's beautiful," Laura murmured. "Just beautiful."

  "She." Grinning, Michael swiped at the sweat on his face. "We got ourselves a girl here, Laura. A beautiful girl. God bless you, Darling, look what you did."

  She looked, and with a mother's instinct climbed to her feet and began to clean her baby.

  "It's lovely every time," Laura murmured, easing back so as not to interfere with the bonding. "You're not disappointed?" she asked Michael. "No stud?"

  "She's got four legs and a tail, doesn't she? And her mother's coloring."

  "Apparently you're not." She laughed, delighted with the look of stunned joy on his face, and held out a formal hand. "Congratulations, papa."

  "The hell with that." Riding high, he yanked her into his lap and crushed his mouth to hers.

  Instantly breathless. And dizzy. And weak. They were covered with sweat and blood, punchy from a night without sleep. The hay beneath them was filthy, the air thick and ripe.

  And they were locked together like hope and glory.

  He'd meant it only to share with her that heady exuberance, to thank her, in his way, for being a part of the moment. But he sank into her, into the need, into the heat, into those silky limbs that clung as though she were suspended over a cliff and he was her only salvation.

  He was murmuring something, a jumble of the wild and reckless thoughts that jammed into his head. His hand streaked up her hip, closed possessively over her breast. She bucked, arched, moaned.

  "Steady." He used the same patient, soothing tone he had with the laboring mare. But his teeth nipped at her jaw, scraped over the rampaging pulse in her throat and made the quiet order impossible.

  "I can't." Can't breathe. Can't think. Can't let go. "Michael." Dazed, she pressed her face against his throat. "I can't."

  He could, he thought as the ache spread viciously. He could, and more. But he'd chosen his time and place poorly. She'd stood by him through the night, he reminded himself. Taking advantage of her now, as he was, only proved that even an honest man could lack integrity.

  "I wasn't angling for a roll in the hay." He kept it light, whatever it cost him. "Relax." Careful to keep his hands gentle, he shifted her. "Look, our little girl's growing up already."

  The hands Laura clenched in her lap slowly loosened as she watched the foal struggle to her feet. After a few comical spills, she gained them.

  "Have you…" Laura wiped her palms hard on the knees of her slacks to ease the tingling. "Have you chosen a name for her?"

  "No." He tortured himself a little by sniffing her hair. "Why don't you?"

  "She's yours, Michael."

  "The three of us brought her into the world together. What do you want to call her?''

  She leaned back against him and smiled. The foal had already learned how to suckle. "I had a mare when I was a girl. Her name was Lulu."

  "Lulu?" He chuckled and buried his face in her hair.

  Her eyes closed as he nuzzled, and her heart tilted. "I rode her over the hills and into dreams.''

  "Lulu it is." He got to his feet, pulled Laura to hers. "You're pale." He brushed a thumb over her cheek, almost expecting it to pass through like a mist. "The closer it got toward morning, the more fragile you looked. And the more I wanted to touch you."

  "I'm not going to be able to give you what you want."

  "You haven't got a clue what I want. If you did, you wouldn't have let me within a mile of Templeton House. But since both of us are too tired for me to explain it now, you'd better go get some sleep."

  "I'll help you clean up."

  "No, I can handle it. I'm not that tired, Laura, and you're too damn tempting. Go away."

  "All right, then." She stepped out of the stall and looked back. He stretched, a long, lean male wearing black with snug jeans unbuttoned at the waist. Everything that was female in her stirred. And yearned. "Michael?"

  "Yeah?"

  His eyes were heavy, she noted. Exhausted. But they still focused on her in a way that made her blood tingle. "No one's ever wanted me the way you seem to. I don't know how I feel or what to do about that."

  Those exhausted eyes went hot. "That's not the kind of statement designed to make me want you less." Quick as a snake, and deadly, he reached out and snagged her by the shirt front. His free hand circled her throat, squeezed lightly as his mouth came down hard on hers. When he let her go, she stumbled back, her eyes clouded with arousal and panic.

  "Go away, Laura," he repeated. "You're not safe here."

  She walked blindly out of the stables, into the white flash of morning. Her bones felt bruised, her mind battered. Lifting an unsteady hand, she brushed her fingertips over her swollen mouth. Felt him there. Tasted him there.

  Even as she walked toward Templeton House, she looked back over her shoulder and wondered if she wanted to be safe after all. She always had been, hadn't she, and her life hadn't been a rousing success so far. Then again, she had the unsettling feeling that she was thinking with her glands, not with her head. God knew that's what she felt like now, one enormous pulsating gland.

  That was a new experience, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to explore it further.

  Before she could decide she stepped into the kitchen and all hell broke loose.

  "Miss Laura. My God!" Ann leapt at her. While Laura goggled in shock, she was embraced fiercely, yanked back, patted down, and shoved into a chair at the kitchen table. "What did he do to you? That monster, that spawn of the devil. Where are you hurt, my baby?" Eyes wild, Ann smoothed Laura's tousled hair, patted her pale cheeks. "I knew there'd be trouble with the likes of him around, but never did I imagine… I'll kill him, kill him with my bare hands. See if I don't."

  "What? Who?"

  "She's in shock, Mrs. Williamson. The poor lamb. Fetch the brandy."

  "Now, Mrs. Sullivan, calm yourself."

  "Calm myself? Calm myself? Would you look at what he's done to our Miss Laura?"

  After wiping her hands on her apron, the cook bustled over from the stove. "What happened, darling?"

  "I was just—"

  "I'll tell you what happened," Ann interrupted, the light of vengeance sword-bright in her eyes. "That man happened, that's what. Anyone can see she tried to fight him off. Oh, he'll pay, he will. When I get through with Michael Fury there won't be anything left to scrape off the bottom of a shoe."

  "Michael?" Maybe it was fatigue, Laura thought hazily. Hadn't she just left Michael? "What did he do?"

  Her lips in a thin, grim line, Ann sat, took Laura's hands in hers. "Now don't be ashamed, and don't worry. None of it was your fault."

  "All right," Laura said slowly. "What wasn't my fault?"

  "Sweetheart." Obviously the poor girl was trying to block out the horror of it, Ann thought. "Let's get your clothes off and see how bad things are. I'm praying that's his blood on your clothes."

  "Blood?" Laura glanced down, looked at the mess of her cotton shirt and slacks. "Oh, Lord." And it began to come clear. "Oh, Lord," she said again and let out a long, wild laugh.

  "The brandy, Mrs. Williamson. Fetch the brandy."

  "No, no, no." Fighting for control, Laura grabbed Ann before the housekeeper could spring up to exact revenge. "It's not my blood, Annie, or Michael's either. The foal." She hiccupped, managed to get a grip on herself. "I helped Michael birth a foal last night."

  "Well, then." Satisfied, Mrs. Williamson went back to her cooking.

 
"A foal?" Suspicion still gleamed in Ann's eyes. "You were down at the stables birthing a foal?"

  "Yes, a filly. A beauty." She sighed and was tempted to lay her head on the table and drift off. Every drop of adrenaline had drained, leaving only floaty exhaustion. "It's a messy job, Annie. I suppose Michael and I both look like we've been in some sort of bar fight."

  "Oh." Shaken, and mortified, Ann rose. "I'll get you some coffee, then."

  "I've had about all the coffee my system can take for the next couple of years." She sobered then, took Ann's hands again. "Annie, I'm surprised at you. Michael wouldn't hurt me."

  "I've told her the boy's got gold in him," Mrs. Williamson put in. "But will she listen?"

  "I know a rogue when I see one."

  "This rogue," Laura said quietly, "spent the night worrying over a horse. He's taking his own time to teach my children to ride. He's kind to them, and attentive. And from what I've seen of the stables and his stock, he works harder than two men."

  Ann remembered the way little Kayla had run to him, and his easy response. But she set her jaw. She knew what she knew. "A leopard doesn't change his spots, I say."

  "Maybe not. But a man can remake himself. If he's given the chance. However you feel about him, he is, for the moment, part of Templeton House." Dragging herself to her feet, Laura rubbed her hands over her gritty eyes. "Now I need a shower and a little—" When she dropped her hands her gaze fell on the clock over the stove. "Oh, my God, seven-thirty? How can it be seven-thirty? I've got a nine o'clock meeting. The girls, are they up?"

  "Don't you worry about the girls," Ann told her. "I'll see that they're dressed and taken to school this morning. You just cancel that meeting, Miss Laura, and go to bed."

  "Can't. It's important. I'll make sure they're getting dressed and grab a quick shower. I can drop them at school on my way to work. See that they have their breakfast, please, Annie."

  "And yours, Missy?"

  But Laura was already at a dash. "Just coffee, thanks. I don't have time."

  "Taken on too much," Mrs. Williamson clucked as she whipped up batter for waffles. "Keeps this up, she's going to drop flat on her face before much longer. You mark my words."

  And she wouldn't mind it if a certain young rogue caught her when she did. She wouldn't mind it one little bit.

  "Shouldn't have been up all night worrying over someone else's business."

  "Mrs. Sullivan, you're a fine woman, but you're as stubborn as six mules when it conies to certain matters. And while you mark my words, I'll wager a month's pay you'll be eating your own soon enough."

  "We'll see about that, won't we?" Miffed, Ann poured coffee for Laura and prepared to take it upstairs. "That boy is trouble."

  "If he is," Mrs. Williamson said placidly, "it's the kind of trouble a smart girl dreams of having. Wish I'd had more of that sort of trouble in my life."

  As Ann sailed out, streaming dignity behind her, Mrs. Williamson hummed a bright tune.

  It wasn't that she didn't believe there'd been a foal born in the night. It was simply that Ann Sullivan preferred to see with her own eyes. She marched to the stables, grudgingly carrying the basket of muffins Mrs. Williamson had pressed on her. If she had her way, Michael Fury wouldn't be eating from the Templeton House kitchen for long.

  She looked up at the apartment first, frowning a bit as she noticed the fresh paint on the trim. Just trying to ingratiate himself, that was all, she thought. Making himself handy and agreeable until he could wreak havoc. Well, he could pull the wool over everyone's eyes but hers.

  She strode into the stables, something she had avoided doing since Michael's arrival. Surprise came first. The place was tidy as a drawing room and smelled not at all unpleasant, of hay and horses. She jolted when Max poked his head out and bumped her shoulder in greeting.

  "Lord save us, you're big as a house." But his mild eyes made her smile, and checking over her shoulder first to make certain she was unobserved, she stroked his silky nose. "What a pretty boy you are. Are you the one who does all the tricks the girls are forever talking about?"

  "He's one of them." When Michael stepped out of the foaling stall down the block, Ann dropped her hand and cursed herself for not looking around more carefully. "Want to try him out?"

  "Thank you, no." Stiff as a lance, she moved forward. "Mrs. Williamson sent you some muffins."

  "Yeah?" He took the basket, chose one. Steam poured out when he bit in. He could have whimpered in gratitude. "The woman is a goddess," he said with his mouth full. "I don't think you're playing Red Riding Hood, delivering goodies to the wolf, Mrs. Sullivan."

  "A lot you know about fairy tales. She was waylaid by the wolf, an innocent girl on her way to her grandmother's."

  "I stand corrected." Because she put his back up every bit as much as he put up hers, he went back into the stall to finish medicating the lactating mare and her foal.

  "That's a fine-looking horse."

  "She is. They are. Had a long night, didn't you, Darling?"

  The stall didn't look like the site of a long, messy birth. The straw was clean as a whistle, and both mother and child were well groomed. Since it had been only an hour since Laura had stumbled into the kitchen, it seemed the boy hadn't been wasting his time.

  "You've had one as well, Mr. Fury, from what I'm told. I'm surprised you're not snoring in your bed."

  "I hope to be as soon as I finish up here. The horses need to be fed and watered first." Because he knew it would annoy her, he grinned over his shoulder. "Want to give me a hand?"

  "I have my own duties to see to. You'll keep your own house." And he was apparently keeping it well, she admitted. Tidy habits earned Ann's respect. But… "Apparently you had no problem imposing on Miss Laura and keeping her up through the night."

  Satisfied that mother and child were settled, he moved out, skirted around Ann's rigid form and began to deal with the feed. "No, I didn't."

  "The girl needs her sleep."

  "Well, she's getting it now."

  "She's on her way to Monterey."

  The scoop paused, grain dribbled as he turned back to her. "That's ridiculous. She was up all night."

  "She had an appointment this morning."

  "She was exhausted."

  "I know it." She was surprised that he did and that he seemed so annoyed.

  "Stupid." He thrust the scoop back into the grain bin. "She could get her hair or her nails done later."

  "Get her hair done, her nails?" Disgusted, Ann slapped her hands on her hips. "If that's what you think Miss Laura is about, you're stupid. And I've never thought otherwise. She's gone to work, you baboon, at the hotel. And this afternoon she's going to work at the shop. Then, if she's able to stand after you kept her up all night with your horse, she'll tend her children, then she'll—"

  "She owns the damn hotel," he shot back. "And the damn shop. And I imagine both could stand if she took a lousy day off."

  "She takes her obligations seriously. And she's got children to raise, doesn't she? Tuition to pay for, clothes and food to buy, bills to pay."

  "Templetons don't work for paychecks."

  "Laura Templeton does. Do you think she'd live off her family? Do you think that even after that heartless bastard took all her money she'd go crying to her parents?"

  "What are you talking about, took all her money?"

  "As if you didn't know." Now she sneered. "As if all of Big Sur and Monterey and down to Carmel don't know that that man all but emptied all their bank accounts, and the stocks and bonds and properties before the divorce."

  "Ridgeway." His eyes flashed, dark, sharp, swords tilted for battle. "Why isn't he dead?"

  Ann sucked in a breath. On this, at least, she could agree even with a rogue. But she had said more than she'd intended. "It isn't my place to gossip with a stablehand."

  "I'm not a stablehand, and you've never let your place stop you when it comes to me. Why did they let Ridgeway get away with it? Josh could have stopped it,
the Templetons could have crucified him."

  "It's Miss Laura's business, and her choice." Ann folded her hands and closed her lips.

  "It doesn't add up." He took the grain to Max, who was waiting patiently. "She's got to have family money to wade in. She's got that house, and servants. Nobody lives like that and worries about pennies."

  Ann made a derisive sound. "Miss Laura's financial business is none of yours, Michael Fury. But if you've been thinking to soften her into letting loose of some of her money in your direction, you'll have to look elsewhere."

  She recognized black fury in a man when she saw it, and also the rigid control that prevented it from spewing out. She'd expected the first, but never the second.

  "So warned," he said and went back to feeding his horses.

  She started to speak again. Had that been hurt beneath the boiling temper? No, she refused to believe it of a man like him. Still, she bit her lip, wondering how her words would taste if she was wrong and did indeed have to eat them.

  "I'll leave you to your business."

  When she left, he continued to measure grain, precisely. Then the scoop flew out of his hands, smashed against the stable wall with enough force to snap its handle off. In the stalls several of the horses stirred nervously. Max stopped eating long enough to look out and study his master.

  "Fuck me," Michael murmured and rubbed his hands over his face. "I've got enough to do. Goddamn woman should be in bed." He picked up the scoop, threw it again. Then went to find a new one.

  Chapter Ten

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  By two in the afternoon, Laura had entered a new phase of exhaustion. It was almost pleasant, the way she seemed to float just an inch or so off the ground and the way the air around her seemed rather soft and fluid.

  She'd handled her meeting with the conference chair for the writers' convention, had briefed her staff one last time for the influx of guests that would be arriving over the following two days, and had checked and rechecked the details with the banquet manager, maintenance and shipping, catering, room service, and housekeeping.