Extra Innings and In His Wildest Dreams

by Debbi Rawlins

She shoved her glasses back on. “Thank you. About the dream, did you have any particular— What now?”

  “Do you consider them green or hazel?”

  “Impatient. I thought you wanted to hurry up and get out of here.”

  He grinned, and Emma wondered how many women he’d seduced with that smile. His lips were full, not too full so as to appear feminine, but enough to draw curiosity, and his teeth were perfectly straight and enviably white. He could sell a million tubes of toothpaste with one flash of that smile.

  “You should wear contacts or smaller glasses. Those hide your eyes.”

  She let out a sound of exasperation. “Is fashion consulting another one of your hobbies?”

  “One of my hobbies?” His confused expression quickly turned to understanding. “Ah, Brenda has been disparaging me and my sidelines.”

  “No, she hasn’t. She said you had a lot of hobbies, that’s all.”

  Pursing his lips, he nodded without conviction.

  “She did,” Emma argued. “It came up when I asked if you had time for the study, which could take another month if we don’t get back to it.”

  He glanced at his watch. “Are we done with this dream? Shall we start the one about the dog?”

  Was she ever tempted to wrap this one up. If she said she wasn’t embarrassed she’d be a liar. This morning she’d even applied two layers of self-tanning lotion just so her face wouldn’t be so obviously pink when it heated up. That’s probably why he thought her eyes looked green.

  She took a deep, fortifying breath. “I still have a few questions.”

  “Shoot.”

  She smiled. Tempting idea. “How did you feel once you were with the woman in bed?” He opened his mouth to respond and she quickly added, “I don’t mean sexually.”

  Amusement lit his eyes. “I know what you meant, Doc. Let’s see…the panic had disappeared and I guess I felt at ease. No, it was more than that…kind of… I can’t explain it.”

  “Try. It’s important.”

  The wariness was back in his face. “This is where you analyze me, right? Suggest that the woman is really my mother.”

  Emma laughed. “I doubt she’s your mother.”

  He slumped in his seat again. “That’s reassuring.” He shot her a suspicious look. “How much did Brenda tell you about our family?”

  “Nothing much.” She shrugged. “Regarding you, hardly anything at all. Of course she’s mentioned you in the past, but as soon as we thought you might become a subject, I purposely avoided information about you so as not to color my perspective.”

  “So, in your professional opinion, who do you think the mystery woman is?”

  “I need to ask you more questions before I can reach a conclusion.”

  “Chicken.”

  She grunted. “Frankly, I’m surprised you want to know.”

  “Yeah, me, too.” He shrugged. “Just curious how you egghead types think.”

  “Ah, so charmingly put.” She gave him a patronizing smile. “You want an off-the-cuff opinion?”

  “Sure.”

  “All right.” She glanced down at her notes, purely for effect. She knew exactly how to take that smug look off his face. “I think this woman represents your desire to change your life. Maybe you’re reaching a point where you want to begin nesting, start a family—”

  “Shit! I knew Brenda said something.”

  “She did not. Brenda and I never discussed you or your family. I have no reason to lie.”

  He stared at her with distrust. “Why else would you come up with that load of crap?”

  “Oh, please…this is remedial psychology. If you took only an introductory course in college you would have heard this theory.”

  That gave him pause. “Run it by me again.”

  “You were probably looking at the woman as a mother figure all right, but not for yourself but as a candidate to bear your children.”

  He stood. “This is a waste of time. You’ve got it so wrong.”

  “Maybe, but you asked.”

  He paced to the window and stared outside. “This is the part I hate, when you start poking and prodding inside my head. Does it ever occur to you guys that sometimes things are just as they appear?”

  “Often, actually.”

  “Maybe I was just horny last night. Ever think of that?”

  “No, I can’t say I gave it much thought.”

  He turned slowly and glared at her. “You think this is funny.”

  “Not in the least.” She was, however, fascinated at how disconcerted he’d become. As if she’d hit a nerve. The last thing she needed was to spook him. “Look, you asked me to throw something out without studying the data and I grabbed the textbook explanation. It’s not a big deal.”

  “Yeah, okay, guess I’m just touchy about the subject.” He exhaled loudly and rubbed the back of his neck. “My mother’s been on my back lately about— Never mind.”

  “I understand.”

  “Yours, too?”

  At first she didn’t get it. “Ah, no, I’ve been spared the ‘it’s time you settled down’ speech.”

  “Wait. It’ll come.”

  “My mother’s much too self-absorbed to want grandchildren.” Oh, God, she tried not to cringe. The words had fallen right out of her mouth.

  His eyes narrowed slightly. “Not a bad thing, I guess.”

  She wasn’t sure how to respond to that assessment so she merely shrugged. “Maybe not.”

  “Trust me on this. Most of my life I had all this freedom to make my own choices, and then all of a sudden I don’t know what’s good for me.”

  Emma smiled. He was trying to make her feel better. She saw the trace of sympathy in his eyes, not pity, thank God, but that kind of understanding that says “don’t give your slip of the tongue a second thought.” Her opinion of him climbed a notch.

  “It’s a mother thing, Nick. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

  “I’m not worried. I just ignore her.”

  “Well, that’s nice.”

  At her teasing sarcasm, one side of his mouth lifted. “Just until she gets past this phase and starts picking on Brenda.”

  Emma grinned, liking this side of him. She was also starting to get a better picture. Interestingly, as successful as Nick was in business and life in general, he seemed to have trouble with personal relationships. Shying away from his mother instead of confronting her, not wanting to give gifts face-to-face, girlfriend-hopping, all indicated a reluctance to get in too deep.

  She thought back to her conversation with Brenda about how Nick had hung around with an older crowd. Maybe growing up too fast had forced him to skip some emotional development.

  “How do you handle your mother?” he asked.

  It took her a second to switch out of psychologist mode. “I moved.”

  He laughed. “And you have the nerve to badger me?”

  “I wasn’t badgering. Can we get back to the dreaming?”

  His entire expression changed, his eyes suddenly full of misgiving, as if he wanted to be anyplace but here. That quickly, their easy rapport was gone.

  “Please don’t bail out on me.” Oh, God. She sounded pathetic and pleading, and woefully unprofessional.

  She swallowed, and waited for his guarded expression to give something away.

  “I didn’t say I was backing out on you, Doc.” His eyes remained noncommittal but his voice had lowered to a soothing timbre. “I said I’d do this study, and I’ll honor that.” Hope flashed in his face. “Unless you’ve decided I’m not an appropriate subject. If you have someone else in mind, or maybe you’d rather—” He stopped when she began shaking her head. “It was just a thought.”

  Was she fooling herself that Nick’s phase of her study would be accurate? Was she that desperate? He obviously didn’t want to participate. On the other hand, he was being brutally honest about his dreams, which was what counted.

  “I tell you what,” she said after a moment’s thought
. “What if we don’t discuss any more of my theories or conclusions?”

  “You mean I just spill my dreams and then I’m outta here?”

  “Of course I’ll have to ask you some questions, just as I’ve been doing.”

  “No sweat. That part’s easy enough.”

  Emma breathed deeply. “We’ll wait until the end of the study before I dig any deeper.”

  He leaned forward, his eyes glittering in warning. “You and Brenda both assured me this had nothing to do with psychoanalysis.”

  “Right. I’m only interested in interpreting your dreams.”

  “You’re splitting hairs, Doc.”

  “You don’t believe in all this nonsense anyway. Why should you care about what opinions or conclusions I form?”

  He met her challenge with a faint smile. “Touché.”

  She sighed. This was all her fault. She’d been so flustered during their first meeting that she hadn’t set the groundwork properly. “This won’t be difficult. I promise. I’ll ask you a few questions about what’s going on in your life so that I can try and relate your dreams. What you tell me will be up to you.”

  She couldn’t believe she was willing to stoop so low in order to complete her thesis. She’d practically told him it was all right to hold back information, which, of course, would compromise her study. What was even lower was that she’d be willing to use Brenda to fill in the blanks.

  “Don’t look so upset, Doc. Nothing’s changed. Let’s get started on the next dream. I think it’ll make you feel a little better.”

  Why had she ever thought he had a nice smile? She gritted her teeth, started the recorder and picked up her pencil. “Whenever you’re ready.”

  Nick shifted until he was relatively comfortable in the uncomfortable chair, and then folded his hands. “There were these twins, blonde, tall. I think they were from Sweden.”

  At her look of disgusted disbelief he couldn’t keep a straight face any longer. “Don’t have a stroke, Doc. I’m kidding.”

  She rolled her eyes, and then gave him a “grow up” look.

  She couldn’t have done a better Brenda imitation if she’d tried. He swore the two must have practiced together.

  “You want to hurry and wrap this session up, or you want to waste time joking around?” She stared at him over her glasses, looking very much like a schoolteacher, looking very unlike his brand of woman.

  Still, he knew he should lay off teasing her. Generally she was able to hide her feelings and slip behind that stoic, professional mask, but not before he got a glimpse of the embarrassment and frustration that tinted her cheeks a pretty pink.

  His intention wasn’t to cause her discomfort. He guessed he’d been looking for a way to distract her, steer her away from digging into him. It didn’t take a master’s in psychology to figure out that one. What he couldn’t figure out was why he’d gotten so edgy about the whole analysis thing. She was absolutely right. He did consider this all nonsense so why give a damn about any pseudo discovery about his subconscious?

  “Okay, I’ll be straight. No twins. In fact, there’s not a woman in this dream.” At her raised brows, he added, “And I have never, nor will I ever, bat for the other team.”

  Her wrinkled nose gave her a cute, confused look.

  “I am one-hundred-and-ten-percent heterosexual.”

  “Ah.” The ghost of a smile that played about her mouth gave her away. She knew damn well what he’d meant. “Start from the beginning, and tell me everything about setting, sensations…”

  “I know the drill, Doc, but I’ll warn you, this was a short one.”

  “That’s fine.” She pushed up her glasses and he decided he was starting to like the way she did that. “They don’t all have to be marathons.”

  “Okay, I just didn’t want you to think I was holding out on you.”

  “Why would I ever have such a ridiculous thought?” Wide-eyed, the picture of innocence, she didn’t crack a hint of a smile.

  He didn’t bother to hide his grin. “In this one I was with my dog at a park, although I didn’t recognize it.”

  She held up a silencing finger. Her nails were unpolished but they were neatly filed with a slight sheen to them. Sensible, just like the woman herself. “This dog, is it yours? I mean do you really have a dog?”

  “Yup. Jackson Brown. He’s a mutt, part golden retriever and part Lab. He was the one in the dream, and not metaphorically, either. It was Jackson, all right.”

  She smiled, it seemed with approval, and an irrational wave of pleasure washed over him.

  “We were playing Frisbee, which we often do, but this time Jackson wouldn’t bring back the damn thing. I’d throw it, and he’d catch it, and then run in the opposite direction. I’d yell at him that he wasn’t playing the game right, and then I’d have to run after him.”

  He paused, trying to remember how he got the Frisbee back. “I don’t know how I caught up with him or what happened, but I’d suddenly have the Frisbee, and I’d throw it and he’d catch it, and we’d go through the whole thing again.”

  “You sound frustrated even now. How did you feel at the time?”

  He laughed. “Frustrated. I was pissed, too, and I felt a little scared, which didn’t make sense. There was no threat.” He watched her scribble a note. “But I’m sure you’ll make something of that, Doc.”

  She ignored the taunt. “Were there any other people around?”

  “Nope. Just Jackson and me.”

  “What else?”

  He shrugged. “That was basically it.”

  “When Jackson ran with the Frisbee, where did he go?”

  “In the opposite direction.”

  She briefly closed her eyes and massaged her right temple, looking tired suddenly. “Okay, but did he run into a thicket of trees or out in the open?”

  “Behind some trees. I couldn’t even see him. I just ran into the trees, and then I suddenly had the Frisbee again.”

  She scribbled something, and when the phone rang, she muttered, “Excuse me,” and absently reached for it as she finished her notes.

  “Emma Snow.”

  As she listened to the caller, he watched her expression change from indifference to concern in two seconds flat.

  “When?” she asked the caller, the anxiety growing in her eyes. She glanced at her watch. “I can be there in twenty minutes.”

  She hung up the phone and met his gaze, an apology already forming in her eyes. “I’m really sorry but I need to cut our session short.”

  “No problem.” He hesitated, hoping she’d elaborate, amazed he cared about what troubled her. He should be damn glad he was getting off the hook early today, period.

  She stood, and started unbuttoning her blouse.

  Stunned, it took him a second to process what he could see with his own eyes. She looked so blasé, he wondered if she knew what she was doing.

  “For the most part, we’ve covered everything we need to,” she said, continuing to unbutton as she moved around the desk. “Leave your notes. That’ll be helpful.”

  He’d tried to avert his gaze, but finally he had to look…

  She had on a white T-shirt beneath the baggy cotton shirt.

  Relief and disappointment kept him in his chair. Her round perfect breasts jutting out as she shrugged out of the top shirt kept his gaze glued to her.

  “Can we meet at about two-thirty tomorrow?” she asked, otherwise paying him no attention as she dug in a lower desk drawer and pulled out her purse.

  “Uh, sure,” he finally answered when she looked curiously at him. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

  She eyed him in measuring silence. “No, but thanks.”

  He shouldn’t have felt slighted, but he did. The way she’d looked at him had done it, as if she’d thought about accepting his offer but decided he wasn’t up to the task.

  “The thing is, Doc, if you’re going to ditch me, I think I deserve an explanation why.”

 
Impatience flashed in her eyes. “I volunteer at an animal shelter. One of the dogs we recently took in has gotten out. He’s not particularly friendly…” Her expression told him that was an understatement. “And I seem to be the only one he responds to. I don’t want him or anyone else getting hurt.”

  “I see.” Nick got up. “Guess you don’t need me, then.”

  She shook her head and smiled. “But thanks for asking.”

  Just as well she’d turned him down. He didn’t want to keep Tiffany waiting.

  6

  NICK AWOKE IN A COLD SWEAT. He’d been having a dream—no, a nightmare, but he couldn’t quite recall what it was about. Maybe it was best left buried in his subconscious, he thought, as he stared up at the ceiling. He’d never had this reaction before and he sure as hell didn’t want Emma analyzing the hell out of it.

  Emma.

  Dammit. She’d been in the dream. But he wouldn’t go there. What he couldn’t remember wouldn’t hurt him.

  Even with the blinds shut he could tell the sun hadn’t risen yet. He rolled over to see the digital alarm clock. Five thirty-seven. With a groan, he rolled back over and buried his face in the pillow. No one should be awake at this ungodly hour.

  Ten minutes later, he sat up. It wasn’t going to happen. Nick Ryder, who could usually fall asleep in a hot second, was as wide-awake as a rooster. He peered through the semidarkness at Jackson lying beside him. The mutt’s eyes were shut tight and not even a muscle twitched.

  Nick grunted as he swung his legs to the floor. Any other morning Jackson would be whining in Nick’s face to be let outside. Nick slid him another look. Payback was tempting. He sighed, deciding to let the poor slob sleep.

  Purposely trying to not think about the dream, or Emma, he showered and brushed his teeth. He skipped shaving. That would be overdoing it this early in the morning. When he got to the kitchen, he cursed, remembering that his coffee timer wasn’t set to start brewing for another two hours. He manually started a pot, and then went in search of the newspaper, assuming that someone was foolish enough to get up this early to deliver it.

  He found the paper in its usual spot in the middle of the driveway, and then headed for the spare garage where he kept the Chevy. The air was chilly and he wished he’d worn a jacket over his T-shirt, but then again he didn’t plan on staying out long.