Where Dreams Begin

by Phoebe Conn

  He raised his hand. “Scout’s honor.”

  “What about scouting?” she asked. “How many eagle scouts come through here?”

  Luke opened his door. “Go.”

  “I’ll be back.”

  He laughed. “I’m counting on it.”

  She closed the door on her way out and smiled as Pam winked at her. “How can you stand working here?” she asked.

  “I came with Luke, and I’ll leave when he does. You ought to hang in there too, girl. He’s worth the trouble, and I know he thinks the world of you. He’s even come into work smiling a time or two lately, and that didn’t happen before you arrived.”

  Catherine had not viewed Luke and Lost Angel as inseparable entities, and it startled her to think that maybe she should. She planned to volunteer only through the summer, and yet she’d made demands Luke couldn’t easily fulfill. Embarrassed now, she left for home burdened by the weight of a guilty conscience.

  That evening, Luke stopped by Catherine’s house on his way home. “You didn’t list your email address on your application,” he told her.

  He actually appeared perplexed by the oversight, but she doubted he truly was. “You have an amazing array of excuses for making house calls, Dr. Starns, but come on in. Would you like something to drink?”

  He followed her into the kitchen. “No, thanks. I’m serious, Catherine, I really should have your email address.”

  She’d just finished her dinner dishes, and she folded the dish towel over the rack before she replied. “It was Sam’s, and I still think of it as his. I seldom access it and then only to dump the spam.”

  “I might want to send you a message,” he coaxed.

  Because that was no motivation, she couldn’t help but laugh. She moved close to loop her arms around his waist. “The answer’s no, then, because I like having you deliver your messages in person.”

  After a small shrug of defeat, he drew her closer still for a soft, yet increasingly luscious, kiss. He slid his fingers through her hair, then ran his hands down her back as though he wished to absorb her right through his skin. That first kiss slid into a dozen before they finally had to draw back to breathe.

  Then he managed only a sad, sweet smile. “Are you seeing anyone else?” he asked.

  Catherine couldn’t have been more astonished had he slapped her. “What?” she gasped. “Do you think I’d welcome you through the front door while another man snuck out the back?”

  “Just answer my question.”

  She shoved away from him. “No, Dr. Starns, I’m not, which should have been obvious from my kiss just now. What about you? Am I merely one of the stops on your route?”

  “No,” he swore. “I didn’t mean to upset you, but it’s never wise to rely on assumptions, and I just wanted to get things straight between us.”

  “Did you? Do you ever stop to analyze your own motives as thoroughly as you study everyone else’s?”

  “You’ve lost me.” He propped his hands on his hips, clearly annoyed with her.

  “What a shame. I was trying to find the real man beneath the layers of professional expertise.” She grabbed one of the glasses she’d just washed and filled it with water from the tap. After taking a long drink, she replaced the glass on the counter and turned back toward him.

  “You might have said you cared about me and hoped I wouldn’t want to see other men. You might have suggested we agree to date exclusively, you might have asked…”

  He took a step toward her. “All right, I get it, but when it comes to dating etiquette, I’m dreadfully out of practice.”

  He looked sincerely pained, and she regretted having been so curt with him. “It isn’t practice that’s needed, Luke, it’s simply heart.”

  “Then we have a problem,” he replied, “because I don’t have one anymore. I’m just as hollow as the Tin Man.”

  She watched him walk out and made no move to stop him. It wasn’t until she began to prepare for bed that she realized something must have prompted Luke to ask if she were seeing other men. His ill-timed question had actually revealed a great deal. His heart might be badly bruised, but clearly, he still had one.

  Chapter Eleven

  After being away all day, Luke returned to Lost Angel with only a few minutes to spare before his afternoon counseling session. When he dropped off his briefcase in his office, he found Sam Brooks’ business card on his desk. He carried it out to Pam.

  “Was Catherine Brooks here all day?” he asked.

  Pam glanced up at the clock. “Yes. She left about half an hour ago. She’s real excited about the mural.”

  Luke nodded thoughtfully, then handed Pam the card. “Please make a note of her email address for our files.”

  Pam read the name on the embossed card. “Is it current?”

  “Apparently so, even if Sam Brooks isn’t.”

  Pam studied Luke’s pensive frown and chose the safest conclusion. “The meeting didn’t go well?”

  “They never do, and it’s my fault because I hate to beg for money. Unfortunately, I’ve no other choice when we need the donations and grant dollars so badly.”

  “True, but it must have been a tough day. You look as though you could use a nice evening. Maybe you know someone who’d care to join you for dinner?”

  Luke’s preoccupied frown deepened to a threatening scowl. “My personal life is off-limits. Back off.”

  Undeterred, Pamela tidied up her desk as she offered another unsolicited opinion. “You didn’t think Catherine would be here today, did you?”

  “Frankly, no, I didn’t.”

  “Well, she was here, and she seemed real disappointed when you weren’t.”

  “That’s wild speculation on your part. If you don’t have anything more important to do than obsess over my social life, go on home.”

  Pam picked up Sam’s card. “I’ll just enter this email for you, and then I’ll be on my way, but it doesn’t take a degree in psychology to know a woman who’d pass out her late husband’s business card needs to be shown some tender concern.”

  “Are you saying I’m too great an oaf to recognize such an obvious fact? Do you think I drag women off by their hair?”

  “No, of course not,” Pam responded with an amused giggle. “Although it would be something to see. I’m just urging you to be careful. Catherine’s a treasure, and the timing might be wrong for both of you, but don’t let her slip away.”

  “That’s it. You’re fired. Clean out your desk.”

  “Yes, boss,” she replied agreeably, but they both knew she would be there tomorrow morning. She made a mental note to bring him some coffee and a danish in hopes it would keep him from being grumpy two days in a row.

  Catherine found an invitation to have dinner at Joyce’s house on her answering machine, and she was delighted to accept. Joyce had furnished her stark modern home with an abundance of leather and chrome. Catherine admired the simplicity of the striking decor, but she much preferred her own far more colorful and comfortably appealing furnishings.

  “Thanks for coming over.” Joyce fussed with the single blue-violet hydrangea bloom she’d chosen for a glass beaker as a centerpiece. “How’s the salmon?”

  “Delicious, but what’s the occasion?”

  “It’s nothing special. I’m just trying to keep my feet firmly planted on the ground, and cooking does it for me. I could also use some advice.”

  Catherine felt confident it would be related to Shane Shephard, and between bites of salad, she nodded to encourage her friend.

  “I had the best time with Shane Sunday night. He came to get me in a Porsche. It’s from the sixties, but I’ve forgotten just which year. He restored it himself. It’s a pumpkin color and so pretty it looks new. He took me to a nice steak house, but I can’t even tell you where it was or what I ate. Isn’t that awful?”

  “No, it simply sounds as though Shane is an extremely charming man.”

  “Yes, he is, and he told such amusing stories that
my sides ached by the time he brought me home. I had absolutely no idea that growing up in Oxnard would provide such a wealth of ridiculous situations, but he appears to see everything in a humorous light.

  “I invited him to come in, but he said he had to get up early Monday morning for a big job. He kissed me again, and my God, does he know how to kiss, but I sure didn’t want him to leave.”

  Joyce paused for a quick sip of Chablis. “Then he told me if I really intended to incorporate plants in my interior design work, I ought to come up to Oxnard and tour his nursery.”

  “Why not? Did he give you a specific time?”

  “No, and that’s what worries me. I’m trying to believe that he’ll call, but get this, he said he wants me to meet his mother.”

  “Don’t you regard that as a good sign?”

  “I suppose it could be construed as such, but I’m sure she won’t like me. The problem is, if I refuse to visit the nursery, then Shane will think I don’t like him. What am I going to do? I’m dead if I go, and dead if I don’t. Then I keep wondering why he didn’t come in Sunday night. Do you suppose he waits for his mother’s approval before he sleeps with a woman?”

  “That’s a little bizarre, don’t you think? He probably did have a job scheduled for early Monday morning and thought you deserved more than a quickie. As for his mother, he might want to show you off.”

  “Oh yeah.” Joyce rolled her eyes. “She’ll surely notice I’m on the wrong side of thirty and convince Shane he can do a whole lot better.”

  “Do you really believe that?” Catherine inquired softly.

  Joyce raised her napkin to brush away the threat of tears. “Shane looks like a model. He owns his own successful business. He can tear apart a car and put it back together again. How many men do you know who can build anything, even a birdhouse, anymore? He doesn’t need an older woman.”

  “Please, you’re not his grandmother’s age. Besides, I don’t really believe we can choose whom to love. But rather than rush things, try and take them one step at a time. When Shane calls, make plans to visit the nursery. Take a notebook and write down the names of the plants as though you had a place to put them next week. Then find one, of course.

  “As for Shane’s mother, she may be delighted you have a career which dovetails so neatly with her son’s. You also have a natural style I doubt they see much in Oxnard, and she might be impressed with your artistic flare. At least give her the benefit of the doubt. If she’s nasty, then you wouldn’t want her for a mother-in-law anyway.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. I could tolerate some pretty awful in-laws to have Shane,” Joyce mused wistfully.

  “Relax and get to know him, Joyce. Give it at least a year before you start making wedding plans.”

  Joyce appeared crushed by that prospect. “If I wait a year, I’ll be thirty-eight before we could marry. That means I probably wouldn’t have a baby before I was thirty-nine. I’d be forty or forty-one before I could have a second child.”

  Joyce slumped back in her chair. “The years are just flying by, and what do I have to show for them? Nothing at all.”

  “All that self-pity is beginning to annoy me,” Catherine warned. “You have a beautiful home. You’re a wonderful cook, a great friend, and a damn good interior designer. Now stop worrying about Shane, hurry up and eat something, and then I’ll help you with the dishes.”

  Joyce sighed sadly. “You’re right, of course. That’s why I invited you over. Whatever happens will happen whether or not I cry myself to sleep, won’t it?”

  “It sure will,” Catherine confirmed.

  Joyce paused with her fork poised over her salmon. “So how are things with you and Luke?”

  Catherine scarcely knew where to begin. “We butt heads so often that I’m reminded of the bumper cars they used to have at amusement parks.”

  “I remember those,” Joyce cried. “In fact, I once dated a man who had one he’d bought from the Newport Beach Fun Zone. It made a nifty little couch in his bedroom.”

  “I’ll just bet it did.”

  “At least he didn’t live with his mother.”

  “And Shane does?”

  “I don’t know, but it wouldn’t surprise me.”

  “Will you please stop looking for trouble?” With a concerted effort, Catherine kept their conversation light for the remainder of the meal. Then as she left Joyce’s, she saw Luke’s car parked in front of her house and hoped she could take her own advice. But it was a challenge to remain calmly optimistic rather than desperately eager for love.

  Luke had been sitting on the porch steps and leapt to his feet as Catherine came up the walk. He brushed off the seat of his pants and raked a hand through his hair before greeting her. “I swear I’m not stalking you.”

  “That’s a relief. How long did you plan to wait?”

  He shrugged. “As long as it took.”

  She slipped by him to unlock her door. “Come on in. What’s happened, has another lowlife been murdered?”

  “I don’t know, maybe. We can always hope.”

  Catherine left her keys on the table beside the door and held up a plastic storage bag filled with cookies. “I had dinner with my Neighborhood Watch buddy, and she makes great cookies. Would you like some?”

  “Do you have any milk? I haven’t had milk and cookies in years.”

  She wished all his requests were so easy to fill. “Sure, I have milk.”

  Luke sat at the breakfast table while she turned on the fire under the teakettle and poured his milk into a glass. She got out a plate for the cookies and brought them to the table with the milk and napkins.

  “Thanks,” Luke said. “I just came by to say that I was wrong, yet again. I do have a heart, but it’s shriveled to the size of a raisin.”

  She sank into a chair, slid her hand over his and gave his fingers an affectionate squeeze. “From what I’ve heard, milk and cookies are the recommended treatment for shriveled heart syndrome.”

  He laughed in spite of himself. “I’m trying to be serious, Catherine.”

  “So am I, but not too serious, and it’s far easier to relax here than at Lost Angel.”

  “Yes, it sure is.” He grabbed a cookie with his free hand and took a bite. “Say, these are good.”

  “Joyce swears she just uses the recipe on the bag of Nestle Toll House Morsels, but somehow her cookies are always especially good.”

  “That’s a gift, isn’t it?”

  “I suppose. She’s frantic a certain man’s mother won’t like her, and it just occurred to me that you haven’t mentioned your parents other than to say they insisted upon a wedding. Are they still living?”

  He swallowed a gulp of milk before replying. “I’ll say. They’re in their mid-sixties and still have more energy than most people half their age. My father’s a geologist, and he and my mother travel a good part of the year. Their home is in Tucson now, where he does some work for the University. Arizona is a great place to study rock formations.”

  “If you’re into that kind of thing,” Catherine amended.

  “Right, and I wasn’t. Not that I didn’t love dinosaurs as much as any other boy, but people were always more interesting to me than fossils. So I became a psychologist and swiftly learned the more I studied, the less I knew. I’ll try to find time to look up some statistics on serial killers, though, so we’ll be ready for Garcia and Salzman the next time they show up at our door.”

  At the teakettle’s whistle, she got up to make her tea and brought it to the table. “If it weren’t for Lost Angel, we wouldn’t have met, but I’m afraid the tensions there will make everything doubly difficult for us.”

  He reached for another cookie. “That’s just modern life. It’s complicated everywhere.”

  “Please don’t be flippant.”

  “I wasn’t,” he denied. “It’s the truth.”

  “I’ve heard truth described as a matter of opinion.”

  “Well, in many cases it is,�
� he agreed with a deep chuckle. “You’re a dangerous woman, Catherine Brooks. You have an eye for the heart of any matter, and I’ll bet that makes most people damn uncomfortable.”

  “Yes, frequently with disastrous results, but life is too short for evasion and pretense.”

  His expression darkened, and he sat back to regard her with an accusing gaze. “I explained why I don’t want the kids to know we’re seeing each other.”

  She was surprised by his curt rebuke. “I wasn’t referring to you.”

  “I think you probably were, so I better get out while the getting is still good.”

  Before he could stand, Catherine reached out to coil her fingers around his arm, and his skin held an inviting warmth. “Wait. I wish you’d stay.”

  “Why, do you have some old National Geographics you need to sort?”

  She was glad she hadn’t just taken a sip of tea, because she would have blown it all over him. “What a goofy idea, but that’s what I like best about you.”

  He rose and pulled her from her chair. “You think goofy is appealing?”

  “Not in anyone else, but you can be so delightfully playful at times that I wonder if that isn’t the real you.”

  “You want to see the real me?”

  A daring gleam had entered his eye and when Catherine nodded, he grabbed hold of her waist and, with a seemingly effortless lift, set her atop the nearby counter. She was wearing a skirt, and between deep kisses, he peeled off her panties and ran his fingertips up her thighs to trace teasing circles along her cleft.

  She was amazed he could move with such astonishing speed from a wary skepticism to a heated hunger, but she welcomed his affection gladly. She was already wet and spread her legs wide to encourage him to delve deeper. She reached for his belt and quickly unfastened it and his zipper. She slid her hand over his erection, fondling, enticing, guiding him, until he drew back to yank on a condom. For one dreadful instant, she feared the counter was too high for what he intended, but then he moved back between her legs and, with an easy jab, slid right into her.

  With his next lunge, he stretched her depths, and she rocked forward to lock her legs around his hips and created a perfect fit. When he quickened his thrusts, she gasped way back in her throat in a low, keening purr. She ran her hands through his hair to gather him close and clung to his shoulders. Awash in desire, she rode him, bucked with him, and finally joined him in an explosion of pleasure that tumbled them both crazily to the floor.