Dreaming of You

by Francis Ray

  Faith stood there, her hand raised, her eyes wide, gaping. The expletive leaped from his mouth before he could stop it. He closed the door in her shocked face. She probably didn’t count it as lucky for them both that he had on Jockeys, but he did.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say . . . I didn’t expect . . .” He blew out a breath and continued to speak through the door. “I’ll meet you on the patio of the restaurant in fifteen minutes.”

  “Al-all right.”

  Muttering to himself, Brandon went to the bathroom. She’d sounded as if she had a vise around her throat. He had a tightness considerably lower than his throat. Stripping off his Jockeys, he stepped into a cold shower.

  Faith sat at the black iron mesh table on the outside patio and sipped her orange juice. Ice cubes clicked against the side of the glass and brushed her lips. Two glasses of iced water hadn’t help cool her down; the orange juice wasn’t any better. But at least Brandon wouldn’t see her chugging water and guess how he’d affected her. Lord, the man had a body on him. One she hadn’t seen that much of in years.

  He had roped muscles, hard thighs, and long, narrow feet. His hair had been unbound and flowing around his massive shoulders. He’d looked like a warrior. His eyes had been as dark as midnight and as piercing as a lance. He’d been annoyed for being woken up. It was obvious he hadn’t known she was at the door.

  She looked up and saw him. Her hand clenched on the glass. He was dressed now, more the pity, hiding that magnificent body that she’d go to her grave remembering and wanting. She made herself meet his stare and smile. His briefs had covered as much as swim trunks. If it had been any other man, she would have probably been a bit embarrassed, not hot and bothered and wishing he hadn’t closed the door so fast.

  At the table his long-fingered hand gripped the back of the chair before he sat down. A dull endearing flush climbed from his neck upward. “Sorry about that.”

  Faith waved his apology aside and set down her orange juice. “No harm done. I took the liberty of ordering, since I know you’re on a time schedule.”

  “Thanks.”

  A waiter in white shirt and black pants set up a folding rack, then began to place dishes on the table. “I didn’t know what you preferred, so I ordered a bit of everything.”

  Brandon counted seven dishes. There were scrambled eggs, burritos, apple-cured bacon, smoked ham, pan sausages, crisp shoestring potatoes, and a basket of rolls and Danishes. “We might need sideboards.”

  Her lips twitched; then she bowed her head and said grace. “What do you plan to do while Mr. Montgomery works?” she asked him afterward.

  “Change out the birthday gifts for the old appliances, then get a head start on the desserts.” His gaze met hers as he bit into a buttered croissant. “You always get up this early?”

  “I’m usually up by six.” She picked at her French toast.

  His fork stopped inches from his mouth. “You’re kidding.”

  “Not at all. I like to make sure the staff is off to a good start.” She took a bite of eggs. “Unless there is an event, I’m usually in bed by ten, so I get plenty of sleep.”

  Brandon sipped his coffee. “You’ve been up two nights because of me.”

  More than that. “Thankfully, I don’t need much sleep.” She reached for her orange juice.

  “Neither does Cameron.” Brandon reached for his second croissant and a second helping of eggs. “We’d stay up half the night talking when we were in high school, and the next morning he’d be ready to go and I’d just want to turn over.”

  The corners of her mouth tilted. “Is that why you don’t serve breakfast?”

  He polished off his croissant before speaking. “Why set yourself up for failure? I’d dread each day if I opened for breakfast. Now, I look forward to it.” He made a face and picked up his coffee cup. “Until now at least.”

  The waitress returned, cleared the table, then was gone.

  “Mr. Montgomery will repair the problem and your life will be as before,” Faith said softly, hoping there was a chance for her to be in it.

  “That’s not saying too much, if Mama has her way.” Brandon braced his arms on the table. “She even tried to use the problem to her advantage and get me to hire some fancy decorator to redo the bath and the apartment.”

  “If it’s anything like Duncan and Cameron’s place, that might not be a bad idea,” Faith told him.

  “I admit I might like a shower like I have here in my room, but I’m not willing to dodge being hit on to have one installed. My bathroom can stay the way it is,” he said stubbornly.

  Ruth certainly didn’t miss any opportunities, but Faith was learning to take advantage of them as well. “I helped with the decoration of Casa de Serenidad. I’d be happy to help you,” she said casually.

  He twisted uneasily in his seat and picked up his orange juice. “I’m not sure I’m ready yet.”

  “Of course. Just let me know.” She placed her hands in her lap. It was now or never. “Brandon, we’re friends, right?”

  “Sure,” he said slowly. A hint of unease crossed his face. Apparently, this wasn’t the first time he’d heard those words.

  She’d just have to see it through. What choice did she have? “I need to ask a favor,” she said mildly.

  “You can ask me anything,” he said magnanimously.

  She needed no further urging. “Teach me how to get a man.”

  Shock, outrage, and embarrassment replaced indulgence. His juice glass banged down on the table. Faith wished she had a camera. “What did you say?”

  “Teach me how to get a man.”

  “Are you out of your mind?” he shouted, drawing the attention of the diners around them. Noticing their interest, he leaned closer. “That’s the craziest request I’ve ever heard.”

  “It is crazy to want love?” she asked, unable to keep the longing out of her voice. She thought she saw compassion in his face; then it was gone.

  “You know it’s not, but what you’re asking is.” He tossed his cloth napkin on the table. “Cameron would kill me, and I wouldn’t blame him.”

  “This is none of Cameron’s concern. I’m old enough to make my own decisions.”

  “And mistakes,” Brandon riled. “What’s gotten into you? Not even Sierra has ever said anything so outrageous.”

  “Sierra doesn’t need help. I do.”

  He snorted. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

  “Then why don’t men find me attractive?” She whispered the question, her voice quaking.

  “Because some men are plain stupid,” he said with such heat it made her feel better.

  She sat back in her chair. “All right, Brandon.”

  A relieved breath tumbled over his lips. “Glad to hear you’re giving up this crazy scheme.” He came to his feet. “I may not see you for a couple of days. We close at eleven tonight, and tomorrow I’m cooking for the Women’s League.”

  “I’ll be busy as well. Have a good day.”

  “You, too.”

  He walked away and Faith took full advantage to view his fabulous butt at her leisure, something she had never done before. Brandon, you’re mine. You just don’t know it yet.

  6

  Brandon had been warned; he just hadn’t believed the dust from the Sheetrock would be this bad. He’d been proven wrong . . . in spades.

  The tiny gray particles were everywhere. He could have written his name on his counter, the pictures, the furniture—although he wasn’t sure that all the chalk was from the Sheetrock—except that in his kitchen. It was always spotless.

  “Once I finish tearing out the wall, you won’t have to worry about any more dust,” Mr. Montgomery explained, a white rubber mask over his mouth and nose. “I’m replacing the Sheetrock with mortarboard to absorb the moisture. You won’t have the dust problem if you have this done again.”

  Brandon barely kept from shuddering as he glanced at his poor counter. “Don’t even think that.”

&
nbsp; The plumber chuckled. “I’d keep the bathroom door closed, but the space is too small.”

  Mild irritation crossed Brandon’s face. “It suits me.”

  “After being at Casa de Serenidad for a few days you might change your mind.” The plumber shook his head and pulled his cap down over his forehead. “I was dead set against enlarging our bath until we went on vacation and the hotel had a bathroom where I couldn’t stand flat-footed and touch the walls. Two days after I got back I was in our bath tearing out the walls.”

  “That’s not about to happen here,” Brandon said. “I plan to be back in here in three days.”

  The older man adjusted the mask. “I’d better get back to work and see if I can make that happen.”

  Accepting the plumber’s statement as a good sign, Brandon picked up the box loaded with his kitchen appliances and went to the door. He didn’t want his mother or Mrs. Poole carrying anything down his stairs; plus he didn’t want his mother getting any more ideas about decorating.

  The front door opened just as he reached the entrance of the restaurant where he was stacking the donations. His mother and Mrs. Poole came in the door he’d left unlocked for them.

  “Good morning, Mama, Mrs. Poole.” The women had been best friends for as long as Brandon could remember. Both were self-assured and sensible enough not to let Mrs. Poole’s husband’s millions interfere with what mattered: their friendship.

  “Hello, Brandon,” Mrs. Poole greeted him. She wore a patient smile and a celery-colored pantsuit that complemented her fair complexion and red hair.

  “Good morning, Brandon.” His mother glanced at Amanda. “Did I ever tell you I had morning sickness with Brandon during my entire pregnancy?”

  Amanda’s lips twitched. “No, I don’t think so. In fact, I’m almost positive you always said what a joy it was each time you were pregnant.”

  Ruth turned to her middle child. “Perhaps in my old age I forgot.”

  Brandon chuckled, then enveloped his mother in a bear hug, kissing her on the cheek. “I love you, too.”

  “Then you’ll think about getting married and working on getting me some grandchildren,” she said as she hugged him back just as fiercely.

  Brandon could feel the noose around his neck tightening. It had been months since his mother had mentioned grandchildren. It would have been too insensitive to do so around Luke’s wife, who couldn’t have children. Whatever the reason, Ruth had given him some slack until now, but it was over.

  “My place couldn’t accommodate a family.” He picked up a box. “Who’s driving?”

  “I am.” Amanda pulled her keys from a brown-checkered Louis Vuitton bag shaped like a bowling bag. It probably cost close to a thousand dollars. Sierra had one just like it.

  A bumping sound came from above. Frowning, Brandon peered up. “I hope he’s finished before the lunch crowd starts coming in.”

  “Perhaps I should go up there and see how it’s progressing,” Ruth said.

  Brandon put down the box and placed himself in front of his mother. “There’s nothing to see.”

  “In that case, why are you so anxious that I not go upstairs?” she said reasonably.

  While he was trying to think of an answer, he heard someone behind him. Saved.

  “Good morning, Ruth, Amanda,” Mr. Montgomery said.

  The women returned the greeting. “I was just coming up to see your progress,” Ruth told him.

  “Glad I saved you the trip,” the plumber said.

  Brandon tensed. “What does that mean?”

  “I was right. All the pipes in the bathroom need replacing.”

  Brandon wondered how long it could take to yank out some pipes and replace them. “So a week. Max.”

  “No, son. It was more involved than I thought.” Mr. Montgomery clapped Brandon on the shoulder, making particles of dust fly up. “Try two.”

  Faith personally escorted Phoenix Grayson into her office, where a stylish mix of traditional furniture and antiques created an elegant setting. The two had first met at the bridal shower Amanda Poole had given Phoenix. Morgan’s fiancée might not have any relatives nearby, but marrying into such a well-respected and beloved family had given her instant entry into the wide circle of the Graysons’ family and friends.

  “Please have a seat.” Faith indicated one of the matching side chairs covered with rose silk damask fabric in a little alcove of her office. On the table between them was a fresh bouquet of flowers, hot water for tea, coffee, and an assortment of cookies and pastries. “I have refreshments, if you’d like.”

  “You’re a lifesaver.” Phoenix chose an iced Danish and sat down. “We didn’t have time for breakfast. These looked so good the other day.”

  Faith had a pretty good idea why Phoenix and Morgan had missed breakfast. “You didn’t eat one?”

  Phoenix delicately licked icing from the corner of her mouth. “Catherine and I both declined. Poor Brandon had to share with us when we came to check on him. You know how he is.”

  That she did. “He likes to see everyone well fed and happy.”

  Finishing off the Danish, Phoenix reached for the coffeepot. “He’s going to make a wonderful father and husband.”

  Faith’s heart winced. “Yes.”

  Phoenix’s attention snapped back to Faith. Tiny lines radiated across her brow.

  “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice,” Faith quickly said. She didn’t like the way the other woman was studying her. Phoenix was an artist and saw things others might miss.

  “It’s no problem. You were one of the few women at the wedding who didn’t look as if she wanted my quick demise.” Phoenix sipped her coffee. “But since I love Morgan so much, I understand and forgive them.”

  Faith’s lips twitched. “I might have known Morgan would choose a woman who speaks her mind.”

  “Not always.” She relaxed back in her chair. “Now, what’s this about a business deal?”

  Faith was thrown off by the cryptic words, but she quickly recovered. “Every show you’ve had has sold out. Just recently you started having limited-edition pieces, but here again you’ve kept the numbers small and varied. They’re snapped up as fast as they become available. None have appeared for sale afterward, at least that I’m aware of.”

  “That’s probably because the art community is aware of my husband’s passion for my work,” Phoenix said. “If a piece did show up, he’d probably buy it.”

  That was an understatement. “He purchased the only known sculptures you and your mentor did together. It’s been speculated that they’ve tripled in value, although no one has seen them since Morgan purchased them.” Faith laced her hands together as a brief shadow crossed Phoenix’s face. Initially there had been whispers of a scandal surrounding the pieces, but after Phoenix burst onto the art world as its newest star, the sculptures became a hot commodity.

  “As I said, he’s very passionate about my work.”

  “After seeing your sculptures, I agree. That leads me to what I propose.” Faith leaned forward. “Casa de Serenidad is a five-star hotel. Our guests pay a high price to stay here, and I’d like to think that our service is the best in the country. Santa Fe is known for its beautiful scenery and also its art. The Sangre de Cristo Mountains can be seen from many of the rooms. I propose to bring that art into the hotel as well. I’d like to start with sculptures by Phoenix.”

  Phoenix slowly set down her cup and saucer. “You want to commission me to do pieces for the hotel rooms?”

  “Considering we have fifty rooms and the cost of your work, I might have a difficult time getting my family to go along with that decorating expense,” Faith said. “What I’d like to do is display two or three of your sculptures in the lobby, in a protective glass case and insured, of course. If the guests like it, I’d want to place your pieces in the executive suites. Later, I propose to contact other artists and display their work as well.”

  Phoenix leaned back in her chair. “I’m sorry
, Faith; my work is not for rent.”

  “No,” Faith hastened to explain. “I’m aware of that. I thought you might consider loaning out one of your sculptures, similar to patrons loaning their art pieces to museums.”

  “The museum is nonprofit,” Phoenix came back.

  “I’ll gladly make a donation to your favorite charity for the privilege.” Faith pressed her point. “This will be the talk of the hotel and art world.”

  “You’re already booked solid. Why should you want to do this?” Phoenix asked.

  Faith hadn’t expected this to be easy. “Art should be shared and appreciated. Many of the guests come to relax, but there are those also who come for business and who won’t get the chance to set foot inside the museums or the art galleries. This way they’ll leave Santa Fe being exposed to a great artist who happens to be a woman and African-American.”

  “And Casa de Serenidad distinguishes itself even more in the hotel industry,” Phoenix mused.

  “There is that, but it’s not my main purpose.”

  Phoenix glanced around the office. “You have several Arthello Beck and Frank Frazier paintings as well as sculptures by Rudley and others. Obviously you enjoy art. I’m aware that some have made the transition, but other artists in your collection are still alive. Why not them, or did you ask and they turned you down?”

  Phoenix was smart and cautious. Morgan wouldn’t have married a woman who couldn’t think for herself. “I’ve not asked another artist. Your work speaks to people. It hits people on a visceral, a gut level. Together, the sculpture of a man and woman sitting side by side on the grass, her head on his shoulder, his arm around her waist, speaks eloquently of love. The gray in their hair makes it even more powerful. Their love will last a lifetime.”

  Phoenix’s face softened. “I started working on the piece the week after Morgan and I were married. True love can last forever.”

  Although the love lives of her family seemed to refute that statement, more than anything Faith wanted to believe that love lasted. “You’re fortunate to have found each other.”