Dreaming of You

by Francis Ray

  “And denied it just as vehemently.” Sierra shook her head in disgust. “Only a man wouldn’t know when he fell in love.”

  “Will you stop saying that?” Brandon hissed. “I am not in love.”

  “You’re so far gone you can’t even see it.” Sierra frowned at Pierce. “As analytical as you are, you won’t figure it out until you’re halfway down the aisle of the chapel.”

  “That’s precisely why I won’t fall,” declared Pierce.

  “I have not fallen,” Brandon told them, tired of repeating himself. His mouth was compressed in a thin line.

  Sierra threw her hands up in the air. “You’re in deep denial, and to think I helped in your downfall.”

  Brandon stared at her. “What are you talking about?”

  “Faith came to me about the time she started dating and asked for my help in updating her looks. I knew she was after a man, but I didn’t know it was you.”

  Brandon felt on firmer ground. “Now I know you’re wrong. Faith asked me to teach her how to get a man. She wasn’t after me.”

  Sierra rolled her eyes. “I’d rap you again if your head wasn’t so hard. She used the oldest trick in the book, jealousy, to get to you.”

  Brandon was already shaking his head. “You’re wrong, Sierra. She changed her mind. She didn’t want my help.”

  “It pains me that a brother of mine is so gullible. Her refusal brought out your protective instincts and made you look at her not just as the little sister of your best friend but as a desirable woman.” Sierra sat back with a smug smile. “Catherine might be a psychologist, but any woman worth her mettle knows the best way to attract the attention of a man is to dangle in his face what another man wants.”

  Pierce whistled. “You scare me sometimes.”

  “Remember that and put up a better fight than Brandon.” She picked up her purse and stood. “If I didn’t love you and like Faith, I’d disown you.”

  Pierce came to his feet as well. “You didn’t have to ask, but I’ll be your best man. On second thought, I’ll pass. I’d probably cry all through the ceremony knowing I’m next. It’s a good thing I’m not a drinking man.”

  Brandon continued to sit at the table alone, the chatter and noise of the restaurant fading to a distant drone. They were wrong. They had to be. Faith was too honest. She wouldn’t have tricked him.

  18

  Faith was nervous. She wiped her sweaty palm on her skirt and hurried home along the walkway. After Brandon had taken her hand in his and then left to turn in the food orders, she’d been too aware of the speculative looks from his family to stay. They’d known something was going on. She wanted their approval so much and had been too much of a coward to stay and find out if she had it.

  She was barely out the door when she’d received a call from Brandon. At the time she was still too unsure to pick up. What worried her was that he hadn’t called again. It was half past eleven. He should be waiting.

  Passing through the gate, she opened her front door. Brandon sat on the sofa, facing her. His head lifted. If she’d seen an angrier man, she didn’t remember when.

  Her first thought was that she’d left out her book with the Operation Get Brandon written in bold letters until she recalled putting it up the night before. “What’s the matter?”

  “You know the answer to that better than I do.”

  Uneasiness crept through her. She tossed her notebook on the side chair and knelt in front of him. “I don’t understand.”

  “Let me enlighten you. I’m through being used.” His cold eyes drilled into her.

  Her uneasiness turned into panic. Needing to touch him, to somehow take the anguish from his face and his voice, to make things as they had been between them, she placed her trembling hand on his thigh. “Used? Brandon, what are you talking about?”

  “You schemed to let me think you were interested in another man when all along I was your target.”

  Her breath caught. Icy fear clutched at her heart as she stared at his closed, angry face. The way he said it made it sound wrong. “You weren’t a target. I wanted you to look at me as a desirable woman and not as Cameron’s little sister.”

  His accusing gaze bore into her. “You tricked me, used me. I trusted you.”

  Frantic, more frightened than she had ever been in her life, she placed her other hand on his thigh and searched for the words that would make him understand. “Brandon, please. I might have gone about it the wrong way, but I was desperate and so afraid you’d fall in love before I had a chance.”

  “There is no excuse for what you did.”

  “I love you. I’ve always loved you. Please believe me,” she pleaded.

  “Like a fool, I believed your lies once. Never again.” He brushed her hands from his legs and rose to his feet. “Good-bye, Faith.”

  Her chest felt as if it were in a vise. Unsteadily she came upright, her eyes and voice pleading. “Brandon, please try to understand. I did it because I love you.”

  “If you call that love, I don’t want it.” He walked out without a backward glance.

  Desolate, tears streaming down her cheeks, Faith crumpled to the floor. Brandon was gone. This time he wasn’t coming back.

  Faith woke up groggy, in a fetal position, her head and eyes hurting, on the sofa. Brandon walking out on her came rushing back. Whimpering, she curled tighter. She’d considered going after him, begging him to please try to understand. In the end, all she’d been able to do was drag herself to the sofa and cry. She’d cried herself to sleep only to wake up with tears on her cheeks to cry some more and repeat the ritual.

  She’d lost the only man she’d ever love. She’d never ached as deeply or felt as hopeless, yet the world went on. Sun shone through the sheers in her room, her staff was getting ready for the day, and Brandon . . . She bit her lip. Was he up? Was he still angry? Sitting up, she put her feet on the floor.

  If she didn’t get moving soon, she never would. The only way to fight the crippling pain was to fill her mind with things other than the anger on Brandon’s face when he walked out. Pushing to her feet, she picked up the notebook from the side chair and flipped to her agenda for the day.

  Tears formed and dropped on the page. Breakfast with Brandon. Her fingertips brushed over the words; then she went down farther and stopped on Media alert/Santa Fe Arts Council. Her head fell.

  Once Phoenix learned Faith and Brandon were at odds, she might withdraw her support. Faith had already spoken with the president of the arts council. He had been ecstatic about the idea of bringing art to the hotel guests, bridging the gap to people who might not have time to visit art galleries to sample the creativity of Santa Feans’ work.

  Now that might never happen. Ruth Grayson and Morgan were on the arts council and had powerful family connections in Felicia Falcon and her son, Daniel. Besides destroying any chance for happiness for herself, Faith might have jeopardized her plans for the art partnership. The day was going to be a rough one.

  Brandon had been determined to sleep in his bed, to ignore the emptiness of his arms, the need for Faith pulsing through him. He’d succeeded from sheer force of will until shortly after six that morning. Deciding that was as good as it was going to get, he headed to the bathroom.

  Showering had tested his control further, as he’d lathered and recalled Faith’s hands running over his body, his hands over hers, lifting her breasts, kissing them, sucking them.

  Desperately he sought something else to think about. What came to him was much worse: Faith with tears sparkling in her eyes, saying she loved him and begging him to stay. His stomach churned. He slapped his hand against the wall.

  “Faith.” Her name was a hoarse whisper of sound, a groan of denial that he still cared, that her tears could bring him to his knees. Wrenching the faucet to off, he stepped out of the shower, telling himself that she was the cause of her own tears. But as he dressed and went downstairs to his office, the cause didn’t seem to matter as much as the irrefutabl
e knowledge that, regardless of why, she was hurting.

  Precisely at 9:00 that morning, Faith called Phoenix. Yesterday on the way to Brandon’s restaurant, Phoenix told Faith that she and Morgan always had breakfast together before he left for work. At the time, Faith had thought of how she and Brandon did the same.

  “Hello.”

  For a moment Faith couldn’t speak. She swallowed convulsively.

  “Faith, is that you?”

  Glad at least that Morgan apparently had Caller ID and Phoenix hadn’t hung up, Faith finally managed to speak. “Yes. Good morning, Phoenix.”

  “Are you all right?” The other woman’s concern came clearly through the line.

  I’m not sure I’ll ever be all right again. “This . . . this is about your partnership with Casa de Serenidad. Brandon and I . . . had . . . We’re not friends anymore.” Her voice broke, but at least she’d gotten it out.

  There was a long pause, then, “I’m sorry; is there anything I can do?”

  “I wish there was.” She took a sip of water for her dry throat. “If you want to withdraw your sculptures from the project, I understand.”

  “The art stays. Have you finalized a date?”

  Faith wished Phoenix’s support helped her feel less like putting her head on her desk and bawling. “The third Sunday in June, as you requested. I’m meeting with the president of the arts council and members of the media this afternoon at four in the Matador Room.”

  “I’ll be there with Defender. If Morgan is free, I’ll bring him.”

  It was more than she expected. “Morgan might—”

  “If possible, he’ll be there. I’d better get to work. Bye!”

  “Good-bye, and thanks.” She hadn’t thought of Phoenix as the assertive type. Faith almost smiled; then she thought of Brandon and felt tears roll down her cheeks.

  “Tell me you didn’t do what your face says you did.”

  Brandon didn’t look up from his desk. Sierra had come inside with one of the early staff members before the restaurant opened. “Don’t you have an appointment or something?”

  “I have never understood why men are so long on pride and short on common sense,” she huffed.

  “If you’ll go to the kitchen, I’m sure Antonio would be happy to fix you fresh tamales.”

  Her hand came down in the middle of the schedule for his staff. It remained there until he lifted his head. Her face softened. “I never would have said anything if I had known you would break up with her. I don’t want to see either of you hurt.”

  “I know.” He moved her hand aside and went back to staring at the schedule that he hadn’t made any headway on in the hour he’d been working on it.

  “Faith will probably never forgive me.”

  His hand clenched on the desk. “Your name wasn’t mentioned. Besides, she’s the reason we’re not together.”

  Sierra rounded the desk and swiveled his leather executive chair around until he faced her. “If she hadn’t decided to shake things up, you’d still be dragging your feet and dreaming about some mysterious woman.”

  “She was the woman,” he confessed. Since he and Faith had made love, his dream woman’s identity had become clear.

  “See, even your subconscious knew.” Sierra picked up the phone. “Call and invite her to lunch.”

  He took the phone and replaced it. “I don’t like being manipulated. I was so busy trying to avoid a trap Mama set for me, I didn’t see the one Faith set.”

  “That’s not going to be any comfort on a long lonely night.”

  Brandon threw her a look. She snorted in disgust. “I know about desires even though I’m not indulging.”

  He came to his feet. “You’d better not.”

  Shaking her head, she went to the door. “Do as I say and not as I do, huh? Big brothers should be banned. One final word: did you forget that Faith is Duncan and Cameron’s little sister?”

  The door closed and Brandon took his seat. He hadn’t forgotten, but somehow his need of her overshadowed every other consideration. He’d deal with her brothers when the time came.

  Now he was more concerned with how to stop thinking about Faith every waking moment, and wondering if she still had tears in her eyes.

  It was the longest day of Faith’s life, and it was barely four in the afternoon. At least the Matador Room looked beautiful, with a fresh floral arrangement on the table surrounded by delectable goodies prepared by Henrí and his staff. No thanks to her.

  That morning when she was going over the final details of the menu with Henrí she couldn’t seem to stop crying. He’d finally said he’d take care of it and left muttering something about “if I had a gun.”

  She sniffed and nodded to the editor of Santa Fean magazine. It wasn’t Brandon’s fault. Perhaps she should have been bold enough to just tell him how she felt. She’d been too afraid of being rejected. He’d rejected her anyway. Her eyes teared at exactly the worst possible moment.

  Into the room stepped Phoenix, Morgan, and his mother, Ruth. Faith sniffed, used the soggy tissue in her hand, and made herself move toward them. “Hello, everyone. Morgan, please put Defender on the pedestal in front by the podium so it will be easily seen during the news briefing.”

  None of them moved. Faith kept her gaze locked on Phoenix.

  “Hello, Faith. I see you have summer allergies as well,” Ruth said.

  Faith’s gaze whipped to Brandon’s mother, serene and regal as usual. She wore her hair in a chignon, and a pale green suit with matching bag and shoes that would rival Sierra. Ruth had dressed to impress. Her eyes were clear, black, and so reminiscent of Brandon’s that the tears Faith had been trying to control pooled again.

  “Please take my handkerchief.” Morgan handed her the white linen square. “I’ll put this up.”

  “The president of the arts council couldn’t make it, so I volunteered,” Ruth went on to say. “I so admire what you’re trying to do. Since you’re battling allergies, with your permission I’ll take over this afternoon.”

  Tears crested and rolled down Faith’s cheeks. She was afraid to open her mouth.

  Phoenix took the handkerchief from Faith’s hand and dried the tears from her cheeks. “You have our full support.”

  “Of course she does.” Ruth patted Faith’s hand in reassurance. “Please don’t be concerned that you aren’t at your best today. We share a vision, and together we’ll achieve our goal.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Faith finally said. With their support, the success of the art project was almost assured. Faith’s other vision, the one of her and Brandon together for a lifetime, was another matter entirely.

  “Why don’t you have a seat and I’ll let everyone know we’re ready to get started?” Ruth said. “Everything will be just fine. You’ll see.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Faith took a seat, wishing with all her heart Ruth’s prediction would come true, not just for the collaboration but for her and Brandon as well.

  “Brandon, Mr. Montgomery tells me you had more than the bathroom renovations done. I can’t wait to see the changes.”

  Late that afternoon Brandon trudged up the stairs ahead of his mother. She’d dropped by during the lull between the lunch and the dinner crowd and wanted to see the apartment. He unlocked the door and stepped back, trying to think if Faith had left any of her things there. Memories of her certainly hung around.

  His mother stepped past him. In the kitchen, she ran her hand over the new details on the cherry cabinets, the extension of the island, pulled out the baskets on the hidden shelves beneath.

  In the sitting area, she picked up a pillow he’d tossed aside and replaced it on the end of the sofa, lightly touched the saxophone case, tested the dryness of the dirt surrounding the plant. In his bedroom she studied the new leather headboard, the cherry bookcases already filled with books and keepsakes.

  He tensed on seeing on the bottom shelf the crystal bowl of fading flower petals he’d saved and hadn’t been able to throw aw
ay. He hoped his mother didn’t notice them. When her gaze moved on, Brandon stuffed his hands in his pockets and tried not to look at the bed he and Faith had spent so many wonderful times together in.

  Still silent, Ruth went to the bathroom. She stared into the shapely etched mirror, touched the sconces with the leafy design and glossy black finish on either side. She turned to see the matching black and brown striped fluffy towels on the nickel-plated rack Faith had insisted he take as a gift to replace his mismatched ones. That morning he’d been so intent on getting in and out of the bathroom, he hadn’t remembered.

  Leaving the bathroom, his mother went to his walk-in closet. Instead of the usual hodgepodge and jumble, his clothes, thanks to Faith, were now color coordinated and grouped. He didn’t like to fuss with clothes. The organization now meant he didn’t have to.

  “Faith put her stamp on this place,” his mother finally said.

  Brandon’s hands whipped out of his pockets. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s warm yet functional, with a touch of elegance,” his mother explained. “You feel the same way at Casa de Serenidad.”

  Brandon relaxed. “I guess.”

  Her brow bunched. “Mr. Montgomery was under the impression that your stay at the hotel helped influence your decision to remodel and was the reason you asked Faith to help. Was he wrong?”

  “No,” Brandon quickly said. His mother was too sharp to let his mind wander.

  She went back to the living area. “Are you playing the saxophone again? I hope so. Music should be shared.”

  Brandon’s gaze snapped to the instrument against the sofa. “Faith put it there.”

  “I’m glad. I’d like to hear you play again.” Ruth glanced around the room. “I can’t imagine one thing different. I hope you thanked her. At the very least, sent her flowers,” his mother continued.

  A vision of Faith on a bed of flower petals, her arms outstretched, flashed before him. He’d kept the flower petals as a memento of that night. He wheeled and went to the kitchen. Pouring himself a glass of lemonade, he positioned himself behind the counter. Those were not the kinds of visions you had when your mother was present. “She got flowers. You want anything?”