Pulled by a Dream

by Kathryn Greenway

  Fran pointed toward the green. “Vic’s ready!” They hurried over to where a tug-of-war was about to begin, comprising men of all shapes and sizes. Emily wasn’t surprised to see Vic was the anchor. He’d been a rugby player in his youth, and still maintained his muscular physique.

  “Go, Daddy!” Damon stood with the onlookers, his sister Jody at his side, both waving flags and yelling encouragement. Fran and Emily joined them, and soon, it seemed like the whole village was gathered around shouting and cheering the two sides, who appeared evenly matched. Then one guy slipped and fell, and the balance of power shifted in favor of Vic’s team.

  “Go, Vic! Go, Vic!” Emily yelled, almost jumping up and down when he dug his heels in and gave an almighty tug.

  “Come on, team!” he growled. “Put yer backs into it, lads! On the count of three… One… two… THREE!”

  With such a gargantuan effort, the opposing team were outdone. The little red marker shot over the finish line, and all Vic’s team collapsed onto their backs, a heap of men on top of their anchorman, amid much laughter.

  “Go find your husband under all that pile of men,” Emily suggested with a smile. “I’m going to take a look at the rest of the fete.”

  Fran grinned. “Behave yourself.”

  Emily gave a mock gasp. “As if I’d do anything but.” Laughing, she left Fran on the green, and strolled toward the far end of the lane. A large crowd had gathered near the Vale, and there seemed to be a lot of shouting and laughter coming from there. As she drew closer, she caught sight of Dr. Mitchell, armed with a megaphone.

  “Step right up, folks. Test your aim on our willing victims—I mean, volunteers. It’s all in a good cause.”

  Intrigued, Emily inched her way to the front of the crowd, where a line of bunting barred her from going any further. Ten or twelve feet away, someone had set up two sets of stocks. Then she looked closer. A couple of kids sat with their feet through the stocks, waving their hands in the air and laughing. Next to it was a pillory, where a man had his head and hands held captive. Villagers were throwing wet sponges at them, and judging by the amount of water on the ground between the bunting and the stocks, a lot of people had very poor aim.

  Then the man in the pillory raised his head, and Emily realized it was Jake.

  She grinned. This is going to be fun.

  Dr. Mitchell saw her, and his grin equaled hers. “Miss Darrow. Fancy trying your luck? Only a pound for three sponges. All proceeds go to charity.”

  Jake’s eyes widened as she stepped forward, reaching into her jeans pocket for some coins. “Please tell me you’re a bad shot.”

  She gave him a sweet smile. “I was captain of my school basketball team. I won an award for the most goals scored in a year.”

  “Emily….” His voice held a note of warning. Around her, a ripple of laughter fed its way through the onlookers.

  Emily opened her eyes wide. “What?” Her gaze took in his jeans, damp at the bottom where water had already struck him. He wore a white shirt, and thus far, it showed no sign of water getting anywhere near it. She grinned again. “I always did like that scene from Pride and Prejudice, when Colin Firth emerges from the lake, his shirt clinging to him.”

  A chorus of ooohs broke out behind her, and the doctor laughed. “I was always partial to that scene myself.” A loud cough came from his left, and he fired a glance at the man standing there. “I can look, can’t I?”

  Emily recognized his husband, Alan, who arched his eyebrows. “As long as that’s all you do. Now shut up and let the lovely lady soak Jake to the skin.” He winked at Emily. “Do your worst.”

  “You’re not supposed to encourage her!” Jake yelled.

  Emily counted money into Dr. Mitchell’s palm. “Nine sponges, please.” More whoops and laughter followed.

  “Nine?” Jake gaped at her. “What was wrong with three?”

  “Well, I’ll need the first few for practice shots, until I get my aim in,” she explained sweetly. Alan walked over, holding a net of sponges and a bucket full of water. She piled nine sponges at her feet, then dipped the first into the slightly tepid water, letting it soak up as much as possible.

  Emily met Jake’s worried gaze. “Ready?”

  Jake had regained some of his usual confidence. “Go for it. Let’s see the former basketball captain’s best efforts.”

  Emily took careful aim, and launched the sponge into the air, rising in an arc—and landing on Jake’s head. She let out a peal of delighted laughter. “Hey, not bad. Looks like I’ve still got it.”

  Wet hair clung to Jake’s head, and he gave her a rueful stare. “Do you think you could maybe lose it for the next eight?”

  Emily was already soaking the next sponge. She chuckled. “Oh, I think it’s a skill that never leaves you,” she said with a smile. “Number two!” She aimed straighter this time, and it struck Jake in the middle of his chest. “That’s better!”

  By now, the crowd had swollen to three times its original size, and four or five people were lined up behind Emily, coins clinking in their hands. Every time she threw a sponge and it struck Jake, a cheer went up. By the time only one sponge remained, Jake was soaked from head to toe, his white shirt almost transparent, his jeans dark. He shook back his wet hair and blinked water from his eyes. “I don’t suppose you’re going to take pity on a cold, wet project manager, are you?” His hopeful expression reminded her of a puppy, and for a moment, she considered being nice.

  Only for a moment. Emily straightened, sponge in hand. “You’d suppose right.” She flung it toward him. It was comical, watching Jake’s face as he followed the sponge’s progress through the air. When it hit the pillory square on, missing his head, he grinned.

  “Your aim’s slipping, boss.”

  She returned his grin. “Who said I was aiming for your head?” Applause rang out, and she raised her hand to wave at the crowd.

  Dr. Mitchell came toward her, his hand outstretched. “You were fantastic. In fact, you were so good, I need to get Jake out of there and those wet clothes before he catches pneumonia.” He glanced to her left and shuddered. “The sooner the better.” He addressed the crowd. “We’ll be with you in a few minutes, folks, once we’ve replaced Jake with another vic—public spirited citizen, who doesn’t mind getting wet in a good cause.” Then he hurried toward Jake.

  “But I wanted to chance to throw sponges at him!” Next to Emily, Serena Marwood glared at the doctor.

  Suddenly, his shudder made sense.

  Emily slipped through the crowd and made her way to where Jake stood, toweling his hair dry. He peered down at his shirt and grimaced, before unbuttoning it and squirming out of it. Emily caught her breath at the sight of Jake’s broad chest, his upper arms thick with muscles.

  It was amazing just how much a pair of overalls could hide. Like the fact that Jake was a very sexy man. His nipples stood proud, a result of the cold, judging by the goosebumps that covered his arms and chest.

  “Jake? You got a change of clothes?” Brian called from the door of the Vale.

  He turned to face Brian, and Emily stifled a gasp. The rear view was just as impressive. “In my truck,” Jake shouted.

  “Then get your arse in here, mate. You must be freezin’. You can warm up in the shower before you get dressed.”

  Jake let out a loud sigh of relief. “Brian, you’re a star!” He picked up his sodden shirt and ran toward the pub car park.

  Emily stared after him, her fingers tingling with the need to touch Jake’s bare skin. She was aware of her heartbeat, pounding strongly, of being flooded with warmth. It took her a moment or two to recognize the signs.

  How long had it been since she’d truly desired a man?

  Jake switched off the TV—not that he’d really been paying all that much attention: his mind had been otherwise engaged—and went through the cottage, making sure all lights were switched off. Satisfied, he locked the front door and climbed the stairs to his bedroom.

 
; Damn, she has a good aim.

  The thought still made him smile, hours after the fete had finished, and everyone had gone to the Vale. Jake had joined James and Alan for a pint, then he’d called it a night. His day had begun in the early hours, setting up the stalls. James was in a great mood. The stall had raised over two hundred pounds, better than he’d expected. Jake was just glad not to have been on the receiving end of all those sponges. One hour had been enough.

  His ablutions finished, Jake went into his room and climbed into bed. He folded his arms behind his head and stared through the window at the night sky.

  At least I know she’s comfortable and warm in that barn.

  He seemed to spend more time lately thinking about Emily. What surprised him was how his thoughts had changed. His initial determination to make her see the sense of his proposal had faded, to be replaced by a genuine interest in Emily herself. Working closely with her had given him plenty of opportunities to learn more about her, and the more he learned, the more he liked.

  He still wanted to go ahead with his plans; he hadn’t thought of a way to go about it yet. He told himself that working with her also gave Emily the chance to get to know him. Maybe she’d be more prepared to listen, once she convinced herself that he wasn’t out for all he could get.

  Jake shifted in his bed and closed his eyes. There she was, with her silky brown hair that begged to have him run his fingers through it. Her full lips, that were made to be kissed. Her slender neck, where he yearned to brush his mouth against soft-looking skin…

  Jake opened his eyes. It had been a while since a woman had gotten under his skin. He gave a pleasurable shiver. He wanted her there, in his arms, to breathe her in and take her scent into his lungs. He didn’t want to keep glancing away when her gaze alighted on him, or pretend to consider something else when she caught him staring.

  Jake wanted Emily to notice him, to really see him—to see how much he wanted her.

  What would make it perfect would be if she wanted him just as much.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Emily washed up her dinner plate and placed it in the drainer. She gazed ruefully at the ready meal for one carton she’d just thrown into the rubbish bin. Seems to be the story of my life. The recollection of a bottle of white wine in the fridge helped her push aside such thoughts, however, and she removed a wine glass from the small cabinet that contained her plates, bowls, mugs and glasses. Jack had thoughtfully placed two glasses in there.

  And yet, since I moved in here, there’s only been me.

  It seemed such thoughts were going to be the pattern for her evening.

  Emily was well aware of what had set off this particular train of thought. When she’d lived in London, Friday night was always a vibrant, noisy evening, the streets full of people heading out to enjoy themselves. She’d go to the pub around the corner from her apartment, and sit at the bar, nursing a glass of wine, people-watching. What she would have given sometimes for a decent-looking man to strike up an intelligent conversation, but the guys who frequented the pub either did so in packs, groups of eight or ten, all of them raucous, and usually well on their way to getting drunk. Then there were the others, lone men who would stare at her across the bar, until her skin prickled and she had enough.

  Jake would have been perfect. She could imagine sitting with him at a table, sharing a bottle, laughing and joking one minute, and discussing serious topics the next. She’d overheard him a few times in the house, chatting with Lawrence, the builder. The two men were often in deep, philosophical discussions about the state of the world, which surprised her. Then she admonished herself. So they weren’t your stereotypical tradesmen—that was what you got for judging people.

  Emily stepped outside into the warm April evening, and strolled over to the house. It was seven o’clock, so everyone should have packed up for the weekend. But as she neared the kitchen door, she caught the sound of movement from inside. She pushed open the door and entered the house. The kitchen was empty, but a creak of floorboards came from above. Emily waited, not concerned: she’d already spied Jake’s toolbox standing on the newly tiled kitchen floor, so she figured he was still around.

  Five minutes later, Jake came down the staircase, his notebook in his hand, a pen tucked behind his ear. He gave a start when he walked into the kitchen. “Christ, woman. What are you trying to do—give me a heart attack? Try shouting out next time.” He shook his head. “What are you, a ninja?”

  She chuckled. “Why are you still here? Do you know what time it is?”

  Jake arched his eyebrows. “I’m still here, boss, because this is what I do every night. I’m always the last to leave. I check every room, to see if we’re up to speed, and to make a list for the following day—the following week, in this case. It’s the only way to keep up to date with what’s left to do.” He pointed toward the sun room. “Did you see? The new wall is up. The sun room is now a separate bedroom with disabled access. Monday, Andrew is fitting out the wet room.” Andrew was one of the two plumbers whom Jake had taken on.

  Emily didn’t want to talk about the house.

  “Would you like to join me for a glass of wine?” she blurted out.

  Jake blinked. “Wine?”

  Emily affected a nonchalance she definitely didn’t feel. “There’s a bottle of wine in the barn fridge, and I refuse to drink it alone on a Friday night. That’s just… sad.”

  He glanced down at his dusty overalls. “Sure. Let me get out of these, and I’ll be right over.” When she smirked, he rolled his eyes heavenward. “Get your mind out of the gutter. There’s a pair of jeans in my truck, and a clean shirt.”

  For some reason, Emily couldn’t put a brake on what came out of her mouth. “Pity. I was looking forward to seeing what your legs look like. I’ve already seen the chest, remember?” And with that, she left the house and headed back to the barn, her heart hammering. She could almost hear Jane in her head.

  Emily Rachel Darrow, you are a tease.

  The thing was, she’d bet anything that Jane was laughing too.

  The unexpected request might have nonplussed him for a moment, not to mention the flirtatious comments, but Jake felt he’d recovered quickly enough. As he stood by the back of his truck, shucking off his overalls and pulling on his jeans, a pleasant shiver of anticipation rippled through him. A glass of wine with Emily sounded like the perfect way to end his day. He couldn’t help but be flattered that she wanted to see his legs, even if it turned out to be a joke. He’d been aware of her gaze on him as he’d taken off his wet clothes at the fete a couple of weeks ago.

  Not that he’d been the only one to notice, unfortunately. James and Alan had teased him mercilessly in the Vale afterward. It was partly the reason why he’d left early. His friends saw way too much.

  Jake knocked on the barn door.

  “It’s open, come in.”

  Inside was warm, with the faint aroma of lavender and… something else. Jake sniffed. “What’s that I can smell?”

  Emily paused in her task of filling two wine glasses, and pointed to a blue ceramic oil burner on the table beside the couch. “A drop of lavender, and another of jasmine.” She smiled. “Jasmine always lifts me.” Her forehead creased into a frown. “If you don’t like it, I can blow out the candle.”

  “No,” Jake hastened to assure her. “It smells wonderful.” He looked up at the roof of the barn. “I’d be happier if you kept the burner down here though. Candles and a thatched roof—never a good combination.” In the background, he caught the strains of a song by Norah Jones. “You’ve got good taste in music.” The mellow harmonies and gentle lyrics flowed around them, and Jake felt himself unwinding.

  “Thank you.” Emily gestured toward the couch. “Sit, please.” When he did as instructed, she handed him the glass. “And for the record? I never take candles up there.” She tilted her head to one side. “I’m curious. When you design and build a barn, do you put on a thatched roof?”

  Jake l
aughed. “Hell, no. I use tiles. My dad used to say to me, ‘the best thatched house you’ll ever see, belongs to someone else.’ They cost a bomb, because every seven to ten years, the roof ridge needs reworking. The rest of it should last a damn sight longer. And there’s always the fear that it’ll catch fire. No, far too daunting a prospect for me.”

  Emily laughed. “Now that you mention it, I’m sure Jane used to complain about their roof. There was the year that Clare had the thatcher make a thatched squirrel, to run along the ridge.”

  “That must be before I moved here. I don’t recall seeing a squirrel.”

  “That’s because one winter, a heavy storm hit the place, and the winds carried off the squirrel, along with a substantial portion of the roof.” She leaned back against the cushions. “Okay, this is nice.”

  Jake had to agree. “It’s good to stop and unwind every now and then.”

  Emily nodded. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, but there never seemed to be a moment to do so… How’s your father?”

  The sigh rolled out of him before he could rein in it. “He has good days and bad. The problem is that the bad ones are starting to outnumber the good. There are times when I go to see him, and he looks at me for a minute like I’m a stranger.”

  “That can’t be easy,” Emily said softly.

  “It’s harder on my brother, Taylor, believe me. His days revolve around looking after Dad: Simon and I get snapshots of time with him whenever we visit.”

  “How did the week go, when you stayed with him?”

  Jake rested his head against the back of the couch, and closed his eyes. “It was an eye-opener. It made me look at Taylor in a whole new light, for one thing. He must have tremendous reserves of patience, to care for Dad day in, day out. That week made me think, however. A week here or there isn’t enough. We need to start thinking about applying for attendance allowance, because Taylor needs to get his life back. None of us, not even James Mitchell, have any idea how much longer my dad has left.” Not that he wanted to think about that part. Losing Mum at age fifty-five had been bad enough—losing Dad at such a relatively young age seemed too cruel.