Dare to Dream

by Modean Moon

  "I won't be in until after lunch, and Marcie has an appointment. Could you float someone over to cover her telephone for a couple of hours?"

  "Sure. If you don't mind her doing someone else's typing while she's there."

  "Any way you can work it out will be all right with me," she told him.

  "Speaking of working something out, if you're at the courthouse, would you mind doing me a favor?"

  "I'm sorry, Chet. As a matter-of-fact, I haven't left the house yet."

  "Oh, well. It was worth a try." His voice softened. "You're not sick or anything, are you?"

  She hated the note of solicitude she heard. When they first met, he had tried to hide his concern, sensing, correctly, that she would reject it. Now, after all this time, it had crept back into his voice. "No, Chet," she said grimly. "I'm fine."

  She replaced the receiver and glanced blindly around the room. "Just fine," she repeated.

  The phone rang one other time that morning, while she huddled in a corner of the couch, nursing a cup of coffee, having consciously blanked all thought from her mind. She jumped at the first shrill demand, but she knew she wouldn't answer it. "Coward," she hissed at herself as she watched the telephone, counting the rings, until it was again silent.

  Dani collected her messages from the relief secretary and tackled the stack of abstracts waiting for her. After the first few pages, though, she realized she still couldn't concentrate. About all she was capable of doing, she found, was signing her name to the correspondence Marcie had left on her desk. Eventually she abandoned even that, wandered to the window, and looked down on the busier than usual street.

  "D.J.?" Marcie stood in the doorway, smiling radiantly, still wearing her jacket and carrying her purse.

  "Oh, hi, Marcie," Dani said listlessly. "Did you get a clean bill of health?"

  "Yes, I did." Her smile faded as she looked at Dani. She crossed the room and stood by her side, looking down at the street.

  "Why is there so much activity this afternoon?" Dani wondered aloud.

  "You don't know?" Marcie asked and then continued softly. "They're dedicating the third Brady Center Tower and the pedestrian walkway this afternoon. There's a nice spread about it in the business section of this morning's paper. Oh, by the way, I gave him your message," she added.

  "Thank you," Dani told her, her thanks including the woman's tact in not questioning her.

  "You look awful, D.J.," Marcie said, her voice teasingly reproving.

  "Thanks a lot."

  "If it's any consolation, he didn't look as though he'd gotten much sleep either."

  Dani's head jerked up. "Where did you see him?" she asked before she could stop herself.

  "The same place half the people in town did." Marcie laughed. "He was the guest on Tulsa Today this morning. Of course, I was busy getting Joe off to work so I couldn't just sit and watch. You know, you ought to go home and go to bed, but you won't." Marcie fished a bottle of aspirin from her purse. "So why don't you take a couple of these and close your eyes for a few minutes. I'll rouse you in plenty of time to be ready for your appointment with Mr. Merriweather."

  Dani took the aspirin and leaned back in her chair, but she didn't sleep. With pain-glazed eyes she stared at the trio of towers, wishing somehow she could relive the past twenty-four hours.

  Dani did not look forward to her appointment with Frank Merriweather. At sixty, he exuded, if possible, even more charismatic charm than he had at thirty, when he won his first landmark case in an appeal to the United States Supreme Court. Founder of the firm of Merriweather, Pratt, Widlyme and Tanner, he was the force behind its phenomenal growth. He set the standard of excellence each of the staff attorneys was expected to meet. His hair was completely silver now, and his features had thickened slightly over the years, but he could still dazzle a jury or lull an adversary with consummate skill.

  Dani was still somewhat in awe of this man, although she had known him for almost five years. His keen gray eyes missed little, and she dreaded subjecting herself to their examination in her present frame of mind.

  His secretary was not at her desk when Dani arrived. She tapped on the open door to his private office and, at a gesture from him, entered and seated herself in one of a pair of deep leather chairs. She waited quietly for him to finish a telephone conversation.

  He replaced the receiver and smiled at her. "Nick Sanders called me this morning."

  She steeled herself to show no outward reaction, but—damn the man! How long would she have to endure having him thrown at her everywhere she turned?

  Mr. Merriweather went on without a pause. "He was pleased with the way you handled the Wilson matter. He said you had a 'unique blend of intuition and hard-headed common sense'."

  Frank Merriweather could have no idea of the irony those words conveyed to Dani, and she certainly wasn't going to enlighten him.

  "I've known that for some time, D.J.," he continued, "but its gratifying to have a client of Nick's stature confirm my opinion."

  "It was kind of him to mention it to you," she murmured.

  "Kind is hardly the word I would have chosen." He smiled as he spoke. "Nick expects quality work from this firm. That's why we've managed to keep him as a client for twelve years. He isn't lavish with praise, but occasionally he does commend someone for exceptional work. From what he told me about Wilson, I believe he was only being fair in commending you."

  "Thank you," she said simply.

  "You're a definite asset for this firm, and I appreciate that."

  She didn't want to refer to it, but she knew that she had to. "I'm glad. I never want you to regret the chance you took when you hired me."

  "D.J., listen to me," he said sternly. "Any chance I took was minimal, and it was years ago. You've made your own way since then. You've earned each advancement, and you've more than repaid any debt you might feel you owe me. I don't even think about it unless you remind me. It's time to put that behind you."

  "I know," she said, studying her intertwined fingers before she looked up at him and attempted to smile. "I really do know that."

  "Are you all right?" he asked in a softer voice.

  She nodded without speaking.

  "You look tired today. Are we working you too hard?"

  "No!" Dani denied vehemently. "I love my work, Mr. Merriweather."

  "You may love it, but you can't go on forever eating, sleeping, and breathing the law. Don't you think it's time you started building a life for yourself that doesn't revolve around this office?"

  For once Dani didn't try to hide the pain she felt. There was no need. This man knew most of her secrets. "I don't know if I can."

  Chapter Four

  When Dani finally convinced herself that she would get nothing accomplished at the office that afternoon, she loaded files and a portable dictation unit into her briefcase, telling herself that later that evening she would be able to concentrate.

  Even mundane chores such as picking up the laundry and dry cleaning and shopping for the few groceries she needed proved almost too much for her. After standing in the supermarket weighing a head of lettuce in each hand for untold moments, she tossed both back into the produce bin in disgust and grabbed up only necessary items, which by now included a package of aspirin.

  The dim coolness of her apartment did not welcome her. Although she had carefully removed all traces of Nick's visit, his presence lingered, taunting her.

  She put away laundry and groceries and fixed herself a sandwich, but after a few bites her stomach revolted, and the sandwich, like the lunch she had prepared, wound up feeding the garbage disposal instead of her.

  She swallowed two of the aspirins and filled the bathtub with steaming water, thinking to soak away the mass of aches that filled her, but in the solitude of the tub she heard Nick's voice teasing, "I seriously doubt if there's any situation in which you would be out of your league." Well, he knew now he was wrong. She bit back a moan. But he didn't know just how wrong he ha
d been.

  Furious with herself, she scrubbed viciously and toweled dry with the same lack of gentleness. She threw on the long satin and lace nightgown that matched her pale blue robe, put on her slippers, and cinched the robe around her. She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror as she subjected her hair to merciless brushing. She stopped the brush in its descent, holding it poised and ready for another stroke.

  "I don't have to do this," she told her reflection as she dropped the brush. There was an escape the doctors had given her those first months and had never taken away from her. She pulled open a drawer in the vanity and found the prescription bottle. One pill, twelve hours of oblivion, and this whole thing would be no more than one of her dreams. Less, she corrected herself. Much less. Because Nick Sanders really meant nothing to her.

  "No!" she cried, flinging the bottle down and slamming the drawer. "I can't go crawling back to those. I've come too far."

  She stared at the hollow-eyed reflection facing her, at the wide blue eyes that until now had managed not to show the pain she carried with her constantly. She raised her fingers to her face and traced along her cheek. "Did I really cry?" she asked, and the wonder she felt carried into her voice. She leaned her head against the mirror. "Maybe there's hope for me yet."

  Once calmed she found that she could concentrate enough to tackle the work she'd brought home with her. She started with routine things first, but half a pot of coffee later she was well on her way to finishing the work she'd assigned herself.

  So engrossed in work was she that when the knock sounded on the door her pen slid across the page, leaving a trail of ink. A quick glance at the clock confirmed that it was almost nine, and she certainly wasn't expecting company.

  She inched the door open, holding most of her weight behind it, and her heart seemed to somersault into her throat. Standing on her sidewalk, tie askew, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, juggling two sacks and a large, flat box in one arm, stood the man she had been trying, all day, to forget.

  A wary smile didn't quite soften Nick's harsh features.

  "I've brought the supper I didn't feed you last night."

  She stood speechless.

  "I got away as early as I could."

  Dimly, it registered that there must have been festivities scheduled in connection with the dedication.

  "Have you eaten yet?" he asked when she remained silent.

  Dani found her voice. "I tried."

  "Are you going to let me in?" he asked.

  She opened the door and stepped back, her heart pounding furiously, and he crossed the room, cleared a place on the low coffee table, and began pulling food from the sacks.

  "A little queasy today, were you?" He grinned at her.

  She nodded her head, still not speaking, still not moving from her place by the door, too conscious of the flimsy lace and satin she wore.

  "I thought you might be. What you need," he told her, tearing open the second sack, "is Mama Giuseppina's deep pan pizza."

  He laughed outright at the look of disbelief she knew was on her face.

  "Trust me," he said. "Spicy food will help." He reached into the first sack and took out two large plastic cups. "Iced tea," he said before reaching back into the sack. "But if you can bring yourself to touch it, a little of Mama's homemade wine will help settle the butterflies."

  "What are you doing, just standing there?" he asked when she made no response. "We need small plates for the pizza, forks for the salad, and glasses."

  He might as well have snapped his fingers, she thought, as she watched him from the safety of the doorway. How could he come back into her life and just… take over, ordering her about as though nothing had happened? But she moved reflexively toward the kitchen, seeing herself as she went, knowing she was going, and not having the slightest idea why she was doing what he told her to.

  When she returned from the kitchen with the necessary utensils, Nick had pulled the table away from the couch. He sat on the floor, his long legs crossed beneath him and his back resting against the sofa. He patted the floor beside him and, after a pause, she joined him.

  He lifted a slice of pizza onto her plate and pushed a container of salad toward her. "Eat," he said before filling his plate.

  Dani knew there was no way her stomach could tolerate the rich food, but an unexpected shyness kept her from protesting. It would be easier to nibble at the food than argue why she shouldn't, so hesitantly, she sampled a little. To her surprise, she found he was right. The combination of tangy salad dressing, spicy pizza, and homemade wine did settle the queasiness.

  Nick kept up a steady stream of chatter, making no reference to the night before, and soon she found her shyness disappearing.

  "What does the 'J' stand for?" he asked as she reached for more pizza.

  "What?"

  "The 'J' in D.J. What does it stand for?"

  She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.

  "That bad?" he asked, laughing.

  His laughter was infectious. "No, it's not that bad." She grinned back at him. "But I swear, if you laugh, I'll throw you out of here bodily. Promise not to laugh?"

  He nodded solemnly.

  "It's Juliet," she murmured.

  "It's what?"

  "Juliet!" she snapped, but her own laughter softened her voice.

  "Danielle Juliet Simms?" He shook his head, but he didn't laugh. "Your mother must have been an incurable romantic."

  "I wouldn't know," Dani said, focusing her attention on the now almost insurmountable task of cutting into her pizza. "I never met the woman."

  Nick's hand closed over hers. "Dani, I'm sorry."

  She saw genuine concern in his eyes. "Don't be," she said softly. "I had to come to grips with that a long time ago. I've done all right without her; probably better than I would have if she'd kept me around as a reminder of an indiscretion she'd just as soon forget."

  From long years of practice, Dani knew how to shift the conversation to safer topics. "You must feel like king of the mountain after having had so much attention today," she teased. "Did you have a good time?"

  "I'm not supposed to admit something like that," he said, taking her lead and reverting to his earlier, easier attitude.

  "I'm supposed to proclaim to all who will listen that I was bored beyond belief, but the truth is I would have loved every minute of it, if it hadn't started so early and lasted so late."

  With her quiet prompting he kept them laughing with stories about the day's adventures, and misadventures, until the last crumb disappeared from the takeout tray. He offered to refill her glass with wine, but she shook her head, reached instead for the iced tea, and leaned back against the sofa.

  "Thank you for the meal," she said, sighing contentedly. "I think I was starving."

  He slanted sideways beside her, resting his elbow on the couch near her head. "From the way you attacked the pizza, a person would think you hadn't eaten anything in a couple of days."

  "That's about right," she murmured. "I couldn't tolerate anything today, and yesterday I was so busy I didn't take time for anything but an apple."

  "No wonder you…" Whatever he started to say broke off in his delighted laugh. He dropped his hand to her head and ruffled her hair. "You really don't drink, do you?"

  She was suddenly, acutely aware of him. When she turned to face him, his green eyes no longer laughed. He lifted his hand from her hair.

  "Very little," she said, wanting to look away from him and yet unable to move. "And not for a long time."

  Nick broke the spell. He stuffed the trash into the remaining sack, stacked the dishes, and carried them to the kitchen.

  When he returned, he held his hand out to her, looking into her eyes, compelling her to reach out to him. Dani couldn't find the strength to disobey. She slipped her hand into his, and he pulled her to her feet and into his arms, molding her to him.

  "You're even smaller than I remembered."

  "Nick, I—"


  He ignored her protests. "This is ridiculous," he said. "I can't kiss you the way I want without breaking your back." He gripped her by the waist, but the satin slipped and his hands grazed her breasts before coming to rest under her arms as he lifted her onto the coffee table.

  "Nick, I…" Dani fought the panic clawing at her throat as Nick's hands moved down her back, pressing her to him. "I can't do this!" she cried. "My God, do you know what it would do to me to have to live through another scene like last night?"

  He pulled away only enough to be able to look into her eyes. "I don't think I'd get through it again very well myself."

  Embarrassment held her still as she recognized the restraint behind his words.

  "I'm sorry," she whispered.

  "Relax," he told her gently. "I'm only going to kiss you good night, and then you are going to walk me to the door and lock it behind me."

  He didn't give her time to refuse. His lips touched hers in what started as a gentle salute and deepened into a questioning probe of her senses. Dani's lips parted beneath his as, unbelievably, she felt warmth flooding through her body. She dug her fingers into his shoulders and sighed against him as they clung together, tasting each other, for fragile precious minutes, until he pulled away.

  "Oh, Dani," he moaned, and she saw his need written in his eyes.

  She touched his cheek in mute sympathy. "Why did you come back?"

  He managed a lopsided grin. "Damned if I know. And you? Why didn't you slam the door in my face when I did?"

  With her mind reeling as it was, there was no way she could find an answer. Besides, he had already said it so well. She tried to smile. "Damned if I know either."

  "There's a guest pianist with the Philharmonic tomorrow night," he said abruptly.

  She tried to follow the jump in thought but gave up. "I know," she said, bewildered.

  "I know you know." He lifted her from the table and stood her carefully on the floor several inches in front of him. "Wear your russet silk. It matches the highlights in your hair."