Dream Keeper (Indigo)

by Gail McFarland

  “He didn’t. I just know he wouldn’t. Besides, you’re the one who can’t keep a secret. That’s why we made the bet, remember?”

  “Don’t you talk to me about bets and secrets, you old blabbermouth!”

  Marlea’s skin sizzled beneath the scathing look Rissa sent her way.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking. When he said, wouldn’t it be nice,” Marlea shrugged helplessly, “I think I said something like this Christmas would be the nicest, and he said if you were pregnant, that’s all. I wasn’t thinking, and I said…”

  “I guess we should have bet on whether or not you could keep your mouth shut.”

  Looking meek, Marlea tried again. “He’s happy for you and Dench.”

  “What’s not to be happy about?” Rissa folded her arms. The bright strains of “Joy To The World” rang through the air around them and it was hard to hold onto her anger. “He’s my brother. He loves me.”

  “What he’s really happy about is that you’ll both have what you want so much, and even if he was sure of it, he would never tell, Rissa. Not until you told him that it was okay.”

  “I know.”

  “Forgive me?”

  “Not yet.” Rissa sucked in her cheeks and looked away. “I want to savor this moment of sanctimony first.”

  “And then you’ll tell.”

  “Will not.” Rissa’s lips twitched and her resolve cracked. She tried to glare, but it washed away when she smiled. “You sure know how to suck the fun out of savoring.”

  Folding the ladders, AJ looked at his wife and sister, then across at Dench. “What do you think they’re over there talking about?”

  Dench shouldered his ladder and headed for the garage. “Dude, you know those two as well as I do, and I don’t have a clue.”

  Following, AJ moved the ladder on his strong shoulder. “Then I guess time will tell.”

  An hour later, the tree was decorated, gifts were opened, cookies had been eaten, and carols sung. Two sleepy children were dreaming of Santa, their laughing parents were ready to assemble and play with the toys, and two grateful ER nurses were glad to have the weekend off. Mrs. Baldwin had plans of her own and nothing more was said about that as the front door closed behind everyone.

  “Hungry?” Rissa watched Dench turn off lights. “I could warm up dinner, if you like.”

  “I’m not starving.” Dropping onto the sofa beside her, his arm stretched long, and he gathered her close, his fingers stroking her shoulder. “What did we have?”

  “Baby back ribs, baby carrots, baby asparagus, and baby…” He looked at her and she could see the question before he asked. Her stomach lifted and fluttered, but she couldn’t look away. Forget you, Marlea!

  “Are we eating on a theme?”

  Pulling her knees up, tucking her legs beneath her, Rissa settled deeper into his embrace. “You could say that.”

  Pulling her close, Dench leaned back against the cushions and listened for her heartbeat against his own. “Baby back ribs, baby carrots,” he repeated, “baby asparagus, and baby…baby…Baby?” He sat up carefully, large hands cradling Rissa’s shoulders, and blinked at her. “Baby?” She nodded and his brown eyes misted, the gold and green flecks swimming in a sudden wash of emotion.

  “Dench?”

  He sniffed and turned his gaze to the ceiling, the fire, over her left shoulder, anywhere but her face as he struggled for control. Tough guy, Rissa thought. My big old soft tough guy. She let herself be folded into his embrace and waited.

  “When did you find out?”

  “Just this morning.” She could feel his smile, his acceptance and grace as his chest rose and fell against her.

  He pulled back and looked at her. “And you kept it to yourself? All day?”

  “Yes, I did. Mostly.”

  He blinked and the green and gold flecks settled in his eyes. “Mostly?”

  “Mostly…” Rissa scooted her hips into his lap and accepted the tiny kisses he placed along her cheek. “I can tell you that our little bundle of joy will be making an appearance in mid-July, Big Poppa.”

  “Big Poppa.” He grinned. “Is that what you plan to call me?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Her hand slipped between them and squeezed.

  “Dude!” He jumped and shifted, almost spilling her from his lap, but she held on. “You can’t be doing that, not knowing that it will be a whole nine months before we can…”

  “Now who told you that?” She squeezed again and laughed when he moaned. “We can have pre-baby sex.” Rissa tightened her arms around his neck and brought her lips to his ear. “We can have really great pre-baby sex,” she whispered. His mouth opened in wonder and closed in anticipation when she let her teeth close along his jaw line. “Really great,” she whispered again, nudging his knees apart so that she fit between them.

  “But what about…”

  “The baby and my body?” She gripped his hands and led them beneath her shirt—no bra. “Yeah, well, these will change some.”

  “I can live with that,” he said, easing his mouth along her neck, finding the spot she swore had a direct connection to her very core as his fingers danced over the fullness of her breasts.

  “You should stop that…in a few minutes.”

  “Because I’m so good at it, right?”

  She wanted to answer him, but his voice was part of the sensual haze drifting over her. Pressed against his chest, offering her mouth to him, her brain began to fog. The taste of him, already coded into her very DNA, came alive and she wanted more. Her heart hammered and she knew it had nothing to do with pregnancy. When she rose, holding his hand, he followed.

  In their bedroom, cast in ambient light, she was warm and naked, and he didn’t remember or care how she’d gotten that way. On their bed, she moved into his arms, as close as a dream, all scent and touch and shadow. His muscles tensed under her impatient hands, fueling them both, making them greedy for each other. Flesh pressed and she took him inside her, holding tight as the thrill rushed after him.

  He moved and even from the beginning, she was hot, wet and trembling. With the first lift of her hips, his body quivered against her, fighting for control, until it shattered under need and pleasure. Blood pounded in his ears as he gathered for her, again and again. In his world, there was spinning and there was Rissa, color and scent gone mad, until the storm inside him was spent.

  On his back, feeling his body cool, his desperate heartbeat slow, he smiled. Turning his head, he looked at his wife. On her back, the molten gold of her skin still warm and flushed, she used the back of her hand to brush hair back from her eyes. She smiled and Dench swore he would walk through fire for her.

  “Does AJ know?”

  “Not unless he guessed.” Hoping her sister-in-law was right, Rissa’s smile broadened, showing the bright white of perfect teeth. She linked her fingers with her husband’s.

  Dench looked at their fingers, then back up into her eyes. “Bet it killed you to hold out on him.”

  “Yeah, it did but, you know me…” She kicked at the top sheet until it was close enough to reach, then pulled it high enough to cover them.

  “Yeah, baby—you’re a rock. You told Marlea, didn’t you?”

  “Yes…”

  “So I got it secondhand?” He pulled her close and the pat he gave her was anything but brotherly. It made her shiver. “It’s okay, baby. I know that it must have killed you to hold it in for as long as you did, and you had to tell somebody.”

  “But Marlea…”

  “Is pretty tight-lipped, so you trusted her.”

  “Yeah, because…well, can you think of anyone better? I wouldn’t have stood a chance of telling you if Connie and Jeannette had known. And I didn’t want to tell Mrs. Baldwin, or Jabari and Nia. But just think, Big Poppa, we’re having a baby.”

  “Funny. I never thought about a baby for Christmas. I was going to ask if you wanted a kitten, just so there would be something small and cuddly in the house
.”

  “I have you for cuddly, I don’t need a kitten.” She pushed her hips against him. “Just think, this will be the last time we have that great big beautiful tree just for us.”

  “And I guess I’d better buy a Santa Claus suit. You know, so that Big Poppa can make the kids smile—the kids and the grandkids. Grandkids, baby.” He sighed. “From now on, everything…it’s for our family.” Rolling toward her, his face close, his fingers drifted over her skin. “Sure you don’t want a kitten?”

  “No way. I want a baby. Our baby.”

  “Good, and when it gets here, that’s what we’ll call it—Ours.”

  She punched his arm and made a face. “That’s a horrible name for a little girl.”

  His lips were soft when he kissed her. “Or boy.”

  “Or boy,” she agreed. Settled in his arms, her breath grew even and Rissa fell asleep dreaming of decorating their family Christmas tree, putting toys together for their children, baking cookies for Girl and Boy Scout meetings. She curled closer to Dench and inhaled deeply.

  Her breath was a sigh. He watched her lashes drop, fall softly against the roundness of her cheek, and wondered what she’d begun to dream about when her lips curved into a graceful smile. The baby, it has to be the baby, he thought. My son—or daughter—perfect and healthy. Is it too early to wonder about the baby’s sex? What he, maybe she, will look like? Big Poppa, she called me. Yeah, that’s me, Big Poppa.

  It’s been a long time coming. Watching her sleep, Dench thought about all the stuff he’d heard about pregnant women. They get fat and cranky and have strange cravings. That’s what they say. They say that they have this glow, that they’re beautiful. Rissa had always been beautiful to him. And we’ve waited four years for this baby—all that testing. Dude, when I think of all the tests we endured, how sick some of them made her—such a strong woman. Pregnant now, though. Finally.

  She moved in his arms and Dench was struck again by the miracle of this woman he loved more than he’d ever thought he could love any one human on the planet, and he was grateful. With her I get everything a man is entitled to ask of this life—love, hope, and family. Sure wish Aunt Linda was here for this baby.

  Something thrummed in his chest and for a minute he missed his Aunt Linda so deeply that it hurt. Linda Traylor had been his mother, his conscience, and his pep squad, all rolled into one. She’d been there for him from childhood, right up until eight years ago when she’d passed in her sleep. Depression might have claimed him, if not for his friendship with AJ and his love for Rissa.

  I know you’re up there on a cloud, just watching. You always liked Rissa, he thought. Now look what she’s done for us. The ache eased, went away, and he smiled. Yeah.

  His hand slipped from Rissa’s breast to her belly and he held his breath, wondering at the miracle of life. AJ said there was nothing like being a father—and, dude, AJ never lied when it came to Marlea and his babies. Rissa stirred gently, shifting in his arms. She deserves children and she’s gonna be the Mother of Life.

  Drifting, he closed his eyes. The phone rang, sounding far away. Recognizing the sound on the second ring, he struggled to pull himself up from sleep when Rissa made a purring sound. Fingers closing over the receiver, he had to smile. She might hate to miss out on a good secret, but his woman was a seriously sound sleeper. Almost as though she heard his thoughts, Rissa smiled, purred again and snuggled closer to his body.

  “Hello?”

  The man’s voice on the other end was agitated when he asked to speak to Rissa, “Please.”

  “Who are you, and why are you calling my house at,” Dench glared at the clock, “at eleven at night, and asking for my wife?”

  “Maybe what I really need,” the man said, “is to talk to you.”

  “To talk to me? What do you need to talk to me about?” Dench whispered into the phone, cupping a hand around the mouthpiece when Rissa moved against him. “Who is this?”

  “It’s…I’m…My name is James Clarence, sir. I’m one of your wife’s clients and…”

  “Clarence? The boxer?”

  “Yes, sir, and see…I’ve got sort of a situation.”

  Dench passed a hand over the warm silky leg Rissa suddenly swept over him. “Do you need me to get her for you?”

  “No! No, sir. Please don’t. You answered, that’s a good thing. I need to talk to you.”

  “About what?” Dench let toughness creep into his voice. “Dude, I’m football and you’re boxing. What do we have to talk about?”

  “Come on, man.” James was pleading. “I need a man’s opinion.”

  Not ready to give in, Dench could almost hear the younger man shrug and blink innocent eyes. “Dude,” he finally said, “I am not your father and I’m not a priest.”

  “But you are a man, and what I need to hear right now is what a man has to say. I need your help. It’s about a woman. My woman.”

  “So you thought you would just call here in the middle of the night and wake mine up?”

  “Naw, man, it ain’t like that. See, she gave me some advice and I’m going to take it. At least I think I’m going to take it.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I guess I just wanted to hear somebody say everything was going to be all right.”

  So this is going to take a minute, right? Moving carefully, Dench separated himself from the warmth of his wife and eased from the bed, taking the phone with him. Grabbing his robe, he pulled it over his arms and headed for the kitchen. Flicking on a light, he made a stop at the refrigerator for juice and poured a tall glass. “Tell me about it.”

  “Where do you want me to start?” James Clarence sounded about as miserable as one man could be.

  Dench sipped juice. “Start at the beginning.”

  James did, spinning his tale of woe, confusion, and fractured love. When he got to the part where he would have reiterated his blues chorus, Dench stopped him.

  “Look, dude. You love her, she loves you. You trusted each other enough to share your bodies and you trust her enough to want to entwine your life with hers. You’re about to have a baby. If you don’t man up now, when do you think would be a better time? I’ve seen you take some bad dudes out in the ring and you looked fearless. Why would you wimp out now, with so much at stake?”

  “See…”

  “Naw, dude. I don’t see nothing but you blowin’ smoke about how you don’t want to hurt your mother’s feelings. You need to talk to your woman and be done with it.”

  James blew out hard, and it carried across the line. “Man, all that talking stuff, it ain’t for me. I’m a boxer, and I’m used to lettin’ my hands do the talking for me.”

  “And now you want to be a husband.”

  “Uh. Yeah.”

  “Suck it up, dude—husbands talk. The truth of the matter is that if you love Sierra, your mother will love her better, especially when that baby gets here. Damn, when that baby gets here, your mother is going to forget all about you, and marrying Sierra will suddenly be her idea. Wait and see.”

  James laughed. “You’re right. I guess it’s just jitters. Nerves, you know, and it’s not like I’ve got a dad or big brother around. But…thanks for steppin’ in.”

  Dench rose, set his empty glass in the sink and looked out into the cold darkness beyond his cozy kitchen. “A man’s got to know where his heart is,” he said as much to himself as to the young man on the other end of the line. “A man, a husband, and a father have to know where that is, and then you’ve got to do everything you can to protect that. Good luck on the proposal, and let us know where to send the wedding and baby gifts.”

  “Will do. And just so you know I was listening, James Clarence does not need luck. I’m going to be marrying the right woman.”

  “Way to go, dude.” Dench grinned and disconnected the call. He couldn’t help feeling a little heroic when he turned off the light and went back to his bedroom. At his bedside, he paused to watch his wife. Rissa was still sound asleep, trusting him to be with he
r no matter what. Sliding into bed beside her, he touched her cheek and smiled, knowing one thing for certain: I’m going to be here, no matter what.

  Chapter 4

  Dench pulled the door closed and jerked at the seatbelt. On the other side of the truck, AJ clicked his seatbelt into place and settled back for the ride home. Flowery Branch was less than an hour’s ride away, but he knew Dench was glad for the company. The Falcons’ training camp was not exactly the kind of place a man wanted to take his wife while he was handling business, but as a former player, AJ enjoyed watching him on the job. He’d also enjoyed getting a look at the team that would hit the field for the last five games of their NFL season.

  Dench pulled out of the parking lot and turned left toward Atlanta Highway. Eyes on the road, a corner of his mouth hitched into a grin. “So, what did you think?”

  “I think that you’ve come a long way in six weeks. Has to be hard, trying to pull strong play at the end of January, from a team that you’re just getting to know, but you’re workin’ it out, dude, you’re workin’ it out.” AJ fiddled with the CD player, found something by Pieces of a Dream, punched buttons and nodded to the beat when sound filled the truck cab. “Rissa did good by you, the boys, and the team.”

  “I knew you were going to say that.” Dench’s grin widened. “Did you check out Sawyer and Gregg?” he laughed. “Kadeem Gregg, especially. Dude, I’m amazed he could run that fast and watch you at the same time.”

  “Hey, he’s a good kid. He’s got speed and good hands, and with some seasoning, he’s gonna make a really fine player. They both will.”

  Dench merged into traffic, still laughing. “You’d say that even if they sucked. Those boys were treating you like the walking god of all football—and you were lovin’ it. Go on and admit it, you loved it.”

  “Aww…” AJ pulled his cap lower and tried not to laugh out loud.

  “And you didn’t seem to mind when my whole back line came running off the field, begging for autographs like a bunch of star-struck kids. No shame, dude, you have no shame. I guess that’s what Hall of Fame status will do for a brother.”