by Angel Smits
“Sort of.” She recalled the vision and the toy bear. “You still haven’t answered my question. You could have called to find out if I had more dreams. Opal has my number, too.”
“I tried calling, but all I got was your machine. Besides, Johnny takes over whenever I need a break . . . and I need a break.”
He walked across the room, coming uncomfortably close to her. Lifting one booted foot, he set it on the raised hearth and stared into the flames.
Dancing light caressed the even planes of his face, and Faith’s heart softened. Her eyes followed the light’s path. She remembered how his skin felt against her fingers. His lips would be warm and firm against hers . . .
“C . . . can I get you something to drink?” Faith moved away before her traitorous fingers reached out and touched him. “I’ve got some wine in the fridge. Or iced tea?”
“No vodka?” His voice teased, but his eyes didn’t smile. “Tea will do.”
Cord turned away from the fire and watched Faith walk into the kitchen. With the flames at his back, he looked around, more than a little curious about the woman who lived here.
The couch and matching loveseat looked old-fashioned, yet new. A bright floral print added light to the room. An antique rocker sat near him with a matching table and dainty lamp beside it. But what drew his attention most was the wall of photographs. There must have been a couple dozen in various coordinated frames.
Were they her work? A large print of a man and woman standing beside a tent dominated the grouping. The man, older and balding, smiled formally. The woman had Faith’s features, though her gray hair was cropped short and serviceable. Her parents. How long ago had this picture been taken?
Groups of family and friends stared back at him. Home and family reached out, pressing unfamiliarly close. He’d never known what it was like to have a family like that. He doubted he ever would. Faith was the first woman to ever make him even think about the long haul.
He turned his attention back to the pictures. Other than the single photo of Timmy Cumberland, Cord had never known a photo to move him so deeply. These did the same thing, and he tore his gaze away.
Antiques. Knickknacks. Family. They were everywhere, reaching out to him, clearly announcing they were very different than his life in a casino.
Faith returned just then, a large glass in each hand. “Did you take these?” he asked even though he already knew the answer.
“Many of them, yes.”
He nodded, returning his gaze to the photos. “For a book?” He knew better but hoped to put some distance between himself and the appealing homeyness they exuded.
She set his tea on the table before answering. “No, personal.”
He returned to the couch. Sitting, he let his head drop back and his eyes close for a moment.
The silence stretched between them, heavy and thick. Faith didn’t speak, and he didn’t ask anything more. Instead, she stirred the ice in her drink, breaking the silence with the clink.
“You look tired,” she commented as she sat down in the antique rocker near the hearth. The old chair was safe and strong, comforting to her frayed nerves.
“I am. I didn’t sleep much last night. I kept thinking about you.” His gaze was intent as he leaned forward. He sipped the drink, his blue eyes looking at her over the rim of the glass.
“Oh. The dreams.” She stared down at her own drink, swirling the liquid around in the glass. He was silent for several moments, and she finally looked up at him.
“Yeah, that too, but no. About how good it felt to touch you,” he whispered.
The fire in his eyes had nothing to do with the gas logs a few feet away, though Faith tried to convince herself it did. She took a deep gulp of her drink. Its mellow dampness soothed the dryness in her throat and the tightness in her chest.
“I . . . we can’t.” She couldn’t sit any longer. She stood and paced. Her shoes brushed against the thick carpet, the whooshing sound the only noise in the room.
“Stop.” He stood and reached for her. Unmindful of the tea splashing across them both, he pulled her into his arms. He took her glass out of her hand and set it on a nearby table. The front of her shirt was damp and clung to her skin.
“You’re driving me crazy.” He pulled her close, his hands moving up and down her back, and his face buried in the softness of her neck.
“Cord, please.” Her plea was halfhearted. It felt so good, so right to be with him like this.
“There’s no storm this time, have you noticed? We’re safe here.”
“There’s so much you . . . we don’t know.” Faith wanted to share what she’d learned with him, but the thought of telling him tore her apart. How could she discuss the violence of their shared past? What would he say? How would he react? A shaft of fear tripped through her, and once again she repeated Clarissa’s warnings in her mind. She had to stop this. She struggled in his embrace and against herself.
His voice was strained when he spoke again. “I really don’t give a damn about anything right now but you and me. Here. Now. Like this.” Cord didn’t give her a chance to argue, didn’t give her any more time to think. He simply took her lips in a demanding, soul-searing kiss.
His lips were hard and warm against hers, seeking what she was sure she couldn’t give him—her heart. But as the moments passed, the magic of his kiss seeped past her hastily erected barriers. She relaxed against him.
Hesitantly, her arms crept around his neck, and the curls at the nape of his neck teased her fingertips. This man wouldn’t hurt her.
His vitality and warmth were stronger than any evil that might have once been a part of him. At the reassurance, her mind grew blank, seeing nothing but the gossamer warmth of her desire.
The cushions of the couch pressed against her back, and the warm weight of his body stretched across hers. The heavy, solidness of his thigh between hers was intoxicating.
Levering up on one elbow, Cord gazed down at her, a teasing smile hovered on the edges of his lips. “Isn’t this better?”
The movement of his lips mesmerized Faith as they formed the words. She nodded in agreement, coherent speech long gone.
“Sorry about spilling your tea.” He didn’t sound at all remorseful. He reached out and traced a damp circle near the top button of her blouse. With gentle care, he pushed the white pearl through its hole and pulled the fabric apart, exposing her neck and collarbone to his searching lips. As his mouth warmed a trail down her skin, his fingers moved to the next button, opening the fabric over the swell of her breast. The fabric parted and his mouth followed, pulling the dainty lace of her bra away with his teeth.
Heat exploded over her skin. Faith moaned from the fire traveling through her. As his lips closed around her nipple, she cried out. Gently, she urged for more with her fingers at the back of his head. His laughter wasn’t a taunt, but an expression of his enjoyment.
With growing urgency, Faith let her fingers travel over the T-shirt covering his chest. She tugged at the white cloth, successfully pulling it from the waistband of his jeans. With one swift movement he pulled it over his head, and a sudden rush of hot desire shot through her as his chest pressed against her naked breasts. Her gasp echoed through the room.
“You’re not him,” Faith whispered as she pulled his lips back to hers. “You’re not,” she repeated as he pulled away.
Lifting away from her, Cord looked down into her eyes. “Not who?”
“Rafe. You can’t be him.”
“Ah, damn.” He sat up, raking the fingers that moments before had played magically against her skin through his thick mane of hair. “I’ve spent the last day and night trying to escape those images. Will there ever be a time these dreams won’t be a part of us?”
“I don’t know. Maybe they are us.” Faith pulled her blouse back together
and sat up. Torment blazed in his eyes. She wanted to take back the words. Her arms ached to hold him again. Her heart ached to return to that magic place where they didn’t think, just felt.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“It’s not your fault.” He stood and paced, stopping only for a moment to pull his shirt back on. “I’ll be glad when this is all over.”
“When what’s over?” Faith stood, gathering up the glasses and walking into the kitchen with them.
“The dreams.” He followed her, standing in the doorway as she put the glasses in the dishwasher.
“What makes you think it will end?” She couldn’t face him, couldn’t let him see how much she wanted the dreams to go away, too. But that was like wishing history to change. She couldn’t do that. No one could.
“It has to. Don’t you see?” He reached out, pulling her around to face him. “We’ve had these dreams for years, but never met. Now that we’ve met, all kinds of strange things are happening. Something has to give sooner or later.”
“Yeah, like our sanity.”
“No. I’m not ready to give up. You want to know the real reason I came here? I wanted you so badly I couldn’t stand it.” He smiled as the blush crept over her cheeks. “And I wanted to talk to you about what we’re going to do.”
“Do?” Uncertainty shot through her. He needed to know about Rafe, and yet what would he think? How would he feel? What would he do?
“Clarissa,” she said aloud.
“Who?”
“A friend of mine. She’s a psychic.”
“A what?”
His smirk of disbelief was comical, and Faith laughed. “I’ve known her a long time. We met at the library yesterday. She knows about everything.”
“Meaning you told her about it? I realize she’s a friend, but are you sure she’s not a nut case?” He looked as skeptical as she had been yesterday.
She frowned at him. Clarissa was not a nut case, though Faith knew many people would share his opinions.
“I’ve never told her about the dreams because that’s all I thought they were. She knew about Timmy.” The color drained from Cord’s face. “You should meet her. I’m calling her.” She walked to the phone and dialed the familiar number of the coffee shop. The answering machine picked up. Knowing she must be busy with customers, Faith left a brief message.
“Well?” Cord leaned against the counter, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He crossed his arms over his chest. “If she’s a psychic, wouldn’t she know you were calling?”
Faith glared at him for his sarcasm.
“Now what?” He looked away.
“Is that invitation for dinner still open?” She tried to smile, but couldn’t. She knew it was dangerous to stay here alone with him, but he didn’t seem in any great hurry to leave.
The doorbell rang, and Faith breathed a sigh of relief. Leaving Cord in the kitchen, she went to answer it.
Clarissa shoved two brimming grocery bags in her arms as Singe raced in through the opened door. The cat’s yowl of anger told her he’d been in another scrape with the neighbor’s cat. She’d have to tend to him later.
“There’re two more bags in the car. You take these and I’ll get the others.” Clarissa rushed back to her car, leaving Faith to stare after her.
“Yes, ma’am,” Faith mocked and took the bags into the kitchen as instructed.
“What’s that?” Cord took one bag from her and peered inside. The white cartons and unlabeled wrappers didn’t tell them what was inside. The scent of ginger announced the presence of Chinese food. Jalapenos hinted at Mexican. The front door banged shut, and both Cord and Faith turned to see Clarissa enter the room. Faith saw Cord’s eyebrow shoot up in silent question.
“Cord Burke this is Clarissa Elgin.” She wanted to tease him about his earlier sarcasm but held back.
“Nice to finally meet you.” Clarissa extended her hand while juggling the paper bags. Rather than shake her hand, Cord took the bags and smiled in return. The crease between his eyebrows remained, though.
“I just left you a message,” Faith said, a twinge of relief leaping through her.
“Oh good. Well, not so good. I’m not there. Anyway, what was it about?”
“The dreams.” Faith was surprised to see Clarissa stop and stand still. For a long moment silence claimed the room.
“I’ll make you a deal.” Clarissa turned to face them. “A psychic without sustenance is worthless. That’s why I brought all this food. After dinner, we’ll talk, okay?” There was a plea in her voice.
Faith and Cord exchanged uneasy glances before turning to help Clarissa unpack the bags.
“What is all this?” Cord lifted a large white box.
“Well, I couldn’t make up my mind what I wanted, and I didn’t know what you two liked, so that’s Mexican—enchiladas, tostados extraordinaire. This one.” She held up another white box. “Is Chinese.” She hugged it to her with a decadent smile. “Mine. Faith, that’s ribs. I think I managed to get something for everyone.”
Clarissa was frequently a chatterbox, but this was definitely nervous energy. Faith watched her, seeking but finding no clues as to why.
“How did you know we were here?” Faith asked Clarissa, looking at Cord with an I-told-you-so smile.
Clarissa looked up sheepishly. “I . . . uh drove by earlier and uh . . . you should close your curtains.” With her boxes of food piled in her arms, Clarissa bolted from the room. Faith’s cheeks warmed with her blush.
“I guess we can eat by the fire.” Faith didn’t look at Cord. She grabbed the bottle of wine, paper plates and food and followed Clarissa into the living room. Cord chuckled but quickly swallowed the sound when Faith turned to glare at him.
Spread out on the hearth and coffee table, there was enough food for a dozen people. They managed to make a healthy dent. Friendship permeated the room, and Faith savored it. She and Clarissa hadn’t been able to spend much time together lately, and Faith missed her friend.
Cord entertained them both with tales of his various travels. He’d lived more places than her parents had visited. As he talked, she watched him over the rim of her glass. Was Cripple Creek just another place he intended to pass through or was he planning to stay this time?
Before she could ask him, Clarissa reached over and replenished her wineglass. “I think I’m up to this.”
Faith looked closely at her friend. “I would like to know what’s got you so on edge.”
“Yeah, me too,” Cord echoed.
“Oh, why do you want the difficult stuff first?” Clarissa moaned. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath before opening them again. When she did, she didn’t look at either Faith or Cord. She stared into the depths of her wine.
“I had a dream last night. At least it felt like a dream. It wasn’t one of my usual visions.” She fidgeted with her wineglass. “It’s as if the image were being forced, like a television signal just barely at the edges of the reception area.”
“A dream?” Cord’s voice was husky. “What about?”
“Well, it wasn’t a what. It was a who.” She didn’t elaborate.
After several long, silent minutes, Faith leaned forward, unable to stand the suspense any longer. “Clarissa. Who?”
Clarissa gulped her wine. “I saw Timmy last night.” Finally, she looked up. The room was silent. Faith wished she’d put on some music—anything to fill the awkward silence.
“He was in the dark somewhere in the mountains, looking for you. He clung to an old-fashioned Teddy bear.”
“Where was he?” Cord sat on the couch and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, as if he needed the support. His eyes were distant and cool.
“I . . . I don’t know.” Clarissa lifted her hands. “All I saw were
trees, him and the bear.”
“Wh . . . what did the bear look like?” Faith trembled. Her images and feelings about Timmy were the most painful part of all this. She was afraid of what Clarissa saw.
“Ragged and dark brown. It wasn’t called a teddy bear then, was it?”
“No, not till a few years later,” Faith answered absently.
“He was so sad.” Clarissa’s voice broke then. “There were tears in his eyes. Talk about my maternal instinct kicking into overdrive. I wanted to hug him forever.”
Faith’s heart cracked. Tears filled her eyes. She stood, meeting Cord’s startled gaze, and then rushed from the room, away from the pain and questions there. She retrieved the picture Tim Gibson had given her from the drawer where she’d hidden it. The tiny stuffed bear rested innocently beneath the Christmas tree. So joyful. So innocent. So painful.
“Oh, Timmy, where were you?” she asked the empty air. No words came to her ears, and she knew there would be none. She slowly returned to the living room with the picture.
Cord looked up, concern filling his face as she sat down next to him.
“I . . . I went to see someone today,” she said. “I wasn’t going to tell you until I had things figured out, but, well, he gave me this.” She handed him the picture and moved to the hearth.
“Who gave you this?” Cord held the picture gingerly as if it might vanish.
“Tim Gibson.”
He stood, anger filling his face and walked toward her. “You weren’t going to tell me? What the hell did he say to you? Is that why you were so damned suspicious earlier?”
Faith could only return his stare. He had a right to be angry, had the right to not trust her. She hadn’t trusted him.
“May I?” Clarissa stepped between them and took the picture from Cord’s hand. Her interruption broke the tension between them. Cord returned to the couch.
“The bear.” Clarissa cried aloud, holding the picture close to examine it. “That’s the one.”
Faith’s mind tumbled back to the vision. “The other night, I saw a scene. I don’t know what it was.” Her gaze sought Cord’s, needing his support. “It was Christmas morning. Timmy came into our room, the one with the quilt and the brass bed. He had that bear. He said Santa had given it to him.” Her voice broke as she remembered his childish joy. “The only thing was, suddenly the wind came in and snatched the bear away. He was heartbroken.”
