by Theresa Weir
Gabe took a sip of coffee to jumpstart his brain and reconnect it to his mouth, but he only managed to burn his tongue.
“I made coffee,” he said. “Feel better?” He turned his back to her to gather his wits. Jesus, he hadn’t been in the same room with her for years, but she was as gorgeous as ever—even without makeup—no, especially without makeup. Maybe not quite as skinny, but that was a good thing. Her eyes were as big and brown as ever even if they now sported a few crinkles at the corners. They gave her face character. The thought of her straight from a hot shower sent his temperature soaring.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, this time with an edge. “You probably have a concussion. You should lie down. You said yourself you needed to rest.”
He liked that she was worried about him. Probably honesty was best, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell her he’d faked the whole thing.
“It wasn’t as bad as you thought, really. And you looked like you could use a good breakfast.” He’d started sounding defensive again and forced himself to face her. “Both of us needed a good breakfast.”
Her eyes drifted from him to the stove to the set table and settled on the vase of fresh flowers. The ghost of a smile lifted one corner of her mouth, and he began to relax.
“Are you saying I looked bad?” she asked.
Gabe’s heart rate kicked up again. “Um…no…I mean…I meant—”
“Coffee smells good,” she said, getting a cup down from the cabinet.
This was not going how he wanted. But she didn’t seem offended. “It’s the one thing you had in stock.”
“Yeah, I’m not home much.” She reached for the pot, then froze, her eyes on the open container where he’d found the coffee beans. “You used that coffee?”
He tried to catch up with why this might be a problem. He was sure he hadn’t mistaken a crazy note of alarm in her voice.
She snatched up the pink tin box. “You used up all this coffee.” An accusation, now. “How could you?”
“I—”
“This was my mother’s.”
Of course it was. He and Martha had often shared a pot. She had loved a strong cup of coffee. She’d found the set of canisters at a yard sale. They were beat up when she’d gotten them, but he hadn’t done anything other than open it and scoop the beans into the grinder. What the hell? Why were there tears in Steph’s eyes?
“Who do you think you are?”
“I—”
“Get out.”
“But…I don’t understand. The canister is fine.”
She shoved the container in his face. “Not this, you idiot. It was the last of my mother’s coffee.”
All he could do was blink at her as a tear ran down her cheek. She swiped at it, turned away and threw the metal box across the counter. It skittered into the toaster with a loud bang. The toast popped up.
She spoke quietly. “I make a pot every year on Mother’s day with a few of the beans. It’s like…like we’re together for a little while.” She whirled on him. “Now, you’ve ruined it. I’ll never be able to do it again. You’ve ruined everything. Get out.”
Dumbfounded and confused, Gabe made for the door. Stephanie followed and slammed it behind him. He stood on the porch staring at it, noting the frame needed painting. Old feelings of abandonment tried to rise, but he pushed them down. His mother had said almost the exact same thing years ago when she’d thrown him out in favor of her boyfriend.
Martha had been the kind neighbor who’d paid him too much to do chores around her place. She’d let him stay at her house when he’d needed it, made sure he had clean clothes and a decent meal. That’s when he’d developed his crush on Steph. But she’d always been busy and then had gone to college early. If she noticed him at all, she never showed it. Apparently nothing had changed.
Since then, there’d been other women, and he’d even tried marriage. That lasted as long as the balance in his bank account. Martha had warned him. And she’d been there when it fell apart.
Martha’s door had always been open.
He wasn’t about to let Stephanie slam it in his face.
Chapter 4
I slid down with my back against the door, pulled the towel from my hair, buried my face in it, and cried. And cried. It felt like losing my mother all over again. Only worse, somehow. Back then, I’d taken off a couple of days to deal with it, to deal with the to-do list of putting someone to rest. There hadn’t been time for tears.
William came over and slumped next to me. I raised my head long enough to notice his eyebrows drawn tight at the strange noises coming out of me. After I put my face back in the towel, he nudged my ear so that I turned to him. He licked my face with the force and thoroughness of someone who means it. I put my arm around him and sobbed into his neck.
Two-and-a-half years ago, I’d managed my emotions with the same efficiency I checked items off the list. Contact friends and family, check. Obituary, check. Funeral home, check. Flowers, check. Grave marker, check.
Return to work and take on more projects, check.
Stephanie, you’re going to have to face this sooner or later. The longer you wait…
I’m fine. I’ve dealt with it.
What are you afraid of?
I think—
No, how do you feel?
Without work, an empty to-do list loomed in front of me like something ominous from a B horror flick. A black hole that I was about to tumble in to. There, grief would swallow me. I’d become one of those depressed people who didn’t care how they looked. I’d lie on the couch all day and gain weight. I’d stop answering the door.
William sighed. He needed to go out. He needed a bath. I did have a to-do list. I would think of other things for it soon. Like cleaning up that stupid breakfast.
I stood and faced the mess. I should fire dear Mr. Fagen and take over the yard and house maintenance. That would keep me busy. But my heart wasn’t in it, and it wasn’t fair to him. He’d been trying to help, though the why of it escaped me.
The bacon was burned, the eggs dry, the toast cold. I made a plate, and sat at the table to start a list. With only one bite swallowed, William whimpered. Right. He needed to go out.
Gabe’s truck sat in the shade of the huge ginkgo by the back gate. No other evidence of the man. Just as well. I’d never been so mad and sad and confused. I probably owed him an apology. Did owe him an apology. It was just coffee, right? Which reminded me that I desperately needed a cup. I’d be incoherent if I tried to talk to him, anyway.
After taking William to the park across the way, I went back inside, poured a small amount from the full pot, then emptied my ice-cube trays and filled them with what remained. I left these on the counter to cool while brewing a fresh pot from non-mom beans. There were fourteen cubes per tray, three trays, forty-two cubes total. If I used one per year, they’d last until I was eighty-eight years old. By then, I might be done with this particular form of insanity.
Guilt tugged at me for complaining and eating the breakfast Gabe had made. He’d went and bought the supplies, too. I wrote down “Reimburse Fagen for groceries,” and “Buy new ice-cube trays,” and began feeling more right with the world.
That is, until the strange vision arose in my head.
Fire. Screaming. Smoke. Choking.
It lasted not more than a second, but the air caught in my throat anyway. I grabbed the edge of the counter to steady myself. Had I dreamed this during my nap? Dreams didn’t return with such force. I gulped coffee. William put his paw on my leg. I covered it with my hand, then rubbed my tired eyes.
“It’s okay. Good boy.”
In response to the vivid scene, a new wave of sadness and grief and…betrayal washed through me. Betrayal? Unfamiliar as I was with emotions, this stumped me. As if I could discern the nuances when I scarcely felt them.
I shook it off and ruffled William’s head. “We need some exercise, eh, boy?” He wagged his tail and gazed at me with devotion. That lurching feeli
ng in my chest returned—something of recognition and—well, it couldn’t be love. But what else would make my breath and heart jam together that way? I needed an appointment with Jean, pronto. The events of the past twenty-four hours had addled my brain.
“Let’s go for a run,” I said to William. He bounced on his hind legs with excitement, as tall as me when reared to his full height. “Then a bath, okay?” Undaunted, he continued to wag and bounce while I got him into his new collar and leash, and we were out the door.
Fresh air cleared my head, but I grew winded quickly, the after effects of alcohol and sugar overload from the night before still taxing my system. We slowed after a block. William walked calmly beside me. Hard to believe anyone had had trouble with him. Which made me wonder about Heather’s fanciful and ridiculous notion he was my lover from a previous lifetime. It was odd I felt so connected to him and we rubbed along like we’d been doing it forever. He was a good dog, was all. And I was overdue for canine companionship.
Okay, any companionship. I thought of the sight and smell of Gabe and my tummy did its silly little flip again. A man like that never wanted for companionship of any kind.
What are you afraid of, Stephanie?
I think—
FEELings…
We’d wandered toward the main street. It would be busy with people and dogs. Despite his stellar behavior, I wasn’t sure how William would react. We cut down an alley that would take us toward home. As soon as we did, I had second thoughts. It wasn’t a bad neighborhood, but bad elements popped up every now and then anyway, and the alley was too empty. I could see the street at the other end, but it seemed far away. I decided to go back the way we’d come.
William’s deep-throated growl caught me off guard. He’d stopped and bristled, his whole body tense. A young man stood in our way holding a gun. Instinctively, I turned. Another kid stepped out from behind a dumpster and blocked escape.
My mind went blank. Scream, I thought. Yes, I should scream. Instead, I froze.
Not William. He charged, grabbed the gun arm in his massive jaws and pushed. A shot exploded into the air, the boy screamed, the gun dropped, both kids ran. Or tried to. The one behind me made it. The first one played a deadly game of tug-of-war with the Conqueror.
I kicked the gun under the dumpster. Otherwise, helplessness made me limp. William had changed before my eyes from a scraggly mutt to a ferocious guardian angel. He growled and snarled and whipped his head around like he intended to tear the kid’s hand off. Blood splattered through the air from bites. The boy had given up trying to get away and cried in terror, his free arm across his eyes as if blinding himself to the truth would make it stop.
A police car screeched to a halt in the head of the alley.
I found my voice. “William. Stop. Let him go.”
With a final disgusted shake, he dropped the offending arm and trotted over to me, sitting at my feet. I hesitated before petting him. His jaws and cheeks were smeared with blood. The whole thing had lasted seconds but felt like an hour, a day, a lifetime. He glanced at me with an unmistakable glint of satisfaction in his eyes.
That weird sense of recognition hit me again. I doubled over like I’d been kicked in the stomach and began to shake. My vision darkened. Vaguely, I was aware of someone asking if I was all right, the crackle of a police radio, another siren, flashing lights, paramedics. They sat me down, put a blanket around my shoulders.
I am running. Being chased. They are coming too swiftly. On horseback. Ahead, a place of safety. I can’t reach it. They grab me.
Fire. Screaming. Smoke. Choking.
Treachery. Anger. Betrayal. Disbelief. Sorrow.
Impossible feelings to know all at once. I coughed—the lung-searing hack of someone who was drowning—someone who was burning. A kind voice swam through to me; a gentle hand put cool water to my lips.
* * *
An hour or so later, a police cruiser deposited William and me at our house. Gabe came running from the backyard. I heard myself saying, “I’m all right,” over and over. There was a conversation between the policewoman and Gabe, his strong arms were around me, and then I was in my bed, William tight at my side. I wasn’t all right, not at all.
Tomorrow, I remembered, would be Mother’s Day.
Chapter 5
I am running, flying over cool grass in bare feet, my chest filled with crisp air and elation. A quick glance over my shoulder tells me he’s close, but that’s the idea. I’m fast. No one in the village can catch me, not even him. Unless I let him. But not until we reach the long shadows of the oaks, the blanket of samhain leaves.
Beneath the branches, darkness silvered by a full moon, a moon to take your heart. I slow. He tumbles me to the ground laughing. Our tunics slide away. His skin is warm where it touches mine. The grass cool, the leaves deep. We have promised each other forever. He is heavy between my legs. Never a burden. I arch to meet him. He is mine.
The jangle of the phone jarred me awake. I flailed my arms as if buried in a pile of leaves, the sharp scent of earth caught in my nose. My body felt lush and taut with desire, my breathing too quick. I strained for release. The ringing stopped before I could answer. William put a paw on me, and I shook my head to clear it.
What the hell?
My day returned, and I sank into my pillow, calming myself with a deep breath. Outside, the red-gold light of a summer sunset evoked the dream, and I gave myself a mental shake. My dreams were rarely so vivid and never so sensuous. There was a connection between this and the earlier vision of smoke and burning, but how did I know that? The memory brought me up short. I didn’t like flames, didn’t own a candle, never used the fireplace. I’d been that way since a child and never questioned it.
What was happening to me? Had the combination of being laid off and getting mugged sent me over the edge? I decided I’d slept enough for one day and started to get up.
William turned to the bedroom door with a low growl as it opened, and Gabe stuck his head in.
“Sorry about the phone,” he said.
I guess I wasn’t fully awake yet, but I couldn’t figure out why this man was still in my house or why he was apologizing for my phone ringing.
“I tried to grab it—”
I held up one hand to stop him and soothed William with the other.
“Didn’t I throw you out earlier?” I still felt drowsy and hot and aroused. And very conflicted. The logical me felt indignant, but an unfamiliar primal me wanted to jump his bones. “Don’t you have someplace to go?”
He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked away. I immediately regretted my tone. There I was, being ungrateful again. But what had happened to privacy?
“Sorry,” I said. “It’s been a day. Can you give me a minute?”
After he closed the door behind him, I turned to William. He had one lip caught on his fang and looked so goofy I had to laugh. “Did I thank you for saving me today?” He yawned, and I ruffled his ears and kissed him. “Why is Mr. all-the-archangels Fagen hanging around, eh boy?” William shook his head, making his ears flop loudly. “And why does it make me feel cheerful instead of annoyed? Who am I?”
The big dog dropped to his side and stretched, pushing his paws against me. I rubbed his belly and he sighed. If he wasn’t concerned, I wasn’t going to worry about it. His instincts were better than mine.
A short while later, after banishing the strange dream with a liberal splash of cold water on my face, swapping my sweats for jeans, and taking William out, I sat down to a plate of grilled salmon, new potatoes, and asparagus. Gabe had brought it over from Mrs. Spangler’s and kept it warm for me. He’d even set the table. I found it hard to stay mad at him, difficult not to like him, and impossible not to be attracted to him. Especially in my unsated condition.
“I couldn’t find any candles,” he said.
Fire. Screaming. Smoke. Choking.
I swallowed a rising panic.
You can’t ignore these things forever, Stepha
nie…
Okay, I thought I’d banished the vision and the dream. But they weren’t easy to shake. I’d felt the heat of the flames, coughed from the smoke, and known a man making me his own. William rose from where he’d tucked himself into the easy chair, came over to me, and licked my hand when I put it down to stroke his head.
“I don’t have any candles.”
Gabe stared at me a moment like he was deciding whether to say something about that, but didn’t comment.
I searched for another subject. “And here I thought work was all there was,” I said over my glass of pinot noir. Not the best choice with fish, but I always preferred red, and it was all I had. He’d dined earlier with Mrs. Spangler and Mr. Weinperth, but she’d provided him with seconds so I wouldn’t have to eat alone. “I think I’ve been missing out.”
My handyman grinned like he knew a secret. “You have,” he said.
My stomach did that ridiculous little flip again. Geez, what was I, seventeen? I was far too easy, too tired, or just plain crazy if I could throw a man out of my house in the morning then have dinner with him the same night. A man I scarcely knew. Even so, he felt familiar and made me comfortable.
I’d been glad he’d been there when the policewoman brought me home. Even though I had tossed him out in a rage, he hadn’t hesitated to help. But seeing as how I was questioning my sanity every other moment, I didn’t know if I could rely on what I was feeling. Still, my mother had trusted him, and that weighed heavily in his favor.
“What do you do when you’re not working?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I have a boat. A cabin at the lake. I fish. Read. Swim. Hike. Take a longer trip every now and again.”
“With anyone in particular?” The words escaped before I’d barely thought them. Who did I think I was? But he only chuckled.
“No, by myself mostly.” He took a drink of wine. “Sometimes my buddy John comes, when he can get away, but then he complains about missing his wife and kids. Sometimes they all come.”
“Sounds fun.”
