Dream 3 - Finding the Dream (14 page)

He held both of her hands at her sides and moved in. "I'm not going to hurt you," he murmured as his mouth lowered. "This time."

It didn't hurt. Devastation came too quickly for pain. He simply undid her with one soft, lazy kiss. Then with another, harder, impatient, until that reckless, relentless mouth against hers chipped away at the wall of restraint.

And she knew that marriage hadn't prepared her for this kind of desire—the kind that curled like raw, ragged fists in the gut and twisted in angry frustration.

When she gave, he wanted more. He wanted her there, atop the windy cliff with the moon spotlighting them and the violent thrust of the waves matching the way he imagined thrusting into her. And he knew greed could be his undoing.

"I want you to think about it," he told her. "The horses taught me patience, so I've got a small store where you're concerned. It seems only fair to let you know that I want you. It doesn't have anything to do with saving your face in front of the country club set, or with making your idiot ex-husband steam a little. It has to do with you and me. And it's unlikely when it's done that you'll have to ask whether you should thank me."

"I have children."

Laughter, he discovered, could relieve even a great amount of tension. "Christ Almighty. You've got great children, Laura. But this is between you and me."

"I—let go of me and let me breathe, will you?"

She jerked away, rubbing her hands through hair that the wind had tossed into curling confusion. However shaken she was, she felt the simplest way out was honesty.

"I don't have any experience with affairs." Her voice was composed again, but her hands continued to twist together. "I was married for ten years, and I was faithful."

"You've been divorced how long?"

When she didn't respond, he stared. Then he began to see what she was telling him. There'd only been one man—which made her former husband even more of a fool, in Michael's opinion.

"Is that supposed to make me less attracted to you? You know what it makes me, Laura? It makes me want to toss you over my shoulder and find out if I still know how to pleasure a woman in a parked car."

He saw her glance toward his Porsche, and for a moment he was sure there was speculation in her eyes. "Sugar, I'd be willing to give it a shot."

When he stepped forward, she risked a wrenched ankle and evaded him. "Don't. Just don't."

She turned and stared out over the sea where waves slashed white against speared fingers of rocks. It was a long fall, she thought. Reckless jumps were always followed by long falls.

And she had never taken one.

"I don't know how I'm going to react to this. I don't know what I'm going to want to do about it."

"Think about it," he suggested. "I'm going to be around for quite a while. You want to neck in the car, or do you want me to take you home?"

Now she smiled. How could she help it? "Another of those intriguing offers of yours. I'll take the ride home, thanks."

"Your loss, sugar."

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"And then Mrs. Hannah said that everyone who'd finished all their assignments could have extra time on the computer. I picked the Art Studio so I got to draw a picture and print it out and everything. Then she put it on the board because she said it was excellent."

While Kayla chattered about her school day, Michael continued to water brush his mare's mane. Kayla had fallen into the habit of visiting him, and he'd discovered that if a day passed without her poking her head into the stables, he felt deprived.

Her mother, on the other hand, was keeping her distance. He hadn't seen her in three days, since the night of the country club dance.

"Mama's going to get me drawing lessons, and that'll be fun because I like to draw pictures. I can draw you one if you want."

"I'd like that." He sent her a quick smile. "What would you draw for me?"

"A surprise." She beamed at him. Big people didn't always really listen, Kayla knew. Mr. Fury always listened, even when he was busy. "Do you have time to teach Bongo a trick?"

"I might." Michael tapped the dampened water brush in his palm as he studied the pup, who was currently sprawled on the brick eyeing one of the cats. "I've got to put this lady through her paces first, though. Got somebody coming by to look at her."

Kayla's bottom lip poked out as she reached up to smooth the mare's glossy flank. "To buy her?"

"Maybe." Understanding, he crouched down. "She needs a good home. Like Bongo did."

"You're a good home."

He didn't think this called for an explanation of business, the profit-and-loss ledgers that often made him cross-eyed. So he kept it simple. "I can't keep them all, honey. What I do is take good care of them while they're here and look for people who'll take care of them when they're not. And your mom's the one who found these people. You know Mrs. Prentice?"

"She's nice." Kayla gnawed on her lip as she considered. She did like Mrs. Prentice—she had a fun laugh. "Her daughter rides horses. Mandy's fourteen and has a boyfriend."

"Does she?" Amused, Michael tousled Kayla's hair. "If they like the lady here, and she likes them, she'll be their horse. Do you think Mandy would take good care of her?''

"I guess so."

"Let's take her out to the paddock, you and me."

"I'll get her blanket. I'll get it."

While Kayla raced off, he made a final check of his lady. She was a pretty chestnut hack, her coat gleaming now from his meticulous work with brush and currycomb. Her eyes were clear, intelligent, her heart strong, her hooves healthy and smartly presented, with a coating of oil. At fifteen hands she was a good size, well lined, a cooperative, well-behaved animal who would bring him a good profit on his investment.

He was, he knew as he stroked her neck, going to miss the hell out of her.

Together, he and Kayla saddled the mare, with Kayla watching every move carefully. She hoped that one day Mr. Fury would let her hook the cinches, but she didn't want to ask. Yet.

"Where's Ali today?"

"Oh, she's in her room. She has to clean it and finish all her homework. She can't come outside today because she's being punished."

"What did she do?"

"She had another fight with Mama." With the dog at her heels, Kayla skipped along beside Michael as he led the mare out. "She's mad because our dad's marrying Mrs. Litchfield and he's not going to go to the father-daughter supper at school. She says it's Mama's fault."

"How does she figure that?"

"I don't know." Kayla shrugged her shoulders. "She's silly. Uncle Josh is going to the supper, and he's more fun anyway. Our dad doesn't like us."

The careless tone caused Michael to stop, glance down. "Doesn't he?"

"No, but that's okay because…" She trailed off, bit her lip. "It's bad."

"What is, darling?"

She looked behind her toward the house, then back into Michael's eyes. "I don't like him, either. I'm glad he went away and that he's not coming back. But don't tell Mama."

Now there was alarm, and beneath it a silvery rush of defense. "Honey." He crouched down, taking her little shoulders carefully in his hands. "He didn't hurt you, did he? He didn't hit you or your sister?'' Even the thought of it churned in his gut like acid. "Or your mom?"

"No." She seemed so baffled by the idea. Michael relaxed again. "But he never listens and he never plays and he made Mama cry, so I don't like him. But don't tell."

"I won't." Michael made an X over his heart, then touched the finger to her lips. How anyone, particularly a father, could not adore this fascinating child was beyond him. "How about a ride?"

Her eyes went huge, hopeful. "Can I? Can I really?''

"Well, let's see." He picked her up, set her on the saddle. "We have to see if the lady likes girls, right?" he said as he adjusted the stirrups. "This here's an English saddle because that's what Mandy uses. Take a rein in each hand. No, like this, sugar," he said and adjusted her grip. "That's the way."

Patiently he explained the proper way to guide the mare while Kayla listened in solemn-eyed concentration. "Now, heels down. Good. Knees in. Back straight." With a hand on the bridle he led the mare into a sedate walk. "How's it feel up there, Miss Ridgeway?"

She giggled, bounced. "I'm riding the horse."

"Now draw back on the left rein, easy now, the way I showed you. See how nice she turns. She's a good girl."

He had work to do, calls to make. And he forgot all of it. For the next twenty minutes he indulged himself, teaching Kayla the basics, hopping up behind her once to take the mare into a quick, circling canter that had the child shrieking with delight.

The day might have been overcast, more rain threatening. But here was sunshine.

When he plucked her off and her arms wound tight around his neck in a hug, he felt, for the first time in his life, like a hero.

"Can I do it again sometime, Mr. Fury?"

"Sure you can."

With easy affection and trust, she wrapped her legs around his waist, grinning at him. "When Mama gets home she'll be so surprised. I rode the horse all by myself and steered her and everything."

"You sure did. And now we know she likes girls."

"She'll like Mandy, so she'll be happy. I'm going to tell Annie right now how I rode the horse. Thanks, Mr. Fury."

She wiggled down and raced off, the pup scrambling after. Michael watched her, stroking the mare's neck. "You've done it now, Fury," he murmured. "Gone and fallen in love with that pretty little blonde." He looked into his mare's eyes, kissed her. Sighed. "Not supposed to fall for what you can't keep."

Two hours later, he repeated the warning to himself. The Prentices had fallen for the mare at first sight, had barely bothered to dicker over his asking price. Now he had a check in his pocket and the lady was no longer his.

With mixed feelings, he approached Templeton House. He'd made a sale, and that was part of his business. The mare, he had no doubt, was going to be pampered and adored for the rest of her life. And it was a sure bet that the Prentices would spread the word that Michael Fury had good stock for sale.

He had Laura to thank for it, and he intended to do so.

The duty call would give him the opportunity to see her again, to gauge how she reacted to him. Out of habit, and a little fear instilled by the thought of encountering Ann Sullivan, he wiped his feet outside the kitchen door. His knock was answered by a harried call to come in. When he did, fear turned to pleasure.

Mrs. Williamson was exactly as he remembered. Broad back to the room, big, capable hands stirring something wonderful on the huge six-burner stove. The bowl of black hair atop her head wouldn't have stirred in an earthquake.

The room smelled of spices and flowers and the mouthwatering aroma of whatever she had in the oven.

"Got any cookies around this place?"

She turned, wooden spoon in one hand. Her wide face creased into a huge welcoming smile. She'd always had a soft spot for lost boys. And bad ones.

"Well, if it isn't Michael Fury himself. I wondered when you'd come knocking on my door."

"Ready to marry me now?"

"I might just be." She sent him a saucy wink. "You've grown up handsome enough."

Because with her he'd always felt at home, he crossed the room, took one of her big hands in his, and brought it to his lips. "Name the time and place."

"Oh, you're a one." From anyone else, the sound that bubbled out would have been called a giggle. "Sit down there, boy, and tell me all about your adventures." As she always had, always would, when one of her children came to visit, she took cookies out of the bin, arranged them on a plate. "Selling horses now, are we?"

"Yes, ma'am. Just did." He patted his pocket while she poured his coffee.

"That's fine, then. And you haven't found a woman to suit you in all your travels?''

"I've been holding out for you." He bit into a cookie, rolled his eyes dramatically. "Nobody bakes like you, Mrs. Williamson. Why should I settle for less than the best?"

She laughed again and gave him a vigorous slap on the back that nearly sent him headfirst into his coffee. "Oh, you're a bad one, Michael."

"So they always said. You still do those apple pies? The ones that bring tears of joy to a man's eyes?"

"If you behave yourself I might just send you one over." She went back to her stove and her stirring. "Our little Kayla's been spending a lot of time down at the stables lately."

"I'm going to marry her if you keep turning me down."

"She's an angel, isn't she?" She let loose a windy sigh. "Allison, too. Darling girl, sweet as you please and bright as buttons on a new suit. Miss Laura's done a fine job there. And by herself, too. He never paid any mind to them."

When you want information, Michael mused as he took another cookie, go to the source. Mrs. Williamson was a fount of inside information. "
He
isn't very popular around here, I take it."

She sniffed loudly. "And why should he be, I'd like to know? Fussy, stiff-necked, too good to say how do you do? Never gave a minute of his valuable time to those beautiful girls, either. And fooling around with his secretary, and God knows who else, on the side." She pressed a hand to her heart as it swelled with outrage. "I shouldn't speak of it. Not my place."