Laurie Paige - When I Dream Of You

Across the lake, she heard the drone of an engine. Glancing that way, she watched Kyle Herriot maneuver a small powerboat onto the placid water. He sped off toward the other end of the lake. Fishing, probably.

She recalled his mother was to have left early that morning for a vacation with one of her schoolteacher friends, another widow, so Kyle was on his own, too. She idly wondered if he could cook, a task she had little patience with.

Which reminded her, she needed to make a grocery list. The last month had been given over to wedding preparations and the refrigerator had gradually filled with special dishes as the big day drew near. She’d eaten whatever was on hand and easy to fix, usually frozen entrées heated in the microwave oven.

She checked all the horses, repaired a fence, then headed back to the house. The temperature was rising rapidly. The afternoons were hot due to a high-pressure system sitting over this part of the state. She’d welcome a thundershower to settle the dust.

After freshening up, she took off for town in the ranch wagon, a list of chores in her pocket. The first person she saw at the feed store was Kyle. His fishing expedition hadn’t lasted long.

Her insides clenched up.

She didn’t like that a bit. He neither frightened nor attracted her, so why the emotional twinge?

“Good morning,” he said when he saw her. He held open the door. No smile graced the planes and ridges of his face.

“Good morning. Did your mother get off on her trip okay?” she asked, pleased with the polite distance in her tone that gave nothing of her restless emotions away.

Her dreams had been filled with scenes she couldn’t interpret—him and her, running from something, then her running from him while ghostly figures hovered ominously on the sidelines.

“Yes, considering she was afraid the ranch would fall apart without her watchful eye on things.”

His rueful answer took her by surprise. So did the amusement in his eyes, which looked more silver than gray in the morning light.

“Mothers,” she said, smiling with genuine warmth.

He seemed to stare at her mouth for a long minute before nodding. She turned down the first aisle of the store to escape him, then rubbed her lips to see if she had egg on her face.

She yanked out her list and hurried to the huge bags of feed. She might have known—Kyle was already there. He moved over so she could make her selections.

“Who’s first?” the proprietor asked when he came to wait on them.

“He was.”

“She was.”

Megan glanced at Kyle in annoyance. “He was,” she said firmly.

He shrugged. “I’m getting a hundred pounds of the special mix. I can handle it.”

Megan watched him hoist a bag of feed as if it weighed no more than a five-pound bag of sugar. Muscles rippled in his arms and shoulders while others bunched in his thighs as he rose and slung the bag over his shoulder in one smooth movement. The owner dumped her order onto a wheelbarrow with a grunt, then headed out to her vehicle.

She gathered the rest of the ranch items on her list and went to the cash register. Kyle was there, asking about an air compressor. The store rented equipment to the locals as well as supplying them with crop seeds, stock feed and various medicines and liniments.

“You two have got to quit meeting this way,” the owner told them, laughing heartily at his joke.

Megan’s smile was automatic, but her heart went into fast mode as she glanced at her enemy. His gaze locked on her mouth again and she recalled the way his eyes had roamed her face while they danced last night. His expression had been cold, but there had been something in those silvery depths….

Right. Dislike and suspicion.

She licked her lips and turned to Harry, glad to finish her business and get out of the store. After having her hair trimmed, she did the grocery shopping. By then, it was time for lunch. A meal at the local diner was the one treat she allowed herself when she had to come to town.

By rushing, she got a table just before a busload of senior citizens tramped inside. She watched them settle in, asking questions about the cooking methods of various dishes and the fat content, then ordering hamburgers and fries. The waitress, who had worked there just about forever, was the soul of patience, but she winked at Megan as she pivoted toward the pass-through to the kitchen.

Watching a frail old man, who looked to be around ninety, help his equally fragile wife to a seat, Megan wondered what memories they shared, the births and deaths, the unexpected joys, the deep sorrows—

“You expecting anyone?” a male voice asked.

She stared up at Kyle.

“Okay if I join you? The place seems to be full.”

“Oh. Yes, that’s fine.”

He removed his Stetson and hung it on the back of a chair before taking a seat opposite her. He checked out the lunch special listed on the chalk-board. “You ordered?”

“Not yet. I’m going for the special.”

The waitress came over and plopped down two glasses of water from a tray. “You know what you want?”

“The special with iced tea. Cornbread instead of dinner rolls,” he said after she ordered the same thing but with the homemade yeast rolls.

“Got it.” The waitress hurried off.

Their table was an island of silence surrounded by a sea of babble, Megan realized. No conversational tidbits came to mind.

He had no such problem. “It’s going to be hot this afternoon. Again.”

“Yes.” She recalled the store. “You must have plans for some hard work.”

Kyle looked a question at her. He watched the way the light picked out the red-gold tones of her hair and glistened like dew on her lips, which were outlined in a subtle color, then filled in with gloss.

She pressed her lips together.

“Sorry,” he said, not meaning it. If he made her uncomfortable, tough.

“For what?” She looked truly perplexed.

“For staring. You have a tempting mouth.”

He heard the hardness in his voice, but also the huskiness, the lover-like intonations. The tightening in his gut served as a warning; there was an attraction here…and it wasn’t all on his side. There was awareness in her eyes, too. It made him angry, this unexpected hunger that throbbed in him.

What the hell was it about the Windom women that proved so irresistible to the Herriot men?

She ignored his statement. Looking straight at him as if he hadn’t mentioned her mouth at all, she said, “But then, ranches always have lots of hard chores, don’t they?”

“Usually,” he agreed.

“Did you catch any fish this morning? You were out on the lake. I saw you,” she added at his sharp look.

“Are you keeping track of my comings and goings?”

“Hardly. I was outside. I heard the motor. Sound carries across water.”

He debated telling her what the compressor was for. The wreckage was on her side of the lake. Each landholder owned a section of the water that bordered their place. The Windoms, with the longest stretch along the waterfront, laid claim to the largest portion. But what he did was none of her business, he decided.

“No, no fish.”

“That’s too bad.”

“I enjoyed the ride,” he said, keeping his tone casual while he wondered if she’d seen where he went.

“My father always said that, too. He said sometimes catching a fish was an annoyance when all he wanted to do was relax and not have to work.”

Her laughter was unexpected, a gift like a perfect sunset after a hot, tiring day. It spiraled around inside him, then dipped into a secret, sensitive place.

Forcing his way past the strange sensations, he reminded himself it was her mother who had lured his father to his death. He wasn’t sure how it had happened, but he would find out. He’d bring the sailboat up and maybe discover the truth….

The light in her eyes died. He watched her chest lift and drop in a sigh as the laughter faded.

“You’re sad again,” he said, feeling it in that secret place, “the way you were last night.”

Her hand jerked, splashing several drops of water on the table as she lifted her glass. “I’ve been thinking about the past. I don’t remember—”

She stopped abruptly, her eyes darting to his, then away. He recalled adults whispering about the tragedy and shutting up when he came near. The sheriff had questioned him, of course, but he really hadn’t known anything, except that he was the last person to see his father and Megan’s mother alive.

For a second, he felt as he had last night when tears had suddenly filled her eyes, as if he needed to protect her. He wanted to gather her close and dispel the lost look in those beautiful eyes. He wanted to know this lovely, complex woman in a way he hadn’t other females. Odd.

“You don’t remember what?” he questioned.

“Anything. Nothing of my past before my mother’s funeral.”

He’d heard the rumors about her amnesia. If that’s what it was. “Does your uncle know about this?”

“Of course.”

“It isn’t generally known.”

“My grandfather ordered my cousins and me not to discuss the incident with anyone.”

“Did you and your father talk about it?”

“Some. Later. He told me not to worry about my memory, that losing my mother was a traumatic experience, and I shouldn’t be surprised that my mind had blocked it out.”

“Huh,” Kyle muttered.

The hair prickled on the back of his neck. A lot of secrecy had gone on about this case. His mother, because she thought her husband was cheating on her. Megan’s grandfather, because he was a proud, stubborn old man who wouldn’t allow a hint of scandal to touch his family. And Megan’s father, because…

Because he’d killed them and made it look like an accident?

It was a thought that had occurred to Kyle before now. But not one he wanted to discuss with the woman across the table from him.

The waitress brought the two specials. She plunked a basket of rolls and cornbread muffins on the table between them. Kyle wondered what other things he and Megan Windom would share before this adventure he was contemplating was finished. He had a feeling their lives would become entangled, and that was a dangerous thing.

The blood throbbed through his body, making him tense and heavy in certain areas, lighting fires he wasn’t sure he could control. The path ahead was murky, an adventure into the unknown, but he was going to pursue it to the bitter end, wherever that turned out to be.

M egan went through the usual rigors of the week. Horse-training actually meant training the owners, which was a lot harder than dealing with their mounts. On Friday, she controlled her impatience with an effort as she guided seven girls and three boys through their paces.

Kyle was on the lake. She’d heard the powerboat shortly after three and seen him heading out from the boathouse toward the narrow end of the lake.

It wasn’t the first time she’d noticed him out in his boat. He’d been fishing every day that week, having acquired a great enthusiasm for the sport, it seemed. And he always went toward the narrows, the place where dangerous boulders and rocky outcroppings barred the way of easy cruising.

The place where the sailboat had gone down.

Suspicion sliced into the low spirits that plagued her. It crossed her mind that he might be exploring the wrecked sailboat. Why, after all this time?

Thinking of the tragedy reminded her she still had tasks to perform. Tomorrow she would definitely go through Grandfather’s things and clean out his closet.