Borrowed Dreams (Debbie Macomber Classics) (2 page)

His assurance took some of the steam from her anger. “And another thing. Brand St. Clair was in and took … 
borrowed
a truck. He said it was an emergency and I wasn’t sure if I should’ve stopped him.”

“No problem.” George glanced up, looking mildly surprised. His thoughts seemed to have drifted a thousand miles from her indignation. “One of these days that boy will come to his senses and give it up.”

“ ‘Give it up’?” Carly repeated, amused that she’d verbalized the thought.

George nodded, then set the mail aside. “I’ve been after Brand to join up with us. He’s a good pilot.” His eyes moved to Carly and he lifted one shoulder in an indifferent shrug. “Not likely, though, with all those medical bills he’s paying off. He can earn twice the money freelancing.”

“Medical bills?” Carly asked, curious find out what she could about the man.

George appeared not to have heard her question. “Any other problems?”

“Not really.”

He shook his head, his eyes drifting to the stack of mail. “I’ll see you in the morning, then.”

There was no mistaking the dismissal in his tone. Already he had turned his attention to the desk.

Carly left the office shortly afterward, wondering how much longer George would be staying. The man was apparently married to his job. There was little evidence in the office that he had a wife and family. And the hours he seemed to keep would prohibit any kind of life outside the company.

*  *  *

The apartment Carly had rented on Weimer Drive was a plain one-bedroom place that was barely large enough to hold all her furniture. Some of her things were being shipped from Seattle and wouldn’t arrive for another month. Diana—dear, sweet Diana—couldn’t believe that Carly would give up a good job in comfortable surroundings on the basis of a few phone conversations with George Hamlyn from the parent company. Her friend was convinced Carly was running. But she wasn’t. Alaska offered adventure, and she’d been ready for a change.

Hugging her legs, her chin resting on her bent knees, Carly sat on the modern, overstuffed sofa in her new living room. She hadn’t expected to find Alaska so beautiful. The subtle elegance, the immensity had enthralled her. Barren and dingy was what she’d been told to expect. Instead, she found the air crisp and clean. The skies were as blue as the Caribbean Sea. This state was so vast it was like a mother with her arms opened wide to lovingly bring the lost into her warm embrace.

“A mother …” Carly smiled absently.

*  *  *

The nightmare returned that night. For years she’d been free of the terror that gripped her in the dark void of sleep, but that night she woke in a cold sweat, sitting up in bed and trembling. Perspiration dotted her face, and she took several deep, calming breaths. The dream was so vivid. So real. What had brought back the childhood nightmare? Why now, after all these years?

As she laid her head against the pillow and closed her eyes, Carly attempted to form a mental image of her mother. Nothing came but a stilted picture of the tall, dark-haired stranger in the photo Carly had carried with her from foster home to foster home.

*  *  *

She woke the following morning feeling as if she hadn’t slept all night. After the nightmare her sleep had been fitful, intermittent. Dark images played on the edges of her consciousness, shadows leaping out at her, wanting to engulf her in their dusk. Half of her yearned to surrender to the black void that beckoned, while the other half feared what she would discover if she
ventured inside.

Brand St. Clair was sitting on the corner of her desk, one foot dangling over the edge, when Carly walked into the office later that morning.

“Morning.” His greeting was casual.

“Hi.” Carly’s response was equally carefree. “Come to borrow another truck?”

“No. I thought I’d bring you coffee and a Danish as a peace offering.”

Her gaze went to the white sack in the center of the desk. “That wasn’t necessary.”

He opened the sack and took out a foam cup, removing the plastic lid before handing it to her.

“Thanks.”

Brand removed a second cup for himself. “I don’t suppose you do any bookkeeping on the side?”

The question took her by surprise. “My dear Mr. St. Clair, I am a traffic supervisor, not an accountant.” A thin thread of humorous sarcasm ran through her voice. “I haven’t studied bookkeeping since high school.”

Amusement flashed across his handsome features. “I’d be willing to pay you to take a look at my books. The whole accounting system is beyond me.”

“You’re serious, aren’t you?”

He smiled. Carly studied him and speculated that the crow’s-feet weren’t from smiling.

“I couldn’t mean it more.”

Carly took the chair and crossed her long legs, hoping he’d notice her designer nylons with their tiny blue stars. “Unfortunately, I’ve only had a few courses in bookkeeping. I’d only make matters worse.”
Dear heavens
, Carly mused, stifling a laugh. She was flirting. Blatantly flirting! She hadn’t done anything so outrageous in years. Her first impression of Brand yesterday was accurate. He was a wolf, all right, and more sensual than just about any man she knew. She guessed there was more to him than met the eye—and her response to him proved that there was more to her than she’d realized.

Whistling, George sauntered into the office, carrying a steaming mug in one hand.

“Good morning,” he greeted in a cheery singsong voice. He seemed surprised to see Brand. “Good to see you, St. Clair. How did everything go yesterday?”

The glance Brand threw to Carly was decidedly uncomfortable. “Fine.” The lone word was clipped and impatient.

“I talked to Jones this morning,” George continued. “He explained the situation. I would have hated your losing that commission for lack of a truck.”

“Commission?” Carly’s dark eyes sparked with anger. “Was that before or after you rescued the poor injured hiker off Denali?”

“Hiker?” George’s gaze floated from one to the other.

“You wouldn’t have given me the truck otherwise,” Brand inserted, ignoring George.

“You’re right, I wouldn’t have.”

“I got a message that you wanted to see me.” Brand directed his attention to George.

“As a matter of fact, I did.” George adopted a businesslike attitude. “Come into the warehouse. I want to talk to you about something.” He turned toward Carly and grinned sheepishly. “I don’t suppose you’d mind putting on a pot of coffee? We’re both going to need it before this morning’s over.”

Carly opened and closed her mouth. Coffee making hadn’t been listed in her job description, but she complied willingly, rather than argue.

The two men were deep in conversation as they headed toward the door. Brand stopped and turned to Carly. “Think about what I said,” he murmured, and smiled. It was one of those bone-melting, earth-shattering smiles meant to disarm the most sophisticated of women. But the amazing part of it all was that he didn’t seem to recognize the effect he had on her. The gesture should have disarmed her; instead, it only served to confuse her further.

She was busy at her desk when Brand returned alone a half hour later.

“I meant what I said about paying you for some bookkeeping.”

“I’m sorry,” she returned on a falsely cheerful note, “but I’m busy. There’s an important rescue I’m performing in Denali Park this weekend.”

Brand didn’t look pleased.

To hide her smile, Carly pretended an inordinate interest in her work, making a show of shuffling papers around. “Was there anything else?”

Slowly, his gaze traveled over her. When he didn’t answer right away, Carly looked up. She had been angry at his deception, disliking the way he’d gone about borrowing the truck. But one look and she had to fight her way out of the whirlpooling effect he had on her senses.

“Think about it,” he said in a slightly husky voice.

“There isn’t anything to think about,” she returned smoothly, her tone belying the erratic pounding of her heart. When he walked out the door, Carly was shocked to discover that her fingers were trembling. “Get a hold of yourself, old girl,” she chastised herself in a breathy murmur, half surprised, half angry at her reaction to this man. Brand St. Clair had an uncanny knack for forcing her to recognize her own sensuality. And Carly found that highly disturbing.

*  *  *

As the week progressed, Carly couldn’t decide if she was pleased or disconcerted when she didn’t see Brand again. Her job was settling into a routine aside from a few minor clashes with George. He gladly surrendered the paperwork to her, preferring that she handle the collection and claims while he took care of the routing.

On Friday afternoon Brand strolled through the office door and beamed her a bright smile. “Hello again.”

“Hello.” Carly forced an answering smile. “George is out for the day.”

“I know. It’s you I wanted to see.”

“Oh.” She swallowed uncomfortably, disliking the way her heart reacted to seeing him again.

“I just stopped by to see if you’d be interested in going flying with me tomorrow.”

Carly stared at him blankly, confronted with the choice of owning up to what she was feeling or ignoring this growing awareness. In all honesty, she’d prefer it if he walked out the door and left her alone.

“Why me?” She didn’t mean to sound so sharp, but she wanted to know what had prompted him to seek her out. Had she been flashing him subliminal messages?

His eyes narrowed fractionally. “I want your company. Is that a crime? Come fly with me.”

Carly hesitated. His challenge was open enough, and she found that the answer came just as easily. She wanted his company, too. True, Brand possessed a dangerous quality that captivated as well as alarmed her. One flight with him could prove to be devastating. But she’d love to fly. “How long will we be gone?” Not that it mattered; she hadn’t planned to do anything
more than unpack boxes.

“Most of the day. We’ll leave in the morning and be back in time for me to take you to dinner.” His faint drawl enticed her.

“What time do you want me to meet you?” she asked. Red lights were flashing all around her, but Carly chose to ignore their warning. Brand St. Clair was a challenge—and she’d never been able to resist that. In some ways it was a fault, and in others it was her greatest strength.

*  *  *

The next morning, as Carly dressed in jeans and a thick jacket, she wondered at the wisdom of her actions. Only when she was strapped into the seat of the Cessna 150, her adrenaline pumping at the roar of the engine, did she realize how excited she was. She started to ask Brand about the panel full of gauges when she was interrupted by the voice of the air traffic controller, who gave them clearance for takeoff.

Brand turned and gifted her with another of his earth-shattering smiles before taxiing onto the runway and pulling back on the throttle. Then, with an unbelievable burst of power, they were airborne. Her stomach lurched as the wheels left the safety of the ground—but with exhilaration, not alarm.

Looking out the window, Carly watched as the ground below took on an unreal quality. She had flown several times, but sitting in a commercial airliner was a different experience compared to floating in the sky in a small private plane.

“This is fantastic.” She shouted to be heard above the roar of the engine. The skies were blue, with only a few powder-puff clouds, the view below unobstructed. “Will we see Mount McKinley?”

“Not this trip. We’re headed in the opposite direction.”

Carly responded with a short nod. She was anxious to view North America’s highest mountain. Mount Rainier, outside Seattle, and the Cascade Range featured distinctive peaks, but from what she’d read about McKinley, the mountain was more blunt, less angular than anything she’d seen.

“It’s so green,” she shouted, and pointed to the dense forest below. When Carly had made up her mind to take this job, her first thought had been that she would be leaving the abundant
beauty of Washington behind. “I’m really impressed,” she said with a warm smile.

Brand’s gaze slid to her. “What would it take for
me
to impress you?”

Carly threw back her head and laughed, refusing to play his game. There wasn’t much he could do that would impress her more than he had already.

Brand took her hand and squeezed it. “What did your family think about you moving north?”

Carly was reluctant to admit she didn’t have a family. “They didn’t say anything. I’m over twenty-one.” The lie was a minor one. She’d never known her father, and only God knew the whereabouts of her mother. The longest Carly had ever stayed in one foster home was four years. With only herself to rely on, she’d become strong in ways that others were weak. Carly didn’t need anyone but herself.

“How long have you been flying?” She discovered that the best way to defuse questions was to ask one of her own.

“I’ve flown since I was a kid. My dad owned an appliance business and traveled all over Oregon. I took my first flying lessons at sixteen, but by that time I had been in the air a thousand times.”

“Are you from Portland?”

He answered with an abrupt nod.

“What made you come to Alaska?”

He didn’t hesitate. “The money.”

Carly remembered George saying something about heavy expenses. “Medical bills, right?”

Brand turned to study her. Carly met his gaze. “Yes,” he answered, without elaborating. Carly didn’t question him further.

His attention returned to the sky, and Carly watched as a proud mask came over him, letting her know that this subject was off-limits. The transformation in him confused her. She was unsure of Brand, but he didn’t intimidate her. In some ways she sensed that they were alike. Each had buried hurts that were best not shared so early in a relationship. Sighing, she glanced away. His attitude shouldn’t bother her.

They were both quiet for a long time. “What do you think of Alaska?” Brand asked her unexpectedly, as if he were attempting to lighten the mood that had settled over them.

“I love it,” Carly responded freely. “Of course, I haven’t survived an Alaskan winter yet, so I might answer your question differently a year from now.”