Soul Dreams (8 page)

“Just don’t give me any Happy Thanksgiving crap,” he bit off and stomped back to his room.

Once seated in his big leather chair, he stretched out his leg, resting it on the ottoman. Cold weather always bothered it more. Naturally.

It suddenly occurred to him he actually might have waited too long, wallowing in self-pity the way he’d been. He might not even be considering it now, except for Nina Foster. The one person besides Grange he had any contact with these days.

He picked up one of the books she’d brought tonight, rubbing his hand over the cover as he always did.

He’d listened to the short exchange between her and Grange when he’d given her the pie. Her voice had been exactly as he’d imagined—a little low, with a lilt to it. He imagined her figure much as he’d seen it on her website, although the bulky ranch jacket she wore effectively disguised it. Strange how he’d been with so many women before, yet none of them ever made him feel the way Nina did. For a while, he’d been sure the accident had destroyed his sex drive. Sex had been the last thing on his mind for two years. But suddenly, with this new situation, it had come roaring back. Too bad he couldn’t do anything about it. Except in his dreams.

Damn those dreams, anyway. He hadn’t had them since he had been a horny teenager, and they’d been nothing like the ones haunting him every night. He closed his eyes, and at once the image from the previous night popped into his brain.

“I love your taste,” he growled against the tender skin of her pussy.

She lay back on the bed the way he’d placed her, thighs spread open by the width of his shoulders as he knelt between her legs. He flicked the tip of her clit with his tongue and was rewarded with a low moan. He used his thumbs to spread open her satiny lips and swept his tongue along the wet slit. He could do this for hours and never tire of it.

He hadn’t been sure she would take to the blindfold when he suggested it.

“It’s so much better when you can’t see,” he promised. “Besides, I can always be your mysterious lover. Anyone you want.”

She’d surprised him by agreeing to play the game. Maybe she had her own secrets, and having her eyes covered swept away reality for her. But she’d put up only a token protest. He worried about his hands. He could do nothing about the skin except wear gloves, and there he drew the line. She asked him the first night if he did outdoor work of some kind, and he’d given her a noncommittal answer. It seemed to satisfy her, however.

They had begun to learn the rhythm of each other’s body. The pleasure points. The ways they pleased each other.

He held her pussy lips open as he plundered her with his tongue, now teasing her clit, now thrusting inside her like he wanted to do with his cock. She writhed beneath his grip, making the most delicious sounds. He tightened his hold on her, knowing her climax was near.

His cock was so hard he was sure he could pound nails with it. If he didn’t get some relief soon, he’d be in serious pain, but he wanted to make sure Nina got every bit of pleasure he could give her.

A spasm rolled up from within her, gentle at first then wild, with a sudden burst that had her wrapping her legs around his neck and riding his tongue. He exercised every bit of discipline and control he possessed until the tremors began to subside. Quickly rolling on a condom, he lifted her hips and drove into her in one hard thrust.

Oh God! Oh Jesus! He thought he’d died and gone to Heaven. It was always like this with her, the moment before
—

“Hey!” A booted foot nudged him out of his dream. “You planning to sleep in your chair?”

His eyes flew open. Heat burned his cheeks and he gave a quick glance to make sure he wasn’t tenting the fly of his jeans. Fortunately, the book was on his lap, covering his cock which was desperately trying to make itself known. He rubbed a hand over his face, feeling the rough bristles of his beard and remembering the sensation of it against the smooth skin of Nina’s thighs. He sucked in a lungful of air and tried to compose himself.

“I guess I’ll get in bed and read.”

Grange’s eyes widened. “You mean you actually read the stuff you have the poor woman haul out here?”

“Come off it. You know I do. At least some of them.” He shifted in his chair. “How about a hand here?”

He was still embarrassed at needing help to get his boots off. The muscles in his left leg would barely flex enough for him to do it himself. He gritted his teeth while Grange tugged off first one then the other and stood them next to the chair.

“I’m gonna catch some television,” the older man said. “There’s a John Wayne movie on tonight I want to watch. Holler if you need anything.”

“I’ll be fine,” Blake told him. “You go on and catch your movie.”

As Grange left the room, the bell on Blake’s computer dinged, the signal he had an incoming message. Maybe his dream had conjured up her electronic presence. He limped over to the desk chair and clicked on the IM box.

Booklady:
Thank you for the pie. What a very nice holiday gift.

Now, Blake wished he’d been the one to think of it.

Blake:
Grange had the idea. Sorry. I should have thought of it myself.

Booklady:
No problem. Please thank him again for me.

He should probably sign off, but something perverse kept him sitting in the chair.

Blake:
What are your plans for Thanksgiving?

Why did he even ask her? Why did he care? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

After a long pause, she typed.

Booklady:
Brutus and I have very big plans for the day. You?

Oh, yeah. He had really big plans.

Blake:
Grange will spend the morning cooking, and I’ll do my best to eat.

What a stupid fucking thing to say. Had he lost every ability to carry on a conversation, even if it was an electronic one?

Booklady:
Is there something wrong with his cooking?

Blake:
No.

Seconds ticked by.

Booklady:
With you?

What would she say if he told her in gruesome detail how very much was wrong with him.

Blake:
Have a nice holiday.

He closed the IM box before she could reply.

Why did he have to act like such a shithead to the one person besides Grange he had any interaction with? For the first time in two years, he was actually disgusted with himself. He started to open the program again then changed his mind. She was probably shaking her head at his lack of manners.

If only the dreams she’d begun to occupy were real. From the moment he’d seen her picture on the website, she’d taken up residence in his mind and then as the central figure in his erotic dreams. What had he become, focused on an electronic relationship with no place to go?

He leaned back in the chair for a moment, eyes closed. Like the others, this dream had seemed so real. He could still feel the silk in his hands he used to blindfold her with. His dream self had been surprised when she’d agreed to it the first time, but then it became part of their game.

The difference this time was the dream started in the middle. Usually, it began with him entering her bedroom, but tonight it was like a television movie on pause that had been restarted. He tried to figure out why but finally chalked it up as one more oddity in this unexpected series of erotic dreams.

The vision wouldn’t leave his head all the while he got ready for bed. When he was finally under the covers, he opened the book on Indian folklore he’d requested. First, he thought the Arapaho who still lived in the area of the Laramie Mountains might have some legend about dreams. But it was in the section on the Abenaki where he discovered the legend about a couple meant to be together who were mated in their dreams then met in real life.

Jesus
!

He kept remembering Nina in the dream at the moment of her climax. His hand stole beneath the sheet to the opening of his boxers. His dick was still rock hard and demanding release. As he brought himself to orgasm, the image of Nina with the blindfold covering her eyes kept flashing in his brain. He really wanted to ask her how she felt about fantasy games.

Chapter Four

Thanksgiving morning dawned clear and bright, the landscape covered with thick inches of the previous night’s snowfall. Blake stared down at it from his bedroom window. Vivid images of his family’s ranch—his home for most of his life—in a setting of pristine snow danced before his eyes. Holt would be out early with the wranglers feeding the horses and checking on the cattle in the winter pastures. A fire would be blazing in the big stone fireplace, and Alma, their housekeeper, would be preparing a huge Thanksgiving dinner for all the ranch hands. For a moment, the pain of loss hit him so hard it nearly brought him to his knees. He almost couldn’t breathe.

And for the first time since the fire, he felt a longing for home. For human contact besides Grange. For a chance to touch Nina Foster outside his dreams. To see if her skin was as creamy as it appeared. If her lips were as tasty as they were in his dreams. He didn’t regret saving the horses. He still heard their screams sometimes at night when he couldn’t sleep. And smelled the fire and his own burning flesh. He’d paid a price higher than he’d ever expected, and now his life had nothing more than endless days of misery.

The enticing aroma of sage stuffing and sweet potato pie drifted up from the kitchen. Grange never gave up trying to create some sort of normal life for him. As he’d done the past two years, he prepared a dinner as close to the one the ranch would be eating as he could.

I don’t know why he puts up with me. Maybe today I’ll show my appreciation by eating with at least some evidence of pleasure
.

He was tucking his shirt into his jeans when the bell on his computer dinged and the IM box appeared. He’d taken to leaving the computer on all the time, unwilling to accidentally miss a message.

He clicked on the box to open it.

Booklady:
I wanted to wish you a Happy Thanksgiving.

Blake:
Same to you.

Booklady:
Will you be having a big dinner? Lots of company?

Hell. Didn’t she hear the gossip? Everyone in town must know the only people who came to his house were her and deliverymen.

Blake:
Just me and Grange. How about you? Big plans?

He waited almost a full minute before she answered.

Booklady:
Brutus and I will be having dinner together.

Right on the heels of the message the bell chimed again and another entry popped up.

Booklady:
Please tell Grange Brutus and I enjoyed some of the delicious pie for breakfast. Thank you both for your kindness.

Blake felt like such a fraud. Not only wouldn’t he talk to her except via computer, Grange had been the one to give her something.

Blake:
We’re glad you enjoyed it.

Booklady:
I guess we each just like our own company for Thanksgiving. Maybe you can read some of those books.

Blake glanced at the stack of books on his desk. He’d already worked his way through several of them.

Blake:
I’ve been reading them. You made excellent choices for me.

Another pause.

Booklady:
Perhaps the time might come when we could get together and discuss them.

Lord, don’t tempt me. If only it could happen
.

Blake:
Perhaps.

Booklady:
Why do you spend so much time by yourself?

How the hell did he answer that one? With another question, of course.

Blake:
Why do you?

There was a long pause. Blake figured she was pissed off and had shut down. But the next message popped up.

Booklady:
It’s a long story.

Blake:
Mine, too.

Booklady:
Gotta run. Enjoy your turkey.

And she was gone.

Blake sat at the desk for a long moment. What was her story? She wasn’t physically damaged the way he was. He could tell from her pictures on the website. Had she suffered some terrible loss? Was she without family? But that wouldn’t necessarily shut her off from others. If she was eating alone on Thanksgiving, she was still hurting from something. Had some man damaged her emotionally to the point she’d closed in on herself? Was the store her only life? The idea made him furious. If he was right, he’d like to find the guy and beat him to a pulp.

Whoa there
! He couldn’t let himself get so wound up in this. It was one thing to have faceless conversations with a woman and dream about her. Quite another to move into some kind of relationship and feel emotions for her and whatever happened to her. He was in no position to take on someone else’s problems.

He pulled up the website for Books and More and studied her picture for probably the millionth time. For the first time in two years, he questioned his choices. Could he really make a change in his life? And if he did, would Nina Foster even be interested?

One thing at a time
.

He made his way slowly down the stairs and into the kitchen. Grange was at the stove, busy tending several pots.

“Ready for some breakfast?” He asked without lifting his gaze from his work.

“I only want coffee and toast this morning. Which I can get myself.”

Grange stiffened then relaxed.

Blake shuffled to the counter and grabbed a mug from the cabinet. “Everything smells good. You keep right on fixing dinner.”

“Okay.”

Blake poured his coffee and popped two slices of bread in the toaster. When he was seated at the table and had taken his first sip of the hot liquid, he cleared his throat. “Couple of things.”

“Yeah? What would they be?” His voice sounded strange, as if he wasn’t sure what to expect.

“Did you check on the exercise equipment yet?”

Grange nodded and kept on stirring whatever was in one of the pots. “Soon as I got up this morning. It hasn’t rusted away, so I guess it’s still ready to go.”