Borrowed Dreams (Debbie Macomber Classics) (10 page)

“No.” He kissed the corner of her mouth, seeking more, but Carly successfully forestalled him. “Brand, I want you to teach me to fly.”

“What?” He stiffened and pulled his head back to study her.

“You heard me.”

“But why?”

“Why not?” she quizzed.

“I can think of a hundred reasons.”

“I thought you said you wanted me to look at your accounting books.”

“You know I do.” He broke away from her and strode to the other side of the kitchen, his face tight and troubled. The mute suggestion that he couldn’t think with her so close pleased her. He paused and folded his arms over his chest.

“I suggest we trade labor,” Carly continued.

Brand didn’t look pleased, although he appeared to be mulling the suggestion over. “You’ll have to read several books.”

“I’m not illiterate,” Carly challenged with a light laugh. “I’ll have you know I read books all the time.”

Brand’s glance was wry, and he returned evenly, “Yes, I imagine you do.”

“Well?” The idea made perfect sense to her.

Brand shrugged and walked into the living room to pick up the remote. “I suppose,” he said, and turned on the television.

Carly wasn’t fooled. Brand didn’t like her idea, but she’d show him how much sense it made. The afternoon they’d spent in the air had only whetted her appetite for more. Soaring through the air, viewing the world from the clouds, would be a magical experience. And having Brand teach her would be the most feasible way.

“Come and watch this movie with me,” Brand said. A trace of amusement sparkled from his eyes, an invitation.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.” He returned his attention to the television. His hand moved to cup her shoulder when she sat down beside him.

The movie was one Carly had seen, but she didn’t say anything. It felt warm and pleasant to be held by Brand. His touch was gentle, yet almost impersonal.

He didn’t leave until after the eleven o’clock news, kissing her lightly at the front door. “Are you sure you don’t want to thank me for dinner again?” he whispered against the soft wisps of hair that grew at her temple. “I could easily be persuaded to accept your gratitude.”

His voice was only half teasing, and Carly knew it. “Next time I’ll throw you out the door,” she declared with mock severity.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night—it’s your turn to cook,” he said, with a self-assured chuckle.

“My turn …” She had no intention of seeing him the following day.

“Yes. I’ll bring the ledgers over after work.”

“Brand, I told you before I’m not much of a cook. I eat a lot of green olives and chocolate.” Carly crossed her arms to chase away a sudden chill.

“Don’t worry about it. Until tomorrow,” he said, and gave her a lingering kiss to seal the promise.

*  *  *

Carly’s spirits lifted the next morning when she got a call confirming that the lost shipment was indeed at the wrong warehouse, as she’d pinpointed. The handler promised to have the equipment en route to the proper camp that afternoon, by company truck.

George looked as relieved as Carly felt. “None of this trouble was your doing,” he said by way of apologizing. “And, listen, I’ve been thinking about that wedding you said you wanted to attend.”

Carly’s hand tightened around her pencil. When she’d approached George about Diana’s wedding, he’d been less than enthusiastic about giving her the three days off. He hadn’t answered her but had mumbled something under his breath about no vacation time being due her until next summer. His expression had been so forbidding that she’d let the matter drop.

“Yes,” she said, holding her breath.

“Go ahead. Just be sure your assignments are complete and all the claims have been taken care of.”

“I will,” Carly responded evenly, then grinned up at the white-haired man. Over the weeks she’d come to overlook his gruff exterior. “Thanks, George.”

“Just make sure your friends understand that I won’t have you gallivanting to Seattle every time one of them decides to get married.”

“I wouldn’t dream of asking.” Lowering her head, Carly tried unsuccessfully to disguise a smile.

“When will you be leaving?” George flipped open the appointment book on the top of his desk.

“I’d like to leave a week from Thursday.” She waited for a flurry of complaints, but none came.

“Fine. When can I expect you back?”

“The following Tuesday—Wednesday at the latest.”

George didn’t blink. Carly could hardly believe it. She would phone Diana the minute she got home … Oh, darn, Brand was coming over for dinner. And she couldn’t cook. He
knew
that. Well, a couple frozen dinners would discourage him. Brand seemed to be under the impression
that just because they were trading skills, they would be seeing each other every night. She hadn’t made this proposition as an excuse to see more of him—but he’d learn that soon enough.

During the drive from work to her apartment, Carly felt the faint stirrings of guilt. After a hard day, Brand would need something more than a frozen dinner, and she wasn’t capable of putting together anything more than soup and a sandwich. Frustrated with herself because she cared, she took a short side trip to the local fried-chicken outlet.

Brand was at the door only minutes after she arrived home. His arms were loaded with books. “Whatever you’re cooking smells good.”

“I didn’t cook anything,” she announced coolly, as she set two plates out on the table.

“You don’t sound very relaxed. Did you find the freight?”

“I located it. And it was exactly where I’d assumed it had to be,” she answered absently, neatly folding two paper napkins and placing them beside the plastic forks.

“Are you going to kiss me hello or will I be forced to take you in my arms and—”

Carly leaned over and brushed her lips against his cheek in a sisterly manner. “Go ahead and put that stuff on the coffee table.”

For a second it looked as if Brand was going to argue with her. He hadn’t appreciated her miserly kiss, and his look said as much.

“Go on,” she urged, struggling to hide her satisfied smile. “Everything here’s ready.” She surveyed the table. Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, giblet gravy, coleslaw, and fresh biscuits. She hadn’t eaten a meal like this since Diana and Barney had taken her out for a going-away celebration.

“I’ll be back in a minute.” Brand set the books aside and returned a moment later with a large box.

“Good grief, what’s that?”

He glanced sheepishly at the department-store box under his arm. “Receipts, canceled checks, and the like.”

“A whole box?”

Brand nodded, slightly abashed. “I’ll help if you want.”

She’d been party to his kind of assistance in the past. “No, thanks.” She raised one hand in defense. “You’d only mess up my system.”
And my mind
, she added silently.

They talked as they ate. Brand explained that he would be around town most of that
week, but he had some distance flying coming up in the early part of the next. Carly listened, thinking that he was talking to her as he would a wife. The idea terrorized her. She’d hoped to pull away from Brand, but her life became more entwined with his every day. The crazy thing was that it was her own doing. She was the one who’d suggested they trade skills.

“Speaking of traveling,” she said, wiping her fingers clean on a yellow napkin. “I’m going to be doing some of my own. I’ll be leaving next week for Seattle.”

“Any special reason?” His smile seemed an effort.

“Diana’s getting married.” Her eyes brightened with an inner glow of happiness for her friend. “I’m booking my flight for a week from Thursday morning.” The wedding was scheduled for Friday night, but Carly wanted to be there early enough to soothe any attacks of nerves Diana might have.

“And you’ll be back …”

“The following Tuesday. Brand …” She took a deep breath. “What do you think of the idea of me stopping in Purdy and meeting Jutta Hoverson? It wouldn’t be out of my way. Diana would let me use her car. I’d really like to meet her.”

“Why?”

She glanced away, not wanting him to see how much the idea excited her. “Several reasons.”

“Are you hoping that she’ll sell you the painting?”

The question unaccountably provoked her. “No, of course not. That’s not it at all. I … I just want to see what she looks like, that’s all. I’m sorry I mentioned it.” Carly frowned. “Not everyone has ulterior motives, you know.”

Brand laughed. “Now, don’t get all shook up. I was only curious.”

Carly removed a piece of lint from her wool skirt. “I think you should remember something, St. Clair.” Her words were clipped and impatient. “I have more in common with Jutta Hoverson than I’ll ever have with you.”

He frowned. “You’re doing it again. I’m getting too close and you’d rather fight and I won’t do it.”

“Is this what you did every time Sandra had a complaint? Did you refuse to fight with her, too?”

“Leave Sandra out of this.”

“No,” she snapped.

Silence hung between them like a dark gray thundercloud. Electricity filled the room, ready to arc at the slightest provocation.

Rising, Brand rammed his hands deep within his jeans pockets. “Sandra and I fought just like every couple does, but I won’t fight with you, Carly.”

“Why?” She felt like shouting at him, but when she spoke her voice was low and filled with frustration.

“Because it’s exactly the excuse you’re looking for to shove me out of your life. I’ve been chipping away for too long at the wall you’ve built around yourself to blow it over a stupid argument.” He paused and rubbed his eyes. “I was in Oregon last week.”

Brand had been gone almost the entire week and she’d assumed it was on business. He didn’t need to tell her what had drawn him to his home. His children were there.

“For the first time since Sandra died, I found I could look at my son and daughter and not feel the gut-wrenching pain of having lost their mother. You’ve done that for me, Carly.”

“No,” she mumbled, and shook her head from side to side.

“Yes. Now, listen to me. If you weren’t running so hard from me you’d see what’s right in front of your nose.”

Coming to her feet, Carly took Brand’s plate from the table and carried it to the sink. She didn’t want to look at him, she didn’t want to hear him. Filling the sink with water, she hoped to drown out his words.

“I took Shawn and Sara to Cannon Beach with me. Sandra loved the beach,” he continued, ignoring Carly’s frenzied movements. “I hadn’t been there since she died.”

Carly’s fingers gripped the edge of the sink as she closed her eyes, silently screaming for him to stop. She wasn’t a part of his life. He had no reason to tell her these things. She shouldn’t be that important to him.

“I’d always thought, whenever I went back, that I wouldn’t be able to stand looking at the ocean again. Sandra had loved it so much. But nothing had changed … even though I guess maybe I thought it would. But the wind blew and the sea rumbled and the shorebirds soared as they always have.”

“Please,” Carly pleaded. “I don’t want to hear this.”

“But you’re going to, even if it means I have to force you to listen.”

Without turning around, Carly knew that Brand’s mouth had tightened into a grim line. Arguing would be useless.

Brand began again. “One afternoon, while Shawn and Sara were playing in the sand, I stood with the wind blowing against me and closed my eyes. A picture of Sandra filled my mind. But not in the ordinary sense of remembering. She was there, smiling, happy, as she’d always been at the beach, smelling of wildflowers and sunshine. As long as I kept my eyes closed she was there with me and the children. The only sounds were those of the children and the whisper of the wind. But when I strained I thought for an instant I could hear the faint call of Sandra’s laughter.”

Tears filled Carly’s eyes, and she blinked in a desperate effort to forestall their flow. “Don’t,” she murmured. “Please don’t do this to me.” Her mind was filled with the image of this proud man standing on the beach with the wind buffeting against him, communicating with his dead wife.

“You don’t understand,” Brand said softly. “For the first time since she died, I felt her presence instead of her absence. For two years my memories of her have been tied up with the agony of her death. I looked out at the ocean and felt a sense of life again. That desolate darkness I’d wrapped myself in was gone. The time had come to go back. Back to the world. Back to people. Back to my children. But mostly back to you.”

Carly wiped the tears from her face with both hands.

“It was you who brought back to life feelings I had assumed were long dead. You, Carly.” He moved so that he was standing directly behind her. “I’m falling in love with you. From the moment I walked into your office I knew there was something special about you. You’ve hidden from me, dodged me, fought me. But the time’s come, my sweet Carly, for you to look out over the ocean and choose life.”

Her lips went dry, and she moistened them. Fresh tears burned for release, but she held them back as she’d always done, her throat aching with the effort. Turning, she slipped her arms around his waist and buried her face against his broad chest. Brand wrapped his arms around her so tightly that for a moment she couldn’t breathe. He needed her; Carly could feel it. His breathing was slow and ragged, as though it was an effort for him to hold back the emotion.

“I guess this means we’re dating,” she said after a long pause.

Her words were followed by the low rumble of Brand’s laughter. “Yes, I guess you could
say that.”

“Brand …” She hesitated. “All this frightens me.”

“I know. I was afraid, too.”

“But you’re not anymore?”

“No.” His hand traced the outline of her face, tilting her chin so that he could meet her troubled gaze. “Not anymore.”

“Why …” She swallowed at the painful knot blocking her larynx. “Why didn’t you tell me about your children?”

“I had trouble even talking about them. They were part of the life I’d left behind.”

“But you said they’re coming to Alaska soon.”

“As soon as school’s out. I told them about you.”