Dreams for Stones (16 page)

After a time, she shifted against him and
lifted her head from his shoulder. For a silent moment, they gazed
at each other. Then, still meeting his eyes, she leaned closer and
kissed him.

The touch of her lips did it. A tipping
point, freeing the emotions he’d tried to hold in check, not just
this evening, but every time he’d been with her these last weeks.
He wanted her. Oh, how he wanted her. Was tired of forbidding
himself this comfort.

He tightened his arm around her and bent his
head, his lips seeking hers, wonder coursing through him at the
touch of her mouth. Why had he waited so long to do this? It felt
inevitable. Right.

Except. The last time he kissed a woman.
Meg.

When Kathy’s lips moved against his, for the
space of a heartbeat, it was Meg in his arms.

There was a sudden commotion as the garden
was invaded by two small boys chasing each other, their mother
following behind, pushing a stroller and yelling at them to stop
running.

Kathy pulled away and he sat, unmoving,
shaken by the strength of the feelings flowing through him.

When the intruders moved on, Kathy took a
breath. “We need to go. The gardens close soon.”

Her voice was husky, and it wobbled, but he
didn’t think his voice would work at all, although he needed to say
something casual, meaningless, to ease them back from what the last
moments had shown. That she was becoming too important to him.

He couldn’t let that happen. Not fair to
either one of them.

He never should have kissed her, and yet,
right now, he didn’t regret it. Wanted only to repeat it, again and
again. And hold her. Just that.

But from his reaction, he knew kissing was a
step he didn’t have the courage to go beyond.

She tucked her hand in his, and they walked
slowly toward the entrance.

Maybe it was only lust, the hunger humming
in his veins. But if it were only that, it would be easy. Lust was
the least of it.

He wanted so much more.

But to have it, he had to risk the pain.

Alan snapped awake, shaking and sweating. He hadn’t had the
nightmare in over a year, but it was still as bright and clear as
the day it happened.

He lay still, breathing carefully, waiting
for his heart rate to slow down and the discomfort in his throat
and chest to ease.

So what was the proper term for a man who
kisses a woman then dreams of his dead wife? Conflicted, peculiar,
bizarre, pathetic?

No doubt, Elaine could come up with several
more esoteric terms.

He turned his head to look at the clock. A
large, red 3:14 glowed back at him. He shifted his gaze to the wall
at the end of the bed. In the dim light, all he could make out was
the outline of Meg’s picture.

He turned on the lamp and lay there looking
at Meg. In the picture, she was leaning against the corral, smiling
at the camera, her thumbs hooked in the pockets of her jeans, the
tiny diamond on the fourth finger of her left hand catching a spark
from the sun.

Meg. She was woven so tightly into his
memories, if he rooted her out there would be nothing left. And yet
what he wanted to remember often seemed to slide beyond his grasp,
like a dream he could still sense but couldn’t quite pull into
focus. While what he wanted to forget swirled through his thoughts
like the howling of a blizzard.

The memories ambushed him when he least
expected it—in a flash of golden hair on a woman walking down the
street, in the sound of a merry laugh, in the clean smell of rain.
Meg had made him aware. And now he couldn’t turn it off.

How many times in all those years had she
taken his hand and said, “Quick, Alan, you have to come see.” The
first wildflower in the spring—she was always the one who found it.
Snow beginning to outline the branches of the cottonwood tree
growing in the dry creek bed at the old ranch. A new foal falling
back on its haunches with a surprised look on its face and Meg’s
voice saying, “Oh, Alan, isn’t he a beauty?”

Without Meg. . . his life, a moonscape. Not
somewhere anyone would want to stay for long.

It wasn’t right to get involved with a woman
and take whatever she was willing to give when he had nothing to
give in return.

He had to end it.

It was Kathy’s turn to drive to TapDancer for the weekly riding
lesson. She listened to Delia and Grace’s chatter with only partial
attention as her mind chewed over the events of the previous
evening.

Alan had kissed her. So why wasn’t she over
the moon? Why instead of a happy fizz, did she feel a shiver of
unease?

Maybe because of what preceded it, not to
mention how it had ended. First there was that odd conversation
when she’d taken him to see the Secret Garden. They’d talked about
the book, and Alan’s reactions had been so. . . peculiar.

Who was the someone
essential
he’d
lost? There had to be someone, because she was certain he hadn’t
been speaking theoretically. He’d turned away from her, but she’d
been able to tell from his posture and the slight hoarseness of his
words, he was struggling to control his emotions.

And what had she done? She’d blundered in
with that Hemingway quote. Alan hadn’t even bothered to respond.
And it had made her feel. . . shut out.

Maybe that was why seeing the Japanese
Garden again had affected her the way it did. The strong emotions
had been a surprise—a mix of sorrow over what might have been and
relief it hadn’t. Making no sense, really.

And Alan. In spite of whatever had made him
withdraw from their conversation earlier, he’d been so kind. Not
trying to jolly her out of her mood. Just holding her, waiting
until she was ready to let it go.

She’d kissed him. Because in that moment,
she couldn’t not kiss him.

And he’d kissed her back.

How
right
it had felt. As if, when
his lips touched hers, her world had shifted, and with a satisfying
click, moved into proper alignment.

So, this is how it felt to love someone to
the exclusion of all others. Would it have ended differently if
they hadn’t been interrupted, forced to pull apart before either of
them was ready?

The walk back to the parking lot had been
silent. That was all right, though. She hadn’t wanted to dilute
what she was feeling with talk. Had wanted simply to hug tight the
wonder and joy and not let them slip away.

But when she turned to him before getting in
her car, she saw he had that troubled expression on his face. The
one he’d had the day at the lake after she quoted the poem.

She’d touched his arm, asking him what was
the matter. He’d blinked without answering, but then, as if a
switch had been flipped, the look disappeared, and when he spoke,
the calm everydayness of his words denied all that had been
wordless in the touching of their lips. And those words pushed her
away more effectively than any physical force.

Where had he gone? The man who had kissed
her.

As always, Cormac was on hand to welcome them to the ranch. His
bark summoned Alan from the barn, and Delia ran to get a hug.

Alan also greeted Grace with a hug. Or maybe
it was fairer to say Grace hugged him. Like she did everybody.

Kathy’s heart skipped into a quick beat as
she waited for a special look, then it settled into a slow, heavy
rhythm when he barely glanced at her.

Feeling like crying, Kathy brushed and
saddled Siesta and led the filly outside while Alan was still
helping Grace and Delia get ready.

Alan’s father was in the ring working
another horse, and he rode over to her. “You’re doing real fine, my
dear. It looks like you’ve been riding all your life.”

She managed a smile. “Thanks. I’m still
having trouble getting Siesta to do exactly what I want every time,
though.”

“It’s all in the body language. That Siesta
horse, now she’s real sensitive. If you like I’ll take a look, see
if there’s anything I can suggest.”

Kathy rode around the ring, following
Robert’s suggestions, her thoughts stilling, her pain easing, as
she concentrated on his calm voice both correcting and praising
her.

“Don’t she and that filly look real nice
together?”

Kathy, glancing over, saw that Alan had
ridden Sonoro into the ring, and Robert’s last remark was aimed at
his son, not her. She reined Siesta in and walked her over to the
two men. “Where are Delia and Grace?”

“They’re riding in the meadow today.” Alan
glanced at her then looked away.

“Time for you to take over, son.” Robert
touched his hat to Kathy and rode over to the barn, leaving her to
face Alan.

“Dad giving you some good tips?” Alan
adjusted effortlessly as Sonoro danced and pulled at the bit.

“Yes.” She waited for Alan to look at her,
but all his attention seemed to be on Sonoro, who continued to
fidget.

“He’s the best.”

“Yes.” Tears gathered in her throat.

“Okay, let’s see what he showed you.” Alan’s
tone was calm, detached.

Quickly, she turned Siesta and gave her the
signal to move into her fastest gait, the
paso largo
,
running away from that bland look on Alan’s face. Running as well
from the knowledge that Alan’s disinterest hurt more than Greg’s
betrayal.

For the remainder of the lesson, she kept
her eyes focused between Siesta’s ears and her mind blank.

By the time they led the horses into the
barn for unsaddling, Grace and Delia had taken care of their horses
and had walked over to the mares’ pasture to visit the foals.

In the dim quiet of the barn, Alan spoke in
an unhurried voice. “Grace said she needed to get back early today.
I’d be happy to finish up Siesta for you.”

“Thanks. I’m sure Grace will appreciate it.”
Kathy forced the words out of a throat that was tight and aching.
She turned to leave.

But, no. She had to face this head on. Now.
Before she got in too deep. Because there was no longer any doubt
in her mind where this was going. There would be no floating into
love. Not this time. Not with this man.

The two of them in this moment, poised on
the brink of—something. One small step—toward him or away—and the
future would be irrevocably changed,

She turned back. Alan was lifting Siesta’s
saddle off. “Tell me something.” She was grateful her voice was
working all right, even if the rest of her felt tight and
frozen.

“What?”

“About last evening.”

There was a slight hitch in his movements as
he set the saddle down. Then he picked up a brush and began to
groom Siesta with long smooth strokes. “What about it?”

She walked over and stood near Siesta who
leaned into her, snuffling at her pockets. Only a short time ago
she would have jumped away, certain the mare was going to nip
her.

“I’m confused. Last night you kissed me, but
now you’re acting as if we’re barely acquainted.” She ran her hand
over the soft velvet of Siesta’s muzzle, taking comfort in that
touch. “I’m okay with the idea of going slow, but. . . ”

Alan lifted his head. Although he didn’t
meet her gaze, she saw his face tighten, making the dark circles
under his eyes more noticeable.

“It’s best if we’re just friends.” He moved
to Siesta’s other side and resumed brushing.

“If that’s all you want, you shouldn’t have
kissed me.” Well, she had kissed him first. But she was in no mood
to be fair. It was all she could do to keep her lips from
trembling.

“I’m sorry.” He continued to brush
Siesta.

Then he straightened and, for an instant,
his eyes met hers. His looked tired, sad. Silently he seemed to be
begging her,
please don’t do this
. Then he turned away and
spoke in that impersonal tone she was beginning to hate. “I won’t
be able to have dinner with you next Friday, but I’ll see you as
usual on Saturday.”

It defeated her. His calm. His insistence
they could act as if none of it had happened. . . the kiss, this
conversation.

She dropped her hands away from Siesta and
walked blindly out of the barn, away from Alan, sucking in deep
breaths, trying to clamp down on the sudden onslaught of grief.

The Galiceno mare was late foaling. It was her first, and Alan knew
his dad was worried.

Since the only thing on his schedule Monday
was an afternoon meeting with Hilstrom, he decided to spend Sunday
night at the ranch. Better by far to sit up with the mare than to
lie awake a second night thinking about that scene with Kathy. He’d
hurt her, when his intention had been to keep her from being
hurt.

He hadn’t even realized she’d left until he
looked up from brushing Siesta and discovered she was gone. He’d
dropped the brush, gone to the barn door, and stood in its shadow
watching as Grace, Delia, and Kathy got into Kathy’s car and drove
away.

When he let her walk away the first time
they met, he’d risked only his standing with his department head,
not that that was a small matter. But this time, as he watched the
car roll out of sight, he knew the stakes were so much higher. His
peace of mind. . . and his heart.

When he returned after dinner to check on
the mare, he found her lying down and lightly sheened with sweat.
He called his father, and the two of them kept watch. At three in
the morning, after an uncomplicated labor, the foal slipped out
into the clean straw. The mare stood and began cleaning it off with
strong sweeps of her tongue.

It was perfect, from the tiny hooves to the
small head that was the image in miniature of its sire. But as Alan
moved forward to get a better look, he realized the foal wasn’t
moving. And then he saw it. The cord, twisted around the foal’s
neck and with a sharp bend in it, like a garden hose folded over to
stop the flow of water. Only this bend had restricted the foal’s
lifeblood.