Nobody's Dream (9 page)

“When she screamed, I turned in time to watch her body come to a sudden stop at the bottom of a scree slope. When the dust cleared, I saw that the sharp rocks had cut up her face. She banged her head on a rock ledge where she landed.” He closed his eyes again and then opened them quickly, as if the image had only grown sharper in his mind’s eye.

“Was she conscious?”

“She didn’t respond at first, but a minute or two later—seemed like hours—she moaned. I called to her, and she spoke with me a bit. Confused, for sure, but she recognized me and knew where we were. I figured I’d better go get help because it wouldn’t do her any good if I went down to her and got stuck, too. We didn’t bring ropes or rappelling equipment.”

He reached for the worn leather band on his wrist and twisted it. “I’ve only felt that helpless one time since.”

She did not ask but wondered what other event could have left him any more helpless than watching his injured wife and not being able to save her from certain doom. Had he lost—or nearly lost—someone else close to him?

Her heart tugged, but she refused to allow herself to pity him. She could not let her guard down. No doubt, many women would find him attractive with his classic features—high cheekbones, strong chin, and affable smile. Not Cassie.

Would he continue to share the story about his wife? Should she encourage him to or just let him keep those sad memories buried deep inside? She would not have wanted him to prod her about her own past. So why did she ask, “What happened when you returned to her with help?”

He refocused on her face. “The EMTs, rescue workers, and I came back within an hour of the fall since we weren’t wandering around on a wild-goose chase the way Maggie and I had been. She was lucid, but in a lot of pain. Probably broke her arm or wrist in the fall.” He paused, blinking several times. No doubt he would have traded places with her, if only he could. “They wouldn’t let me go down to her. God, I just wanted to hold her. Let her know she wasn’t alone.” His voice broke, and Cassie wanted to hold and comfort him, but kept her distance out of fear. He might misinterpret her intentions. “There wouldn’t have been much I could have done to help. I hadn’t been trained for SAR back then.”

Perhaps she could help ease some of his pain by sharing her experience when channeling his dead wife. “I know it does not bring her back, but when she came to me to create that sketch of her and your unborn baby, she was at peace. She held no anger or resentment toward you or anyone else.”

Tears swam in his eyes before he turned away. “I look at that picture every morning when I get out of bed. It’s given me peace of mind, especially knowing she’s together with our baby. Thank you for sharing it with me.”

“I am not a medium or anything. Perhaps she came to me because you and I were in the same room. She guided me to sketch that image. I just conveyed what she showed me onto the paper.”

Lucas grinned and met her gaze again. “Yeah, she could be forceful like that. Lord knows I never could tell her no.” His smile faded, and she saw regret in his eyes. He blamed himself still. She hoped he would one day let go of that useless emotion. Regret never solved anything.

Perhaps someday I will take my own advice to heart.

“May I get you anything?”

“No, I’m fine. Too tired to get up. I’ll just try to go back to sleep now. I appreciate you checking on me. Sorry to be such a pain.”

His gratitude warmed her heart, even though she felt guilty accepting it given how much she wished she had not been forced to take care of him at all. “Just get well. I am sure you wish to return home as soon as possible.”

Not as much as I wish for you to go home.

“I’ll do my best.”

She nodded and stood. “Only pleasant dreams this time.”

Cassie realized she truly hoped he would sleep peacefully. Something about this man made her want him to heal from his unbearable loss.

*     *     *

Luke ached from head to calves when he sat up in the tiny bed and swung his legs over the side of the mattress. How long had he slept this time? He had no concept of time in his windowless prison room. Last he remembered, he was spilling his guts to Cassie about Maggie. What had prompted that much revelation? He rarely talked about that day to anyone.

Sitting up was a chore, harder than training a horse to saddle and rider. Hell, much as he hated calling that process breaking a horse,
he
felt like the one who had been broken this time. A shiver made him aware he was half-naked. He’d been the one to strip off his clothes after that nightmare. He had finally warmed up, but being out from under the covers reminded him that he was at twelve thousand feet, near a mountain pass, in a cold-ass cabin.

Damn, but Cassie kept this place glacial, despite the space heater she’d left running for him in here. No wonder she wore so many layers of clothes. He needed to work on that fireplace blower today. He hoped it wouldn’t require any parts he couldn’t fashion himself out of whatever she had laying around.

What day was it? His internal clock had been broken, too. Noticing a floor lamp for the first time, Luke flipped the switch, but didn’t see a clock in the room. He glanced around the seriously utilitarian bedroom. He thought his house was bare of ornamentation, but at least his mom had put some of her soft touches here and there—chenille bedspread, fake flowers in pots in the kitchen, even the bowl of seashells in his bathroom that he’d collected at Galveston Beach on a rare vacation when he was nine. Momma was sentimental about things like that and had kept them all those years.

Cassie’s bedroom was small and dark and had no mementos whatsoever to hint at her past. Kind of reminded him of how a monk or nun lived in the olden days. Hell, even they probably had more personal touches in their rooms than he saw in this one. The only splashes of color came from the Indian blankets on her bed. The geometric patterns in vibrant greens and reds on one blanket counterbalanced the somber blacks and whites of another. He wondered if she’d made them herself. No, probably not. They looked like heirlooms. And at daVinci’s bar, she’d said fiber art was new to her.

Then again, she might have used a loom back in her home country—Bolivia? No, Peru. Many people made a distinction between creating functional items like blankets as opposed to artwork only to be displayed on a wall but never used. He didn’t agree with that thinking. He preferred creating pieces of art that would be useful items as well, like the furniture he made for his and other people’s homes, or even play equipment for the Masters at Arms kink club. Somehow, he could see Cassie feeling the same way about functional art—even if she only enjoyed the art herself at home.

But she had done that gallery exhibition of her paintings months ago, so clearly she wanted to share her art. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen many decorations on her walls anywhere in the cabin, so maybe her art was only created to be shared with or sold to others. Not for her to enjoy.

In this room, the cabin’s chinking and logs provided the only wall adornment. Hell, who slept in a room without a window? Did she enjoy living in a cave? More like a tomb. How could someone living on a gorgeous mountain peak want to be so closed off from all that beauty? If he’d built this place, he’d not only have a window, but a skylight above the bed so he could watch the stars come out at night and make their trek across the sky.

He shook his head to clear it of his fanciful notions. How Cassie chose to live was none of his business.

Luke grabbed his shirt from the ladder-back chair beside the bed, again showing she had an appreciation for functional art. Next, he pushed his feet and legs into his jeans. With a grunt, he rose and waited for the expected dizziness to hit. When it didn’t, he figured maybe the worst of the concussion was behind him. He tucked his shirt into his jeans before zipping and buttoning them closed.

Luke’s stomach growled, taking his attention away from the chill in the room. His appetite had returned full force. Steak and eggs sure would hit the spot this morning.

Luke entered the frigid living room and glanced around. No Cassie. He didn’t hear any sounds from the kitchen, either. She must be in the shed with her alpacas, or maybe she’d gone to her studio. He’d like to see where she worked but wouldn’t invade that space the way he had the rest of her house. An artist’s place of work was sacred, deeply personal, and no one should enter without an explicit invitation.

Somehow, he didn’t expect that invite to be forthcoming anytime soon. She was one private person. Hell, so was he. The only time anyone had been in his studio was when he needed help moving a covered piece to his truck for delivery.

The fire had died down—whether because he’d asked or from neglect, he didn’t know. Had she slept in her studio? She sure as hell hadn’t shared that bed with him. He hoped she’d been warm wherever she had bedded down. Tonight, he’d take the floor in here and let her have her bed back.

But his first order of business was rustling up some breakfast—or whatever meal it was time for. Then he’d take the insert apart and see what the problem was with the blower. Maybe he could have some decent heat blazing in this cabin soon.

Although, Cassie sure seemed to prefer the cold. Must be from growing up in the Andes. Or maybe his body had softened in the comparatively warmer climes of West Texas? His stomach growled again, and he decided he’d eat before trying to find—or decipher—the woman who was Cassie López. A thorough survey of the contents of the fridge told him eggs wouldn’t be on the menu, and he wasn’t going to invade her freezer hunting for a steak without permission, so he ladled out a bowl of the delicious soup she’d served at his last meal. While it microwaved to a scalding hot temperature, he sliced off a thick slab of her amaranth bread. Soon, he sat down at the table and dug in, blowing on the spoonful of soup to cool it down. He took a tentative bite and closed his eyes.

Damn, but the girl could cook.

He’d been living out of cans and prepared boxed dinners for so long he appreciated every flavorful bite. After having his fill of a second bowl, he still had not seen or heard any sign of Cassie, so he decided now was the time to tackle that fireplace repair before his energy failed him again. He noticed the circuit-breaker box on the wall in the corner. She’d clearly labeled the circuits, and he cut the juice to the fireplace.

Thirty minutes later, he had the insert pulled away from the fireplace and quickly figured out what the problem was. Luckily, it was fixable using the tools he’d found in her kitchen drawer—exactly where his momma kept hers, too. Good thing. A run to the hardware store wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

“What are you doing up?”

Luke glanced across the room to where Cassie stood covered shoulder to knees in her ever-present woolen poncho. She’d come from outside. Her studio must not be inside the cabin. Or maybe she’d been taking care of the alpacas.

“Fixing the insert’s fan.”

“You should not be doing that so soon.”

“Sorry, but I’m tired of freezing my ass off.” He heard how cranky he sounded and gave her a smile to soften his rant. “It was an easy fix. Besides, I’m almost good as new thanks to your wonderful care, darlin’.”

He expected her to bite his head off, but she merely took a deep breath. Maybe she was warming up to him and his endearments. He wiped the grin off his face before he pissed her off—again.

“You should be in bed.”

“Spent enough time in bed already. I need to do something useful.”

He stood from his kneeling position and shoved the stove insert back into the fireplace with both hands and his shoulder as if shoving a blocking sled down a football field. His upper body strength was pitiful at the moment, but it slammed home, and he stood, working out a kink in his shoulder. Man, he was seriously out of shape.

“Now, I’ll turn the circuit back on, and we’ll build a fire we can enjoy together this afternoon.”

“I do not have time to sit by the fire.”

“Then why don’t you let me help with your chores to free up some time?”

“I can take care of my obligations, Lucas.”

“Call me Luke.”

“I prefer Lucas.”

Probably because she wanted an air of formality between them, even though they were sharing the same house. Hell, they’d even shared the same bed a couple of nights. He grinned at the memory. Luke was all about tearing down the barriers between them. She might come across as a prickly-pear cactus, but Luke sensed it was all a façade. Why was she trying to hide her true nature? If Karla thought so much of her, there must be more to her than she allowed the rest of the world to see.

“Darlin’, we’re going to be together here for at least a week or two. Might as well get it through your head that I’m not going to just lie around here and mooch off you. Put me to work.”

The sparks that flew from her gaze told him he had his work cut out for him on that front, too. “You are supposed to be recuperating. Marc said no strenuous exercise for at least a week.”

He’d deal with Marc later.

“Where’s your woodpile?” He pointed to the four remaining pieces of split wood on the hearth. “These aren’t going to last more than a couple of hours.”

He didn’t expect her to back down, but after a tense moment, she pointed toward the front door. “There is some split dry wood in the mudroom. I will chop some more later if we need it.”

Like hell you will.
“Splittin’ wood’s a man’s job.”

She placed her hands on her hips. “If I had waited for a man, I would have frozen to death a long time ago.”

The girl had a point. “But now you have me to help out.”

“Lucas, you need to understand something. You are only here until you are well enough to go home. If you can split wood and make repairs, then you can hike out of here and call someone to pick you up along the highway at the pass.”

Luke wasn’t sure if it was the image of making that daunting hike in his current condition or the thought of leaving Cassie so soon that hurt the worst. He’d better cool it with the “he-man provider” shit if he didn’t want her to kick him out on his ass. Apparently, she wasn’t in need of being taken care of, probably because she’d had to rely on herself for a long time. Too bad for him. He liked being able to take care of a woman’s needs.