Dream Wedding: Dream Bride / Dream Groom
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Still confused by what had happened, she settled on one of the benches. He took a seat next to her.
“What did you think?” he asked.
“It’s very impressive. I can see why you enjoy your work and why you have such a following. You’ve brought a great find to national attention.”
He dismissed the compliment with a wave. “I haven’t done anything that special. I followed a few clues, refused to give up when other people did, but I’m no hero. There are a lot of great scholars out there. I’m just some guy interested in pretty rocks and religious icons.”
“You’re selling yourself a little short, aren’t you?”
“Not really. When I met Joseph Campbell I was so impressed, I couldn’t talk. He was my idol. I don’t say that lightly. I’ve met many impressive people, but he was the best.”
Interesting. She made a mental note. That information could add some depth and human interest to her story. “Are there any important people you haven’t met yet who intrigue you?”
His smile was slow and lazy. It should have warned her. He relaxed back in the bench. “Yesterday I would have said yes, because until yesterday I hadn’t met you.”
It was a line, she reminded herself. But it was a good one. “Not bad.”
His smile didn’t fade, but something dark and dangerous crept into his expression. “I wasn’t kidding, Chloe. I know you felt it, too. The energy when you were holding the diamond. Did the stone glow when you closed your eyes? That’s supposed to be significant.”
She tried swallowing, but her throat was too tight. When coughing didn’t clear it, she decided to ignore both the sensation and the question. She opened her briefcase and pulled out a small handheld tape recorder.
“I’d like to ask you a few questions,” she said.
He eyed the machine. “Obviously we’re on the record.”
“We have been all morning.”
His gaze sharpened. “Really? That surprises me.” He crossed his ankle over his opposite knee. “Ask away.”
The sun was warm, but the heat filling her body came from the inside. There was something about him, about his relaxed posture. She angled away from him, but even so, the bench was suddenly too small. She felt confined and much too close. She could inhale the masculine scent of his body. Her mind didn’t want to focus on questions or interview techniques. She wanted to move closer still; she wanted to run away.
Neither possibility was wise, she reminded herself, so she dug out a list of questions she’d prepared the previous night when she couldn’t sleep.
“You traveled with your grandfather for most of your formative years,” she said.
“That’s right. He showed up one day when I was about three or so, and took me with him. One of my first memories is riding a yak somewhere in Tibet.” He stretched out his arms along the back of the bench. His strong tanned fingers lay within inches of her shoulder and she tried not to notice.
“Grandfather traveled in style,” he continued. “At heart, he was an adventurer. Fortunately the family had money, so he was able to go where and when he wanted. He’d run guns into Africa before the Second World War. He knew heads of state, from Nixon to obscure tribal elders in kingdoms the size of a grocery store. He would decide to spend a summer somewhere or maybe a winter, but we never stayed longer than a few months. Grandfather loved to be moving on.”
Chloe knew this from her research. “He arranged for tutors?”
Arizona nodded. “Sometimes several at once. I studied for hours every day. When I was fourteen, he put me in university, Oxford, then I moved to Egypt for a year or so. India, South Africa. I have an assortment of degrees.” He grinned. “None of them practical.”
“Are you an adventurer, too?”
“In a manner of speaking. I’ve tried to be more methodical, to use what I know to discover the past. Grandfather wanted to travel for the sake of being gone. I want to accomplish something.”
She looked at him. From where she was sitting, he looked like a fairly normal guy. Perhaps he was a little too good-looking, but otherwise, he seemed to be much like the rest of the world.
“You’re staring,” he said. “Is there a reason?”
She shook her head. “You’re so different from anyone I’ve ever known. My family is one of the founding families of this town. My mother’s maiden name is Bradley. The Victorian house has been ours for generations. I’ve traveled some, but not like you. Bradleys have been in this valley for more than a hundred years.”
He shrugged. “Roots aren’t a bad thing.”
“I know. I’m not unhappy with my life. I’m just wondering what it would be like to have lived yours.” She tried to imagine always moving around, never knowing where one was going next. The thought wasn’t pleasant.
She remembered the running tape and the fact that this was supposed to be an interview. “Okay, next question. I know your mother died shortly after you were born. When did your father pass away?”
If she hadn’t been studying him so closely, she wouldn’t have noticed the subtle stiffening of his body. “My father is alive and well. At least he was the last time he called me.”
“But you grew up with your grandfather. He took you away when you were three.”
“I know.”
“Why didn’t you stay with your father?”
“It just worked out that way.”
The journalist in her jumped onto the detail. Questions sprang to mind. Had there been a problem? An estrangement? Some legal issues? Why had Arizona’s father let his only child be taken from him and subjected to such an odd upbringing?
“You’re going to pursue this line of questioning, aren’t you?” Arizona sounded more weary than annoyed.
“Yes. I’m figuring out which way to go.”
He didn’t answer. Instead he raised his head to the sun. “It’s warmer than I thought it would be,” he said.
“We’re about ten degrees above normal for this time of year.”
“I should have dressed for it.” He reached for his right cuff and undid the button.
All the questions and strategies about how best to handle the interview fled from her mind. The entire world disappeared as she focused her attention on those long fingers and his casual act.
He finished rolling up the right sleeve and started on the left. She knew what she was going to see there. Despite the fact that she’d only met the man yesterday and that he’d been wearing long sleeves then, too. Despite the fact that none of the photos in her research files showed him in anything but long sleeves. She knew about the scar because she’d seen the man naked in her dreams.
That wasn’t real, she reminded herself. It hadn’t really happened. So when he rolled up the sleeve, there wasn’t going to be a knife scar on the inside of his left forearm. Except she knew that was exactly what she was going to see.
She stopped breathing.
He made one fold of the fabric, then another. The tail of the scar came into view. She told herself this wasn’t really happening, except it was and she didn’t know how to make it stop.
He caught her stare. “It’s not so bad,” he said, motioning to the scar. “Want to hear how it happened?”
“I can’t,” she said, her voice tight. “I can’t. I have to—” She couldn’t think of a real excuse so she didn’t bother making one. Instead she gathered up her notes and her tape recorder and thrust both into her briefcase.
It was too much to take in. The dream and the man and the fact that she’d known what the scar looked like before she’d even seen it.
“I’ll be in touch,” she managed as she scrambled to her feet and headed for the parking lot.
“Chloe? Is something wrong?”
She held him off with a wave. As soon as she was on the far side of the garden, she began to run. It was only when she tried to fit her key in the lock that she realized she was blinded by tears she could neither explain nor understand. What on earth was happening to her?
CHAPTER FOUR
CHLOE FINISHED STACKING the folders into neat piles. She’d already dusted her computer, rearranged her pencil cup and answered all her messages. Even the boring ones. Still, the busywork wasn’t enough to keep her mind from scurrying around like a frantic chicken, scuttling from place to place, or in her case, subject to subject.
She’d tried lecturing herself on the importance of being professional. She’d scanned a couple of articles on maintaining one’s cool during interviews. She’d taken countless deep breaths, tried a bit of stretching in the ladies’ room and had even sworn off coffee.
It wasn’t helping. The truth was she was scared.
Something strange was happening to her. She didn’t want it to be true, but she could no longer ignore the obvious. Fact number one. Before yesterday, she’d never met Arizona Smith. She didn’t think she’d even seen a picture of him or known who he was. Fact number two. Night before last she’d had a long, detailed, highly erotic dream about Arizona. A dream so intense just thinking about it sent a quiver of excitement through her belly. Fact number three. In said dream, she’d pictured Arizona naked. She knew what the man looked like naked. That was fine. All men sort of looked the same without their clothes. The basic working parts had a lot in common. But it was more than that. She knew about his scars. The one on his knee and the one on his forearm. Fact number four. That very morning she’d had confirmation that her dream had some basis in reality. After all, the scar had been exactly as she remembered it.
Fact number five. Maybe she was going crazy.
Chloe folded her arms on her desk and let her head sink down to her hands. She refused to consider insanity as an explanation to her problem. It had to be something else. Something logical. Maybe along with seeing his picture and not remembering it, she’d also read an article that mentioned his scars.
Or maybe the nightgown was real.
That last thought made her shudder, but in a whole different way than when she thought about making love with Arizona. Anything mystic was just too weird for her. She didn’t want the nightgown to be real. She didn’t want to know her destiny and she sure didn’t want to have to get involved with a man like Arizona Smith. He had a woman in every port. He didn’t even believe in love.
She straightened in her chair. He was wrong about love. It did exist. Unfortunately it wasn’t worth the pain it brought along, but it was definitely real.
“I don’t want this,” she murmured to herself. “I want my life to be normal, like everyone else’s.”
She suddenly remembered she was in the office. Talking to herself in the car was one thing, but in front of others, especially coworkers, was quite another.
This has gone on too long, she told herself firmly and silently. She had to pull herself together. She reached for the pad of paper she always kept by her phone and then grabbed a pen. She would make a list. List making always helped.
First, she would pretend the dream never happened. Every time she thought about it, she would push it to the back of her mind. Eventually she would forget. Second, she was going to act like the professional she was. No more personal conversations, no more freaking out because she saw a scar. She didn’t even want to imagine what Arizona must think of her.
“Professional,” she muttered. It was time to work on her article.
She glanced at the list she’d made, figured she could remember both items on her own and tossed the paper into the trash. Next, she reviewed the background material Nancy had left her. There were a couple of points that hadn’t been clear. Chloe picked up the phone and dialed the reporter’s home number.
When Nancy answered, Chloe introduced herself and politely asked about her pregnancy. They talked about work for a few minutes, then Nancy mentioned Arizona.
“I’ve been seeing the man everywhere on the local news. Is he as impressive in person?”
Chloe thought about her own reaction to Arizona and bit back a sigh. “Unfortunately, yes.”
The two women laughed.
“Gee, Mark and I have wanted children for a long time, but now I’m feeling a little left out of it. I’m getting stretch marks and a daily afternoon backache while you’re out playing with the new guy in town. It’s not fair.”
“But in a couple of months you’re going to have a baby, and all I’ll be left with is a story.” And a broken heart.
The last thought came without warning and Chloe firmly ignored it. She was not going to get involved enough to get her heart broken. In fact she wasn’t going to get involved at all.
“Speaking of the story,” she said. “I have a few questions on a couple of your sources.”
“I figured you would. My system of taking notes is tough for people to follow. You’d think after all this time I’d be more organized, but I’m not.”
Chloe went through her questions and wrote down Nancy’s replies. When they were finished she said, “From what I can tell you were angling your story toward telling about the man and his myths.”
“Right, but I was never happy with that. Have you thought of something better?”
“I don’t know if it’s better, but I have another idea. I’d like to write about the man behind the myths. Arizona has traveled all over the world. He has a strong belief in the mystical and spiritual. From what I’ve seen he has an image the media loves. But who is the man underneath? How does he decide what he’s going to pursue? What are his influences now and what were they in the past?”
“I like that,” Nancy said. “I think the readers will like it, too. Arizona is getting tons of media attention so there’s no point in rehashing old material. Everyone will be tired of it by then. But this is new and fresh. Have you run it by Jerry?”
Chloe glanced at her watch. “I have a meeting with him in a couple of hours.”
“He’s going to think it’s great.” She laughed. “Actually what you’re going to hear is a noncommittal grunt, which means he thinks it’s great. If he hates it, he tells you to your face.”
“I know that one firsthand. Okay, Nancy. Thanks for your help.” They said their goodbyes and hung up.
Chloe turned on her computer and prepared to type up her notes. Usually she could focus on her work, but today there was a voice nagging in the back of her mind.
“This is too ridiculous,” she said softly. “I won’t get a moment’s peace until I fix this.”
With that, she picked up the phone again, consulted a pad of paper and dialed.
“Room 308,” she told the receptionist. “The guest’s name is Arizona Smith.”
She waited while the call was connected. It was possible that he hadn’t gone back to the hotel yet. He might be out all day. If that was the case, she would leave him voice mail asking him to get in touch with her. No matter how long it took, she was going to have to talk to him and apologize for her behavior that morning. There was no point in trying to explain—she wasn’t about to tell him about her dream or the fact that she’d known about his scar even before he’d rolled up his sleeve. But she at least had to atone for her rudeness in running off.
The receiver was picked up, cutting off her train of thought.
“Smith,” he said by way of a greeting.
“Hi, it’s Chloe. I’m sorry to bother you.”
“No bother.”
His voice sounded normal. She took that as a good sign. “I’m calling to apologize for what happened earlier today. I don’t know why I ran off like that.” She crossed the fingers of her free hand, hoping the superstitious gesture would make up for the small lie.
“I understand. Sometimes I have that effect on women. They lose control and rather than let me see how overcome they are, they run off.”
His voice was so calm and serious it took her a minute to figure out he was teasing. She chuckled. “Yeah, right, that was it exactly. Overcome by your substantial charms, I had to retreat to the relative sanctuary of my office so that I could recover.”
“Are you better now?” he asked.
“Much, thank you.” They laughed together, then she said, “I’m serious. I don’t know what came over me. It was terrible to leave like that. I promise it won’t happen again.”
“It better not. You won’t get much of a story if you keep running out on the interview.”
“Can I make it up to you? Would you please come over for dinner tonight?”
He hesitated. Chloe swallowed as her good humor disappeared like feathers sucked up into a tornado. Of course. Why hadn’t she thought of that? “You have other plans,” she said, making it a statement, not a question. Who was she, this other woman?
“Actually, I don’t. Yes, I would love to join you for dinner. However, your aunt already issued the invitation and I accepted.”
“Aunt Charity phoned?”
“First thing this morning.”
Chloe knew she shouldn’t be annoyed at her aunt. After all, Charity called the old Victorian mansion home, and she had every right to invite whomever she liked. But the tension was there all the same.
“That’s great,” Chloe told him. “I’ll see you then. This time I promise not to freak when you show off your scars.”
“If you’re very good I’ll even let you touch them.”
She thought about the one on his leg and couldn’t suppress a shudder of anticipation. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”
* * *
CHLOE PULLED INTO the driveway. Mr. Withers, the seventy-year-old misogynist caretaker sat on his rider-mower, going back and forth on the front lawn.
“Evening, Mr. Withers,” Chloe called out as she stepped up to the front porch.
Mr. Withers offered a wave that was more dismissal than greeting and muttered something under his breath. Probably something mildly offensive, Chloe thought with a grin. The old man had been around since long before her mother had been born. He’d always taken care of the house. If either of the sisters dared to try to engage him in conversation they risked being called mindless ninnies. Chloe had always wanted to ask what other kind of ninnies existed—didn’t the definition of the insult imply a mindlessness? But she didn’t think Mr. Withers would appreciate her humor.
“Have a nice night,” she told him as she stepped into the house and was rewarded with another grunt.
She shut the front door behind him, effectively cutting off most of the noise from the power mower. “I’m home,” she yelled in the direction of the kitchen.
“It’s Chloe!” Cassie came racing down the hall and slipped to a stop in front of her. “I want to hear everything, but so does Aunt Charity so you have to wait until we’re all together. But plan on spilling lots and lots of details. Oh, and he’s coming to dinner. Isn’t that great?” She took a deep breath before continuing. “He is so amazingly cool and good-looking. How can you stand it? I mean, spending the day with him. Did he look into your eyes and say something wonderful? Don’t you think he’s just incredibly interesting?”
Chloe put down her briefcase and slipped out of her linen jacket. After linking her arm with her sister’s she led them both to the kitchen. “I don’t even know where to start,” she admitted. “I swear, Cassie, sometimes you act like you’re barely sixteen instead of nearly twenty-five.”
Cassie tossed her head, making her short dark hair dance around her face. “I’m blessed with an enthusiastic nature,” she said, not the least bit insulted by her sister’s comment. “I enjoy life and all that it has to offer. Arizona Smith is a very interesting man and I’m enjoying his company. We can’t all be jaded reporters. I’d rather be the romantic dreamer I am any day.”
They reached the kitchen. Cassie stepped away and got them each a soda from the refrigerator. Chloe settled at the kitchen table. “Where’s Aunt Charity?” she asked.
“Taking a shower. The spaghetti sauce has been simmering for hours.” She pointed to a pot on a back burner. She plopped down opposite her sister. “Tell me everything.”
Chloe obliged, telling her sister about the gem exhibit and recounting Arizona’s stories.
Cassie sighed. “It’s so romantic. What a great way to spend the morning. But you probably just sat there taking notes, not even noticing the man. You’re hopeless.” Cassie tucked her short hair behind her ear. “I swear, when I have my twenty-fifth birthday and I get to wear the nightgown, I’m not going to waste a perfectly good opportunity dreaming about nothing! I plan to have a wonderfully romantic dream.”
Chloe smiled as her sister talked. She was glad they were back together again. The three years they’d spent apart in high school had been difficult for them both. She fought against a familiar flash of anger. Their parents should have planned better, she thought for the thousandth time. If they had, the two sisters wouldn’t have been separated and put into different foster homes.
She shook off the old memories and concentrated on the evening ahead. She’d promised herself that she would act like a real professional, that she wouldn’t let thoughts of the dream interfere.
“What time is Arizona coming over?” she asked.
Cassie glanced at the clock above the stove. “In about an hour.”
“I’d better get changed.”
Cassie followed her up the stairs. “Are you all right? Is something bothering you? You got a funny look on your face a second ago.”
“I’m fine.” They reached her bedroom first and both women entered. They sat on the bed facing each other. “I was just thinking that I’m glad we’re back together. High school was hard.”
Cassie’s good humor faded a little. “I know. I hated that the courts forced us to live apart. But we’re together now—at least until you run off to the big city to write for one of those New York magazines.” Cassie held up her hand. “Don’t even say it. I know the drill. This is what you want and you have every right to pursue your dreams. But I’ll miss you.”
Chloe leaned toward her. “You could come with me. We could rent an apartment together.”
Cassie shook her head. “No. I don’t want to leave Bradley. I like it here. I adore my job.”
“You’re a nursery school teacher.”
“Exactly, and I love it. The kids are great. I know you don’t understand—you want more for me. But this is what I want and you have to remember to respect that.”
“I know.” Chloe sighed. It was a familiar discussion. One she’d never won. “I just think you could do so much more with your life.”
“And I think working with children is the most important thing I can do. Besides, even if I was tempted to run off to New York with you, which I’m not, I couldn’t. What about Joel?”
Chloe forced her expression to remain pleasant and her hands still, when all she wanted to do was grab her sister by the shoulders and shake some sense into her.
Joel and Cassie had been dating since high school. They had an “understanding” that they would become engaged and then marry.
It was all a quirk of fate, Chloe thought grimly. While she had been sent away to another city when their parents had died and the two girls had been put into foster care, Cassie had stayed in town. She’d gone to the local high school and had started seeing Joel.
“If you can’t say something nice,” Cassie warned.
“Joel is the most boring man on the planet.”
“That’s hardly nice.”
“You don’t know what I was going to say. It’s a real improvement.”
“Oh, Chloe, we can’t all be like you. I think it’s great that you want to leave Bradley and make something of yourself. That’s your life and you’re going to be wonderful. But it’s not my life. I want to stay here. I want to have a family. Joel wants to marry me. I love him. I’ve been dating him for nearly nine years and he makes me happy. Let it go.”
Chloe bit her tongue and nodded her agreement. There wasn’t anything else she could say. Cassie was right—they each had to live their own lives.
Her sister stood up. “I have to go make myself beautiful for our guest and I suggest you do the same.” She paused in the doorway and leaned back dramatically, the back of one hand pressed against her forehead. “Maybe he’ll tell us about the time he saved the virgin from the angry volcano by single-handedly fighting off a dozen hostile natives with his bare hands.”