Finding the Dream

  discovered that if a day passed without her poking her head into the stables, he felt deprived.

  Her mother, on the other hand, was keeping her distance. He hadn't seen her in three days, since the night of the country club dance.

  "Mama's going to get me drawing lessons, and that'll be fun because I like to draw pictures. I can draw you one if you want."

  "I'd like that." He sent her a quick smile. "What would you draw for me?"

  "A surprise." She beamed at him. Big people didn't always really listen, Kayla knew. Mr. Fury always listened, even when he was busy. "Do you have time to teach Bongo a trick?"

  "I might." Michael tapped the dampened water brush in his palm as he studied the pup, who was currently sprawled on the brick eyeing one of the cats. "I've got to put this lady through her paces first, though. Got somebody coming by to look at her."

  Kayla's bottom lip poked out as she reached up to smooth the mare's glossy flank. "To buy her?"

  "Maybe." Understanding, he crouched down. "She needs a good home. Like Bongo did."

  "You're a good home."

  He didn't think this called for an explanation of business, the profit-and-loss ledgers that often made him cross-eyed. So he kept it simple. "I can't keep them all, honey. What I do is take good care of them while they're here and look for people who'll take care of them when they're not. And your mom's the one who found these people. You know Mrs. Prentice?"

  "She's nice." Kayla gnawed on her lip as she considered. She did like Mrs. Prentice—she had a fun laugh. "Her daughter rides horses. Mandy's fourteen and has a boyfriend."

  "Does she?" Amused, Michael tousled Kayla's hair. "If they like the lady here, and she likes them, she'll be their horse. Do you think Mandy would take good care of her?''

  "I guess so."

  "Let's take her out to the paddock, you and me."

  "I'll get her blanket. I'll get it."

  While Kayla raced off, he made a final check of his lady. She was a pretty chestnut hack, her coat gleaming now from his meticulous work with brush and currycomb. Her eyes were clear, intelligent, her heart strong, her hooves healthy and smartly presented, with a coating of oil. At fifteen hands she was a good size, well lined, a cooperative, well-behaved animal who would bring him a good profit on his investment.

  He was, he knew as he stroked her neck, going to miss the hell out of her.

  Together, he and Kayla saddled the mare, with Kayla watching every move carefully. She hoped that one day Mr. Fury would let her hook the cinches, but she didn't want to ask. Yet.

  "Where's Ali today?"

  "Oh, she's in her room. She has to clean it and finish all her homework. She can't come outside today because she's being punished."

  "What did she do?"

  "She had another fight with Mama." With the dog at her heels, Kayla skipped along beside Michael as he led the mare out. "She's mad because our dad's marrying Mrs. Litchfield and he's not going to go to the father-daughter supper at school. She says it's Mama's fault."

  "How does she figure that?"

  "I don't know." Kayla shrugged her shoulders. "She's silly. Uncle Josh is going to the supper, and he's more fun anyway. Our dad doesn't like us."

  The careless tone caused Michael to stop, glance down. "Doesn't he?"

  "No, but that's okay because…" She trailed off, bit her lip. "It's bad."

  "What is, darling?"

  She looked behind her toward the house, then back into Michael's eyes. "I don't like him, either. I'm glad he went away and that he's not coming back. But don't tell Mama."

  Now there was alarm, and beneath it a silvery rush of defense. "Honey." He crouched down, taking her little shoulders carefully in his hands. "He didn't hurt you, did he? He didn't hit you or your sister?'' Even the thought of it churned in his gut like acid. "Or your mom?"

  "No." She seemed so baffled by the idea. Michael relaxed again. "But he never listens and he never plays and he made Mama cry, so I don't like him. But don't tell."

  "I won't." Michael made an X over his heart, then touched the finger to her lips. How anyone, particularly a father, could not adore this fascinating child was beyond him. "How about a ride?"

  Her eyes went huge, hopeful. "Can I? Can I really?''

  "Well, let's see." He picked her up, set her on the saddle. "We have to see if the lady likes girls, right?" he said as he adjusted the stirrups. "This here's an English saddle because that's what Mandy uses. Take a rein in each hand. No, like this, sugar," he said and adjusted her grip. "That's the way."

  Patiently he explained the proper way to guide the mare while Kayla listened in solemn-eyed concentration. "Now, heels down. Good. Knees in. Back straight." With a hand on the bridle he led the mare into a sedate walk. "How's it feel up there, Miss Ridgeway?"

  She giggled, bounced. "I'm riding the horse."

  "Now draw back on the left rein, easy now, the way I showed you. See how nice she turns. She's a good girl."

  He had work to do, calls to make. And he forgot all of it. For the next twenty minutes he indulged himself, teaching Kayla the basics, hopping up behind her once to take the mare into a quick, circling canter that had the child shrieking with delight.

  The day might have been overcast, more rain threatening. But here was sunshine.

  When he plucked her off and her arms wound tight around his neck in a hug, he felt, for the first time in his life, like a hero.

  "Can I do it again sometime, Mr. Fury?"

  "Sure you can."

  With easy affection and trust, she wrapped her legs around his waist, grinning at him. "When Mama gets home she'll be so surprised. I rode the horse all by myself and steered her and everything."

  "You sure did. And now we know she likes girls."

  "She'll like Mandy, so she'll be happy. I'm going to tell Annie right now how I rode the horse. Thanks, Mr. Fury."

  She wiggled down and raced off, the pup scrambling after. Michael watched her, stroking the mare's neck. "You've done it now, Fury," he murmured. "Gone and fallen in love with that pretty little blonde." He looked into his mare's eyes, kissed her. Sighed. "Not supposed to fall for what you can't keep."

  Two hours later, he repeated the warning to himself. The Prentices had fallen for the mare at first sight, had barely bothered to dicker over his asking price. Now he had a check in his pocket and the lady was no longer his.

  With mixed feelings, he approached Templeton House. He'd made a sale, and that was part of his business. The mare, he had no doubt, was going to be pampered and adored for the rest of her life. And it was a sure bet that the Prentices would spread the word that Michael Fury had good stock for sale.

  He had Laura to thank for it, and he intended to do so.

  The duty call would give him the opportunity to see her again, to gauge how she reacted to him. Out of habit, and a little fear instilled by the thought of encountering Ann Sullivan, he wiped his feet outside the kitchen door. His knock was answered by a harried call to come in. When he did, fear turned to pleasure.

  Mrs. Williamson was exactly as he remembered. Broad back to the room, big, capable hands stirring something wonderful on the huge six-burner stove. The bowl of black hair atop her head wouldn't have stirred in an earthquake.

  The room smelled of spices and flowers and the mouthwatering aroma of whatever she had in the oven.

  "Got any cookies around this place?"

  She turned, wooden spoon in one hand. Her wide face creased into a huge welcoming smile. She'd always had a soft spot for lost boys. And bad ones.

  "Well, if it isn't Michael Fury himself. I wondered when you'd come knocking on my door."

  "Ready to marry me now?"

  "I might just be." She sent him a saucy wink. "You've grown up handsome enough."

  Because with her he'd always felt at home, he crossed the room, took one of her big hands in his, and brought it to his lips. "Name the time and place."

  "Oh, you're a one." From anyone else, the sound that bubb
led out would have been called a giggle. "Sit down there, boy, and tell me all about your adventures." As she always had, always would, when one of her children came to visit, she took cookies out of the bin, arranged them on a plate. "Selling horses now, are we?"

  "Yes, ma'am. Just did." He patted his pocket while she poured his coffee.

  "That's fine, then. And you haven't found a woman to suit you in all your travels?''

  "I've been holding out for you." He bit into a cookie, rolled his eyes dramatically. "Nobody bakes like you, Mrs. Williamson. Why should I settle for less than the best?"

  She laughed again and gave him a vigorous slap on the back that nearly sent him headfirst into his coffee. "Oh, you're a bad one, Michael."

  "So they always said. You still do those apple pies? The ones that bring tears of joy to a man's eyes?"

  "If you behave yourself I might just send you one over." She went back to her stove and her stirring. "Our little Kayla's been spending a lot of time down at the stables lately."

  "I'm going to marry her if you keep turning me down."

  "She's an angel, isn't she?" She let loose a windy sigh. "Allison, too. Darling girl, sweet as you please and bright as buttons on a new suit. Miss Laura's done a fine job there. And by herself, too. He never paid any mind to them."

  When you want information, Michael mused as he took another cookie, go to the source. Mrs. Williamson was a fount of inside information. "He isn't very popular around here, I take it."

  She sniffed loudly. "And why should he be, I'd like to know? Fussy, stiff-necked, too good to say how do you do? Never gave a minute of his valuable time to those beautiful girls, either. And fooling around with his secretary, and God knows who else, on the side." She pressed a hand to her heart as it swelled with outrage. "I shouldn't speak of it. Not my place."

  But he knew she'd speak of it plenty with a little prompting. "So, Ridgeway wouldn't make father of the year?"

  "Hah! He wouldn't make father of the minute. And as for husband, well, he treated our Miss Laura more like an accessory than a wife. Prissy about the staff, too, with his highfalutin ideas."

  Michael ran his tongue around his teeth. "Laura stayed married to him for a long time."

  "She takes her promises and her duties seriously. That girl was raised right. Near to broke her heart when she filed for divorce, not that it wasn't the proper thing to do or that any of us regretted it for a blink. Good riddance, I say, and I said so straight out to Mrs. Sullivan. Now he's going to be marrying that redheaded cat. Well, they deserve each other, I say."

  To emphasize her sentiments, she rapped her spoon on the edge of the pan, letting the sound ring.

  "I bet Ridgeway never got any cookies in your kitchen."

  "Hah! As if he'd have lowered himself to come inside the room. Master of the house, my eye. My hearing may not be what it was, but I hear what I need to hear, so don't think I didn't know he tried to make Miss Laura pension me off so he could hire himself some fancy Frenchman to cook his meals. But she wouldn't do it."

  Her face softened as she turned back. "Our Miss Laura knows about loyalty, and about what's right. She's a Templeton, and so are her girls, whatever their name might be legal."

  She stopped, narrowed her eyes. "There you've done it. Got me blabbing and haven't told me a thing. You haven't changed there, Michael Fury."

  "Nothing much to tell." She still brewed the best coffee in central California, he thought as he sipped. And the Templeton kitchen, despite its grandeur and shine, was still one of the coziest spots on earth. "Been there, done that. Now I'm back."

  She could just imagine where he'd been, and what he'd done. Still, she saw in him what she'd always seen: a dark, broody-eyed boy brimming with potential.

  "Back where you belong, you ask me. Been out gallivanting long enough."

  "Seems like," he agreed and took another cookie.

  "Going to make your mark this time around, are you?"

  "That's the plan. You come on down to the stables while I'm here, Mrs. Williamson." He grinned wickedly. "I'll give you a ride."

  She threw back her head, exploding with laughter just as the door swung open. Ann Sullivan stepped inside. The instant she spotted Michael, lounging at the table with cookies and coffee, her mouth tightened.

  "I see you're entertaining, Mrs. Williamson."

  "The boy just dropped in to visit." They'd worked together too long for Mrs. Williamson to miss the icy disapproval. Or to pay any heed to it. "Coffee, Mrs. Sullivan?"

  "No, thank you. Miss Laura is in the solarium and would like some."

  The door burst open behind her, and Kayla rushed in. "Mama said to—Hi!" Instantly distracted, she ran toward Michael, jumped in his lap. "Did you come to see us?"

  "I came to talk Mrs. Williamson out of some cookies. And I needed to see your mom for a minute."

  "She's in the solarium. You can go see her. I drew your picture. Do you want to see?"

  "You bet I do." He kissed the tip of her nose, grinned. "What is it?"

  "A surprise." Eager, she scrambled down. "I'm going to go get it. I'm going to tell Ali you came. Don't go away."

  Ann stood where she was as Kayla bolted out. If she'd been blind, she would have been able to recognize the easy affection between man and girl. A considering look came into her eye. She was far from ready to soften, but she would consider.

  "You can go on to the solarium if you remember the way," she said stiffly. "I'll bring the coffee."

  "Fine. Thanks." He rose, equally stiff, until he turned to Mrs. Williamson. "Thanks for the cookies. And that offer still holds."

  "Get on with you."

  He got on. He remembered the way to the solarium. The fact was, he realized, he remembered everything about Templeton House. Walking down the polished hallway, glancing into elegant rooms, was like stepping back in time. His time. His youth.

  This was a constant, he thought. The soaring ceilings and ornate moldings, the carefully selected and lovingly tended furnishings. The sweep of the stairway in the main hall, the bowl of flowers set just so on a credenza. Candlesticks with their tapers burned down to varying heights.

  In the parlor he noticed the quiet fire sizzling. The hearth was lapis, he remembered. Josh had told him that, had explained to him about the deep blue stone. There was a large crystal compote on the piano, a floor-spanning faded rug over the waxed wood.

  Flowers everywhere, he observed, fresh and dewy from garden or greenhouse. Not just hothouse roses but simple daisies, sunny tulips. Their scents were subtle, an elemental part of the air.

  He knew the Templetons had entertained with lavish parties in this house—he had even been permitted to attend a few. People as glamorous as gods had wandered through the rooms, under the arching doorways, spilled out onto flower-decked terraces.

  The house he had grown up in could fit into a single wing of this one with room to spare. But it hadn't been the space that awed him. Or not as much, not nearly as much as the beauty of it. The way it stood looking out over cliffs and hills and banks of flowers. The way the tower speared up into the sky and the windows gleamed with light, day or night. And the rooms inside, streaming into other rooms, with an openness, a welcoming that he'd never been able to analyze.

  Of permanence. A statement that he'd always understood said family mattered. At least to the Templetons. Despite its grandeur, Templeton House was a home. And that he had never had.

  Shaking himself, he moved through the short breezeway that led to the solarium. There would be lush greenery there, flowers in profusion, padded chairs and lounges, glass tables, colorful mats. The rain that had just started to mist would patter on the glass walls, and you would see the fog rise over the cliffs.

  It was exactly as he remembered. The glass walls swirled with fog and rain, lending the room a magical kind of intimacy. A single lamp was lit, casting a soft gold light. Music, something with weeping violins that he didn't recognize, spilled like tears from hidden speakers.

&
nbsp; And there was Laura, curled on the pastel cushions of a high-backed wicker lounge. Sleeping.

  Perhaps it was the atmosphere, the light, the fog, the music, the flowers, that made him feel as though he were stepping into a spellbound bower. He was rarely a fanciful man, but the sight of her sleeping there made him think of enchanted princesses, castles, and the magic of a kiss.

  He bent over her, brushed the hair from her cheek, and laid his lips on hers.

  She woke slowly, as an enchanted princess should. Her lashes fluttered, a faint flush rose to her cheeks. The sound that sighed through her lips to his was soft, lovely.

  "Doesn't seem like a hundred years," he murmured.

  Her eyes stayed on his, heavy, clouded, unfocused. "Michael?"

  "Now either we live happily ever after or I turn into a frog. I can never keep the stories straight."

  She lifted a hand to his face. Real, she thought. She wasn't dreaming. As reality began to seep in, her color deepened and she hastened to sit up. "I fell asleep."

  "I figured that one out." And there were shadows under her eyes. He hated knowing that worry over her daughter gave her restless nights. "Long day?"

  "Yes." Concern for Allison had given her some bad moments at three A.M. But so had the man who was studying her now. Then there had been her convention duties at the hotel, a glitch in a shipment at the shop, and a headachy session of sentence diagramming in the homework division. "I'm sorry—"

  The words slid down her throat as his mouth cruised over hers again. "You made me think of fairy tales when I walked in here. Beauty sleeping."

  "That's Sleeping Beauty."

  "I know." His lips curved. "I didn't have a close acquaintance with fairy tales, but I think I caught the Disney version somewhere. Let's see if I've got it right."

  When he would have kissed her again, she sprang to her feet. "I'm awake." Too awake, she thought as her heart hummed in her throat. Too alive. Too needy.

  "I guess that's the best we can do, for the moment. I was in the kitchen charming Mrs. Williamson out of her cookies. I actually came by to see you, but I'm weak."

  "No one can hold fast against her cookies." Well aware that she must look rumpled, she tried to smooth her hair.

  "Don't. I like it mussed. You never seem to be mussed."

  "You ought to catch me after convincing the girls it really is bedtime now." But she made herself stop fussing. "Kayla said that Judy Prentice was coming by this evening."

  "She did, with her husband and her daughter. Who, by the way, is quite a horsewoman. They bought a good mare. I think they'll work out well together."

  Pleased for him, she said, "Oh, that's wonderful, Michael. Congratulations."

  He plucked a creamy white hibiscus from the bush beside the lounge and handed it to her. "I came by to thank you."

  Absurdly touched, violently nervous, she stared at the blossom. "I didn't do anything but mention your name, but you're welcome. Judy knows a lot of the horse set. I'm sure she'll pass your name along."

  "I'm counting on it. I'd like to take you to dinner."

  She shifted away a full inch. "What?"

  "I'm flush," he said, patting his pocket. "And I owe you."

  "No, you don't. It was just—"

  "I'd like to take you to dinner, Laura. I'd like to take you, period, but I think we'll have to do this along more conventional lines. You've been avoiding me."

  "No, I haven't. Really." Or hardly at all. "I've been busy."

  He imagined her social calendar was full enough. Committees, ladies' luncheons, the jobs she'd taken to fill her time. "I wouldn't imagine a Templeton would scare off so easy."

  It was exactly the right switch to pull. "It isn't a matter of scaring off. I