Borrowed Dreams (Debbie Macomber Classics) (4 page)

“No.” The word slipped out with the rising swell of panic that threatened to engulf her.

“Why not?” he demanded.

“Let’s just say that I consider married men off-limits. Even widowers. Especially widowers who have eyes that say, ‘I loved my wife.’ ”

“I can’t argue with you about that,” Brand agreed easily. “I did love Sandra.”

“That’s the way it’s supposed to be.” Carly was sincere. She couldn’t imagine Brand not having loved … Sandra. Her mind had difficulty forming the name. It was easier to think of Brand’s wife as a nonentity. “Well, it was nice seeing you again.” She fumbled in her purse for her keys.

“Do you have anything against friendship?” Brand’s features suggested a wealth of pride and strength. In the shadows of early afternoon, they appeared more pronounced.

“Everyone needs somebody.” Reluctantly, she turned back. She was thinking about Diana, the only true friend she’d ever had.

“Are we capable of that, Carly?” He refused to release her gaze.

Unable to find the words to answer him, she shrugged.

“Surely a drink between friends wouldn’t be so bad.”

She remained unsure. “I won’t date you, Brand.” Making that much clear was important.

“Not to worry.” He beamed her a dazzling smile. “This isn’t a date. Friends?” He extended his hand to her.

Her mind was yelling at her, telling her this wouldn’t work. But it didn’t seem to matter as she held out her hand to him for a curt shake.

Mentally chastising herself every block of the way, she followed him to a lounge, parking her car in the space beside his. Together they stepped into the dimly lit room.

Brand cupped her elbow, but when Carly involuntarily stiffened, he dropped his hand. “Sorry, I forgot we’re just friends,” he said, as they walked across the room.

No sooner were they seated when a waitress appeared. Carly was undecided about what she wanted to drink, and while she was making up her mind, Brand took charge and ordered for her.

“I prefer to order for myself,” she said after the waitress had gone, disliking the way he had taken control. She wasn’t his date. He went still, then shrugged. “Sorry, I keep forgetting.”

He was strangely quiet then, Carly thought, considering the way he’d pressed the invitation on her. After a few minutes of small talk he settled back in his chair, seemingly content to listen to the music.

“I don’t know what to make of you.” Carly said, uncomfortable with the finely strung tension between them.

“Little wonder,” he said with a wry grin, and took a sip of his Scotch. “You’ve been on my mind all week.”

Carly sat upright and leaned forward. “I don’t think friends are necessarily on one another’s minds.”

He discounted her words with an ardent shake of his head. “Some friends are. Trust me here.”

“The last man who asked me to trust him trapped me thirty thousand feet in the air and demanded that we make love.”

“What did you do?” He straightened slightly, the line of his jaw tightening.

Carly smiled, taking a sip of her wine before she spoke. “Simple. I jumped. He was my skydiving instructor.”

“Did everything turn out all right?”

“Depends on how you look at it. I wrenched my ankle and landed a mile off target. But on the other hand, it felt good to outsmart that creep.”

“My goodness, you live an adventuresome life.”

“That’s nothing compared to what happened to me the weekend I climbed Mount Rainier.”

“I don’t think I want to hear this,” he murmured, nursing his drink. “Have you always had this penchant for danger?”

“It never starts out that way, but I seem to walk blindly into it.” She leaned against the back of the chair, a hand circling her wineglass.

“Have dinner with me?” Then he quickly added. “As friends, of course.”

Carly knew she should decline, but something within her wouldn’t let her refuse. “All right, but I have the feeling I was safer on Mount Rainier.”

He smiled as he rose and led the way into the restaurant that was connected to the lounge.

Once they were seated at the red upholstered booth, a middle-aged waitress in a black skirt and peasant blouse handed them each a menu.

Quickly, Carly surveyed the items listed, mainly a variety of seafood and steak dishes. “If you don’t mind, I’ll order for myself this time,” she teased, keeping her gaze centered on the oblong menu.

“Red wine was Sandra’s favorite drink.” Brand’s words seemed to come out of nowhere.

“Oh.” Carly shut her eyes tightly and set the menu aside. “I wish you hadn’t told me that.”

“I was just as shocked as you when it slipped out.”

Carly half slid from the booth. “I think I’d better leave.”

“Don’t go. Please.”

Carly had the impression he didn’t often ask something of anyone. She stopped, her heart beating at double time.

“Did I ever tell you about the time I came face-to-face with a Kodiak?” he asked.

“A bear?”

His gaze was intent as he studied his water glass. “Crazy as it sounds, I’m more frightened now here with you.”

Carly exhaled, releasing her breath in a rush. “Good grief, we’re a fine couple.”

He smiled. “We’re only …”

“Friends.” They said it together and laughed.

“All right,” Brand said, and breathed in a wobbly breath. “I’ll admit it. This is the first time I’ve been out with a woman since Sandra died. She’s been gone almost two years now. But the past is meant to be a guidepost, not a hitching post. I need a … friend.”

Carly had been unsure this friendship would work from the moment he’d first suggested it. He seemed to confirm her suspicions every minute she was with him. “Brand, I don’t know.”

“You’re not even trying. At least hear me out. It’s been a while since I was into the dating scene. I realize you don’t want to date me. I don’t understand why, but apparently it’s an issue with you. But I was thinking that maybe I could practice with you. We could go out a couple of times until I see what kind of action there is.” His tone was suddenly light, casual.

“Not on dates.” Her fingers surrounded her wineglass, and a chill moved up her arm and stopped at her heart.

“No, these wouldn’t be
real
dates.”

“Just practice, until you find someone who interests you?” Something deep inside her said she was going to regret this. Diana should be the one he was talking to. Diana was the rescuer. Not her.

Brand lifted his gaze until their eyes met, granting Carly the opportunity to study his face. His mood had shifted again, and now she realized that the look she had recognized earlier wasn’t maturity but pain. Without him saying a word she realized he’d been through hell. His wife’s death had brought him to his knees and nearly broken him. Carly’s first response was a desire to ease that pain. Such intense feelings were foreign to her.

“I can’t see how it would hurt, as long as we both understand each other,” she said cautiously.

The waitress came and took their order.

“How’d we get so serious?” Brand’s smile was forced, but the effort relaxed the planes of his face, and again Carly found herself responding involuntarily.

“I don’t know.”

“Let’s talk about something else. As I recall, women like to talk about themselves.”

“Not this woman. I’d bore you to death,” Carly returned, with a weak laugh. “I was born, grew up, graduated, found a job …” She hesitated, her eyes smiling into his. “Shall I continue?”

“Seattle?”

“Mostly.” The tip of her index finger circled the rim of her wineglass. “What about you?”

He answered her question with another of his own: “What about men?”

“What about them?” Carly shot back.

“You’ve never married?”

“No.” Her laugh was light. “Not even close.”

“Sandra and I were barely out of college …”

Carly sighed with relief when the waitress returned, delivering their meals. She didn’t want to hear about Brand’s wife. Yet in another way it was good that she did, because it reminded her that it would be a colossal mistake to fall in love with Brand.

Carly’s salad was piled high with crab. Lemon wedges dipped in paprika decorated the edges, and thin slices of hard-boiled eggs defined the bowl. “This looks wonderful.” Picking up her fork, she dipped into the crisp lettuce leaves. Brand followed suit, and they ate in silence. Several times during the meal Carly felt Brand watching her, his gaze disconcerting, making her uncomfortable.

“Did I commit some faux pas?” she asked, setting aside her fork as she met his eyes.

“No. Why?” Brand glanced up curiously.

“The looks you’ve been giving me make me think I’ve got Thousand Island dressing all over my chin.”

“No, you haven’t.” Brand’s chuckle was low and sensuous.

To avoid his look, Carly glanced into the lounge. Couples with arms wrapped around each other were dancing on the small polished floor to the slow music. Dancing had never been her forte, but the thought of Brand holding her produced a willful fascination. She shook her head to dispel the image.

“Do you dance?” she asked, but frankly she hoped his response would be negative.

His fork paused midway to his mouth as he gave her a startled glance.

Carly looked away. “Don’t look so shocked. My interest was purely academic. It wouldn’t be a good idea for us to dance.”

“Why not?”

“Because—” She swallowed. He was enjoying her discomfort. “Well, because of the close body contact … I just don’t think it would be a good idea … for us, seeing that we’re only
friends.”

“But I’ll need to practice a few times, don’t you think?”

“No,” she said, wishing now she’d never introduced the subject. “Dancing is like riding a bicycle. It all comes back to you even if you haven’t gone riding in a long time.” She pushed her plate aside, indicating that she was finished with her meal.

Brand mumbled something under his breath. Carly didn’t catch all of it, but what she did hear caused hot color to warm her cheeks. He’d said something about hoping that the same was true when it came to lovemaking.

While Brand paid for their dinner, Carly wandered outside. With hands thrust deep into her jacket pockets, she stared at the dark sky. The stars looked like rare jewels laid out on folds of black satin. The moonlight cleared a path through the still night. With her face turned toward the heavens, Carly walked past their parked cars and down the narrow sidewalk. Alaska was supposed to be cold and ruthless. Yet she felt warm and content, as if she belonged here and would never want to leave. Brand had reminded her that she hadn’t suffered through an Alaskan winter. But the thought didn’t frighten her. She was ready for that challenge.

Brand joined her. “I want to tell you about Sandra.”

Carly didn’t want to hear about the wife he’d loved and lost, but she recognized that Brand needed to tell her. If he talked things out with her, a virtual stranger, maybe then he could bury the past.

“We met in college. I guess I told you that, didn’t I?”

Carly’s hands formed fists deep inside her pockets. “Yes … yes, you did.”

“She was probably one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. Blond and petite. And so full of life. You couldn’t walk into a room full of people and not find Sandra. Funny thing, though—she was the quiet sort. She didn’t like a lot of attention.” His face sharpened. “We were married almost eight years.”

Carly’s heart was pounding frantically. Each pain-filled word seemed to come at her like an assault. He didn’t need to say how difficult it was for him to speak of his wife. It was evident in his voice, in the way he looked straight ahead, in the way he walked.

“She had myelocytic leukemia. The most difficult type to treat and cure. We knew in the beginning her chances of beating it were only one in five. Watching her die was agony.” He paused, waiting several moments before he continued speaking. “But death was her victory. She
was at peace. She had every right to be bitter and angry, but that wasn’t her way. I struggled to hold on to her, but in the end she asked me to let her go and I did. She closed her eyes and within the hour she was gone.”

Carly felt tears form, which she quickly blinked away, embarrassed that he would see the emotion his story caused in her.

They continued walking for a long time, neither speaking. Carly didn’t know what to say. Any words of comfort wouldn’t have made it past the huge lump in her throat.

“I loved her,” he said in a low, tortured voice. “A part of me will go to the grave grieving for Sandra.”

Carly’s heart swelled with emotion as she searched desperately for some way to communicate her regret. But no words would come. She wanted to tell him she understood how hard it must have been to release the one he loved. But she couldn’t pretend to know how much it had cost him to watch his wife die. Gently, she laid her hand on his forearm, wanting to let him know her feelings.

Brand’s fingers gripped hers as he paused and turned toward her. Tenderly, he brushed the hair from her face and kissed her forehead. “Thank you,” he said simply.

“I didn’t do anything.” Her voice sounded weak and wobbly.

“Just by listening, you’ve done more than you know,” he whispered, and took her hand in his. Silently, their hands linked, they strolled down the moonlit sidewalk.

*  *  *

Carly had a difficult time sleeping that night. Brand hadn’t attempted to hold or kiss her, and for that she was grateful. She didn’t know if she had the strength to refuse him anything. The thought was scary. Everything about Brand confused her. If she had a rational head on her shoulders she wouldn’t have anything more to do with him. But he was a rare kind of man, more rare than the gold that had prompted so many into Alaska’s fertile land a hundred years before.

For a long while she lay awake, watching shadows dancing on the walls taunting her. She shouldn’t see him again, she told herself. Yet she could hardly wait for tomorrow afternoon, when they had planned to meet again.

*  *  *

Carly awoke the next morning with renewed determination. Brand needed her … for now. She didn’t walk away from anything. Her independence, her ability to meet challenges, had become her trademark. Friends didn’t desert each other in times of need. And this was a crucial time in Brand’s life. A time of transition. She would help him through that, be his friend. Perhaps she would even have the opportunity to introduce him to a few women.