Lover of My Dreams (59 page)

Standing, she walked into her kitchen and opened the refrigerator to take out a carton of milk. She opened it and poured some into a pan and set it on the stove to heat. She turned on the burner and stared into the low flame, flinching as memories of past campfires came back to her, flooding her mind with a vengeance.

She saw Sam’s face. She remembered his laugh. She remembered his touch. Everything about him haunted her, day and night. She kept seeing his eyes, feeling his hands on her body, tasting his kisses. She would never be able to get him out of her mind or her heart.

She had thought that writing the book that was open on her desk would help cleanse her of her desire for him, but it hadn’t. She still thought about him constantly and kept going over things in her head, wondering if there was any way that things might have ended up differently.

She tore her gaze away from the flame and looked up at the refrigerator door, smiling sadly as she looked at the recent picture Roy had sent her of his new son. Paulette looked absolutely radiant in the picture as she held the precious bundle. Roy’s face was alive with happiness as he held his tiny son’s hand in his. Rachel wished that she could have been there when he had been born.

She always got an earful from Paulette when she talked to her every Sunday, but she would not be convinced to let them give Sam her address. She needed to take her own time to contact him. She didn’t think she was up to confronting him about anything just yet.

She thought about Roy and Paulette and their son often and wished that she could visit them. Maybe she could get out to visit them when the weather cleared a little. She would have to make sure that Sam wasn’t around before she made the arrangements for the visit. She would not risk running into him.

The simmering milk drew her attention and pulled her away from her thoughts. She spooned some hot chocolate mix into a mug and lifted the pan to carefully pour the hot milk into it. The sound of the doorbell and knocking on her front door made her jump in surprise, causing her to spill some of the hot milk across her left hand. She gasped in pain and dropped the pan into the sink. Reaching forward, she turned on the cold water and plunged her hand beneath the cool stream of water. Tears of pain welled up in her eyes. She leaned forward to lay her head on the counter as weakness threatened to take hold of her.

The knocking began again, this time louder. She reached forward slowly and turned off the water. Taking a deep breath, she stood up straight and walked toward the front door of her home. Despite the fact that she was a little woozy from the burn, she yanked the door open angrily. Her words of anger died in her throat as she faced the person who had knocked so persistently. It was Sam.

He stood there, bundled in a navy parka, his black hair wet with snow. He faced her silently, looking at her so intently that she found herself becoming angry at the hurt and rejection that she had felt since she had left the camper that morning nearly five months before.

“What do you want?” she asked him coldly, ignoring the throbbing pain in her hand but unable to ignore the constant pain in her heart.

“I’m coming in,” he told her sternly.

“Like hell you are,” she told him angrily.

She tried to shut the door but his hand stopped her. She pushed against the door futilely. Her strength was no match for his. She knew that it was foolish to waste her energy.

“Please, Rachel,” he asked her quietly.

Rachel released the door and walked away. The throbbing in her hand was too much to ignore. She left him at the door and walked back into the kitchen to turn on the cold water and stick her hand under the cool running stream once again.

She heard him come into her home and close the door behind himself. After a moment, he came into the kitchen and stood by the refrigerator to watch her.

She stole a quick glance at him then looked back at the sink. He was more handsome than she had remembered him to be—if that was even possible. He had removed his parka and boots and was standing beside her dressed in jeans and a maroon sweater. His hair was damp from the snow and it reminded her of how he had looked after he had come out of the shower in his apartment in Denver.

Rachel felt fear and pain at being so close to him again. Her anger and pride allowed her to calm herself enough to concentrate on the cold water that was bathing her burn.

“I’m not interested in anything you have to say, so save your breath,” she warned him, not taking her eyes off the stream of water that rushed over her hand.

“It’s nice to see you, too,” he said quietly, smiling sadly.

Rachel looked at him quickly then turned away, the raw ache too evident in her eyes to look at him for too long. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her sadness. She had to stay angry. That was the only way she would be able to survive this moment with him.

“What happened?” he asked her, indicating her hand.

“None of your damned business!” she snapped at him angrily.

Sam watched her silently and looked around the kitchen. He saw the cup of hot chocolate and the spilled milk on the counter and put the clues together. Without speaking, he turned to open her freezer, hesitating slightly when he saw the picture of Roy, Paulette, and their son Domenic, then took out the tray of ice cubes to place them on top of the counter. He began opening cabinets until he found a deep bowl. Taking the bowl down from the shelf, he cracked the ice cube tray and emptied it into the bowl then gently pushed Rachel aside to fill the bowl halfway with cold water. Taking her hand in his, he placed it gently into the bowl.

Rachel almost pulled her hand out just to spite him, but the coolness of the ice water was too good to ignore. She looked up at him silently then picked up the bowl with her good hand and carried it with her into the living room. She sat carefully on the edge of the couch and placed the bowl on her lap.

“What’re you doing here?” she asked him finally as he walked into the living room and sat down beside her.

“I came to talk to you,” he told her quietly.

“I heard everything you had to say back at the campground,” she told him coldly. “You’ve wasted your time coming here.” She turned away from him and shook her head in disgust. “I’m going to kill Roy for giving you my address.”

“Roy didn’t give it to me,” Sam told her. He watched her silently, knowing that he wasn’t getting through the wall of mistrust that separated them. “His son is beautiful, you know. Paulette did just fine. She wished you were there though. We all did.”

Rachel looked down at her hand, unable to say a word.

“I hired a private investigator to find you,” he said softly, finally breaking the silence. “It took him this long to locate you. You’re very difficult to find.”

“You shouldn’t have wasted your money,” she told him, looking away from him.

“I have plenty of money to waste,” he told her calmly.

Rachel looked up at him, her eyes bright with anger and betrayal. “So you went back to your father, after all. I’m sure Allison was very persuasive.” She stood and placed the bowl on the coffee table, drying her hand on her fluffy robe and grabbing at its many folds as she walked to the front door and pulled it open. “Get out. I don’t want to hear any more.”

“I’m not leaving,” Sam told her angrily. “I’m staying right here.”

“Get out!” Rachel screamed.

“No!” Sam yelled back.

Rachel’s chest heaved with fury. The pain of having him standing so close to her, and seeing the wedding ring that he still wore, was too much for her to deal with. She could feel the bile rising in her throat and knew that she didn’t have much time. Leaving the front door open, she ran from the room to her bedroom, slamming the adjoining bathroom door shut behind her.

She barely made it to the toilet before her stomach heaved. As spasm after spasm grabbed her, she was unaware that Sam had come into the bathroom until she felt his hands on her shoulder and forehead. He waited with her until she was through the spell then flushed the toilet and helped her to lean back against the bathroom wall.

He sat on the edge of the tub, reached under the sink to retrieve a washcloth, wet it with cold water, and held it to Rachel’s forehead. She accepted it silently, but made no attempt to move. She leaned her head against the wall and rested for a few minutes. Her emotions had drained what little strength she had. Getting sick just then put her beyond exhausted. She started to stand and found that Sam’s hands were there immediately to support her. He stood next to her, holding her arms gently as she leaned forward to brush her teeth, brushing her hair back from her face while she wiped at her mouth with the small towel beside the sink. Guiding her back to her bedroom, he led the way to her bed and steadied her while she eased forward to sit on the soft mattress.

“You need to rest,” he said quietly. “I’m staying right here until we can talk in the morning.” His voice was gentle but firm.

“You’re not staying here,” she said angrily, pushing his hands away from her body.

“Rachel, there’s a blizzard outside,” he told her calmly. “I am not leaving the warmth of this house.”

“There is no warmth in this house,” she told him angrily, each word a struggle to speak. “There’s only coldness here for you.”

Sam smiled down at her sadly. “We’ll talk about it in the morning.” He stood and went into the bathroom then returned quickly with a glass of water and two pills. “Here, take these.”

“What are they?” Rachel asked tiredly.

“Aspirins,” he told her. “They’ll help with the pain in your hand.”

“I can’t take them,” she refused.

“Why not?”

Rachel hesitated a moment. “They’ll upset my stomach,” she told him finally.

Sam nodded and walked back into the bathroom. She could hear him opening the medicine cabinet and saw that he came back with two different pills.

“Here,” he told her.

She looked up at him and took the non-aspirin pills from him, accepting the glass of water that he offered. When she swallowed the pills and handed him back the glass, he set it aside on the bedside table.

“I’ll be in the living room if you need anything,” he told her, reluctant to leave her. At her silence, he gave up any idea that he might have had to try to talk to her right then. Turning finally, he left her bedroom and closed the door behind him.

Rachel stood slowly and kicked off her slippers. Pulling back the blankets, she climbed into bed and lay down wearily, resting against her pillow and hugging her robe tighter around her to ward off the night chill. She pulled the covers over her and snuggled deeply into their softness. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and willed the tears not to come. She refused to shed one more tear over Sam McCoy.

She turned restlessly onto her back and tried to relax. She couldn’t stop thinking about him. He had touched her. His gentleness had drawn out the old feelings that she had tried so desperately to bury.

She tucked her right hand under the blanket and beneath the heavy robe she wore to touch her swelling stomach tenderly. She caressed her unborn child as it rested peacefully within her and smiled despite the tears that filled her eyes.

“I love your daddy,” she whispered to her baby sadly.

* * * *

Sam walked into the living room and stood in front of the picture window. The storm was still raging outside just as his insides were raging with emotions. Seeing Rachel and touching her again made him more determined than ever to make things right between them. He wanted her back. He needed her with him. Loving him.

Grabbing his coat and boots, he walked through her house to the attached garage and opened the outside door. Putting on his boots, he threw on his coat and walked out to his rental car, starting it quickly and pulling it into the empty space in the large garage. He turned off the car, pulled out his suitcase, and closed the garage door.

He kicked the snow off his boots and pulled them off to set them next to the door that led back into Rachel’s house. He blew on his hands trying to warm them. It was bitterly cold outside. He hung his damp coat on the back of a kitchen chair and made his way to the living room. He stopped and looked around, appreciating the hominess of Rachel’s house. He could see her in every piece of comfortable furniture and beautiful piece of art.

He turned and saw the opened manuscript that sat on top of her computer desk and walked over to it curiously. What he saw before him gripped at his stomach and clenched at his heart. In black and white, on the white crisp computer paper, he saw three words that sparked hope in him. As he read the title page, a sad smile crossed his face. Maybe he would have a chance after all.

My Mountain Love

by

Rachel Williams

He was stunned. Picking up the notebook that held the thick manuscript, he brought it with him to the couch and sat down slowly. He began reading, devouring each page as if it gave him life.

He read continuously through the night, unable to tear himself away from the love and tenderness of the story. It was nearly dawn when he turned the last page. He closed the manuscript gently, almost reverently, and returned it to the desk.

He walked to his coat and removed the stack of papers that he had brought with him from Colorado and walked into Rachel’s bedroom. This whole mess was going to be settled. Right now.