Handful of Dreams by Heather Graham Page B

“If by some strange chance you’re not aware of it, there’s a flashlight in my father’s top drawer.”
    She nodded, loath to stand and go for the flashlight. But he kept staring at her—not intending to get it himself, quite obviously.
    She dropped her arms and stood serenely, walking across the room to procure the light. He was still standing there.
    “Why didn’t you share the same room?” he asked suddenly.
    She didn’t turn around; she was tempted to scream out the truth at him, but the truth was something he didn’t deserve, she reminded herself sternly.
    It was quite likely that he wouldn’t believe her, anyway.
    “Oh,” she said as lightly as she could manage, “we both preferred to sleep alone.”
    She thought that he was going to slam the door and leave. He didn’t, and she was compelled to turn at last and find him frowning as he watched her, his eyes on her feet.
    “What?”
    “Your toe.”
    “What about it?”
    “It’s left a trail of blood across the floor.” He moved the flashlight beam to prove his point.
    “Oh, it’s nothing,” she began uselessly. He was beside her again, beaming the light on her foot, swearing softly, then fitting his hands beneath her arms to sweep her quickly back to the bed. “It isn’t nothing, the glass is still in it!”
    He used the hem of her gown to stanch the blood, then carefully extracted the surprisingly long sliver of glass she hadn’t even realized was in her foot.
    “Thanks,” Susan murmured uneasily. And to her surprise she discovered him looking at her again, his brow slightly arched, his smile one of pleasant amusement.
    “Damn, but you’re a mess!” he told her. “Is your life always like this? It seems like the wind itself is out to get you. First you’re in the ocean, next you’re swimming in a sea of glass, then bleeding all over the place.”
    She flushed. “No. My life isn’t usually like this.”
    “Fate is trying to warn you to mend your wicked ways!” he said. Susan gazed at him sharply but discovered that he was still teasing her.
    “I think fate is warning me that you’re the dangerous one,” Susan retorted dryly. “My life was never like this until you entered it!”
    “Well,” he murmured, rising and returning to the door, “I’m going to put a board up on that window. Clean that cut out and stick a bandage on it before you go to sleep.”
    Susan nodded. He left the room, closing the door behind him.
    For several seconds she sat there, shivering in the darkness, then she thought to flick on the flashlight. The room still seemed hollow and empty, filled with haunting shadows. It was Peter’s room and Peter was gone. She had known how to let him go, but she still missed him terribly. Especially here. His pipes were on the dresser; piles of books were everywhere. His porcelain statue of the barefoot boy fishing was next to the bed lamp with its powerful reading light. His clothing was in the closets and drawers; she could smell the old-fashioned shaving lotion that he had liked so much.
    With a little cry she stood up and quickly shed the wet gown for her terry robe. She had loved Peter; he was too close here.
    She could hear a pounding sound from her bedroom. David had already found some kind of a board to seal over her bedroom window.
    Susan walked quietly down the stairs, through the parlor, and into the kitchen. She wanted something, but she wasn’t sure what. Maybe the soothing glass of wine David had denied her at dinner. She set her flashlight on the counter and opened the refrigerator to start groping through it. Just as her fingers closed around it a husky voice right behind her startled and challenged her.
    “What are you doing?”
    The wine bottle slipped through her fingers and shattered on the floor.
    “Damn! You are a disaster,” David muttered, already stooping to collect the large pieces of glass. “Get some towels and the broom, will you? And watch your feet.”
    Sighing, her heart pounding