Soul Dreams by Desiree Holt Page A

Dad,” he grumbled then realized Grange might be as nervous about tonight as he was.
    Grange mumbled as he went back down the stairs, probably with good reason. Blake hadn’t had any social interaction with a woman in two years and still wasn’t sure if he should be doing this even now. He couldn’t rid himself of the feeling he and Nina were somehow connected. That his dreams meant something. The Abenaki legend said the man and woman who met in their dreams were fated for each other. He didn’t usually believe in mystical stuff, but how else to explain his dreams about a woman he had yet to meet? His cock was certainly anxious to meet her in person. It was probably a good thing she wouldn’t be able to see him and his expected physical reaction to her.
    Blake heaved himself out of the chair and stumbled into the bathroom, still holding his throbbing shaft. Once in the shower, he leaned back against the tile, closed his eyes to conjure up an image of Nina, and stroked himself to completion. He let the water sluice over him until he could compose himself. Maybe Nina wouldn’t see him tonight, but he needed to have his game face on in case.
    Did he even remember how to talk to a woman, what to say? Maybe this whole idea was crazy. Maybe he was crazy.
    By the time he finished his shower, he’d had another extended argument with himself, but he was determined to go through with what he’d planned for tonight. Wanted to do it. He dressed himself in a clean pair of jeans and a western shirt he hadn’t worn in a long time. He’d even trimmed his beard. Lastly, he stepped into his boots—getting them on wasn’t the problem—and splashed on a little of the sandalwood cologne he’d had sitting on his dresser for two years. He was lucky it hadn’t turned to vinegar.
    He checked his watch one more time. Ten minutes until eight.
    Okay, buddy. Now or never .
    He headed downstairs, more nervous than he’d been on his first date.
     
    ***
     
    Nina stood on the front porch and took a moment to center herself and calm her racing pulse. The combination of nerves and anticipation had shot enough adrenaline through her system to keep her up for two weeks. She’d dressed with extra care, choosing a pumpkin colored turtleneck—for Thanksgiving—and chocolate brown slacks, with soft leather ankle boots. Gold hoops decorated her ears. She’d brushed her hair until it shone and left it loose around her shoulders so the gold highlights would show. In her hands, she clutched the bottle of wine with the ribbon attached. She’d half expected Grange to be waiting for her as he usually was, but not tonight. What did that mean?
    Stop with the questions already . She square her shoulders. Okay. Here goes nothing .
    She reached out a finger and pushed the doorbell. Immediately after its harsh grating ring came the sound of boots on the hardwood floor.
    The door opened, and Grange smiled at her. “Happy Thanksgiving, Miss Foster.”
    She gave him a nervous grin in return. “It’s Nina, remember?”
    “Of course. Nina. Come in.” He stepped back, and she walked into the hallway. Everything gleamed the way she remembered it. Even Grange, who apparently had polished his boots and ironed his shirt.
    Wow ! Was she the first visitor they’d had?
    She handed him the wine. “Some holiday cheer.”
    “Blake mentioned you’d be bringing it. And it’s even chilled. I’ll pour some and bring in the glasses.”
    He helped her out of her jacket, hanging it on an old-fashioned coat rack, and indicated a small table where she could leave her purse. The scents of cinnamon and pumpkin and melted chocolate overlaid with the aromatic scent of cedar tantalized her nose.
    “You’ve been cooking again,” she guessed.
    “You might say it’s my hobby.” He flashed a quick grin then lifted his hand, a dark navy silk scarf dangling from his fingers. His smile faded into a look of apology. “Sorry about this.”
    “It’s okay. I’m not sure why