spring. And Casey loves the water.”
Right . Desert. Baseball. An American with an aversion to family and a professed aversion to children. Well, she didn’t believe that one—but did she need any further warning to shut down the rush of wanting that Cody had sprung loose?
There was no way she could remain around the edges of such a man the way one could walk the perimeter of a lake and toe the water without jumping in. There was power between them, a power that lured with a voice almost impossible to resist. If she wasn’t careful, she’d forget her plans, dive in and have a hell of a time swimming back to shore.
She’d better re -rehearse the facts before there was no turning back.
Chapter Six
As she dragged on her riding pants the morning after the wedding, Zoe tried to recall her dreams. Dreams were guides, sometimes the best window into the way forward. She trusted her dreams. But the moment she’d thrown back the covers and her feet hit the oak-planked floor of her bedroom, her dreams had slipped back into the mysterious place where they lived, refusing her efforts to coax them into awareness.
She hadn’t slept well. That she remembered. When she’d wandered downstairs after midnight, she’d found her father in his library, tapping away at his computer. If she hadn’t known better, she’d have thought he was addicted to some sort of porn or Internet game, but each time she came upon him she saw the same columns of data running across the screen. Some days she wished she spoke the language of that data, as that was what seemed to suck up the best part of her father’s waking hours and all of his attention. He’d flinched when she’d entered the room; that wasn’t like him. He seemed nervous and that wasn’t like him either. She woke to the sound of his car rolling down the drive just before dawn. He’d been evasive when she’d asked about his plans the week before and hadn’t mentioned more travel.
Lured by the sunlight pouring into her bedroom, she threw open the double French doors and breathed in the rich scent of the day. Fingers of mist feathered into the sky as the sun burned back the fog that had crept into the valley overnight. The hills in the distance held on to the blue of dawn, but the vineyard and pastures danced with the greens and golds and reds of autumn.
The slight chill of a breeze reminded her to dig into her bureau drawer and drag out a favorite sweater. Curling her fingers into the soft cashmere, she remembered the many times the worn turtleneck had kept her snug and warm when riding in the Sabine hills near Rome. She raised the sweater to her cheek and closed her eyes. An image from one of her dreams flashed, and she tried to pull the dim memory into focus. There’d been a man, a man she couldn’t make out. Maybe two. Yes, two.
And a fight.
She squeezed her eyes tighter, but the image vanished.
Shaking off the unfamiliar feeling of foreboding slinking into her belly, she stuffed a pad of watercolor paper into her backpack, along with a box of paints. Even though she tried to shrug it off, the foreboding still teased at her as she headed downstairs for breakfast.
“Holy Mother Mary!” Adrian exclaimed as he backed away from the toaster on the sideboard in the breakfast room and sucked at his fingers.
Zoe couldn’t help but laugh. Adrian could outride, out-figure and outclass just about any man she knew, but he’d met his match with the American toaster.
“Toaster ten, Adrian zero,” she said as she poured coffee from a Thermos pot.
“I’ve ordered a Moldani. They promised delivery by the end of the week.”
“In the meantime, should I call the ambulance?”
“Only if it comes with several lovely women in snug-fitting uniforms.”
“In this area it’s studly men only from what Coco tells me,” she said. “Firemen. Her favorites.”
“Maybe we should call them for you.”
Adrian hadn’t given up on his incessant matchmaking.
Right . Desert. Baseball. An American with an aversion to family and a professed aversion to children. Well, she didn’t believe that one—but did she need any further warning to shut down the rush of wanting that Cody had sprung loose?
There was no way she could remain around the edges of such a man the way one could walk the perimeter of a lake and toe the water without jumping in. There was power between them, a power that lured with a voice almost impossible to resist. If she wasn’t careful, she’d forget her plans, dive in and have a hell of a time swimming back to shore.
She’d better re -rehearse the facts before there was no turning back.
Chapter Six
As she dragged on her riding pants the morning after the wedding, Zoe tried to recall her dreams. Dreams were guides, sometimes the best window into the way forward. She trusted her dreams. But the moment she’d thrown back the covers and her feet hit the oak-planked floor of her bedroom, her dreams had slipped back into the mysterious place where they lived, refusing her efforts to coax them into awareness.
She hadn’t slept well. That she remembered. When she’d wandered downstairs after midnight, she’d found her father in his library, tapping away at his computer. If she hadn’t known better, she’d have thought he was addicted to some sort of porn or Internet game, but each time she came upon him she saw the same columns of data running across the screen. Some days she wished she spoke the language of that data, as that was what seemed to suck up the best part of her father’s waking hours and all of his attention. He’d flinched when she’d entered the room; that wasn’t like him. He seemed nervous and that wasn’t like him either. She woke to the sound of his car rolling down the drive just before dawn. He’d been evasive when she’d asked about his plans the week before and hadn’t mentioned more travel.
Lured by the sunlight pouring into her bedroom, she threw open the double French doors and breathed in the rich scent of the day. Fingers of mist feathered into the sky as the sun burned back the fog that had crept into the valley overnight. The hills in the distance held on to the blue of dawn, but the vineyard and pastures danced with the greens and golds and reds of autumn.
The slight chill of a breeze reminded her to dig into her bureau drawer and drag out a favorite sweater. Curling her fingers into the soft cashmere, she remembered the many times the worn turtleneck had kept her snug and warm when riding in the Sabine hills near Rome. She raised the sweater to her cheek and closed her eyes. An image from one of her dreams flashed, and she tried to pull the dim memory into focus. There’d been a man, a man she couldn’t make out. Maybe two. Yes, two.
And a fight.
She squeezed her eyes tighter, but the image vanished.
Shaking off the unfamiliar feeling of foreboding slinking into her belly, she stuffed a pad of watercolor paper into her backpack, along with a box of paints. Even though she tried to shrug it off, the foreboding still teased at her as she headed downstairs for breakfast.
“Holy Mother Mary!” Adrian exclaimed as he backed away from the toaster on the sideboard in the breakfast room and sucked at his fingers.
Zoe couldn’t help but laugh. Adrian could outride, out-figure and outclass just about any man she knew, but he’d met his match with the American toaster.
“Toaster ten, Adrian zero,” she said as she poured coffee from a Thermos pot.
“I’ve ordered a Moldani. They promised delivery by the end of the week.”
“In the meantime, should I call the ambulance?”
“Only if it comes with several lovely women in snug-fitting uniforms.”
“In this area it’s studly men only from what Coco tells me,” she said. “Firemen. Her favorites.”
“Maybe we should call them for you.”
Adrian hadn’t given up on his incessant matchmaking.
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