A Dream to Cling To (5 page)

Peering out the tiny window beside the door, Brittany could see Sam standing against the blackness, his breath rising in feathery swirls in the cold air. His broad shoulders were pushed back. And for a minute she thought she heard faint music, a deep voice humming an old song—“Blue Moon.”

She couldn’t remember the words, so she moved silently to the door and opened it a crack.

But when she peered out, it was silent and Sam was gone. Only a blue moon, hanging ominously low, looked down at her.

Brittany pulled her hair back into a pony tail and ignored the hundreds of tiny curls that escaped the band, slipped into a comfortable pair of old blue jeans and a heavy knit sweater, and headed for the O’Malley Animal Clinic, nestled directly in the heart of Windermere, Maine.

It didn’t matter that she hadn’t slept much the night before, had tossed and turned in the moon-bred shadows of her room, because she had everything back in order now. Her emotions were in check, her perspective on the day was fresh, and she was ready for work.

The fact that Sam was exploring the Winters family still bothered her, on principle if nothing else. Her life was private. But it was her father Sam was interested in, after all, and she’d see to it that that’s where his interest stayed.

And as for the man himself, well, he had caught her off guard, plain and simple. And it certainly wasn’t his fault he sent her hormones into orbit. It was a purely physical attraction. Probably. And she could certainly deal with that.

But as she walked through the friendly, freshly painted clinic that had been a second home to her for nearly
two years now. the resolve born in the shadowy darkness of her bedroom the night before began to weaken. “I should have simply taken the day off and gone to his office,” she muttered. “It would have worked better, certainly, and—”

“Grumbling? Before the day has even begun?” Dr. Frank O’Malley sauntered into the room carrying a clipboard and wearing that wonderful broad smile that had endeared Brittany to the gray-haired veterinarian the very first time they met.

“Oh, Doc, I’m sorry. I must have been talking to myself.”

“Scolding yourself, I’d say.” He let his thick glasses slip clear down to the end of his nose, where they rested comfortably. “Now, that’s no way to begin the mornin’, my dear. Here you go.” He picked up a steaming cup of coffee from a small table near the door, poured a heaping portion of thick cream into it, and wrapped her cold fingers around it. “This’ll help. Far too early for whiskey or I’d put a dab of that in to help coax a smile back to that beautiful face.”

She half-smiled and took a tentative sip of the coffee while she walked over to the counter. She looked out the window, then walked back again.

Dr. Frank settled his short lumpy frame behind the desk and studied her over the rim of his glasses. “So, my lovely heiress, what’s on the schedule for today and what pulls you from beneath the downy quilts an hour early?”

She glanced at the schedule she’d plucked from the desk and tapped her fingers briskly on the desktop. “Lots to do today, Dr. Frank. Thought maybe I’d get a head start. Some of the Petpals animals need baths. And I’ve made out a list of those that need your attention.”

He groaned good-naturedly. “I could close down my own practice and work full-time keeping this Petpals outfit going.”

She threw him a grin. “Well, why not? You know you get just as much satisfaction out of this as I do!”

When she had approached Dr. Frank with the idea of starting Petpals a couple of years ago, he’d jumped right in, helping her put together a trust to fund it, finding wealthy donors, and providing an office for her above his back kennels. It was a delightful enterprise for both of them: she could leave her old job with Trust and Foundations and throw herself into something that involved direct contact with people every day, and he had the satisfaction of helping bring some sunlight to the folks at the rest homes.

She glanced at Dr. Frank and saw he was looking keenly at her.

“What’s on your mind today, love?” he asked.

“Oh, this and that,” she hedged.

“Does the
that
have anything to do with the urgent messages your lovely mother kept leaving with me yesterday about you being on time for a family get together?”

“You know my mother.” Brittany leafed through the papers, jotting down brief notes that said nothing. She attached her anxiousness to the note-taking, to the day’s schedule, to the dogs that needed vaccinations. And only finally, when the front door breezed open with a windy, swishing sound, to Sam Lawrence.

She spun around.

“Hmmm, too early for patients,” Dr. Frank said as he pulled himself from the chair.

“Oh, I guess I forgot to tell you—” Brittany began, but Sam’s long strides brought him to the inner office before the sentence could be ended. He wore the same corduroy pants from the day before, but kept off the chill with a heavy fisherman sweater. And there was something new, she thought, glancing at his hand. He was holding a fine-grained English pipe.

“Hello,” Sam said. He smiled at Brittany, his gaze lingering, enjoying the tilt of her head, the natural blush that marked the graceful curve of her cheekbones,
the snug fit of her jeans. She was less refined, more earthy today. And the casual Brittany Winters was every bit as lovely as the other. Reluctantly, he turned toward the white-haired gentleman and extended his hand. “I’m Sam Lawrence. And you must be the veterinarian who handles Brittany’s brood.”

Frank smiled and shook his hand. “Nice to meet you. You’re a friend of Brittany’s?” He lifted heavy brows over his bright, hopeful blue eyes.

“Oh, no, Doc,” Brittany said quickly. “Sam’s been hired by my mother.”

“Oh? A body guard?” Frank chuckled, and Sam joined in. “Lord knows it wouldn’t be such an awful idea, as pretty a young thing as Brittany is.”

It had never bothered Brittany before that, although she was nearly thirty years old, Dr. Frank still had trouble allowing her to leave her teens. Today it irritated her.

She slapped her notebook down on the desk and attempted to take control. “Not a bodyguard at all, Dr. Frank. Mr. Lawrence is a … a …” Lord, what
did
you call someone who made games about people anyway?

“Game designer,” Sam said with a broad smile, tapping the air with his pipe. “At least for today.”

“Well, now, that’s great!” Frank pumped Sam’s hand harder.

“Sam’s doing some work for Dad’s company. And Mother wants me to help him with some information. That’s all.”

“Well, that’s just fine,” Frank said. “You run along and take the day off, Brittany, and I’ll have the receptionist call the senior citizens homes and have them reschedule your visit.”

“Oh, no, Doc!” Brittany said.

“No, please,” Sam agreed solemnly. “You see, Dr. O’Malley—”

“Frank.”

Sam grinned. “Well, Frank, Brittany and I have an agreement that she’ll help me as long as she can carry out her job, which is only fair, after all. I’ll just follow along and gather what information I need, Brittany will do her thing, and everyone will be happy.”

“Fine arrangement,” Dr. Frank agreed. “The folks miss her and the menagerie when she doesn’t show, you know. Those pets help put some life back into the long days. And Brittany here does a damn fine job of it. She’s the best.”

Brittany brushed aside his praise and handed Dr. Frank her list of things to do. “These are the Petpals animals who need checkups. The rest I’m taking with me.”

“With us,” Sam said.

She eyed him warily. “Are you sure you’re up to this? I’ll understand if you choose to go back to your office. I can meet you there later.”

Sam noticed the tinge of hopefulness that laced her words. “Not on your life, lovely lady. Natural settings, casual tête-à-têtes—that’s where I find the meat for my games. I’m looking forward to today.”

Dr. Frank leaned back in his worn leather chair and smiled at the two of them as Brittany shrugged into her jacket and headed wordlessly for the door. Sam was only an inch or two behind. “It’s a great day, you know,” he philosophized to their backs. “The fusion of autumn and winter, a time to—”

Brittany spun around and stared at him, a tiny smile pulling at the edges of her mouth. “Dr. Frank, what are you trying to say?”

He smiled and lifted one shoulder, then looked at Sam, who had also turned. “Say, do you play chess, Sam?”

“Sure do.”

Dr. Frank nodded slowly, a pleasant, knowing grin spread across his wide face. “I thought so. We’ll have to play, you and I. Now, off with you both. And have a
grand day.” He pushed his glasses back in place and leaned forward across his desk, shuffling papers.

Brittany looked at him for a moment, then shook her head resignedly and walked out the door with Sam a heartbeat behind.

Sam helped Brittany load her animals, then settled into the lumpy front seat of her van and checked over his shoulder for possible loose animals. All except Dunkin were confined in small cages, with rabbits and kittens sharing habitats, and multicolored puppies yelping from behind silver grids.

“Fasten your seat belts, pals,” he cautioned them. “Looks like we’re ready to launch.”

With a lurch Brittany pulled the van out of the gravel parking lot and out onto the main thoroughfare. She often had company on Petpals visits, she thought. A fair number of volunteers from the local community came on a regular basis. So shape up, she scolded herself silently, and stop acting as if this is unusual. Treat this for what it is: a rather unorthodox business meeting.

“You’re going to have to ask me questions, I suppose,” she murmured, her eyes focusing on the road. “I’m not very good at coming up with things to talk about.”

Sam examined her profile carefully, her soft words lingering between them. She tried to smile away the hesitancy in her voice, and when she did, he noticed the dimples that appeared on each side of her mouth. Something stirred inside him, and he fought the urge to touch those dimples, to trace the slight curve of her lips as they turned into a smile. Instead, he pulled a brown paper bag out of his briefcase and slipped it into her lap.

“Don’t worry about talking, or questions,” he said. “It’ll all come when it should. Here, this is for you.”

She looked down at the package for a second, then back at the road. “What’s this?”

“A gift for letting me impose on your day like this.”

When she stopped at a red light, she opened the bag and pulled out a large hardcover book. The fine glossy cover pictured a beautiful walnut door set against a pure white background. The title,
Come In
, was printed in beautiful script down the side. “Oh, Sam, this is the photo study you mentioned.”

“Pure coffee table stuff, but fun.”

“It’s beautiful! So you really are an author.”

“I take pictures. The doors speak for themselves. They really didn’t need me to write much about them.”

She ran her fingers over the smooth cover, admiring the purity of the photo. “A photographer,” she said softly. “And a game designer. And I wonder what else you are?”

The words were spoken almost to herself, but Sam picked up on the question and sat back in the seat, his fingers laced behind his head, smiling as he mulled it over. “Hmmm, that’s a toughie. A dreamer, I guess, a romantic. Someone born in the wrong century my mother used to tell me.”

“Oh? Were you too early or too late?”

“Well, Madeline Lawrence, bless her, thought perhaps I would have been happier earlier in time.”

“The ancient Greeks, perhaps?” Brittany could easily see him as a Grecian scholar, white robe draped dramatically over that wonderful body.…

He laughed. “Well, Renaissance, actually, although I’ve also been accused by that same lady of living with one foot stuck in tomorrow.” He shrugged charmingly.

Brittany nodded. Yes, she could see that too. Sam Lawrence was a Renaissance man of sorts. So very, very appealing. Yes she knew about restless dreamers.…

Sam noticed her pensive look. “A penny for your thoughts.” Instinct compelled him to smooth away the mood before it rooted. “I know. You’re falling asleep listening to my life story, that’s it. And I can’t blame you a bit.”

“No, no, Sam. I have a feeling your life is very interesting. Tell me, does your mother live here in Maine?” A blaring horn behind her told her the light had changed and she shifted the van into first gear.

Sam shook his head. “She died a few years ago, not long after my father. They lived their life together in a tiny twenty-square-mile area—going together to the store, their church, the VFW club. And my father going to the post office, where he worked. Their whole existence was wrapped up tightly in those few blocks. After he died, my mother’s life was so shattered and she missed him so much, she wanted to join him.”

Brittany nodded. She’d often thought the same would happen to her own parents, should one lose the other.

“But to tell you the truth, Brittany, I’d much rather hear about you.” He rested one hand casually on the seat back, his fingers falling idly onto her shoulder. “After all, that’s why I’m here.”