Night Mares in the Hamptons (25 page)

“Whoa, Willy. I didn't say any such thing. You might be a tad uptight about—”

“I am not uptight about sex, just because I have scruples. And that was a snake, not a black dick slithering around.”

“And you don't think you might have been projecting your own fears into the nightmare?”

“It was real, the whole thing. Not Hetty, but the sad little prince losing his will to live, Snake's desperation, that black serpent. You'll see when we get to the ranch and find H'tah. There'll be a dead snake nearby.”

“Then I'll be sorry I ever doubted you and your dreams. And I don't really doubt you. I've seen enough weird things in this world to believe just about anything. I just had to make sure. If you say it's real, then it's real.”

“And I'm not crazy?”

“Darlin', you're as sane as any of us, and twice as strong in your mind. How many people could keep themselves apart from what they were dreaming, and not get swallowed up in the terrors? You defended yourself and the colt, and you came back.”

I started shaking again, now that the adrenaline was gone from my blood. The cold remained. I felt sick at leaving poor H'tah behind. “Hold me?”

He did, and the shaking stopped. I let his warmth seep through me. I wasn't insane. I wasn't afraid of sex, only of getting used or getting my heart broken. It might be too late. I sniffed again and told him I was sorry about the mares. I knew how much he wanted to see them and talk to them. “Maybe tomorrow night.”

He shook his head no. “I think you sent them to the ranch. Or to look for snakes, anyway. I don't know how good they are at directions or locations. They could be anywhere, back home maybe.”

“Not without H'tah. If they heard me or saw my dream, they know he is alive and waiting for rescue. They'll find him now. I hope they get there soon. Maybe they'll kill that devil and his snakes and free H'tah themselves without waiting for us.”

“Maybe they found the missing son already, thanks to you, and we can all sleep better.”

“But we'll still go to the ranch in the morning?”

“We'll go have a talk with that bastard, that's for sure. If the mares didn't get him, I will.”

“And we'll find the dead snake.” And an empty stall.

And it'll be over. Then Ty'd be gone. We both knew it, knew our time was limited. We both also knew we had something drawing us together. Chemistry, pheromones, or maybe some witchcraft from Grandma Eve and the matchmakers at the Royce Institute. Whatever it was, you could almost reach out and touch the thread tying us together.

“You said something before, about protecting your woman. I'm not your woman, you know.”

He pulled the thread tighter by smoothing my hair back off my face. “You are tonight, and for however long we both want. Not my woman to cook and clean and serve my needs and obey my orders. Not my woman to follow where I lead. But my woman to defend, yes, to cherish, to love.” He pulled the top blanket closer, so we were both cocooned in it. “May I love you tonight? Now? Here?”

This was neither the time nor the place I would have chosen. This was the right man, right now, though. I needed to be wanted, to be held, to be warmed. I needed Ty's strength and understanding to fill the emptiness left by the dream. I wanted to be filled, by him. He was pure masculinity, and he did not lie. He did not promise tomorrow or forever. Just tonight.

I rubbed my hand on his shoulder, up to the long hair on the back of his neck. That was all the answer he needed. He kissed my eyelids, one after the other, then my ear, nipping at the lobe, breathing at the sensitive shell. Then he kissed my neck while I touched his cheek, his chin, his brow, like a blind person trying to feel the beauty of a sculpture.

He kissed my lips, then cursed. I tasted blood again from where I must have split his lip with my berserker punches. “I'm sorry,” I whispered, and kissed his lip as gently as I knew how, then touched the cut with my tongue.

He groaned and rolled us both to the ground, side by side, bodies pressing everywhere for the whole length of us. And he muttered “To hell with the hurt,” and kissed me again, with his tongue and mine exploring, learning, arousing almost past bearing.

I responded like a flower bud to the sun, turning into his kisses, then blossoming to his caresses. I could feel the dew between my thighs. I could feel his wanting me throbbing at my stomach. I needed to be closer, so I pawed at his shirt. It was gone, then my shirt and pants.

The man must have other magic besides horse; he could make clothes disappear with a kiss or two. Before I could feel the cold, he was covering me with his body, with his heat. We were skin to skin now, and I felt his hard flat nipples, his sculpted muscles, a faint line of downy hair that tickled.

There was magic in his words, too. Maybe he was casting a spell with my name, his name, endearments, compliments, encouragement, and sighs. The horse call still reverberated through the night, but his same low, deep voice was telling me how perfect I was, how much he wanted me, how beautiful my breasts were, just the right size for his hands. My skin was like rose petals, my waist the perfect width. I could understand how the horses adored him. I was mesmerized myself, lost in a fog of desire and arousal and expectation. I would have done anything right then, anything but make love to a man wearing boots.

That was cheap. That was for a quickie at a tawdry motel or behind a bar. If tonight was all I was going to have of Tyler Farraday, it was
not
going to be quick.

“No boots in my bed,” I managed to grumble.

He laughed, and my belly did a flip-flop at the sound.

“This isn't your bed, darlin', but anything to oblige my lady.”

My lady. How nice that sounded.

He sat up and tugged on his boots, cursing. I suppose he was used to one of those forked things that hold the heel while you pull your foot out. Or a valet, like the hero of those romance novels, to tug them off. I giggled at the thought.

He growled. “It's not funny. My hands don't want to work.”

They worked perfectly on me. So did his mouth and his tongue, up and down my body, tasting, teasing. And I worked on his jeans. I got the snap, but the zipper was tight, straining to hold in a whole lot of wanting that wanted to be free, now. Ty growled again but rolled away. The jeans went flying.

All that was left between us was a pair of low-rise black briefs. I put my hand there and felt the hard length of him. He moaned, so I jerked my hand away.

“Don't be afraid.”

“I was afraid of hurting you, that's all. I am not scared of sex. I am certainly not scared of this.” I wasn't scared, just impressed. He was long, lean, smooth and very, very hard. I put my hand back on his erection to prove my courage. Hey, I had some magic in my fingers too. I could make it buck and make him gasp at the same time.

“You should be afraid, Willow mine. That's a lethal weapon you've got in your hand.”

“Still arrogant, I see.”

“And you're still tense.”

I knew I was, but not out of fear. I wanted to please him, but I worried about all the other women he must have known. Women who had to be better at this than I was, more sure of what a man wanted. I wrapped my hand tighter, but he pushed it away. “Not if you don't want to be disappointed, darlin'.”

I knew I wouldn't be. The briefs were tossed.

“Protection?”

He cursed again, long and loud enough to still the crickets, but he got up, covered me with the blanket, and searched for his blue jeans.

“Aha!”

I heard the foil packet rip, and then he was back under the blanket. “Cowboys, cavemen, and boy scouts. Always prepared.”

Condoms and cookies. What a guy.

What a lover.

He made an art of foreplay, but his lovemaking was a masterpiece. I must have pleased him, too, because he did it again, only slower and longer. Then he asked if I wanted to ride, and that was good, too.

Except for Susan trudging through the yard looking for us.

“Holy shit. Is that how you cure the nightmares?”

It works for me.

I
NEVER WANTED A ROOMMATE. Now I remembered why. They never picked up after themselves. Except now, of course, when Susan bounced around finding my clothes and Ty's all over the backyard, with the apples and carrots and whatever droppings the grateful wildlife had left. She had a flashlight, having been on duty at Grandma Eve's after work, keeping the basil and the oregano safe. She almost didn't need it, because the sky was starting to show pink in the east. I had no idea where the time had gone. Well, I did, of course, if I were honest.

I was honest enough to admit I'm a coward. I ran rather than face the sunrise, Susan, and the smiling seducer of innocent maidens. I know that last wasn't the whole truth—I wasn't blameless in my lapse of judgment—but I liked the sound of it. I gathered the top blanket, leaving Ty to fend for himself, and fled into the house. I could hear my cousin giggling all the way. Ty was chuckling, so I hated both of them. With a smile on my face, too.

The answering machine was flashing red, so I hit the message button. Then I yelled for them to get inside, quick.

They came running. Ty had on his hat and his jeans. The black briefs, denim shirt and alligator boots were in his hand. He looked like a rumpled god, with gold chest hair. I knew it felt soft, while the rest of him was hard.

“What did you want, besides to stare at the beefcake?” Susan stepped in front of him, blocking most of my view. “I'd have thought you memorized every inch by now.”

I hadn't seen him in the light. But with Susan in the way, I remembered why I'd shouted for them.

“I got a message from Snake. It must have come while I was outside.”

I replayed it for them.

That gravelly voice of his didn't say hello, didn't give his name, just threatened to sell his information to another interested party unless I came up with a bid higher than the two hundred thousand dollars he was promised, by noon tomorrow. Which was today. His words were slurred like a drunk's, but the meaning was clear. If I didn't come up with more money, I'd never see the ho—He corrected himself: the package I was looking for.

The message ended in a piercing yowl of pain or panic.

“I bet the ladies got there then.”

Susan looked confused, so Ty explained about my dream and the mares while I played back the next message.

“This is Chief of Police Haversmith”—not Uncle Henry tonight—“and I don't know what you've been doing in the dark.”

Susan snickered. Ty batted at her with his hat.

“But all hell broke loose here while you were sitting cozy in the backyard. The effing empath mares tore through town and sent a tsunami of really, really bad feelings in their wake. We're had two suicide tries, three attempted murders, six calls for domestic violence. Half the windows on Main Street are broken from rocks or bricks. The other half of them are pockmarked with shotgun pellets. The effing police station got hit with a teargas canister. Two dozen cars had their tires slashed or the windows broken. George Maclay shot his brother's dog with a bb gun. The dog'll live, but George might not, after the brother got hold of him. Two nonaccidental car crashes, four arson fires, six ambulance calls, one near drowning. We had to double up patients, and still send to Amagansett for backup. We've had everything but the effing partridge in a pear tree. Come daybreak, we'll have every news reporter from Manhattan to Montauk out here, plus the county sheriff and the state cops, if not the FBI. I want to know what the hell you and your effing cowboy are doing about it.”

The third message was from Grandma Eve. The fields were fine, not a blade of grass stepped on, but Doc wasn't feeling well. She was taking him to the emergency room.

The next message was from her cell phone. Doc was fine. They were on the way home.

“They got back a couple of hours ago,” Susan reported. “Both of them tired but okay.”

My father left a garbled, static-filled message. My hands were shaking so hard I could barely find the replay button. He must be on a golf course or out of range of a cell tower, because he kept cutting out, but I pieced it together as something about a bad view. He must mean Bayview, the ranch. I shouldn't cook at it? I had no idea if he was scaring me away from Snake and the ranch, or telling me not to have a barbeque at the beach. No matter. I was damn well going to that ranch. Love you, too, Dad.

I found my cell phone and dialed the chief on it, so I could replay Snake's message from the land line.

“Hold on, play it again so I can record it.”