Nora Roberts - Tribute

In the dream she felt a quick shiver, a chill from truth. “There is no me without you. I see you when I look in the mirror. I hear you when I speak. There’s a filter over it all, just enough to dim the brilliance, but you’re under there.”

“Did you want the pony or the call sheets, Cilla?”

“For a while, I wanted both. But I’d have been happier with the pony.” Cilla nodded, looked back toward the house. “Yes, and the family home. You’re right. That’s why I’m here. But it’s not enough. The secrets, the shadows of them. They’re still here. People get hurt in the dark. Steve got hurt in the dark.”

“Then turn on the lights.”

“How?”

“I’m just a dream.” Janet smiled, shrugged. “I don’t have any answers.”

WHEN SHE WOKE, Cilla grabbed the phone she’d dropped in her sleep and speed-dialed the hospital.

No change.

She lay in the dim light of predawn, the phone pressed between her breasts, wondering if she should feel fear or relief. He hadn’t died in the night, hadn’t slipped away from her while she slept. But he still lay trapped in that between world, that place between life and death.

So she’d go talk to him, nag him, browbeat him into waking up. She climbed out of bed, cleaned herself up. She’d make coffee, she thought, make lists for any of the subs she might miss while she was at the hospital.

As she passed the next bedroom she stopped, and studied Ford. He slept half in, half out of the sleeping bag. And what was out, she had to admit, was very nice.

The dog curled at the foot of the bag, snoring like a chain saw in mid-massacre. Ford hadn’t wanted Spock to spend the night alone, she remembered, and went to get him when they returned from the hospital. Went to get his dog, she thought, after he told her he’d be sleeping in the spare room.

He wouldn’t leave her alone.

She went down, made the coffee, drinking hers on the back veranda. There had been no patio in the dream, but her subconscious had known Janet had added that, and the walkways. The crops in the field, another given. The kitchen garden? She couldn’t remember if that had been original, or one of Janet’s additions. Either way, it was something she herself wanted.

And the barn? It was no longer red. That bright color had weathered away long ago. The coffee turned bitter in her throat as she stared at the yellow tape crossing the door. If Steve died, she’d tear the bastard down. Tear it down, burn it, and everything inside it.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she battled back the anger that wanted to scream out of her. If he lived, she told herself, if he came back whole, she’d paint it that bright, happy red again. Red with white trim.

“Please, God.”

Why God gave a damn if she burned the barn to the ground or painted it red with yellow smiley faces she couldn’t say. But it was the best she had.

She went back inside, poured another mug and carried it upstairs to Ford.

She sat cross-legged beside him and, sipping her own second cup of coffee, gave him a good study. Unlike his dog, he didn’t snore, which added points in his favor, but the way he sprawled indicated bed hog. Points deducted. He had a good growth of stubble going, considering he hadn’t shaved the day before, but she had to admit it added a sexy edge to the package.

He wasn’t what she’d call buff or ripped, but reasonably toned over a build that leaned toward skinny. Just a touch of gawkiness, she mused. Add a few cute points for that.

He had good arms. Strong, lean rather than bulky. Best, she thought, they knew how to hold on. Major points, she decided. He just kept racking them up.

And the lips-top score. Leaning over, she rubbed hers to his. He made a humming sound in his throat, reached out. When she eased back, his eyes blinked open.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself.”

“Did you have a bad dream?”

“No. A strange one, but I’m prone to them. It’s morning.”

“Uh-uh.” He shifted enough to turn his wrist, blink at his watch. At the foot of the bag, Spock yawned, a high-pitched whine, then went back to snoring. “Nope. Six-forty isn’t morning. Crawl in here with me. I’ll prove it.”

“Tempting.” More so when he tugged her head down again and improved, considerably, on her casual wake-up kiss. “Very tempting,” she said. “But some of the crew should be pulling up in about twenty minutes.”

“I can get it done in twenty minutes.” He winced. “That probably didn’t translate to my advantage.”

“Have coffee.” She held out the mug, waved it slowly under his nose.

“You brought me coffee?” He sat up, took the first sip. “Now you have to marry me.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, and bear me eight young, dance naked for my pleasure every Tuesday and wake me with coffee-that’s after the sex-every morning. It’s the law of Kroblat.”

“Who’s Kroblat?”

“Not who. The planet Kroblat. It’s a very spiritual place,” he decided on the spot. “I try to live my life by its laws. So, we’ll have to get married and all the rest.”

“We’ll get on that, first chance.” She brushed her hand over his hair. “Thanks for staying.”

“Hey, I got coffee, a wife and eight kids out of it. You checked on Steve?”

“No change. I’m going to go see him. Maybe I can bitch-talk him awake, you know?”

“Maybe. Give me ten minutes, I’ll drive you.”

“No. No, I’m fine. I’m going to sit with him awhile, nag him awhile. Then I’m going to pick up some supplies and materials, drop them back here. I’ll be back and forth a lot today. Let me ask you something. If I made a bargain with myself-or with God, fate. Whatever. And it was that I’d paint the barn red, red with white trim if Steve comes out of this okay, would I be jinxing it if I bought the paint before… before he comes out of it?”

“No. In fact, it shows faith.”

She shook her head. “I knew you’d say that. I’m just the opposite. Too scared to buy the damn paint.” She pushed to her feet. “I’ll see you later.”

“I’ll be by the hospital.”

She stopped at the door, hesitated, then turned back to look at him. “I can pick up dinner for tonight, if you want.”

“That’d be great.”

“I really want to sleep with you.” She smiled when he nearly bobbled the coffee and when Spock’s tiny ears perked. What a pair they were. “I really want to know what it’s like, to just let go. But I guess it’s like buying the paint, for now.”

He kept his gaze on hers, and smiled. Slowly. “I’ve got time. For later.” Ford sat where he was, drinking coffee and making a mental note to write down that stuff about Kroblat. It could come in useful sometime, somewhere.

He felt pretty damn good for a man who’d slept on the floor, he decided. And one who’d had some trouble not thinking about the woman sleeping on the floor in the next room.

Now, since he was up at this ungodly hour, he’d drag his ass across the road, get in a workout, check on Steve, get a couple solid hours in on the novel, then drop by the hospital.

“You get your lazy ass up, too,” he said to Spock, and juggled the dog fully awake with his foot. He heard the first truck pull up as he pulled on his pants. By the time he was dressed and pouring a second cup of coffee, with Spock doing what Spock had to do in the backyard, the noise and activity level hit the red zone. Deciding he’d just borrow the mug and bring it back later, Ford headed outside with the coffee.

He saw Brian directing one of his men toward the back of the house with what looked like a load of sand. Ford shot up a wave. "Hey, Bri.”

“Well, hey.” With his thumbs in his front pockets, Brian strolled over and shot a meaningful look toward the house. “And hey.”