Borrowed Dreams (Debbie Macomber Classics) Read online

  “She was an only child,” Brand explained. “Her father died of a heart attack shortly after we learned that Sandra had leukemia. Her mother went a year after Sandra. I think grief killed her. She simply lost the will to live.”

  Carly couldn’t do anything more than nod. She was gripping the picture frame so hard that her fingers ached. She forced herself to relax, replacing the photograph on top of the television.

  “There’s another in the bedroom with Shawn and Sara, if you’d like to see that one.”

  Carly shook her head emphatically. The way she had reacted to that one picture was enough. Shawn and Sara? Did Brand have children? Certainly he would have explained if the two were his children. He would have mentioned them long before now. No, they were probably a nephew and niece. They had to be. Knowing that Brand had been married had been enough of a blow. Adding children to that would be her undoing.

  Carly gave herself a vigorous mental shake. Brand could have ten children and it shouldn’t bother her. She was his friend. They weren’t dating. Saturday had been just another of their “this is not a date” outings. Even her coming to his place today hadn’t been anything more than a friendly gesture.

  Coming to stand beside her, Brand lifted the photo from the television. Carly heard him inhale deeply. “I think the time has come to put this away.”

  “No.” The word came out sounding as if she’d attempted to swallow and speak at the same time. Carly wanted him to keep the picture out to serve as a reminder that she couldn’t allow her feelings for him to shift beyond the friendship stage.

  He ignored her protest, staring at the photo as if he were saying good-bye. A deep frown marred his brow. “I can’t very well bring a woman to my apartment and have a picture of my wife sitting out,” he explained reasonably.

  Carly had difficulty swallowing. “I guess you’re right.”

  He carried the picture into another room and returned a moment later. Carly was at the table, looking over the accounting books, pretending she knew what she was doing. Her bookkeeping classes had been years ago.

  “Is what happened last weekend still bothering you?”

  Carly shrugged. “I suppose you’ve guessed that I had a troubled childhood.” Her fingers rotated the pencil in nervous reaction, and she didn’t meet his eyes; instead, she focused her gaze on the light green sheets of the ledger. “The state took me away from my mother when I was five. I don’t remember much about her. I got a letter from her once when I was ten. She was drying out in an alcoholic treatment center and wrote to say that she’d be coming for me soon and that we’d be a real family again. She sent her picture. She wasn’t very pretty.” Carly paused, thinking that the family resemblance between them was strong. Carly wasn’t pretty, either. Not like Sandra.

  “What happened?” Brand prompted.

  Carly set the pencil on the table and interlaced her fingers. “Nothing. She never came.”

  “You must have been devastated.” Brand resumed his position in the chair beside her, his voice gentle, almost tender.

  “I suppose I was, but to be truthful, I don’t remember. At age twelve I was sent to the Ruth School for Girls for a time, until another foster home could be found. That was where I met my friend Diana. Since then we’ve been family to each other—the only family either of us needs.” Her voice was slightly defensive.

  “But who raised you?”

  “A variety of people. Mostly good folks. With all the horror stories I’ve heard in recent years, I realize how fortunate I was in that respect.”

  “The art show upset you because you saw yourself in that portrait.” His observation was half question, half statement.

  “That picture was me at five. Seeing it was like looking at myself and reliving all that unhappiness.”

  Brand reached out and tenderly cupped the underside of her face. Carly’s hands covered his as she closed her eyes and surrendered to the surging tide of emotion.

  Brand didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. His comfort was there in his healing touch as he caressed the delicate slope of her neck. His fingertips paused at the hammering pulse at the hollow of her throat before lightly tracing the proud lift of her chin.

  “You’re a rare woman, Carly Grieves,” he whispered huskily.

  Their eyes met and held. They were two rare souls. The wounded arctic wolf and the emotionally crippled little girl.

  Slowly, ever so slowly, his hands roamed from the curve of her neck to her shoulders, cupping them and deliberately, tantalizingly, drawing her mouth to his.

  Her lips trembled at the featherlight pressure as his mouth softly caressed hers. This wasn’t a kiss of passion, but one of compassion.

  Confused emotions assaulted her. She knew what he was trying to convey, but she didn’t need or want his sympathy. Her hand curved around the side of his face, her fingers curling into the thick hair at his nape. “Brand,” she whispered urgently, the moist tip of her tongue outlining his mouth.

  He moaned as he hungrily increased the pressure, his arms half lifting her from the chair as he claimed her lips with a fierceness that stole her breath—and melted her resistance.

  Simultaneously, they stood, their bodies straining against each other as their mouths clung. His tongue probed the hollow of her mouth, meeting hers in dancing movements that sent wave after wave of rapture cascading through her. His hands found her hips and buttocks as he molded her against his unyielding strength. Her senses exploded at the tantalizing scent of tobacco and musk and the taste of his tongue.

  The profound need building within Carly was quickly becoming a physical ache. Her hard-won control vanished under the onslaught of his touch. Her cool, calm head—the one that before this had reacted appropriately to every situation—deserted her. Raw desire quivered through her, warming her heart and exposing her soul.

  Breaking the contact, Brand’s eyes locked with hers. He seemed to be searching for some answer. Carly could give him none, not understanding the question. Together, their breaths came ragged and sharp as they struggled to regain their composure. Carly fought desperately for her equilibrium and pressed her forehead against the broad expanse of his chest.

  “Are friends supposed to kiss like that?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

  Brand’s arms went around her as he rested his chin against the crown of her head. “Some friends do.” He didn’t sound any more in control of himself than she did.

  “I’m … I’m not sure I’m ready for you to be this type of friend.” A rush of cool air caressed her heated flesh, bringing her gradually back to reality. Gently but firmly, she pulled free from his embrace. Suddenly she felt naked and confused. Kissing Brand was like striking the head of a match; their desire for each other overpowered common sense. They’d known each other only a short time and yet she was weak and without will after just a few kisses. Diana wouldn’t believe she was capable of such overwhelming emotion. Carly had trouble believing it herself.

  “I’ve frightened you, haven’t I?”

  Her arms were folded across her stomach. “Brand, I’m twenty-five years old. I know what to expect when a man kisses me.” Carly knew she sounded angry, but that anger was directed more at herself than at him.

  His low laugh surprised her. “I’m glad you know about these things, because I feel as shaky as I did the first time I kissed a woman. It’s been over two years since I’ve made love.”

  Carly’s hands flew to her ears. She didn’t want to hear this. Not any of it. With brisk strides, she walked to the other side of the room. Coming here today had been a colossal mistake. One she wouldn’t repeat—ever.

  “Gee, look at the time.” She glanced at her gold wristwatch and slapped her hands against her sides. “Time passes quickly when you’re having fun, or so they say.”

  “Carly?” he ground out impatiently.

  She took a couple steps in retreat until she found herself backed against the front door. She turned, her hands locking around the doorkno
b in a death grip.

  “I’ll talk to you later in the week,” Brand murmured, and just the way he said it told her that their next meeting wouldn’t end with her running out the door like a frightened rabbit.

  * * *

  The phone was ringing when Carly stepped through the door of her apartment. Thinking it might be Brand, she stared at it for several long seconds while she shrugged off her jacket. No, he wouldn’t phone. Not so soon.

  “Hello,” she answered, a guarded note in her voice.

  “Carly, it’s Diana.”

  “Diana!” Carly burst out happily. Rarely had there been a time she’d needed her friend more. “You can’t afford these calls, but thank God you phoned.”

  “What’s up? You sound terrible, and it’s not this crummy long-distance echo, either.”

  “It’s a long story.” It wasn’t necessary to explain everything to Diana; just hearing her voice had a soothing effect. “Tell me what prompted this sudden urge to hear my voice.”

  “I couldn’t stand it another minute.” Diana laughed lightly. “Your letter arrived and I didn’t want to have to write and wait for your reply. Tell me about him.”

  Carly’s heart sank. “Do you mean Brand?”

  “Is there someone else I don’t know about?”

  Stepping over the arm of her sofa, Carly walked across the couch, dragging the telephone line with her as she went. “There’s nothing to tell. We’re only friends.”

  “When you show this much enthusiasm for any male, I get excited. Now, what’s this bull about the two of you just being friends? Who are you kidding?”

  “Diana …” She exhaled a trembling breath as she sat down. “I don’t know what to think. Brand’s been married.”

  “So? If you remember correctly, I’ve left two husbands in my wake.”

  “But this is different. She died of leukemia and it nearly killed him, he loved her so much.”

  “Well, sweetie, I hate to say it, but this guy sounds perfect for you. You’re two of a kind. Both of you are walking through life wounded. Has he gotten you into bed yet?”

  “Diana!” Carly was outraged. Hot color seeped slowly up her neck.

  “I swear, you must be the only twenty-five-year-old virgin left in America.”

  “If you don’t stop talking like that, I’m going to hang up,” Carly threatened.

  “All right, all right.”

  Carly could hear Diana’s restrained laughter. The woman loved to say the most outrageous things just to get a rise out of Carly.

  “Take my advice.” Diana’s tone was more serious now. “You can hunt all your life for the perfect male and never find him. He doesn’t exist. And even if by some fluke of nature you find someone who suits you, he’s liable to expect the perfect female. And neither one of us is going to fill those shoes.”

  Crossing her legs Indian-style beneath her, Carly managed a weak sigh. “I suppose you’re right.”

  “I’m always right, you know that,” Diana responded, with a small laugh. “Now listen, because I’ve got some serious-type news.”

  “What?” Carly straightened at the unusually deep intonation in Diana’s voice.

  “Against my better judgment and two miserable failures, Barney has convinced me that we should get married.”

  “Diana, that’s wonderful. You two are the ones who belong together. This is fantastic.”

  “To be honest, I’m rather pleased about it myself. I’m not getting any younger, you know, and I’m ready to face the mommy scene. Barney and I’ve decided to have a family right away. Can you picture me changing diapers and the whole bit?”

  “Yes,” Carly returned emphatically. “Yes, I can. You’ll make a wonderful mother.”

  “Time will tell,” Diana chuckled. “At least I know what not to do.”

  “We both do,” Carly agreed. “Have you set the date?”

  “Next month, on the fifteenth.”

  “But that’s only a little over three weeks away.” Mentally, Carly was chastising Diana and Barney for not getting their act together sooner. This was one wedding she didn’t want to miss. But she could hardly ask for time off now.

  “Believe me, I know. But the wedding won’t be anything fancy. It’d be ridiculous for me to march down the aisle at this point. Barney and I want you here. It’s important to both of us.”

  Disappointment made Carly’s hand tighten around the receiver. “I can’t, Diana,” she said, with an exaggerated sigh. “Why couldn’t you have made up your mind before I left Seattle?”

  “Barney insists on paying your airfare. Now, before you say a word, I know about that pride of yours. But let me tell you from experience, it’s better not to argue with Barney and all his money. So plan right now on being here.”

  Carly would have enjoyed nothing more. “But I can’t ask for time off from work. Hamlyn would have my head.”

  “Threaten to quit,” Diana returned smoothly. “If Hamlyn gives you any guff, tell him where to get off. By this time he’s bound to recognize what a jewel you are.”

  “Diana, I don’t know.”

  Some of the teasing quality left Diana’s voice. “You’re the closest thing I’ve got to family, Carly. I’ve been married twice, and both times I’ve stood before a justice of the peace and mumbled a few words that were as meaningless as the marriage. I want this time to be right—all the way.”

  Carly understood what Diana was saying. She hadn’t been present at either of her friend’s other weddings. “I don’t care what it takes,” Carly replied staunchly, “wild horses couldn’t keep me away.”

  “Great. I’ll let you know the details later. We’re seeing a minister tonight. Imagine me in a church!” She laughed. “That should set a few tongues wagging!”

  “I’ll phone sometime next week,” Carly promised, as she replaced the receiver. A smile softened the tense line of her mouth. Diana a mother! The mental picture of her friend burping a baby was comical enough to lighten anyone’s mood. But she’d be a good one. Of that Carly had no doubt.

  * * *

  The days flew past. Carly dreaded seeing Brand, but she didn’t doubt that he’d be true to his word. The next time they were together could prove to be uncomfortable for them both. He wouldn’t avoid a confrontation—that she recognized.

  Friday afternoon, George casually mentioned that Brand was on a flying assignment and wouldn’t be back until the following day. Carly breathed easier at the short reprieve. At least she would have more time to think about what she wanted to say to him. One thing was sure: It would be better if they didn’t continue to see each other. Even for non-dates. She didn’t know what unseen forces were at work within her, but Brandon St. Clair was far too appealing for her to remain emotionally untouched. He needed a woman. But not her. She’d make that clear when she saw him. Once it was stated, she could go back to living a normal, peaceful life. She might even investigate learning to knit. By the time Diana was pregnant, Carly might have the skill down pat enough to knit booties, or whatever it was babies wore.

  * * *

  Carly was sorting through her mail late Friday afternoon, still thinking about motherhood and how pleased she was for her friend. As she shuffled through several pieces of junk mail, a handwritten envelope took her by surprise. Glancing at the return address, she noted it was from the Purdy Women’s Correctional Facility. The name on the left-hand corner was Jutta Hoverson.

  Chapter Four

  Memories of the proud child in the oil painting ruled Carly’s thoughts as she clutched Jutta Hoverson’s reply. Disappointment washed through her. The letter had been direct and curt. Jutta hadn’t bothered with a salutation. I TOLD THE PEOPLE TO SAY THAT THE PAINTING IS NOT FOR SALE. I DON’T WANT TO SELL THIS ONE. Her large signature was scrawled across the bottom of the lined paper. And then, as if in afterthought, Jutta had added: I HAVE OTHER PAINTINGS. She’d provided no information. No prices. Not that it mattered; Carly wanted only the one.

  She must have re
ad Jutta’s brusque words a dozen times, seeking a hidden meaning, desperately wanting to find some clue that the woman was willing to sell the self-portrait. There hadn’t been many things in her life that Carly had wanted more than that painting. A week after the art show, the small child remained vivid in her memory; she could still envision the proud tilt of her chin and the hidden tear in the corner of one eye. So many times in her life Carly had joked about her past. If someone had questioned her about being raised as she was, Carly’s flippant reply was always the same: Superman had foster parents. Even in the bleakest moments of her life, Carly had forced herself to be optimistic. Her childhood had made her emotionally strong and fortified her fearless personality. But tonight, with the letter from Jutta in her hand, Carly didn’t feel like playing a Pollyanna game. She felt like eating twenty-seven chocolates, soaking in the bathtub, reading a book, and downing an aspirin … all at the same time. Diana would get a kick out of that.

  As it turned out, Carly didn’t do any of those things. She went to a theater and paid to see a movie she couldn’t remember. She sat in the back row and slouched so far down that she had trouble seeing the screen. After devouring a bag of popcorn, she returned home and downed half a jar of green olives and considered the popcorn and olives her dinner.

  * * *

  Carly woke the next morning depressed and slightly sick to her stomach. Her mood swings weren’t usually this extreme. She liked to think of herself as an even-keeled sort of person, although Diana claimed Carly was eccentric. Admittedly, she didn’t know anyone else who kept earmuffs on her nightstand in case of a storm so she wouldn’t hear the thunder.

  What an ironic sort of person she was. Unafraid of change or danger, Carly often leaped into madcap schemes without thought.

  She knew Diana had worried herself sick the weekend Carly had climbed Mount Rainier. The only mountain climbing she’d ever done had been that one weekend on Washington State’s highest peak. And yet Carly was frightened of a tempest.

  A long walk that morning released some of the coiled tension. Her fingers pressed deep within the side pockets of her jeans, she kicked at rocks and pieces of broken glass along the side of the road. Something green flittered up at her. The reflection of the lazy rays of the sun flashed on a discarded and broken wine bottle. Carly stooped to pick it up. Its edges were worn smooth by time. Feeling a little like a lost child, Carly tucked the fragment into her pocket. A rush of emotion raced through her. She was like that glass. Discarded and forgotten by her mother, scoured by time.