A Dream to Cling To Read online

  A Dream To Cling To is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  A Loveswept eBook Edition

  Copyright © 1987 by Sally Goldenbaum

  Excerpt from The Reluctant Countess by Wendy Vella copyright © 2013 by Wendy Vella.

  Excerpt from Wild Rain by Donna Kauffman copyright © 1995 by Donna Kauffman.

  Excerpt from Silk on the Skin by Linda Cajio copyright © 1988 by Linda Cajio.

  All Rights Reserved.

  Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

  LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc.

  A Dream To Cling To was originally published in paperback by Loveswept, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc. in 1997.

  eISBN: 978-0-307-79887-9

  www.ReadLoveSwept.com

  v3.1

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Editor’s Corner

  Excerpt from Wendy Vella’s The Reluctant Countess

  Excerpt from Donna Kauffman’s Wild Rain

  Excerpt from Linda Cajio’s Silk on the Skin

  One

  Sam Lawrence pulled his lanky frame out of the Queen Anne chair and walked over to the fireplace. The leaping flames felt good against his legs and eased his cramped joints, stiff from sitting too long in the Winters’ ornately carved chairs. He thought of the neglected stack of work piled up in his office and the pressured rush of getting the Winters job done on time. Things would be tight for a while. He stared down at the scuffed toes of his boots. There’d be no time to get away and really loosen the joints, free the mind. Sam wasn’t accustomed to the cramped feeling that was heavy on his spirit. Oh, well, there’d always be later. Slowly he raised his head and smiled.

  “Well,” he said, his gaze moving from one member of the family to another, “what do you say we call it a night? We’ll need to get together a few times to gather those anecdotes and stories that’ll give the game its life. And in addition to interviewing family and friends, I’ll need one of you to work closely with me to make sure I’m on the right track as we move along.” Even when he was at his most serious, like now, Sam’s deep voice held a hint of laughter. He smiled encouragingly. “The information will come. Sometimes it takes a little time to prime the pump, you know.”

  “Prime the pump?” Katherine Winters echoed, her silvery voice curling upward.

  “Oh, but don’t worry, Mrs. Winters, it’ll come. It always does.” He flashed the older woman an engaging grin, then shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his corduroy pants and leaned back against the carved mahogany mantel. Sure it did, he thought. Anyone who had risen to the business heights of a Gordon Winters had color in his life … didn’t he? Sam rubbed the rough stubble of a beard that seemed to have appeared since his arrival at the lavish, lovely Winters home well over an hour ago.

  “Surely, surely Brittany Ellsbeth will be here soon,” Mrs. Winters said. She lifted her thin brows hopefully and gazed around at the others, seeking assurance that this was in fact the case.

  Sam noticed that no one seemed willing to chance confirmation of the eldest Winters child’s arrival.

  “Brittany always has plenty of stories to tell,” Mrs. Winters added brightly. “You see, she’s a lot like her father. Shell understand what you need in order to make the game about Gordon. You’ll see, Mr. Lawrence. Just as soon as she gets here …”

  “If she doesn’t make it, Mother, she’ll make it next time.” Sara Winters Hancock smiled comfortingly at her mother. “You know Brittany. She tends to get involved in things and sometimes forgets.”

  Mrs. Winters sat still, her thin, frail hands knotted together in her lap as she returned her newly married daughter’s smile. “Yes … yes, Sara, she does, doesn’t she?” She looked over at Sam. “It’s all those animals, you see.… Perhaps if we give her just a few more minutes.”

  “Well.” He shifted his weight from one leg to the other and glanced down at his empty notepad. He rotated one shoulder beneath his heavy sweater and tried to ease away the tiredness. Then he grinned at Katherine Winters and shrugged. “Well, okay, sure, Mrs. Winters. If you’re not too tired, we’ll give it a little longer. Maybe we can get some more thoughts down while we wait.”

  “Yes, I’m sure we can!” Mrs. Winters assured him, and Sam could see how relieved she was that he was willing to wait for the errant daughter, now nearly an hour late. Sam usually wasn’t big on punching time clocks himself. Except at night, when he had trouble keeping his eyes open much after nine. Like now. He stifled a yawn behind one hand and stretched out his legs. Then he settled back to business.

  His thick brows drew into a line above his eyes as he looked from Sara to her husband, Michael, who was the perfect solicitous bridegroom, never moving far from Sara’s side. Their hands kept finding each other across the sofa pillows and Sam knew they were just as eager as he to get home. Probably more so, he decided with a lopsided smile. They were a nice bunch, these Winters folks. He hadn’t known quite what to expect when the game job for Gordon Winters had come his way. Most of the games he’d done about people had been on a much smaller scale. Hell, half had been favors to friends and he’d never charged for them! But this one could be important.

  He’d tried to learn a little about the family from the society pages, but after a quick look he’d trashed the papers and the idea. Not fair. No one was as flat as a columnist’s type. And he was right. These were good people, not flat at all. Now, if only he could figure out how to shake up their imaginations …

  “Okay, folks, everybody ready?”

  “Sure. Shoot, Sam.” Gordon Junior stretched his arms above his head. “Throw some more questions our way. We’ll come up with something.” He grinned encouragingly.

  Sam nodded a thanks and looked down at his pad as he rubbed the kinks out of the back of his neck. “Let’s go back to hobbies.”

  He glanced around the room and drew his audience into his deepening gaze as the tiredness was suspended and the showman in Sam took over. “Hobbies are a great source of stories—they tell a lot about a man! Now, think everyone, what does Mr. Winters do in his spare time?”

  “Doze.”

  “Work.”

  “Fish.”

  Sam dove desperately onto the last comment and spoke in exclamations to keep the spark alive. “Fish! All right, folks, now we’re cookin’! Fish stories are great! And every fisherman has some of those wild tales that curl your hair and raise your eyebrows.” He pushed a handful of thick sandy hair off his forehead and smiled with anticipation.

  Sara crossed her legs with great care and looked over at her brother. “Gordie, I think you know more about this area than I. I’ve never … well, I never much liked fishing.…”

  Gordie twined his fingers together beneath his chin in deep thought. “Sure, sure. Well, let’s see. It rained one year, I think, and he came back early.” He looked over at his mother.

  Katherine Winters sighed, her tiny brows pulling together and wrinkling the still-beautiful pale skin of her forehead. She raised her head to look at Sam. “He … he fishes with Brittany.”

  The h
ope fizzled out of Sam. “Oh.” He should have known. Sure, he fished with Brittany, like he rode with Brittany, and explored old maritime museums with Brittany. And that was, unfortunately, the sum total of what Sam Lawrence knew thus far about the Winters scion. How the hell was he supposed to design a board game around the life of a man whose family’s most exciting memory was that he didn’t fish in the rain?

  Sam looked around the room for the twentieth time that night and swallowed the rest of his drink in a single gulp. Raking one hand through his hair, he straightened his stance before the fire. “Well, folks, where the Sam Hill is Brittany?”

  Katherine Winters looked up so suddenly at the unexpected words that her sherry sloshed over the edge of the fine Waterford crystal and darkened her silk dress. “Oh, dear,” she murmured.

  Sam smiled apologetically. “Sorry, everyone. It’s been a long day.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Mr. Lawrence,” Sara said. “The problem is that Brittany sometimes gets deterred, you see, waylaid by some other pressing concern. But she always shows up, sooner or la—”

  A gust of wind and the slamming of the huge door in the front hallway halted Sara’s prophetic words midstream.

  Brittany Ellsbeth Winters swept into the room, her cheeks pinked from the cold, her green eyes sparkling brightly. “Hi, everyone. I’m terribly sorry to be late!” She dropped her bag by the door, then bent over and hugged her mother warmly.

  “Brittany dear, I was beginning to worry about you.”

  Brittany brushed the back of one hand along her mother’s pale cheek and scolded her affectionately. “You know better than to worry about me, Mother! I know your message said ‘urgent,’ but things never seem to go according to schedule these days. It was Jerry Fitzgerald’s eighty-fifth birthday—can you believe that?—and he’s as sharp as you or I. He wanted me to bring some of the animals out to the Elms Senior Citizens Home for the birthday party, so—”

  Brittany’s words halted abruptly as she lifted her head to smile at the rest of the family. Instead, her glance fell soundly into the amused gaze of a tall, lanky stranger, his arm draped casually on the mantel. His lazy smile seemed to warm the air between them.

  She straightened up slowly. “Oh. Hello. I’m sorry, I didn’t see you standing there.” A slight, embarrassed smile tipped the edges of her mouth. Who was this person? She glanced at the shadow of his beard covering a strong, square chin, and smiled to herself. He looked so … well, strong and unregistered. And his hair curled over the edge of his sweater. Mother must think him a hippie! She held out her hand and took a step toward the stranger.

  “I didn’t realize we had a guest. I’m Brittany Winters.”

  “The prodigal daughter,” Sam murmured, then strode forward to take the slender hand between his. He’d been right about one thing: Gordon Winters’s life did have color to it. But he’d been damn wrong about how he’d imagined Brittany Winters up to this moment. He knew from the brief family bio that she was the first born—late twenties, if he remembered correctly, although she seemed younger. And the woman lighting the room around him wasn’t any silver-spooned society girl, as he’d expected. He inhaled her clean, enticing scent and felt the tight cramp in his shoulders begin to disappear. No, this was no pampered girl, not with that shy smile that breathed of blue skies and wildflowers. He swallowed hard. She was a woodland creature, so soft-looking, with a tangle of thick curls in shades of dark spun gold and auburn. She was lovely. “I am happy to meet you, Brittany Winters.”

  “Do I know you?” Brittany’s smile wavered as she found herself concentrating intently on the warm cave his hands made around her own. Tilting her head back, she gazed searchingly at his rugged features. Silly question, she thought. This face she wouldn’t easily forget. “You are …?”

  “Sam Lawrence.”

  “Oh.” Her gaze continued to explore the face that didn’t fit here in this elegantly decorated house. She spoke slowly around the tightness in her throat. “Well, hello, Mr. Lawrence.” Quickly she slipped her hand from between his and curled it into a fist. The roughness of his fingers lingered, warm and tingly on her skin.

  “Brittany,” Sara’s light voice intruded, “Mr. Lawrence is here to help with the company’s retirement gift for Father.”

  “Retirement gift …” Brittany repeated, still unsure of Sam’s presence. She looked quickly around the room. “Where is Dad?”

  Mrs. Winters leaned forward in her chair. “He’s in Boston, darling, settling a dispute in the plant there. That’s why we chose tonight to meet with Mr. Lawrence. He’s come up with a wonderful present for Gordon.”

  “Oh, I see,” Brittany said, but she didn’t really see at all. What kind of gift could a Sam Lawrence possibly help with? “Well, that’s good. Heaven knows, Dad deserves a great gift.” When she looked back at Sam, she noticed his eyes, so brown and clear and bottomless, they seemed to look right inside of her. She shivered and rubbed her palms down the soft folds of her skirt. “Do you work for my father?”

  “Oh, no, dear,” Mrs. Winters answered quickly. “Mr. Lawrence has been hired by the firm’s board to execute the gift.” She smiled gently, then shook her white head and looked up at Sam. “Mr. Lawrence, you explain it so much better.”

  Sam nodded kindly at the gentle lady who was the reason he hadn’t walked out of the mansion a long time ago. Then he turned his close attention to the reason he was willing to stay on—indefinitely. “Ms. Winters—”

  “Brittany, please,” she interrupted with a throaty laugh. Brittany slipped down into a chair near the fire and welcomed the firm support beneath her. When she looked up, her gaze passed over Sam, from his well-worn boots to his face. She knew she’d never seen him before in her entire life, yet there was a strange feeling of connection, of association, that unsettled her. What was it? And who was he? Sam Lawrence looked like he’d be good at “executing” a hike up Mt. Washington, but a retirement gift? “Please go on, Mr. Lawrence,” she urged.

  “Sure thing.” Sam nodded, then shoved his hands back into his pockets and watched the firelight dance off Brittany’s gold-flecked eyes. Or did the fire begin there …?

  “Well,” he began slowly, his gaze never leaving her face, “as I told the others, this won’t be your ordinary plaque or gold watch or around-the-world-vacation type of retirement gift.”

  “Good, Dad isn’t ordinary.” Brittany smiled, but she was puzzled. It was a sales pitch, not what she would have expected from the uneven-featured man with the shadow of a beard and the mischievous sparkle in his eyes.

  Sam noticed the hint of formality that had crept into her voice and continued, suddenly enjoying the silent game they were playing with each other, the unspoken assumptions, the subtle evaluations. As he rubbed his chin thoughtfully, still gazing directly at her, he slid down onto the gold brocade love seat opposite her chair. He leaned forward, his arms resting on his knees, which nearly brushed her own.

  “What my company is putting together for your father, Brittany, is a tailor-made, personal board game of his life.”

  Surprised, Brittany sat up, her back reed-straight and her face expressionless. “A game?”

  Sam nodded. She was watching him so attentively, it nearly fogged his thoughts. “A game about Mr. Winters, using his life—your family’s life—as content. You know, kind of a This Is Your Life in game form.” He’d given that explanation dozens, maybe hundreds of times, and this was when his listeners usually jumped in and told him what a terrific idea it was and my, oh, my, wasn’t he a creative son of a gun!

  Brittany Winters was silent.

  Sam smiled, and a dimple flashed in his cheek. Well, now, this just might be the challenge he needed to get the juices flowing! “Do you get the hang of it, Brittany?” He watched her carefully and fought back the urge to move closer, to slip his fingers into the soft mass of hair that framed her face and relieve her of the sudden tenseness that now lined her full mouth.

  “A game about my father’s l
ife?” Brittany asked softly, her gaze leaving his face, shifting down to ponder the herringbone pattern in her skirt. She studied the angled lines intently, rubbing along them with one finger, then slowly raised her head and looked questioningly at her mother.

  “Isn’t it a lovely idea, dear? The board has already appropriated the money and now it’s up to Mr. Lawrence here to collect the information. It’s a fine present.” Katherine Winters smiled firmly. “Now, Brittany, will you tell us what you think?”

  Brittany looked from her mother to Sam. She nibbled thoughtfully on her bottom lip. “A game, you say?”

  Her voice was low but sharper now, Sam noticed, and the shyness in her eyes had disappeared.

  “Yes. What do you think of the idea, Brittany?”

  His voice was deep and unnervingly intimate. She stood and stared into the fire for a moment, then turned slowly back to him. “It’s a quaint idea, Mr. Lawrence, and I don’t mean any offense, but I’m not sure it’s the appropriate gift for my father’s retirement. He likes horses, fishing, books—things like that.” She smiled faintly, then looked apologetically at her mother.

  She knew Sam was watching her carefully. He cocked his head and pulled his long, loose-limbed body up from the delicate love seat; his dark eyes lit with curiosity and a hint of laughter. “So, Brittany, you don’t like the idea?”

  “Like it?” The words tumbled out too quickly. No, she didn’t like it especially. And she knew it was an instinctive reaction that wasn’t the least bit objective. What people had done in their lives was a private matter—at least she’d kept her own life that way. And making a game out of someone’s life simply didn’t sit right. It was a unique idea, she admitted, but uncomfortable. Besides, she rationalized, her father didn’t even play poker. What would he do with a board game? No, it wasn’t just that, she told herself. Face it. It was this Sam Lawrence, a brown-eyed stranger sifting through her life. That was what was disturbing her. “No,” she said more firmly. “I don’t like the idea.”

  Sam bit back a grin. This soft lovely creature had spunk as well as the magic of a goddess. And the longer she stood there like that with her eyes glinting gold from the firelight and her cheeks flushed, the higher went the stakes. It wasn’t just the job now—it was moving through just a bit of life’s winding stream with Brittany Winters beside him that he didn’t want to give up. His eyes lingered on her face while he rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “I see. Well, maybe if you’d give me a little time, Brittany, I could explain it better.”