A Dream to Cling To Read online

  She glanced over at him and caught his look. It was far too intimate for this setting, she thought.

  “Come on, Sam,” she said. “We need some help with Harry and the other lop-eared rabbits.” Her hands were full of Persian cat, but she motioned with a toss of her head to the remaining two cages.

  “Rabbits?”

  “Certainly, young man,” a bald-headed man scolded from a corner. “Harry will eat from no other hands but mine, I tell you. Get him on over here.”

  Sam grinned and did as he was bid, carrying the lumpy rabbit to the man’s chair.

  “Now, sir,” an elegant-looking woman on Sam’s right said, “are you Brittany’s young man?”

  He laughed. “Well, you might say so.”

  Brittany glanced at him over the top of the kitten cage.

  “Temporarily,” he amended quickly. “We’re doing some work together.”

  “Well, that’s a fine way to get to know each other.”

  “Dandy, Frances,” added a plump woman feeding a dog biscuit to one of the puppies. “I met Harold that way, working together. I was a sec—”

  “We know, Bertha,” the carefully coiffed Frances said. “What we don’t know is what the young man does.” She smiled sweetly at Sam while she waited for him to pull up a chair and chat over two kittens, a black puppy, and a cup of tea that was set on the small table beside him.

  Sam was enchanted. Frances Sullivan was eighty-nine, claimed to have sat on the hill at Kitty Hawk the day the Wright brothers flew their first plane, and spoke with the precise articulation of an aristocrat. She’d been at the Elms three years now, she confided to him, because living alone wasn’t a sane alternative at her age. She was fond of the way of life here, if only the library were strengthened and the activities more diverse. But she was working on that, she assured him with a twinkle in her eye.

  When she had a free moment, Brittany watched Sam and Frances, noting the easy camaraderie and the charm that flowed so naturally from him, drawing in Frances and the other residents who had pulled up chairs and joined in the conversation.

  That Sam Lawrence had never met a stranger shouldn’t really be a surprise, she thought. He’d wrapped her mother around his little finger, had Frank O’Malley offering her days off, had Dunkin sleeping on his shoe. But it hadn’t registered, maybe because of the thick fog that seemed to have settled around her the past twenty-four hours.

  She watched him move over to Jerry Fitzgerald’s chair and bit back a grin. Mr. Fitzgerald had a heart of gold beneath his aloof exterior, but he didn’t often show it, nor did he take well to strangers. He’d be a challenge even to Sam Lawrence. The thought somehow tickled her.

  Sam settled himself on a low settee near the elderly man’s wheelchair and offered his hand. “Sam Lawrence, nice to meet you.”

  “Hmph.” The other man glanced at him with sharp eyes, then turned back to stare out an empty doorway. “We’ve never met.”

  Sam looked up and his gaze fell on Brittany’s smiling face. Her green eyes flashed with challenge. He lifted one brow, grinned back, then faced the elderly man with determination.

  From the few words the man had said, Sam guessed that he had lived abroad for quite some time, and he could see from the still-prominent muscles in his legs that he’d played sports in his day. Putting those two observations together, he decided to take a chance that the man had played Rugby, a favorite sport of his.

  “Say, what’d you think about that Milwaukee Rugby team?”

  The old man’s eyes lit up. “Wonderful! And a great sport. Kept me on my feet and agile until just a while ago.” He eagerly sat forward in his chair. “I’m Jerald Fitzgerald the Third, and I’m mighty pleased to meet you.”

  Brittany watched them for a moment with a touch of surprise, then shook her head and turned to rescue a tiny kitten that was burrowing beneath the chair cushion. It was silly to be troubled that Sam fit in so well, she told herself.

  “Okay, Sam,” she said an hour later as she approached him and Jerry Fitzgerald. The two men were heatedly discussing the British empiricists and the best curve of a pipe stem. “We need to gather the animals.”

  Sam artfully ended the conversation with a promise to continue it later, then stood and walked over to her. One of his arms naturally encircled her shoulders. “You sound a little brusque, Brittany.”

  She shook her head. “Of course not. But there are things to do, that’s all.”

  He tugged gently on her pony tail and gazed into her eyes. “Something’s bothering you.”

  Of course there was, she thought. And it made about as much sense as high school physics had. She liked Sam Lawrence a whole lot. Her friends here liked him a whole lot. And it bothered her enormously for reasons that circled around inside her mind but made no rational sense. “No, Sam. It’s just that—”

  “That you don’t want me too close. And you’re surprised I like it here so much because you didn’t think my world extended much farther than winning at Monopoly.”

  “I—I didn’t know you won at Monopoly,” she mumbled.

  His face softened. “I don’t; I lose. Or fall asleep. I never seem to get past Go. I lose at my own games too. But I usually win at what’s important.” He moved closer, and when he spoke again his breath feathered the fine hairs on her neck. “Don’t be upset about surprises we find in each other, Brittany. Surprises are good for the soul.”

  “Well that’s debatable, Sam. Some souls, maybe, but not this one.” She forced a bright smile and bent to escape the tickling breath of his words. “Here, take Hawthorne.” She thrust a tawny-colored kitten into his hands. “And this.” Piggy was tucked under his arm.

  Delilah, the smallest lop-eared rabbit, was the last to be retrieved. She was sleeping soundly in the folds of Betta Marie Hopper’s purple sweater. And Betta Marie was sleeping just as soundly. Sam looked at the tiny woman who was slumped down in the chair. “Hmmm.”

  “Just lift her arm and slip Delilah out,” Brittany said. “She won’t even wake up.”

  He did as directed. The rabbit opened one eye, then fell back to sleep in the curve of his arm.

  The van was packed and ready to go in two thumps of a rabbit’s tail, as Sam put it, and soon they were driving back to the clinic.

  Brittany was completely aware of Sam as she drove, even though he didn’t say much but just scribbled on his yellow pad and puffed thoughtfully on his pipe.

  “Do you think this bothers the animals?” he asked eventually, holding the pipe out in front of him.

  She glanced quickly over her shoulder. The animals were quiet. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Does it bother you?”

  “No.”

  “Good.” He smiled and rested his head against the back of the seat. “This was a fine day, Brittany.”

  She looked over at him but said nothing.

  “I’d like to come along again.”

  “Why?” she asked, her voice lifting in surprise.

  “Well, lots of reasons, not the least being that I like sitting in this crowded van with you.”

  “And the other reasons?”

  “I like that place. They’re great folks. And in between times you tell me things that are interesting and useful for the game.”

  “I do?”

  “Yep. And I also have a much stronger feeling for the Winters family as a whole by being with you, a feeling for how your father raised you, what he was like as a father, that sort of thing.”

  “You’d make a fine private eye, Sam Lawrence,” she said with a laugh. “But somehow it’s a little disconcerting to know someone is picking up on everything I say, storing it away, and doing heaven knows what with it.”

  “Oh, you’ll know before heaven does. You’re going to have to check everything. My instincts and perceptions are usually pretty much on target, or at least I like to think so, but I do need you to double-check. You’re the real key to this game, Brittany.”

  She pulled the car into
the parking lot of the clinic and switched off the engine. And what responsibilities did being the key to the game embrace? she wondered. “Well, Sam, I guess I can handle that, as long as it’s as painless as it was today.”

  He was still for a minute as he watched her face in the shadows of the car. He didn’t want her to get out, to move away from him, and the force of the realization threw him into uncharacteristic silence.

  “So …” She wrapped her fingers around the car keys and pulled them out of the ignition. “I guess it’s fine if you want to come along to the Elms.”

  He nodded, and a pleasing warmth filled him at the thought of spending more days this way, wandering through Brittany’s life with her. In fact, he could think of little at that moment he’d prefer.

  “Sam?” She was looking at him intently. “I think it’ll work fine if you want to come along.”

  His pensiveness disappeared and he directed his full attention to her. “Fine. We’re a good pair, don’t you think?”

  “Well, the folks did like you, I’ll admit to that.”

  “And you like me—better than yesterday at least.”

  It wasn’t a question but she nodded anyway, laughing away the tightness tugging inside her. “Sure, Sam. Who wouldn’t like you? You’re a charmer.”

  “Then I haven’t been too much of a pest.”

  She looked at his lopsided smile and shook her head. “Of course not. I’ve enjoyed the day.”

  “How much?”

  “How much? If this is another game, Sam, I think I may have played it in junior high.”

  His hand rested on her shoulder. “No game, Brittany. I was simply wondering if you enjoyed it as much as I did.”

  Her heart started to pound heavily. “Well, Sam, on a scale of one to ten …”

  His hand strayed from her shoulder up beneath the pony tail, where he gently rubbed the tender skin on her neck. “On a scale of one to ten …?”

  “It was definitely at least a seven-plus day. And maybe, after I’ve had a chance to think it through, maybe I’ll give it an eight.”

  He nodded slowly. “I’d say an eight for sure.”

  His fingers were working magic on her neck and she wanted to stop talking and let herself fall into the delicious feel of his caress. “Oh, Sam, that’s wonderful,” she murmured. “You’re heading for an eight-plus.”

  “Hmmm, you’re easy to please, Brittany Winters.” As he continued to massage her neck, his gaze wandered around the inside of the van. “I used to have a van like this when I was in high school.”

  “Oh?”

  “It was much older and had been through several lifetimes before I inherited her, but she was dependable. I used it to deliver old Mr. Wassink’s groceries to his customers.”

  She nodded, a slow smile curving her lips. “I see.” One tiny part of her urged her to open the door and fall out into the cold, stabilizing air. But it was so tiny, so dim, that it barely mattered. And the larger part of her gave in to the enchantment, to staying and talking and enjoying the lovely feeling of Sam’s fingers smoothing out the fine hair on her neck. It felt so good. She lifted her lids and saw the smiles that spilled from his eyes.

  “Being in a van again makes me feel like a teenager,” he said.

  She kept her gaze on his face.

  “Remember when you used to neck in a car?”

  She laughed but didn’t move. “Yes. Forgotten youth.”

  His voice grew husky. “I don’t want to scare you or mess this up, Brittany, but I want more than anything right this minute to take you in my arms and kiss you. Do you know what I mean?”

  It all seemed to happen in slow motion then, her dreamy, understanding nod, his sliding closer on the cold seat, his hand gently cupping her face, and then his lips hungrily covering hers with strong, persuasive passion. He pulled away once, just a fraction of an inch. She took in a quick breath of air, but was waiting when he returned, his lips pressing firmly, his tongue moving until she opened her mouth slightly and let him feed the flowering within her.

  When at last he pulled away, she wasn’t ready at all for the cooling distance. She took in a lungful of air and wound her fingers around the cold steering wheel. “But something’s different, Sam,” she said gravely.

  “Different?”

  “I don’t have the urge to run inside to call my best friend.” She managed a small grin.

  “I know what you’re saying. What do you think it means?”

  She brushed her hair back, then rested her hand briefly on his arm. “I think it’s Dr. Frank. He put some kind of a spell on us this morning with his talking about autumn and winter meshing together.” She looked over toward the clinic and noticed two of the volunteers leaving the building, coming to help unload the animals.

  Sam followed her gaze. “Yep, maybe that’s it. Musta been. I’ve never been ‘spelled’ before. I think I like it.”

  She studied him closely. She liked it too. Much more than she dared admit.

  “Not being very familiar with this particular type of spell,” he continued, “or what the remedy is, I guess we’ll just have to wait and see what happens.” He reached across her and opened her door. He stayed there for a moment, his chest angled toward her breasts, his face just inches from hers. “Agreed?”

  When she nodded, her forehead brushed his. “That’s what we get for acting like teenagers.”

  He laughed as he slid back across the seat. “Maybe youth knows something we don’t.”

  He swung his body from the van and Brittany slipped out on the opposite side. Maybe youth did, she mused.

  The volunteers were already opening the back of the van and she took one more calming breath of air. Then she waved good-bye to Sam as he headed for his car. There was a caring in his eyes that wrapped around her tightly as he waved back. She knew it wasn’t a spell at all. And whatever it was, she had a feeling it would be far more difficult to break.

  Far more difficult.

  Four

  Even if it had been a spell, Brittany decided with a wonderful sense of confidence several days later, she was handling it just fine. She had no need for a cure, nor did she want one. If nothing was broken, why fix it? She accepted the days with Sam as easily as the sunshine and laughter that seemed to come with them.

  Sam flirted as naturally as he breathed, but no harm was done. Everything was turning out fine, including the game, which, Sam said, was moving along at a steady clip.

  And now, after two hours of traipsing through an old factory with Sam, she not only knew a lot about games, but they were both nearly experts on the fine art of umbrella-making.

  “Did you really want to see how all those umbrellas were made?” she asked. She tilted her head back to catch the rays of the late afternoon sun as she and Sam emerged from the large two-story factory. A toasty warmth ran through her. It had been a good day. They’d completed their fourth day of Petpals visits, and had even managed a trip to this wonderful old factory where her father had worked so many years before.

  “Those aren’t just umbrellas, Brittany. Those are umbrellas—works of art. It was fascinating, didn’t you think? And the guys on the assembly line were terrific.”

  “And you asked enough questions to steal all their secrets and start your own company. I don’t think they know quite what to make of you, Sam.”

  “Well, Brittany …” He slipped one arm around her shoulders and whispered teasingly against her cheek, “It didn’t matter what they thought of me, because you were my ticket. They thought you were a present from the gods.”

  “Oh, Sam!” she groaned. “Don’t you ever stop?”

  “Nope,” he answered with the same disarming smile that played havoc with her concentration at the nursing homes. “And those good men also think a great deal about one Gordon Winters. Did you catch all those tales about the days when he managed the plant?”

  She nodded, her thoughts settling somewhere between his words and the nice feel of his body so close to h
ers.

  “Well, they loved him. I especially liked that story the older gent told about him bringing in a donkey on election day.”

  She laughed, remembering. “And afterward he raffled it off and gave the money to some fellow who had lost nearly everything in a poker game.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t adopt it for Petpals.”

  “I wasn’t born yet.”

  “Ah. I knew there had to be a logical reason.” His laugh rippled through the crisp autumn air. “You know, Brittany, I’m looking forward to meeting your father.”

  “You two will get along fine. And I know he’ll like the game, no matter what I said about poker.”

  He grinned and without a thought hugged her close, then released her just enough so they could walk along through the late afternoon shadows. “You’re a pushover, you know. It’s taken less than a week to make a believer out of you.”

  “Now don’t count your chickens, Lawrence,” she said, her loose hair rubbing against the soft wool of his jacket. “I simply said he would like the game. However, he’ll probably never play it.”

  They had reached Sam’s small Volkswagen and he held open the door for her to get in. “Shall we wager a bet, my sweet Brittany?”

  “I don’t gamble, Sam.” She slipped into the car and looked back up into his laughing eyes. “Sorry.”

  “Never?”

  She kept her smile in place, but her mind slipped back over the years. Never? She had gambled once, a long time ago … And she had lost. But it was so very long ago. A lifetime ago … “Oh, I guess it depends, Sam. I’ll gamble on sure winners … maybe.”

  He strode around to the other side of the car and got in next to her. “Then it’s a bet.” He leaned over and brushed a quick kiss across her cheek to seal it, then straightened and started the engine. “Except you’re on the wrong side of the fence for this one.”

  Brittany scolded away the uncomfortable stirrings inside her. They were talking about games, after all. Nothing more, nothing less. And Sam was right: it was a sure winner. The game … nothing else …

  “Hungry?” he asked.

  He was studying her, his eyes reading deep. But his smile was so gentle, she settled back against the seat and nodded easily, the unsettling feeling beginning to vanish. “Yes.”