Dreams Don't Wait

chapter 4





"Is that what you really want, Evan? Me to stop?"

"Yes." She reached for her brandy snifter and cupped it in both hands, staring at the topaz liquid. When she glanced up at him, her face was a study in embarrassment and misery. He fought the urge to again take her in his arms.

"I see," he said, and stepped away from her. The lady had said no. Loud and clear.

He hadn't heard that word since his marriage, and it still stung, sharply and deeply. Since his time with Moira, he'd made it a practice to avoid women with a penchant for the negative. When he needed a woman, he preferred an agreeable one, one given to good, safe, uninvolved sex. He had no intention of ever again engaging his emotions.

With a quick movement, he drained his snifter of brandy and moved to his computer. "I think I'll have another go at this thing. Will you excuse me?"

He turned away from her, but not before he caught her confused look. She stood behind him as he switched the computer back on. When he turned back to her, she was staring at him, her expression thoughtful now. He knew the look. It preceded questions. He sighed and ran an impatient hand through his hair.

"Look, I get it," he said. "Chalk it up as another tasteless pass and forget it. Okay? Believe me, your precious virtue is safe from me. I don't go where I'm not wanted."

"That's not—" Her lips moved and compressed, as if words were to be said, but difficult to find. Her eyelashes fluttered down, then up, and she looked at him squarely. "Your kiss was wanted and–exciting." Again her lashes fluttered down. "I haven't been kissed in a long time. And I'm so... sorry. Another time, another place... maybe..." She stopped abruptly, and placed her snifter on the large, square coffee table. "Thanks for the brandy. I'd better head for bed. I have to work tomorrow." When she looked at him again, her gaze was uncertain.

"Are we okay?" she asked.

Linc hesitated, sucked in some air, and spoke what he hoped was the truth. "Yes, we're okay. Go to bed."

He watched her walk away from him, heard the door close behind her. He stood looking at the door a long time, slowly massaging the back of his neck. No questions. Not a one. He was vaguely disappointed. It seemed he was the one with all the questions. For the first time in years, he was curious about a woman.

"You're as much of a fool as ever, Stewart," he muttered to himself as he turned back to the computer. It sat there: impersonal, ready, and uninvolved. He switched it on.

* * *

Less than seven hours later, he met Evan in the kitchen. She was leaning on the counter, reading a book and drinking coffee. If last night had left any residue of embarrassment, it didn't show.

He was asking himself why that irritated him, when she asked, "I made coffee. Would you like some?"

"Thanks, I'll get it." He got a mug from the second shelf and poured himself a strong, hot brew. He took a swallow and leaned against the counter opposite her. Her attention had returned to her book. His irritation grew. Why the hell was he as edgy as broken glass, while she stood there calmly reading—he bent his head to catch the title—England from the Eighteenth Century?

"History?" he asked, sipping coffee and watching her over the rim of the mug.

She looked up, nodded, and closed the book, and, without added comment, glanced at her watch. "I'd better get going," she said, stuffing the book into a large tote bag. "In this rain, the traffic will be deadly."

"I'll drive you." He put down his mug.

Why it pleased him when she blushed at his offer, he didn't know. But it did. Maybe Miss Poised and Polished North wasn't as immune to him as he thought.

"I don't need you to drive me. Really."

"I know. See you at the door."

He had nearly escaped the kitchen when she called him.

"Linc?"

He turned.

"Are you planning to, uh, start something?"

He deliberated. "Yes. My car."

* * *

When she arrived home that night, Linc was gone. Last night had caught up with her; she was exhausted. With effort, she turned her attention to Maud.

"He'll be in Seattle until Wednesday," Maud said. "And to be honest, I'm not the least sorry. I don't know what's gotten into him. He's not generally so moody and—Oh, Jenny, dear, please sit properly at the table. And you should eat more of your dinner."

"I don't want to," Jenny whined, half sitting, then half slipping from her chair. Her face was set in a stubborn mask. "I hate carrots. They're stupid."

"Jenny, please..." Maud stopped and rubbed her temples. Evan looked hard at her for the first time since coming home. From the tired lines around Maud's eyes and the weary slump to her shoulders, it was obvious that the headache she'd complained about earlier was worsening.

"Maud, why don't you make a pot of tea? I'll take care of Jenny. You should go to bed."

"What about Cal?" Maud asked. "He'll be home soon, and he'll need to eat," she protested.

"Maud, don't worry about Cal. That's my job. What are you trying to do, make me look bad?" Evan teased.

Maud smiled weakly. "He's such a fine boy."

"I agree, but will you please go to bed? You don't look well. Jen and I will look after Cal." She glanced at the girl. "Right, Jenny?" Jenny nodded, momentarily distracted from the hated carrots.

The look Maud gave her was grateful. "Maybe I will go to bed. I don't know what's wrong with me. I've had this headache all day. Thank you, dear." She got up tiredly, but before leaving the kitchen, she kissed Jenny and then Evan on the forehead. The warm gesture somehow linked them in a shared childhood, and Evan was strangely moved by it. She had no memory of maternal kisses. None.

After Maud was gone, Evan started to clear the table. For the first time, she and Jenny were alone together. Jenny eyed Evan warily.

"I don't want these." She pointed to the carrots.

"Are you sure?"

Jenny shook her head with a vengeance. She was sure.

Without a word, Evan picked up her plate. She wasn't about to reveal it, but Jenny wasn't the only one who hated carrots. "Would you help me clear the table, sweetheart? Then we'll fix a plate for Cal."

Jenny watched her soberly, making no move to get off her chair.

Evan busied herself putting dishes in the dishwasher, chatting amiably as she did so. "Do you want me to read to you tonight? If you do, maybe you should go and pick out a book."

"No. I want to watch TV."

"Sorry. There aren't any good programs on for little girls right now. Reading is a lot more fun anyway." If the truth be known, there was nothing Evan would like better than to curl up in front of the television and lose herself in some mindless sitcom, but not with an impressionable four-year-old.

"I hate books. I want to watch TV." Jenny's tone was belligerent.

Evan sighed inwardly. She'd learned long ago that there was a law that said kids always acted their worst when an adult's energy was at its lowest ebb. She garnered her lackluster resolve for the confrontation she knew was coming. Looking Jenny in the eye, she spoke clearly but softly. "I said no, Jen, and I meant it."

Her lips set in a determined line, Jenny glared at her, then at the small kitchen TV. Evan had no doubt she planned to turn it on.

Sucking in a give-me-strength-Lord breath, she said, "If you turn on that television, make no mistake, sweetheart, I'll put you in your room, and you'll have to stay there for half an hour." Evan pointed to the kitchen clock. "Until the big hand on the clock points straight up. Do you understand me?"

Jenny didn't answer, nor did she take her eyes from Evan's face. Instead, she slowly slid from her chair and walked to the TV in the adjoining family room. She switched it on.

Evan hesitated. Damn it! This was not her problem. Why not let Jenny watch TV? She was too tired to deal with a defiant child. Linc had told her to back off. All she had to do was what he'd asked her to do. Let Jenny have her way. She'd raised her son, disciplined him, loved him; she didn't need this frustration. But when a gloating smile creased Jenny's pretty face, Evan stepped briskly forward. Jenny's smile vanished as quickly as it had come. She looked frightened now.

Evan's tense, tired expression softened as she switched off the television. "I'm not going to hurt you, Jen. I will never hurt you. I'm going to do what I said I'd do. Put you in your room. In half an hour"—Evan nodded again at the kitchen clock—"you can come downstairs again and wait for Cal."

When Jenny refused to take her hand, Evan picked the child up and carried her.

* * *

Maud's headache was a harbinger of a miserable cold, and Evan insisted she spend the next few days in bed. Evan spent the weekend looking after Jenny. When Evan went to work on Monday, Cal covered for her. Fortunately it was his scheduled day off from his job at the local supermarket. It had been a hectic time, and they were both grateful to see Maud feeling better and slowly getting back on her feet—even though Evan insisted she leave tonight's dishes with her and again go early to bed.

With the last dish in the dishwasher and the counters clear, Evan snuggled into the big chair near the window, planning some quiet time with her book.

She stretched and rolled her head to loosen her shoulders. So far so good; she'd managed, with Cal's help, to do her job here and at work. The bank account was getting fatter by the month. Everything was working out fine. Almost everything. There was still Linc, due home tomorrow, and... there was still Jenny.

Jenny and Evan had settled into an uneasy truce. In the past few days, Jenny had tested her a dozen times and lost. Evan had remained firm and consistent. And while she believed the child was beginning to respect her, she wasn't certain she liked her much. That saddened her, because she was developing a genuine affection for the feisty four-year-old. She smiled to herself.

She might not like you, Evan North, but she's crazy about your son.

Right now the three of them were in the family area off the kitchen; the kids sprawled across the deep carpet, engrossed in a game, Evan, curled in the big chair, her book in her lap, looking down at them. Cal was teaching Jenny how to play checkers—and it didn't look to be going in Cal's favor.

Evan yawned and stretched. Her muscles were tight, and she thought longingly about a hot bath.

"It's late, you two," she said. "Time for Jenny to go to bed."

"Ten minutes, Mom. This is major serious here," Cal said. "If I'm not careful, half-pint is going to beat me."

"I guess it helps when you can play either color at whim." She looked at Jenny who was stacking a red checker on a black and shoving it two squares forward.

Cal smiled. "Yeah."

"Ten minutes and that's it."

"Right." Cal's attention turned back to the game.

It was near ten when Evan woke up in a now darkened room. A soft blanket was tucked around her chin, and the children were gone. She sat up with a start, and a piece of paper fell to the floor. She switched on a lamp.

Mom. Don't panic. I put the kidlet to bed.

See you in the morning. Cal.

"Looks like the baby-sitter needed more taking care of than the baby."

Evan nearly leaped out of her skin. It was Linc.

"What are you doing sitting there in the dark. You nearly scared me to death." Evan could still hear the hard thumping of her heart. Although right now she couldn't tell if fright or excitement caused its pounding.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. And in answer to your first question, I got here about a half hour ago."

"I'd better go check on Jenny." Evan started to get up.

"I already did. Other than going to bed in her tracksuit, she's fine. Sleeping like an angel."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep. I—"

"Everything's fine. Stop worrying." He stood looking down at her and loosened his tie, the gesture oddly intimate.

Evan picked idly at the nap on the blanket. "Maud said you weren't due home until tomorrow."

"I wasn't." He snapped the tie from his neck, draped it over the nearest chair, and headed for the kitchen. "I finished up early and decided to head home." He opened the fridge. She watched him scan its contents with an interested frown. When he pulled out the cold roast beef, she went to his side.

"Here. Give that to me. You look tired." When she took the plate from his hand, he started to protest. She gave him a gentle shove toward the big chair she'd just vacated. "Go," she demanded.

"Bossy little thing, aren't you?"

"When necessary," she added, returning to the fridge for sandwich fixings.

Linc sprawled in the chair and watched her. Her movements as she made his sandwich were swift and economical. There was something about the way Evan set about a task, as if it deserved her full attention. She was always cool, smiling, and in control of things. But there were times, like a moment ago when she'd been sleeping, she looked vulnerable, as if the load was too heavy.

He hadn't stopped thinking about her since their kiss in the library. He thought of it now and his breath quickened, his body hardened. He shifted position and continued to watch her.

As if sensing his attention, she glanced at him, nervously shoving a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Milk? Coffee?" she asked.

"Beer if there's one in there." He nodded at the fridge and didn't take his eyes off her as she went to it, pulled out a beer, and smiled at him. Always the smile...

"Here you are. I hope it's okay." She handed him the sandwich and beer. "I think I'll head up to bed now. I've got a very early morning tomorrow."

"Stay. Please. At least until I finish this sandwich."

She hesitated, then sat on the love seat across from him. He watched her curl her legs up under her. In the light coming from the kitchen, he could see the weariness in her face.

"What's the occasion?" he asked.

She gave him a quizzical look.

"The reason for going in early." He took a bite from the sandwich.

"Oh. There's extra work to be done. Maud's going to see her mother tomorrow night, and I didn't think you'd be home. So rather than work late, I said I'd come in early."

"You work too hard. Isn't there anyone else to do it?"

"Maybe. I didn't ask." She didn't comment on his first remark.

"What about Cal?"

"What about him?"

"You don't spend much time with him."

Her eyes iced over. "Meaning?"

Sensing he'd touched a nerve, he took a mental step back. "Nothing. Just an observation. The teenage years can be a tough time for a kid. High school, girls, that kind of thing."

"Try first-year university."

Linc's beer stopped mid-way to his mouth. "Cal told me he just turned sixteen."

Evan nodded. "That's right, but you saw it yourself—the other night when he was helping you with your computer—he's bright. More than bright as it turns out. I don't even understand the courses he's taking. But I do know it's a heavy load. Science is tough. I couldn't do it."

"Science? To what end?"

"Computers, robotics, that sort of thing."

Linc gave a wry smile, thinking back to Cal's ease with his damned computer. "Why doesn't that surprise me?"

Evan tilted her head, setting it to a more determined angle. "And if that's what he wants, that's what he'll get."

"So that's why the cabin is so important, why you work such long hours—"

"Cal works, too," she added. "It's not just me."

He nodded.

She went on. "What I don't want is for him to have to work while he's going to school. Especially not his first year. I want him to be able to give it a hundred percent of his effort. He deserves the chance to achieve, and I intend to see that he gets it. As for not spending time together"—she broke off and took a deep breath—"you're right, but Cal and I have talked about it. It helps that we're working toward the same goal."

"You're not pushing him?" Linc asked the question carefully, softly.

"I'm not pushing him," she answered. "It's something both of us want."

He believed her.

"What about you? What do you want?"

"Me?" She smiled a secret smile. "I guess you could say I'm on hold. For another year at least. After that..."

* * *

Evan never talked about her plans, afraid she'd jinx them or that people would laugh, tell her she was pipe-dreaming. But tonight, in this quiet house, with Linc lazing casually across from her, she was overwhelmed with the urge to talk. Maybe because his eyes were fixed on her, drawing on her.

"Go on. Tell me. What's in store for Evangeline after this year?" He took a long pull from his beer.

Again she measured his interest, giving him a sideways appraisal. "I'm going back to school."

He raised one eyebrow. "Making up for lost time?"

"You could say that."

Linc shifted forward in his chair and rested his elbows on his knees. "And after school? What?"

"After I get my degree, I want to teach and travel." I want freedom. My freedom.

He tilted his head and looked at her as though waiting for her to say more. She didn't.

"Teach what?" he finally asked, then held up a hand. "Wait. Let me guess. History."

Evan was startled. "Yes, but how did you know?"

"How could I not know?" He half-smiled. "Could be that every time I see you around here, you're carting around a history book weighing at least twenty pounds."

"I didn't think you noticed."

"I notice everything about you," His words were softly spoken, and a slight smile curved his expressive mouth.

Evan's gaze was irresistibly drawn to his mouth, and she stared, watching his smile deepen and become tempting.

"Like what you see?" he asked.

Her eyes shot to his. Damn, what was the matter with her? She stammered, "I'm... uh, tired. I'd better go."

He offered no argument, and when she stood, so did he. His gaze followed her as she walked the few feet to the door. His voice, low and harsh, stopped her cold.

"I want you, Evan. It's been a long time since I've wanted a woman the way I want you."

She faced him, her lips parting in surprise. She had no idea how to counter his words or tame the wild pounding of her heart. "Linc, I—"

He held up a hand. "Don't say anything. I don't need this... attraction any more than you do. And I'm not sure what the hell to do about it." He gave her a blunt look laden with sexual heat. "What I do know is that I like to have what I want with no strings attached. My guess is that won't work for you. Am I right?"

Evan, unable to find her voice, nodded affirmatively.

"That's what I thought," he said. "In that case, you'd better get yourself to bed. I've got some thinking to do."

Evan tried to speak, but her throat constricted, choking off whatever it was she planned to say. She turned and left the room.

* * *

She started to worry on the first step up the winding staircase, and by the time she reached the top, she was in a full-blown panic. With Linc's bold declaration, everything was at risk, her well-made plans ramming thunderously into an overwhelming physical attraction for the golden-haired man downstairs. Every bit of logic and common sense she possessed told her that her plans and the man were mutually exclusive. Her dreams and Linc's reality—Jenny—would never mesh. For a moment, she closed her eyes, then took a breath before stepping inside her room. She slumped back against the door.

Sweet heaven, it had been so long since a man had held her, wanted her. So long since she'd seen a man's face strained with passion. So very, very long. Linc's words—I want you, Evan—were kerosene on banked embers. She flamed with a need long buried. She closed her eyes again, letting dreams take her and powerful sensual desire have its sway, letting arousal surge and pulse...

"Stop! Stop it. Now!" She hissed the words aloud and stepped away from the door. Walking quickly onto the balcony, she gulped in the cool evening air.

She had no intention of being Lincoln Stewart's live-in... convenience. Just because her hormones issued a siren call, she would not sluff off years of work, goals set and worked toward since—

Memories wrapped painfully tight around her heart and squeezed.

—since the last man in her life looked at her with burning eyes and spouted convenient promises. At the thought of him, only one word came to mind. Disaster. She shivered and leaned on the balcony rail. The mingled bouquet of flowers rose from the garden below. The scent barely registered before she swung away from it.

Men. She couldn't handle them.

In her thirty years, there'd been only two. One when she was fourteen and another when she was eighteen.

One had given her Cal, and the other had nearly taken him away.

She rubbed her chest.

She became cold, clammy, as a thought poked at her mind. She straightened. Linc was going to ask her to leave. It had to happen. No way he'd want her around if she wouldn't ... put out for him. She forced herself to admit the harsh reality, then struggled to quell her disappointment. The cabin—a real home—the chance to save for Cal's education, and her own, gone. She shook her head morosely and closed her eyes tight.

Money. Always money. All her life she was scrimping to buy tomorrow, dollar by hard-earned dollar. Why did it have to rule the life of someone who didn't give a damn about it? Her eyes brimmed, and she used the back of her hand to rub away the dampness. She sniffed. No way was she going to start crying now over lost chances—or Linc Stewart. She'd cope. Another sniff. She always did.

At the sound of Linc's balcony door opening, she darted inside. He was the last person she wanted to see. Tomorrow would be soon enough to hear the bad news.

* * *

Linc heard Evan's door close as he stepped outside. Nice going, Stewart, he told himself, cupping his cigarette against the wind to light it. Now you've got the woman on the run. Probably just as well. The best thing for both of us would be for her to leave. A mirthless grin curved his lips. It would certainly be easier on him. As he'd told her, he liked to get what he wanted. He sure as hell didn't relish the idea of wandering around his own home in a permanent state of arousal.

He took a long pull on his cigarette. It tasted like dry seaweed, and he carelessly flicked it into the night. He decided it was the last cigarette of his life.