Night Dreams Read online

  He hadn’t expected that. He hadn’t expected the continued strum of the connection between them as he watched pale, long lashes lie against a face as clear and innocent as a china doll’s. And for a moment he forgot the pain in his life and his plan to avoid Shannon Summers. How could she be so appealing. He almost reached out to touch her cheek when he saw it beside her, the real doll, Kaseybelle, the chocolate company’s fairy trademark, the reason he’d brought her here.

  For Pete’s sake, the woman was sleeping with a doll. No wonder she’d been so hard to deal with. She was probably some retarded genius who believed that the fairy was real. And he’d thought she would be good for DeeDee.

  The absurdity of his sudden desire to touch her brought him soundly back to the present. Jonathan swung around and strode past the woman’s bed and into the hall, pausing for one last moment to look back at Miss Shannon Summers, the woman who was going to bring a cartoon character to life for a little girl who couldn’t walk.

  Too bad she couldn’t bring him to life as well. But his life had ended with the accident, with Mona, with DeeDee’s legs, with the playboy persona he’d so carefully cultivated for so many years. Now Jonathan Dream was a legend, a phantom about whom fantasies and myths were created. And he was tired, very tired.

  Unconsciously his fingertips sought the patch that covered his eye and part of the scar that crossed his cheekbone. The eye was gone, but the scar could be repaired. Only Jonathan knew that he’d refused plastic surgery, that this scar was his penance for the damage he’d done. The scar was on the surface, but the man beneath was just as flawed.

  Two

  Bright sunshine flooded the room, touching Shannon’s face with points of light that gradually drew her awake. She stretched and curled beneath the blanket, waiting for memory to fully rouse her. She knew there was something intriguing beyond her closed eyelids. She’d even dreamed about him last night.

  Him?

  Jonathan Dream, the highwayman, the phantom of the snowcapped mountain. She dreamed that he’d stood in the shadows by her bed and stared down at her. He’d held out his hand as if he’d been asking something of her. And just for a second she’d wanted to tell him she understood. And then he’d gone.

  Had she dreamed it? It had seemed so real.

  It was impossible. No one could have stood by her bed. She’d locked her door, and she’d left the lights on. Shannon sat straight up. She studied the room and shook her head in disbelief. The lights were no longer burning. Who had turned out the lights? There had to be an explanation. And she intended to find it.

  The shadowy figure she’d dreamed about was just that, a dream. She’d seen pictures of the extraordinarily handsome playboy who’d summoned her, and he didn’t have long, flowing black hair. He was suave and sophisticated in his black shirts and silk suits. The man she’d studied before she’d come was nothing like the apparition who’d come to her in her dreams.

  Willie, you’re right. I do let my imagination run away with me. She’d promised to call him and let him know she’d arrived. He’d be worried about her.

  Shannon took a quick shower, opened the bureau drawer to put away her gown, and caught sight of the sexy lace and satin inside. With a blush she slammed the drawer closed and stuffed her gown in her bag.

  She braided her hair into a long plait that hung down her back, then thought better of how it looked and tied it with a black bow at the neck. Next she wound the braid around the bow, fastening it into a more professional style. Arriving with her hair flying loose the night before had been a mistake, but she’d been unable to relax on the plane with the rope of hair beneath her head and finally she’d loosened it, leaving it washboard curly for her arrival.

  Changing only her blouse and underthings, she again dressed in the same black skirt and bolero jacket she’d worn on the plane. Then she pulled up the covers on the bed, placing Kaseybelle on top with her head on the pillow.

  “You wait here, Kasey,” she whispered, “while I try and get us out of here.”

  She intended to avoid the terrace, and the memory of the man standing on the cliff below, but in spite of her resolve she was pulled once more to the balcony. In the brilliant sunlight the centuries-old evergreens frosted white with snow were even more spectacular. Shannon felt as if she were standing on top of the world. As far as she could see, the mountains were swirls of white on green and laced with slivers of silvery granite winking in the sun.

  Her eyes were drawn to the spot on the cliff.

  She hadn’t been dreaming. She could see that the snow had been disturbed where someone had stood. And there were animal prints, circling back toward the castle. Behind those prints were the human ones.

  Shannon shivered, turned, and fled through the bedroom and down the circular stairs. Her imagination was both her most important asset and her biggest source of fear. With it she created, not only for the children of the world, but for herself as well. Sometimes the results gave her the secluded comfort she craved. Sometimes her thoughts were unwelcome.

  Now she wanted coffee and a phone. Afterward she’d take on Jonathan Dream, and then she’d go home.

  At least the coffee was within reach. Its smell drew her down the horseshoe staircase, through one of the arches, and toward the back of the house. Any pretense at reproducing the opera house in the living quarters ended with the large gray bricks and the shape of the structure. Downstairs the room reflected a much warmer, Moorish decor. Reds and golds blended with the gray. Thick oriental carpets hugged marble floors, muffling her footsteps.

  At the end of the corridor she stepped into a bright kitchen, where Mrs. Butter was filling a carafe that matched the one left by Shannon’s bed. “Oh, you’re up? I was just about to bring your breakfast.”

  “Mrs. Butterfield, you don’t have to climb all those steps on my account. I’ll just have coffee.”

  “Call me Butter, Shannon, and if you’re sure, I’ll just pour you a cup right here.”

  “That’s fine. Then I’d like to meet with Mr. Drew as quickly as possible.”

  Mrs. Butterfield turned the cup around and around in her hands. “I’m sorry, but Mr. Jonathan was called away. He won’t be able to see you until he returns tonight.”

  “Called away? But didn’t he know I was here?”

  “Yes, of course he did.” In fact Mrs. Butterfield had chastised him for evading Shannon without an explanation and, worse, for being a coward.

  Shannon groaned. “And he left? What am I supposed to do in the meantime?”

  Mrs. Butterfield placed the cup on the table and pulled out a chair. “First, you eat.” She poured the coffee and uncovered a plate of pastries on the tray. “Nothing feels right on an empty stomach.”

  Shannon sat down. It was a wonder she didn’t weigh three hundred pounds. She’d heard that same line of reasoning for a good part of her childhood, every time her mother was about to leave again. As a child she’d thought of her mother as some beautiful fairy godmother swooping into her bedroom with her glittery cloak flying around her like a cloud. But there was no granting of wishes, nor bedtime stories for a lonely child.

  There would be a quick kiss followed by an uncomfortable, “How is Mama’s darling child? Are you doing your lessons and minding Nana?”

  “Of course, Mommie,” she’d answer as expected, always searching for a reason for her mother’s unease, waiting for the hurting remark that would be sure to follow.

  Sometimes it was, “Shannon, darling, I do wish you’d eat more. You’re nothing but skin and bones.” Other times it was, “Your hair. Tell Nana to find a way to restrain it. I just don’t know where all those kinks came from,” followed eventually by, “Well, never mind, love, we’ll do something about it when you’re older.”

  And then Mommie would be gone. Her imaginary companion Kaseybelle would appear along with Cook, who would bring chocolate and sweets and the promise that everything would be better on a full tummy. But it never was.

  Shannon had
filled out eventually, and one day she’d become too old to be her mother’s child. So Mommie had become Sofia. Then Sofia had found that age became bearable only when she hid in alcohol and drugs.

  Shannon had believed Sofia’s agent when he’d said that her mother’s death had been an accident. And then Shannon had been finally, truly alone.

  Until Willie had come to the art institute looking for a student who would work cheap. Willie and the agency became the family she’d never had, and Kaseybelle, her imaginary companion throughout her childhood, had threatened to catapult Sofia Summers’s shy daughter into the kind of world she’d always run away from.

  “Mrs.—Butter, I left the lights on in my room last night, and when I woke up this morning, they were off. I was sure I’d locked the door.”

  “All the locks can be operated electronically, Miss Summers. Mr. Jonathan had them installed that way so that DeeDee couldn’t be … hurt.”

  “Hurt?”

  “Well, you know how children are. He was afraid that she might venture up into one of the tower rooms and fall, or lock a door and not be able to get out.”

  “Then DeeDee is a child?”

  “Of course. DeeDee is six years old. Didn’t he tell you?”

  “He’s told me nothing, except that he’s interested in my taking on a temporary assignment on behalf of Expressions.”

  “What’s Expressions?”

  Shannon added milk and sweetener to her coffee and sipped it. Of course there was no reason to believe that a housekeeper would know anything about advertising, be a part of whatever scheme Jonathan Dream was formulating. But she seemed to be more than a servant.

  “The agency I work for.”

  “But I thought that you were Kaseybelle.”

  “Well, I am—at least Kaseybelle is my creation. I made her the logo for Kissy Chocolates. Now she’s a cartoon character—”

  “Gracious, you don’t have to explain. I know who Kaseybelle is. I haven’t heard anything else but Kaseybelle for three months. Mr. Jonathan says that if anyone can get DeeDee up and going, it’s Kaseybelle. I’m truly glad you’ve come. DeeDee needs you.”

  Mrs. Butterfield refilled Shannon’s cup and motioned for her to bring the platter of pastries. “Come along, I’ll take you to her.”

  “But I—I think I’d better wait for Mr. Drew. And I need to call my office.”

  “Later. Now you should come with me.”

  Shannon had no choice but to comply. Redirecting Mrs. Butterfield was akin to capturing spilled milk. She went everywhere at once. Mrs. Butter led her down the corridor she’d traveled earlier, to a door that opened into an enormous room that was all windows. There were green trees, flowers, even a small indoor pool, large enough for a child.

  “A solarium,” Shannon said softly. “How lovely.”

  The flowers and the blooming trees seemed incongruous with the snow and ice beyond, but nothing seemed as out of place as the small figure in the wheelchair. She was as still as a cat, poised for attack, but the life had gone out of her, allowing her small head to lean listlessly against the chair back. In front of her was a table, laid with breakfast things.

  “Look, DeeDee, you have a guest for breakfast.”

  “Don’t want a guest.”

  “But you don’t even know who it is.”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “Try to reach her, Shannon,” Mrs. Butterfield whispered under her breath. “Mr. Jonathan is certain that Kaseybelle can perform miracles.”

  “Kaseybelle?” Was that why she’d been practically kidnapped? Because a six-year-old in a wheelchair needed cheering up?

  “Kaseybelle?” The little girl repeated, sat up, and turned her head. A glimmer of surprise flashed across her face. “You’re not my th’rpist?”

  “No, I’m an artist.” Shannon found herself walking toward the child. Venting her anger on Jonathan Drew was one thing, but a handicapped child didn’t deserve her censure.

  The man standing on the loft above the solarium waited with half-held breath. The woman was taller than he’d thought. Her hair was as golden in the sunlight as it had been last night on her pillow, and she was just as appealing. He hadn’t expected that.

  There was something truly innocent about her. And he found himself watching her graceful movements, the way her eyes lit up, the curve of her lips as she smiled. She brought sunshine into the room and—he searched his mind for the emotion, then gave it a name—the promise of joy.

  He watched, noting the flush of color on her cheeks and the way her lace blouse caressed her neck under her chin and peaked out from beneath the tailored jacket. There was something intriguing about the tailored exterior and the feminine softness hidden beneath that hardness.

  His daughter’s voice caught him and forced his attention to his plan. “You draw pictures?” she asked.

  “Yes. I draw pictures that are sometimes made into cartoons. Do you know what a cartoon is?”

  “Of course I do. I may be sick, but I can read and play all the electronic games. And watch television. My daddy bought a special dish antenna so that I can watch hundreds of channels. My daddy buys me anything I want.”

  “And what do you want, DeeDee?” Shannon asked, sliding into a chair Mrs. Butterfield had placed on the other side of the child’s breakfast table.

  “I want—It doesn’t matter what I want,” she said, losing the flash of animation in her voice and leaning back in her chair. “Daddy can’t buy it.”

  “Well, I don’t know. He’s bought you fairy food.”

  “Fairy food?” Her eyes brightened, then narrowed in disbelief. “You know about fairy food?”

  “I have a very good friend who knows everything about fairy food.”

  “You do? Who?”

  “I first met her when I was about your age. Her name is Kaseybelle.”

  “You know Kaseybelle? You really, truly know Kaseybelle?”

  “I really, truly know Kaseybelle.”

  And then Jonathan knew he’d done the right thing by blackmailing Shannon Summers into coming to his secret place.

  With the mention of that one word, Kaseybelle, he saw the wonder return to his daughter’s eyes, the joy that had once brought laughter to the castle and warmth to his heart. And it all came from an imaginary character who’d become the logo for a candy company, Kaseybelle, the Kissy Chocolate fairy.

  It was mid-afternoon and Shannon was still in her traveling clothes. She was beginning to feel grungy and more than a little angry.

  DeeDee had been put down for a nap. An ordinary six-year-old would have been insulted by the proposition, but after a morning of stories, followed by a painful session with her live-in therapist and a lunch that changed from soup and crackers to Kaseybelle’s special elixir and pixie puffs, DeeDee was worn out.

  Shannon felt a shiver of anxiety skate down her spine. All morning she’d felt as if someone were watching her.

  Watching. The man on the cliff had been watching. There’d been that same kind of eerie awareness when he’d turned to look up at her. Then later, in her dream, she’d felt the connection snap into place. Her shiver wasn’t one of cold or fear, it was more an intuition, an anticipation that was quite unlike anything she’d ever experienced. And it made her anxious.

  A walk. She could work off some of her tension with a walk through the woods. The cliff beneath her window beckoned to her. Leaving her room, she went in search of Mrs. Butterfield, who was again in the kitchen.

  “Mrs. Butter, I wonder if I might borrow a heavy coat. I’d like to take a walk, but when I left Atlanta, I didn’t anticipate weather like this.”

  “Certainly. There’s a clothes rack by the back door. Just pick whatever you want. You’ll need gloves and a head covering too.”

  Shannon followed her directions and found a heavy black cape. She fastened it over her shoulders, thrust a pair of furry white gloves in her pocket, and pulled a white fur hat on her head.

  Outside the door the scene
could have been a snow-covered wood in old Russia. It’s this place, she told herself, it’s enough to make you think about mystery and illusion. She threaded her fingers into the gloves and started walking toward the tree line. The snow was deeper than she’d expected, and her boots were more decorative than practical. But still she continued, the shivery feeling following her like an unseen companion.

  Jonathan’s study filled the lower floor of the turret. From the window he watched her planting her feet in the footprints he’d made the night before. She didn’t go any farther than the clearing.

  She turned slowly around, studying the castle and the woods. In spite of the seriousness of her examination he decided that she looked like a child who saw gingerbread houses instead of castles made of stone. Her lips were pressed together in suppressed delight. And she was very beautiful, a vision of black and white and gold against the snow.

  Then she dropped to her knees on the ground. A moment later Hap came bounding from the woods and into her open arms. He greeted her as if she were a long-lost friend, planting his big paws against her, knocking her back in the snow. She let out a little cry of alarm. Fearfully Jonathan came to his feet, intent on calling off the dog, who might not be as friendly as he appeared.

  At that moment the woman’s gaze moved to the window, and Jonathan stepped back. He didn’t think she could see him, but he was supposed to be away for the day. Being caught in a deliberate lie would make his proposition difficult. But more than that, he felt shame. From what he’d learned about his guest, she’d been the victim of years of emotional blackmail by her mother and now he was subjecting her to more subterfuge. He was sorry, but he couldn’t worry about the woman or acknowledge his concern for her. It was DeeDee who was important.

  From below she felt his presence. There was only a flicker of movement and the shadowy suggestion of someone watching from the window. But he was there. And it came to her that she’d felt him watching her for most of the day. The sensation wasn’t threatening, rather it was of curiosity. Nevertheless she’d had enough mystery.