

## The Man,

## The Dog,

## His Owner

## & Her Lover

### Candace Carrabus

The Man, The Dog, His Owner, & Her Lover

Published by Witting Woman Works

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law. For information email: publisher@thewitting.com

All rights reserved

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2011 by Candace Carrabus Rice

www.candacecarrabus.com

Cover illustrations © ArtParts / Ron and Joe, Inc. www.ronandjoe.com

Cover design by Candace Carrabus Rice

Witting Woman Works and the leaping maiden, mother, and crone image are trademarks.

Acknowledgements

While writing is solitary, the entire process cannot—and should not—be completed in a vacuum. There are many to thank, but first and foremost is my husband, whose middle name is _Forbearance_. Next, my fabulous critique group—Amy, Joy, Jerry, Tricia, Denise, Doyle, and Dana—who provide well-honed feedback with kindness. Also, beta readers Christine, Kim, and Donna who read this story and got back to me quickly. My daughter liked the first chapter and encouraged me to keep going when I was unsure where this was headed. Our current "pack" consisting of Emily, Carlo, and Lucy provide constant inspiration. My clowder of cats, but especially George, who passed away from natural causes during the writing. I love you all and couldn't do this without you.

For all the dogs I've loved and lost.

You ask of my companions.

Hills, sir, and the sundown,

and a dog as large as myself...

They are better than human beings,

because they know but do not tell.

Emily Dickinson

### Chapter 1

My friend Heather has sex with her cat. Not literally, of course. But the cat easily gets what Heather calls _over stimulated_ and grabs her arm and humps it. This involves teeth and claws and blood but does not faze her. She flicks him on the head and tells him to quit, and ten minutes later he does it again. The cat, George, is one of her many rescues. Sometimes I wonder if I am, too. Especially today.

We're meeting for an emergency lunch at her favorite place. She was available because Friday is her day off, but she would have met me anyway. As an animal shelter volunteer, she's always up for a crisis.

Jean, my therapist, would call Heather an enabler and her relationship with George co-dependent. She doesn't know the half of it. And Jean says I'm dysfunctional. In her head, she probably thinks lots worse. But as she has told me repeatedly over the years, what she or anyone else thinks is not something I have control over, so I shouldn't worry about it.

Easy for her to say.

I do worry about what others think and listen hard for the subtext when they speak. Today, my worst fears were realized. There had been no need for reading between the lines. I wondered how hard it would be for Jean to squeeze me in for an emergency session after the emergency lunch.

Heather wore long sleeves despite eighty-degree temps.

"Another wild night with lover-cat George?" I asked.

She rolled her eyes and snapped open her menu to hide from my accusing look. I don't know why she bothers with the menu. She orders the veggie burger and water with lemon. My taste runs toward a real burger with French fries and blue cheese and—

"Come to the shelter with me after lunch." She mumbles this around a bite of toasted pita chip and hummus without looking up from the menu she isn't reading.

"I don't have ti—"

"Yes you do." Then, she did look at me with that gaze that misses nothing. I've never been able to lie to her. We've been friends since high school. Plus, she can see through bull even faster than my therapist.

I did have time because I'd lost my job that morning. Hence the emergency lunch. The reality of it hadn't set in; I was still jet lagged from that week's business trip. They'd barely given me time to grab a cup of coffee before calling me in to the conference room.

I would never _lose_ my job, of course. Only a moron would do that.

There'd been a merger. Positions were eliminated, consolidated. After hearing "laid off," my eyes glazed over at the business speak, the euphemisms.

Like _enabler...co-dependent...dysfunctional_...

Like I _lost_ my mother a couple of years ago. No. She died. End of story.

——

The shelter was noisy and smelly and no matter how often I go, I enter with a vague sense of unease because I know I won't be taking one of the animals home and leave with a distinct sense of self-loathing because I haven't taken ten animals home. Why I accompany Heather on these ventures is beyond me.

"We got some new dogs in," she said as I followed her down the narrow hall.

They always have new dogs. And cats. More come in than go out. It's a no-kill shelter. Her cork-soled Birkenstocks made no sound except for the occasional squeak on the hard linoleum. The clack of my high heels echoed off the walls, competing with the persistent barking.

Truthfully, I go to torture myself. I love animals and would have at least a cat if my travel schedule allowed. But I live alone and am gone more than I'm there. It wouldn't be fair. I like it that way. Not the unfair part, but the being-gone-so-much-I-don't-have-time-for-commitments part.

There, Jean.

There's some honesty for you. The job is my life so I don't have to have a life. I said it. Happy?

At least, it was my life, other than sessions with Jean, which typically go like this:

How are you feeling?

I think...

No, Stephanie. Feelings.

I think...

FEELings.

I got nothin'.

Except...

Anger. That's a feeling, right? Worked my butt off for that company for fifteen years. Traveled every week to wherever I was needed, no questions asked. Stayed focused. Met all the goals. Kept the clients happy. Made them money, for God's sake. New management dropped me like a buzzing bowl of wasps. Probably to hire some young, cheap straight-out-of-college no-experience sweet thing...I was pushing fifty; I had no life and no job. But, I had anger.

"Wow," Heather said, piercing my fugue. "I've never seen him do that."

"Huh?" I tried to track back to the previous conversation. Had there been a previous conversation?

_You're too much in your head, Stephanie_...

We stood halfway down a row of twenty concrete runs. In the one in front of us sat the biggest dog I'd ever seen. He was staring at me. Locked on like he was going for the kill. Except his tail was wagging. Very slowly brushing a fan shape through a puddle of pee. His eyes held a knowingness that gave me a chill.

"You've never seen him give puppy eyes to a potential adopter or you've never seen him wag his tail in his own pee?"

She ignored my tone. "He usually stays in the back of the run. I've never seen him stare at anyone like he recognizes them, let alone wag his tail."

"You think too much." Easy for me to say.

"I think maybe..." Her eyes lost focus and she glanced over her shoulder.

I'd seen that look before. Heather is half psychic on her mother's side. She has made some uncanny predictions that came true. I don't know if I believe it, but I wish she'd foreseen the sucker punch I'd received that morning and warned me.

I gave her a gentle shake. "What?"

"Nothing. Never mind."

"Oh, no, missy. Don't never mind me. Spill."

She looked at the dog, then at me, then at the dog, then let her gaze rest on my face with a resigned sigh. "What if he's your lover from a previous life?"

"What if—? Are you serious? That's rich even for you. I _don't_ need a dog."

Heather carried on as if I hadn't spoken. "And he did something wrong. Something wrong to you. He needs your forgiveness before he can move on."

She'd stopped asking questions and started stating facts. All with that faraway look in her eyes. Spooky. The dog turned to her with his ears up, then looked back to me and panted eagerly. I'd swear he was smiling, agreeing with her. I could just hear him saying, "Yeah, yeah, that's it. That's the ticket."

I was not his ticket. I turned to Heather. "I get it. You're trying to take advantage of me because I'm still in shock. You think you can pawn off this poor thing on me with a crazy sob story because I'm not all here. Well, you're wrong. I'm not lonely and I'm not scared and I'm fine and I'm not going home with a dog."

Even I could hear the desperation in my voice. For some inexplicable reason I started crying.

Twenty minutes later I walked out, William the Conqueror on a leash at my side.

——

_The_ William the Conqueror and I were not lovers in a previous life. I'm fairly certain I'd remember something like that. Heather had been calling the half-Lab-half-mastodon _Billy_ , but that didn't fit his...stature. And I couldn't help it. He'd conquered me.

William had been in and out of the shelter several times. Always adopted with good intentions, always returned with stories of behavior such as he wouldn't come in the house, he would never leave the house, he ate all the doors off all the cabinets in the kitchen, he refused to eat anything at all.

"He's been waiting for you," Heather said.

"I'll bet you say that to all the suckers," I said.

She shrugged. I hated that shrug. Heather says she's French, but I suspect Gypsy blood. She expresses more with one shrug than I ever will with my entire being if I continue therapy through this life and into the next nineteen. _Think what you want_ , says that shrug. _You don't fool me_ , says that shrug. _You'll be glad_ , says that shrug. _You'll thank me later. There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio_...

Certainly my philosophy never dreamt of lovers in previous lives. It had, on occasion, fantasized about one in this. But I'd been keeping my eye on the ball, or the prize, or the brass ring. Eventually, I became too scared of dating to chance it. Now, I had William.

I glanced at him where he hunched on the passenger seat of my small hybrid watching intently out the window. I'd offered him the back where there was more room, but he insisted on being next to me, and I didn't argue. Probably not the best way to start our relationship. His brindle coat—longer than a Lab's and wiry like the Irish Wolfhound that was probably his other half—was stiff and scruffy and in need of a wash. He smelled. His feet were huge and I could feel his ribs. If he'd been abused, I couldn't tell. He met my gaze with a gleam in his eye expecting adventure. I ruffled his floppy ears. He pushed his head against my hand and licked my palm.

"Sorry to disappoint you, boy, but we won't be doing much adventuring."

He cocked his head, pink tongue hanging out one side, and I was struck to the heart with...something. He expressed more in that common gesture... _think what you want...you don't fool me...you'll thank me later_.

Maybe I read too much into it. Maybe I was in shock. Maybe there are more things in heaven and earth. Maybe I really needed to call my therapist.

"Don't even consider humping my leg or any other part of me, got it?"

He smiled again.

——

At Walmart, I left the window halfway open for him and told him to stay while I ran in for dog food and all the other things Heather told me to get. It took me a while to locate the aisle with pet supplies because I'd never needed it. And then I was stuck. Dog food, sure, but which one? What size collar? That was easy, the biggest one. Same for a bed. A toy? Bones and balls and stuffed ducks and Frisbees and I had no idea what he liked. I grabbed one of each. Two kinds of food and three boxes of snacks. Shampoo.

As I pushed the heavy cart across the cavernous store to the people food section, my feet started to hurt and I wished I'd changed out of my pencil-skirted suit and pumps. Ugly reality caught up with me, and I was tired, tired, tired, regretting whatever foolish notion prompted me to give in and bring a dog home. I grabbed a package of peanut-butter cookies, then a second for insurance, a couple of bottles of wine and one of Scotch, a couple of cans of soup and a box of mac 'n cheese—which I hadn't eaten in years. Hot dogs, frozen pizza and fish sticks rounded out my basket of comfort. I bypassed the produce section and headed for the shortest checkout line.

That's when I heard a screech from the other end of the store. This was Walmart and that could have been anything. Someone yelled stop, but I kept my head down and randomly stacked items on the conveyer belt. I rarely shopped and kept little food at home because I was there so rarely. Even so, usually I put the cans and other heavy stuff first, then boxes and paper goods and finally fruit, veggies, bread, eggs. That level of organization was momentarily beyond me. I studiously ignored the ripple of commotion heading my way, trying to focus the tiny bit of energy remaining in my system toward hurrying the cashier and person in front of me, and wondering if I should go back for a pint of Ben & Jerry's Cherry Garcia.

Two pints.

Something rammed me, my knee buckled and my shin barked a jagged edge of the cart.

"Ow, hey—" I whipped around, a sharp retort ready.

Oh dear lord. The Conqueror had found me. He'd squeezed out of the car, negotiated a Friday afternoon Walmart parking lot, threaded the double automatic doors, zipped past the greeter and located me inside a huge building teeming with people and smells.

"William?"

He licked my bleeding shin and looked at me with what could only be joy, his entire body wagging while his long tail knocked candy bars off the shelf behind him. Something lurched in my chest for the second time in less than an hour. Tears pricked my eyelids for the umpteenth time that day.

I know I'm cut off from my emotions and have no idea what love is supposed to feel like, but I'm pretty sure that's when I fell.

### Chapter 2

The next day arrived with a roar of too-bright sunshine, a shocking pounding in the back of my skull, and warm, moist dog breath on my cheek.

Saturday mornings usually found me at the gym before dawn and then the office to catch up on paperwork. I couldn't remember the last time I'd still been in bed at...I groped for the clock then squinted open one eye...ten.

Even if I'd wanted to stay right where I was, if I didn't take something soon, the hammer blows to my brain would crush it. Without raising my head, I carefully maneuvered myself from beneath the sheets and crouch-walked toward the bathroom. William stretched and slid off the edge of the mattress to the floor with a loud thump. Had he imbibed as much as me? I hoped not. Couldn't be good for him.

He scrambled up and padded after me, sticking his head in the toilet as soon as he saw it. Oh, great, I'd brought home a drunk, not that I was in any position to judge. But he didn't vomit as expected. He took a long drink. As exasperating as this was, I couldn't remember if I'd given him water the night before or fed him, other than sharing a package of peanut-butter cookies. After I'd changed into stretchy pants and a t-shirt, we'd exchanged our tales of woe over the cookies and an entire bottle of red wine—for me, not him. He'd listened attentively with his massive square head resting on my leg where I sat on the floor, and I'm sure it was tender sympathy I saw in his chocolate brown eyes.

After the toilet slurp, he lifted his head and pricked his ears. Alertness brightened his expression, and I was shocked at how familiar he already seemed.

He let out a loud woof.

I squeezed my eyes tight against the pain and laid a hand on his head.

"Quiet, big guy. Please."

A series of barks followed, and he pivoted to bound downstairs. I put my hands over my ears to keep my head from exploding, then realized some of the pounding came from the front door.

I edged my way to the first floor. Sunshine clawed at me through every window. My hand managed to nab sunglasses from the counter as I shuffled to the door. It was solid, no peephole, but there was a mail slot at just the right height for William to thrust his nose into. Mercifully, he'd stopped barking to snuffle and growl through the opening at whoever was on the other side.

"Who is it?"

"Miss O'Hanlon, is everything all right?"

The deep voice, male, could be familiar, but in my foggy state, I wasn't sure.

"Who is it?"

"It's Gabe," he said in a tone that indicated I should have known.

On another day, that tone would have rubbed me the wrong way, but as it was all I could do to keep one eye open, I let it slide. The Rolodex in my head flipped around. Gabe, Gabe, Gabe...Fagen! My gardener-slash-handyman. Of course. It was the second Saturday of the month when he came around to mow and tidy the yard and take care of whatever needed to be done on the old, three-apartment house. Last month, it'd been Mrs. Spangler's dripping faucet. The month before, I'd replaced Mr. Weinperth's refrigerator.

I didn't charge the two elderly tenants much rent, and even though my main source of income had just dried up, the company had given me a decent severance package, and the house had been paid for long ago. Remembering this brightened my mood.

Gabe Fagen and I spoke on the phone perhaps once a year and otherwise communicated via his bills and my checks to pay them. I'm not sure we'd ever met in person. He'd come with the building, as had the tenants, when my mother died. From the sweet scent of fresh-cut grass wafting through the mail slot, he must have already mowed, and I couldn't believe I'd slept through it.

"Yes," I answered, drawing the word out because I wasn't sure why he was asking. "Everything's fine." _Uh huh. And the pity party the night before?_

Silence. Had I taken too long to answer? Had I spoken at all? Had he left? William whimpered.

Thankfully, I'd left my keys hanging in the lock the night before, so it was easy to turn the deadbolt and crack the door. William shoved his head through, forced it wide and bowled into the man standing on the stoop, knocking him down all three steps to the walk and straddling his chest.

"Oh, my God." I found myself on my knees next to Mr. Fagen, lightly tapping his cheek. No response. William sat to the other side where I'd shoved him, panting, smiling. He turned to make a quick circuit of the small front yard, sniffing and peeing as he went, then returned, pretending concern for my handyman. But I had a feeling remorse hadn't entered his repertoire. I glanced up and down the street. It was quiet.

Mr. Fagen wasn't what I expected. Truthfully, I hadn't pictured him at all. So typical of me to not give him a second thought except for the work he did. I really needed to pay attention to the people around me. I would. As soon as I could think straight. As soon as I dealt with...everything. Fagen was tall, as far as I could tell with him lying on the ground. Broad shoulders encased in a battered t-shirt. Short brown hair. Maybe a little older than me, and maybe quite attractive, despite being slack-jawed-eyes-in-the-back-of-his-skull unconscious. I felt around his scalp. No blood.

A door opened and closed behind me. "Oh my, what have you done to dear Mr. Fagen?" Mrs. Spangler rushed over to us.

"Call 911," I said.

She looked him over. He groaned as she moved his arms and legs. "Nonsense, Stephanie," she said. "That's not what he would want."

How did she know what he'd want? Skyrocketing insurance and liability costs popped into my head and I envisioned my savings following my severance down the rat hole of a lawsuit. I sent William a castigating look. He rolled on his back and stuck his legs in the air. Mrs. Spangler finally noticed him.

"Good heavens, what's that?"

"That's what happened to dear Mr. Fagen."

"I see." She narrowed her eyes at the dog and stood, that blaring morning sun glinting off her silver hair making me wonder what I'd done with those sunglasses.

She wore a knee-skimming, sheer white dress over a red bathing suit. Matching red swim shoes stuck out the top of large woven tote she'd dropped. I wouldn't be caught dead in the outfit, but somehow a woman nearly twice my age carried it off. I remembered my mother telling me Mrs. Spangler had been a dancer back in the day. That could explain it.

"Well," she continued. "I'm sure he did what he thought he must."

I wasn't so sure about that, but I would deal with the Conqueror later. The contents of my stomach threatened to bail and my head pounded as I stood, but I figured that was nothing compared to the headache my handyman would have later. It would be a miracle if he didn't sue.

"We have to call 911," I said again.

A fuzzy _no_ came from Mr. Fagen.

"See? Help me get him into the house." Mrs. Spangler yanked on one of his arms.

I gave her credit for pretending she could pick him up. Lacking the clarity or energy to fight her, I got my shoulder under his other armpit and with a little help from himself, we got him onto the porch. I tried to wrangle him toward Mrs. Spangler's door, but she led the way into my side of the house.

"Wait a minute—"

"Oh, I can't take him. I'm on my way to water aerobics. Then, I'm having lunch with the girls and we're going shopping, and then I'll be at the Center. You'll manage. He wouldn't fit on my settee, anyway. Your couch will be perfect."

"Um..."

We were through the door before I could protest more.

William helpfully jumped on the couch first, stretched the length of it, laid his head on a pillow, and quirked his eyebrows.

"Go on, Biggun'," Mrs. Spangler said with a sharp gesture. "You've helped enough for today."

William slithered to the floor and lay there.

We dropped Mr. Fagen on the couch and swung his legs up. I squashed a pillow under his head wondering if my day could get any worse.

"You take off his boots while I fetch a couple of things, then I really must be going." She left me alone.

I thought Mr. Fagen and William could manage while I ran upstairs and dressed. When I returned, my dog stood over the man, breathing heavily in his face.

"Come," I said with a tug on his collar.

I dragged him to the kitchen and filled one bowl with water and another with dog food and put them on the floor for him, then poured myself a glass of juice and downed four Motrin. Mrs. Spangler bustled back in without knocking and I realized that my tidy life had trotted down the same rat hole as my savings and severance.

"What on Earth are you doing? Get a cool cloth for his head." She went through to the living room. "Goodness, you haven't even gotten his boots off yet. Honestly. Kids," she said with an impatient wave. She knelt and began unlacing Mr. Fagen's heavy work boots.

I got the cool cloth, slapped it on his forehead, then got one for myself and sank into a chair. "He probably has a concussion. I'm calling 911."

Mrs. Spangler stood. "He needs ice for his head," she said as if I hadn't spoken. She opened a tiny bottle she'd brought in with her and let a few drops of its contents fall onto the cloth over Fagen's face.

The scent of lavender filled the room. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply.

"There now." Mrs. Spangler came over and cupped my cheek. "You take good care of him, and I'll check on you later. Mr. Weinperth is upstairs, but he'll be leaving soon for the Center." She placed the tiny bottle in my hand. "Use a few drops of that every now and again." She glanced at Fagen's inert form, then back at me. "For yourself and for him."

"The Center?" I asked, feeling dazed.

"That place downtown where the orphan kids are. Mr. Weinperth reads to them on Saturdays. I teach them ballet." She cocked her head slightly, reminding me of William. "Poor thing, you've been so busy. I'm glad you're taking the day off. About time, too. "

I hadn't been mothered in years, and it felt good, though I hated admitting it. She headed toward the door. I didn't want her to leave. Aside from needing and wanting nothing more than a return to bed, I had no idea what to do with dear Mr. Fagen.

"Supper's at seven," she called over her shoulder. "We're grilling salmon. Come over around six. Bring the men." With that, she was gone.

The men?

I looked at "the men." William curled in a tight ball in the frayed easy chair asleep, his tail wrapped round his nose. Mr. Fagen—one boot on and one off—showed signs of coming around. I fetched a package of frozen peas and sat next to him on my mother's deep old couch.

Color had returned to his cheeks. He looked lean and healthy like he spent a good deal of time outside. I scooped one hand under his neck and gently lifted his head enough to slide the peas underneath. His skin felt gritty, but his hair was soft, and he smelled of grass and gasoline and sweat. I maintained contact longer than necessary, enjoying the feel of him. The term, "real man" came to mind. Absurd. I needed to go back to bed.

And yet, my heart sped up a bit and my stomach performed an unexpected little flip unrelated to the hangover. The men I usually came into contact with wore suits, reeked of aftershave, and always looked pale.

"Mr. Fagen?"

His eyelids fluttered open. He winced and looked confused. "Wha— "

"Shhhh. You hit your head." I held up three fingers. "How many?"

He managed to squint and look annoyed at the same time. "Three. Where am I?"

"My house. Do you know your name?"

"Of course I know my damn name."

This was going well.

We glared at each other for a moment, but the effort was too much for either of us to maintain. His lids slid down again. Exactly how I felt.

"Well?" I prompted after a moment's silence.

He put his hand to the cloth on his forehead and sniffed the air. "What the hell—?"

"Your name?"

Without opening his eyes, he said, "Gabriel Michael Raphael Fagen."

Gabriel, Michael, and Raphael? I couldn't help tilting my head to one side as if studying a sculpture. With a day or two's beard growth, dark wavy hair, long eyelashes women would envy, high cheekbones, a strong jaw and a mouth just short of voluptuous, he could be a fallen angel.

"What?" he groused.

"I didn't say anything."

"My parents thought I would need all the help I could get."

"I didn't ask."

We were silent again for a time. I became aware of warmth where our hips touched. He felt solid. I needed solid. But then, I had William.

"Just Gabe," he said.

I tried to imagine a mother feeling the need to burden a tiny baby with the names of three archangels. There had to be more to the story.

"What happened?" he asked after a short time.

"My dog knocked you down. I'm sorry. Mrs. Spangler insisted you wouldn't want to go to the hospital, but I really think a doctor should check you out."

"That's not a dog. That's a horse."

I glanced at William where he slept, his lips fluttering with each exhalation. He must be exhausted, too. All that time in and out of the shelter would have been stressful. We would rest together for a while, then I would find a new job that didn't require so many hours or travel.

Returning my gaze to Gabe, I asked, "Are you sure? At the shelter they insisted that he is, indeed, a dog. But I haven't spent any time around horses. Perhaps you're right."

A sexy smile grew into a chuckle and I began to relax.

"When did you get a dog?"

"Yesterday. His name is William the Conqueror."

Gabe pushed himself up on his elbows, and I moved to give him room. "Ah," he said with another wince, feeling the back of his head.

"You should probably keep ice on that for a while. Do you feel dizzy? Can I get you anything?" _Can I please go back to bed and start this day over?_ Although Gabe seemed good-humored about what had happened, I reminded myself I didn't know him well, and people sometimes still sued, even after insisting they were all right.

"Are you sure you don't want to go to a doctor?"

"No doctor," Gabe said. "I'm fine."

He swung his feet to the floor and sat up. His eyes promptly rolled back in his head and he slumped to the couch. That did it. I got the phone and returned to Gabe's side, taking his wrist and feeling for a pulse. His blood pumped steadily. Not dead. Good.

Before I could start to dial, he gripped my arm. He was plenty strong.

"Just need to rest a while, okay?" He positioned the frozen peas so they cradled the back of his head. "Don't call anyone."

I could sympathize. I avoided the doctor myself. Still, you never knew with head wounds.

"I'm not going to die on your couch," he said with convincing clarity.

My headache had returned with double force. My body felt heavy. My joints ached. Maybe I was coming down with something. "I'm really not in the mood to deal with a dead body, so I appreciate that."

"Thanks for the help. Go get some rest, and I'll let myself out in a little while." He opened one eye. "You look worse than I feel."

In a testament to just how worse I felt, it made perfect sense to leave an injured man—who wore only one boot—on my couch.

I trudged up the stairs. William immediately rose and followed. Halfway to the top, I turned. The sun now slanted through the stained glass window next to the fireplace, drenching the couch and the man on it in a fractured reddish halo. A fallen angel, indeed.

"If you die on my couch, I'll kill you," I said.

He yawned. "If I die on your couch, I'll kill myself."

### Chapter 3

Gabe waited a few moments after hearing the upstairs bedroom door close before ditching the clammy washcloth and thawing bag of peas. If he'd really hit his head, he probably would have gone to the doctor. _If_ he'd hit his head. He burrowed deeper into the down-filled cushions of Martha's old couch. He was glad Stephanie hadn't gotten rid of it. It was still the same bottomless well of a comfort as it had been when he used to crash here as a kid. Not a kid, really, though it felt like that now.

He hadn't been in this side of the building since Martha died. Stephanie wasn't home enough to break anything or even wear out the faucet washers, so there'd been no need. And unlike Mrs. Spangler, Stephanie probably changed her own light bulbs. He glanced around the room. Other than Martha being gone, little had changed in two-and-a- half years.

Including Stephanie's work ethic. What the hell was she doing home on a Saturday, anyway? He recognized the smell and look of a hangover. That was unusual enough, but he didn't think it would keep her from going to work. It had to be something else.

And what was with the giant dog? Gabe couldn't decide which was stranger—Steph being home, the hangover, or...what had she called him? William the Conqueror?

Whatever it was, she'd be starving in a little while and in need of a good breakfast. He got up and returned the peas to the freezer, noting that the only other things in there were a pizza, a box of fish sticks and too much frost. The fridge wasn't much better. He checked the pantry, made a mental list of what he needed, and headed to the store.

Within the hour, Gabe had a pot of coffee brewing, bacon sizzling in a pan, bread slices poised in the toaster's slots, onions, garlic, and peppers sautéing, eggs whisked. The smells should wake her soon.

And then what?

He thought about their earlier exchange. What had possessed him to rattle off his entire name? And be defensive about it like a... kid?

She'd always done that to him. His brain cells took a hike, his tongue swelled up, his lungs shriveled. Nothing had changed since they were teenagers except they were thirty years older.

Except that he'd never heard of her missing work, drinking too much, or having time for a pet. Stephanie O'Hanlon had eyes only for her career. He'd kept tabs on her through her mother. Martha had always encouraged him to call Steph, but it had never seemed like the right time. When Mrs. Spangler casually mentioned The Lady of the House hadn't yet surfaced this morning and perhaps he should check on her, he'd been genuinely concerned. Then...things had gotten out of hand. Not without a little help from Mrs. Spangler, who'd forever been in league with Martha to foster a relationship between him and Steph.

Which was exactly what he'd always wanted and exactly what he'd always avoided.

Movement upstairs and the unmistakable clang of the pipes as the shower started alerted him that she was awake.

The eggs joined the veggies. The bread went into the toaster.

The monster dog bounded down the steps, into the kitchen, and put his hairy front paws on the edge of the counter, sniffing and snuffling.

Steph followed shortly after, minus the bounding, sniffling, and snuffling. She wore baggy sweats, a sleeveless thermal shirt that drifted off one shoulder, and had her hair wrapped in a towel. The plain scent of soap preceded her into the room. Gabe's heart stopped.

Her eyes widened. "What are you doing up?" she asked. "Are you okay?"

He gestured with the spatula to indicate breakfast, as if that clearly answered both questions. They stared at each other for a few moments while the dog looked from one to the other, probably trying to figure out which of them was going to toss him a piece of bacon.

Gabe took a sip of coffee to jumpstart his brain and reconnect it to his mouth, but he only managed to burn his tongue.

"I made coffee," he said. "Feel better?" He turned his back to her to gather his wits. Jesus, he hadn't been in the same room with her for years, but she was as gorgeous as ever—even without makeup—no, _especially_ without makeup. Maybe not quite as skinny, but that was a good thing. Her eyes were as big and brown as ever even if they now sported a few crinkles at the corners. They gave her face character. The thought of her straight from a hot shower sent his temperature soaring.

"What do you think you're doing?" she asked, this time with an edge. "You probably have a concussion. You should lie down. You said yourself you needed to rest."

He liked that she was worried about him. Probably honesty was best, but he couldn't bring himself to tell her he'd faked the whole thing.

"It wasn't as bad as you thought, really. And you looked like you could use a good breakfast." He'd started sounding defensive again and forced himself to face her. "Both of us needed a good breakfast."

Her eyes drifted from him to the stove to the set table and settled on the vase of fresh flowers. The ghost of a smile lifted one corner of her mouth, and he began to relax.

"Are you saying I looked bad?" she asked.

Gabe's heart rate kicked up again. "Um...no...I mean...I meant—"

"Coffee smells good," she said, getting a cup down from the cabinet.

This was not going how he wanted. But she didn't seem offended. "It's the one thing you had in stock."

"Yeah, I'm not home much." She reached for the pot, then froze, her eyes on the open container where he'd found the coffee beans. "You used that coffee?"

He tried to catch up with why this might be a problem. He was sure he hadn't mistaken a crazy note of alarm in her voice.

She snatched up the pink tin box. "You used up all this coffee." An accusation, now. "How could you?"

"I—"

"This was my mother's."

Of course it was. He and Martha had often shared a pot. She had loved a strong cup of coffee. She'd found the set of canisters at a yard sale. They were beat up when she'd gotten them, but he hadn't done anything other than open it and scoop the beans into the grinder. What the hell? Why were there tears in Steph's eyes?

"Who do you think you are?"

"I—"

"Get out."

"But...I don't understand. The canister is fine."

She shoved the container in his face. "Not this, you idiot. It was the last of _my mother's_ coffee."

All he could do was blink at her as a tear ran down her cheek. She swiped at it, turned away and threw the metal box across the counter. It skittered into the toaster with a loud bang. The toast popped up.

She spoke quietly. "I make a pot every year on Mother's day with a few of the beans. It's like...like we're together for a little while." She whirled on him. "Now, you've ruined it. I'll never be able to do it again. You've ruined everything. Get out."

Dumbfounded and confused, Gabe made for the door. Stephanie followed and slammed it behind him. He stood on the porch staring at it, noting the frame needed painting. Old feelings of abandonment tried to rise, but he pushed them down. His mother had said almost the exact same thing years ago when she'd thrown him out in favor of her boyfriend.

Martha had been the kind neighbor who'd paid him too much to do chores around her place. She'd let him stay at her house when he'd needed it, made sure he had clean clothes and a decent meal. That's when he'd developed his crush on Steph. But she'd always been busy and then had gone to college early. If she noticed him at all, she never showed it. Apparently nothing had changed.

Since then, there'd been other women, and he'd even tried marriage. That lasted as long as the balance in his bank account. Martha had warned him. And she'd been there when it fell apart.

Martha's door had always been open.

He wasn't about to let Stephanie slam it in his face.

### Chapter 4

I slid down with my back against the door, pulled the towel from my hair, buried my face in it, and cried. And cried. It felt like losing my mother all over again. Only worse, somehow. Back then, I'd taken off a couple of days to deal with it, to deal with the to-do list of putting someone to rest. There hadn't been time for tears.

William came over and slumped next to me. I raised my head long enough to notice his eyebrows drawn tight at the strange noises coming out of me. After I put my face back in the towel, he nudged my ear so that I turned to him. He licked my face with the force and thoroughness of someone who means it. I put my arm around him and sobbed into his neck.

Two-and-a-half years ago, I'd managed my emotions with the same efficiency I checked items off the list. Contact friends and family, check. Obituary, check. Funeral home, check. Flowers, check. Grave marker, check.

Return to work and take on more projects, check.

Stephanie, you're going to have to face this sooner or later. The longer you wait...

I'm fine. I've dealt with it.

What are you afraid of?

I think—

No, how do you feel?

Without work, an empty to-do list loomed in front of me like something ominous from a B horror flick. A black hole that I was about to tumble in to. There, grief would swallow me. I'd become one of those depressed people who didn't care how they looked. I'd lie on the couch all day and gain weight. I'd stop answering the door.

William sighed. He needed to go out. He needed a bath. I did have a to-do list. I would think of other things for it soon. Like cleaning up that stupid breakfast.

I stood and faced the mess. I should fire dear Mr. Fagen and take over the yard and house maintenance. That would keep me busy. But my heart wasn't in it, and it wasn't fair to him. He'd been trying to help, though the why of it escaped me.

The bacon was burned, the eggs dry, the toast cold. I made a plate, and sat at the table to start a list. With only one bite swallowed, William whimpered. Right. He needed to go out.

Gabe's truck sat in the shade of the huge ginkgo by the back gate. No other evidence of the man. Just as well. I'd never been so mad and sad and confused. I probably owed him an apology. _Did_ owe him an apology. It was just coffee, right? Which reminded me that I desperately needed a cup. I'd be incoherent if I tried to talk to him, anyway.

After taking William to the park across the way, I went back inside, poured a small amount from the full pot, then emptied my ice-cube trays and filled them with what remained. I left these on the counter to cool while brewing a fresh pot from non-mom beans. There were fourteen cubes per tray, three trays, forty-two cubes total. If I used one per year, they'd last until I was eighty-eight years old. By then, I might be done with this particular form of insanity.

Guilt tugged at me for complaining and eating the breakfast Gabe had made. He'd went and bought the supplies, too. I wrote down "Reimburse Fagen for groceries," and "Buy new ice-cube trays," and began feeling more right with the world.

That is, until the strange vision arose in my head.

Fire. Screaming. Smoke. Choking.

It lasted not more than a second, but the air caught in my throat anyway. I grabbed the edge of the counter to steady myself. Had I dreamed this during my nap? Dreams didn't return with such force. I gulped coffee. William put his paw on my leg. I covered it with my hand, then rubbed my tired eyes.

"It's okay. Good boy."

In response to the vivid scene, a new wave of sadness and grief and...betrayal washed through me. _Betrayal_? Unfamiliar as I was with emotions, this stumped me. As if I could discern the nuances when I scarcely felt them.

I shook it off and ruffled William's head. "We need some exercise, eh, boy?" He wagged his tail and gazed at me with devotion. That lurching feeling in my chest returned—something of recognition and—well, it couldn't be love. But what else would make my breath and heart jam together that way? I needed an appointment with Jean, pronto. The events of the past twenty-four hours had addled my brain.

"Let's go for a run," I said to William. He bounced on his hind legs with excitement, as tall as me when reared to his full height. "Then a bath, okay?" Undaunted, he continued to wag and bounce while I got him into his new collar and leash, and we were out the door.

Fresh air cleared my head, but I grew winded quickly, the after effects of alcohol and sugar overload from the night before still taxing my system. We slowed after a block. William walked calmly beside me. Hard to believe anyone had had trouble with him. Which made me wonder about Heather's fanciful and ridiculous notion he was my lover from a previous lifetime. It was odd I felt so connected to him and we rubbed along like we'd been doing it forever. He was a good dog, was all. And I was overdue for canine companionship.

Okay, _any_ companionship. I thought of the sight and smell of Gabe and my tummy did its silly little flip again. A man like that never wanted for companionship of any kind.

What are you afraid of, Stephanie?

I think—

_FEELings_...

We'd wandered toward the main street. It would be busy with people and dogs. Despite his stellar behavior, I wasn't sure how William would react. We cut down an alley that would take us toward home. As soon as we did, I had second thoughts. It wasn't a bad neighborhood, but bad elements popped up every now and then anyway, and the alley was too empty. I could see the street at the other end, but it seemed far away. I decided to go back the way we'd come.

William's deep-throated growl caught me off guard. He'd stopped and bristled, his whole body tense. A young man stood in our way holding a gun. Instinctively, I turned. Another kid stepped out from behind a dumpster and blocked escape.

My mind went blank. _Scream_ , I thought. Yes, I should scream. Instead, I froze.

Not William. He charged, grabbed the gun arm in his massive jaws and pushed. A shot exploded into the air, the boy screamed, the gun dropped, both kids ran. Or tried to. The one behind me made it. The first one played a deadly game of tug-of-war with the Conqueror.

I kicked the gun under the dumpster. Otherwise, helplessness made me limp. William had changed before my eyes from a scraggly mutt to a ferocious guardian angel. He growled and snarled and whipped his head around like he intended to tear the kid's hand off. Blood splattered through the air from bites. The boy had given up trying to get away and cried in terror, his free arm across his eyes as if blinding himself to the truth would make it stop.

A police car screeched to a halt in the head of the alley.

I found my voice. "William. Stop. Let him go."

With a final disgusted shake, he dropped the offending arm and trotted over to me, sitting at my feet. I hesitated before petting him. His jaws and cheeks were smeared with blood. The whole thing had lasted seconds but felt like an hour, a day, a lifetime. He glanced at me with an unmistakable glint of satisfaction in his eyes.

That weird sense of recognition hit me again. I doubled over like I'd been kicked in the stomach and began to shake. My vision darkened. Vaguely, I was aware of someone asking if I was all right, the crackle of a police radio, another siren, flashing lights, paramedics. They sat me down, put a blanket around my shoulders.

I am running. Being chased. They are coming too swiftly. On horseback. Ahead, a place of safety. I can't reach it. They grab me.

Fire. Screaming. Smoke. Choking.

Treachery. Anger. Betrayal. Disbelief. Sorrow.

Impossible feelings to know all at once. I coughed—the lung-searing hack of someone who was drowning—someone who was burning. A kind voice swam through to me; a gentle hand put cool water to my lips.

——

An hour or so later, a police cruiser deposited William and me at our house. Gabe came running from the backyard. I heard myself saying, "I'm all right," over and over. There was a conversation between the policewoman and Gabe, his strong arms were around me, and then I was in my bed, William tight at my side. I wasn't all right, not at all.

Tomorrow, I remembered, would be Mother's Day.

### Chapter 5

I am running, flying over cool grass in bare feet, my chest filled with crisp air and elation. A quick glance over my shoulder tells me he's close, but that's the idea. I'm fast. No one in the village can catch me, not even him. Unless I let him. But not until we reach the long shadows of the oaks, the blanket of samhain leaves.

_Beneath the branches, darkness silvered by a full moon, a moon to take your heart. I slow. He tumbles me to the ground laughing. Our tunics slide away. His skin is warm where it touches mine. The grass cool, the leaves deep. We have promised each other forever. He is heavy between my legs. Never a burden. I arch to meet him. He is mine_.

The jangle of the phone jarred me awake. I flailed my arms as if buried in a pile of leaves, the sharp scent of earth caught in my nose. My body felt lush and taut with desire, my breathing too quick. I strained for release. The ringing stopped before I could answer. William put a paw on me, and I shook my head to clear it.

What the hell?

My day returned, and I sank into my pillow, calming myself with a deep breath. Outside, the red-gold light of a summer sunset evoked the dream, and I gave myself a mental shake. My dreams were rarely so vivid and never so sensuous. There was a connection between this and the earlier vision of smoke and burning, but how did I know that? The memory brought me up short. I didn't like flames, didn't own a candle, never used the fireplace. I'd been that way since a child and never questioned it.

What was happening to me? Had the combination of being laid off and getting mugged sent me over the edge? I decided I'd slept enough for one day and started to get up.

William turned to the bedroom door with a low growl as it opened, and Gabe stuck his head in.

"Sorry about the phone," he said.

I guess I wasn't fully awake yet, but I couldn't figure out why this man was still in my house or why he was apologizing for my phone ringing.

"I tried to grab it—"

I held up one hand to stop him and soothed William with the other.

"Didn't I throw you out earlier?" I still felt drowsy and hot and aroused. And very conflicted. The logical me felt indignant, but an unfamiliar primal me wanted to jump his bones. "Don't you have someplace to go?"

He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked away. I immediately regretted my tone. There I was, being ungrateful again. But what had happened to privacy?

"Sorry," I said. "It's been a day. Can you give me a minute?"

After he closed the door behind him, I turned to William. He had one lip caught on his fang and looked so goofy I had to laugh. "Did I thank you for saving me today?" He yawned, and I ruffled his ears and kissed him. "Why is Mr. all-the-archangels Fagen hanging around, eh boy?" William shook his head, making his ears flop loudly. "And why does it make me feel cheerful instead of annoyed? Who am I?"

The big dog dropped to his side and stretched, pushing his paws against me. I rubbed his belly and he sighed. If he wasn't concerned, I wasn't going to worry about it. His instincts were better than mine.

A short while later, after banishing the strange dream with a liberal splash of cold water on my face, swapping my sweats for jeans, and taking William out, I sat down to a plate of grilled salmon, new potatoes, and asparagus. Gabe had brought it over from Mrs. Spangler's and kept it warm for me. He'd even set the table. I found it hard to stay mad at him, difficult not to like him, and impossible not to be attracted to him. Especially in my unsated condition.

"I couldn't find any candles," he said.

_Fire. Screaming. Smoke. Choking_.

I swallowed a rising panic.

_You can't ignore these things forever, Stephanie_...

Okay, I _thought_ I'd banished the vision and the dream. But they weren't easy to shake. I'd felt the heat of the flames, coughed from the smoke, and known a man making me his own. William rose from where he'd tucked himself into the easy chair, came over to me, and licked my hand when I put it down to stroke his head.

"I don't have any candles."

Gabe stared at me a moment like he was deciding whether to say something about that, but didn't comment.

I searched for another subject. "And here I thought work was all there was," I said over my glass of pinot noir. Not the best choice with fish, but I always preferred red, and it was all I had. He'd dined earlier with Mrs. Spangler and Mr. Weinperth, but she'd provided him with seconds so I wouldn't have to eat alone. "I think I've been missing out."

My handyman grinned like he knew a secret. "You have," he said.

My stomach did that ridiculous little flip again. Geez, what was I, seventeen? I was far too easy, too tired, or just plain crazy if I could throw a man out of my house in the morning then have dinner with him the same night. A man I scarcely knew. Even so, he felt familiar and made me comfortable.

I'd been glad he'd been there when the policewoman brought me home. Even though I had tossed him out in a rage, he hadn't hesitated to help. But seeing as how I was questioning my sanity every other moment, I didn't know if I could rely on what I was feeling. Still, my mother had trusted him, and that weighed heavily in his favor.

"What do you do when you're not working?" I asked.

He shrugged. "I have a boat. A cabin at the lake. I fish. Read. Swim. Hike. Take a longer trip every now and again."

"With anyone in particular?" The words escaped before I'd barely thought them. Who did I think I was? But he only chuckled.

"No, by myself mostly." He took a drink of wine. "Sometimes my buddy John comes, when he can get away, but then he complains about missing his wife and kids. Sometimes they all come."

"Sounds fun."

"It's noisy."

"You like it quiet."

"Yeah, mostly. What about you?"

My turn to take a fortifying drink. "Me?"

"Ever do anything for fun with anyone in particular?"

"I work. Or I did. There hasn't been time for anyone in particular. You don't have anyone in particular in your life?" It seemed important to nail this down.

"No."

"Ever?"

"Married, once, for about six months."

"She must have tired of your incessant chatter."

He laughed. "She tired of my empty bank account the moment she emptied it."

"Oh, sorry."

He rose to clear our plates.

"You don't have to do that," I said. "I'll get it later."

He deposited the dishes in the sink and returned to his seat. I liked that. I hated it when someone insisted on clearing up instead of sitting and chatting. Dirty dishes could wait. Conversations like this...okay, maybe it wasn't the most scintillating conversation I'd ever had, but it did feel comfortable. Usually, I was out to dinner in a restaurant, either by myself or with clients, pasting on the smile and toeing the company line.

"You ever had anyone particular in your life?" he asked.

Seemed like it was important for him to nail down this fact about me, too. Good. I thought back. "Didn't even go to prom."

He snorted. "I did. Wore a tux and everything. Waste of time."

"The dance or the tux?"

"Both. We didn't dance. We weren't even dating. I hardly knew her."

He glanced out the window and smiled. Fondly remembering? But no, the smile was too grim for that. The sun had gone down, leaving us in the almost dark of twilight, robbing the room and his face of color.

"There was someone else I wanted to ask, but she didn't know I was alive."

In the chiaroscuro shades of dove, slate, and silver that had overtaken us, the angles of his face stood out in stark relief, making him appear younger. Or perhaps it had been the statement and raw vulnerability it brought to his features. A vague memory stirred, but I couldn't put my finger on it.

"I find it hard to believe there was a woman who didn't know you were alive."

"Believe it."

"She must have been dead."

He didn't say anything to that, and I held his gaze even though the intensity of it made me squirm. "I wanted to go to the prom, or on a date," I continued. "There was this one guy...I was...I thought I was completely in love." I waved my hand at that sentimental notion and forced a laugh, trying to lighten the mood. "But I was too shy to talk to him."

Gabe leaned his elbows on the table, his eyes never straying from mine. "What was he like?"

Now, why did he need to know that? But I was in a strange mood, and sharing this intimacy didn't faze me. A sure sign of my mental decline.

"Oh, he was cute, of course." I pictured the young man who had held my heart. "Kind of kept to himself. But there was just something about him, you know?" Gabe nodded. "Every time I got near him I'd go all fluttery inside and lose my voice. I was afraid if I opened my mouth I would croak like a frog."

One corner of his mouth lifted, but his voice remained sober. "You were in school with him?"

"No, he worked for my mother once in a while. That's the only time I saw him." I played with my napkin, folding it until perfectly square, remembering those glorious days like yesterday. "I'd watch him from my window while he pulled weeds or mowed, always hoping it would get hot enough for him to take off his shirt."

A nervous giggle escaped my lips, and I covered it with a gulp of wine. William rooted under my elbow, seeking—offering?—reassurance. I scratched him under the chin, thankful for the distraction. Gabe emptied his glass, refilled it, and drank again.

"You okay?" I asked.

"Yeah." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Again, that niggling sense of the familiar pricked me. It was his profile, I decided.

"This kid have a name?" he asked.

I stacked my hands over my heart like a swooning teenager. "Oh, yes, it was perfect," I gushed in a deliberately breathy tone. "Ridiculously romantic."

He sat very still, looking at me expectantly, and inside, I felt a pendulum swoosh from one extreme of its range to the other. There was a vital piece of information I was supposed to know, a vital something I'd missed. I grabbed a handful of William's wiry coat to steady myself.

"Rafe," I said after a moment. With a little click, the missing piece fell into place. "My mother called him Rafe."

### Chapter 6

The light dimmed and the air stilled. Even William held his breath. Gabe's figure swam and danced before me with the image of Rafe—young Gabe—next to it. Behind. In front.

Gabe. Rafe. Gabriel Michael Raphael. How had I not known this? The error—the total lack of awareness, wholly insignificant and enormous—couldn't fit in my head. It slid down the back of my neck and shoved into my body cavity like a fat lady elbowing space at an already full pie-eating contest. Gabe and Rafe merged; I felt my balance slip, the room tilt.

——

Gabe had been fairly certain Stephanie hadn't figured out who he was, but he hadn't expected this reaction. She looked like she'd swallowed a whole tomato patch, and when her eyelids fluttered and she listed to one side, he jumped to catch her before she landed on the floor. But the big dog beat him to it, bracing his paws against the table edge and gently pressing against her.

She slung a noodley arm around his body and rested against him for a moment. Where had this savior dog been hiding, and how had he managed to edge out Gabe just as he finally had a chance to be the one for Steph to lean on?

"Are you okay?" he asked. At least he could talk to her. So far, William hadn't shown any talent for that.

She patted the dog and stood. "Need a cold drink."

This time, Gabe did reach her. He put a hand on her shoulder and guided her back down. "I'll get it."

He brought her a glass of water. She downed it all in one gulp. Some leaked over her chin and she swiped at it with her arm.

"You must think I'm a complete and utter idiot."

Gabe found his chair, fighting the urge to gather her in his arms and use his body to reassure her. So much easier than talking. Maybe the dog had the right idea after all.

"No."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

He shrugged, decided to stick with the truth this time. "Remember I said there was a girl who didn't know I was alive?"

She smiled. "The one I said had to have been dead?" Then her eyelids snapped open. "Oh dear God."

He nodded.

"Oh dear God," she repeated. "That was me." She covered her face with her hands. "But I wasn't. I did know you were alive. I was just too scared to talk to you."

Gabe wouldn't lament time lost in the past. They had the present. She said she'd been in love with him, or thought so. But he was getting ahead of himself.

"And I was too scared to talk to you, then." He hadn't made a whole lot of progress on that front, either. He became aware of how hard his heart beat, an almost painful throb that made it hard to breathe.

"Oh, but you've been working here all this time and I never knew. How could I be so stupid? My mother never said anything. Why didn't she ever say anything?"

"She believed in letting life take its own course. And I didn't want her to."

Stephanie went to refill her water glass. He left her to it wishing he had a chore to busy his hands at that moment, like a cord of wood to split. His palms itched and his shoulders felt tight. Maybe he should leave. Let her rest. He made eye contact with William. The dog gave him a look that clearly communicated he could take care of her. The man's presence was neither wanted nor needed. Gabe frowned. The dog's actions when Stephanie had been attacked were one thing, but there was something strange about how attentive he was. He didn't know too many dogs that were so tuned in to their humans, even after being with them from puppy hood. His own mutt would throw him over in a hot New York second for a juicy bone.

That was it. He'd bring Lucy over to meet William. That should get the dog's mind off Stephanie and leave a little room for Gabe to get close to her.

Steph turned from where she'd been staring through the kitchen window.

"I think—"

"I think—"

They both laughed.

"You need some rest," Gabe said.

——

He left without fuss or ceremony after a too brief and awkward hug. I could scarcely look at him, I felt so senseless. I corked what remained of the wine, let the dishes rest in the sink, and sat on the edge of the couch. William jumped up, licked my ear, and curled next to me, laying his head on my leg. But he didn't close his eyes or doze. Exhaustion curled against my other side, and a nervous current ran through me. Beneath my hand, William hummed with the same force, like a tuning fork resonating with one clear note. I could feel his eyebrows lifting, first one, then the other. My insides vibrated like electrified Jell-O, jumbling my thoughts. I wanted to be numb, to sleep, but couldn't make myself sit back or lie down.

At some point, though, a deep-seated instinct for survival must have taken over for morning found me uncomfortably twisted into the deep cushions with one foot still on the floor.

I hear birds singing, faintly. We have been in the dark cellar with our freshly stored roots and grains all the night, but the birds wake with the sun. So, it is morning. Muffled voices above. The invaders. They have returned from defiling our holy site. The old beams creak under their weight. Shouting. Then, crackling like winter's warm hearth. The others begin to scream or whimper. Smoke whispers through the floorboards from above. Coughing and choking.

He will come. My love. My own warrior. This is not our fate.

I raise my voice in supplication to the goddess. The crones join me.

_I can no longer hear the birds_.

Barking. In my face. It pulled me out of sleep, sputtering, into the day's light. The hair on William's back had turned into a mohawk, and he barked and howled at me. I sat up quickly.

"What? What's wrong?" I sniffed the air. No smoke.

With relief, I sank back to the couch, breathing deeply to root myself in reality. My dog licked my hand. Always reassuring me with his presence. I must have been making noises in my sleep. Again, the dream. The same but different. And not quite a dream because I was half awake. Who could this woman be who was frightened but strong and so sure of her love? It was as if I had felt everything she experienced, but of course I hadn't. I'd never been that sure of anything, let alone the affection of a man.

I'd stopped feeling long ago when my father left. Which is why my therapist spent so much time trying to tease emotions out of me. She's sure they're buried inside me somewhere. Despite the number of tears I'd shed in the last day and a half, I've never really been afraid or sad or happy. I'd made sure of that by working. All. The. Time. Look where that'd gotten me. Well, now I had a working knowledge of anger and maybe something else, but I couldn't put my finger on it, yet. Jean would be proud, though. William sat and wagged his tail, and I petted his head. I could be sure of him.

"Good boy."

I decided to go see Mrs. Spangler, and after tidying myself up and walking William, I knocked on her door. The welcome smell of coffee greeted me when she opened it.

"Stephanie, how nice to see you so early." She beamed at me.

Early? I didn't even know what time it was.

"Come in, come in. How are you? Thank God you weren't hurt." She took my hand and pulled me in. "And a good thing dear Mr. Fagen was here when that nice lady policeman brought you home. Where is that lovely new doggie of yours? I bought some treats to keep here for him. You know I'd be happy to look after him when you're working. Would you like some coffee?"

She pulled out a chair, and I sat, and in front of me she put a delicate china cup filled with coffee, and a pitcher of cream and a bowl of sugar.

"You stay right there and I'll get him. Isn't he part of the family?"

She went out but continued talking. Our back doors were right next to each other just like our front doors, so she didn't have far to go.

"The angel saved your life, after all. Nice doggie, there you are. Is that yummy? What was Stephie thinking leaving you here all by your lonesome. Come on, Biggun. Good boy."

She returned with William in tow, licking his chops. He proceeded to ignore me and shadow her around the sparkling kitchen. Unlike mine, Mrs. Spangler's had been updated with a new floor and countertops. I should consider remodeling while I was off work. A good excuse to keep Gabe handy. A good way to stay busy.

"I think I have posttraumatic stress disorder," I blurted.

I felt the woman of the dream hovering nearby, still and watchful. Something about her made it clear she wouldn't complain of PTSD. Probably no such thing wherever she was, nor any tolerance for whining. Oh, I was losing my mind. Mrs. Spangler finally settled across from me with a cup of coffee to which she added three teaspoons of sugar.

"Excuse me, dear?"

"I said I think I have PTSD."

"Is that something you got from the attack?"

Like the woman from the dream, PTSD probably had no place in Mrs. Spangler's vocabulary, either. "Actually, I think it's from getting fired."

"They fired you?" Her hand splayed over her chest. "What's your boss's name? I'll call him first thing in the morning. That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. You are the hardest working person I know. Furthermore—"

" _Her_ name is Janet Siegal, but you don't have to call her. Technically, they laid me off, and I think she maybe did me a favor. But I haven't figured that part out yet." I did feel some relief, but Monday morning loomed in the very near future, and my anxiety grew the closer it came.

Mrs. Spangler's usually perfect posture faltered and she slumped to the back of her chair with a dramatic huff. "Did you a favor? How so? By giving you this PBJ thing? I don't think I understand, dear."

"What?"

"That P-whatever you said."

"Post-trau— Well, not exactly. More like a psychotic break." I should call Jean. Jean would know. Might even welcome the opportunity to dig deeper into my psyche.

How are you feeling, Stephanie?

How, exactly, does crazy feel?

"I got this dog and now I'm having strange dreams and visions and did you know that when Gabe was a kid he worked for my mother sometimes but she used to call him Rafe?"

Mrs. Spangler's eyes widened a little at that. Wasn't sure if it was the abrupt change of subject, the run-on sentence, or the information it contained. I think it was because I was late to the party. She had the grace to smile kindly instead of looking at me like I rode the little school bus for not recognizing dear Mr. Fagen all along.

Her coffee tasted good. I helped myself to more. When I returned to the table, she was talking to William again.

"You know, I used to have a little doggie. His name was Blackie. He went with me everywhere and everyone loved him. Look..."

She got up, went to a shelf near the window filled with knickknacks, spices, framed photos, and rooting plants, and brought back a small box.

"This is Blackie. He hasn't been gone that long. I miss him terribly. I know I should bury him or scatter his ashes...dear Mr. Fagen never complained when Blackie dug up the beds. I just can't seem to let him go. I like having him near."

She stared at the box with a wistful smile for a moment, then held it out and William sniffed it and licked her hand. I hadn't even noticed Blackie was gone. Poor Mrs. Spangler. Oh, I was a bad person. How had I found such a good dog? Oh, right, he'd found me. Which reminded me that I needed to call Heather and let her know how it was going with him. Maybe she could help with the dreams. She was my resident expert on weird stuff. Although I'm sure it was easily explained by my abrupt change of circumstances.

"Now, I'm going to put this right here." Mrs. Spangler put the box on a lower shelf. "That way, you can visit whenever you come over. Okay?"

William noted where the box now sat and lay on the floor next to it.

Mrs. Spangler turned and patted my hand. "What you need, dear, is to find your whetstone. That's all."

"My what?"

"Something or someone to hone yourself against. You think it's your job, but that just makes you dull. You need to find the thing that makes you sharp."

I blinked. Was she saying work wasn't important?

"For me, it was dance." She patted my hand again. "Still is." She stood and cleared our dishes. "My, my, listen to me. Dispensing advice like Dear Abby. I'm sure you have enough on your mind without me muddying the water."

——

William and I went for a run in the park. If there were any bad guys around, they didn't show themselves. For the first time, I considered moving out of the city. William would do better with a big yard. I could keep the house, no reason for Mrs. Spangler or Mr. Weinperth to move. First things first, I reminded myself as we got home. Must find new job before thinking about anything else.

I gave William a bath outside. He stood stoically while I sudsed, rinsed, and toweled him off. I left him loose to dry off the rest of the way. He rolled and wormed in the grass, twisting this way and that before doing the big dog shake. He rubbed his whole body along the stockade fence and pushed through a row of dense bushes, sneezed a few times, then commenced to nosing the garden beds, digging here and there, as if Blackie had given him an idea, but he didn't show real enthusiasm for it. He marked all four corners of the yard before coming to sit next to me on the steps.

We sat together for a while, enjoying the sun before it got too hot, but I had to move, had to lengthen my to-do list, simply had to find something to do. The Sunday paper would be a good place to start looking for job openings.

I asked Mrs. Spangler to keep an eye on him while I went in to shower. Afterwards, I called Heather, and she reminded me that my former lover's energy inhabited William and suggested the dreams were from my previous life. She sounded very sure. _Okay, then_. Resident expert on weirdness and pretty darned weird herself. She'd always had a unique worldview.

"He saved my life yesterday," I told her. "He's done his good deed, and I want the dreams to stop." I didn't like the whiney note in my voice and took a deep breath to get a hold of myself. I hadn't thought the visions were that big a deal, but now that I was talking about them, I realized the powerful emotions they evoked made me feel out of control.

Silence on the other end of the line. I waited while Heather consulted her _guides_ as she liked to say.

"No," she said after a while. "No, that wasn't it. He still has something to do. Sorry."

Me, too. Not that I mind William protecting me. That was a good thing.

"Hey," she said, "I have to go. My other phone is ringing and it's the shelter. As far as the dreams, try meditating."

Meditating. Yeah, right.

Outside, I heard William barking, insistent and worried. Not unlike the way he'd barked at me that morning when I'd been dreaming...about our former life. A shiver grabbed me and I shook like William did after his bath, but the sound of his voice inexplicably brought my heart into my throat so I went to investigate. He stood at the top of the stone steps leading down to the exterior entrance to the basement just below the rear deck, barking and whimpering at the open door. Mrs. Spangler was nowhere in sight. She must have gone down there. I went to William and ruffled the stiff hair on his back, trying to sooth both of us. I'd never liked the basement, either. He looked at me and whimpered again and continued barking.

"Shush," I said to him. "Mrs. Spangler?" I called toward the doorway. Mysterious smells wafted from the opening. No, just stale air, dust. I rubbed my nose.

No answer. I went halfway down the steps but William nabbed the hem of my t-shirt before I could go any farther. I didn't keep anything in the basement and allowed Mrs. Spangler and Mr. Weinperth to use it how they wished. I knew Mrs. Spangler had various things stored in boxes, and Mr. Weinperth had set up a workbench where he made birdhouses.

I preferred the sunny attic, not that I had much to store. Most of what was up there was my mother's stuff. Of course, the electrical service was in the basement, but Mr. Weinperth never minded flipping a breaker. He'd seen action in Korea and two tours of Viet Nam. Nothing in the dark crannies of a domestic basement could faze him. After telling me I needed to buck up and get over it, he always went down there anyway. Just one more reason to keep their rent cheap. For anything more complicated than a blown circuit, I called Mr. Fagen.

Gabe.

Had it been just the night before that I'd last seen him? After all these years of being oblivious to his nearness, I craved him like an addiction too long denied. The ache for him mingled with my growing anxiety, forming a physical presence of its own deep in my gut, a place as stale and torpid as the basement air. Maybe he'd been shut in the same place as my feelings. Had a doorway cracked open? What else might leak out? I had cried a couple of times on Friday, though quickly got it under control. And there was the anger. Did I want to feel?

I gave all that a mental shove.

"Mrs. Spangler?" I yelled.

"Down here, dear. Just looking for something."

"Do you need any help?" Please say no.

_Fire. Screaming. Smoke. Choking_.

I held on to William's collar with one hand while the other crept to the neck of my shirt, pulling it away from my throat as though my airway were restricted.

"No, no." She poked her head out. "I'm fine. But William is upset about something. He started carrying on as soon as I came down here."

"I can see that." A gusty sigh of relief escaped my lungs. Maybe he'd been locked in a basement by one of his former owners. There were those stories about what a bad dog he'd been. Some people would rather shut an animal away or give it up then try to figure out what made it tick. Not that I could claim to know what made him tick. But I was content to let him be.

"It's okay," I said to him. "Mrs. Spangler is fine. See?"

She waved and went back into the basement, and he started in more insistently than before. If he were my lover from a former life and my dreams were about that life and the woman—I—had been imprisoned in a cellar...ridiculous. He pulled on my shirt and I hopped to the top step before the fabric gave out. He wouldn't budge until Mrs. Spangler came out and locked the door behind her. She petted him.

"Nothing down there but a bunch of old boxes and stuff. Thank you for worrying. Blackie was a wonderful companion, but he wasn't much of a watchdog. Looks like you know your job." She gave him a final pat on the head. "Quite the warrior angel," she said before going in to her apartment with the box she'd retrieved from the basement.

Quite. The coffee I'd had on an empty stomach turned to acid in my throat. I looked at William. He wasn't smiling.

### Chapter 7

Inside, I walked the length of the house, took the stairs two at a time and came back down as fast as I could. William kept pace. I repeated the pattern, my thoughts zinging from Gabe to my dreams and back again but couldn't shake the nervous restlessness and decided to go the gym for a real workout followed by a cold shower. As I gathered my things, William began barking just as there came a knock at the back door followed by more barking from the other side of it.

Good God. What now? William bounded to the door and jumped against it, pushing aside the curtain and peering through the paned glass in the upper half. He bristled and let out a huge woof but his tail wagged, leaving me unsure how to interpret his response. My eyes connected with Gabe's and my tummy did its happy dance. The outside barking subsided to a low growl. I was pretty sure dear Mr. Fagen wasn't making this noise and glanced through the window before opening the door.

On the other side, a smaller dog, brown, short-haired, probably a chocolate Lab, sat on the deck and wriggled and made what I'd thought was a growly sound, but her body language said otherwise, kind of like William's.

"This is Lucy," Gabe said. "I thought William might like a playmate."

Oh, good, one for William, one for me. I wouldn't need the gym after all.

"I doubt I can hold him," I said loudly enough to be heard through the heavy door. "You think it's safe?"

Gabe shrugged. "She's well socialized. They can usually work it out."

"Okay," I said. "Stand aside."

Gabe unhooked Lucy's leash as I opened the door and stepped back, unsure whether the doggie games would be inside or out. I shouldn't have wondered. William rushed forward, jumped over the other dog, down the steps into the yard, spun and turned. Lucy ducked, rolled, and came to her feet at the top of the steps, on her toes, tail up. They stared at each other.

Lucy made the first move. She boldly sauntered down the steps and sidled up to William, offering her backside while she sniffed at him. I admired her style. During my restless pacing, the dream of the man and the woman in the woods had been the most vivid, the most provoking. Remembering it elicited the same unsatisfied longing I'd felt upon awakening. What I wanted was a good, long workout with Gabe, not an exercise machine at the gym. And I didn't think he would mind. I'd figure out the feelings part later.

William whipped around and went for Lucy's throat. I gasped, but she dropped and went belly up, gracefully submitting to the larger dog. This was his territory, after all. She took off around the yard and William watched. She stopped and put her paws out, chest down, butt up and tail wagging. Universal dog language for "let's play!" William sat and looked at me.

"Go on," I urged. But he didn't.

Maybe it was too hot. He'd already been for a run. I brought them a big pot of water and they both drank. Lucy licked William's face. He tolerated the attention.

Gabe leaned against a porch support, not watching the dogs, but keeping his eyes on me. I'd grown hot under the close scrutiny, but if he had something to say, he could just spit it out. I was in no mood for beating around the bush.

"She's great," I said. "Wish I could be so bold."

He shifted. I realized he'd been waiting for a cue from me. He pushed away from the post, took my hand, and led me inside, shutting the door and turning the lock.

At first, I wanted only his heart. Doesn't sound like much, but I wanted to hear it, needed to feel it. To put my ear to his chest and nothing more. But the moment I pressed against him and he folded me in his arms, it wasn't nearly enough. With the ripple of muscle beneath my cheek as he breathed, I wanted more. My hands explored his sides, his back, his shoulders. Solid and real and substantial. He smelled of soap and expectation. His heart pounded, and his stomach—his whole body—was taut with the same anticipation and deep longing as mine.

We had been flying through life side by side but never touching. I had wanted him always. We had wanted each other. My heart pounded too. Against his. With his. I was finally in Gabe's arms where I'd always wanted to be. It had been a dream for so long. The reality was hard to take in.

He waited, and he would wait a little longer while I got used to this grand new idea that was Gabe, that was flesh and blood and bone and breath.

He took my hand again, kissed the palm, sending a jolt of pleasure through me. Oh Lord, too much, too soon. The idea was still too new. I pressed my hands into his chest to separate us and headed up the stairs. He followed.

In my bedroom, I stopped at the foot of my bed, a hand on the high footboard. He shut the door. I flipped the sandals off my feet. He kicked out of his topsiders. His legs were long and strong, glazed with fine hair.

Ideas and images collided in my mind. Those legs rubbing mine. A man and a woman entwined together on the ground in a deep wood. I would take all he had to offer and more, but my own legs were suddenly wobbly with want. In a blurry moment, we tumbled into the sheets.

They crackled like a thousand years of dry leaves. It was right to take his lips in silence, the stubbled skin along his jaw, his smooth collarbone. He swallowed and sound rumbled through him, a manly purr of pure hunger.

I didn't know who I was or whom he was, only the slide of our bodies, which knew all that was needed. The sheets were cool. We had forever. I arched to meet him.

He was mine.

### Chapter 8

Gabe couldn't believe it. If he didn't have Stephanie's warm, naked body tucked around his, he wouldn't believe it. He could wish—had wished—that they'd been together like this forever. But he still could barely grasp what had just happened. If there were such things as otherworldly experiences—there weren't—he'd call what they'd done miraculous. No, not a miracle. They'd done the most basic thing that humans and animals enjoy on a daily basis. Probably his imagination—years of imagining—that made it extraordinary.

They'd been transported. There, he admitted it. There was no other way to describe it. His body felt heavy as a lunker and lighter than one-pound line, like he wasn't even in it.

But he was and he was starving. He squeezed Steph against his side. It would be painful to get out of her bed but they had to eat, and he wanted to pick up some things from his place before returning for the night. She murmured—a satisfied sound if he ever heard one. A ripple of pleasure shot from his feet to the top of his head.

"Hey," he said. "How 'bout Chinese?"

"Ummm."

"Is that a yes?"

"Stay."

"I won't be long. Couple of hours to get home, get some stuff, call in an order. I'll stay when I get back with food. Okay?"

"Ummm."

He edged away from her. She hung on and grumbled a protest.

"Starving."

He'd loved her straight into the Stone Age if all she could manage were grunts and single words. He grinned and stroked her backside.

"Me, too."

"Food. Now."

"Okay, okay, cave woman." He laughed and kissed her forehead. "I'll hunt food now. There's a to-go place around the corner. I can gather my stuff later."

She patted his chest. "Cave man good."

He forced himself out of the bed and shrugged into his clothes. "Lucy usually rides shotgun. You want William in or out?"

Stephanie burrowed into the mattress. "In," came her muffled reply.

At the back door, the dog trotted past and up the stairs without so much as a glance at the man.

——

If that was what crazy felt like, I'd take it. William jumped onto the bed. He sniffed around then curled at my feet. A tiny voice urged me to move, take a shower. I ignored it, breathing Gabe's scent into my cells. I never needed to move again. My body felt torpid and a little sore, but good good good, and my mind, blessedly blank. I coaxed William closer and drifted off.

I kneel in the temple, alone. The others have returned to the village after the invocation. I love being alone in this place. It is the dark of the moon, the stone beneath my knees is hard, the air sharp. Silently, I repeat the sacred prayers. I feel the presence of the old ones bringing in the new year.

A shriek cuts the night from down the hill. Shouts. Pounding hooves.

I am running. I lead them away from the others. I'm fast. No one in the village can catch me. Ahead, a place of safety. They are coming swiftly. On horseback. I can't reach it. They grab me from behind and drag me between them. They are too strong, too strong for me. It is dark, but I hear their voices, one especially.

It cannot be.

I am in the cellar with the others. They are weeping. I comfort them and they quiet.

At dawn, the barbarians return to set the fires.

Fire. Screaming. Smoke. Choking.

He is not coming. The man who was my love. It was his voice I heard. My heart is sick with knowing. Sparks and cinders rain through the ceiling. The building above begins to collapse.

I curse him. Before the blackness descends, I curse him in all directions of time.

I flailed against flames and roiling soot. Their screams—my screams—jarred me awake. Someone shoved beneath my arm. William. My skin was clammy with sweat and stank of smoke, my heart raced. I held onto my dog with both hands until I caught my breath. He pushed his nose into my face, whimpering.

He didn't like the dreams.

Neither did I.

### Chapter 9

Gabe had hummed the whole time he waited for their food. He didn't know what Steph liked—to eat—so he ordered one from column A, two from column B, and three from column C.

Back at her place, he learned she liked spring rolls and Szechwan chicken, the hotter the better. He preferred egg rolls and Hunan beef, the hotter the better. They were going to get along just fine.

Except that he wasn't humming now. She'd been telling him an outlandish tale that involved a previous life starring William as her lover. She had diagnosed herself with PTSD—or possibly plain old insanity—as a result of losing her purpose in life. All that to explain why they couldn't continue. At least not until she got this sorted out.

What a load of crap.

"So this woman—you—was burned to death in a cellar—"

"Which explains why I've never liked basements or fire."

"And her lover was supposed to save her but didn't—"

"She thought he would but he betrayed her."

Which could explain why she'd never married. Wait, no. He was not buying into this. "And William is this guy, and he has to make it right. Does that sum it up?"

"Pretty much. She cursed him. I think she was a priestess or something."

"You were a priestess."

Steph deftly brandished a hunk of chicken with her chopsticks. "I kind of like that part."

Gabe dredged his third egg roll in a dollop of spicy mustard. "You know how this sounds."

"Yeah, but it does explain a lot. Still, I'm thinking the PTSD idea has merit. I'm really not myself."

"Of course not. You're the priestess."

"There's no need for sarcasm. And look at William."

They looked at the dogs. Both had been following the conversation, or maybe it was the food, closely.

"I mean, look at him."

William made direct eye contact with Gabe, then very deliberately looked away, giving his attention to Steph. If Gabe didn't know better, he'd say he'd just been told to drop dead. There was no malice in the look, though.

"He's a dog, Steph."

Gabe wasn't sure which of them he was trying to convince. Something had to explain the animal's immediate bond with this woman and total disinterest in a female of his own kind. Something like a lack of socialization with other dogs. Not the spirit of an imaginary man from hundreds of years ago who had been cursed.... He wasn't going to let this nonsense come between them. Not after all this time.

"You have to admit," Stephanie continued, "he doesn't act like other dogs."

"He already saved your life. He's redeemed himself." Why was he encouraging her?

"That's the thing. Heather said that wasn't it."

"This the same Heather who used to wear crystals in her hair and make burnt offerings to the full moon?"

Stephanie's eyes grew wide. "Oh my God, you knew about that?"

"There wasn't much I missed."

"You're wrong." She cracked open a fortune cookie. "It was the new moon."

Gabe grinned then took a swig of beer. There was nothing wrong with her that enough time with a flesh-and-blood man—himself—wouldn't fix.

"Whatever," he said.

She needed to rest. She needed to forget about work. She needed a change of scene.

"Let's go to my cabin for the week."

Suddenly, William stood up and started growling. He ran into the kitchen and then to the back door and then dug at the carpet in the middle of the living room, snarling and whimpering and barking.

Barking mad might explain a few things... Stephanie went to him.

"Hey, what's wrong?" She petted him but he wouldn't be soothed. "What is it?"

She looked to Gabe. That, at least, was a good sign that she wasn't crazy. He shook his head. The dog circled the room, sniffing and digging, then stared at Steph. If Gabe didn't know better, he'd say the dog's eyes were pleading with her.

Gabe shook his head.

He couldn't let this cockamamie story get to him.

William rushed to the back door again, and Stephanie let him out where he ran around the yard and barked some more. Lucy followed but didn't seem inclined to join in; only curious about the fuss. That made two of them.

They walked onto the back deck. Gabe slipped his hand around Steph's. "Maybe—"

"Don't." She pulled away. "Don't say anything bad about him."

"Hey," came a voice from below them. "What's all that racket?"

Mr. Weinperth poked his head out of the basement.

"See," Stephanie said to Gabe. "There's a reason for everything." She waved to Mr. Weinperth. "Good evening."

"Evening you two. Heard you got yourself a dog, Stephanie. Sorry if I upset him."

"That's okay. He didn't like it when Mrs. Spangler was down there, either." She turned to Gabe with a smile. "He doesn't like basements any more than I do."

She was grasping at straws. Had he made a mistake? He'd been in love with her for so long, but that had been an adolescent craving for a young girl. What did he really know about the grown-up Stephanie? Had she been spending too much time with the likes of Heather? He stopped looking for excuses. He knew plenty about her. He had talked to Martha regularly...but she was her mother. Not exactly an unbiased source.

Then again, dogs did sense things that people missed.

"I'll check it out," he said.

He ducked under the deck and shook hands with Mr. Weinperth as he went by. The old guy still had a hell of a grip.

"Good thing, that dog," Mr. Weinperth continued to Steph. "A girl shouldn't be alone."

Gabe couldn't agree more. He checked the breaker box first, but all was in order there. He stood for a moment, sniffing for anything that didn't smell right, then looking for something out of place. Mr. Weinperth had started building a new birdhouse. His tools were always clean and organized. He'd been using the table saw recently, but not tonight or they would have heard it upstairs. Even that had a vacuum hooked up to collect the dust. William had probably heard the old guy banging around down here, and that's what he was barking at. Nothing more.

He went outside. Steph and Mr. Weinperth were admiring the new moon. He thought of Heather, again. He'd never known the girl, only knew that she was Stephanie's best friend and she was the exact opposite of Steph and maybe that's where the attraction was. There'd be no burnt offerings tonight.

Except for the fire he'd be lighting in Steph when he returned later.

He'd go home and pack up his and Lucy's gear, and they could leave for the lake first thing.

"Pretty night," he said as he approached.

"Yep," Mr. Weinperth agreed. "I think I'll close up shop and make myself a cup of tea. You two youngsters care to join me?"

"Some other time," Stephanie said.

"Not tonight," Gabe said.

Mr. Weinperth gave a jaunty salute and went down the steps to the basement. William sat nearby watching him closely, his head cocked to one side.

Gabe took Steph's shoulders. "I'm going home but I'll be back in a couple of hours. Say you'll come to the cabin with me."

She looked at him with her head tilted slightly, just like the dog's, and smiled. "This afternoon—"

"Was amazing."

"That too."

He touched her silky hair, moved it off her shoulder. "You were going to say something else?"

"I really think we should slow down."

"We've waited thirty years, Steph. I think that's long enough."

"I know. It feels right to me, too. But so much has happened in the last couple of days. Losing my job..."

"You worked too hard."

A pained look crossed her face.

"What? You did."

"Maybe. It's just that..."

Gabe took her in his arms. "It'll be all right. You'll see."

She dug her fingers into his shoulders, and he felt a sob push through her. He picked her up, carried her inside, and sat on the couch with her in his lap. She buried her face in his neck.

"I feel so lost." She sniffed for a few minutes, trying to get it under control. "I think I got lost when my father left."

Gabe knew most of the story from Martha. But not Stephanie's side of it. He'd never known his own father. Wasn't sure if his mother had even known which of her "special friends" had been the sperm donor. "Dirt bag," he said, thinking it applied to both of their sires.

She laughed a little at that, sat up and wiped her eyes. "You know what he told me?"

Gabe shook his head.

"He said I was lazy and should look for a rich husband because I'd never be able to take care of myself." She covered her cheeks with her hands. "Guess I proved him wrong, huh?"

That was why she'd never married. Not because of a betrayal from another lifetime. "It doesn't matter—"

"Let me finish." She took a deep breath. "Mom married for love, or so she thought. Look where that got her. I'm not sure she ever stopped loving the..."

"Dirt bag," Gabe finished for her.

She smiled. "I was determined not to end up like her. But in the process of proving Dad wrong, I ended up like her anyway. Alone."

She slumped against him again. He rubbed her back sensing this was a good time to shut up and listen. He didn't get the feeling she was soliciting advice, anyway. He glanced at the dogs. William curled in the easy chair, and Lucy, who wasn't allowed on the furniture, lay on the floor next to it. He and Steph would be having a conversation about the place of dogs in the home.

Steph continued. "I don't know if I ever really knew who I was. And now all this." She looked over at the dogs, too, and paused before going on. "What was I thinking? Tomorrow's Monday." She stopped for another big breath. "What am I going to do? My whole life, the answer to all my questions was work."

Gabe stroked her back and inhaled the scent of her. He couldn't take much more of her sitting on his lap. He either had to leave or get her naked.

"It's okay to take a break. Think about coming up to the cabin. You don't have to do anything. _We_ don't have to do anything. Heck, you can have the place to yourself. I'll go fishing. Bring a stack of books. Sit on the porch and drink coffee—"

Stephanie jumped to her feet. "Shit."

William came to attention, and Gabe stood up, too. "What?"

"I completely forgot. It's Mother's Day."

Gabe blinked. It took him a moment, but then it came back. Coffee. Martha's coffee.

"See what I mean?" she said. "That proves I'm out of my mind. You have to go."

"I'm coming back."

"No, please. Not tonight. We'll talk tomorrow, okay?" She walked briskly to the door.

Gabe followed, swearing to himself, trying to think of a way to salvage the situation. They weren't moving too fast, and the cabin was the perfect place for her to chill out and think about what to do next. He'd meant what he'd said about leaving her alone. It would kill him, but he would do it if that's what she wanted. He'd concede tonight. What he wouldn't do was give up on them.

At the door, he kissed her deeply and she returned it before giving him a playful shove.

"Scoot. I need to make some coffee."

### Chapter 10

I heard the lock turn from the outside. Of course Gabe had his own key. The deadbolt required a key on the inside, too, and I wondered where mine was. I usually put that and my handbag on the hall table. Routine, routine, routine. But there had been nothing usual since I left the office on Friday. After the attack Saturday...my keys could be anywhere.

I put away the leftovers, cleaned the dishes, crumpled our fortunes into the trash. _Good things coming_ and _Long life_. Good fortunes. Gabe's mouth had lazed into his wry smile when he'd read his about _good things_ , but he hadn't shared it at dinner. Right now, for me, that _long life_ stretched out—empty.

After separating a few of the frozen cubes of Mom's coffee to heat and transferring the rest to a plastic storage bag, I noted how full my refrigerator was. Not _full_ , not yet, but it held a few basics. Eggs, bacon, cheese, milk, juice, beer, leftovers. Signs of life. I pulled over a chair and sat with the door open, staring at the brightly lit interior until my eyes grew dry from not blinking. William sat next to me, feigning equal interest in the gleaming white space.

"Just a couple of days ago," I said to him, "I had work." I petted his head, smoothing his ears. "It was all I had and my fridge was empty." He pressed his head up against my hand. "Now, I have no job and look—" I gestured toward the metal and glass shelves. "Stuff. Like magic."

William stood and sniffed the stuff, looked at me. I indicated the apartment with a wave of my arm. "And you. You're big stuff. You fill up the rest of this space." He wagged his tail. "I don't know what it means...maybe nothing."

I shut the door and poured my coffee. The Conqueror followed me to the living room and sat next to me on the couch.

"I'm not talking to myself, you know. That would be crazy. I'm talking to you. Which might be worse. Not sure."

I lifted my cup to a picture of my mother on the mantle. "Happy Mother's Day, Mom." I felt a tear slip down my cheek. I nodded and took a drink. "Yes, you warned me."

William wormed closer, and I wove my fingers deep into his coat.

"She warned me about all work and no play." I set the cup on the table next to the couch and eyed the unopened bottle of Scotch from Friday night. "Tomorrow's Monday, William.

He blinked his big, brown eyes at me. They were rimmed in black and had dark, fathomless pupils. I got the Scotch and added a generous dollop to my coffee.

"Tomorrow's Monday," I said again. "And I don't know what it looks like."

Painful pressure clutched my chest, stealing my breath. It grabbed my throat and pounded into my head to lodge behind my eyes. Years of unshed tears pressed forward. I didn't want to let them out. Couldn't stop them. They flowed.

Unbidden. Unwanted. Unstoppable.

After a while, my body went limp and light. I could float away. How nice it would be to go, to be untethered. A kindness. William put his heavy paw on my leg as if to hold me down, keep me here. I didn't want that. Didn't want to be anywhere. He licked moisture from my hand where it had dripped like ancient torture.

"Good boy," I croaked. "Good boy." I scratched his back, and his hind leg kicked into motion. That lurch of knowingness hit me again, that sense of deep connection, and I wondered about the dreams and everything Heather had said. Some part of me knew and expected and understood William at my core. He had been waiting for me and felt all the same things. He rolled over and presented his belly for a rub, and we both smiled as I obliged.

"You're right," I murmured. "That's enough introspection for a lifetime, huh?" I leaned down and smushed my face into his ruff. He smelled of oatmeal shampoo and damp earth and still a little doggie. Just right.

A thump from the basement brought us both to our feet. Mr. Weinperth? I thought he'd closed things up hours ago. William stilled and looked at me.

"Let's go find out," I said.

He slid to the floor, and we went out the back. William the Conqueror took up a position at the top of the stone basement steps, sniffing the air with a low growl. He was a handsome devil. Whoever he'd been way back when, I understood how the priestess had fallen for him. As if I didn't already know, it hit me that I loved this dog more than anything I had ever loved. Or anyone. This new and unexpected feeling filled me up and knocked me back a step at the same time.

"Mr. Weinperth?"

"Stephanie, that you?" He answered from within. "Sorry for the noise. Decided to go ahead and finish this birdhouse. I promised it to the kids at the Center."

I heard the latches snap shut on a toolbox.

"Everything okay with you?" he asked.

If I indicated in the slightest I wasn't okay, if the old soldier caught sight of my face, I'd be here all night listening to a lecture about mental resilience. And I lacked the mental resilience for that right then. "I'm fine. Have a good night."

I left William to do his business, thinking I needed to put poop-scooping materials on my shopping list, and went back inside.

The apartment, which for years had mostly been merely a place to lay my head, felt homier with William in it. But without him glued to my side, it loomed large and hungry, like it could swallow me. I didn't know how a dog could become so important in two-and-a-half days, but they had been odd days. I didn't know how I could be so tired, either, and although the thought of a Monday morning without a million things to do scared the living crap out of me, the lure of a day off held distinct appeal. It was all the empty days after that worried me.

I settled myself back into the couch to flip through a five-year-old copy of _Good Housekeeping_ and wait for William. I'd purposely kept Gabe at the periphery of my mind, but pieces of him kept startling me. His scent, the feel of his skin, how well we'd fit. Being with him had been the most natural and strangest thing I'd ever done. Did I want more? Well, of course I wanted more of that. But a relationship? I didn't know which terrified me more—not having a job or having a man. Not just any man. The only man I had ever really cared about.

What are you feeling, Stephanie?

I think...

FEELings.

Oh, right, FEELings.

_Confusion. Fear. Crazy. Love. Calm_.

The calmness worried me. Another item for my to-do list: call my therapist first thing. Monday began to have a shape. Jean would be so happy to hear that I was not only having feelings but also actually naming them. A true breakthrough. And all it had taken was getting laid off, getting a dog, getting messages from a previous life, getting attacked, and getting...some good sex. Really, really good sex. Yeah, I wanted more of that. Why Jean hadn't suggested this approach before, I couldn't imagine.

I dozed off daydreaming about going to the lake with Gabe.

Fire. Screaming. Smoke. Coughing.

The tunnel. I had forgotten. I must save my people. We move barrels and sacks, blinded by smoke and tears, barely able to draw breath. The ceiling is caving in. It is hot and the smoke is thick. I cover my nose and mouth and push the maidens through the opening. For the second time this night, I feel the old ones near. The mothers are next.

A crone takes my hand. Together, we stumble into the cool and silent darkness.

In the distance, barking. Insistent. I must save my people. _Huh_? I waved off the now familiar stench of smoke and blinked myself away from the fierce crackling of the fire, wondering what William was barking at now.

The lights flickered. William scrabbled frantically at the back door.

How long had I slept? Had I even been sleeping? Poor guy. We hadn't been separated for more than a few minutes since Friday. And what was going on with the air conditioning? It was hot as—

The lights dimmed and went out.

William jumped up and down, pummeling the back window. I could hear his claws against the glass. He howled.

I stood, finally fully awake, and knew. The house was on fire.

Fear latched on to me with inexorable force. I stood there. Frozen. Smoke crept through the floorboards and around the basement door. That fierce crackling roared just beyond it.

This wasn't a dream.... _save my people_.

Oh, God. Mrs. Spangler. Mr. Weinperth.

The basement door burst into flames blocking the stairs up and the back way out. Still, I stood. My mind was very clear. The front door was locked and I had no idea where my keys were, couldn't go upstairs to look for them. Something propelled me through the dark toward the front anyway. I fell over a chair and landed hard on my hands and knees. My throat began to close, and I wasn't sure if that high-pitched whine in my ears was my breathing or sirens.

Flames reached the ceiling. William's voice reached me, hoarse with howling. I could almost make out a name being called—mine? At least he would be all right. I could try a window but my body wouldn't move. I lay on the floor and closed my eyes, imagining clear water and fresh-mowed grass.

The air around me turned cool and a shimmering bubble of light pierced the smoky darkness. I felt my mother bend over me and put her palm along my cheek. I gulped air fresh as newly sliced cucumbers and smelled her perfume.

"Time to get up, baby girl," she said and stroked my hair. "Get up, my girl."

I pushed myself into a sitting position. Across from me in the dining room window hovered a luminous figure draped in white. She waved me toward her. I knew her. The priestess.

I began to crawl in that direction. The smoke was thick, the floor hot. The glowing light receded, and I coughed as the boiling smoke filled me again. I couldn't do it. I wasn't the priestess.

The window shattered. William burst through. He rushed to my side and grabbed my shirt and dragged me the rest of the way. Outside, Mrs. Spangler in her white bathrobe.

"Come on," she yelled in a commanding voice I'd never heard before.

Blindly, I hoisted myself over the sill and fell with the tinkling of glass shards on the concrete walk between my house and the neighbor's. William dove down to me, nuzzling and nudging me with his wet nose, pushing me up and forward.

"Good boy."

"Come on, Stephanie, we have to get away."

"Mr. Weinperth—"

"William got him." She put her arm around me, and we lurched toward the front yard. "He fell and got knocked out and dropped something that started this."

We made it to the street where a few people hovered around Mr. Weinperth, holding a cloth to his head. Mrs. Spangler covered her mouth with her hand as flames licked out of the upstairs windows. Smoke rolled through her open front door.

William collapsed at my feet, and I dropped next to him, realizing his breathing didn't sound right and there wasn't much hair on his head. His shoulder had a raw spot and his nose was bleeding.

"You did it," I told him. "You saved everyone." I wasn't sure whether these words came out of my mouth. My throat was raw and swollen. "You saved me."

I glanced up at Mrs. Spangler but she only stared at our home as firemen began to pull hoses toward it.

"Oh, Blackie," she sobbed.

William's singed ears perked up. He looked from her to me and burst out of my arms before I could form the word, "No."

I went after him. "William!"

He wove through the firemen, jumped a hose, and bolted up the front steps.

"William, no!"

A startled fireman caught me around the waist and dragged me back. "You can't go in there."

I fought him with all the strength I had left. "My dog—"

"Ma'am, you're bleeding." He held me with ease.

I fought him more. "Please—" He released me to a waiting EMT. I summoned the strength of the priestess and fought, but another person grabbed me, and another. I started for the house, only to be stopped again. They were too strong and it was too late. The Conqueror had disappeared.

"William!"

Something inside the house caved in with a loud whoosh. Hungry flames reached high into the night. Above them, an incandescent white light danced, then flew away to the stars.

Something inside me gave way, too, but there were no flames. Only a bitter chill. In my head, I screamed his name over and over and over.

In the cool darkness, there was only silence.

### Chapter 11

As Gabe steered his truck toward Steph's exit, he noticed an ambulance speeding onto the highway on the other side. Yeah, she'd said she didn't want him to come back tonight, but he couldn't leave it at that. He wanted her, bad. What they'd shared that afternoon had been a sip against years of unquenched desire. It had only made him thirsty for more.

The ambulance's lights flashed in his side mirror. It wasn't that unusual in this part of the city. Made him wonder how much luck he'd have getting Steph to move out to the country with him. He knew she'd like it if she gave it a try. And it would be better for William, too.

When he approached her place, he caught a quick glimpse of more flashing lights between rows of closely packed homes. As he turned onto her street, he realized the fire engines were in front of her house. He must have crushed the gas pedal to the floor. The next thing he knew, he was out of his truck looking for her or any familiar face, calling her name, Lucy at his heels.

He saw Mrs. Spangler in a small knot of others, standing over something on the ground, an EMT kneeling at their feet. His gut went hollow. His heart stopped.

He pushed his way through. William lay on a blanket, singed and black with soot, hairless spots exposing bloody hide. The EMT had an oxygen mask over the dog's nose, but it didn't look like William was breathing. In the light from all the emergency vehicles, he could see Mrs. Spangler's face smudged gray and streaked with tears. She looked ancient, like she'd aged fifty years since this morning. She clutched a small box to her chest.

He took all this in with one breath. Took in the sodden, smoking ruin of the house with the next. Didn't take another. Gently, he touched Mrs. Spangler's arm. She turned.

"Oh, Gabe." She fell against him with a sob.

It was all he could do not to shake her. "Where's—"

"They took her to the hospital. Mr. Weinperth, too. Smoke inhalation, but they'll be okay. And he hit his head, the old fool." Her gaze dropped to the dog's still form. "But..."

"Is he...?"

"I'm not a vet," the EMT said, "but there ain't much left to work with."

"He saved us all," Mrs. Spangler said. She moved away from Gabe and held out the small box. "Even Blackie."

"Probably would have been okay if he hadn't gone back in," the EMT said. He withdrew the oxygen.

Gabe felt tears well up. He hadn't cried since he was a kid. Mrs. Spangler put her hand on his shoulder.

"Stephanie was...it was awful. Tore my heart out. I've never seen anyone so upset." She looked at Gabe again, her eyes clear. "I thought I knew what hysterical was."

The EMT stood. "Took three of our guys to get her into the ambulance."

Gabe crouched, scooped up blanket and dog, and hurried to his truck. Mrs. Spangler followed.

"Do you need anything?" he called over his shoulder. "Can I drop you anywhere?"

She opened the tailgate for him. "No, my sister's coming to pick me up. As soon as I get changed, I'm going to the hospital."

He slid the dog under the camper shell as gently as he could. He had a good friend from college who was a vet. If anyone could do anything...damn it. He didn't even know if William was still...

"St. Mary's," Mrs. Spangler said.

"Tell Stephanie I'll be there as soon as I can."

Lucy, who never liked to ride in the bed, dove in and lay next to William. Gabe jumped in the cab. The truck was still running. He jammed it into gear, grabbed his cell, and started punching in numbers.

### Chapter 12

I liked the cool darkness. After the initial emergency room flurry of tests, X-rays, drawn blood, cleanup, hookup, and treatments, it was quiet and still. I could stay like this. Didn't even have to worry about the cost because my official job termination date wasn't for several weeks, and my medical coverage was still in place. That gave me a flat trill of grim satisfaction.

Otherwise, I didn't think, I drifted. At first, I couldn't open my eyes and they were goopy with ointment. When awake, I listened. Machines bleeped and whirred, people came in and out.

No one spoke of William. The one I needed to hear about. All I could see was him running into that house again.

Mrs. Spangler stroked my forehead and made crooning sounds, leaving a lavender scent trail wherever she went. Heather held my hand for a long time but didn't say anything. That's when my new sensitivity revealed itself. I could feel the intensity of her gaze, heavy with loving concern as palpable as her touch.

Mr. Weinperth was wheeled in and left at the side of my bed. Of course, he didn't touch me, and for a change, he didn't lecture, either. Not out loud, anyway. But I could feel the words boiling away inside him, trying to escape like steam from a covered pot. Sorrow and regret. For me, for the house, for all his fallen comrades. His regrets were many, the sorrow deep.

Jean was a quiet pond. No worries. She gently rubbed my arm and told me to take my time as if she knew I needed to stay in the dark for now. Knew she would coax me out later.

Gabe stood at my side being strong. Just that and nothing more. What temptation to lean into that strength. He wished he had told me long ago how he felt. I didn't know if he spoke these thoughts aloud.

I remained alone in the cool darkness.

I cried. For William. For my mother. A little for myself. Grief ambushed me. Each time I felt surprise, keen as a fillet knife laying me bare. I let it. Opened all of myself except my eyes.

There were more chest X-rays to monitor my progress. An intense beam of light forced its way under my lids. The doctor was brusque, efficient, and at a loss as to why I wouldn't respond.

The priestess came. She and the man stood together, glowing. Gazing at me across eons from the foot of my bed. He had released himself from her curse. I should have been happy for that, but couldn't summon any glad feeling. Not if it meant I couldn't have William in my life.

The priestess smiled at her man. They glowed with their otherworldliness, with love for each other, and also, I realized, with love for me. It was a new idea, that self-love. I tried closing my eyes to this, too, but somehow I couldn't ignore them like I did everyone else. They were kind of annoying. I appreciated their silence, but their beatific gazes scorched me, and the man in particular needed to communicate something important. His dark brown eyes—William's eyes—bored into my soul.

Time fell apart. I could have been like that for hours or days or years.

A nurse with angelic hands washed me, removed all my unnatural attachments. Ah, they had finally given up. Good. But, no. Damned if they weren't shifting me into a wheelchair and taking me somewhere. I had no place and no one to go to. Heather might have decided to spring me, but where would she put me between the foster cats and dogs and her husband and two kids? I didn't want to be around any dogs. I hadn't wanted my mother this much since I was little.

A quiet elevator ride down. No memory of going up. I swallowed to test my throat. Not painful and the action awakened my stomach. One of those burgers at Heather's favorite restaurant would go down well.

Along another hallway, a door opened, the bump of a threshold. Sunlight. The nurse set the brake. As she turned and went back through the door on her quiet, comfortable shoes, I could sense her smile and wondered at the joke. Had she left me at the curb with a sign around my neck? Too quiet for the parking lot. A courtyard, then. Sunshine felt good. I tilted my face toward the light.

That's when I heard it and knew I was dead. A familiar clicking of toenails on a hard surface.

Then William was there, warm and wiggly, his front half heavy on my lap. He licked my face, snuffled my neck. I opened my eyes and hugged him, feeling my heart heal and break open with joy at the same time.

Off to the side, Gabe, William's leash dangling from his hand. So, I wasn't dead. Looking at his face, I knew why no one had mentioned William. It had been touch-and-go. But somehow he'd pulled through. In that moment, I knew that Gabe was my whetstone. He would sharpen me. The same love flowed out of him that had emanated from the priestess. It poured into my heart, swelling it, making room for more. Behind Gabe stood Mrs. Spangler and Mr. Weinperth, Heather and Jean, all smiling.

Beyond them, the priestess, woman of my dreams—me—holding hands with her lover. After a few moments, they turned with a wave and disappeared.

Quickly, I grabbed William's head to steady it and looked into his eyes. He met my gaze with that gleam expecting adventure.

"William," I whispered. "How...?" How didn't matter, I decided. Apparently, there are more things in heaven and earth. "I guess we did some adventuring after all."

He cocked his head. _Think what you want_...said that look... _you'll thank me later_.

"You're still not allowed to hump my leg or any other part of me, got it?"

He smiled.

THE END

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### About Candace Carrabus

Candace Carrabus spent her formative years in the saddle, just imagining. She still rides horses and writes stories—frequently simultaneously—and many of these stories are imbued with the magic and mystery horses have brought to her life. She shares a farm in the midwest with her family, which also includes several four-legged critters.

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### Also by Candace Carrabus:

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The Good Horse, The Bad Man & The Ugly Woman, A Witting Woman Novella

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