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to fight the urge to kiss her awake and share the dream with her. Instead, he'd searched out his drawing pad and sketched D.J. as she'd been in the dreamthe field, the flowers, the children. The beauty was somewhat lost in a pen-and-ink drawing, but he'd preserved the emotion that had burgeoned through him during the experience. The drawing was easily the best work he'd ever done. |
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When he'd gone outside Chris had seen the field of his dream existed in realitydirectly in front of the cabin. Though right now the flowers had faded and the autumn trees blazed all the color, he would know the field anywhere. The question was, how had he dreamed the field just as it lay before him when he'd never seen the place until that morning? When they'd arrived the night before the area had been a mass of dark shapes and treacherous rocks. Since Chris had no explanation for the dream he'd chopped wood until his hands blistered and his mind cleared. |
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Perhaps he'd been wrong to fight the attraction he felt for D.J. When he'd first met her he'd wanted her. But the example of Kirk Rousseau, who slept with any woman he desired with no feelings for them, then bragged about his conquests until Chris became sickened, had made Chris distrust lust at first sight. He could never be the animal Kirk was. |
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But as time went on and he got to know D.J., his desire had deepened into something more. She was different from the woman he'd at first believed her to be. Sure, she was tough; she was cold; she was driven. But beneath all those protective devices she was soft and warm and as lost on this earth as he. |
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