Cowboy's Legacy. B.J. DanielsЧитать онлайн книгу.
lungs burned. She had to breathe. The dim light wavered above her through the rippling water. She clawed at it as her breath gave out. She could see the surface just inches above her. Air! She needed oxygen. Now!
The rippling water distorted the face that suddenly appeared above her. The mouth twisted in a grotesque smile. She screamed, only to have her throat fill with the putrid dark water. She choked, sucking in even more water. She was drowning, and the person who’d done this to her was watching her die and smiling.
Maggie Thompson shot upright in bed, gasping for air and swinging her arms frantically toward the faint light coming through the window. Panic had her perspiration-soaked nightgown sticking to her skin. Trembling, she clutched the bedcovers as she gasped for breath.
The nightmare had been so real this time that she thought she was going to drown before she could come out of it. Her chest ached, her throat feeling raw as tears burned her eyes. It had been too real. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d almost died this time. Next time...
She snapped on the bedside lamp to chase away the dark shadows hunkered in the corners of the room. If only Flint had been here instead of on an all-night stakeout. She needed Sheriff Flint Cahill’s strong arms around her. Not that he stayed most nights. They hadn’t been intimate that long.
Often, he had to work or was called out in the middle of the night. He’d asked her to move in with him months ago, but she’d declined. He’d asked her after one of his ex-wife’s nasty tricks. Maggie hadn’t wanted to make a decision like that based on Flint’s ex.
While his ex hadn’t done anything in months to keep them apart, Maggie couldn’t rest easy. Flint was hoping Celeste had grown tired of her tricks. Maggie wasn’t that naive. Celeste Duma was one of those women who played on every man’s weakness to get what she wanted—and she wanted not just the rich, powerful man she’d left Flint for. She wanted to keep her ex on the string, as well.
Maggie’s breathing slowed a little. She pulled the covers up to her chin, still shivering, but she didn’t turn off the light. Sleep was out of the question for a while. She told herself that she wasn’t going to let Celeste scare her. She wasn’t going to give the woman the satisfaction.
Unfortunately, it was just bravado. Flint’s ex was obsessed with him. Obsessed with keeping them apart. And since the woman had nothing else to do...
As the images of the nightmare faded, she reminded herself that the dream made no sense. It never had. She was a good swimmer. Loved water. Had never nearly drowned. Nor had anyone ever tried to drown her.
Shuddering, she thought of the face she’d seen through the rippling water. Not Celeste’s. More like a Halloween mask. A distorted smiling face, neither male or female. Just the memory sent her heart racing again.
What bothered her most was that dream kept reoccurring. After the first time, she’d mentioned it to her friend Belle Delaney.
“A drowning dream?” Belle had asked with the arch of her eyebrow. “Do you feel that in waking life you’re being ‘sucked into’ something you’d rather not be a part of?”
Maggie had groaned inwardly. Belle had never kept it a secret that she thought Maggie was making a mistake when it came to Flint. Too much baggage, she always said of the sheriff. His “baggage” came in the shape of his spoiled, probably psychopathic, petite, green-eyed blonde ex.
“I have my own skeletons,” Maggie had laughed, although she’d never shared her past—even with Belle—before moving to Gilt Edge, Montana, and opening her beauty shop, Just Hair. She feared it was her own baggage that scared her the most.
“If you’re holding anything back,” Belle had said, eyeing her closely, “you need to let it out. Men hate surprises after they tie the knot.”
“Guess I don’t have to worry about that because Flint hasn’t said anything about marriage.” But she knew Belle was right. She’d even come close to telling him several times about her past. Something had always stopped her. The truth was, she feared if he found out her reasons for coming to Gilt Edge he wouldn’t want her anymore.
“The dream isn’t about Flint,” she’d argued that day with Belle, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that it was a warning.
“Well, from what I know about dreams,” Belle had said, “if in the dream you survive the drowning, it means that a waking relationship will ultimately survive the turmoil. At least that is one interpretation. But I’d say the nightmare definitely indicates that you are going into unknown waters and something is making you leery of where you’re headed.” She’d cocked an eyebrow at her. “If you have the dream again, I’d suggest that you ask yourself what it is you’re so afraid of.”
“I’m sure it’s just about his ex, Celeste,” she’d lied. Or was she afraid that she wasn’t good enough for Flint—just as his ex had warned her. Just as she feared in her heart.
* * *
THE WIND LAY over the tall dried grass and kicked up dust as Sheriff Flint Cahill stood on the hillside. He shoved his Stetson down on his head of thick dark hair, squinting in the distance at the clouds to the west. Sure as the devil, it was going to snow before the day was out.
In the distance, he could see a large star made out of red and green lights on the side of a barn, a reminder that Christmas was coming. Flint thought he might even get a tree this year, go up in the mountains and cut it himself. He hadn’t had a tree at Christmas in years. Not since...
At the sound of a pickup horn, he turned, shielding his eyes from the low winter sun. He could smell snow in the air, feel it deep in his bones. This storm was going to dump a good foot on them, according to the latest news. They were going to have a white Christmas.
Most years he wasn’t ready for the holiday season any more than he was ready for a snow that wouldn’t melt until spring. But this year was different. He felt energized. This was the year his life would change. He thought of the small velvet box in his jacket pocket. He’d been carrying it around for months. Just the thought of it made him smile to himself. He was in love and he was finally going to do something about it.
The pickup rumbled to a stop a few yards from him. He took a deep breath of the mountain air, and telling himself he was ready for whatever Mother Nature wanted to throw at him, he headed for the truck.
“Are you all right?” his sister asked as he slid into the passenger seat. In the cab out of the wind, it was nice and warm. He rubbed his bare hands together, wishing he hadn’t forgotten his gloves earlier. But when he’d headed out, he’d had too much on his mind. He still did.
Lillie looked out at the dull brown of the landscape and the chain-link fence that surrounded the missile silo. “What were you doing out here?”
He chuckled. “Looking for aliens. What else?” This was the spot that their father swore aliens hadn’t just landed on one night back in 1967. Nope, according to Ely Cahill, the aliens had abducted him, taken him aboard their spaceship and done experiments on him. Not that anyone believed it in the county. Everyone just assumed that Ely had a screw loose. Or two.
It didn’t help that their father spent most of the year up in the mountains as a recluse trapping and panning for gold.
“Aliens. Funny,” Lillie said, making a face at him.
He smiled over at her. “Actually, I was on an all-night stakeout. The cattle rustlers didn’t show up.” He shrugged.
She glanced around. “Where’s your patrol SUV?”
“Axle deep in a muddy creek back toward Grass Range. I’ll have to get it pulled out. After I called you, I started walking and I ended up here. Wish I’d grabbed my gloves, though.”
“You’re scaring me,” she said, studying him openly. “You’re starting to act like Dad.”
He laughed at that, wondering how far from the truth it was. “At least I didn’t see any