the door open a crack?” I asked so I could hear him, and he nodded and stood. Buddy followed him out, and I thought that the jingling of a collar was the most comforting sound in the world. I’d never had a dog, and Trent hadn’t wanted one, but the mutt had taken to him, and the pound was not an option when his owners had fled, abandoning him. I had a suspicion that the only reason Trent had originally taken him in was to irritate Ellasbeth.
I drowsed amid the rising scent of coffee and the domestic sounds of Trent settling in with his laptop and papers in the sunken central living room that the four bedrooms and small efficiency kitchen surrounded. Two entire days spread before us, and I had no idea what to fill them with now that I wasn’t going to help Edden. I’d been banned from Trent’s favorite golf course, but it might be fun to try to sneak me on for a leisurely eighteen. Or we could go for a ride on his horses. Riding in the fall was glorious, and if it got too hot, we could take the trails through the woods.
The woods he tried to run me down in.
A flash of old fear and anger struck me, and I tapped a line, snapping awake with a jerk.
Gasping, I sat up, heart pounding. Eyes wide, I took in Trent’s silent bedroom, the clean lines and sparse furniture done in soothing shades, the pillows piled on the floor, and the long curtains blocking the light from the attached patio. The door to the walk-in closet was cracked, and a childhood fear made me shudder as I clenched my hands, feeling them ache from the gathered power that surged through me.
“What the hell?” I whispered, looking to the door when Buddy padded in, collar jingling. I’d tapped a line. While sleeping?
I’d done the same thing yesterday in the car outside my church, and shaken, I let go of the line. Raw energy spilled out to leave me feeling like a spent tube of toothpaste. “What the devil was that, Buddy?” I whispered as I draped a hand over the edge of the bed, and he sat, panting, with my hand on his head.
The sound of Trent slurping his coffee struck through me, as familiar now as his voice. But even that failed to dispel the feeling of disjointed unease. I was awake, and feeling like a ten-year-old afraid of thunder, I got up.
I was still stuffing my arms into my robe when I pushed open the door to the common room. Trent was on the couch exactly where I thought he’d be with his feet on the coffee table and his laptop open. “You’re awake,” he said as he looked up.
Nodding, I shuffled into the sunken living room. Good God, even the expansive lower level past the stairs was dark, no sun coming in the floor-to-ceiling window that took up most of one wall. I was dead tired, but going back to that cold bed where I might fall asleep was not an option.
“Bad dream,” I said as I dropped down to sit with him on the couch.
He shifted his papers to hide them. It was a casual move, but it rang through me like a shot. “Same one?” he asked, his voice rumbling through me as I slouched into him.
“Different.” I breathed him in, feeling loved when he pulled the afghan up and over me.
“Then it’s probably okay,” he said. “You’ve got a lot on your mind.”
Snuggled in, I slowly lifted the top paper to see Quen’s latest bad-news PR report. Trent’s chest moved as he sighed. “It used to be so easy,” he whispered as we looked at the dismal stats. “I would make a call, say a word, and everything would be settled. Now it’s a fight. Every time.”
“It’s getting better,” I said, but according to that graph Quen had so helpfully put together, it wasn’t. The papers rustled as I gathered them up and set them on the table, but they were still there. Eyes closing, I leaned deeper into Trent, listening to his heartbeat as he ran a hand across my hair, soothing me. “Have you ever tapped a line when you were sleeping?”
Trent’s motion stopped. “No,” he said, and I sat up at the concern in his voice. “Did you? Because of your bad dream, maybe?”
I nodded. “I didn’t use it or anything,” I said, and he drew me