CJ stared at Mac Argeneau blankly for a moment, a little confused as to what he was doing there. He was wearing a black T-shirt and the blue jeans she’d picked out for him, the same clothes he’d been wearing when she’d seen him last . . . In Sandford where she was investigating Officer Jefferson, she recalled, and that’s when CJ realized she was dreaming. Because she had no recollection of getting from Sandford to her cottage on Pelee Island.
This was a dream, and one she had a lot. Well, part of it was one she had a lot. CJ often found herself dreaming of her cottage and the peace and relaxation she found there. It was the place she’d been most happy in her life, so where she went in her sleep. But she’d rarely dreamed of anyone else being there with her. Mac’s appearing here now was a new experience and a bit of a surprise, but not an unpleasant one, she decided. She might not be able to have him in real life, but this was a dream. Here she was safe and so was he. Here she could even experience and enjoy what she couldn’t in reality. If she wanted, which wasn’t something she was too sure about. Still, she was in control here in her dream.
Relaxing at the thought, CJ waded out of the water toward the large beach towel she’d left warming on a rock in the sun. Her path took her away from Mac, but she could feel him watching her as she moved, his gaze sliding down her body in the one-piece black bathing suit she wore, and then back up again with an appreciation that was almost a hum in the air. It made her hyperaware of her body, of the feel of the water running in rivulets down her chest and legs, of the warm sand under her feet, of the cool breeze on her skin.
“So, this is your cottage,” Mac commented idly as he watched her pick up the towel and begin to dry herself off.
CJ smiled faintly, but took a moment to wrap the towel around herself and tuck the end in the top to hold it in place before saying, “This is my beach. That’s my cottage.”
He followed her pointing finger up toward the pretty white cottage on the cliff above them, taking in the board and batten siding, and the sliding glass doors with large windows on either side looking out over the lake. It was all there was to see from where they were.
“Would you like to see the inside?” she asked, and when he nodded, turned to lead the way toward the stairs on the other side of the outcropping of rocks that lay at the base of the cliff. She walked slowly, giving him the chance to catch up, but was almost sorry she had when he took her hand in his. The move caught her by surprise and made her steps falter briefly, but then she forced herself to relax and continue moving. It was a dream. Her dream. There was nothing wrong with holding hands.
CJ told herself that several times as she led Mac to the wooden stairs built into the face of the cliff. But it didn’t help her to relax any. His hand was cool, his hold firm, and he didn’t let her go when they started up the stairs so that they could mount them single file, but held on and walked a little to the side and one step below her, the back of his hand occasionally brushing against her hip as they moved. It was having a most disconcerting effect on her equilibrium and she found herself beginning to babble nervously as they ascended the stairs.
“This was a one-room cottage when my foster parents bought it,” she told him. “They worked on it every summer for years, adding on two bedrooms, a loft, and even a bunkie out front.”
“A bunkie?” Mac asked with curiosity.
“A small building with one long room and a bathroom. It’s fitted out like a sitting room with two couches, some chairs, and a dartboard, but the couches pull out into beds for extra guests,” she explained. “It’s where my friends and I used to sleep when I brought them over from the mainland with us, or if one of the friends I had here on the island stayed overnight. Otherwise, I slept in the cottage.”
They’d reached the deck by then and she led him to the sliding glass doors and used the need to open the door as an excuse to free her hand from his. Sliding it open, she waved him in and then followed and stopped just inside the door as the breeze from the ceiling fan brushed over her body. There was no air-conditioning in the cottage, but shade from the large trees around it, combined with the ceiling fan in the main room and the breeze off the lake blowing through the screens on the open doors and windows, kept it mostly cool. The only time she missed air-conditioning was on those really hot days when there was no breeze. That happened rarely, though, and when it did, relief could be found in the water.
CJ closed the screen on the sliding glass doors, and then watched Mac look around her home away from home. She did too, her gaze sliding over white walls, hardwood floors, dark leather furniture. Half the large space was a living room with furniture that was overstuffed and comfy, but definitely older and well used. A faux fur rug lay on the floor in front of the fireplace, a large coffee table to do jigsaw puzzles on sat in front of the sofa, and there were lamps by every seat for reading at night.
The other half of the room was the kitchen and dining area. Blue cabinets with white quartz countertops lined the wall facing onto the road and the side wall, while a long wooden table with eight chairs filled the rest of the space.
When she glanced back to Mac and saw that his attention had moved to the ladder leading up to the loft, she said, “All there is up there is a king-sized mattress. There wasn’t enough height for a proper bed, but it’s only used when there’s lots of company . . . which hasn’t happened for a long time,” she added almost sadly. She used to love it when they had lots of company on the island. She missed those days. She missed a lot of things. Having a family. Having . . . someone of her own.
“Where do those doors lead?” Mac asked, gesturing to the three doors in the wall on the right.
CJ hesitated, and then led him to the first door and opened it to the larger of the two bedrooms in the cottage. It was where her foster parents used to sleep. She’d taken it over after they’d died and left the cottage to her. It faced out on the lake, which eliminated the need for curtains. It was a beautiful view to wake up to in the morning, she thought, and watched him peer around at the pale silver-blue walls, the king-sized brass bed, and the pine bedside tables and dresser. When his gaze settled on the large white quilt with the red and blue star pattern on the bed, she shifted uncomfortably and turned to leave the room.
The middle room was a small bathroom. CJ opened the door and then moved aside so he could step in and look around. It wasn’t a very impressive bathroom. Built when her parents first bought the cottage in the ’80s, it was older than she was and it showed. The room was also tiny with just a small sink, a toilet, and a shower Mac would have trouble using without knocking his elbows black and blue. CJ had considered remodeling it a time or two, but she was also considering the possibility of somehow making it a little bigger too, and until she figured out a way to do that without taking too much room from one of the bedrooms on either side of it, she didn’t want to remodel.
The last room was a smaller bedroom than the front one. It was where CJ used to sleep as a child and still had a single white captain’s bed with drawers, white end tables, and pink shaded lamps. Three of the walls were painted a creamy white, while the fourth wall was covered in wallpaper with pretty pink roses on it similar to the duvet on the bed. It was a young girl’s room. Too young for a fourteen-year-old “almost woman,” her mother had decided and had been planning on redecorating it before the car accident that had taken her life.
Pushing the thought away, she said, “My parents added on the two bedrooms. It was just the main room and the loft before that.”
“No bathroom?” Mac asked with surprise.
CJ shook her head. “Outhouse. We were all grateful when the bathroom was done,” she added dryly, and then turned to leave the room, heading for the kitchen.
“Would you like some iced tea or a soda?” she asked when she sensed him following her.
“Tell me about your childhood.”
CJ stopped walking. This was her dream. She was supposed to be in control and that was not a subject she wanted to discuss. On the other hand, she was here, in a home where she’d spent some of the happiest weeks of her childhood every year, with her first foster parents, who had been more real parents than foster. Her life had been secure and happy with them until the last few months before they’d died. She often wished she could return to that time in her life and live everything after discovering she was a foster child again. She’d make so many different decisions if she could. But she wasn’t the first person in history to regret decisions made in her past, or to learn the hard way that some mistakes could not be undone or fixed and had to be lived with, or eventually died with as the case may be.
“My childhood,” she murmured, and then continued on into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. There was a large pitcher of iced tea inside that looked much like one she’d seen in a magazine ad a while back. It was larger and prettier than any she’d made in real life, with slices of lemon floating in the ice cubes at the top of the pitcher. Nice.
CJ poured them both a glass, handed him one, and then leaned back against the counter and eyed him solemnly while she took a sip. As she’d noticed before, Macon Argeneau was a good-looking man. With thick, dark hair and attractive features, which included eyes the same silver blue as the walls in her bedroom here, she realized. He was also well-built, which was somewhat surprising considering he was a lab rat. She wasn’t surprised to find herself dreaming about him. In real life, if she weren’t sick, she’d have been interested in dating the man. She maybe even could have fallen in love with him. He had the kind of personality she liked. His sense of humor was killer.
“CJ?” he queried when she remained silent.
“Why do you want me to tell you about my childhood?” she asked instead of answering his question, and was actually curious about his response. What was her subconscious dredging up here?
“Because I’m attracted to you. I like you and I’d be interested in being in your life,” he answered without hesitation.