Dreams for Stones

Dreams for Stones

by

Ann Warner

Silky Stone Press

Dreams for Stones

Copyright © 2007 Ann Warner

Previously Published by Samhain Publishing

Cover design by

Ann Warner

Smashwords Edition

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This
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for your use only, then please return and purchase your own copy.
Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Without limiting the rights under the copyright
reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced,
stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in
any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying,
recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of
the above author of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author
acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various
products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used
without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not
authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark
owners.

Dedication

Book
Description

Chapter One
-
Chapter
Two
-
Chapter Three
-
Chapter
Four
-
Chapter Five -
Chapter Six -
Chapter Seven -
Chapter Eight -
Chapter Nine -
Chapter Ten -
Chapter Eleven -
Chapter Twelve
-
Chapter Thirteen
-
Chapter
Fourteen
-
Chapter Fifteen -
Chapter Sixteen -
Chapter Seventeen -
Chapter Eighteen -
Chapter Nineteen
-
Chapter
Twenty
-
Chapter
Twenty-One
-
Chapter
Twenty-Two
-
Chapter
Twenty-Three
-
Chapter
Twenty-Four
-
Chapter
Twenty-Five
-
Chapter
Twenty-Six
-
Chapter
Twenty-Seven
-
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
-
Chapter
Twenty-Nine
-
Chapter Thirty
-
Chapter Thirty-One
-
Chapter Thirty
Two
-
Chapter
Thirty-Three
-
Chapter
Thirty-Four
-
Chapter
Thirty-Five
-
Chapter
Thirty-Six
-
Chapter
Thirty-Seven
-
Chapter
Thirty-Eight

Epilogue

Excerpt of Persistence of
Dreams

A Note to
Readers

About the
Author

Acknowledgments

Reading Group
Guide

Other Titles by Ann
Warner

To my husband who loves me for ordinary reasons in an extraordinary
way.

And to Joe and Emma, muses and friends, who showed me how to face
difficulties with grace.

Indie Next Generation Book Award Finalist

A man holding fast to grief and a woman who lets go of love too
easily. It will take all the magic of old diaries and a children's
story to heal these two. Caught in grief and guilt over his wife's
death, English professor Alan Francini is determined never to feel
that much pain again. He avoids new relationships and keeps even
his best friend at arms' length. His major solace is his family's
ranch south of Denver. Children's book editor Kathy Jamison has
learned through a lifetime of separations and a broken engagement
that letting go is easier than hanging on. Then she meets Alan, and
for once, begins to believe a lasting relationship is possible. But
Alan panics and pushes her away into the arms of his best friend.
Now the emotions of three people are at stake as they struggle to
find a way to transform their broken dreams into a foundation for a
more hopeful future.

Alan Francini smoothed a saddle pad onto Sonoro’s back, and the
horse danced sideways before settling and blowing softly. For a
moment, Alan rested his forehead against the animal’s neck, then he
reached for the saddle and, with one smooth motion, swung it into
position. He tightened the cinch, led Sonoro outside, mounted, and
heading toward the foothills, gave Sonoro his head.

Their swift passage through the brisk air
chilled Alan’s face, pulling tears from his eyes. He ignored the
wet on his cheeks, focusing instead on the dull staccato rhythm of
hooves on frozen ground, the click of iron shoe against cold stone,
and the huff of Sonoro’s breathing, visible in the icy air.

When they reached the alpine meadow with its
tiny topaz lake, he left the stallion to graze and walked to the
edge of the water.

The day he and Meg discovered it, the lake
had been blue and mirror still, reflecting mountains, trees, and
sky in all their perfection, like a second reality.

Now that day was the only Meg memory he was
able to look at directly, without flinching. The only day in all
their days together that hadn’t shifted and splintered into
sharp-edged, unrelenting pain.

A cloud slid across the sun. The lake
darkened, its opaque surface shivering with each gust of wind.
Early April. An uncertain time of year. As uncertain as the
possibility of joy.

He picked up a stone, tossed it into the
gray lake and stood waiting until the widening ripples from the
splash touched the shore at his feet.

Then he remounted and rode back the way he
had come.

Alan was halfway through chores Easter morning when his sister
showed up. Elaine swung on the door of the stall he was cleaning,
chewing a stem of alfalfa, looking more like a young girl than a
woman of thirty-three.

He reached over and pulled the hay from her
mouth. “Bad habit, Laine.”

She wrinkled her nose and yanked a fresh
stem free. “So, how go the Denver State tenure wars?”

“Dossier’s due in the fall.” He went back to
forking used straw into the wheelbarrow.

“You have a take on how it’ll go?”

“New department head might be the sticking
point.”

“So? Send her roses and a box of
very
expensive chocolates.”

He pulled in a deep breath of air scented
not with roses and chocolate but with hay and horse and turned to
tell Elaine he couldn’t think of a worse thing to do.

She grinned. “Gotcha. Why’s she the sticking
point?”

“She came to observe my class. Unannounced.”
He continued to work, his muscles loosening and warming, sweat
dampening his shirt, as he recalled Hilstrom’s visit. He’d done the
math. The woman was at least fifty, but fighting it with short
skirts and too much makeup.

That day she’d sat in the back of the room,
a perfectly groomed, lavender-garbed apparition, while he struggled
to get a reaction to a piece of experimental fiction out of
students more likely to have lavender hair than lavender garments.
Eventually he succeeded and, caught up in the discussion, he forgot
Hilstrom until the students filed out.

She had paused in the doorway, tapping her
reading glasses against her teeth. “That was certainly an
interesting approach, Alan.” Her tone made it unclear whether she
considered it a
good
interesting or a
bad
interesting.

Elaine wiggled her fingers at him. “About
that visit?”

He didn’t want to rehash it, bad enough to
have lived through it once, but maybe he
could
come up with
a story to amuse her. It would be nice to keep her hanging around a
bit longer.

“We were reading
The Taming of the
Shrew.
I invited her to read Katherine’s part.”

“Tell me you’re joking.”

“Trust me, Hilary Hilstrom is no joke.” And
wasn’t that the truth. He kept his face turned away, as he
continued to work.

“Did she do it?”

“She did.”

“And?”

He leaned on the pitchfork and thought about
where to take the story as the horses chomped steadily through
their morning hay and oats.

And then he had it. “Hilstrom was so
dramatic, the football player reading Petruccio forgot he was
acting and kissed her.” Alan smiled at the vision of Hilstrom,
those silly looking glasses on her nose where they belonged for
once, and a block-shaped lineman with no neck, leaning in, eyes
closed, lips puckered.

“If that really happened, your goose is
cooked.”

“Yep. Unless he was an excellent kisser.” He
tossed the last of the used straw into the wheelbarrow. “She did
appear bemused.”

Elaine laughed. “By the muse or the
guy?”

Alan shrugged, pleased with the success of
his tale. As he passed her, Elaine turned and followed him.

“You made that up, right?”

He dumped the contents of the barrow,
straightened and met her gaze with a solemn look. “Nope. Cooked
goose. That’s me. Easter dinner.”

He saw she half believed him, although as a
clinical psychologist, she usually recognized bullfeathers
immediately. But then, it had been a very long time since he last
joked with her.

Her grin fading, she stepped closer and
touched his arm. “Alan, there’s something I need to tell you.”

“Knew it was too good to be true you
actually came to help me muck out,” he said, hoping to lighten her
up.

“We’re making the announcement at dinner,
but. . . ” She bit her lip, her fingers worrying the fabric of his
shirt. “I didn’t want to spring it on you in front of everybody.
But, well, we’re going to have a baby.”

He sucked in a quick breath and let it out
slow, trying not to let the emotions set loose by her words take
hold. “Hey, that’s great news, Laine.” He pulled her into his arms.
“Bet Ted is thrilled, and the folks will be over the moon.”

“It’s just. Times like this.” Her voice
caught, and she pressed her head against his shoulder. “Meg. . .
she ought to be here. You know.”

“Yeah.” He spoke softly, because suddenly he
found it impossible to get all the air he needed.

“Sometimes I can’t stand that she isn’t.”
The fierce words were interlaced with tears. “I miss her so
much.”

Yeah. He did too. And always would.

Elaine scrubbed her eyes. “Sorry. I didn’t
know I was going to do that.” She stumbled out of his arms and went
over to the nearest stall. The occupant stuck its head over the
door, whickering a greeting, and Elaine stroked the shaggy neck,
lifting and untangling the mane with her fingers.

The sun slanted across his sister’s hair,
burnishing its honey color with gold and, for an instant, it was as
if Meg stood there, and he could almost hear her voice saying,
“Alan, look at this. Her mane’s all tangled, and after I just
combed it. Bet she got into those brambles going after berries
again, the greedy gut.”

The twist of pain was so powerful, he
doubled over. When he straightened, he was relieved to find Elaine
hadn’t noticed his lapse. He shook his head to clear it, then
hooked a bale of fresh straw and hauled it over to the clean stall.
When he looked up, he found Elaine watching him, a worried look on
her face.

He spoke as gently as possible. “It’s okay,
Laine. I think your having a baby is wonderful.”

He led the occupant back into the clean
stall and took his time unclipping the lead, stroking the soft
muzzle, running his hands down each leg, picking up and checking
each hoof. By the time he finished, Elaine had gone back to the
house.

He breathed a sigh of relief, glad to be
alone again in the quiet of the barn with creatures that couldn’t
speak.

Kathy Jamison stood at the entrance to the botanical gardens, her
gaze focused on the man walking toward her. She had the urge to
pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. Instead, she rubbed
her thumb against the diamond ring Greg had placed on her finger a
month ago and knew she was most definitely awake. And reality was
better than any dream.