Nobody's Dream (81 page)

When he glanced down at Karla, she had tears in her eyes. What now? He couldn’t take much more today.

She met his gaze. “Thank you for giving me some time with Cassie. I didn’t know how much I needed some girl time.”

“You can thank Luke, too. It was his idea.”

She turned to Luke. “Thank you. And, Luke, even more important, thank you for loving Cassie, too.”

“Darlin’, it’s no chore to love someone as sweet as Cassie. Now, I think I’ll go help her out in the kitchen.”

Chapter Thirty

C
assie watched Luke working with Picasso in the pasture a week later as she tried to capture the image on the canvas she had set up just outside the corral. His parents had returned home to Texas two days ago leaving Luke spending long hours working with the horses during the day and on some project in the studio at night.

She could not help but think part of what drove him was that they had yet to go all the way, even though they were sharing a bed. She tried the man’s patience so.

Ryder and Megan had come to the ranch for the day yesterday, and the two men had holed up in the studio for hours while she and Megan went down to the stream on horseback to swim nude. Megan was a lot of fun to be with. Definitely a free spirit and someone who knew what she wanted in life. Cassie noticed some surgical scars on the woman’s abdomen, but did not pry.

During their time together, Megan had taken a number of photos of Cassie. The one of her nude body silhouetted by the sun, while not revealing anything to the eye, was very sensual. Next week, she would give a framed print to Luke at their party to celebrate their wedding and her birthday.

She also had begun a sketchbook of her sensual drawings of Luke. She began by drawing his face or hands, but recently had started sketching nudes of Luke while he was at work in his studio. Memories of their first nights in the cabin when she had removed everything but his boxers helped her fill in most of the details. She blushed. Drawing him in that pose excited her even though she had no clue how to share those feelings—or even the sketch—with him.

Perhaps someday soon. In bed last night, they had cuddled and talked about the horses, the alpacas, not to mention how much they enjoyed Ryder and Megan’s frequent visits, while Luke idly touched her in nonsexual, but increasingly bold, ways. He avoided her breasts and groin, but left her aching for more. She understood his frustration, too, now. What was he waiting for?

You, little one.

The wind seemed to whisper a message from
Mama Quilla
to her.

At times she thought she was ready to ask Luke to caress her the way she knew he wished to touch her. However, she feared the triggers more than his touch. Would he kick himself for causing one, or be upset that she could not separate his touch from that of her rapists?

What if she would never be ready to make love?

Cassie’s paintbrush stroked the canvas. Unlike in her sketchpad, here she showed a fully-clothed Luke as he put Picasso through his paces. She wondered what exercise they were doing. Apparently, he left a trail for Picasso to follow, but the horse seemed confused. Should she interrupt and see if she could find out what Picasso was thinking?

No
. If Luke needed her, he would ask. But she could not help but notice that these latest exercises seemed more intense than those he had worked on before the trip to Peru. Perhaps it was just that Luke was more driven. She and Luke did not talk about the abduction or subsequent rescue, but she could well imagine the helplessness and fear he had experienced that night when he realized she had been taken.

Luke was a ‘take-charge guy,’ as Kitty put it. Like Adam, he probably wrongly thought he could control every circumstance in his life. Keeping those he loved safe from harm, both humans and animals, was of tantamount importance, even though people generally have little control over their lives. She certainly had come to understand that.

Luke removed his Stetson and raked his fingers through his hair. Was he frustrated with himself or with Picasso? Most likely himself. Luke had infinite patience with animals—and his wife. He was being too hard on himself. Perhaps she could help Luke relax tonight by doing something fun.

Feeling Luke’s arm around her each night this past week had kept the monsters at bay. Surprisingly, she had only had one nightmare since Peru—one in which Luke had been knifed by Pedro.

When he awakened her and she heard his name reverberating in her ears, she immediately knew she was safe. She had curled up against him, needing to feel the beat of his heart against her cheek. Luke kissed her head and stroked her hair until she fell asleep again.

A nudge to her shoulder nearly sent her hurdling over the easel. She turned to see it was O’Keeffe leaning her head over the fence rail. “Hello, girl. You scared me.”

Cassie telepathically interpreted in English the messages the horse conveyed.
“Not my intention.”

She turned to nuzzle the horse and whisper in her ear. “I know. I’m just hypersensitive sometimes to unexpected movements.” She reached up and patted the mare on her cheek. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I want to try and capture your master and Picasso in this painting before they catch me.”

“Freeing.”

Freeing? Did O’Keeffe sense Cassie’s new state of being as she painted Luke? The savvy horse had noticed a difference in Cassie almost the minute she went to see her after they returned from Peru. Cassie had even shared her own story of abuse with the horse.

Cassie dipped her brush in the water and chose another color. She had been dabbling more with watercolors this summer. She loved exploring different ways of expressing herself through art. Perhaps someday she would focus on one, but until then, she would try everything.

Watching the water bleed into the paper, taking on unexpected designs and shapes, she remained lost in the creative process until O’Keeffe nudged her again.

“My turn.”

“You want to try your hand at painting?” She only realized later that the words that used to send her into a tailspin did not even faze her. Perhaps she had put one of her triggers to rest.

O’Keeffe nodded her head up and down, her mane flying with the enthusiasm she showed.

Cassie laughed. “Okay, girl. Let me set up a new paper for you to work on. I will need some fresh water from the barn. Be right back.”

She had heard about animals who expressed their creative nature. Excitement bubbled up inside her to see what O’Keeffe would do with a paintbrush. She could barely contain her giggle. A quarter hour later, she had moved the easel to inside O’Keeffe’s corral. The horse stood with water and paints at the ready. She glanced from the horse to the paper and decided a large brush might be best for this first attempt.

Smiling, she dipped the brush into the water and turned to the mare. “Which color would you like to start with?”

“Earth.”

“Brown?” She pointed to the color, and O’Keeffe nodded. Cassie filled the brush with the desired color before placing the handle between the horse’s teeth. “Here you go.”

O’Keeffe bent her head toward the paper and nearly toppled the easel. Cassie grabbed and steadied it. “Takes a while to judge distance, I guess. Just experiment at first with how the brush feels touching the paper.”

Undeterred, the horse took a step back and tried again, but this time the brush made contact with the lower part of the paper and smeared a patch of brown paint. “Very nice!”

“More.”

O’Keeffe extended the brush to her, and Cassie applied more brown paint to it and watched the horse add another streak on the paper. Quite abstract, but for a first attempt, a good effort.

“You have the idea, girl. Good job! The impressionists would envy your talent.” She grinned, anxious to show Luke.

After three more strokes with the brown, O’Keeffe whinnied as she extended the brush again.

“Grass.”

Dipping the brush into the water, Cassie cleaned it and applied the green. She’d never been an artist’s assistant before, but that O’Keeffe trusted her enough to explore this talent with her pleased Cassie.

The painting now had the appearance of a brown blob with a head sticking up—a horse’s head perhaps?

The green was splashed in three strokes around the brown. Definitely grass.

The image of a crow flashed in her mind. “Black,” she whispered under her breath as she prepared the brush.

In angry strokes, the horse slashed paint across the top of the canvas. The horse’s ears laid back as if she was the victim rather than the attacker. Cassie’s eyes stung. She refilled the brush quickly several times hoping O’Keeffe would be able to release this dark emotion. The top of the paper filled with more disjointed black streaks.

Dismal.

Depressing

The image of steel shackles embedded in her mind’s eye.

“Broken.”
The word screamed in Cassie’s head, loud and clear.

The paintbrush fell from O’Keeffe’s mouth to the dirt below. Cassie reached up to stroke the mare’s neck before burying her head and letting the tears flow. “It’s in the past, baby. No one is ever going to try and break your spirit again.” Sweat mingled with Cassie’s tears, drenching the horse’s skin. Memories of Cassie’s own experience with being restrained as her monsters tried to break her led to more tears spilling from her eyes. But they did not succeed in breaking her.

“Jeezus. She was sacked out old style.”

Cassie turned to find Luke staring at the picture O’Keeffe had painted. She brushed the wetness from her cheeks.

“Sacked out?” How could he tell from this abstract painting?

“It’s a downright abusive way to train a horse to humans. Wouldn’t think anyone would still use it these days when much more humane methods are known. But they broke her. The old style of sacking out a horse involved restraining it in some manner—usually they tie its head to a pole or hobbled it by the legs. Looks like the latter for O’Keeffe. Then they would have terrorized her with objects that scared her plus make loud sounds to frighten her further.”

No wonder she had such an affinity for this horse. “She did convey the image of shackles to me. Poor baby.” One on each side, Cassie and Luke spent some time loving on the horse who seemed so much more relaxed now that she had released that horrific memory.

A little while later, Luke reached out toward the painting. “You captured the hobbling here. See how her front legs are bent and her head is rearing back in defiance? Usually these horses wind up fearing people worse than ever afterward.”

“Oh, I did not paint that. O’Keeffe did.” He turned toward her with doubt in his eyes. “No, really! She conveyed feelings of being shackled and broken, just as you said, but I did not understand what the painting meant until you interpreted it.”

He looked from the painting to the horse a couple of more times. “Jeezus. Never saw anything like it. Maybe that’s what she’s been trying to let out all this time.” He patted the other side of O’Keeffe’s neck and shook his head in wonder.

O’Keeffe lowered her head to nudge the paintbrush lying on the ground.

Cassie picked it up and cleaned it in the jar of water.

“Want to do another, girl?” Cassie asked.

O’Keeffe nodded. Cassie removed the original painting and pinned a new sheet of watercolor paper to the easel.

“Sky.”

Cassie confirmed she wanted blue. “You got it.” She filled the brush and placed it between O’Keeffe’s teeth. She laid a swatch of blue across the top of the paper.

“I’ll be damned. She really
did
do it herself.”

Cassie wondered why he doubted her but soon became too engrossed in refilling the brush to remark. Soon another streak of what she supposed was sky lay on the paper.

“Crow.”

Oh, no. What was O’Keeffe going to convey to them this time? More abuse and hurt? With some reluctance, she cleaned the brush and loaded it with black. This time, though, the downward stroke was higher on the paper. She reloaded it several times and watched the horse make more slashes across the page. A vee formed with the two black strokes against the blue sky. She did not know what it meant, but could feel the horse’s peace of mind without O’Keeffe conveying anything telepathically at all.