Rachel Goddard 01 - The Heat of the Moon

him, “It reminded me of something, that’s all. An old dream.”
    He sat forward, interested. “A nightmare? About what?” He waited, patient and receptive.
    I shook my head. “It wouldn’t make any sense to you.”
    “Try me.”
    I was silent, scraping my fork back and forth across my plate until the screek screek of silver on china got through to me and I stopped. I didn’t want to offend him with a rebuff, but I had no intention of spilling out a story of dreams and strange faces and the father I couldn’t remember.
    When I didn’t answer, Luke sat back and said, “Do you ever ask your mother to analyze your dreams?”
    My head snapped up. “My mother?”
    “Don’t psychologists analyze dreams?”
    “I don’t want to have my dreams analyzed. To tell you the truth, the very thought of therapy of any kind gives me the creeps.”
    “Oh, that’s a great endorsement for your mother’s business.”
    That struck us both as funny, and we laughed together.
    “I apologize for what happened at the clinic,” I said. “You know I don’t usually go around scaring little children. Let’s not talk about it anymore, do you mind?”
    I rose and carried my plate to the sink, silently pleading for an end to the subject. He followed with his own plate and I scraped our leftovers down the garbage disposal. The machine’s growl stopped talk and allowed me to regain my balance.
    When I switched off the disposal I changed gears. “I had a dream last night that I’d defy anybody to analyze. You’ll be interested in this, it’s the kind of thing only a vet could appreciate.”
    “Tell me.” Hands in his pockets, he leaned against the counter next to the sink.
    I paused to recall details of the dream that awakened me with giggles during the night. It had been such a blessed change from the dark questions crowding my head before I fell asleep.
    “I dreamed that a horde of basset hounds showed up at the clinic. They walked in by themselves, they didn’t have people with them. They filled up the reception area and overflowed into the cat waiting area, with some pretty lively consequences.”
    Luke smiled. “And?”
    “They were all suffering from terrible halitosis, which I diagnosed as bassetosis.”
    I loved the sound of his laughter, so I kept going, embroidering the silly dream.
    “Pretty soon the place was carpeted with dozens of bassets standing around on their stubby little club chair legs, all looking mournful and very embarrassed by the whole situation. The smell they gave off was so overpowering, and the atmosphere got so dense with it, the staff was running around opening all the doors and windows and fogging the place with air freshener.”
    “You’re making this up.” 
    “Absolutely not. You know how crazy things are in dreams. I remember that my biggest problem was classifying the disorder. I had to examine every dog carefully to determine whether it had smallmouth bassetosis or largemouth bassetosis—”
    Luke burst out laughing, and I laughed with him, and somehow by the time we subsided to crinkle-eyed amusement he had an arm around my waist and I was leaning into his shoulder.
    He sighed, brushed a finger across my cheek, and murmured, “God, Rachel, you’re so beautiful.”
    His hand slid under my hair to caress the back of my neck, sending a shiver through me. I hadn’t planned on this. Had I? He was assuming too much. I’d allowed him to.
    I let him pull me closer, but I kept my arms up between us, hands splayed on his chest. His heart thudded under my palm.
    “You know something I’ve wanted to do since the first time I saw you?” he asked, his voice husky against my ear. His cheek, slightly rough, brushed mine.
    My fingers curled, clutching the fabric of his shirt.
    “The first time I came to see the clinic, you were standing by the desk with your back to me, I guess you were leaving, you didn’t have your lab coat on. I saw this beautiful long sexy back, and I wanted to go up and do this—”
    Slowly, with a gentle pressure, both his hands traveled down my back and up again, while he kissed my neck, my cheek, my forehead, my temples. Heat rose in my skin where his lips touched.
    Why not? One kiss. What was the harm in a kiss? I raised my arms, circled his neck, and met his mouth with mine. He drew me closer, locked me tight against him from shoulders to knees. His fingers were in my hair, cradling the back of my head.
    Suddenly I felt once again the sharp sense of