Wild Men of Alaska 03 - Dreamweaver

and don’t leave anything out.”
    Gemma started speaking, and Tern never took her eyes off her. Tears welled and threatened to spill by the time Gemma had finished.
    “Give me a minute.” Tern sniffed and wiped at her eyes.
    Gemma grabbed a box of tissues and a half empty bag of M&M’s. By the looks of Tern, who was normally a rock, they were going to need more than coffee. Maybe she should get out the cooking wine?
    “Lucky was, is—oh God, I don’t know the correct tense to use.” Tern hopped to her feet, went to the kitchen sink, and splashed water on her face. She gazed out the window where the snow was silently, almost reverently, falling in feathered puffs. “I loved him. Still do. He was a world famous mountain climber. He’d conquered Everest. And Denali twice—the second time during the winter. Nothing scared him.” She took a heavy breath, shuddering as it left her body.
    “Where you two ever ....”
    “Yeah.” A bittersweet smile appeared. “Man, he’d been fun.”
    Gemma squashed the jealousy that suddenly rose within her. If Lucky had been with Tern, why was he wanting to be with her? Tern was so exotic, confident, and accomplished with that extra something that was hard to put your finger on.
    “I never loved him the way that I love Gage,” Tern continued. “Lucky was fun, daring, a gambler in all aspects of the word. Unfortunately, he lost that last gamble.”
    “How?”
    Tern was suddenly all business as she retook her seat. “Last summer. Things were bad, and he was killed.” That seemed to be all that she could reveal about the horrors she’d been though. “Gemma, we need to figure out how to help him. We already know the how and the why. Now let’s figure out what we must do to help Lucky break the bonds of death.”
    “Whoa. Wait.” Gemma’s hand flew up to stop Tern. “What do you mean help him? I thought I had to stay awake, and not let my ‘Dreamweaver’ seduce me. What about my soul?”
    Tern pursed her lips in thought. “It’s Lucky. He can’t be after your soul. He isn’t like that. There’s got to be something else.”
    “How do you know what he’s like now? He’s dead and wanting to get inside me.” Silence filled the air between them, and Gemma flushed realizing what she’d just said. “Won’t he take over my spirit and inhabit my body?”
    “I don’t think that is what this is about. Lucky is a special soul. It isn’t in him to be conniving like that.” Tern suddenly looked around. “I need to talk to him. Can he talk to me?”
    “I don’t know. You’re the expert.”
    “No, I’m not. But I know someone who is.” Tern nailed her with a look that shouted volumes.
    Oh, no. “Not my mother again.”

Chapter Ten

    “You should have come to me before now,” Siri scolded, adjusting her colorful skirts. Today she was garbed in a medieval-style embroidered heliotrope-colored dress with a flaxen-lace kirtle. Where had she bought that? Her red hair was piled on top of her head with long curls intertwining with her purple feathered earrings.
    Gemma felt drab in her simple slacks and black sweater. But then she’d always felt drab next to her mother. As a child she’d gone out of her way not to draw attention to herself, which hadn’t been hard as Siri had garnered most of it.
    “Siri, what can you tell us about Dreamweavers?” Tern steered the conversation to what they had come for. After depositing their coats, boots, hats, and mittens they were sitting around Siri and Rosie’s living room, which was draped in scarves from India with colorful cushions that weren’t much higher than the floor. A low hand-carved ironwood table squatted in front of them.
    Aunt Rosie lowered a tray of tea and poured them each a cup. She was dressed much the way Gemma was in no-nonsense jeans and a sweater. Tern was as colorful as Siri, but classy and fashionable making a statement with her choice of clothing rather than being one.
    “We need to see what the cards tell us.” Siri settled a look on Gemma.
    “I don’t want my cards read,” Gemma quickly interjected. She’d had enough of having her cards read. Growing up, whenever she was upset or had a problem, Siri always consulted the cards.
    “Not yours. His.” Siri’s surprising crystal gaze locked on Tern’s. “Did you bring them?”
    “Yes.” Tern opened the big leather bag and laid a charcoal-colored Polartec jacket, a scratched and dented compass, and a picture on the table.
    Gemma