Wild Men of Alaska 03 - Dreamweaver

taillights as she drove out of the trooper parking lot. Deep in thought, she made her way to her Subaru. Her feet crunched on the snow, sounding super loud in the silent night. Blue-green celadons with hints of violet reflected in the snow. She was afraid to look up or even glance sideways. Ever since their shared dance, she’d caught the outline of Lucky in her peripheral vision. But when she’d looked directly at him or where she assumed he was, he disappeared again. And now with her mother’s cryptic comment about dream walking, Gemma didn’t know what to think.
    She’d tried to get details out of Siri, but she’d jumped from subject to subject much the way a distracted child on a sugar rush did. There was no getting information out of her until she leveled out, and even then Gemma doubted Siri would fill her in or remember what she’d said.
    The evening had warmed up from the blustery afternoon. Everything was quiet as though old man winter had decided to give up the fight and let spring elbow her way in. Could Siri’s naked dance have wakened spring from her slumber?
    Gemma shook her head, not believing the direction her thoughts had taken. Sleep. She needed sleep.
    She drove the short distance home, white-knuckling it as the roads were icy from the rising temperatures. She fishtailed as she took one of the turns on Riverview Drive.
    Lifting her foot off the gas, and turning the wheel to compensate for the skid, Gemma regained control of the car just as it would have headed into the ditch. Heart pounding, she slowed her speed. Her reflexes were too slow. If she didn’t get some sleep soon, she’d have to stop driving. She heard somewhere that driving drowsy was worse than driving drunk.
    She pulled into her driveway, parked in the garage, and slowly released her grip on the wheel. Home. But she was suddenly apprehensive about entering her own house.
    “I won’t hurt you, Gemma,” Lucky whispered next to her.
    She jumped, slapping her hand over her heart. “Don’t do that. You have got to figure out a way to make some noise.”
    “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you ... or overwhelm.”
    “You were so quiet that I assumed you left. Have you been here the whole time?” She half-turned trying to catch his image in the dim light. There. She had to swallow. A vague outline, but he was there.
    “I never left your side. You seemed to need time to think. By the way, nice driving back there.”
    “I can almost see you. How is this possible?” What was she asking? How was any of this possible? It was freaky to say the least.
    “I don’t know. I’m just grateful for whatever is out there in the Universe that lets me be near you.” His hand captured hers, and held it, linking their fingers together.
    She stared down at her hand. And saw nothing. No tendons, knuckles, or fingers other than her own. She squeezed her fingers, and his hand gave her a squeeze back.
    She didn’t want to have astral sex with him.
    “Gemma, we aren’t going to do anything you don’t want to do.”
    She wanted to have actual sex with him. The hot, sweaty, break-the-bed-frame kind of sex.
    A strangled sound came from him, and h is hand suddenly clenched hers.
    Time to get out of the car.
    She released her hold on him and opened the door. Somehow she needed to control her thoughts since he couldn’t seem to stop listening in. A deep breath did nothing to clear her mind or the raging need to be touched by this Dreamweaver who had somehow burrowed his way into her heart.
    She dropped her purse on the table and entered the kitchen. “I need to eat something. Would you like—?” Yeah, well, that was stupid.
    The phone rang, saving her. She glanced at the clock. Almost midnight. Had Siri given Rosie problems? Relief filled her to see it was Tern. “Hey.” She’d yet to get Tern’s impression of the Tarot reading earlier that day. Had that been today? Afterward Tern had seemed more shell-shocked than Gemma and had quickly made her excuses.
    “I know it’s late, but I finally talked to Gage.” There was something in Tern’s voice that Gemma couldn’t quite put her finger on. “The man is going crazy nuts with all the data from the solar storms.”
    Opening the fridge, Gemma stared at the contents. Mayo, mustard, and wrinkled fruit of what kind she wasn’t sure. She really needed to make time for grocery shopping. She grabbed the mayo and mustard, found a jar of pickles and set the items on the counter. She was