Wild Men of Alaska 03 - Dreamweaver

still in the astral plane.”
    ***
    You are busting through all the rules,” Hansen said, standing with his hands on his hips as though bringing judgment. “How did you get her here?”
    “It wasn’t anything to do with me. And how can I break the rules when I don’t even know what they are?” Frustration ate at Lucky. He’d been pacing long enough to actually mow a path into the perfect field of grass. He needed out of here. He needed Gemma, needed to be with her now more than ever, and no matter what he did he couldn’t break out.
    Each time he’d meditated, he’d been lost in a swirl of snow. He’d been able to visit her before through storms worse than the one currently over the arctic. There’d been bad weather the day Siri had read his Tarot cards, and while he hadn’t been able to interact with Gemma, he’d been able to see her, hear her.
    Today was different.
    Each time he closed his eyes and concentrated, a static whiteout appeared meant to confuse and cage. No vibrant liquid streams of light to guide him to her. It was like there was divine interference. Had he broken some unpardonable rule by lying with Gemma?
    Panic chilled him to the soul.
    “You’re seriously going to choose to be with her.” Hansen dropped to his favorite rock. “You’re going to give up Heaven for a woman?”
    “She is my Heaven.” Lucky stopped and faced his friend. “I have never felt more alive, more in tune to a person than when I hold her in my arms. It’s killing me, all over again, not to be in her presence.”
    “How is it going to feel for her if she chooses you but can never truly be with you?”
    Lucky raked his hands through his hair, pulling at the roots. He needed to consider that, but the heartache that always followed paralyzed him. “It’s a gamble. I love her. There is nothing without her. I have to go all in.”
    A sudden zinging along his spine caught his breath. There. A thread of energy. “Gotta go.”
    He shut his eyes and concentrated on that thread as it weaved around him. His spirit reached out and gently gripped the end, letting it wing him across distances so vast he couldn’t comprehend it all.
    Gemma.
    The only thing in his mind, in his heart, and he followed both like a bullet to its target.

Chapter Seventeen

    Gemma glanced up as Callista rounded the corner of the bookcase where she and Tern were hiding.
    “Hate to interrupt, but Cub is here.” Callista had trouble keeping the delight out of her voice.
    “What’s he doing here?” Tern asked, her hands going to her hips.
    “They’re dating,” Callista filled her in. “Gemma, he’s waiting for you at the customer service desk. That is one man I sure wouldn’t make wait long.” Callista swiveled on her clogs and headed back to the register.
    “You’re dating Cub,” Tern said. “And sleeping with Lucky.”
    She made that sound really bad. “Yes. No.” A growl of frustration escaped her.
    “You can’t do this to Lucky.”
    “What about Cub? You were the one who told me to have sex with Cub.”
    That tied Tern’s tongue for a second, but not for long. “That was before. We need to find a way to get Lucky back here.”
    “I don’t know the whole story between you two, and I don’t know if I want to. But I’m freaking confused, Tern. Cub’s alive. He’s here.” Oh God, he was here waiting for her, and she was debating whether or not she was cheating on Lucky with him. “I need to go and see what he wants. Most likely he heard how unbalanced I am and is breaking off our date for tomorrow.”
    “If he doesn’t, you should.”
    She was beginning to think the same thing. She wasn’t any good for him if she didn’t have a clue what she wanted.
    Gemma tried to get herself mentally put back together while she walked the short distance from Travel to the customer service desk. A cold breeze blew into the store, and her step faltered. It was strong enough to blow her hair back from her face.
    She turned the corner of Mystery, and there was Cub waiting for her, standing tall and golden at the desk. He was in jeans and t-shirt the same color of his ice blue eyes. His unzipped Columbia jacket gave him the look of an Olympic Norwegian cross country skier. A dozen red roses were clutched in his hand.
    “Hey,” he greeted, looking uncomfortable as he glanced around the bookstore.
    Gemma felt all eyes on them, especially the ones boring into her back from Tern. She wasn’t doing anything wrong. He had come to