Chapter Three

Gibson

It was close to sunset when I woke. The darkened cabin was silent, though a storm of images and sounds still raged in my mind. I'd fallen asleep on the sofa in front of the television earlier and had the dream again.

I sat up, rubbing my eyes, and the images faded. I needed air, desperately. I walked to the back deck and stood leaning over the rail, gulping. It was still humid, but without the sun beating down, not as stifling as it had been earlier.

I stared out over the ridge, illuminated in the deep orange glow of sunset. Soon the moon would rise and cast silvery shadows over the terrain. The mournful wail of a whippoorwill started up, echoing my mood, drowning out the last of the late summer cicadas buzzing in the trees.

It must've been the helicopter I'd heard while chopping wood yesterday that triggered my recurring dream. Every damn time I hear the staccato roar of a chopper's blades, I cringe. I've tried not to react, but it still gets to me.

I'd even dropped the damned axe, missing my foot by only an inch. Will I ever get used to that sound?

Probably not.

I needed a drink. I walked to the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the fridge. The icy brew felt soothing as I chugged it down. My gasp of relief was followed by an ungentlemanly belch as I returned to the deck.

Scenes from the dream kept repeating in my mind, and the beer hadn't dulled my senses one bit. I propped my feet up on the railing and leaned back in my chair, closing my eyes. Best to let it play out, so I can get on with my evening.

Bianca. She was the love of my life. In the recurring dream, she was searching for me, calling my name. I'd answer but could never find her. I kept running, looking for her everywhere, hearing her cries. The sense that she was there, close but out of reach, was maddening. I'd wake up expecting to see her standing over me or lying by my side.

We'd been wed less than a year before I lost her. After a lavish wedding at my family's Atlanta estate overlooking the Chattahoochee River, we embarked on a month-long honeymoon. I showed her my favorite places-Tahiti, then Paris, and finally Switzerland. She'd never been out of the country, and I enjoyed her innocent sense of wonder and her excitement about seeing new places. It was like discovering them all over again.

After we returned, she moved into my high-rise condo near the office. She continued her graphic design work from home, so we were rarely apart. Whenever I traveled to scout locations or meet with prospective clients, she came along. We were inseparable. I had put my billionaire player lifestyle behind me the day I met her and couldn't be happier.

I leaned back in my chair and stretched, releasing a long sigh. My anxiety was easing at the thought of those happy times with Bianca, and a smile crept onto my face. The best day of all was the one she told me she was pregnant. We were going to be a family. We celebrated by staying in bed all day, watching family-style comedies and dreaming of how our lives would change.

I'd never dreamed that change would happen the way it had played out. All because I put work first, instead of her, and our child.

For that, I would never forgive myself.

~*~

Heading to the bar that night, I felt a twinge of guilt. I wasn't really interested in Dahlia that way, but when we flirted, it felt good. Was that so wrong? After debating in my head, I decided to go and if it didn't feel right, I'd politely excuse myself and come home. No harm in being friends. Besides, if I stayed home, I'd be feeling sorry for myself, and I didn't want to be that guy.

The Frisky Beaver was a funky dive bar on the outskirts of town, where the rows of shops and restaurants ended. Not the kind of place I was used to frequenting, but it had a fun vibe. The place was dark, crowded, and noisy. That was to be expected on a Friday night, and it seemed even the namesake stuffed beaver on the wall had a bucktoothed smile on his face.

It was well after nine and I'd been occupying a high-top table near the bar for a half hour. Dahlia hadn't showed. She probably couldn't get a sitter, so all my angst had been for nothing. With no one to talk to, I ordered a scotch and nursed it. I'd already eaten a sandwich on the way over, so I wasn't starving.

A microphone buzzed, and I looked to the stage.

"How's everybody doing tonight?"

The band's singer, who I guessed from the resemblance was Dahlia's brother, tried his best to engage the crowd. The music wasn't half bad, a mixture of rock and country. But I was more interested in people-watching. I had a game going in my head, trying to determine who were the locals, and the tourists. There were a few hot looking women, and some checked me out in return. It wasn't a bad way to pass the evening.

The alcohol was kicking in a bit, and so was the band. I hadn't been out like this in months, so it felt good to relax and forget about everything else. The scotch tasted damn good, even though it wasn't a premium brand, so I ordered another shot.

By the time the band took a break, I was ready to leave. I'd just reached for my wallet when a commotion started on the other side of the bar. A woman's voice rose above the crowd's chatter.

"I said no, dude. No thank you."

Looking in the direction of the voice, I saw a slender brunette attempting to evade the attentions of a drunk guy. The same woman I'd seen earlier in the diner, though she was dressed in a skirt and heels. No wonder the guy was interested. She was gorgeous. I looked around and saw several other guys in the bar had noticed her, too.

The drunk guy was tall, built like a linebacker, and stumbling as he tried to follow her. He grabbed her arm, causing her to spill her drink. She looked like she was about to punch the guy, but she shoved at him instead with her free hand. Then a blonde chick appeared out of nowhere and shoved the brunette onto one of the barstools.

"Back off, bitch! That's my man."

Brunette look stunned for a moment then recovered her balance. She placed her now-empty glass on the bar and faced her aggressor. In a voice sweet as Georgia tea, she cooed, "You can have him, honey. He's all yours."

Blondie was almost as tall as her man, who was watching the proceedings with a stupid leer on his face. She took a step closer to the brunette and got right in her face. She was ranting, probably drunk as well. The brunette's lips were drawn tight, and I could imagine what she was thinking.

The next thing I knew, I was walking across the bar. I leaned in between them, smiled, and placed an arm around the brunette's shoulder.

"There you are, Darlin'. I've been looking all over for you."

The stunned look was back on her face and on the blonde's face as well. The drunk guy let out a loud guffaw, and his girlfriend elbowed him. I maneuvered us through the crowd, back to my table before someone else could claim it, still holding on to my new friend. She let me lead her, leaning over to whisper, "Thank you."

When we reached the table, she still seemed shaken, so I gestured for her to sit. Once she was settled on the stool, I introduced myself.

"I'm Gibson. Welcome to Tilly."

She shook my outstretched hand but arched a brow at me. "Thank you for getting me out of that mess, but how did you know I'm from out of town?"

"Gut feeling. Besides, most of the people here on the weekends are tourists."

"I suppose you're not, then?"

"No. But I haven't lived here long. And you didn't tell me your name."

She seemed flustered for a moment, her cat-green eyes wide. "Oh, yes. I'm Sacha."

"Nice to meet you, Sacha."

I managed to catch the server's attention, and Sacha ordered a margarita, since her drink had been spilled. I also ordered another scotch. It seemed I'd found a reason to stay a little longer.

I watched her as she turned to look at the band, which had returned to the stage. She definitely had the air of a business person, one I might have met in downtown Atlanta for martinis. Not the type of woman one would expect to find in a dive bar, getting into a brawl. She had been sexy in her pantsuit, but in a skirt, she was dynamite. Her long brown hair framed a heart-shaped face. "Sweet" was the word that came to mind, but I sensed a toughness beneath her feminine exterior.

The silk of her blouse draped over her curves, and as she crossed her legs, I was treated to a bit of thigh at the side of her skirt. When she turned her head back toward me, I glanced up at the band, but her sly look told me I'd been caught.

"So, Gibson. What else does your gut tell you about me?"

Her smile was taunting me, but I liked it. I liked it even more when she sucked on the straw in her margarita then licked her lips, though she probably didn't realize the effect the innocent gesture had on me. I leaned over the table so she could hear me over the music, and it was close enough to smell the scent of her perfume. Vanilla, with some spice.

Like her.

"It's telling me you've been working way too hard for too long. You need to relax, get a little wild tonight."

It was suggestive, but I wasn't faking it. Something about this woman was drawing me in. I had no idea who she was or where she was from, and for once, it didn't matter. Maybe the rush of rescuing her from the clutches of Drunk Guy and his jealous girlfriend had made me feel something I hadn't felt in a long time.

Like pride, and hope. And desire.

She cocked her head and gave me a strange look. "That's funny. I was thinking the same thing earlier."

"Well, I'm happy to help."

We clinked our glasses together and she laughed.

The crowd was getting rowdy, and the dance floor was packed. She'd finished her drink, so I ordered her another. When the band changed songs, she clasped her hands together. I knew that cue.

I leaned over, close to her ear. "You like this song?"

"I love it. It's my jam."

"Let's dance then."

I held out my hand. She slid off the stool and let me lead her to the dance floor. I hadn't danced with anyone since my wedding, so I had no idea what had possessed me to offer. When I was single I'd gone to dance clubs, but I'd have an exclusive room or table for entertaining guests or clients, and no time for something as frivolous as this.

But here we were, moving to the sultry beat of an old blues tune the band had rocked up. Sacha was inches away, as the crowd left little room for movement. Her hips moved in a sensuous swirl, which I found intoxicating. Her eyes were closed, and for a moment, she was lost in the song.

We moved in tandem. Her arms were raised above her head, swaying back and forth. Though I was getting elbowed and bumped into every other minute, there was no place I'd rather be. I placed my hands on her hips to keep her from getting plowed over by an enthusiastic dancer behind her, who ended up pushing Sacha against me. Her eyes opened wide, and then a slow, sensual smile graced her lips. She stayed right where she was, even after the other dancer moved away.

Maybe it was the scotch, or maybe I had been pent up too long. I found myself hoping for much more than a dance with this woman tonight.

~*~