Bride Of Dreams - Linda Wisdom Randall

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you claimed talk endlessly about taking cruises, and want a partner to go with them. Hopefully, you.”

      Caroline Bennedict folded the last piece of clothing and carefully placed it in a box. Her movements were economical as she sealed the box with packing tape and marked it for one of the charities.

      “I’m only twenty-two years old, Dad. I still need you.” She began clearing off his chest of drawers. She knew if anyone heard her talking out loud to her father, who’d died the month before, they’d think she was losing it. They had no idea that talking to him as if he was still there made the pain more tolerable. Plus she believed, in a sense, he still was with her.

      Now she was involved in a task she hadn’t looked forward to but knew needed to be done—packing her father’s personal items. Tears pricked her eyelids as she emptied each drawer, then moved on to the closet.

      Caroline frowned when she discovered a large box set back in the far corner of the top shelf. She stood on a chair and carefully maneuvered it forward so she could get a good grip on it. She carried it over to the bed. When she opened the box, the faint scent of Chanel wafted upward. Her dad always said Chanel reminded him of Mom. Caroline’s mother had died having Caroline, so she’d never had a chance to know her, and had to rely on stories from her father. Now she didn’t even have that.

      The box held a quilt. She stared at the lively pattern of blue, white and green and gathered up the heavy fabric, allowing it to spill over her lap. She carefully smoothed it across her legs.

      “Where did this come from?” she whispered to herself, picking up one corner and examining the tiny stitches.

      Even her inexperienced eye could tell the quilt was handmade, put together with a great deal of care and love. She knew right away it wasn’t designed for her father’s navy-and-burgundy bedroom. As she turned the quilt over, additional colors in one of the corners caught her eye.

      She pulled it toward her so she could examine it more closely. Her brows knitted in a confused frown as her fingernail traced the names embroidered in one corner of the quilt.

      Violet and Elias Spencer

      Seth, Brady, Quinn

      Violet Spencer? The same Violet Caroline knew of as Violet Bennedict? The woman who’d died seconds after Caroline’s birth?

      “Mom?” she whispered. “Who are these men? And what do they have to do with you?”

      Chapter One

      He couldn’t see her face, but he knew she was beautiful. The mist wrapped around her in the way a lover would protect her from outside forces. Even though her face was shrouded by the mist, he instinctively knew she was looking at him. Her slim figure was garbed in a cotton gown that clung to her form.

      The mist swirled around her as she lifted her hand and reached out to him. She didn’t speak a word, but somehow he knew she was beckoning to him. Asking that he take her hand.

      He didn’t move from his spot. Somehow he knew that taking her hand and allowing her to lead him into the mist would mean changes to himself and to his life. Changes he wasn’t ready to make. Instead, he stepped back. Once. Twice.

      He still couldn’t fully see her face, but he knew she was disappointed.

      Oddly enough, so was he.

      But not enough to take her hand.

      Cooper Night Hawk awoke a good two hours before his alarm was ready to blast him out of bed. Sleep was something he treasured because he knew there was always a chance it would be interrupted.

      Tyler might not be the crime capital of the world, but mischief still happened. And some nights he was the one selected to settle it.

      He left his bed and headed outside. He filled his lungs with the chilly, clean air in hopes it would clear his head. Cooper settled in one of the chairs by the back door. The wood creaked softly under him as he leaned his head back and looked up at the sky. He liked the idea of counting stars instead of counting sheep.

      “You worked so many nights that your body cannot understand why it has to sleep now.”

      Cooper cocked a dark eyebrow. “Look who’s talking, old man. You need your rest more than I do.” His voice was filled with gruff affection toward his visitor.

      The silver-haired man shook his head, his braids swinging gently. “The time will come soon enough when all I will do is sleep. Until the time comes, I will enjoy what the night has to offer.” Cooper’s grandfather, Laughing Bear, walked slowly over to the chair next to Cooper’s and carefully lowered himself into the seat.

      “You’ll still be around telling all the old stories when I’m in my grave,” Cooper argued good-naturedly. “What are you doing up this time of night?”

      “The stars are only good when everyone else is asleep,” Laughing Bear informed him in a low, even voice.

      Cooper stretched his legs out in front of him, bare feet crossed at the ankle. “How come you’re not sitting by your own house looking at the stars?”

      “I do not see them as well up there. That is why I come down here to sit on your porch. The view is nicer down here,” he said calmly. “The Spirits like it better down here, too.”

      Cooper shook his head. He knew enough not to voice his disbelief about the Spirits who allegedly accompanied his grandfather wherever he went. Any time he even hinted his doubt of invisible beings, his grandfather would give him that long silent look that spoke volumes. The elderly man never told him how disappointed he was in his grandson’s refusal to accept the legends he grew up with. The sorrow in his eyes was telling enough.

      “She is here,” the man said.

      Cooper stifled the sigh rising in his throat. Damn him! He wasn’t going to say another word.

      No way. No how. This time he wasn’t going to ask. In all the years he and his grandfather had done this form of one-upmanship, the older man always won. Just for once, Cooper wanted to win.

      He continued sitting back with his laced fingers resting on his bare abdomen, enjoying the chilly air on his skin. He didn’t have to turn his head to know his grandfather wasn’t looking at him. That was part of the battle of wills that grandfather and grandson had waged over the years.

      “She will take a heart while she is here,” Laughing Bear said, breaking the silence once again.

      Cooper bit the inside of his cheek. Anything to keep from asking.

      He would have been better off talking to one of his grandfather’s spirit friends.

      “I can’t imagine she’d want yours. It must be pretty leathery by now,” Cooper said.

      Laughing Bear slowly turned to face his grandson. “The heart she takes will be a younger one. A strong heart and more succulent.”

      Cooper cocked an eyebrow. “Succulent? Are you reading romance books again, old man?”

      Laughing Bear showed no displeasure with Cooper’s irreverent manner of speech. They understood each other only too well. In the beginning, the grandfather had taken care of his orphaned grandson, dealing with his pain and anger at the death of his parents. Now the grandson took care of his grandfather, making sure he saw his doctor on a regular basis and had enough firewood during the winter. With Laughing Bear’s small cabin only a hundred yards away, he was close enough for Cooper to feel as if he could look after him and far enough away so that Laughing Bear could have his privacy and feel a measure of independence. It was a comfortable arrangement for both men.

      Every day Cooper saw the stiffness increasing in his grandfather’s body, his eyes dimming with age and his steps growing slower. Cooper didn’t want to think about the day the older man would no longer be here.

      “Mrs. Riley brought me one of her peach pies today,” Laughing Bear said.

      Not

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