Dream Wedding: Dream Bride / Dream Groom. Susan Mallery

possibility was wise, she reminded herself, so she dug out a list of questions she’d prepared the previous night when she couldn’t sleep.

      “You traveled with your grandfather for most of your formative years,” she said.

      “That’s right. He showed up one day when I was about three or so, and took me with him. One of my first memories is riding a yak somewhere in Tibet.” He stretched out his arms along the back of the bench. His strong tanned fingers lay within inches of her shoulder and she tried not to notice.

      “Grandfather traveled in style,” he continued. “At heart, he was an adventurer. Fortunately the family had money, so he was able to go where and when he wanted. He’d run guns into Africa before the Second World War. He knew heads of state, from Nixon to obscure tribal elders in kingdoms the size of a grocery store. He would decide to spend a summer somewhere or maybe a winter, but we never stayed longer than a few months. Grandfather loved to be moving on.”

      Chloe knew this from her research. “He arranged for tutors?”

      Arizona nodded. “Sometimes several at once. I studied for hours every day. When I was fourteen, he put me in university, Oxford, then I moved to Egypt for a year or so. India, South Africa. I have an assortment of degrees.” He grinned. “None of them practical.”

      “Are you an adventurer, too?”

      “In a manner of speaking. I’ve tried to be more methodical, to use what I know to discover the past. Grandfather wanted to travel for the sake of being gone. I want to accomplish something.”

      She looked at him. From where she was sitting, he looked like a fairly normal guy. Perhaps he was a little too good-looking, but otherwise, he seemed to be much like the rest of the world.

      “You’re staring,” he said. “Is there a reason?”

      She shook her head. “You’re so different from anyone I’ve ever known. My family is one of the founding families of this town. My mother’s maiden name is Bradley. The Victorian house has been ours for generations. I’ve traveled some, but not like you. Bradleys have been in this valley for more than a hundred years.”

      He shrugged. “Roots aren’t a bad thing.”

      “I know. I’m not unhappy with my life. I’m just wondering what it would be like to have lived yours.” She tried to imagine always moving around, never knowing where one was going next. The thought wasn’t pleasant.

      She remembered the running tape and the fact that this was supposed to be an interview. “Okay, next question. I know your mother died shortly after you were born. When did your father pass away?”

      If she hadn’t been studying him so closely, she wouldn’t have noticed the subtle stiffening of his body. “My father is alive and well. At least he was the last time he called me.”

      “But you grew up with your grandfather. He took you away when you were three.”

      “I know.”

      “Why didn’t you stay with your father?”

      “It just worked out that way.”

      The journalist in her jumped onto the detail. Questions sprang to mind. Had there been a problem? An estrangement? Some legal issues? Why had Arizona’s father let his only child be taken from him and subjected to such an odd upbringing?

      “You’re going to pursue this line of questioning, aren’t you?” Arizona sounded more weary than annoyed.

      “Yes. I’m figuring out which way to go.”

      He didn’t answer. Instead he raised his head to the sun. “It’s warmer than I thought it would be,” he said.

      “We’re about ten degrees above normal for this time of year.”

      “I should have dressed for it.” He reached for his right cuff and undid the button.

      All the questions and strategies about how best to handle the interview fled from her mind. The entire world disappeared as she focused her attention on those long fingers and his casual act.

      He finished rolling up the right sleeve and started on the left. She knew what she was going to see there. Despite the fact that she’d only met the man yesterday and that he’d been wearing long sleeves then, too. Despite the fact that none of the photos in her research files showed him in anything but long sleeves. She knew about the scar because she’d seen the man naked in her dreams.

      That wasn’t real, she reminded herself. It hadn’t really happened. So when he rolled up the sleeve, there wasn’t going to be a knife scar on the inside of his left forearm. Except she knew that was exactly what she was going to see.

      She stopped breathing.

      He made one fold of the fabric, then another. The tail of the scar came into view. She told herself this wasn’t really happening, except it was and she didn’t know how to make it stop.

      He caught her stare. “It’s not so bad,” he said, motioning to the scar. “Want to hear how it happened?”

      “I can’t,” she said, her voice tight. “I can’t. I have to—” She couldn’t think of a real excuse so she didn’t bother making one. Instead she gathered up her notes and her tape recorder and thrust both into her briefcase.

      It was too much to take in. The dream and the man and the fact that she’d known what the scar looked like before she’d even seen it.

      “I’ll be in touch,” she managed as she scrambled to her feet and headed for the parking lot.

      “Chloe? Is something wrong?”

      She held him off with a wave. As soon as she was on the far side of the garden, she began to run. It was only when she tried to fit her key in the lock that she realized she was blinded by tears she could neither explain nor understand. What on earth was happening to her?

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHLOE FINISHED STACKING the folders into neat piles. She’d already dusted her computer, rearranged her pencil cup and answered all her messages. Even the boring ones. Still, the busywork wasn’t enough to keep her mind from scurrying around like a frantic chicken, scuttling from place to place, or in her case, subject to subject.

      She’d tried lecturing herself on the importance of being professional. She’d scanned a couple of articles on maintaining one’s cool during interviews. She’d taken countless deep breaths, tried a bit of stretching in the ladies’ room and had even sworn off coffee.

      It wasn’t helping. The truth was she was scared.

      Something strange was happening to her. She didn’t want it to be true, but she could no longer ignore the obvious. Fact number one. Before yesterday, she’d never met Arizona Smith. She didn’t think she’d even seen a picture of him or known who he was. Fact number two. Night before last she’d had a long, detailed, highly erotic dream about Arizona. A dream so intense just thinking about it sent a quiver of excitement through her belly. Fact number three. In said dream, she’d pictured Arizona naked. She knew what the man looked like naked. That was fine. All men sort of looked the same without their clothes. The basic working parts had a lot in common. But it was more than that. She knew about his scars. The one on his knee and the one on his forearm. Fact number four. That very morning she’d had confirmation that her dream had some basis in reality. After all, the scar had been exactly as she remembered it.

      Fact number five. Maybe she was going crazy.

      Chloe folded her arms on her desk and let her head sink down to her hands. She refused to consider insanity as an explanation to her problem. It had to be something else. Something logical. Maybe along with seeing his picture and not remembering it, she’d also read an article that mentioned his scars.

      Or maybe the nightgown was real.

      That last thought made her shudder, but in a whole