Always In My Dreams

490 Pages·2016·0.77 MB·English

by  Goodman Jo

ALWAYS IN MY DREAMS
by
JO GOODMAN
THE SINS OF A FATHER
The youngest daughter of a New York financier, Skye Dennehy didn't run
from danger; instead, she embraced it. And now her powerful father had
asked her to spy on a reclusive inventor whose latest creation could
change the world.
THE PASSIONS OF A DAUGHTER
Skye didn't count on an obstacle that was large, unmovable.. and
irresistible. His name was Walker Caineand he was a man who
instinctively knew what Skye wanted out of him: no two tomorrows that
were the same.
THE LOVE OF A MAN
What Walker kept from Skye was his past-but not his passion.
And as a shadowy enemy stalked them both-thrusting Skye between two
dangerous men-she knew she must risk everything for a love that could
prove the most perilous adventure of all.
ZEBRA
$5.50
CAN $7.00
MIDNIGHT SEDUCTION
Walker's eyes dropped to Skye's hands when she touched the first
button. The material parted and he had a glimpse of the hollow of her
throat. A second button was undone and more of her skin came into
view. She undid another. Then another.
"Skye." His voice had a deep, raspy quality to it. It also held a
warning.
"Mmmm?" She sounded innocent even as she played the temptress.
"What do you think you're doing?"
"Flirting?" she asked hopefully.
Walker pushed away from the window. His palms grazed her arms, her
shoulders. Skye leaned into him and raised her face. Her lips parted
as she stood on tiptoe and reached for him. Her fingers threaded at
the back of his neck and she pulled gently, bringing him closer. Her
mouth closed over his, hungry and searching.
She was lifted, carried. She felt the edge of the bed at the back of
her knees. He pushed the gown over her hips. It spread like a dark
green pool at her feet. When she was tumbled backward on the bed, she
pulled him with her. She kissed his jaw, his cheek. She pressed tiny,
tasting kisses along the length of his neck.
Skye kissed him again. Softly. Slowly.
"One of us has too many clothes on," she said.
It was gratifying, Walker reflected, that they thought so much alike.
Books by Jo Goodman
PASSION'S BRIDE
CRYSTAL PASSION
SEA SWEPT ABANDON
VELVET NIGHT
VIOLET FIRE
SCARLET LIES
TEMPTING TORMENT
MIDNIGHT PRINCESS
PASSION'S SWEET REVENGE
SWEET FIRE
WILD SWEET ECSTASY
ROGUE'S MISTrESS
FOREVER IN MY HEART
ALWAYS IN MY DREAMS
Published by Zebra Books
ALWAYs
IN MY
DREAMS
Zebra Books Kensington Publishing Corp. For Walter for helping me
think about family.
ZEBRA BOOKS are published by Kensington Publishing Corp.
850 Third Avenue New York, NY 10022 Copyright C 1995 by Joanne
Dobrzanski All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced
in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the
Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that
this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and
destroyed" to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher
has received any payment for this "stripped book."
Zebra and the Z logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
First Printing: June, 1995 Printed in the United States of America
New York City Winter 1881 "You want me to spy for you?" Mary Schyler
Dennehy was incredulous. Her wide eyes and raised brows complemented
her tone. Even her jaw remained a trifle slack as she stared in
wonderment at her father.
"Don't be so melodramatic," Jay Mac said discisively.
"Spying is not a word I would use."
Skye cut a sideways glance at her mother. Moira offered drily, "It's
certainly the word I would use." A sweet Irish brogue took the sting
from her sarcasm.
"I don't think I like the sound of this, Jay Mac. It's dangerous."
Skye's mobile and expressive mouth closed and flattened. She snorted a
bit indelicately.
"I don't care this for danger," she announced, snapping her fingers to
emphasize her point.
"It's just that I can't believe Jay Mac is asking me to be a spy."
On anyone's list of the rich and powerful, whether in New York or in
the country, John MacKenzie Worth's name was always placed prominently.
He was the founder of Northeast Rail, a transportation system that had
long outgrown its name and expanded west beyond the Mississippi to
California, Nevada, and Colorado, following the trail of gold and
silver discoveries. He owned prime real estate around Central Park, an
investment that was returning itself a hundredfold as those who could
afford it bought land and built their brown and gray stone mansions
uptown. He sat on some of the most influential boards in the city,
counted among his friends six senators, five congressmen, and a
president, got away with his very public feud with the mayor, and was
often consulted by other men of industry. Even more frequently Jay Mac
was sought as a financial backer by those with interests in science,
art, and politics. He gave generously to worthy causes, which
generally left out all things political.
With rare exception John MacKenzie Worth, known simply as "Jay Mac" to
most of the country, was regarded with respect and something akin to
reverence.
The rare exception took place in the stone palace he had built on the
corner of 50th Street and Broadway.
Behind the spiked iron gate and manicured rose bushes, he was also
known as Jay Mac. But here, surrounded at various times by his five
daughters and their mother, the nickname decidedly elicited more
affection and amusement than awe.
Jay Mac's attention darted between his wife and his youngest daughter.
Moira was quite serious in her objections, but Jay Mac was just
arrogant enough to think he could handle her. Skye, on the other hand,
for all that she looked appalled by his suggestion, was clearly
intrigued. He knew how to interpret the glint in her bright green eyes
and the hint of a dimple on either side of her wide mouth.
"This is not dangerous," he said to both of them.
Moira remained uncertain, but wanting to be convinced. Mary Schyler
was trying to hide her disappointment. Jay Mac believed his confidence
was well founded. He had them both. The trick was to allay the fears
of one while making it an adventure for the other.
He rose from the dining table and went to the sideboard. While he was
pouring himself a tumbler of Scotch Mrs. Cavanaugh entered the room to
judge the success of the meal. He heard his wife commend the cook for
her special attention to the fish. Skye commented on the pineapple
sorbet and asked politely if they could never have it again. Moira
admonished her daughter's distressing lack of tact while Mrs. Cavanaugh
merely chuckled. There was something comfortable about the scene that
had just been played out behind his back, something reassuring in his
daughter's cheerful directness, his wife's gentle scolding, the cook's
laughter, and his own enjoyment. For an instant he felt a pang of
alarm at the thought of sending Skye off. She was the last of his
daughters, the only one of his five darling Marys still at home. What
would it be like without her?
He quelled the momentary rush of fear by asking if anyone wanted a
drink. Moira and Skye refused, taking tea instead.
"What do you call it if it's not spying?" Skye asked, when her father
had returned to the table. She absently tucked a wisp of flame-red
hair behind her ear. It slipped out again almost immediately.
"Investigating?"
Moira looked at her husband sternly over the rim of her teacup.
"Are you telling or asking? I'm not certain I know by your tone."
"Investigating," he said more firmly. He took off his spectacles and
rubbed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, a
gesture that was meant to convey that he was slightly annoyed at
Moira's inability to grasp the difference.
"Skye would be investigating the whereabouts of the invention. I
thought I had already explained myself in that regard."
"I'm certain you thought you did," Moira said, with a touch of
asperity.
"But you can see that Skye thinks it's spying, and I don't disagree
with her."
Before Jay Mac could counter, Skye broke in.
"Please, Mama, I want to hear Jay Mac out." For a moment it looked as
if Moira would object, and although her eyes remained worried, she gave
in with a brief nod. Skye thanked her with a wide, dimpled smile, then
turned to her father.
"Tell me about the invention."
"It's an engine, or more precisely, a particular part of an engine."
Skye asked innocently, "What part? The wheel, the cowcatcher, the
smokestack?"
Jay Mac returned his spectacles to his face and gave his daughter a
hard look, wondering if she was pulling his leg.
"I mean the motor," he said.
"The engine of the engine."
"Oh," she said, her voice small.
"Sorry."
Behind her cup, Moira permitted herself a smile. For a moment it
looked as if Jay Mac regretted broaching the subject at all.
"What's so special about this engine?"
"The fuel it uses. The inventor swears it won't be powered by steam.
It's going to use a petroleum byproduct.
Something similar to kerosene. It will be incredibly powerful, lighter
and faster than anything in use today. It could change the way we all
think of transportation. You can't imagine the application
possibilities." Jay Mac's voice rose slightly as his excitement
grew.
"This is something scientists are working on around the world, not just
in this country. There's a push to develop some kind of steam turbine
engine, not the lumbering impractical ones that exist today, but
something streamlined and efficient.
The impact of that invention would be enormous and yet I can honestly
say that it pales in comparison to what would be possible with the
engine this inventor has proposed."
Jay Mac paused to let his words sink in. Skye was impressed.
Moira looked interested in spite of herself. When he spoke again his
tone was quiet and grave and hinted at things he would not share with
just anyone.
"Rockefeller's interested. You can imagine the implications for a
company like Standard Oil. John D."s already made one fortune on
kerosene. Think of his profit if he's able to use products that he's
now virtually throwing away."
"Westinghouse?" asked Skye. She saw her father was surprised that she
knew the name. It was hard to know whether to be insulted or pleased.
She had generally worked hard at giving the impression that she was
mostly frivolous. She conceded now that perhaps she had worked too
hard.
"Air brakes," she added, to make sure Jay Mac knew it was no fluke.
"I may not know what Rennie knows about them, but I would have had to
have been deaf not to know it was an exciting time for Northeast
Rail."
At the mention of Rennie's name, both Jay Mac and Moira smiled. Mary
Renee must have been about seventeen, they recollected, when George
Westinghouse had patented his air brakes. For Skye's sister, who had
wanted to be part of Jay Mac's empire from the inside and had realized
that dream, the invention of the automatic railroad air brake was a
milestone.
"Rennie did go on about it," Moira said wistfully. She turned her
thoughtful gaze to her husband.
"I imagine you've shared this latest news with Rennie and Jarret."
Jay Mac shook his head.
"Very little, actually. They've been in Colorado and Nevada since this
came about and it isn't something I've wanted to trust to the
telegraphers.
In fact, I haven't wanted to put much about it in writing. There's a
lot at stake, too much, perhaps, to include even the most trusted men
in my employ."
Moira frowned. She smoothed back the temples of her dark-red hair, not
because there was a strand out of place, but because she needed to do
something with her hands.
She remembered very well what had happened only a few years earlier:
Jay Mac had been the target of a murder plot that would have wrested
control of Northeast Rail from the family's hands. How could he say
this wasn't a dangerous business? Her sigh, as well as the militant
look in her eyes, expressed the words she would not utter aloud.
Once again Skye managed to head her mother off. She was leaning
forward in her chair, the perfect oval of her face animated with
excitement.
"Do you want me to steal this invention for you?" she asked, with more
eagerness than was either ladylike or strictly moral. Out of the
corner of her eye she saw that her mother was appalled. Skye made a
half-hearted attempt to appear abashed. It didn't fool anyone. In
front of her eyes Jay Mac's hair seemed to take on a more grayish
cast.
"I don't want you to steal anything," he said, just managing to swallow
his drink without choking.
"I want you to bring it back to me."
Confused, Skye merely stared at her father. Moira's comment underlined
her own confusion.
"You'll have to pardon me if I fail to distinguish the difference."
Jay Mac set his tumbler on the table. A damp ring of water beaded on
the polished surface.
"You can't steal something that already belongs to you," he explained
patiently.
"You own this engine?" asked Skye.
He nodded slowly.
"Bought and paid for every part of its development."
"Then why don't you have it?"
"I fully expected to get reports from the inventor on his progress.
This is by no means a finished product. It has never tested reliably,
but my early information has always led me to believe he was on the
right track and getting closer. I've asked for the current status, but
I get little in return that's straightforward." Jay Mac shifted in his
chair.
"I'm concerned that he's backing out of the project, or worse, that he
may even have thoughts of selling the idea elsewhere. That's forbidden
in my contract with him. I want you to find out if my fears are
founded.
And if you can get the plans, or the engine, all the better."
Moira simply sank back into her chair and crossed herself.
"Dear God," she said quietly.
"I can't have heard any of this correctly. This is something you
should be sending one of your men on, Jay Mac, not your youngest
daughter."
Skye bristled.
"Mama, how could you?" she asked, wounded. Her mother had always been
supportive of her daughters in whatever they wanted to do.
Traditionally, it had been Jay Mac who was the fly in the ointment.
He had been fiercely protective of all his children, planning,
prodding, pushing, usually in directions they didn't want to go. He
had opposed his oldest daughter's decision to enter a convent, but Mary
Francis had held her ground and did as she wanted. He had tried to
guide Mary Michael's career as a newspaperwoman when he'd realized she
would be a reporter with or without his support.
When he'd attempted to buy her a job on the Herald, she had promptly
accepted a position with the New York Chronicle. Mary Renee had had to
prove herself twice over to gain a position as an engineer with
Northeast Rail, and Mary Margaret was going to medical school because
of her husband's support, not her father's.
He had been just as iron handed in his machinations to see them married
and settled. Mary Francis had slipped away from him, but Michael,
Rennie, and Maggie had given him some frustrating moments as they'd
tried to avoid his openly manipulative touch.
Skye's ambition was vastly different from that of her sisters. Thus
far it had kept her out of her father's sight. She had no desire to
serve God, inform the public, build bridges, or care for the sick. Skye
wanted to be an adventuress.
Though it was not precisely a lofty goal, it was nonetheless one for
which she felt eminently suited. Indeed, in her own manner Skye was
just as single minded in her approach to realizing her dreams as any of
the Marys before her. She had decided long ago what skills were most
needed for adventuring and had set about mastering them. Skye Dennehy
was an excellent horsewoman and a crack whip. She rode sidesaddle in
public and astride in private. In her phaeton she was completely at
ease leading a high-spirited team on a rollicking ride over farmland
just north of the city, or keeping them tightly in check on a crowded
city street. People remarked that she had a passion for it. To Skye
it was merely one means to an end.
Skye studied art and antiques and architecture. She devoured books on
the history and geography of the places she wanted to go. Like riding
astride, she did it outside the public eye. Even her family did not
suspect the extent of her learning. Maggie had been the scholar.
Skye was the scamp.
She was confident they would have encouraged her endeavors but found
some way to discourage her plans to apply them. It was easy to be
secretive about her accomplishments.
She wasn't doing at all well in her final year at school. In fact, she
was failing most of her university classes and had no intention of
returning in the spring.
It wasn't that she couldn't do the coursework. Quite the opposite.
With rare exception she found her private plan of learning had advanced
her far beyond what was expected by her professors. With little to
challenge her, Skye avoided most of her classes and arranged tutoring
in activities that interested her.
That was how she'd become proficient in the use of weapons. Skye was
not only accurate with a bow, she could fence and was comfortable using
a variety of guns. The advent of winter had curtailed her sailing
lessons on the Hudson, but she had recently found someone to teach her
all about photography.
"Tell me about this inventor," Skye asked her father.
"What sort of person is he?"
Jay Mac leaned back in his chair and picked up his drink. He rolled
the tumbler casually between his palms, choosing his words carefully.
"Serious," he said.
"Yes, that rather describes him. It's difficult to know what the man
is thinking. The plans he outlined to me were brilliant, though.
Brilliant."
Boring: that was the word that came to Skye's mind.
The man was boringly steady and dull, and probably too smart for his
own good. She'd met a few men like that at social gatherings.
Invariably they couldn't talk about the weather without describing what
they intended to do about it. She practically yawned.
Moira said, "Now, why in the world would a man like that want our Skye
around?"
One corner of Skye's mouth kicked up. Her mother's question wasn't
terribly complimentary, but it was something Skye had been wanting to
know.