The Unquiet - J. D. Robb [142]
She growled and ripped the pages from her pad, wadded them up tight, and tossed them to the far corner of the room. She didn’t know what was happening to her, but she knew she had to get control of it. Ignoring it and moving on with her life was her best bet, as there wasn’t anything else she could think of to do. How did one battle nightmares and, well, sleep in general now?
Though, looking back on it for the first time, she hadn’t jolted awake from her nap, caught in the sensation of falling. Her eyes had opened on a satisfied sigh. A gentle breeze tickled her cheek with wisps of her hair. She’d stretched her muscles out like a lazy cat. Too soon, she’d glanced down at her sketches....
Opening a fresh bottle of pinot noir—high in antioxidants and resveratrol, according to her mother—she poured twice her usual dose into a large wine glass. She practiced her own form of pharmacology.
Curling up on one end of the couch, she strained her brain trying to recall what she’d dreamt that afternoon. Nothing? There was a vague impression of a woman . . . with red hair . . . that deep, rich hue of mahogany . . . maybe. The harder she tried to get a clearer image, the fuzzier it got—and that had nothing to do with her second glass of wine. In fact, she was so clear thinking that when the house phone rang, it barely scorched her nervous system.
“Hello?”
“I woke you up.” That wonderful voice . . .
“You did?”
“I didn’t?”
“Didn’t what?”
“Wake you up.”
“When?”
“Just now, with the telephone?”
“Oh! No.” She rolled her eyes at her stupidity. “I’m awake.”
“Are you drunk?”
“Maybe. Yeah, I might be. A little tipsy, I think.”
“Special occasion?” She heard amusement in his voice. He wasn’t going to judge her.
“Not really. No. Truth is, I lost my mind this afternoon and I was just sitting here trying to decide if I could get along without it altogether or if I should go looking for it.”
“What’d you decide?”
“I haven’t yet.”
“Would you like a second opinion?”
She chuckled. “You’ll have to bring your own bottle of pinot. Mine’s almost gone.”
“No problem. I’ll be there in five minutes.”
It was closer to twenty minutes—not that it bothered her. As a matter of fact, when he rang the bell, she didn’t even bother herself to get up, simply bellowed out for him to come in.
“Ivy?” he called, walking slowing down the wide hall that opened into the big family kitchen at the back of the house.
She’d chosen the library as her sanctuary. The furniture was big and soft and cushy, and so many of the books she loved stood sentry along the walls protecting her. “Here.”
He stopped in the doorway—filled it for the most part. He had a presence, that’s for sure. Not the sort of man to go . . . unnoticed.
He smiled a hello and then shook his head.
“Is this how Dr. Seuss wrote his children’s books?”
“It would explain a lot if he did . . . couldn’t it, shouldn’t it, wouldn’t it?”
He laughed and approached her, carrying another bottle of pinot noir and a large brown paper bag.
“You shopped?”
“No.” He looked in the bag, then back at her. Hands down, his eyes were his best asset. Ivy sighed, staring. “Wanda and I raided the fridge. I didn’t know if you’d eaten or if you were drinking your dinner tonight.” He raised his brows in mock disapproval and gave her an eloquent look that made her giggle, and then he grinned. “Actually, I had the munchies so I brought enough for the both of us.”
“You”—she pointed a finger in his general direction—“are an excellent neighbor.” Her gaze caught on the wine bottle. “You need a glass.”
She wasn’t so blasted she couldn’t get up. It was the furniture . . . so plush and comfy she thought she was going to have to turn around and back herself off the couch bottom first.
“Stay put.” Craig chuckled. “I know where they are,” he said, already walking away—with the bag of food! You couldn’t just offer a dog a bone and then wander off with it. His excellent neighbor status was in serious jeopardy.
“So who’s Wanda?” she hollered through the big house.