Page 102 of Dream Weaver

“See? You have a dirty mind,” she concluded.

“If I do, it’s because you’re rubbing off on me.” Which might have been my own fault, what with all that nuzzling.

Abby nuzzled back — enough for me to work up the courage for a question.

“So, these tattoos…” I murmured, touching her arm.

She looked down, then sighed. “I was going through a stage, I guess.” She touched her own skin, then whispered. “I like them, though.”

I grinned. “I like them too.”

She went still, then kissed my arm in about the same place. Sometime after that, I drifted into deep, blissful sleep. So deep, I didn’t wake until seven in the morning, and even then, I snoozed for a while.

It was eight before I gave the day any thought at all. Sunday. A day off. One I ought to make the most of, because as soon as the first real fire of the season came around, the rest would follow hot on its heels.

Ha. Hot on its heels. I chuckled at my own pun.

“Hmm?” Abby turned slightly.

She was still spooned against me, gently stroking my arm.

I grinned. “Laughing at a bad joke. So bad, you don’t want to hear it.” Then I stretched. “More importantly, I was thinking about the best way to use my day off.”

If my hand grazed her breast, it was an accident, not a hint. I swear.

Abby grinned. “Let’s see. Sunday… A whole day to do whatever we want.”

We.I liked that part best.

I nodded. “Even if it isn’t much. No work, no rushing around.” I glanced at the clock. “What time do you have to pick up Claire?”

Even if it was early, that would be all right. Claire was a great kid, and it would be nice to do something with her and Abby outside the metal shop. If Abby was ready for that, of course.

But Abby went stock-still.

I nudged her gently. “What?”

“Claire…” Looking aghast, Abby jumped out of bed — worse, out of my arms — and started rushing around the cabin.

Whoa. Was she late to pick up Claire? It was only eight a.m.

I sat up. “What’s wrong?”

Abby fumbled with her bra, then pulled on her shirt — and cursed, because it was inside out. She yanked it off and tried again, muttering the whole time.

“I have to go. Shit. I have to go.”

“Right now? What time do you have to pick her up?”

“Lana is bringing her to Sedona after lunch.”

“So why—”

She whirled and glared like a woman possessed. “Because I forgot about her.” She pointed at the bed, like that was Exhibit A. “I didn’t think of her once, all night. I only thought about myself.”

I patted the air, trying to calm her down. “Abby, it’s okay to—”

“It’s not okay!” Her blazing eyes practically pinned me to the headboard. “It isnotokay to forget your own child!”

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