Page 28 of Dream Weaver

Sunset colors split the sky into stained-glass panes of pink, orange, and red. The landscape echoed that, contributing panels of green from all the pines and oaks. The lights of town twinkled in the distance, along with the closer few dotting our ranch.

Myranch, I reminded myself. My sisters, my daughter. My life.

I raised my chin resolutely. I was the master of my fate and the captain of my destiny. I was a tough, capable woman, a respected metal artist, and a damn good mother. Jay was a nobody, and I would not allow him to steal my peace, let alone my daughter. Not now, not ever.

“Never,” I whispered into the wind.

* * *

That night, I tried dreaming Jay out of existence.

I woke angrier than ever — at him and myself. If dream weaving really was a magic power, I sure as hell didn’t have it.

The only positive of Jay’s out-of-nowhere call was that it put me in the perfect frame of mind to bang at steel once I arrived at work.

I turned the ingot — a block of raw steel — in my hands, getting a feel for it, reading invisible lines, and stretching it into the right shape in my mind. Then I buried it in the coals of my forge and went over my next steps. Enough tinkering. It was time to get down to business.

I picked out my favorite hammer, moved the glowing ingot to my anvil, and began.

Tap. Tap. Wham! Tap. Tap. Wham!

The red-hot metal flared, slowly succumbing to a time-old rhythm passed down through generations of blacksmiths.

Tap. Tap. Wham!

Every contact pushed the outside world further and further away, leaving just me, the metal, and the fire.Myfire — the one beside me, and the one within.

Sweat streamed down my brow, and magic heated my veins as I slammed again and again and again.

All too soon, the metal cooled, and I had to pause to reheat it.

It was only after three more cycles — hammering away, then stopping to reheat — that I noticed Cooper there.

Which said a lot, because the guy was huge. And quiet, especially today. Giving me space. Letting me concentrate.

Or maybe just keeping himself safe?

Well, he ought to. I didn’t want or need an assistant.

I opened the forge vent to raise the temperature. The burst of air ruffled the calendar pinned over my workbench, and I frowned. Three weeks left in the month, and I had twenty axes to forge. A hydraulic hammer would speed things up, but working by hand let the metal sing back to me, guiding me as I coaxed it into its new form. Working metal was like training a horse — better to guide it, not break it, especially if you wanted a little magic to seep in with every strike.

I glanced over at Cooper, then at the metal resting in the coals. Then back to Cooper — specifically, those thick, bulging arms. I’d made a good start drawing the metal out to the desired shape, but…

Well…maybe it was time to start trusting men instinct had warned me away from.

I cleared my throat and looked up at him.Wayup.

“Have you ever worked as a smith-and-striker team?”

Warm brown eyes regarded me steadily, and he nodded. “Yes. I strike for my uncle sometimes.”

I scratched my chin, then reached for my trusty twelve-pound sledge. I held it out to him, then pulled it back to my chest. Was this really a good idea?

Cooper snorted. “I can watch, or I can help. Guess which will speed things up for you.”

I grimaced, then held out the tool again.

He looked offended, eyeing the larger model behind me.

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